My current addiction...

...well, maybe it's a vice. I don't know.

Once upon a time, back in 1989, in Spain, my wife gave birth to our first daughter. I saw our last name some weeks after, in the newspaper and on CNN, and realized that there was at least one other person outside our family with the same surname. So I called my grandfather in New Jersey and inquired about the near-celebrity with our name, the federal judge who was presiding over the Pete Rose gambling trial in Cincinnati. It turns out that he and my grandfather had exchanged letters about the family/name and where we/it originated. In 1989 I began extensive genealogy research on both sides of my daughter's family. From 1989 to 1994 family history became not just a hobby, but an obsession.

As the years rolled on, my genealogical pursuits fell by the wayside, and I hadn't really thought more about it until my brother began looking into our German ancestry while in country in 2014. At that point, I discovered that my data was stored on aging technology-- my version of Family Tree Maker was years out of date-- and I started to panic at the thought of losing all those names and dates I had compiled! I was able to download my info from a webserver and I purchased the 2014 edition of Family Tree Maker, which is now owned by Ancestry.com-- I went ahead and resubscribed to Ancestry, too. If the bug has bitten you and you're an Ancestry subscriber, you can find my tree: Holschuh4.

While on this holiday break from my seminary studies, I've had a chance to dabble in family history again. What I've found through Ancestry.com is that I can search records in 5 minutes that would have taken me months in the past! Now the family tree is like a huge jigsaw puzzle. Every time I sit down at the computer, I find something to add! It's difficult to break away, to just stop (and Ancestry knows this).

The latest thing is Ancestry DNA. I convinced my wife to let me shell out $90 to get a test and analysis done; then I gave her a kit for Christmas, so now she's going to be tested. And the results mesh with the family tree data-- it's pretty cool.

Anyway. After this weekend, I'm going to have to go cold turkey and get focused on classes resuming the week after next.

(I'm afraid that may be easier said than done...)

If I'm not back until next year, let me wish each of you peering in a blessed, bright, and productive 2017!

С наступающим Новым Годом!!

I don't live (t)here anymore.

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. (Psalm 23:1 ESV)

I remember when I left my parents' house in Grand Prairie, Texas, on my father's birthday in 1981 (only 2 months after my 18th), for U.S. Navy boot camp. He drove me to the recruiting station on Main St. and then I was on my way...

I surprised my mother in the kitchen when I showed up unexpectedly two months later in my Navy uniform; a friend picked me up and drove me home to begin a short leave before my Basic Russian course began at the Defense Language Institute in California. I remember how familiar everything looked, smelled, sounded-- it seemed then that I was the only change in the tableau. By the time I was ready to head back to my new life as a sailor, I realized that I was no longer part of the world I had left that morning my father drove me downtown. And arriving back at my school in California, it struck me that I wasn't entirely a part of that world, either-- in fact, I was more than a little intimidated by some of the other sailors I met there. Some already had college behind them, most seemed incredibly smart, and on the first day of class I was sure that my presence there was the result not of my aptitude, intelligence, or gift for languages, but of a Navy clerical error. But I made new friends and, in retrospect, got through Russian by the grace of God. A year after leaving home I was entrenched in Navy life and on subsequent visits to see family, Texas would seem less and less like home, like the place where I belonged.

The evening before returning home
with wife, mother, and daughters in TX

Fast forward 35 years, past two "careers" (20 years in the Navy, followed by 15 years as a high school teacher), at least a dozen different places to call home, and here I am at home again, clacking away on a keyboard in Ft. Wayne, Indiana, having returned yesterday from a very nice one-week visit to Texas for Christmas-- we got to spend quality time with my mom and daughters, worship at our home congregation, and catch up with friends. We were back in the same city from which we left in June for the seminary, back in the same area where our daughters graduated from high school, where we moved from one house to another over a dozen years, where our family has roots...

The face of the Dallas-Ft. Worth area is changing (as it always has been). It's crowded and there is construction everywhere-- especially highway (we rented a car at Dallas Love Airport and needed to follow the signs down I-35 to I-30, an area I've driven since I was old enough to drive). I resisted the urge to drive by the house we left behind while in the neighborhood to see the doctor and pick up a prescription. Only six months ago it was home.

We left my mother's house yesterday morning and on the drive back to the airport in Dallas, I had the overwhelming sensation, again, of no longer belonging to that place I left in 1981. As I moved through the familiarity of people and places, I felt like a...ghost. I wish I could explain it better... I don't think either of us could legitimately call where we are right now home. I sort of feel like I did when I returned to California to start Russian after that first leave, that "in-between" feeling (maybe this is what purgatory is like?). We're at home, but not home... And in an eerily similar coincidence, upon arrival here at the seminary I've been more than a little intimidated by the professors and some of the other guys I've met here. Some are way over-educated, most seem incredibly smart, and on the first day of Greek class I was sure that my presence there was the result not of my aptitude, intelligence, or gift for languages, but of Providence. We've made new friends and will finish up here in August entirely by the grace of God.

Next month is shaping up to be the fulcrum of our 14-month stay in the Hoosier State. I have two interviews will determine what lies beyond the summer. At this point, only God knows. And in Him we trust...

...to lead us to that place we can truly call home.

Even the squirrels need mittens...

Well, we're on our 23-day holiday break from classes now and we're counting down the days until we can be with family again! In the meantime, we're still in the grips of this early winter (a few pics to illustrate below)...

I caught an article in yesterday's paper (delivered late, as usual, by that old croaker of a carrier we have) about a "Santa truther" at an Amarillo mall last weekend verbally accosting shoppers, particularly those with little children. This YouTube video will set your yule log alight...what a Grinch! In my heart, I can appreciate such a quixotic effort to share the true meaning of Christmas; however, I cannot endorse his bedside manner. If idolatry is the issue, there are bigger targets to shoot at than our beloved Americanized St. Nick, based on the tradition of the real 3rd century St. Nicholas, Bishop of Myra. This guy should ask himself why we avoid car salesmen and hang up on telemarketers...

And, speaking of the newspaper, do any of you out there follow the comic strip Funky Winkerbean? It would appear from today's strip that one of the characters jumped to her death from an H in the big Hollywood sign (maybe it's a dream or something, given the gray-scale panels):

Hmm...

