Enough food for a feast

Last week, Don and I offered to bring food for our after-church fellowship. We, um, went a little overboard. Don made homemade sourdough bread and a fabulous soup (creamy Italian sausage and Parmesan, which simmered all night). I made blueberry tarts, and some homemade Caesar dressing to go along with the huge amount of raw veggies I cut up. We worked all day long on Saturday to prepare. This is what we ended up bringing to church, including the ingredients necessary to add to the soup last-minute.

Essentially we made enough food to feed 40 people. "Next time," Don remarked, "slap me if I suggest getting this fancy." We agreed that a salami-and-cheese tray would have been just as welcomed.

Everyone raved about the spread, but we have to remind ourselves this is supposed to just be a snack to tide everyone over until after the Bible study ... not to provide enough food for a feast.

Pastor's boy

Many of you have followed the saga of our pastor's love story. (For recaps, see here, here, here, and here.) Their son was born mid-January or so. Mrs. Pastor needed a C-section, but that was the only complication. The baby is healthy, the nursing is going great, and Mrs. Pastor has had absolutely no post-partum depression. The new parents are adjusting to their responsibilities beautifully. (And they chose a lovely and classic name for their son, too.)

Because of the C-section, Mrs. Pastor was advised against a lot of physical activities for a few weeks, including carrying the baby in his carrier. This limited her ability to attend church. But last week, she was able to attend for the first time. Pastor asked me to sit in back with her in case she needed any assistance, which I was glad to do.

Any excuse to see the baby!

Even though he was a big baby (hence the C-section), even at a bit over a month old, he's so tiny! I forgot how small newborns are.

This child is in good hands.

Baby shower

Some of you have been following the saga of our pastor's love life. (See these posts – one, two, and three – for the full story.) Mrs. Pastor is less than two weeks from having their first baby (a boy), and – as I like to joke – this is the most-anticipated baby in town.

Someone arranged a baby shower for Mrs. Pastor a couple weeks ago. In expectation of this event, I ordered what was, to me, the most useful reference book in the history of reference books for new parents. Appropriately named "The Baby Book," it was my bible as a new mother. It's never gone out of print, and has been revised and updated through the years. I was pleased to give a copy to Mrs. Pastor.

I wrapped it up for the baby shower.

The shower was held in the church basement and was well-attended.

Mrs. Pastor received many useful gifts, including some books.

As anticipated, she was given a lot of adorable baby clothes, including – comically – no fewer than about sixty onesies. Maybe more.

In addition to "The Baby Book," we also wanted to get Mrs. Pastor a ring sling. We had these for our girls and they were absolute life-savers. The company that made our original sling had gone out of business, so I did some research and recommended Mr. and Mrs. Pastor use a Maya Wrap. I gave Mrs. Pastor the website and urged her to choose the style and color she preferred, and this was her choice:

The sling hasn't arrived yet, but then neither has the baby. After he's born and Pastor and Mrs. Pastor get used to using the sling, we've urged them to order a second (our gift) because it's handy to have one to use and one to wash.

We may also get them a hand-crank baby-food grinder. We had this when our girls started eating solids. We – literally – never bought a single jar of commercial baby food, thanks to this little grinder.

The next step, of course, is the Big Event itself. Our poor pastor is as jumpy as any new father, with a suitcase packed and ready to go for when Mrs. Pastor goes into labor. Whee!

Gender reveal

Some of you have been following the saga of our pastor's love story. It all started a year and a half ago when he announced his engagement.

The wedding was a bit over a year ago.

In June – on Father's Day, no less – the pastor announced in somewhat stunned tones that Mrs. Pastor is expecting their first child. All the experienced members of the congregation chuckled at the dazed reaction of the soon-to-be-parents. We've all been there, right?

So today, we got additional news. Gender reveal: They're having a boy!

As the pastor put it, there was no mistaking it; the unborn baby was "loud and proud."

The newlyweds are adjusting to the notion of their impending responsibility. I, for one, think they'll be superb parents. They're both wonderful people with a tremendous amount of love to share.

Now, of course, they're tasked with deciding on a name......

The new normal?

We got to church early today because Don and I both had duties: I was working the Altar Guild, and Don was ushering. Our departure after the service was also delayed because of the aftermath of these duties.

It wasn't until we were driving home that Don said, "Did you hear about the letter?"

"No," I replied. "What letter?"

It seems the church received a potentially threatening letter a few days ago from a man who is "known" around town for having some mental health issues. In the letter, he apparently had some theological bone to pick, and concluded by writing that he would "see you in a few days."

Our church is very small. So is the town it's in. A call was promptly placed to the sheriff (to whom the letter-writer was known). The sheriff suggested the pastor and congregation be vigilant, to keep ancillary doors locked, and – once the service started – to keep the front doors locked as well. One of the ushers stationed himself in the narthex during the service to let in any last-minute worshippers.

Nothing unusual happened during the service – nor was anything mentioned by the pastor – but it does reinforce the need to take church security seriously.

