Grace notes

What language shall I borrow

to thank thee, dearest friend

for this thy dying sorrow

thy pity without end?

O make me thine forever

and should I fainting be

Lord, let me never, never

outlive my love for thee

~~from

"O Sacred Head, Now Wounded"

Anonymous; trans. by Paul Gerhardt and James W. Alexander

[I've posted part of this one before. . .but it's one of my all-time favorites and I wanted to see the whole verse!]

Duet in C(athryn) minor

CJ and I have been in bed together for two days. She has been having some blackout spells and a collection of other worrisome symptoms lately and had a violent reaction to a spinal tap 48 hours ago. (Go check out her blog for details--lots of them!) I had some minor surgery today (what's that they say about surgery? it's alway minor when it's someone else. . .but in this case I'll admit it was fairly minor) as a followup to my recent hysterectomy. So we're here together taking advantage of the love and care of the rest of the family. We've both got our laptops and we've got FOX News and a feather bed and a 'do not disturb' sign on the door and takeout food whenever we whine enough and probably way too much caffeine. Lyric sent flowers. . .they have CJ's name on them but since she's in my bed, I get to enjoy them too! So what more could you want for a mini-vacation? It would be way fun if we weren't sick! But that's a minor issue. . .I won't complain. It's given us lots of time together and that's always nice. Having six daughters is wonderful, but getting to spend two whole days and nights with one at a time is rare. . .and delicious. It's worth getting sick for :-) :-)

The shadow of a mighty rock within a weary land

I remember reading years ago that 40 was an awful age because it was somewhere during that year that you woke up one morning and realized that your body was turning against you. I must not have been 40 yet, because I remember laughing. I mean, really laughing! Turning against you? As if it had a mind of its own? (Think about that one for a while and it will tie you in knots!) Well, whoever said that was surely neurotic or melodramatic or fighting a very bad migraine or all of the above. Because mine was going to be just fine, thank you. Mind over matter. Age is just a state of mind. Life begins at 40. All that stuff. There. See? It's fine.

And then. . .I opened my eyes one morning and then closed them really fast because I realized: my body had turned against me. Okay, so I was closer to 46 and it wasn't all in one morning, but the suddenness was startling. What happened and in what order isn't important to recount here; what's important is admitting that it really does feel like the betrayal of an old and trusted friend when it happens. And whether it happens in a morning or over five years, it's no less traumatic. That loyal friend, that companion on life's journey suddenly becomes the adversary, the obstacle to all that still lies out there to accomplish. You can't go on without it; you can't trade it in on a newer model; you can't call in the warranty; and so you slowly come to the conclusion that you must drag it 'round as best you can and adjust life around it in a myriad of ways until you call a truce. Trouble is, once you've called the truce the terms are liable to change without notice. And the negotiating starts all over.

To those of you who haven't yet awakened to that forty-year-old morning, this may all sound humorous. . .and many days, it is. But for me, there is a weariness in it, a longing for rest. I don't mean that to sound morbid. I believe that there's purpose in the weariness. In it I'm reminded that there is a reality that overshadows this life. . . .that I mustn't become too comfortable in a land where I travel with alien status. God knows that, at least for some of us, too much comfort means, well, too much comfort. When I'm too much "at home" in this earthly shell, it's time to be reminded that I'm waiting for a new body, one that will never have to have diseased parts removed and replaced with titanium and plastic ones. Someday I won't swallow a mouthful of pills to keep hot flashes or depression at bay or keep blood sugar down and iron levels up. But in the meantime, I have the unspeakable privilege of calling for help from the Great Physician and leaning on Him for the grace to get through each day. Even when it starts with a morning where I'm scared to open my eyes. . . .

Autumn.

Autumn. . .autumn!?

AUTUMN! WHERE ARE YOU??

AAUUUUU---TUUUUUMN!!!

(would it be dangerous to ask for just enough edge of the hurricane to cool us down twenty degrees?)

Oh, okay, I get it. . . .

So an idealogue on the Supreme Court is okay, as long as her ideas are politically correct:

Ruth Bader Ginsburg told an audience Wednesday that she doesn't like the idea of being the only female justice on the U.S. Supreme Court. But in choosing to fill one of the two open positions on the court, "any woman will not do," she said. There are "some women who might be appointed who would not advance human rights or women's rights," Ginsburg told those gathered at the New York City Bar Association. . . . "I have a list of highly qualified women, but the president has not consulted me," Ginsburg said during a brief interview Wednesday night.

