Special Days with David are full of fun and laughter.

Now that Christmas is over (and we have finally taken down our tree) we are getting back into a more scheduled lifestyle. Kathy has hit the homeschooling trail hard, and I’ve re-established Special Days with each of the kids. Strangely, most of them have come to prefer that I snuggle down on Big Blue (our new double recliner) and read to them, preferably with ice cream at the end of the hour. I recently started reading The Hobbit to Joshua and All Creatures Great and Small to Rachel. David and Sarah gather up a huge stack of books … only Daniel holds firm as a computer game player.

Book rascals

I was very impressed with little Sarah last week by the way she handled David’s Special Day. Her day is on Friday, and when Tuesday rolls around (David’s day) it seems to her to be about time for another day of her own. It is very hard for her to accept that I am reading to David and not to her. Traditionally I exclude the other children from whatever activity I am doing with the ‘special’ child, but David graciously allows Sarah to listen when I read him books … although he makes it clear that she may not sit between us. When it came time to have ice cream, Sarah had a hard time. I told her that it was not her Special Day and that the ice cream was only for David (and, of course, me). I reminded Sarah that her Special Day was on Friday and that she and I could have ice cream then. (Note that Special Days come, and Special Days go, but I get ice cream every weekday. I wonder who came up with that plan?) I’m thinking about marketing it as a new best-selling eating program — maybe I’ll call it the Fat Beach Diet?

Who wouldn’t give this girl their ice cream?

Sarah actually handled it very well. She went and reported to Kathy with a sad face that the ice cream was only for David and Daddy. Then she came back and sat on the love seat and watched us eat. I’ve known a few two-year-olds in my time, and I can’t think of many that would handle such a thing without fussing and ruining the time for everyone involved … I was very proud of her character. After waiting a few moments to ensure that she was not about to launch into a tirade, I gave her the rest of my ice cream. I wonder if God sometimes waits to see how I will react to hardship before he rewards or blesses me? How much ice cream have I missed in my tantrums, and was any of it double chocolate chunk? Reflections of this sort can keep one awake nights.

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Due to the incessant bombardment of automated blog ‘comments’ advertising online poker and other less savory ‘offerings’, I have reluctantly shut down the comments feature on my weblog. Please feel free to e-mail me with any comments.

On a gentler note, may the Lord bless you and bring you joy on this glorious Christmas Eve.

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Another weekend has gone by, and Christmas rapidly approaches. I am always astounded at how quickly Monday morning arrives, especially when my alarm goes off. Today was a very good day in that I found a back exercise that gives me some relief from the pain of a recent injury. In the past ten days, I have experienced considerable pain in getting out of bed … my vertebrae seem to bitterly resent the transition from recumbent to vertical. It has frequently taken me 10-15 minutes of sitting cross-legged on the floor, rocking in pain, before I could walk comfortably to the bathroom or stand in the shower. Today I tried lying on my back and bringing both knees up toward my chest, holding them there for 45-60 seconds … hurray, it seemed to work, and I was able to get out of bed with nothing more than the usual morning sluggishness! How delightful that our bodies can heal, thanks be to God!

Our packages are pretty much all mailed off, except for one or two gifts that are not time-sensitive. Now our attention turns toward the impending arrival of the Kansas Edgrens. My brother is not able to get away from the demands of his job this season and so will remain in Korea … we will miss his sardonic wit and silliness, among other things. But Elizabeth, Timothy, Rebecca and Samuel arrive this afternoon, with much fanfare. I wonder how much it would cost to hire a small brass band to provide some genuine fanfare … I guess you need at least two trumpeters and a French horn … I’m not sure what the standards are for this kind of thing. It would be fun to meet them at the gate with a small celebratory band. Admittedly, airport security would never cooperate unless they were incentivized, but it could probably be arranged. Maybe I should have stuck with my studies as a trumpeter, even though I never got past third chair.

