Rest

Debated about whether to announce this, but since we are leaving so many people at our house, maybe it's safe to say...the blog will be resting for the next week or so while Papa Rooster and I get away--somewhere warm, without cell phone service and without internet (well, free internet) for an early celebration of twenty-five years of marriage!  

December 20 has always been a bad time to try to get away, and we always say, "we'll do something after the holidays."  Then we never do.  For this anniversary, it seemed appropriate to make sure we get it in by going early!

Papa Rooster is bringing his camera, so I should have lots of pics to post when we return.

My beach reading list:

The Rest of God:  Restoring Your Soul by Restoring Sabbath (Mark Buchanan)
Between Sundays (Karen Kingsbury) (Blondechick recommended)
Ellis Island & Other Stories (Mark Helprin)
Making Room for Life:  Trading Chaotic Lifestyles for Connected Relationships (Randy Frazee) (from Papa Rooster)

Happy 23rd Anniversary to Us!

The very first 45 record I ever bought, when I was in junior high, was this song. Loved the melody, the voice, the guitar, the 7-note trumpet solo, the poetry--and I wondered if I would ever know a love like the song described.

Thirty years later, I do. Thank you, Papa Rooster, for 23 wonderful years. I'm so glad I spent them with you!



I've always loved the last verse especially:

Longer than there've been fishes in the ocean
Higher than any bird ever flew
Longer than there've been stars up in the heavens
I've been in love with you.

Stronger than any mountain cathedral
Truer than any tree ever grew
Deeper than any forest primeval
I am in love with you.

I'll bring fire in the winters
You'll send showers in the springs
We'll fly through the falls and summers
With love on our wings.

Through the years as the fire starts to mellow
Burning lines in the book of our lives
Though the binding cracks and the pages start to yellow
I'll be in love with you.

The book metaphor seems like a good one for us, doesn't it, PR? Looking forward to writing many more chapters with you.....

Love Story, The Last Part

Part the First
Part the Second
Part the Third
Part the Fourth
Part the Fifth
Part the Sixth

So. After all the showers were over, the classes ended, the final final taken, there we all were—me, Papa Rooster, our 8 attendants and a couple car-loads of friends from Wheaton who traveled home for Christmas break via my small town in Ohio, bless their hearts. Eirik’s parents from New York, my mom’s parents and sister from California and other relatives also descended upon us for the big event.

The rehearsal went smoothly, and then we went to a local restaurant for the rehearsal dinner. A highlight there was a slideshow of photos of PR, as well as an old Super-8 film reel of me as a two year old trying to gather plastic Easter eggs into a little basket…with my progress impeded at frequent intervals by a loving cat who kept rubbing up against me and knocking me over. She even slunk through my legs once, as the camera began to jiggle with the operator’s laughter. Unable to get around the cat to reach an egg, I gently lifted the cat by its tail and set it down elsewhere. The cat returned, and again I patiently lifted it by its tail…and again…with my father valiantly trying not to shake the camera as he recorded. He failed, which was as funny as my performance!

Saturday, December 20 dawned crisp and clear. Everyone made it to the church on time for pictures.

There are the dear bridesmaids from my Bible study, plus my roommate and maid of honor, the lovely Filipina in back. Next to her is the Baptist pastor who married us, and to the right of PR is the Wheaton prof who gave the sermon. To the right of him is PR's brother and best man, and next to him? Why, it's "Our Hero," the ubiquitous Mr. A! The other two guys are a roommate and friend of PR's.

PR’s landlord, who had exerted his talents as a gourmet chef for our “Up the Tower” party, played the little Baptist church’s organ like it had never been played before (with the possible exception of my Texas aunt) and two of PR’s brother's band members played trumpets along with the organ for “Trumpet Voluntary,” which I believe I processed down the aisle to. I’m not sure, because the whole wedding was a blur to me. I kept wishing I could be in it and watch it from the pews at the same time!

My dad gave me away, which would have been an emotional moment if I had been watching myself, but as it was, it was just quick. The only thing that seemed to be in real time was when PR sang to me a song we had picked out from a wedding collection (called “Wedding Song,” I believe, or some such original title). He has a beautiful voice and as he sang he faced me and held my hands, and his eyes were so full of love that my own filled up with tears. Then I heard his voice falter just a little and I knew I better pull it together and quick! I did, although I had to purposefully avoid looking at the bridesmaid, right in my line of vision, who was also tearing up profusely.

About singing at your own wedding. For the record, PR in his capacity as “Father” Rooster, strongly discourages it. I know if he were doing our wedding over again, it’s the first thing he would delete. (“I am Papa Rooster, and I approve this message.”)

We had several great soloists besides PR, though. Did I mention that our senior year, PR was Student Government President? Well, his VP and good friend sang The Lord’s Prayer, nailing the high note on the last “forever”--to our relief and amusement, because he kidded us for months with how he might make that high note sound. (I’m not sure we had ever heard him do it right!)

And PR’s brother and best man, who was majoring in voice at Wheaton and playing in a band on the side, wrote an original composition which he sang as part of the pre-service music. It was a beautiful mixture of reflection and hope--a song we still treasure.

But the highlight of the service, for many, was the prank. (C’mon, with all those college friends there—you know we had one!) PR and I didn’t really get the joke until later, but as soon as the minister intoned, “You may kiss the bride,” the four groomsmen all pulled scorecards out of the back of their tux jackets and held them up, then quickly put them away before we knew what had happened! Except this guy...

...who proudly displayed his "8.5" long enough for the photographer to catch it.

In the blink of an eye, it seemed, it was over. PR and I went up the aisle, followed by our attendants, and we formed a receiving line. After greeting and congratulating us, attendees gathered in the Fellowship Hall for punch, nuts, mints, and—after we arrived and cut it—wedding cake.

(I had never been to a sit-down dinner reception in my life, so we didn’t even consider one. If the Fellowship Hall was good enough for every other First Baptist bride....)

We tossed the bouquet and the garter, and I barely got to taste my own wedding cake before it was time to leave for our honeymoon, in the AMC Hornet that I was driving that year at college, my parents' extra car, beautifully and lovingly decorated by our friends. We had to stop by my house for scissors to cut off the dragging tin cans before driving 2.5 hours away to Cincinnati, Ohio, the honeymoon capital of the Midwest the most charming city within easy driving distance.