Due to a worrisome incident in another town a few months ago (which, fortunately, turned out to be nothing), Don decided he would always be armed during his waking hours. He frequently arms himself anyway, but now he's always packing. He has a small and easily concealed handgun that he routinely straps on, both around the house and when doing errands in town.

I'm sure our church has a security policy (though I don't know what it is), just as I'm sure there are a select number of congregants packing heat. If things get more lawless, I might join in too.

We live in interesting times.

Pastor: A love story (the sequel)

Back in March of 2022, I put up a post called "Pastor: A Love Story" which chronicled how our pastor met the woman who was to become his wife.

The wedding happened last September, and Mrs. Pastor has become a beloved member of the congregation. She's also a writer (unpublished) so we have a lot in common.

Last week – on Father's Day – the pastor concluded the service and then made the announcement everyone was hoping would eventually happen: He just learned he was going to be a father. The poor guy still looked a little shell-shocked at the news.

Yes, Mrs. Pastor is expecting, and we're all thrilled for them. During communion at today's service, the pastor touched his wife's abdomen and gave to his unborn child the blessing he normally gives to young children who aren't old enough to take communion. I nearly burst into tears, it was so sweet.

Both our pastor and his wife are nervous about their impending responsibilities – but hey, that's normal. (I always say there's a reason a baby takes nine months to develop; it takes that long to get used to the concept of being parents).

I've been researching ring slings (baby slings) as a gift to the soon-to-be parents. We wish our pastor and his bride every happiness as they embark on this new adventure.

Pastor: A love story

When we first moved here to our current home, we found a church to attend in a nearby town. Solely by coincidence, the church had hired a new pastor literally the week before we showed up. In other words, we just missed his installation by one week. He came to our church all the way from Florida.

He's a fine pastor: godly, knowledgeable, compassionate. He has a ringing bell-like voice, an easy smile and laugh, and a gentle, kindly demeanor. But he has something of a handicap as a pastor, where he must often counsel married people: for a variety of reasons, he's still single at the age of 42.

Last autumn, this pastor got together with some other pastors for a regional conference. While meeting an elder from another church, our pastor introduced himself and included the initial "S" for his middle name. "The 'S' is for 'single,'" he joked to the elder.

And then the other man uttered four words that would forever change our pastor's life. "I have a daughter...."

Yes, this other man had a single 38-year-old daughter living and working in southern Idaho. Would our pastor be interested in meeting her?

And so commenced something of a long-distance romance – so long a distance, in fact, that hardly anyone in the church has met the lady. It didn't matter. As Don put it, every woman in the congregation was rooting for them. Once in a while the pastor would shyly admit things were "going in the right direction," but he didn't elaborate much beyond that.

Until today.

After the service today, the pastor – as usual – gave announcements to the congregation. After finishing up with church business, he paused on a solemn note and gave sorrowful news: He and the lady had decided to stop dating.

There was an audible gasp of dismay from everyone in the sanctuary.

Then, with a twinkle in his eye, he added: "Because we became engaged." The church erupted into cheers and applause.

I can't even begin to tell you how happy this made the congregation. Here are two lonely souls who found each other relatively late in life. From the sounds of it, neither can quite believe his or her good fortune.

The wedding is tentatively set for September. There's even talk about them trying to start a family.

We wish our pastor and his new fiancée every happiness.

Quiet Christmas

As anticipated, Don and I had a very quiet Christmas. The weather permitted us to slip away Friday night to attend the Christmas Eve service in town, where the church was charmingly decorated.

Christmas Day was quiet since, as I mentioned before, I worked all day. In the evening, Don put his computer monitor on top the woodstove and connected it to an old laptop. From this complicated setup, we were able to watch "A Christmas Carol" with George C. Scott (our annual tradition). We don't have a television, so this temporary arrangement was the only way we could both watch the movie at the same time.

We all agree that George C. Scott is a phenomenal actor.

We had ourselves a mug of Irish creme, pretty much the extent of our festivities.

It's a good thing we made it to the Christmas Eve service. We had plans to attend the Sunday service, but about the time we were getting ready, it started snowing as heavily as I've ever seen. We got about three inches in 20 minutes, and as I post this it's still coming down quite hard, though the earlier intensity has passed.

The weather report said an "intense snow shower" was passing over. They weren't kidding. In the interests of safety, we decided to stay home. The road to church is steep and windy, so we hoped God would understand.

So that was our quiet Christmas. How was yours?

The missing hymns

For years, the Lewis family attended a church near our old home. We loved the pastor, the congregants, the music, the worship. The church later had something of a shakeup after the pastor retired, and we found a new church in which to worship.

For years after leaving that church, two hymns stayed with me, but – frustratingly – I could not remember what they were called or even much of the tunes. They teased the edge of my mind and wouldn't leave me alone. I haven't heard them played or sung in any of the churches we've attended since.

This weekend I got serious about tracking down these missing hymns. "The first one had a boat," I said to Don. "I remember it was in 6/8 time. It was originally written in Spanish and we sang a translation." Beyond that, I couldn't remember anything else.

So, feeling I had nothing to lose, I typed "hymn 6/8 time boat" into a search engine and started scanning the results. After five minutes..."Got it!"