Oh please.

Janice Rogers Brown and Edith Brown Clement evidently fall into the dreaded "any woman" category since Justice Ginsburg fears that they would preside over a retreat into slavery and the oppression of women. We obviously would need to discern exactly how they would vote on cases involving "women's rights" before we could risk putting them in a black robe, despite the inconvenient fact that then Judge Ginsburg refused to answer such questions at her own confirmation hearings.

Keep me safe till the storm passes by

Well, tonight the rhythm of the symphony is being driven by Hurricane Rita. Even here, a couple of hundred miles from those menacing swirly diagrams in the Gulf, the shelves are emptying out of bottled water, matches, candles, batteries, flashlights. The lines at the gas stations are longer every hour. Streams of people are arriving from the coast, somewhat safer here but finding that their hosts are only slightly less nervous than those living on the beaches. San Antonio is not a city known for its efficient drainage, and so the predicted 5-7" of rain along with 50+ mph winds could make it a pretty precarious place for a few days. We've stocked up, made plans for the deck furniture and the animals, talked over logistics of being without electricity (it's predicted that half our city will lose power during the storm). Now we watch and wait. Most of the computer models have us near the perimeter of the affected area, but those models change hourly. This is one time I'm glad not to be living in sight of the water. . .

Praying about a hurricane seems a tricky business. Should we pray for it to turn and go elsewhere, carrying its destruction to another city whose residents are praying the same? These storms appear to have minds sometimes, fickle natures that enjoy playing with the emotions of communities and the brains of the most sophisticated scientists. (If you don't believe me, click here Hurricane tracker - Weather News - MSNBC.com and select "Ophelia"!) Nevertheless, we ask the Father's protection on our state, and an extra measure of wisdom for our governor and other leaders as they prepare for one of the most potentially dangerous storms in the country's history.

In the dark of the midnight have I oft hid my face
While the storm howls above me, and there's no hiding place
'Mid the crash of the thunder, Precious Lord, hear my cry
Keep me safe till the storm passes by

Till the storm passes over, till the thunder sounds no more
Till the clouds roll forever from the sky
Hold me fast, let me stand in the hollow of Thy hand
Keep me safe till the storm passes by

In every change, He faithful will remain. . .

Not an easy day today. We learned this afternoon that John's father has cancer. I have no poetic words, no flowery phrases, no coherent insights. Just sorrow. John is in Hawaii, where he was two months ago when he found out that I might, too, have cancer. He's going to be afraid to go back! And tonight he sits an ocean away, wishing he could be with us.

My father-in-law is a man bigger than life. He was a giant on the mission field, a giant as a pastor, a giant as the patriarch of our tribe. He remains a giant in the eyes of his children, his grandchildren, his great-grandchildren, and a host of admirers. In a few days he will be 82, but he remains as engaged in the lives of those around him as when he was 42.

Today is a reminder that even being a giant doesn't mean immortality. . .at least not in this world. Thankfully, this is not his world. . .

Grace notes

Rise up, o men of God

Have done with lesser things

Give heart and mind and soul and strength

to serve the King of kings

~~

~~from

Rise Up, O Men of God

lyrics by Will­iam P. Mer­rill

is this the little boy at play. . .

Did I ever tell you about my little boy? He arrived in our houseful of girls just a couple of months ago as I remember. Ah. . .he was a chubby, drooly, happy guy when he arrived. He delighted his parents and his sisters by being perfectly amenable to being dressed up and undressed, coiffed and clipped, dragged and spun around until, drunk with attention, he waddled sideways across a room filled with laughter. For a little while he amused himself with the trappings of the feminine hordes--dolls, dishes, barrettes. . . .but it wasn't long before the little guy asserted his masculinity and morphed into a creature quite foreign to our house. Umbrellas became swords. A broken doll's arm became a gun. Belts became holsters. Cowboy boots were the coveted Christmas gift. Bats and balls and gloves appeared out of nowhere. And behind the Warren doors, life was changed forever.