We often wish had hung around for the potluck dinner the church provided for our out-of-town family and friends; we hadn't realized how quickly the time would go. But we had a romantic dinner at the Westin Hotel instead, where we stayed the first two nights on a package deal, then one night at a cheaper hotel, then two nights at the medieval-themed Drawbridge Hotel and Convention Center, home of the Oldenburg Brewery, just across the Ohio River in Fort Mitchell, Kentucky. One of the sweet memories I have of that segment of our trip was having the romantically-lit indoor pool to ourselves on Christmas Eve! (And we returned to the Drawbridge/Oldenburg site many years later, compliments of PR's business travels, for a mini-vacation and loved it again; I am sorry to discover that it is now defunct.)

We returned to my parents' home on Christmas Day, and what a pile of presents we had to open--our wedding gifts! It was on that return journey that we started reading The Lord of the Rings aloud to each other. After a few days with my family, we drove to New York for some time with his parents and brother, then back to Ohio to pick up our gifts, then on to Wheaton...and PR finished reading The Return of the King to me as I unpacked our belongings into our new apartment in married student housing!

And here ends the story of our courtship, engagement and wedding. The Love Story continues to this day...nearly 22 years and many ups and downs later.

But wait--there's one more picture!


Can you imagine what my parents must have been feeling on this day?? One child married off AND graduated!!! The relief...it must have been immense.

John Fawcett's Birthday, Remembered

You remember our friend John Fawcett, who died of cancer in May?

Today would have been his 47th birthday.

A week ago, they would have celebrated their 8th wedding anniversary.

We were there for that incredible celebration of their marriage; they pulled out all the stops! Margie says:

We had bell ringing, little girls dancing, train bearers, a children's choir, a classical music extravaganza and transcendent worship. We invited the entire church and virtually the entire college campus. On our honeymoon John said, "I think we will always look back on our wedding and exclaim, 'SPECTACULAR!'"

It still makes me smile to remember it. My three oldest were in the children's choir; Blondechick, at age 8, was one of the little girls in white dresses that danced down the aisle behind Margie, and Papa Rooster was a groomsman. I was busy keeping an 18 month old quiet--but it was amazing to be in that room which contained so much joy!

Margie has posted some of their beautiful wedding pictures here.

So Papa Rooster and I will be heading back to our old stomping grounds to spend this evening, John's birthday, with Margie and a few other friends from our old church.

Will you offer up a prayer for her today, and for their children, Charlotte and Josiah?

Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this:
to look after orphans and widows in their distress
and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.
~James 1:27

Love Story, Part the Fifth

Part the First
Part the Second
Part the Third
Part the Fourth

Now that we were engaged...

...we needed to settle on a wedding date. We had over a year to go before graduation, and neither of us wanted to wait that long. Plus it seemed to us that it would be so many changes, all at once, if we waited till after graduation to get married. What about getting married in December? we wondered. After our wedding, we'd still have our friends around, a familiar environment and schedule, and less stress than we'd have once we both started our first jobs.

Our parents agreed with our logic, and a December 20 date was set. That was the Saturday right after finals week, and it was a perfect semester for me, since I was student-teaching and would have no finals: I could leave school a week early, in fact. Papa Rooster and some of our wedding party might have to take a Friday final and then hit the road for Ohio--about 6 hours away--to barely make it in time for the rehearsal, but it would all work out. (And it did. That semester, the last finals were on Thursday afternoon.)

That summer was an interesting one. My first few weeks at home were a blur of dresses, photographers, florists, cakes, napkins and invitations. Decisions were made, my mother was left in charge, and I was off to Europe to work at an international conference for itinerant evangelists called Amsterdam 86. The conference was put on by the Billy Graham Association, and since Wheaton was Billy's alma mater and home of the Billy Graham Center, Wheaton students had been recruited to work as stewards at the conference, with room and board provided if we paid our own airfare.

Several girlfriends and I were going over early to meet another gal, whose dad was stationed in Frankfurt, to travel on a German railpass in a big loop around Germany, making several short "legs" of the journey out into France, Switzerland and Austria.

First, we landed in Amsterdam, where who else but Papa Rooster happened to be?


His sophomore year roommate was the chairman of a Wheaton College ministry called YHM, or Youth Hostel Ministry, which sent students to help out at Christian youth hostels all over Europe. The chairman, who traveled all over Europe to meet with the stationary as well as the traveling teams, got to select a traveling partner, and since PR was a known quantity as a roommate--and a good guy--the chairman asked him to be his traveling partner.

So they were in Amsterdam, visiting the teams at the Christian youth hostels there when I arrived--in the morning, but the middle of the night for me, and I was seriously dragging. We had only a few hours together before my friends and I were leaving on a train bound to my uncle's home in Germany (he was stationed at an Air Force base near the border between Holland and Germany). We stowed our suitcases at one of the hostels, bought some lunch, and sat on a bench by one of the canals. The main thing I remember through my jet-lagged fog was trying to decide if I liked the mustache he had grown (you can barely see it in the picture, but it filled in). His hair was shorter and blonder from all the sun, and he looked so different--so Aryan! His big blue eyes looked even bigger and bluer with shorter, blonder hair.

All too soon it was time for a goodbye kiss and catching the train--the first of many I would take in the next 10 days. We got to rendezvous once more in that time, at a Swiss chalet in the Alps on Lake Interlaken. Talk about romantic! I know all the YHM traveling teams and my own three traveling partners were there, but all I remember are walks and talks with PR in that gorgeous setting. (And swimming, for a few minutes anyway, in the icy cold lake--an unforgettable experience.)

Here was another unforgettable experience:


That was my favorite photo from my trip to Europe, taken in Austria. I read so many horse stories growing up, that sitting astride a unicorn seemed a dream come true! Had to work it in.

My girlfriends and I finished our tour...

(Here we are at the infamous Hofbrauhaus in Munich. Don't think we even tried the beer, but I'm open to correction. [Ladies?])

...and ended up in Amsterdam to work at the conference. I was assigned to the conference room that Joni Eareckson Tada’s sessions were in, so I got to meet both her and her husband Ken. (On the last day, she gave me a freshly-signed print of one of her paintings, which I still display.) It was also the room that the Japanese contingent of evangelists met in. I couldn't understand a word of their sessions, of course, but on the last day, they began speaking in unison and I knew immediately that it was the Lord’s Prayer. It gave me goosebumps to pray along with them, transcending the language barrier!

Then my European adventure was over—and so was PR’s. We were on the same flight back to his parents' home in New York...



...and the surprise of our lives!

(I just realized that that white blouse was part of my steward's uniform. I bet I didn't have anything any fresher!)

Stay tuned for Part Six!