No death march this morning-- rain and snow in forecast... Good day for hot chocolate and a movie or a good book...which reminds me... I finished Dean Koontz' The City a few weeks back-- it's one of his best books, in my opinion, worth Kindling-- I'm going to start on another Kindled Koontz, Innocence, this weekend. I'm near the end of a book that caught my eye in the seminary bookstore, My First Exorcism: What the Devil Taught a Lutheran Pastor about Counter-cultural Spirituality, written by the only "Lutheran exorcist" I've ever heard of (exorcism is one of those areas the Roman Catholic Church traditionally patrols). From Gene Veith, Lutheran blogger (Cranath: The Blog of Veith) at patheos.com:

Harold Ristau is a pastor in the Lutheran Church of Canada (with which the LCMS is in fellowship). And he is an exorcist, with extensive experience in casting out demons. He has written a book on the subject, with an introduction by John Kleinig, the great Australian writer on Lutheran spirituality. I’ve sampled Rev. Ristau’s book and found it scary, fascinating, and strangely encouraging.

So far this book (and the accounts within) leave me feeling somewhat ambivalent toward an aspect of human spiritual understanding that I actually find fascinating in a Mr. Spock way... (More on why in a post from July.)

I guess that'll have to do it for this gray Indiana Saturday morning.

Check out the pics below before you change channels!

С Богом!

Check out the newscast temperature at the bottom left...
This was Thursday morning...

This birdseed-thievin' bugger was perched
atop an EMPTY feeder in a sub-zero windchill
trying to keep his little paws warm... 

A very pretty scene, indeed... The antithesis
of what follows...

It was too bloody cold to finish this cigar!

No fire bowl on the patio tonight!

We got snow. Currently there's 7 inches piled up on our patio table. More is coming later...

The drive to church this morning (about 10-12 miles away) was slow, methodical, and kind of peaceful; the drive home at noontime was none of the above...

And whatever slush was created on the roads today will freeze tonight and then be covered by new snow.

I'll say one thing for this area, the snow trucks were out in full force.

(And Kroger is a short walk around the corner, should we become truly snowed in...)

We're not in Texas anymore.

The figure that haunts me in the garage...

Snow has been been making a daily cameo appearance over the last few days. This morning, we went to go get a bite to eat and run errands at around 10:30. When we left the restaurant, it was snowing like crazy; this is the prelude, the weather-guessers tell us, to The Big Dump that's coming tonight and won't end until Monday...

So we returned home from our errands and before pulling into the garage, I rolled down the window to try and capture the huge snowflakes for a pic to send to the kinfolk back in Texas. If you look at the picture below, you can see a few of them...

...and, if you look closely, through the flakes, you will see the figure that haunts me in the garage. Eerie, huh?

Perhaps it's time to look for an exorcist.

The Collect ('kä-lekt)

[The following is a "newsletter article" I was assigned to write last month in my Liturgics class... I think there are a lot of Lutherans who are unfamiliar with the roots of our traditional worship, why we do what we do. Honestly, aside from knowing that a collect was a short prayer, I couldn't have explained how it fits into the Lutheran liturgy until coming to the seminary! Also, if you'd like to find out more about "what happens" at an LCMS Lutheran church (or you're just curious), check out this very nice, user-friendly website belonging to an Indiana congregation not too far from Chicago.] 

Most Lutherans have encountered the liturgical term collect (with the seemingly stilted pronunciation) in an order of worship bulletin or in the Lutheran Service Book (LSB) service settings. I recall a seminary classmate asking our professor “Why is it pronounced KAH-lekt and not kah-LEKT?” The former English teacher in me knew the answer right away (and, of course, I will tell you, so read on…).

Like all parts of the Lutheran worship service, the form and function of the collect stretches back to at least the late 5^th century in the Roman Catholic Church. It is a beautiful, but short prayer expressing praise or thanks directed to God, typically consisting of five parts: an address to God; a relative or participle clause referring to some attribute of God, or to one of his saving acts; the petition; the reason for which we ask; the conclusion. The following is an example:

Almighty and gracious Lord, pour out Your Holy Spirit on Your faithful

people. Keep us steadfast in Your grace and truth, protect and deliver us

in times of temptation, defend us against all enemies, and grant to Your

Church Your saving peace; through Jesus Christ, Your Son, our Lord, who

lives and reigns with You and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

Our two-part Word and Sacrament service is comprised of five segments (not unlike the typical collect) that follow the preparatory trinitary Invocation: Entrance Rite, Liturgy of the Word, Preparation for Divine Service, Liturgy of the Lord’s Supper, and Distribution. The Collect of the Day traditionally brings the first segment—the Entrance Rite (Confession and Absolution, Introit, Kyrie, Hymn of Praise, Collect)—to a close before the Old Testament reading, which begins the Liturgy of the Word. A Post-Communion Collect is prayed at the end of Distribution, before the familiar Aaronic Benediction (“the Lord bless you and keep you…”).

The collect is intentionally very concise; its name comes from the Latin for “gathered” or “bound together.” This prayer, usually addressed to God the Father, traditionally contains only one petition and reflects the “collected” needs of the church and is offered on behalf of the “collected” congregants. Some collects may express thanksgiving, but they still offer a petition. The emphasis is always on the role of Christ as intercessor or mediator.

Luther provided his own theory regarding the origin of the collect’s name in Against the Heavenly Prophets in the Matter of Images and Sacraments (1525): “When the Hebrew language was still common among them, the apostles and the first Christians called the bread and wine, which they had gathered for observance of the sacrament, ‘mass,’ in Hebrew in accordance with Jewish custom. A part of it was consecrated for use in connection with the sacrament, the other was distributed among the servants of the congregation and the poor. For a long time afterwards this practice was also referred to as ‘collections’...Though the practice was discontinued, the word ‘collect’ still remains.”

Among the liturgical reforms made by Luther was the retention of Roman Catholic collects that had to be translated into German. A Collect of the Day was included in the traditional Lutheran Mass and most of these were loose translations of ones for certain days in the church year. Luther even wrote a few himself (the morning and evening prayers in the Small Catechism each contain one). Collects are also used in the morning and evening prayer offices (Matins and Vespers, LSB pp. 219-252); the standard morning prayer is the Collect for Grace, the standard evening prayer is the Collect for Peace.

So just why is it pronounced KAH-lekt and not kah-LEKT? There are nouns and verbs in English that have the same form, such as increase, discount, protest, advocate, and collect, that follow a general rule for correct pronunciation—if meant as a noun, the beginning syllable is stressed; if as a verb, the stress falls on the end syllable.

And don’t worry about a pronunciation error. If your prayer is sent collect (verb), be certain that God will accept it (and the charges, as well)!

What would Linus think?

I caught an interview with the National Program Director of American Atheists on the Fox News Channel this morning, during which he touted the new seasonal billboards going up that bray about skipping church...

(By the way, how does skipping church make Christmas great again, anyway? Was there a time-- a great time-- when church never figured into Christmas? Seriously. What is the point to these seemingly oxymoronic messages?)

sigh sigh sigh

Do you believe in God, Alex?

