minus one plus eight

One mama sheep decided to call it quits last week, but Rosie the Rabbit had eight bunnies yesterday to replace her - if you can call that a fair exchange. And for the record, some mama rabbits make a nest for their babies after they are born, as Rosie did.

But in the rabbit literature I perused, apparently it is much more common for mama rabbits to pull fur and gather up materials to make a nest before they have their babies. And the term "breeding like rabbits" appears to be true in this case of a litter of 9 (minus the one that had a life-altering injury). However this is Rosie's third litter, but the first to live or be found. And most interesting is the information I read on feeding baby bunnies: it's almost impossible to feed them and keep them alive without their mother because a rabbit's milk can't be copied. That reminds me that you have to take some huge leaps of faith to think even the common rabbit happened from an explosion of goo scads of years ago.

So there you have it: these tidbits of random rabbit information. You never know when you'll need to pull these useful facts out. (an important business associate or a class reunion or somebody you want to impress to name just a few)

hypocrite

Tuesday was a magnifying glass day. To keep me humble and help me realize what I need to work on.

But Tuesday came right after Monday, when I left all four children home in the capable hands of their father to help at a baby shower. I carried on several conversations without being interrupted by desperate pleas for snack or trips to the bathroom. I didn't have to take anybody away from the public to iron out bad behavior. I helped with someone else' baby and I helped serve lunch to the shower attendees. And I stayed until almost everyone had left to help clean up. I was feeling needed and helpful and not needy, like Old Mother Hubbard, who had so many children she didn't know what to do.

One older lady, on her way out the door, commended me about some aspect of parenting. At which time, I reminded her that she wasn't around a typical day at home. But she is very good at encouraging. Her children are grown up, I think, and time has minimized the frantic intensity of taking care of small children. She encourages younger moms and sews quilts for their babies, which is also a very needed skill.

But Tuesday, oh Tuesday, reminded me of how very far I have to go. It always seems to be worse when I've had a little break from the kids. Shouldn't it be the opposite? Shouldn't I be more refreshed and more patient? Anyway, Tuesday morning nobody could get their stuff together for swimming lessons. Every teeny tiny job I asked for help blew away with the wind. Ellie couldn't function without being held. So nothing got done, more disasters were made than were cleaned up.

But where the Monday night lady spurred me on. A lady at swimming lessons on Tuesday morning appalled me. Probably because I saw my own wretchedness in her. One of her kids forgot some part of clothing she was to change into after lessons. Right in the girls pool locker room, this woman reminded her poor skinny, pale, shivering 5 year old that she was "screwed". Yes, that word. Not once but twice in a room full of people.

I thought of that lady often during the rest of the day. Each time I shrieked like Cruella DeVille at some annoying behavior in Priya and Sam, I thought of her. What a giant hypocrite I am. Aghast at her harsh words at the pool, but really the only difference was the location. God still sees whether we're in public or in the yard.

and she rides

At the ripe old age of 6, Priya progressed from two training wheels to one training wheel to no training wheels in two weeks, give or take a few days.

We won't count the weeks she claimed she'd never ride a bike and wished for a granny three-wheeled bike-trike thing.

Tonight she rode with me to the corner. Perhaps her reading skills will someday follow in similar suit.

vacation

fishing with the cousins

the cabin that the six of us shared with patient Janet and John

watching fireworks inside the vehicle because of the killer Minnesota mosquitoes...

on the yearly scavenger hunt...

Madison and Ellie

Priya modeling her scavenger hunt prize and the fat nose she acquired as a result of a collision with Sam

Mark filleting fish he spend hours catching

Sam showcasing his catch

Anneka demonstrating that a broken fishing pole can still catch fish...

the girls

(left) And she stands...crawling is only for desperate times when there is nothing to pull herself up on.

(right) Anneka announced to me one morning after breakfast that this tiger shirt was the one she was going to wear to pick radishes. If only we had some radishes to pick...

Here is Priya with Panther, the unpolitically correctly named kitten whose mother met an untimely death and who has survived several unintended attempts on his living existence.

tea party

legacy

Having just finished Why We're Not Emergent: By Two Guys Who Should Be (Kevin DeYoung and Ted Kluck), a term Dietrich Bonhoeffer used comes to mind: cheap grace.

How arrogant we are to think that we can rewrite and edit the Scripture because we are uncomfortable with things like hell and condemning certain sins, as leaders in the "emergent church" movement have enterprised to do, under the guise of making things more comfortable for those "seekers" among us.

Does our Saviour shake His head? The head that wore a crown of thorns for my wretched behavior.

Do we think we are so creative and innovative to come up with this new way of doing things, when really these tired old ideas of the social gospel in the last century have just received shiny, fresh new wrapping paper?

Then this song comes to mind:

How deep the Father's love for us,
How vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure

How great the pain of searing loss,
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the chosen One,
Bring many sons to glory

Behold the Man upon a cross,
My sin upon His shoulders
Ashamed I hear my mocking voice,
Call out among the scoffers

It was my sin that held Him there
Until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life
I know that it is finished

I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no power, no wisdom
But I will boast in Jesus Christ
His death and resurrection

Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart
His wounds have paid my ransom

Shame on us for discarding THE most precious thing to ever be presented: unconditional love. Not the fickle, shallow, white suburban easy comfortable way we would like to define love as we lounge on couches casually sipping lattes. No, real love is bloody and involves excruciating pain. It means recognizing that we are not good at heart but actually rotten, selfish and horribly needy. Real love stooped down to the human level and took on skin when He could have been enjoying the sinless perfection of Heaven. It's love that is uncomfortable to think about because it shows us how really desperately needy we are to need such drastic measures.

Honestly if we want another religion the options are endless - all of them different human flavored varieties.

But to insult the Almighty God of the Universe, whose endless creativity has fashioned billions of individuals each unique and whose precision keeps the Sun from melting everything else and the orbit of the Universe to work, by trying to redefine and reconfigure the single greatest act of love in the history of His Universe because it is uncomfortable is despicable.