Love Story, Part Four

Part the First
Part the Second
Part the Third

A week before finals, on a Friday night, I had a stomach ache. I met PR for a little studying before we went out, but the stomach ache got worse and worse. It was unlike any pain I'd ever had. We decided I'd better go to the campus infirmary, but there was hardly anyone on duty and they suggested I go to the emergency room. The pain was so intense that I agreed.

Papa Rooster borrowed a car from his landlord and drove me there. He stayed with me as medical professional after medical professional talked to me, trying to diagnose the problem. By this time, I had a new pain across the tops of my shoulders that I kept mentioning. Finally a nurse said, "That's referred pain! You may be bleeding internally!"

She was right. An ultrasound revealed that I had a ruptured ovarian cyst, and I needed emergency surgery--that was the topic of PR's first phone conversation with my parents! (I talked to them too, but for some reason he did also.) I had an initial laparoscopy, but a C-section-type incision was needed to repair the cyst, and I was kept in the hospital for several days afterward.

I don't know about the visitor's policy, but it seems like PR never left my side. He was there, with a little stuffed dog, when I was coming out of the anesthesia and could barely talk or lift a hand to open the present. He was there for so much of the next two days that I began to worry about his finals! He told me that one prof had told him he didn't need to take the final; he'd just give him the grade he was getting without it. "The same kind of thing happened to me and my wife, when we were dating, and it really accelerated our relationship," the elderly, eminent, compassionate professor told PR.

And that's exactly what this hospitalization did for us. PR felt he had come pretty close to losing me, if it weren't for one smart nurse and modern surgery, and he was filled with a love that was more possessive and protective than he had ever felt before. I observed how much PR sacrificed to stay with me at the hospital, sensed how deep his feelings were for me--and my heart responded. It wasn't long after that that we began to talk about getting married.

(My parents drove out from Ohio to take me straight home, while PR and my friends all had final exams. I took one of my finals over Christmas break on the honor system, another in January when we returned for the second semester, was forgiven one--the professor gave me the grade I was getting--and the due date on one final, a paper, was extended. PR managed to pass all his despite the big distraction.)

After spending Christmas break with his parents and brother in New York, PR flew to Ohio to meet my family and drive with us out to Illinois for the second semester of our junior year. In March, we both drove to New York to spend Spring Break with his family. In April, we were seriously talking about engagement, and I figured he would talk to my dad when we went there for Easter break. Call us old-fashioned, but neither of us thought for a moment about getting engaged without my father's blessing!

So I was not the least bit suspicious when on Thursday before Palm Sunday, he told me he had plans to go into Chicago on Friday night with a friend. They were leaving around 4 to go to dinner and a late-night jazz club, he said, and they wouldn't be back till really late. He'd sleep in on Saturday and call me when he woke up.

Late Saturday morning he called to suggest that we meet at the dining hall for lunch, where he told me all about his late, late night in Chicago, with many details about the jazz club and a fitness club in a downtown hotel that they went to afterwards with a friend of his friend. An old man chain-smoking cigars in the sauna was one of the more memorable details, I recall.

On Sunday morning, we went to an early Palm Sunday service, which meant we had about a half hour to kill before the dining hall opened for lunch. PR suggested we walk on the front lawn of Blanchard Hall, one of the most picturesque sites on campus, in view of "the Tower" which is used as one of the college's logos. Eventually he steered us to the stairway and porch at the bottom of the Tower, where we stopped and looked out at the view. It was a gorgeous morning.

"I have a confession to make," he announced, and my fellow Wheaties and Pledge-signers will laugh when they hear this, but my first thought was: He broke the Pledge while he was in Chicago on Friday night. (It seems like everyone did at least once.) I said nothing, however; I just turned blue eyes upon him and waited.

"I wasn't in Chicago on Friday night," he admitted.

That didn't compute.

"Actually, Jon and I drove to Ohio on Friday night, so that I could talk to your dad."

This information didn't sink in either.

He sank down on one knee, at the foot of the Tower which couples climb to ring bells and announce engagements, and asked, "Dear, will you marry me?"

My brain still seemed to be frozen with too many questions, like my laptop when I hit too many buttons in a row. But that query took priority above other tasks--and I was able to answer enthusiastically, "Yes!"

We kissed and he gave me a ring, which he had purchased over the phone from his jeweler uncle. It was a "starter ring" by anyone's standards, but I thought it was beautiful in its very petiteness. I loved the way the band fit together with the stone. I couldn't wait to wear both!

However, even an engagement ring couldn't quite unfreeze my brain. It was stuck, the little icon spinning madly, trying to replace one "truth" with another truth. "Okay...so...tell me...what happened? All that stuff that you told me about--the guy with the cigar--you made up all of that?"

"Yes! I'm so sorry...but I figured it was the only way to surprise you. Actually we drove straight to Ohio. On the way, we had trouble with the muffler of Jon's Volvo station wagon, so when we got there, about 10:00, the first thing we did was pull up in to the carport so we could see to wire the muffler part that was loose into place. Your dad helped us. What a great way start, I thought.

"We went inside and your mom served us some cake. Then Jon and your mom played Score Four in the kitchen, and your dad and I went into the living room."

"Did you close the pocket doors?" I asked, trying to imagine it all.

"Yes," he chuckled. "We talked...and then we left around midnight. We got back just before six on Saturday morning, so when you met me for lunch, I had only had a few hours of sleep. Oh, and your mom sent you a piece of cake--it's still in Jon's car."

That was what unfroze the spinning little icon in my brain's computer. Suddenly all programs shifted into normal again as my brain accepted the new reality. The muffler, the pocket doors, Score Four...these were convincing details, but if there was a piece of cake, here in Illinois, from my mother--that clinched it.

We headed eagerly to the dining hall to show my ring to all our friends and announce the news!

Stay tuned for Part Five....

Love Story Part Two--And as Promised, My Most Embarrassing Moment

Part One

So we're both back on campus at the beginning of our junior year. Papa Rooster has decided No More Girls for him. I am determined to play the field and get to know all the boys I couldn't while I was tied up with Mr. Pre-Law. There is a square dance on campus on Saturday night.

I should mention that at Wheaton in the 80's and before, dancing on campus was not allowed. Unless it was performance dancing like ballet or folk dancing like square dancing--the only official exceptions. So this was as close to a "dance" dance as we got without breaking The Pledge that we had all signed, agreeing to abide by the campus rules.

My girlfriend and I decide to coordinate a group date. "Let's ask PR and Mr. A to get a group of guys together," my friend suggested. "They know everybody." By now they were no longer freshman class president and veep, of course. As a junior, PR was now VP of the Student Body and a BMOC (Big Man on Campus). Mr. A's foray into campus politics was a distant freshman memory, but they were still close--roommates, in fact, in a very cool off-campus house. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

"Let's ask PR and Mr. A," my friend suggested.

