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It’s a exceptionally cold day here. Sub-20 and windy. Both the wood stove and the heat-pump are working to keep the house in the 65 degree range. But it’s also delightful — Karen and I snoozed on the couch while the kids watched a movie (Cars, again). As I type, Karen and the kids are playing a game, fresh bread is rising bread, corned beef (a special treat) is simmering, and I’ve managed to squeak a few moments here on the computer for something not work related. I’m not sure if this is a traditional Sabbath, but I’ll be better rested for it.
Karen’s first semester went very well. Though some students were less than thrilled about her high standards (i.e., she required them to actually expend effort and think), there were many good reviews from students and her peers. It wasn’t all perfect of course, but for a first semester it was good.
The Spring semester is going to be rather more challenging. Karen has two course preps and, therefore, two lab preps — in some ways, especially grading, it’s like carrying four courses. There are other challenges too, but that gets into faculty issues — suffice to say, we’ll be relying heavily on the Grace of God for things to go well this round. I’m confident God will provide, even if He lets us get tired & stretched in the process.
Warren and Nicole have thrived at preschool. I can frequently see the positive change in them as they volunteer details about what they’ve learned and demonstrate new skills they’ve picked up. Most recently, they have been just on the edge of reading smaller words. They can pick out letters readily enough and can usually give me the sound each letter makes, but it hasn’t clicked that they can put those sounds together to make words yet. I suspect we’re very close.
Our friends Mark & Christie sent along a birth announcement and picture of their new son, Matthew. It was a thrill to see the picture as I know it fulfills a God-given desire of their hearts. It was strange telling the kids “when little Matthew is 4 years old like you, you’ll be 8 years old.” Just 4 years ago they were smaller than baby Matthew is now. Not less than 5 months ago we were wishing, praying, cajoling, and doing whatever else we could think of to get the kids out of diapers. Now they have a full semester of preschool behind them and have been using the potty the whole time. No doubt I’ll be warning younger parents about the speed at which time flies in another year or so….
I haven’t posted in a very long time, so I’ll get this online for you. I’ll try to add some pictures later. Thanks for checking in!
A good friend of mine in NY forwarded this to me this morning. It made me grin and I began to wonder — if I were to leave the twins unattended in that shop for a while, would I score two espressos & a couple puppies? It’s almost worth the trip to find out.
Well, this is it. When I’m finished wth this post, I get to take all the computer stuff apart. I don’t mind that so much — it’s the fact that I have to return our DSL stuff to the phone company that gets me. Ah, well. I seem to remember there was life before high-speed access — slow, lagging life, but life nonetheless. 
The movers tell me they’ll be done today. We’ll stick around until tomorrow to clean up, etc. I’ve saved out the original Star Wars DVD which I plan to watch with Karen on the old laptop while cuddled up in front of the livingroom fireplace on the borrowed inflatable mattress. After the kids go to bed, of course.
Lord willing, the next post will be from our new house in Mooresville. If you’re wondering, the mobile phone will still work. We won’t know about our land-line until we get there.
Merry Christmas!
It’s finally nap time. The coffee is brewing, I get a few minutes in the office alone and the movers are in other parts of the house banging, boxing and unmaking our home. I’m feeling a strange kind of sad. I’m eager to leave this house and begin making our home in Mooresville, but at the same time I’m sorry to leave here. This house has been good to us, as much as a house can be good.
The kids are holding up well. They’re mostly staying out of the movers’ way, though those boxes and packing tape are pretty intresting. One of the movers is a younger guy who is very good with the munchkins. Nicole has been hovering around him as he boxes & tapes our stuff.
The cat’s are weird — Francis is just as freaked out as you might expect (I saw him once and he would not hear of being held). Cornflake looks annoyed, but decided to sleep on the rocking chair despite the stuff going on all around her.
I suspect dinner tonight will be our last in this house. The movers are getting much more done than I expected in one day. I guess I underestimated the effectiveness of 6 experienced packers.
Well, it’s the last day here before the big move starts. The movers show up tomorrow. There will be lots of changes — I don’t know how the kids will react, but I know the cats will be in a snit for weeks. I may be in a snit for weeks too as it looks like I’m going back to dial-up service. :-/
The biggest challenge (after surviving a week of movers & disoriented toddlers) will be finding a new church home. I don’t relish the thought of “church shopping,” but there really is nothing else for it. The Lord will provide, it’s just a matter of waiting.