After fourteen years of nothing but young ladies, we didn't know what to expect! I grew up in a houseful of boys, but that had been left behind a lifetime ago. John was actually a little boy once, but by the time our little boy arrived, Daddy had been thoroughly conditioned by the feminine mystique and had been wrapped around the little fingers of several daughters at the same time.

In the years, uh, I mean weeks that followed, we slowly and joyfully discovered what it means to be the parents of a son. Chubby has turned to lanky. . .guns and swords have been exchanged for guitars and car keys. . .9 lbs. 10 oz. stretched to 6' 2 1/2". . .playfulness has become dry humor and sober reflection. . .the idolazation of big sisters has been overshadowed by a reverence for his God.

Strange, you say, for one just a few months old? Yeah. . .I thought so too.

And then, today, we were startled to see his senior pictures . Oh my. . ."quickly fly the days. . ."

(Our compliments and thanks to Photography by Jena' in Boerne, TX. Click on the above link. . .event is "Warren" and password is "Cathi" case sensitive.)

Grace notes

I love Thee, I love Thee

and that Thou dost know

But how much I love Thee

my actions will show

~~

from "I Love Thee"

lyrics by John Adam Gra­nade

ye have done it unto Me. . .

I wouldn't normally link to or recommend articles that contain patently offensive statements or viewpoints, but tonight I make an exception. This piece struck me as incredibly honest--as honest as you'll ever hear from an atheist. Mr. Hattersly will not be appreciated in his own corner, but he states a few truths that we all know and seldom waste time dwelling on. There's nothing really new here except a deliciously politically incorrect (or at least politically suspect) admission from a very observant unbeliever.

Faith does breed charity

I'll be interested to hear your thoughts. . .

Weather or not

This morning was our first science (or nature study, as I prefer to call it!) class of the year. Present around our table were John Caleb Warren, Jonathan Russell, Timothy Warren, David Russell, and Molly Slaughter--truly intergenerational learning! We are continuing to work our way through Considering God's Creation, and the current topic is weather, or as David defined it this morning, "How hot it is." Yes, David, how hot! We'll do four weeks of study of wind, rain, snow, sleet, clouds. . .and I would wager that we won't see a single one during our study! This is, after all, September in San Antonio, where we're still having to bribe the kids to play outside for thirty minutes. But no matter. . .we'll vicariously enjoy all kinds of precipitation and other weather phenomena around the table in our cool house, dreaming of a. . . .60 degree Christmas :-)

Anyway, welcome back to all my little scientists!

I was stunned to read. . .

Scores of Mississippi National Guard troops in Iraq who lost homes to the Hurricane have been refused even 15-day leaves to aid their displaced families, told by commanders there were too few U.S. troops in Iraq to spare them...

I cannot imagine the agony of a young man with a wife and three children displaced by Katrina, possibly not even knowing their whereabouts or safety, not being allowed a two-week leave to find them and help them get resettled. It is beyond me. I'm a supporter of what we're doing in Iraq, but I sit here stunned to think that we can't find enough replacements for a few hundred troops who need to go hug their wives and kids and help them start life again. . .

To say good morning and really mean it. . .

I've so enjoyed the past two weeks of down time from school. Not that the kids didn't enjoy it, too. . .but I've loved it because despite some unexpected interruptions and challenges, I have felt truly productive. I went into break with a list of about 25 things I wanted to accomplish, and at last count 22 are checked off. No, I won't get it all done before Monday morning, but I've certainly done enough that I can greet the new week with a smile. Some things on my list were major tasks, like an overhaul of the little storage room adjoining our pantry: it was so major I took pictures when I was finished! Others were smaller and easy to tick off quickly--making doctor appointments, ordering curriculum, buying a couple of picture frames. Some were doable from my computer and I interspersed those tasks with the more physical ones so I wouldn't have to feel unproductive when my now chronically painful legs took over. (Those of you who know me well aren't surprised that I'm on my third laptop since 2002!)

Monday morning we will start back on a full plate of academics: the Lewis and Clark expedition in history, a study of weather in science, continuing our read-aloud of The Chronicles of Narnia (for the third time!), and various mixtures of multiplication tables, drama assignments, and Hanon scales. I've decided that a two-week break is ideal for restoring my enthusiam. I feel rested and ready to get back to a regular schedule!