"Great idea," I responded eagerly. "But I don't know them that well--will you ask them?"

She agreed, we separated, I went to CPO to check my mailbox--and ran right into PR. So I decided to go ahead and pose the question myself.

"Hey, what are you and Mr. A doing on Saturday night? Deb and I want to get a group of junior guys and girls together to go to the square dance. Are you going?"

He told me he wished they could go with us, but they had tickets to Second City's comedy show in downtown Chicago. Disappointed, I didn't think much more about our conversation, but the encounter was full of meaning to him. Hey, he thought, she must not be dating Mr. Pre-Law anymore....

Sunday afternoon, the day after the square dance, I was in my Williston dorm room relaxing with my two roommates when the phone rang. It was for me. "Hi, this is ____," the male voice began.

I couldn't think who ____ could be. I knew several _____s back home in Ohio, but at that moment I could only think of one guy with that name on campus, and I was a little surprised he was calling me. True, we had just gone to a movie together, but it hadn't been a date; we had just ended up walking in late together. We had talked for a little while afterward, but I hadn't picked up on any signs of interest. Still, that must be who this was?

The male voice cut across my mental gropings. "I was just wondering if you'd like to meet me at the Stupe tonight." The Stupe was the campus ice cream/coffee/sandwich shop where many a first date took place.

"Oh! Sure!" I responded.

"About 7 all right?"

"Okay," I agreed. (But WHO was I meeting??)

"So how was the square dance? Did you get a group together?"

(How does he know about the square dance? I never mentioned the square dance....)

"Oh, it was fine! Yeah...a group...We ended up going with my brother and some of his friends. They were all freshman, but we had a fun time."

"Oh, you have a brother who's a freshman? My brother is a freshman this year too!"

(No, he isn't! You told me your brother was still in high school. Who IS this??) "Oh, really?"

I decided to float a trial balloon. "So, are you all moved out of McManis yet?" (McManis was a guy's dorm on campus.)

There was a pause. Now the male voice sounded confused. "Nooooo," it said slowly, "I'm living off campus this semester."

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" I apologized. (What do I say now? Better be honest.)

"I'm sorry, but who is this again?" I asked, wincing and hoping it carried through in my voice.

On the other end, Papa Rooster says he let his head fall back and hit the wall. What a ditz, he thought. She's as bad as all the others!

"This is _____ ______," he said patiently. "Who did you think it was?"

"Oh!" I exclaimed. (Papa Rooster! Oh, my! He just asked me out! I was so flattered. Why didn't I think of him before? I guess because we had barely ever spoken. And now what does he think of me?)

I responded with the full name of the other boy with the same first name. "I just went to a movie with him last weekend," I babbled, "but I've never heard his voice on the phone before...or yours, either...."

"Well, do you still want to go to the Stupe with me?" PR asked, with something like--incredulity?--in his voice.

"Oh, yes!" I responded eagerly. "Even more so!"

That was what saved me. "Even more so!"

He liked that.

Stay tuned for Part the Third...

October Love Stories

Mary at Owlhaven, inspired by my friend Megan at Fried Okra, is telling the story of how she and her husband met and fell in love--in installments. She's encouraging others to join her, and Jenni at One Thing is doing so, hilariously--which totally inspired me to join in. I've thought about telling this tale before...so it's time!

Part the First

Papa Rooster and I think that the first time we met was at church. We were both freshmen at Wheaton College in Wheaton, Illinois, and it was one of the first weekends we were there. Wheaton Bible Church had advertised a Sunday School class for college students that sounded really great--and was--and many of us were checking it out. I have a vague memory of meeting PR and his group of friends in the doughnut line in a basement Sunday School room.

It seemed like I always knew who he was, though, because his picture was plastered all over campus for the first few weeks we were there. I'm serious! He was running for freshman class president, and the running mate he picked was none other than Mr. A--the same fellow with whom he is now in a ministry partnership at our church! Who'da thunk it back in 1983??

Anyway, he and Mr. A were a sharp pair. PR had grown up in New York, near the city, and had a certain East Coast polish to him--I would later learn that he had played lead roles in musicals in high school and had considered going into theater at Wheaton, but he changed his goal to getting involved in Student Government and becoming freshman class president. Mr. A was a farm boy from Nebraska--a full Swede (while PR is half Norwegian). He was a character by anyone's measure, full of colorful exclamations like "Shoot the dog" and "Holy buckets!" He was smart, funny and likable; PR was serious, confident and outgoing. They were a great team, and they looked so cute in the picture on their campaign posters--a Miami Vice pose in the Edman chapel doorway, their hair parted in the middle and feathered back in the 80's style. ("That's when I had hair to part," PR always says when he sees that picture.)

And just for your viewing pleasure, what have we here??


(I know the guy on the left looks like he could be one of our children, so I better say that Papa Rooster is the one with the tie!)

Meanwhile, PR knew who I was from a picture too, although I had no idea of that fact.

Every fall Wheaton put out a publication with all the freshman's pictures in it called "Who's New" (also referred to in the guys' dorms as "Who's Next").


PR, like all the freshmen guys on his floor--and most of the sophomores too--had put in his time with Who's New and had picked out two girls he really wanted to ask out. Yep, I was one.

(Can you pick me out?)

(Hint: I'm not in the second row. And I look like I could be one of my children.)

(Answer: I'm in the center of the top row.)

However, a smart sophomore guy beat him to it and managed to tie me up for the next 18 months! That gave Papa Rooster plenty of time to take out all the girls that caught his fancy, but none seemed quite right for him. By the time he ended up his sophomore year, he was done with Wheaton girls.

It took me most of sophomore year to lose the lawyer, a really great guy that didn't dump easily, though I kept trying and changing my mind. (He is our attorney to this day. Estate planning needs, anyone?) That summer, back home in Ohio, I hung out with an overly self-confident local boy studying to be a doctor--but only because I was in love with his baby blue MG Midget convertible. And he liked to take me out to nice places for dinner, too.

It was a superficial relationship that was memorable for the one great quote I got out of it. Back at my house at the end of our third or fourth date, he noticed my salutatorian's trophy on the shelf. (In those days there was only one per graduating class.) (Just sayin'.)

"Wow," he said. "When I first asked you out, I thought you were just an attractive girl. Then I was pleasantly surprised to discover you were a good conversationalist and fun to be with. And now I find out you're smart, too! I got more than I bargained for!"