This afternoon on Antenna TV I happened upon the two-part episode of the 80s sitcom Family Ties in which Alex Keaton (Michael J. Fox) loses his friend in a car accident. My Name is Alex (aired in 1987) is a departure from the typical weekly episode; the theme behind the plot-- death-- caught my attention for a couple of reasons. The first and most obvious is that the death of a friend or a loved one stings with a pain like nothing else in this life. The second is that death, the same death that so callously wounds the living, without empathy, yet with great chutzpah, presses a bony finger into the chest of the aggrieved and whispers "Do you believe in God?"

Even an atheist has to wonder at the gaping hole left by death.

The first half of the episode sets up the second half, which is a semi-soliloquy by Alex, who after wrestling with the regret and guilt and shame and disruption of life that accompanies the loss of someone close-- which I have experienced first-hand-- is asked by a counselor whether he believes in God. His response is very real.

While the theological implications of this story are intentionally generic and the message is not necessarily Christian, the questions we ask as fragile, emotional, irrational, and self-serving creatures in death's wake invariably turn to God. And, typically, it is in a moment of weakness or anger when the question of God comes up. Because we want answers.

If you have the time, watch both parts of this episode. Compare the Alex in the first 10 minutes to the Alex in the last 10 minutes. Then consider his answer to the question and what he should do next with it...

С Богом!  :)

My Name is Alex, Part 1

My Name is Alex, Part 2

Evangelism and Outreach

We have no other reason for living on earth than to be of help to others. If this were not the case, it would be best for God to kill us and let us die as soon as we are baptized and have begun to believe. But He permits us to live here in order that we may bring others to faith, just as He brought us. But as long as we are on earth, we must live in hope. For although we are sure that we have all the blessings of God through faith—for faith is surely accompanied for you by the new birth, the filial relationship, and the inheritance—we do not yet see this. It is still something to be hoped for and still somewhat remote. We cannot see it with our eyes. --Martin Luther, Sermons on First Peter, 1522 (Luther’s Works, Vol. 30)

This morning I sat through another "module" (a mini-seminar provided by the seminary on various pastoring topics; I have to get six in during my year here) called "Who Me? Do the Work of Evangelist?" It was presented by the LCMS Indiana District's Executive of Outreach and Human Care. As I sat there for the four-hour discussion, I kept thinking about how little most people know about church-- why there even is church-- including those who were raised in it. Then there are Lutherans. I got to thinking about what people really know about the Lutheran Church, in or out of it. Why would someone walk into a Lutheran church on a Sunday morning, as opposed to any of the overwhelming choice of places of worship? And I couldn't help but wonder how my friends and relatives see me and my family as Lutherans... And how they honestly feel about and understand my desire to become a Lutheran pastor.

The presenter mentioned a video about Richmond, Kentucky, a place of almost 33,000 where there is a good-sized university, but not one LCMS congregation. The first part of the video is interesting in its illustration of young people's preconceived notions about church. Very telling. And this is what I-- and the other men studying for the ministry-- will be up against. I encourage you to take a look...it's less than 6 minutes long and is very well done. And the pastor who pops in toward the end is the guy who facilitated this morning's session.

I got something else out of attending this module. There is a second-year guy here who emigrated with his family from Moldova (small country sandwiched between the Ukraine and Romania) who is a native Russian speaker. He and I spoke in Russian during a break-- what a nice guy! (And I haven't spoken Russian in a while, so I probably sounded rusty...) I'm not sure what to make of this, but I think God is up to something. I only wish I knew more! ;)

Let me brutally Frank(-ish):

Значит, так. Ещё раз вам говорю...

And, speaking of Russian, I was watching Dark Ages on the History Channel this past week and as the narrator was going on about Charlemagne, the actor portraying him was audible enough for me to hear him say very clearly "Значит, так. Ещё раз вам говорю..." ("So. I'm telling you again...") I'm not sure what language the ol' boy spoke (some sort of Frankish precursor to today's French?); however, I seriously doubt he sounded like a native Russian speaker. I found it curious. I guess you can't believe everything you hear on the History Channel, eh? (Maybe they just wanted Charlemagne to sound Old Worldly in a language few people watching would have understood or even paid attention to.)

Lots of schoolwork this weekend (well, tomorrow, as it's already 3:30pm on Saturday)...

Boy, that first week back went by fast!

That's it for now. С Богом!

Ideologies, Idiosyncrasies, and Angry Squirrels (not necessarily in that order...)

You may say "I've never had the sense of being helped by an invisible Christ, but I often have been helped by other human beings." That is rather like the woman in the first war who said that if there were a bread shortage it would not bother her house because they always ate toast. If there is no bread there will be no toast. --C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

As has become my custom, I was up before the alarm this morning... And my only class is at 2pm...

I poured a cup of coffee and sat down to watch episode 1 of A&E's Leah Remini: Scientology and the Aftermath, which premiered last night (after my bedtime) and in which the former Carrie Heffernan (in the 90s sitcom King of Queens) declares war on the oxymoronic Church of Scientology (considered a cult in the LCMS), the hood ornament for which is Tom Cruise. (Wikipedia has the A List of celebrities who were drawn in by L. Ron Hubbard's movement based on the psychobabblery and practice of "Dianetics," a tenet of which is "That Man is basically good." (from The Creed of the Church of Scientology). What I saw in this pseudo-reality biopic was an ism, comparable to what I know about Stalin's brand of Socialist Communism (you can check in, but you can't check out-- a couple of very good, very edifying movies about this that I regularly showed my high school kids during Russian history: Reds from 1981 and The Inner Circle from 1991, both based on true stories).

And, of course, my own perspective is pixelated by what I've heard, read, and been taught; I've not experienced either first-hand. But both billow a desire to dig deeper into a person's guidance system, how their moral compass and spiritual gyroscope can, after launch, steer them down range so far from the target... You can read more about Remini's jihad (ha! I kill me-- ha! I did it again!) in this article on salon.com, called "Your antidote to seasonal belief disorder".

Speaking of isms, an interesting editorial piece from the Washington Post showed up in this morning's paper, written by a Somali-American (hyphenation figures into our collective inability to work and play well with others IMHO) school teacher in St. Cloud, Minnesota: I’m Muslim. Here’s how I explain my faith to fearful Americans. At the risk of a debate over God's real name (the answer can be found in a manager), I was going to write the author, but thought better of it. [In three paragraphs here, I have, at least, done a drive-by past that which keeps us in a perpetual state of opposition. What we don't know is exacerbated by what little we do know (or think we know). But the author is correct-- generally speaking, we are fearful and ignorant (as in uneducated, not stupid), which kindles anger, which leads to violence, which causes fear, etc.] sigh sigh sigh

And, speaking of anger, how about this PO'd little critter who lunged at our patio door in a grudge because I booby-trapped the bird feeder (I added pizza peppers to the seed and 40W oil to the pole)(and before you send me hate mail about the peppers or report me to PETA, go back and read the last sentence of the preceding paragraph, then read this). Of course, my wife flings the sliding glass door open and yells at the likes of him, so maybe his grudge is becoming a vendetta. She sits at her desk right next to the door, in plain sight of the little buggers...