It is getting pretty grim as Kathy and I squabble with my parents for our fair share of time with ‘the cousins’. A lot of people think my Mom and Dad are sweet, godly people … but they don’t know the ugly truth. Last night I tried to put in our family’s bid for a few small social engagements with Elizabeth and the kids … but I was firmly rebuffed. My folks obviously intend to hog the Kansas Edgrens for themselves, abusing their position as host, with no regard for propriety or fair play. It is sad to see two people reach such depths of moral deterioration in their dotage, but I guess it is just a lesson to us all, to be on our guard. Even Solomon turned away from God in the last days of his life. But I’m struggling with the shame of it all … this is just not the kind of thing you expect to see in your own parents!

My parents aren’t complete ogres. They did invite us over to dinner, so we could at least see our beloved relatives.

On Saturday I took the older kids out shopping … it was quite a madhouse out there. We were foolish enough to attempt Tacoma Mall as our first stop … it took 15 minutes to get from the highway exit to the parking lot, and 20 minutes to get out! The mall is a stone’s throw from the highway. It was maddening watching the traffic on the other side of the fence zip along as we sat motionless behind half a billion shoppers. The stores were crowded and the lines were long … my back was aching from the outset. But I was impressed with my older three … they were surprisingly generous in spending their accumulated wealth on their siblings and cousins, and not once did I hear the dreaded words, “Can I buy something for myself?” For reasons of secrecy, I went through the checkout line three times (once with each of the older three) … not my idea of a fun time. We moved on to visit Ross’, Bed Bath & Beyond, Barnes & Noble and finally Target, each time waiting through the lines. The line at Ross’ was so long that I ruthlessly abandoned Joshua to it and took the other two kids to Bed, Bath & Beyond … we made a circuit of the whole store and returned to Ross’, finding Joshua still in line. He was not particularly amused, but bore it without too many recriminations. I had fortified each of the children with a Slurpee after our harrowing escape from Tacoma Mall, so their spirits didn’t begin to flag until we finished Target (where the checkout lanes were blessedly short). Heading home, I began mischievously suggesting additional shopping destinations, while the kids chanted “Home, home, home” at the top of their lungs. A proposed visit to Ikea (40 minutes to the north, and known to be extremely crowded) brought out the most strident opposition, and so we returned home as conquering heroes.

I thought that Rachel really handled the news well, that we needed to go back to Tacoma Mall on Sunday.

The Bringhams came to visit us Saturday evening, arriving in time for supper and staying late into the evening, to celebrate Tom’s 50th birthday and to either celebrate or mourn the outcome of Tom’s recent application to the postmaster position in Brinnon. As we discovered, he did not get the job … I was encouraged by the way he bore the news cheerfully. It is hard when God says ‘No’, even when we trust Him to do the best thing.

The birthday boy himself, complete with entourage.

Our original plan had been to visit “ZooLights” … an elaborate Christmas light display offered by the Point Defiance Zoo. So after dinner we all piled into our respective minivans and drove to the north end of Tacoma, only to find that the entire population of Pierce County was there before us. People were parking on the street a half-mile from the zoo parking lot (which was presumably also full). Wisely deciding that discretion is the better part of valor, we turned our minivans around and headed back to the house for cake and ice cream. Still not very familiar with Tacoma, I led us haphazardly through some of the less-well-known neighborhoods until we finally found our way to a recognizable route home. The Bringhams stayed and talked fairly late, considering they were facing a 90-minute trip home … Tom left with Jeremiah and Teddi around 10 pm, but Casey and Annjanette stayed until after 11:30 pm. It was a delightful visit that brought back many happy memories of late-night gatherings in the Duckabush.

Sarah sure loves her ‘Aunt’ Casey.

Sarah and David have both been sick over the weekend, suffering from various flu-like symptoms, and so I stayed home with them and with Daniel while Kathy attended the Lake City church with the older two. In the afternoon we had the opportunity to go Christmas caroling at the nearby Veterans’ Hospital … I took the older three and joined my parent’s Sunday School class. It was very sad to see the people at the Hospital … they seem to be the wreckage and driftwood of humanity, cast up on a cold and uncaring rocky beach far from the warmth of home. Many of them showed little comprehension of the reason for our visit, staring blankly at us without expression as we sang. Our society is so shielded from any encounter with old or handicapped people … I was glad to have the opportunity to show this side of life to the kids.