I had no idea how to BEGIN to take that. It was about the cockiest, most insulting series of compliments I'd ever received!

But I sure enjoyed the rides...


Only Baby Blue was much more dreamy.

So. Fall of our junior year. Papa Rooster was So Done with Wheaton girls, and I couldn't wait to date all the cutest, humblest guys I knew at Wheaton. Enter God.

Okay--that's a bit dramatic. But it was a strange circumstance that led to our first contact--and my most embarrassing moment EVER.

Stay tuned for Part Two!

Anniversary

Twenty-one years ago today!

I loved you first: but afterwards your love,
Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song
As drowned the friendly cooings of my dove.
Which owes the other most? My love was long,
And yours one moment seemed to wax more strong;
I loved and guessed at you, you construed me
And loved me for what might or might not be--
Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong.
For verily love knows not 'mine' or 'thine';
With separate 'I' and 'thou' free love has done,
For one is both and both are one in love:
Rich love knows nought of 'thine that is not mine';
Both have the strength and both the length thereof,
Both of us, of the love which makes us one.

Monna Innominata 4
~Christina Rossetti

Well, I had hoped to post a picture of the program cover for Charlotte's Web, in honor of Opening Night...but don't have the post-able version yet.

While waiting and watching my in-box and catching up on a few friend's blogs, I have a link and a listen for you. My friend Margie Fawcett gave a a 40-minute talk to a Mom's group last week, called For Better, For Worse: Facing Difficulties in Marriage, in which she discusses "the difficulties of learning to love in the midst of tremendous stress." For her and her husband John, it is a battle with cancer. I know you'll be encouraged my her frank, humorous and refreshingly honest message on welcoming God's grace as we mature and grow in difficult circumstances.

You can listen here.

You may also be interested in sermons from Church of the Resurrection, available here. I've heard great things about the last four weeks: Why Your Body Matters, Why There Is a Battle Against the Body, Why Manhood Matters and Why Womanhood Matters. Makes me miss our sending church so much!!!

Speaking of Photos...

These are not--repeat, NOT--from our photo shoot yesterday. (Blondechick14 took them a couple Sundays ago in our back yard.)






































(In case you're not sure--this is me and Papa Rooster!)

What Will Make You Happy?

Continuing with my current musings on choosing joy (recent posts are here and here)....

This educational, inspirational video is 22 minutes long, but WELL WORTH the time. (If you're really pressed for time, skip the first segment...but then go back for it later!) Here's their blurb about it:

Psychologist Dan Gilbert challenges the idea that we'll be miserable if we don't get what we want. Our "psychological immune system" lets us feel real, enduring happiness, he says, even when things don't go as planned. He calls this kind of happiness "synthetic happiness," and he says it's "every bit as real and enduring as the kind of happiness you stumble upon when you get exactly what you were aiming for."

There is so much fascinating research in this entertaining lecture that pertains to the idea of choosing joy, but let me point out a few things especially.

One is that we are pitifully bad at knowing what really will make us happy. Some things that we think will make us happy--for example, more choices--actually make us more miserable, the research shows! Incredibly, so does having the option to change our minds.

We also overestimate the significance of desirable circumstances. We think that if we just get the promotion, win the election, get the big break, etc., etc,....we'd be more happy. And it's simply NOT TRUE. In fact, three months later, it's as if the big event never happened, in terms of our happiness--whether we gained or lost what we wanted.

In fact, there has been research on two different groups of people: lottery winners, and folks who lose the use of their legs and end up in a wheelchair. Believe it or not, one year later, both are equally happy!

You'd probably never guess that when we have no choice, we are the happiest. The speaker gives fascinating example after example of how this is true. He explains that in these circumstances, our brains actually manufacture what he calls "synthetic happiness" with our lot, and it's just as real as when we get what we want.

Applications abound, it seems to me. Apparently, commitment is a big factor in happiness, which makes me think immediately of marriage. Their levels of commitment explain why previous generations who did not view divorce as an option self-describe as truly very happy with their marriages, and why couples who live together before marriage are so much more likely to divorce. It also explains why, when we truly give up trying to change our spouses and accept who they are--bad and good--we feel happier and we like them better. (Don't miss that last link to one of my favorite books on marriage.)

Additionally, making a choice brings a lot more happiness than indecision, and for those who struggle with indecision, doesn't it make you happier to know that whatever you choose, you can be happy with it? I find this knowledge most comforting.

I think immediately of making a purchase, like homeschool curriculum or a house. These are both decisions in my near future, and it's so interesting to compare them. I told my husband weeks ago that even though we haven't been able to find "the perfect house" yet in Wisconsin, I just knew that whatever we end up choosing, I will find things to love about it. Choosing a home, of course, is almost as irrevocable a choice as getting married, in my book--unless you just love keeping your house realtor-ready at all time, and packing and moving all your belongings every couple of years. (Sigh.... Blegh!) So of course I AM going to be happy in my new house.

Choosing curriculum is another story. As all homeschoolers know, it is so easy to be dissatisfied with your decisions because there are so many other options out there, with someone, who has chosen them, just so happy with their choice! (Can I get an Amen?) So it stands to reason that homeschoolers with fewer choices because of budget, or who tend to choose reusable vs. consumable curriculum, are probably happier than those who continually revisit their choices. The same applies to plenty of other purchase decisions as well.

In fact, those of us who can make a choice and move on are happier than those who choose, but keep watching prices or reading reviews to see if something better comes along. Harboring regret sounds like a choice that is not conducive to happiness either.

Other obvious applications are that limiting our choices--and the number of choices we give our kids--is a happiness-producer, as is accepting our limitations like health, energy level, sleep needs, our geographical location, or circumstances like our children's current ages, our husband's job, or our income level. (See this post for more on that idea.)

I think the psalmist knew the kind of happiness that we all can experience from accepting our lot when he said in Psalms 16:5-6:

LORD, you have assigned me my portion and my cup;
you have made my lot secure.

The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
surely I have a delightful inheritance.

I've only unpacked a few of the things that this video made me think about. Maybe I'll take it a little further later. But in the meantime, do go watch. It's so thought-provoking; feel free to share your thoughts on it here in the comments, or if it inspires a post on your own blog, please leave a link here!

Marriage Secrets

Barbara Curtis (of Mommy Life) had the right idea when she wrote this article almost ten years ago. She interviewed couples who had been married for 50 years or more and asked them their marriage secrets.

Their answers were old-fashioned and refreshing in their simplicity; they didn't need or expect much.

It'll bless you, if you're married or hope to be!