Even with squirrels, it's all about belief systems. Let's hope the ones around here don't turn to the Internet and become radicalized. (At that point, you may have to call PETA...)

С Богом!

Return to sender, heaven can wait?

"In every child who is born, under no matter what circumstances, and of no matter what parents, the potentiality of the human race is born again; and in him, too, once more, and of each of us, our terrific responsibility towards human life." --James Agee, Let Us Now Praise Famous Men, 1941

This cough is still has its grip on me like an embattled rush hour commuter's white-knuckled hands on the steering wheel... So, rather than hack through a worship service and Bible study, I opted to stay home from church this morning. And now my wife has a bit of a sore throat and a cough...

...which, brothas and sistas, leaves me with some unexpected blogging time.  :)

Last night we watched 90 Minutes in Heaven, the film made from the book by the same name written by Baptist pastor Don Piper. My wife, mother, and I heard Piper speak at our church in Texas a couple of years ago; I remember being amazed at his story of surviving such a horrific accident (he was driving across a bridge near Houston when he was hit head-on and run over by an 18-wheeler, then pronounced dead at the scene), but also feeling a little incredulous toward his claim of going to heaven and then being sent back, attributed in large part to another pastor that happened upon the accident scene and prayed over him before he came back to life.

I genuinely enjoyed the movie and Hayden Christensen's portrayal of an acutely injured Piper, as well as the back story (country singer Dwight Yoakum played the family's useless lawyer). But I have to wonder at the heaven experience. As a "faith film," it came off as closer to the reality of this life (there is going to be pain and suffering) than did most of the others I've seen (and posted about on this blog)-- this was not an us-them, overly evangelical movie that pandered to the already churched (most likely Baptist and non-denominational) as a feel-good, you-either-get-it-or-you're-going-to-hell Christian validation story. However, it's the "90 minutes in heaven" part that I question (but not entirely doubt...). I believe that Piper had an experience, and he may very well have gone to heaven, looked around, and come back-- an act surely within God's purview. But there's no mention in the Bible of a person going to and coming back from heaven...

Prolific Christian author, non-denominational pastor John MacArthur, notes in a 2014 critique of the book Heaven is for Real: "Four biblical authors had visions of heaven—not near-death experiences. Isaiah and Ezekiel (Old Testament prophets) and Paul and John (New Testament apostles) all had such visions. Two other biblical figures—Micaiah and Stephen—got glimpses of heaven, but what they saw is merely mentioned, not described (2 Chronicles 18:18; Acts 7:55). Only three of these men later wrote about what they saw—and the details they gave were comparatively sparse (Isaiah 6:1–4; Ezekiel 1, 10; Revelation 4–6). All of them focused properly on God’s glory. They also mentioned their own fear and shame in the presence of such glory."

And the film portrays heaven as a place where those who have gone before us appear in clothing (and makeup), visibly healthy at the age we remember them. I cannot understand the need to be in heaven in a suit and tie. One of my seminary professors remarked in class this past quarter that we do, in fact, receive clothing in heaven-- he was referring to the number of references to "white linen" in the book of Revelation; however, this last book of the Bible is the last place to look for literal interpretation ("white linen" is more likely a reference to Christian righteousness, than an actual garment, but, remember, I'm still an unpaid amateur). There are obvious real problems with such a round-trip visit (or vision) for viewers, churched or not. A review of the film shortly after its release (September 2015) in Christianity Today makes some very good points about how Piper's experience could be perceived by viewers, the most salient of which is "the diversity of the experiences and the variety of religious ideas at work in those experiences lead [the author] to conclude that 'we will be provided with the Heaven that is right for each of us.'"

In any event, it's a good movie. I encourage anyone reading this to watch it and ask questions (find a pastor)-- the Bible assures us of heaven through faith alone in Christ Jesus. What it's like, we can only imagine-- a place of eternal existence with God, with no sin, no pain and suffering; beyond that, only God knows. And if this story can inspire prayer, not to mention hope through faith, then all the better!

Here on Earth (to switch topics) there is still much to experience. I read an AP story in this morning's paper (delivered over an hour late, I might add, by our pathological slacker of a carrier) about beer and bird-watching enthusiasts in Maine who are combining forces. How cool is that?! This is the club for me:

Loons and lager, ducks on draft: Birders, brewers form flock

And, lastly, I found the quote at the very top of this post in an article in the December issue of Smithsonian magazine. The writer, along with a photographer, retraced the steps of author James Agee, who (also with a photographer) documented poverty across the country in 1936 and published his observations in the book Let Us Now Praise Famous Men. The magazine author's observations are very telling about the many Americans on the low end of the socioeconomic scale. It's worth a read (someone should show it to Trump):

A Photographic Chronicle of America's Working Poor: Smithsonian journeyed from Maine to California to update a landmark study of American life

That's it. Life goes back into overdrive tomorrow. I will post again when the opportunity presents itself (weekend, most likely).

С Богом!

Perhaps my life could be described as 'Escheresque'...

Marie is getting married tomorrow, at an outdoor ceremony in the desert. In recent years, it has rained only 5 days each year. Unfortunately, the weatherman has predicted rain for tomorrow. When it actually rains, the weatherman correctly forecasts rain 90% of the time. When it doesn't rain, he incorrectly forecasts rain 10% of the time. What is the probability that it will rain on the day of Marie's wedding? (Answer at bottom; however, you might have to turn your display upside-down or stand on your head to read it.)

Drawing Hands by M.C. Escher, 1948

Back from Thanksgiving with the distaff side of the family in Michigan...nice visit (by car, this time-- no trains, planes, or buses), watched the Boys make it 10 in a row (woo-hoo!), but still feeling a bit under the weather (this insidious cough is hanging on for dear life)...

I think I slept for 8+ hours last night; my wife for nearly 10. We went to bed last night at about 7:30pm. I was up around 4:30am and had a chance to watch the 2nd installment of National Geographic's Mars docudrama that premiered last week. If you haven't watched, you should! I have a very childlike grasp of the science behind a human leap from Earth to Mars; however, the episodes contain a healthy dose of space exploration factoids and footage as the saga plays out. It's knitted together very well (Ron Howard is part of the production team) and the thought of moving to a new planet is, in a way, a refreshing break from the post-election rip tides, police shootings, and holiday season gluttony. (It even has a cool theme song on its Mars-y soundtrack.)