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It is a dark and dreary Monday, and I’m stuck sitting in traffic. The train is packed, which suggests that many saw the rainclouds and (like me) determined not to join the throngs splashing along on I-5. Usually this train moves along briskly, but today we seem to have lost priority and must wait patiently on some freight train or other. Not that I’m eager to get to work … on a day like this, people should all stay home and enjoy a good book in front of the fire.

I remember some job I had in which I always had Mondays off … that seems a very good way to live, as I recall. Working on Mondays is like waking up at 2:30 a.m. … it just isn’t right. I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone say,

“Yep, I got plenty of rest and enjoyed myself all weekend. Whooo-eee — it is good to be back at work today!”

I suppose there are some who feel that way, but I hope not to meet such people, at least not today when I feel so gloomy.

Seattle is a beautiful place to live, but not in early December. The ugly warehouses and industrial detritus that we pass do little to lift the soul or inspire the poet. It seems a stark contrast to the blaze of lights and Christmas decorations we enjoyed last night as I finally set up the tree … definitely this part of Seattle could use some Christmas cheer.

He always was a snappy dresser.

I guess this day can’t be all bad — it is the birthday of my favorite brother. Happy birthday, Mark!

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I seem to have finally settled on a church near our home, after trying five other churches, although Kathy continues to cast a roving eye at another church in the area. While there is probably always a better church on the other side of the fence, I feel that our family needs the stability of choosing a church, and this one has a number of the elements we consider critical. First, they are governed by a board of male elders. Church government structure wasn’t always so important to me, but after a negative experience with one church, I have come to consider this a critical criterion in choosing a church. We enjoy the liveliness of the worship service, which seems well-designed to glorify God in a joyful manner. The pastor of the church is a good preacher, and is forthright and likeable. There is a good program for our children, but no Sunday school for grownups (a worrying trend: Sunday school seems to have fallen out of vogue in many churches). The church has a large number of home-group Bible studies (we have not yet managed to join one, but have high hopes).

Our pastor has recently started a series on Worship. Ordinarily, after leading us in a few songs, the music team nips off-stage before the offering is taken. But last week they stayed on the platform for the duration of the service. After the pastor identified a number of the ways that we worship (Praise, Thanksgiving, etc.) we would sing a song that highlighted that attribute of the worship experience.

This week he focused on the different modes of worship, and again we were invited to a higher level of participation than is usual. We were taught on each subject and then practiced singing, shouting, bowing, clapping and the raising of hands as some of the modes of worship frequently mentioned in the Bible. The pastor claimed he couldn’t dance and thus was unwilling to teach on that expression … I suspect he knew that many of us would be a little put off by being required to dance in church.

Once again, I throw in a bunch of non-pertinent pictures, just because I can.

Participative worship is a bit of a stretch for me … I’m more comfortable with a reserved, unemotional worship style. I don’t generally raise my hands or clap or shout ‘Amen’ during the service. I have never been known to leap over chairs or dance in the aisles and am suspicious of churches that are long on emotional worship experience and (sometimes correspondingly) short on Biblical teaching.

But it seems that solid teaching and enthusiastic worship are not mutually exclusive. This pastor does an excellent job of sticking closely to the scriptures in his preaching and teaching, yet the worship that we enjoy is vibrant and full of emotion. It was a strange experience for me to progress through the various physical modes and through my corresponding emotional responses.

Singing was not very hard … I am a firm believer in singing loudly (and occasionally on-key) and am no stranger to the feeling of joy and enthusiasm that often accompanies such expression. Most songs have lyrics I can sing without hesitation, although there are a few that contain excessive hyperbole that I won’t sing. There is a chorus we used to sing in a previous church that talks about the way that God’s presence can be ‘felt’ in the church … it includes the phrase, “I can hear the angel wings brushing the walls” or something like that. Call me stubborn, but I have never yet heard the angel wings, so I don’t sing that song. Being a bit of a literalist, I’m not that keen on poetic license, anyway.