Love and Brain Waves

Papa Rooster reads the Wall Street Journal online, and he forwarded me an interesting article (possibly still accessible here) on brain scan research on people in love. I plan to share this quote with our teenaged daughter, who has already broken a few hearts and been surprised at the boys' emotional responses:

Using brain scans to study emotional changes is still a new science. But the images signal the potential toll of relationship problems. "It's not a good combination," notes Dr. Fisher. "You're feeling intense romantic love, you're willing to take big risks, you're in physical pain, obsessively thinking about a person and you're struggling to control your rage. You're not operating with your full range of cognitive abilities. It's possible that part of the rational mind shuts down."

The dramatic changes evident on the brain scans may help explain bizarre behavior that is often associated with love.

And this information is valuable to all us old married couples:

Studies show that trying something new with a spouse can go a long way toward reigniting love. In one study, couples were assigned a weekly activity they both found new and exciting -- such as sailing or taking an art class. Another group did pleasant but familiar activities, such as dinner with friends. Based on answers to relationship tests, the couples doing new things showed far more improvement in the quality of their marriage after 10 weeks than couples who did the same things every week. The lesson is that sharing new experiences with your spouse appears to trigger changes in the brain that mimic the early days of being in love.

Maybe if Papa Rooster and I ever get in a rut, we'll take the ballroom or swing dancing classes we've never had time for! I have to say from personal experience, that being asked by God to do "a new thing," even with all the uncertainty about the details, has drawn us closer than ever.

***

I suppose this counts as something new, too: We are planning to relight some fires this weekend with a belated 20th anniversary trip away together! He's in Orlando right now, at a cushy conference for work, and I'm joining him tomorrow for the final day of the conference, wrapping up with dinner at Animal Kingdom. Then we're on our own for 4 nights at an even cushier resort (a deal in exchange for 2 hours at a sales presentation).

A friend who used to live with us and knows the routine is coming to stay with the kids. They're looking forward to two days in a row of doing homeschool with the family we trade off with, and that mom is even having my kids overnight--all of them--for one of the nights we're gone--God bless her....

So the big kids can't wait for Mommy to leave!

Off to pack....

Our Twentieth on the Twentieth

We were both young and stupid; 21 years old, one semester of college left, and no idea what we were doing after that. We just knew that whatever came next, we'd do it together.

God led us through a short valley, up hills and into the desert for several years, on to an oasis, through a few more rocky places, and finally to a pleasant pasture. Our second decade has been a well-watered garden, indeed.

Twenty reasons why I would marry my husband all over again...

He loves me no matter what.
He's seen in my ugliest moments, he knows all my worst traits, and he still considers himself wildly blessed to be married to me.
He makes sure I know it.
He cranks up "You're My Better Half" and sings along, and I know he's singing it to me.
He's miserable when we're apart.
He writes me romantic, poetic, profound notes for my birthday, our anniversary, and Mother's Day--and reminds the kids to make cards for me too.
He really thinks I'm gorgeous.
He's a man after God's own heart, full-hearted in his worship of God and passionate about the Bride, the Church.
Following God's leading, he has led me on a journey I never would have made alone, on a path I never would have picked--to places neither of us could ever have imagined!
Without him, I doubt I would have ended up with six children, or at our amazing, paradigm-shifting church, or been part of the ministries we've learned from and served with.
He's always on the same page as me in parenting.
He stretches me intellectually and spiritually.
He encourages me in writing and teaching.
He encourages me to get together with girlfriends.
He thinks deeply and carefully about theological, spiritual and relational issues.
He is a man of prayer and of the Word.
I respect him.
I trust his wisdom and discernment.
He's funny. Especially when showering. (Alone.)
He's handsome, thoughtful, and loving...and he's my other half.

Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh. (Genesis 2:24)


Kiss me,
out of the bearded barley
Nightly,
beside the green, green grass
Swing, swing,
swing the spinning step
You wear those shoes and I will wear that dress

Oh, kiss me
beneath the milky twilight
Lead me
out on the moonlit floor
Lift your open hand
Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance
Silver moon’s sparkling,
so kiss me

Kiss me,
down by the broken tree house
Swing me
upon its hanging tire
Bring, bring,
bring your flowered hat
We’ll take the trail marked on your father’s map

Oh, kiss me
beneath the milky twilight
Lead me
out on the moonlit floor
Lift your open hand
Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance
Silver moon’s sparkling,
so kiss me

Happy Birthday, Papa Rooster

It's Friday morning and I'm pushed for time. I'm running out, leaving my oldest kids in charge, to do some power errands, and more importantly, write a birthday post for Papa Rooster. I'm ordering coffee at my favorite power writing spot--Panera Bread--when who should appear at my elbow but my dear husband, who's taking a day off for retreat purposes.

"Hello," he grins.

"Hi," I smile back, trying to hide my consternation. (When am I going to write that birthday post now? Maybe if it rains, and we can't meet our friends at the pool later....)

"This is the one place I thought I wouldn't run into you," I say, taking the direct approach.

"I'm stalking you," he jokes.

I follow him to his table...and it's my table. "Hey, this is my table," I say. "I always sit here!"

"You must leave behind an aura that I was drawn to," he smiles.

I tell him that I'm here to write his birthday post. "I keep forgetting," he says. "But I can't wait to be a prime number again. Don't you enjoy being a prime number?"

"Honey," I state, "Never, in my entire life, has it even crossed my mind whether my age was a prime number or not." I pause. "Have you really ever thought about it before this?"

"Oh, several times," he confesses. "I guess it's one of my oddities."

He's gone now. We had a pleasant few moments sipping coffee together and he was on the run--on his way home to go running, that is. I'm glad he still took this day off even though our camping trip had to be rescheduled and relocated. (We're still going overnight this weekend out to some friends' place in the country). There isn't any better birthday gift I could give him than a day off to relax, rejuvenate and retreat, especially when he needs to hear from God regarding some immediate decisions he's facing.

There is a side of my husband that would be oh-so-happy as a monk in a remote little monastary, but God in his wisdom also created him with a woman-sized hole in his heart, and it has been my privilege and blessing to fill that spot as best I can. With that woman has come six children and the need for an income to support that family, and so my monk-at-heart husband has an MBA and works as an executive in a healthcare-related industry, and except for the bald pate, there isn't a hint of the monk about him in that environment. None of them would suspect that on the weekends he serves as a priest at our church, and that's really where his heart is vocationally. (They had a hard enough time believing the six children before we came to visit Daddy in the office once.)