After watching Mars, I looked out the front window and Lo and Behold! my paper was there, actually a tad early for once (we have THE worst carrier in home delivery history, this grizzled 130-year old guy who is late more often than not). I happened upon an interesting article about another space story, the new film Arrival (which I'd really like to see; it's based on the short story Story of Your Life by Ted Chiang) and the linguistic challenges behind communicating with extraterrestrial life that show up without a universal translator. (The science behind this story is a smidge easier on my synapses.) If nothing else, after reading the article I think I'm able to use the words heptapod and logogram in a correct sociocultural context at the next party. Not only that, I tripped and fell over Escheresque (you've probably seen some of Escher's work in a book or on a poster somewhere), Sapir-Whorf (a theory about the influence of language on culture, explained thusly: "Because the Inuit language has so many different words for snow...Eskimos may see snow differently from the rest of the world. They may even think about snow differently."), Fermat’s Principle of Least Time (too complex for my peanut-sized brain, but I was able to shoehorn it using this good analogy involving a lifeguard and a drowning swimmer), Snell’s Law (the law of refraction), and Bayes’s Theorem (applied, so I learned on a site called Stat Trek, to conditional problems like the one at the top of this post). Maybe over Christmas break I can convince the missus that it would be worth whatever the king's ransom is that it costs to see a movie these days...

And, speaking of movies, there's a new one coming out next month: Silence (based on the 1966 novel of the same name), with Liam Neeson. The Guardian reports that the film will be premiered at the Vatican. I read the book in August and really enjoyed it! (And posted about it...) Extraordinary story about the fragility of faith and courage, both gifts from a loving God that should never be handled carelessly. Hmm... I wonder if I could get in two films over break? (The last movie I saw in a theater was Life of Pi.)

So we're both lying low today, with nowhere to go (yea!). Perhaps we'll put up the tree this afternoon... 'Tis the season. On Monday it's back to class as the winter quarter begins. I'm looking forward to it!

I'm going to try to finish Dean Koontz' novel from last year, The City, this weekend (I'm on chapter 67 of 108). It's pretty good, so far-- I think there's a faith angle developing.

Until next time... С Богом, ya'll!

P.S. A plausible answer to the problem (yes, of course I cheated):

I had to miss church services yesterday...

...due to a bout of bronchitis; however, there was a church service in yesterday's comics:

Happy Monday!

"I TOLD you to go to the doctor BEFORE we left!"...

...or , better, "Who's your ride?!"

The week before last we were out on the patio chatting by the fire bowl (before winter blew in) and decided to spend our anniversary (this past Friday) in Chicago. We've never made travel plans to go to Chicago, so someone told my wife that the best way to get there was from South Bend (Indiana), about an hour and a half to the northwest of us. So she got on her iPad and found us a hotel and bought what she thought were round-trip tickets to and fro on Amtrak. Well, we had the to, but on Saturday morning as we were getting ready to go get breakfast we discovered that we didn't have the fro.

South Bend Amtrak Station

It turns out you can Amtrak into Chicago (on the last leg of the Lake Shore Limited train between Chicago and Boston, where it originates) in the morning, but the trains going back leave after 9pm. So what we had for the fro were a pair of tickets on the Miller Transportation Hoosier Ride that departs from the Chicago Greyhound Bus terminal for Columbus (Ohio) via Ft. Wayne (I found it poetic, bus station people aside). So we had driven to South Bend (using GPS that initially took us 30 minutes out of our way to "train station" down a road that turned to no pavement in the woods like a couple of rubes) and left the car at the Hooterville-sized station overnight. And, much to our surprise, the bus ride was smooth and on time and the driver was a burly black man in a toboggan hat that was serious (in a humorous way, oxymoronically) about his business, threatening jail time or, at the least, being put on the curb

somewhere if there was any trouble. He was emphatic about his bus not being a party bus. And he drove us right to the South Bend airport (where the car wasn't) in good time.

Fortunately, my wife's sister lives in the next town(ship, village, whatever-- we weren't in Chicago anymore) north (in Michigan) and our nephew and his family were in visiting, so he and his wife fetched us from the airport, took us to the car, and we followed them back for lunch and a quick visit, before heading back south into Indiana. We drove through snow most of the way. (When we left Friday, it was near 70 degrees at home and in Chicago; when we got home it was in the 20s with the wind chill).

As for Amtrak. The train was over an hour late. We were stopped dead for more than a half hour with no explanation until we started moving, one stop away from Chicago's Union Station (we were told most unceremoniously that the conductors had reached their time limit and new ones had to be brought in). Seating was first-come-first-serve in coach and in the first car there were no empty seats together. I found us a pair in the next car up, among the people and things strewn about from the longer trip. When we finally pulled in to de-train, they opened only one door for more than one car. It was like waiting to get off an airplane. It was so NOT worth the cost of the tickets. And we could have driven to Chicago faster. (My sister-in-law advised us to, next time, take the South Shore Line from the South Bend airport to Chicago's Millennium Station-- closer to where our hotel was, actually; I looked it up and it's only $13.25 one-way. Live and learn, right?)

But we made it, arriving hungry (2 hours to Hooterville station with no food or coffee, over an hour wait, then 2 hours into Chicago), so we left the hotel to wander about and stopped in at the first place we found that would serve us lunch (and a beer), the Rock Bottom Pub & Brewery, where we were fed, beered, and had a server from Texas. While we were waiting for our food, I noticed a Weber Grill place with this huge orange grill over the sign, so I says to the missus, I says, "Look over there, there's a Weber grill store in downtown Chicago!" (I even sent a picture to my grilling brother-in-law back in Texas.) Turned out to be a Weber Grill restaurant (and inside you can buy grilling books, hats, shirts, etc.). What a rube am I.

Navy Pier top right, has Ferris wheel

From there we set off in a windy drizzle to find the Magnificent Mile shopping district on Michigan St., but walked under Michigan St., so we missed it (what a couple of rubes are we), ending up at Lake Michigan, at the ginormous Navy Pier (where we rubes discovered, to our disenchantment, that there is absolutely no Navy there as the name would suggest). We walked the entire length of that place (3,300 feet long-- that's 11 football fields) and then some, before heading back to find the "Mag-Mile" (as locals refer to it). I was kind of bummed, though. We made it all the way to Lake Michigan, but I never got the chance to take off my shoes and socks and dip my toes into it-- the weather didn't cooperate (and the water, my wife tells me, is cold as hell). We also passed Harry Caray's bar but never went in...