Oh, if any friends & family actually read this: your Christmas card will be late this year. We’ve been a bit focused on other things.
Our home in Lafayette is officially sold. We ended up taking the company buy-out. It’s something of a disappointment for us. We really wanted another family to have the property, not a face-less corporation. This place has been good to us and I had hoped someone who really appreciated it would buy it. In any event, it’s done — we’re single-home owners again.
We’re really greatful that the Lord provided for us in this way. It was a great benefit to have a guaranteed buy-out. I don’t evny anyone caught in the limbo of trying to buy a new home while trying to sell their present home, especially in this market.
The man who insists on seeing with perfect clearness before he decides, never decides.
- Henri-Frédéric Amiel
Quote swiped from The Quotations Page
This quote describes every agnostic I’ve known. But it describes me too — whenever I insist on the details before doing what I know I need to do. It’s hard when we demand seeing 360 degrees of horizon when we have only 180 degrees of vision (at best) to work with. That’s where faith comes in — I take in what I can of the horizon, and trust the rest is there, waiting for me to get over the mountain or out of the valley or just turn my head.
It’s called faith. It has the same feeling as a day-long hike up-hill. It’s hard, sweaty, makes your muscles burn, causes you to wonder why you’re doing this and may leave you shaking and unsteady afterwards. But when it’s time to set evening camp, you drop off your sweaty pack, stretch a little, realize that you’re a little further up the mountain. The next vista will add to the horizon and sleep will be good tonight.
Our local TV station’s website just posted a report about the official forecast for this winter’s weather. The article included this little gem:
[NWS State Climatologist] Logan Johnson says, “And the end result is that we may end up somewhere around normal. But, we’re not going to be at normal most of the time. We will be well above normal or well below normal.”
Johnson expects future technology will bring more specific forecasts.
From: http://www.wlfi.com/index.cfm?action=dsp_story&storyid=87039
I think I just lost a lot of confidence in weather reporting. At least until the “new technology” comes into play, but I’m not sure how new technology can help this.
There is an incredible WWII story on Phil Johnson’s Pyromaniac blog. The artcile extracts Herb Clingen’s journal entries during his family’s internment in the Japanese prison camp at Los Banos. I never heard of the place, but I’m glad to have read this story. The whole account is a strong testimony to God’s care for his people. If the ending is correct, it’s also an amazing account of God’s grace to evil men as well.
It is a longish read, but well, well worth your time. It’s a shame that the fuller account of this story never got formally published. Maybe someday.
I noticed an interesting news article on Yahoo! news this evening. To be honest, the picture accompanying the article caught me more than the headline. My brother is the telescope guy; I stick to microscopes. [note: article may not be accessible in 7 days]
The article, “Study Describes Bar at Center of Milky Way” written by Ryan J. Foley of the AP, is about what astronomers have learned about the center of our galaxy. At the center is a giant bar of stars. Evidently, they knew about this feature, but didn’t realize how large the feature is. They also didn’t know it is “at a 45 degree angle to the line between our Sun and the center of the galaxy.” That is all well and good, and also well above my head.
This little quote got me: “We’ve largely been ignorant of this very major structure in our galaxy for all these years.”
The admission “we’re largely ignorant” with regard to something so huge and seemingly so simple (it’s big, really big, and it’s at a 45 degree angle to us) strikes me oddly. It seems tantamount to saying “we knew they were big, but d’gum, those Rocky Mountains are huge!” Which is probably exactly what the first pioneers said.
I’m not picking on astronomers here. The fact that we can conclude anything about the layout of our galaxy from our relatively fixed location on this planet is pretty amazing. But the admission of ignorance is telling.
We pride ourselves in scientific knowledge. We act so very certain about things like the origin of life (evolution, big bang, etc.) and cloning (don’t worry, we know what we’re doing). On a personal level, we act as though we have it all together, as though we’re in control. Yet, when we look around us, with the intent of actually observing, we discover we’ve missed the “very major structure” at the center that should have been so obvious all along. It’s so big, how could you miss it?
The mountains always look small from a distance. And just before you get close enough to actually see them, there is that brief, telling moment of pride: “yeah, I could climb those, they’re not so big.” The trick is not to actually say it out loud.