It seems that God has held him for years in this special tension of what Walter Hilton in the Middle Ages called the mixed life--"an active life mixed with contemplation" (vs. retreating entirely from the world). (It's another of his little oddities that he actually owns that book and has written a paper on it.) It seems that there are lessons he is learning from this experience which God may be preparing him to eventually share with others...but that chapter's not been written yet. (Though we're eager to read it.)

It has not been an easy road for him, requiring him almost to maintain multiple personalities: the corporate executive, the parish priest and mentor, the husband and father of six, the emerging country music fan.... No wonder he's having a midlife crisis!

So happy prime number birthday, dear. (Okay, okay, world--41.) I love your oddities, great and small. It's been an adventure being married to you--and the greatest of joys--and I will follow you anywhere as you follow God, as you have faithfully for the past 20 years. Though the mixed road has been a rocky one at times, may God use you to smooth and mark the path for others...and may He lead you when the road when is not so clearly marked.

(And just think, since 43 is coming up soon, you'll be spending 24 of the next 36 months as a prime number! Life surely can't get much better than that.)

Real Men

Last night my soul was fed.

My in-laws buy season tickets to several different concert series, including Chicago's Lyric Opera--and if they're tired or have a conflict, they'll babysit or pay for a sitter--and send us. We've been to the opera twice this year, on them. What a blessing!

Well, four of their concerts fell on the same two days, so last time it happened, I went with my father-in-law to see The King's Singers, and my husband went with his mom to see The Black Watch. Last night, Papa Rooster and his dad saw the Los Angeles Guitar Quartet, and Mom and I saw the stars of the Russian National Ballet.

It wasn't a whole ballet--I've yet to enjoy one of those, other than a nice semi-professional production of The Nutcracker. What we saw last night were excerpts, mostly pas de deux (or dances for two), from various ballets--Sleeping Beauty, Swan Lake, La Corsaire. No scenery, but exquisite costumes and breath-taking ballet.

As someone who's grown up watching more Olympic pairs skating and ice dancing than I have ballet, at first I missed the fluidity that can be achieved on ice. But the longer I watched, the more I appreciated the athleticism that went into creating the graceful illusion that is ballet. Even more than in ice skating, every muscle is controlled--down to the littlest finger, the eyebrow--even the gaze is completely focused.

And I was amazed at the masculinity of the men! I had to get past the tights, I admit. But once I did, their strength just wowed me. Their leaps and spins looked abolutely impossible for any woman to do--she could do them, perhaps, but not with the height and that same raw power. (If you want to see what I'm talking about, rent an 80's movie called White Knights, with Mikhail Baryshnikov and Gregory Hines.) God truly did construct men and women differently, for different purposes. Perhaps I was influenced by reading this post earlier in the day:

...A man isn't the soft comforting lap the kids sit on to be rocked to sleep, or the kiss that makes owwies all better. He may be called on to do those things sometimes, but he's not really constructed for it. A man is the solidity in his family, the rock that can't be broken. He's also the wall that shields them from storms, and the roof that keeps their heads dry. Which usually means getting rained on or wind-beaten himself. If you don't do that, a woman has to, and it's something they're not constructed for.

Joel's post is a great description of what it takes to be a real man. Often, it's about a man throwing himself, with all his strength--like these men ballet dancers hurling themselves into the air--into what it is that his duty requires. It takes the same kind of discipline and determination that these men ballet dancers embodied for me last night--and there is a grace and a beauty in it that we women need to appreciate.

My husband is no ballet dancer, but he's a real man. And he's leading the way for our four boys, with determination and fortitude, even when it's not easy for him. And the beauty in that, for me, excels even the grace of the ballet.

************************************************
On another note, I just ran across this post reviewing a movie that's out now called Ballet Russes. After last night, I'll definitely want to see this! It sounds beautiful.

(Oh, I must say that I haven't seen White Knights since it came out and don't remember whether it is family-friendly or not.)

Three Weddings and....Waiting

Well, the auditions are over...the call backs are over...now the waiting begins! The cast list will be up tomorrow at 4:00. Bantam 10.75 was called back to read and sing for a lead role--very exciting!

Blondechick 13 was called back for a dancing role only. She was really hoping for a lead this time and did so well in her audition, we thought she had a good chance. Every director is different, though, and what they're looking for can change with every show.

Since Bantam 10.75 had to be there early, we dropped him off and went out to breakfast, and I tried to help her process her disappointment through God's eyes. She ended up telling me about a conversation she had with a friend at last week's sleepover in which she realized how blessed she really is, although she so easily takes it all for granted. That was a great perspective to take on it, I thought. But it was hard to hold onto when she arrived at dance call backs and discovered that many of her friends had been called back for reading, though it was hard to tell why she was not. But "that's showbiz," as Grandma, who used to be on Broadway, reminded her!

In other news, we know of three couples getting married today! This is by one of my favorite poets--I ran across it the other day while looking for something else.

At the Wedding March
(Gerard Manley Hopkins)

GOD with honour hang your head,
Groom, and grace you, bride, your bed
With lissome scions, sweet scions,
Out of hallowed bodies bred.

Each be other's comfort kind:
Déep, déeper than divined,
Divine charity, dear charity,
Fast you ever, fast bind.

Then let the March tread our ears:
I to him turn with tears
Who to wedlock, his wonder wedlock,
Déals tríumph and immortal years.

Wish we could have attended the weddings! One was in Texas. One was the wedding of Blondechick's debate coach, which she would have attended if she hadn't been called back. Papa Rooster and I would have been at the third, except...can you guess?...he came down with the flu. Yup. At least he should be fine by tomorrow, when he has a sermon to give!

Monday Meanderings

It's an unusual Monday morning today--I'm letting everyone sleep in, and the baby, God bless him, is joining the crowd! I actually made coffee and read my Lenten devotional without any little companions; I even cleared everything off the "catchall" desk in my bedroom so I'd have a nice place to sit down with my coffee. I'll admit--it all went into a laundry basket on the floor, but at least I could dust off my desk and, for the first time in weeks, my laptop is now in contact with the desk surface instead of being precariously balanced on top of a pile of books and papers.

I don't think we're doing school today. We had a whirlwind weekend with the final two performances, the unofficial "Cast Party," and the official "Strike Party" all in a 48 hour period. My mom was here for it all, and while babysitting during the first performance, she scrubbed the sink, the stove, the cluttered area behind the espresso maker, my children, and the shower shelves. She attended the second performance, on Saturday afternoon, and went out to dinner with my in-laws and some of their friends while we struck the set and attended the Cast Party. (Isn't that cool? My parents and Papa Rooster's parents have become good friends since our marriage. They've even spent a week at each other's houses. Before my in-laws moved to our area, they lived near New York City, so my parents got to do NYC with the natives!)