We found Michigan St., climbed the steps, stopped for a picture under the street sign (a kindhearted and portly gentleman offered to take one of the two us, promising not to run off with my phone and explaining how he himself had lived in Texas), then wended our way through the crowds to the west end and the Hancock Building, which has a happenin' observation area called 360° Chicago on the 94th floor touting this insanity called Tilt!-- for $7 you can hold on to handrails and while you lean against the window pain, an attendant tilts the windows and you out over the curvature of the Earth at a 45° angle. I watched a guy and his little daughter do this and almost wet myself (see last pic at bottom). WHY would anyone want to do that?!

Working our way back east toward the hotel, we passed by the historic, very Gothic 4th Presbyterian Church on the Magnificent Mile and went in-- what a beautiful building/complex. It has a cloisters/courtyard next to it between buildings. The inside was just amazing-- looked more like a scaled-down version of a Roman Catholic cathedral.

The last shopping we did was in a Walgreen's to buy cough medicine. I've been congested and not feeling all that well for the last week and a half, and the coughing spasms were making my chest ache.

Last stop, dinner. And guess where we went? You got it, the Weber Grill grill, where we waited 30 minutes for a less than hoped for experience (I'd really rather have bought a grill), but it was the nightcap on our anniversary trek through the Windy City (which lived up to it's name while we were there).

Back at the hipster Aloft hotel, we asked about breakfast and were told that it starts at 8am. Thinking we had a train to catch, we opted the next morning to dash out for a bite in the cold and wind. A block away from the hotel is the Rock'n'Roll McDonald's, which you have to see in person to appreciate. When we got to the ordering counter, I noticed a pair of trash cans with Chinese on them. Then I looked behind us and saw Russian for "thank you" on a different pair. The entire restaurant is a museum of McDonald's history, with displays of items from all the decades the company has been in business. I thought it was pretty cool, actually.

The Millennials running the hotel would have gotten a chuckle knowing we used Uber for the first time, to get to a Greyhound station... But it was easy, the driver was a very nice lady who chatted with us (by comparison to the cab driver from the Amtrak station who said virtually nothing and drove through downtown Chicago like he was in a rally race, but then smiled and wished us a nice time in Chicago as we were paying). Once we got on the road back to Ft. Wayne, we had to make one last pit stop before home...

We stopped at a walk-in, urgent care clinic where I was diagnosed relatively quickly (for a Saturday afternoon) with a sinus infection, an ear infection, and bronchitis. Thankfully the pharmacy was open at our Kroger around the corner, so I got meds and slept better last night than in a week and a half. (But I was supposed to lead the church services this morning and fill in for my seminary buddy who teaches confirmation class between the services-- I had to call in sick to my pastor, literally, last night.)

It was an adventure! We were reminiscing during dinner at the Grill grill about where we were a year ago celebrating our anniversary. We were in downtown Ft. Worth to see the holiday Parade of Lights (with a gazillion other people), and were at the Flying Saucer Pub having a beer and a pretzel while waiting for the parade to begin when this seminary plan was hatched. I can't believe a year has flown by so fast...

I can only wonder what next year's anniversary will bring!

С Богом, ya'll! May you never have the urge to tilt...

Even these guys can't believe it...

P.S. Oh and while at my sister-in-law's, my nephew was telling us about making deer jerky (he gave us some to bring back with us-- it's really good!) and other meat items, he mentioned that he made Italian sausages. That made me think of the day's New York Times crossword that had a five-letter ingredient in Italian susage that I filled in, but didn't know: anise. So, not knowing a lick about processing carcasses into snacks and such, and wanting to keep the conversation lively, I inquired "Do you use anise in your Italian sausage?", pronouncing it ah-NEES. I was instantly corrected in unison... "AN-iss."

O what a rube am I.

(That's ah-PAH-stroh-fee, not AH-pah-stroh-fee.)

Sometimes I see the forest for the trees...

“In normal life we hardly realize how much more we receive than we give, and life cannot be rich without such gratitude. It is so easy to overestimate the importance of our own achievements compared with what we owe to the help of others.” --Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Letters and Papers from Prison (1943-1945)

Most of you who know me know that I would not be a full-time seminary student right now if it were not for the Russian language. It's a long story, too many details to blow through even the Reader's Digest version (again) in one post. (However, if you're curious you can get that version in a trilogy of posts at the end of the summer entitled How I got to this place....) And I wouldn't have met and been simonized by Russian, had it not been for the United States Navy, which not only issued me a second language, but my wife (of 30 years, 11 months, and 15 days), as well. And I would not have entered the Navy were it not for that thief in the night, alcoholism.

I bring this up because in the 35 years I've been a part of this world as an adult, I've been drawn into vocations that have not only allowed, but encouraged, me to serve others. In a 20-year Navy career, followed by 15 years as a public high school teacher, and in 20+ years of church work, I've had an incalculable number of opportunities to interact with others of my species. I hope that in my itinerancy I have been able to positively touch in some way the life of a young sailor, high school kid, or that person who wants so desperately to believe (in something). I'm not so vain to think that I'm the answer to anyone's life issues (I'm sure I may have even caused a few), and I'm surely not trying to keep score-- but there have been many days in a Navy uniform or sitting alone at my desk in the classroom or while waiting for God to answer in the dark of night that I just wanted to quit. Sometimes its nice to get even just a passing thank you, even from God. But as with many professions, especially in teaching and church service, any results are intangible...

Just when I start to second-guess myself, something or someone from my past catches up with me.

One such someone took me totally by surprise at the end of the last school year, as we were planning to bug out for Indiana. A former student of mine who went through four years of Russian went off to the University of Texas after graduation. At the end of May I received an email from him in Russian, explaining that he had majored in the language (and minored in Astronomy-- and I thought my degree was odd). Just the fact that I was reading an email in Russian that wasn't composed of three-word incomplete thoughts with poor spelling and grammar...well, it made my day! But wait, there's more... I also heard from his Navy recruiter, who wanted a recommendation for his OCS application. Holy cow! (You could have knocked me over with a feather!)

Truthfully, there have been occasional other such glimmers of hope and gratitude along the way, but this one TO DATE was the cherry on the sundae...

That's right, to date... I heard again from this student a week or so ago. He finished OCS and is now an Ensign headed to pilot training. Russian AND the Navy! (It's eerily Frankenstein-ish, isn't it? I almost asked him if he was going to a Lutheran church, but my heart might have exploded if he'd said yes...) He sent me a very nice letter, thanking me for inspiring him. I was truly moved nearly to tears. He included a few pictures and his class key ("great for opening a beer"), pictured-- how cool is that?

I wrote him back, of course, to thank him for thinking of me. But he'll never really know how far such a small gesture can go in assuaging those pimples of regret that pop up on the soul from time to time-- that maybe what we do does matter. I told him in my reply that I sincerely wish a similar occurrence upon him (more than one, really).