Anyway, I'm now tucked in bed and looking forward to Lord's Day tomorrow. I've taken some pain meds but have a big smile on my face :-)

Grace notes

O may Thy house be my abode

And all my work be praise

~~

~~from "My Shepherd Will Supply My Need"

by Isaac Watts

Grace notes

The flame shall not hurt thee

I only design

thy dross to consume and

thy gold to refine

~~from "How Firm a Foundation"

by John Rippon

A first lesson

I'm not sure whether the sense of helplessness is increased or decreased by getting involved in disaster relief when the disaster is this monstrous. On one hand, it helps to get away from the TV images and do SOMEthing. On the other hand, coming face to face with the scope of the needs can be almost paralyzing. Our extended family has had the blessing of being involved in service to the New Orleans evacuees in several ways during the past 48 hours, and I think many of us have come to at least one conclusion: it helps to find a corner of need and concentrate on creative ways to meet those needs rather than standing too far back and looking at the big picture for too long at a time. One person, one family, really can make a difference. . .but it might not feel that way when looking at tens of thousands of people at once. I'm sure that we'll all learn a lot of lessons along the way, but this has been one of the first.

Home again, home again. . .

It's wonderful to have the little elves (see earlier post) home again and lovely to hear the patter of little feet going up the stairs. The hugs are even better :-)

When sorrows like sea billows roll. . .

Who can fail to be moved by the growing tragedy and desperation of the residents of the Gulf Coast in the wake of Hurricane Katrina? Many will never be "residents" of their own home towns again. Thousands are believed to have lost their lives; tens of thousands have lost family members and friends; hundreds of thousands have lost homes, jobs, churches, community connections; an unbelievable number have lost health and personal dignities that were taken for granted just last week. The nation and the world watch as the best and worst of humanity are displayed on the screens of those blessed enough to have electricity.

It was only nine months ago that we watched a much larger tragedy on the other side of the world. Despite the difference in scope, there are many similarities between "our" hurricane and "their" tsunami: life-giving water became a life-taker; families were fractured; the building blocks of civilization became the backdrop of chaos, disease and despair. Monuments fell. Towns disappeared. Agnostics prayed.

I've been watching all this with interest on many levels. Today I've been attempting to watch through the eyes of my children and grandchildren. I believe that many times we forget how little ones can be shaped by the large events in their world, and many times they're shaped in ways we don't expect. I grew up during the Cold War and spent several of my childhood years living in Europe in the shadow of missiles that could have annihilated life as we knew it. I took arithmetic, grammar, history, and nuclear bomb drills. That shaped me. A year after my return to the States, I walked in to my fourth grade class after lunch one late fall afternoon to hear that the President had been shot and killed. I had shaken his hand less than 24 hours before his death. That shaped me. My parents probably didn't spend a lot of time that November thinking about how the world would shape me. . . parents in the sixties were more likely to be thinking about how their kids would shape the world. But I became a product of these and several other events between the Korean war and Watergate. I'm now in my fifties, still bearing the marks the mid-20th century left on my heart.

So today I watch the children as they watch. . .connected much more closely to their outside world than I ever was with our one black-and-white TV and a treasured transistor radio. Walter Cronkite told me what was news each evening; there was no way to google "atomic warhead." My children have a better grasp of the events that will shape them than I could ever have dreamed of having. I look for ways to influence the shape these things will take in their minds and hearts; I pray for opportunities to give them tools with which to influence their world.

One of those opportunities may come very close in these next days. Our city will become a major "recipient" of thousands of families displaced by Hurricane Katrina. Just tonight I received an email from a local group urging us to help with housing, food, clothing, and employment for the arriving busloads of stunned men, women and children. And I bowed my head and realized that how John and I respond and how we involve our children in our decisions and actions will become part of the way this tragic event gets stored in their hearts. Hearts of compassion and a few simple but selfless actions could set the stage for a life of servanthood. A cup of cold water served in Jesus' Name will, God willing, be a major factor in how my children and grandchildren respond to a lost and hurting world for the rest of their lives.

So. . .we will pray, we will discuss, we will give, we will look for opportunities to serve. And we will trust that those moments we share as a family will bear fruit not just in the aftermath of a storm, but in all of life.