Next we practiced shouting, with focus on the words ‘Amen’ and ‘Praise the Lord!” Again, this wasn’t too difficult for me, although I’m wary of using this mode of expression as a way to say, ‘Hey, look at me, aren’t I spiritual!” I’ve attended churches where one or two people sing out an ‘Amen’ or ‘Preach it, brother’ every time the pastor pauses or finishes a sentence … personally, I find it pretty distracting, although it might be an encouragement to a pastor. At least he would know that someone was awake. But in this case, the whole congregation was invited to shout out together, and I found it … surprisingly powerful. There was a feeling of inhibitions being cast off and of moving to a higher level of sincerity in my worship toward God, disregarding the opinions of those around me. Since worship is all about God and very little about me, this seems appropriate. I shouldn’t be worried about looking (or being) a fool for Jesus’ sake. It made me think about the way the Israelites would sometimes shout — as they did while marching around Jericho, for example.

Sometimes it is fun to just say “Wow!” to God.

We moved on to bowing and kneeling, which was a major departure from my usual worship style. I’ve attended churches with kneelers, but rarely used them; in such cases the practice has been thoroughly encysted with rote and ritual. The pastor simply asked us to kneel in place (if we could fit) or to bow our heads while the worship team sung ‘We Bow Down’ (a praise chorus made popular by Twila Paris). I scooted out to the aisle and dropped to one knee, attempting to humbly present my soul before the throne of God. As I knelt there before the King, I began to weep, tears dropping off the end of my nose and onto the carpet, creating a sizeable damp patch. I had the sense of being like one of the vassals of King Richard (the Lionheart) in the days of Robin Hood, presenting myself before the King upon his unexpected return and accounting for my conduct and my secretive support of his usurping brother, Prince John. While I have not openly supported my King’s enemies, there are many sinful things I have done which do not stand up well to scrutiny. It was a very uncomfortable feeling, yet one I am loath to forget. The simple physical sensation of bowing my head and causing my body to kneel seemed to produce in me feelings of humility and subordination to God that are (sadly) quite unusual for me. I felt deeply ashamed as I knelt there in the shabby rags of my pride and arrogance, squinting my eyes against the glory of the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. And so I wept for the entire song, unable to sing a word, although I know it well.

We moved on to clapping (which I dislike, possessing not a rhythmic bone in my body) … several times the pastor had us clap for God, giving Him honor with our hands. The problem with clapping for God is the question: how do you stop? God is worthy of infinite praise; he who stops first is somehow unspiritual, and there is no clear end-point as there is with a song. While I have no problem with giving honor to God, I don’t think clapping is the best avenue of expression for that … I’d much rather sing or shout something more meaningful that engages the mind. Plus, I was getting bruised hands from trying to be super-spiritual.

Finally, we sang a chorus with our hands raised … the pastor talked about how this posture communicates (among other things) affection, vulnerability and trust toward God. I was a bit skeptical, but I found that I did actually feel a little more connected to God when singing with my hands raised. I’m not sure I will adopt this practice as a part of my worship style, but I am much more open to it than I was before.

It was a moving experience, one which transformed a routine church service into a visit to the actual House of God. I have reflected on this most of the week, and have come to a few tentative conclusions:

• While any worship style can, over time, become rote and meaningless, some styles are less prone than others to becoming disconnected from the heart.
• Proper worship of God needs to incorporate a sense of humility. Kneeling seems to go a long way toward accomplishing this.
• I need to be a lot less concerned about what other people think of me, and a lot more concerned about what God thinks of me, when I am attending a worship service.

When King David wanted to honor God by bringing the Ark of the Covenant into Jerusalem, the occasion was marred by the death of Uzzah, son of the man who had kept the Ark in the years since it was fearfully and apologetically returned to Israel by the Philistines (as described in I Samuel 6 & 7). Uzzah, who ought to have known better, touched the Ark to steady it when one of the oxen pulling the cart stumbled; the wrath of God killed him for his presumption. This made David think less about the Ark as a talisman of God’s favor and more about God’s holiness and majesty … so he left the Ark outside the city for three months while he thought it over.

When he finally did bring the Ark into the city, it was with elaborate precautions and sacrifices. David himself was so anxious to please the Lord that he set aside his kingly dignity and danced in his undergarments in front of the Ark as it was brought into Jerusalem (II Samuel 6). David seemed to understand (as his wife, Michal, did not) that the only audience worth caring about was God.

Who knows? Maybe I’ll start dancing at church one of these days …

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