Anyway. Just wanted to share.

(And don't think that I don't know that God is behind this...)

С Богом, ya'll!

Remember, God Trumps Man (not the other way around)...

"Your entire life has been one long conversation with God about how you stand before him." --Rev. Klemet I. Preuss, in Letter 79 of What They Need to Hear: Sharing Christ with Family and Friends

Alas, it has been nearly 3 weeks since I lasted posted...

Time to wipe away the cobwebs and dust...

Things here at the monastery have been moving at a pretty good clip in the last month. A week ago, we had our pre-call interview with the seminary professor who's the Director of Certification and Placement (and who was one of my Old Testament professors this past quarter). It seemed to go well; I have the feeling that he has an understanding of my particular background/experience and program-- that I'm "not normal" (which I recall him mentioning and my wife nodding in agreement). When we finished in his office, we made an appointment to interview with the president of the Texas District in January, a month with a lot going on-- when Christmas break is over, I'm going to have to turn and burn, baby...

I will begin preaching in my fieldwork congregation in January and I have to have my TI (theological interview) done by the end of the month. And the winter quarter ends February 24.

The Monday after Thanksgiving I will start my new classes: Catechetics (taught by our Dean of Students, who will be one of my TI profs), Homiletics I (taught by my advisor), Theologia I: Baptism, and one independent study course, Theologia II: Preaching (taught by my assigned TI prof), for a total of 13 credit hours (+ 1 hour each week of New Testament Greek Readings and Field Education), really only 2 credit hours less than the fall quarter. Also in this coming quarter I will be on the chapel service rotation list.

Assuming my TI goes well (it should), I will be put on the call list at the end of this academic year and will, hopefully, know where God will be placing me after I finish out my remaining courses through the beginning of August.

I cannot believe we're already halfway through the month of November! It's nice to be on a two-week break between quarters! I've already finished one good read...

A professor recommended the book What They Need to Hear: Sharing Christ with Family and Friends, 90 letters written by a Lutheran pastor over 2 years to his ill and aging father-in-law who left the church after his wife died. I thought it was an excellent presentation of what being Christian is all about (with a Lutheran flavor). At the risk of proselytizing (again), I hope anyone looking in who has questions about God, church, Jesus Christ, heaven, suffering (Letter 50), my gravitation toward a third and final vocation as a pastor, just what it is I/we believe, etc., will check it out-- the letters are a page and a half (or less). The author guided his father-in-law back into his congregation with love, not judgment. (There were one or two places where I had to put it down to regain my composure before continuing on.) It's worth a look, even if you're only marginally curious about Christianity (and/or Lutherans).

As I was finishing this book off in my La-Z-Boy this morning, I was listening to my iTunes with headphones (because I have a working wife who has some hang-up about me blasting music while she's on the phone...go figure). I realized that I'm almost 54 years old and I still love listening to Triumph (the guitars-- man, like in their 70s standard Hold On, for example-- it's quite a ride)... And, speaking of being old, on Friday we will have been married for 31 years-- quite the prodigious achievement in a world that chases (its) tail...

So the beat goes on here in Hoosier country (where we've had a freeze the past three nights-- fall finally showed up), as I expect it does wherever you are peering in from. And whoever or wherever you might be, I hope you have come to grips with the election results and the direction of our country; yes, we shall anoint our new king in January-- but take heart, brothers and sisters, for God uses the most unlikely of his creations to accomplish the most wonderful things. If you have a minute or two, check out this very well-assembled commentary (especially item #4) posted November 9 by Baptist pastor J.D. Greear: Empathy and Charity: How Christians Can Respond to Election 2016.

That's it for now. I'll try to get back here a little more frequently...

С Богом!

P.S.  And the Cowboys won their 8th game in a row yesterday! (I was in 10th grade the last time that happened.)

An (en-)chanting end to the school week!

One of the more interesting (and, really, esoteric) aspects of Lutheran worship is chanting parts of the service. I can recall only a few times ever hearing the pastor chant, and only small parts of the liturgy, typically during Communion...

During my field work "coming out" a few Sundays back, the pastor asked me if I was okay with chanting a few lines during the first service; I balked. I had never chanted in front of full pews and that Sunday the pews were full of folks who didn't know me from Adam. So the pastor chanted. In retrospect, I should have just done it, but the pastor understood and was okay with it, so...

All my chanting practice has been in the "lab" (yeah, kind of like Frankenstein); however, this afternoon we chanted parts of the service in the chapel. (It's becoming easier.) I soloed the Collect for Grace, Benedicamus, and Benediction below:

I think I'll be assigned an actual service next quarter during which I'll be losing my amateur status...

Things are happening here fast! Next week we have our first call interview and I've already learned which two professors will conduct my TI (theological interview) after the holidays. One was "randomly" assigned by the seminary and I chose the other. As it turns out, both will be my professors next quarter (and I already know them now). Two weeks from today this quarter ends...

As I mentioned in the previous post about a week ago, a mutual friend of ours from our Navy days who is originally from Indiana (but stayed in Maryland after the Navy) was taking care of some family business and we were able to get together last Sunday for lunch at a brew pub in Warsaw (Indiana, not Poland), about 30 miles beyond our church. Where has time gone? Thirty-one years ago yesterday he stood as one of the witnesses at our secular nuptials on Misawa AFB in Japan at the legal office. Seems like a different lifetime ago to me now...

Lastly, since our arrival last June my wife has had the opportunity to meet many of my classmates and professors, along with other seminary wives... But there are a few characters in this story that are occasionally worth mentioning. Last Saturday night we spent a nice evening over at my advisor's house with other "advisees" and their wives. I am hesitant to mention names in my posts, but I'm going to break tradition. This is a pic of me and the inimitable Dr. Fickenscher, my advisor, a man of kindness and grace who is second to God Himself in making this seminary experience a reality. He is the director of my program and was willing to waive my vicarage requirement (as I completed a 2-year vicarage under a different program a few years back). I am very grateful that God placed him in my path (or vice versa)!

Anyway. That's it for now-- we're off to meet another seminary couple for a steak dinner.

Until next time... С Богом!

Wrestling with God...

The same night he arose and took his two wives, his two female servants, and his eleven children, and crossed the ford of the Jabbok. He took them and sent them across the stream, and everything else that he had. And Jacob was left alone. And a man wrestled with him until the breaking of the day. When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he touched his hip socket, and Jacob's hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. Then he said, “Let me go, for the day has broken.” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” And he said to him, “What is your name?” And he said, “Jacob.” Then he said, “Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with men, and have prevailed.” Then Jacob asked him, “Please tell me your name.” But he said, “Why is it that you ask my name?” And there he blessed him. So Jacob called the name of the place Peniel, saying, “For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life has been delivered.” The sun rose upon him as he passed Penuel, limping because of his hip. Therefore to this day the people of Israel do not eat the sinew of the thigh that is on the hip socket, because he touched the socket of Jacob's hip on the sinew of the thigh. (Genesis 32:22-32 ESV)

I'm over-booked...