The Cast Party included, this time, a sleepover for the girls--and we let Blondechick 13 go on her first ever sleepover. We've had a "no sleepover" policy for years, which has been hard for her to accept. Since my husband is clergy, and because we both used to be very involved in healing ministry, we've just heard too many stories--the kind you don't want to hear and can hardly believe, yet here is the victim, years later, telling you how he or she is still dealing with the effects of the sin of that best friend's uncle or older brother. Our policy has also saved us endless weekends of driving kids all over the county and dealing with overtired kids, headed off many discussions of why you can stay overnight there but not there, and also given us a great excuse when our kids have been invited to stay overnight with total strangers (as our kids who have spent any time in public school have been). To all this, we just say, "Sorry--we don't do sleepovers."

Blondechick has too-verbally opposed this decision, however, and last August we stated that if, in acceptance of our rule, she would not mention the s-word ("sleepover") until she had completed 7th grade this June, we would consider loosening our policy after that. She's been good about it, and this seemed like a worthy exception. It turned out to be a great time, as some of the older girls led the group in a time of worship and sharing what God is doing in their lives--more like a Christian retreat than any of us expected. So it was not just silliness, although there was plenty of that and not much sleeping, of course! She says she's glad that her first sleepover was such a special time.

So naturally I'm letting her--and everyone else--sleep in. But Bitty Bantam and Chicklet are now awake. Naturally.

[Six hours later]

Just wanted to add that the Strike Party, too, was a great time of praising the Lord and recognizing all the hard work the parents put in on the play. Best Actor and Actress and many other awards were given out to the kids, including the award for most Christlike (the only award the kids vote on, which went to one of the girls who led the worship at the sleepover). It was great to see the kids cheering just as enthusiastically for their parents as they did for each other! One of the things this organization does so well is foster a spirit of encouragement and appreciation.

So today, we've been straightening up the mess created by rushing out and running back in and dropping everything and scrambling to run back out again...AND working on Bantam 10.75's audition for the next show--which is Friday night! Yeah, there just isn't time for a break, if the spring play is to finish up before school is out and all the kids go eighty different directions for the summer. We should be working on Blondechick 13's too, but she's in bed with the flu--the same achy thing our homeschooling partners are sick with. The girls were all at the sleepover together of course...so I wonder how many other girls are too sick today to go to school or work on their auditions. We're just praying that Bantam 10.75 can stay well--or get over it before Friday.

I've been thinking I should cook a nicer dinner, for the first time since Dress Rehearsals, except that I'd rather spend the time furthering my cleaning efforts--(or distracting myself by writing this). But Papa Rooster just called and said since he has to write a sermon for Sunday, he'd like to get our Date Night out of the way by doing it tonight, so he can concentrate on sermon prep for the rest of the week.

Okay, my paraphrase--he was more tactful, and since that idea fits so beautifully with my lack of interest in cooking tonight, I don't mind in the least. Plus I love connecting with my husband without 6 kids around to interrupt every few sentences! We used to try to go out alone together every week or two, and we completely stopped when he lost his job for six months. We're still on the austerity plan, but we are barely seeing each other these days, between his long days with an hour commute each way, and me being out with the kids all these nights with the play.
I dreamed the other night that I was expecting, but I wasn't sure it was his baby! I couldn't think of anyone else's it could be, however. Phew. So my emotional landscape is healthy...just missing my other half, I think.

His new job is going very well, by the way--he likes the people and the work--and last week in Las Vegas he gave a presentation that everyone was raving about. He's such a good speaker. The only downside is that he is gone sooooo much, without much likelihood of that changing any time soon.

But he's home now!

I'm still busy this week trying to catch up from all of last week's dress rehearsals and shows, with Papa Rooster gone all week, and my mother coming tomorrow!

So here's a little more from Kathleen Norris in The Quotidian Mysteries--building on the idea of work and routine as worship:

...I read recently...of a study that monitored the habits of married couples in order to determine what made for good marriages. The researchers found that only one activity seemed to make a consistent difference, in terms of the ability to maintain a stable, happy, long-lasting relationship, and that was simple affection, the embracing or kissing of one's spouse at the beginning and the end of each workday.

Most significantly, as Paul Bosch, the author of the article, reports, "it didn't seem to matter whether or not in that moment the partners were 'fully' engaged or even sincere! Just a perfunctory peck on the cheek seemed to be enough--enough to make a difference in the quality of the relationship!" Bosch comments, wisely, that this "should not surprise churchgoers. Whatever you do repeatedly...has the power to shape you, has the power to make you over into a different person--even if you're not totally 'engaged' every minute!"

I wonder if we might substitute that "peck on the check" for some of the prayers that a religious community recites daily... No human being can pay full attention to the words that he or she is praying every single day, and apparently this is how God would have it. Sometimes, particularly at crisis points in our lives, we feel these words with our whole heart....But all too often, I pray these magnificent prayers with only half a mind, one half yawning and...the other half dwelling on the fact that my feet hurt... As for the words that I am dutifully saying, I might as well be praying in tongues, and maybe I am. And maybe the prayer is working despite myself.

It is a paradox of human life that in worship, as in human love, it is in the routine and the everyday that we find the possibilities for the greatest transformation. Both worship and housework often seem perfunctory. And both, by the grace of God, may be anything but.

...What we dread as mindless activity can free us, mind and heart, for the workings of the Holy Spirit, and repetitive motions are conducive to devotions such as the Jesus Prayer or the rosary. Anything is fair game for prayer, anything or anyone who pops into mind can be included.

The Jesus Prayer is "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner." I have lately fallen into the habit of muttering a quick version of it--"Lord, have mercy"--under my breath when I am stressing out because we are late or I can't find something I'm looking for. It is much better than ranting at my kids! I have wondered, at times, should I stop saying it because I'm not really thinking about what it means? Could it even fall into the category of taking the Lord's name in vain? Yet I have sensed it changing me, transforming my stress into peace.

The Lord's Prayer is always a profound prayer, even when prayed with a baby squirming in my arms and a toddler whispering loudly in my ear. And the simple invocation, "Come, Holy Spirit," which I often breathe as I head to the basement to break up an escalating argument among my boys, may not guarantee peace or great wisdom on my part, but does it change me? Undoubtedly.

Also, isn't it encouraging to think that such a small thing as kissing your husband when he walks in the door can have such a great impact on your marriage? Similarly, the little rituals we form with our kids--whether it's a story at bedtime or a prayer before meals or an inside joke--must also be powerful relational bonds.