Spring cleaning; Mother’s Day; May’s poem

A desperate house-cleaning, this afternoon, to the detriment of my sinuses. We wished to make the house agreeable for Karin’s mom. We had invited her over for a Mother’s Day supper.

The event was a success.

After Karin’s mom left us, we let Samuel play with marbles in the living room, and I took Daniel to the basement so he wouldn’t put them into his mouth. When the time came to bring Daniel back upstairs, Samuel didn’t want to put his marbles away, and in the ensuing fracas they were spilled under various pieces of furniture. We put one howling child into one room and the other howling child into another room. We moved the dusty furniture around to hunt for the marbles – again, to the detriment of my sinuses.

I don’t recall having ever taken medicine for allergies. This might be a good year to start.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

The first paragraph of A Pocket Full of Rye:

It was Miss Somers’ turn to make the tea. Miss Somers was the newest and the most inefficient of the typists. She was no longer young and had a mild worried face like a sheep. The kettle was not quite boiling when Miss Somers poured the water onto the tea, but poor Miss Somers was never quite sure when a kettle was boiling. It was one of the many worries that afflicted her in life.

I see that in 2014 I gave this novel a “C” grade. Admittedly, I didn’t remember it well. When I previously read it, I was fourteen.

On the strength of this opening paragraph, the novel is shaping up to be worthy of at least a “B-plus.”

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

For Mother’s Day, lines from the first half of Proverbs 31. Two versions.

I

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

These are the words of King Lemuel. This is the message his mother taught him:

“My son, I gave birth to you.

You are the son I prayed for.

Don’t waste your strength on women.

Don’t waste your time on those who ruin kings.

“Kings should not drink wine, Lemuel.

Rulers should not desire beer.

If they drink, they might forget the law.

They might keep the needy from getting their rights.

Give beer to people who are dying.

And give wine to those who are sad.

Let them drink and forget their need.

Then they won’t remember their misery anymore.

“Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves.

Defend the rights of all those who have nothing.

Speak up and judge fairly.

Defend the rights of the poor and needy.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

(International Children’s Bible)

II

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The words of Lemuel, King of Massa, with which his mother reproved him:

No, my son. Oh, no, son of my womb,

Oh, no, son of my vows.

Do not give your vigor to women,

Nor your ways to destroyers of kings.

Not for kings, Lemuel, not for kings,

the drinking of wine, nor, for rulers, hard drink.

Lest he drink and forget inscribed law,

and reverse the judgment of all wretched men.

Give hard drink to the perishing man

and wine to those deeply embittered.

Let him drink and forget his privation,

and his misery let him no more recall.

Open your mouth for the dumb,

For the judgment of all fleeting folk.

Open your mouth, judge righteously,

grant justice to the poor and the wretched.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

(Robert Alter)

May’s poem

This is for the preacher who wishes to give an acrostical Mother’s Day sermon and can’t think of a biblical mother for the letter O, as in:

M is for Mary
O is for ?
T
H
E
R

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

How fast the wings of an ostrich beat!

But no ostrich can fly like a stork.

The ostrich leaves her eggs on the ground

for the heat in the soil to warm them.

She is unaware that a foot may crush them

or a wild animal break them.

She acts as if the eggs were not hers,

and is unconcerned that her efforts were wasted.

It was I who made her foolish

and did not give her wisdom.

But when she begins to run,

she can laugh at any horse and rider.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Job 39:13–18 (Good News Translation)

Mother’s Day

7:00am: I’m awake after a night’s sleep of three hours. At my first stirring, Young Chirpie Chirpington (Jasper) becomes hyper-alert and paces back and forth upon my body. He emits high-pitched noises.

Son, must you chirp so? Have you no dignity?

Ziva, the shyer one, merely pokes at my feet with her claws.

This is why it’s better for Karin to awaken first.

Zzz …

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

9:30am: One more hour of sleep, and then it’s off to our new church (we switched churches a few months ago). In Sunday School, the adults are slowly reading through 2 Timothy. As always, Paul is concerned that there shouldn’t be division among the believers, or useless arguing.

One woman suggests that there’s more useless arguing today than there was in Paul’s time – or even than when she was young. Today, people argue about things like politics. Or gender. Or the weather.

The weather? Karin & I are doubtful. Isn’t that one of the few safe subjects?

(Later, Karin’s mom suggests that the woman meant global warming.)

During the worship period, Karin & I watch over the nursery. (Due to Mother’s Day, the regular nursery worker is in the service.) This nursery has comfortable rocking chairs and a TV. Karin plays with the two small children while I download music from Spotify onto my phone.

We also view a part of Dumbo. As a Mother’s Day movie, Dumbo is appropriate, if sad.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

12:30pm: Surprisingly, it takes the better part of an hour to drive from church to Karin’s mom’s house. First we’re detained in an especially slow lane of traffic. Then we’re detained at a railroad crossing.

Calm down, Sweetie, I encourage Karin. Enjoy this nice, long, live version of “The Man-Machine” that I just downloaded.

Karin is not appeased.

1:30pm: We arrive at Karin’s mom’s house. The women sort through old photographs. I sleep on the couch.

3:30pm: We arrive at home. Karin sleeps in our bed. I sit in an armchair and try to write, but mostly I alternate between sleeping and sneezing (the night’s short rest has made me vulnerable to drafts).

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Tomorrow morning, it’s back to the office at IUSB.

Happy Mother’s Day, my dear Mom.

Violet

Today I traveled with Mary & Martin to Woodburn, Indiana, for the funeral of Violet, our great-aunt. This blog entry was read during the service.

An excerpt:

In The Great Divorce C.S. Lewis talks about the kind of woman who becomes the “mother” of all who enter her door. Violet was this sort of mother, for whom “every young man or boy that met her became her son. … Every girl that met her was her daughter.” In the book, Heaven celebrates her with a great, golden fanfare. Because the quiet, sacrificial service of a mother has enormous spiritual influence: “like when you throw a stone into a pool, and the concentric waves spread out further and further. Who knows where it will end?”

When I was very little, Aunt Violet visited Ecuador. We played together every day. Though I forgot that friendship, that mutual enjoyment, she did not. For each of my birthdays, she sent me a card; at every family reunion, she greeted me warmly.

As I grew older, I returned less and less warmth to her until finally, for no good reason, I was as cold as ice to her. Her service to me became truly sacrificial.

(These days I have been repenting of many things. But enough about me.)

And so every participant said what a wonderful mother (grandmother; foster mother; spiritual mother) Violet had been. And when the last witness left the podium, Violet herself was given the final word. Her voice was played over the loudspeaker. It was a bit like a movie flashback, a bit like a voice from beyond the grave. In the recording, Violet was giving an interview to her granddaughter, Jill, about Jill’s daughter, Violet — about how well she loved that little girl.

Though I had barely taken the trouble to know Aunt Violet, her voice sounded so familiar, so joyful, it was as if she had never really gone. It was as if being with her again would feel like the most natural thing in the world.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.