I attended a lecture this morning given by the LCMS Rural & Small Town Mission director. It was very interesting! He helped me see through many of the stereotypes associated with rural congregations. He gave two statistics that I thought were surprising: 1) about half of the just over 6,000 congregations in America are rural/small town, and 2) about 40% of rural small town congregations don't have a permanently called pastor.

And he mentioned a survey which revealed the re-definition of the phrase "practicing Christian," ("those who attend a religious service at least once a month, who say their faith is very important in their lives and self-identify as a Christian") which I found here. The entire survey is telling-- if you have a minute or two, look it over.

Friday during the chapel service, my current Old Testament professor happened to preach on a pericope from Genesis that we have been discussing in class-- the one in which Jacob wrestles with God (see verse at top). He did a fantastic job! (He told us in class that his sermon was going to be on the final.) This is one of those Bible accounts about which every seasoned exegete and armchair theologian has an opinion, but this professor (who is one of my favorites, in or out of class) sold me during chapel. The answer to the question has two sources, the first is found in Hosea 12:3-4 (my underlining):

In the womb he took his brother by the heel,
and in his manhood he strove with God.
He strove with the angel and prevailed;
he wept and sought his favor.
He met God at Bethel,
and there God spoke with us—

And the second is the meaning of the name Israel, which could mean (this prof is also a Hebrew teacher) either "one who strives with God" or "God strives." Jacob wrestled with the pre-incarnate Son. One of the more fascinating aspects of studying Lutheran theology is the Christology of the Old Testament, looking for Christ from the start of Genesis through the end of Malachi (the last Old Testament book).

Well, it's the weekend. We're about to head off to my advisor's house for dinner, then tomorrow after church we're meeting an old Navy friend (who was one of our witnesses at our civil marriage "ceremony" at the Air Force Judge Advocate's office in Japan 31 years ago on the 27th) about an hour from here. Thankfully my course load is manageable tomorrow and I'm not a part of the worship services line-up. And the Cowboys have a bye...which reminds me...

The president of the seminary saw the Dallas Cowboys shirt I was wearing yesterday in chapel and gave me a hard time (in fun) as we were exiting. In the crowd of other seminarians within earshot I told him that I liked him until he dis-ed my shirt and the 'Boys-- he shot back that he liked me to until he saw my shirt. I had to chuckle afterward because I'm certain all of those guys looking in on this exchange must have wondered what was going on! A caveat-- he and I get along very well (he's another professor on campus I've come to really like; I'll have him for Church History in the summer). I suppose that in my own way I'm creating my own seminary legacy...

Onward to Week 8 (of 10)! (Pretty soon I'll have to buy more books, but I don't know where I'm going to put them. See pic of my work area...)

С Богом, ya'll!

The Hebrew was (again) Greek to me...

"Father, give us courage to change what must be altered,
serenity to accept what cannot be helped,
and the insight to know the one from the other." (original "Serenity Prayer" by Reinhold Niebuhr, 1937) 

click to enlarge

Wow! Has it really been a week since my last post?! I surely intended to touch this blog at least once before now... Hmm. Must've been busy or something...

So. How have I been? Fair to middling, I'd say. There were a couple of low points since we last met-- three, actually, if we include Sunday night's debate... O where to begin?

My classes have been going very well here in the monastery; however, there was a slight burp in the force on Friday that left me in a foul mood that persisted until we got out on the patio, cranked up the grill, and relaxed in the cool of Fall's arrival. And, truthfully, I was still carrying a bad day hangover into Saturday morning's death march-- by Saturday evening's fire bowl on the patio, I was over myself.

Friday morning I had the first part of a midterm exam in my Pentateuch (Old Testament) class; it was a one-hour translation of selected texts from Genesis in Hebrew. As I've mentioned before, I'm the only guy with no Hebrew skills (well I know תהווה is Yahweh...), so my translation was from the Septuagint, the Greek translation of the Hebrew. No working aids. Plus parsing of more than a few words, verbs mostly. With 5 minutes left, I realized I hadn't even made it to the last page... It was a train wreck...

My last hour of the day was in Liturgics lab, during which time we were videoed performing a part of the worship service, reciting the words by heart-- the words we had to say I already had memorized, but in the brief pause between the two parts I skipped a groove or something and was prompted by the professor along the way to the end. It was a mess and I told the professor I didn't even want to see the replay (we were being videoed so we could see ourselves)... So I left for home feeling like a doofus, which just exacerbated my foul mood. Not my typical seminary day.

The cherry on the sundae Friday was watching the Rangers tank against Toronto.

After dueling repeatedly with the Tarrant County Elections Administration (in Texas) by phone, email, and letter mail, common sense finally prevailed and we both voted absentee in the coming November election. For the first time in our marriage, we cast split votes (it's nobody's business who votes how or for whom, but this campaign season has compelled one of us to break with tradition). I WILL say, for the record, that I cannot understand how any sentient being could cast a vote for Donald Trump in good conscious, or support the badly broken Republican Party, EXCEPT in good faith that electing such a blowhard-- who was nominated by Republicans after holding a Svengali-like sway over the decency and moral fiber of this country-- would signal a need for reformation and begin a repair and rebuilding process. I will also say that I cast my vote with a very heavy heart (but also with a solid faith that God knows what He's doing).

Sunday night, we could take neither the Rangers euthanasia, nor that display of playground bullying and posturing between the candidates (who treated one another like a bitter couple in the throes of hateful and messy divorce-- one of them is going to get custody of us, yikes), and so we hit the rack early. sigh sigh sigh

Yesterday morning I got up with a plan. I left early for the seminary and "broke into" the lab that's really the training chapel, flipped on the equipment, then videoed myself correctly completing the part of the service I tripped over on Friday. When that was done, I went looking for my Old Testament professor and we had a nice and fairly positive chat about my midterm exam. When that was done, I found a bench and sat down to contemplate the morning, the day ahead, life-- what's really important. And I thanked God for unwrapping me from my own axle. The image is the view from my bench at 8:40am.

So the ship is still afloat and still on course (in spite of Friday)...

Until next time...

С Богом, ya'll!

P.S. I thought I knew everything. Today I learned what a tuckpointer is. (So NOW I know everything.)

P.P.S. How 'bout them 'Boys! 4-1 without Romo!