The song (in English) is titled "Lord, You Have Come to the Seashore." I sampled two dozen YouTube versions and found the one I liked best, sung by two talented young women with a simple accompaniment. This is a hymn, I feel, not as suited for mighty choirs or professional vocalists. Instead, it's a humble hymn for humble worship.

Here are the lyrics:

Lord, you have come to the seashore,
neither searching for the rich nor the wise,
desiring only that I should follow.

O, Lord, with your eyes set upon me,
gently smiling, you have spoken my name;
all I longed for I have found by the water,
at your side, I will seek other shores.

Lord, see my goods, my possessions;
in my boat you find no power, no wealth.
Will you accept, then, my nets and labour?

O, Lord, with your eyes set upon me,
gently smiling, you have spoken my name;
all I longed for I have found by the water,
at your side, I will seek other shores.

Lord, take my hands and direct them.
Help me spend myself in seeking the lost,
returning love for the love you gave me.

O, Lord, with your eyes set upon me,
gently smiling, you have spoken my name;
all I longed for I have found by the water,
at your side, I will seek other shores.

Lord, as I drift on the waters,
be the resting place of my restless heart,
my life’s companion, my friend and refuge.

O, Lord, with your eyes set upon me,
gently smiling, you have spoken my name;
all I longed for I have found by the water,
at your side, I will seek other shores.

After some searching, I found the other hymn I liked. This one is called "I Was There to Hear your Borning Cry" and it covers life stages.

Here are the lyrics:

I was there to hear your borning cry,
I'll be there when you are old.
I rejoiced the day you were baptized,
to see your life unfold.

I was there when you were but a child,
with a faith to suit you well;
I'll be there in case you wander off
to find where demons dwell.

When you heard the wonder of the Word
I was there to cheer you on;
You were raised to praise the living God,
to whom you now belong.

If you find someone to share your time
and you join your hearts as one,
I'll be there to make your verses rhyme
from dusk 'till rising sun.

In the middle ages of your life,
not too old, no longer young,
I'll be there to guide you through the night,
complete what I've begun.

When the evening gently closes in,
and you shut your weary eyes,
I'll be there as I have always been
with just one more surprise.

I was there to hear your borning cry,
I'll be there when you are old.
I rejoiced the day you were baptized,
to see your life unfold.

Now the missing hymns are missing no longer.

God be with you, Spike

Today a neighbor called with some horrifically sad news: our retired pastor, David "Spike" Shine, had passed away.

Spike was our pastor for many, many years. More than that, he was a dear friend. He was instrumental in bringing us all back to our faith, and his influence on our family was profound. His sermons were phenomenal and I can't count the number of times I asked him to email one or another to me so I could refer to them later.

After his retirement, and after he moved to another town, we kept in touch. Through his last illness, he was unrelentingly cheerful and funny, as he'd always been.

Rest in peace, dear Spike. You will be missed, but now you can deliver your wonderful sermons to a wider audience.

Happy post-Resurrection Day!

Sorry I didn't get a post up yesterday, it turned out to be far busier than I planned.

The highlight was attending church, of course.

On this day, because the crowds are overflowing, the church rents a theater hall at a local college to hold the main service. Later I looked up the seating capacity, and it came in at 1150, and I estimate 80 percent of the seats were full.

The thing about attending a huge church service -- something we seldom do, since our church isn't a "mega"-sized entity -- is the sheer wattage of joy that overflows from the worshippers. We opened with a rousing version of the hymn "Jesus Christ is risen today" and it brought chills. On the stage was a choir, some additional singers, a bell choir, and a small brass ensemble, so the music swelled along with the voices.

On the left is the church's pastor emeritus, who retired a short time before we began attending. He's substituted during a few services over the past couple of years, and it's easy to see why he was so well-loved by the congregation -- he's fabulous. He gave the readings.

The pastor in the middle is the senior pastor, a powerful speaker and joyous soul whose voice, unfortunately, was raspy after so many back-to-back services. He gave everything but the sermon.

The pastor on the right is the assistant pastor hired last year, a man with an extraordinary amount of foreign missionary experience. He's fluent in several languages, including Russian and Polish, and spent many years in remote areas of Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Ukraine, etc. He delivered a rousing sermon.

This is my WND column for the weekend, entitled "Cheap Grace."

In response to the column, I received an email from an atheist reader as follows:

Your basic assumption is that the Bible is written by God when it was written by many men and politically rationalized under the Nicea agreement. God could easily convince us all he is real but does not bother; men have to play games with bronze age authors to make themselves important, writing things that control people.

It is such an obvious fabrication that young people have no time for such [expletive deleted].

You are past your sell by date when you cannot recognized such obvious fraud. The current and future generations will not be so naïve. Jesus, a great personage, will go the way of Apollo, Zeus, Ishtaar and Thor.

This email saddened me -- not for the hateful tone (I'm used to that) but because this man is missing out on the sheer joy that comes with faith. Sad, very sad.

At one point during the service, a thousand voices recited the Lord's Prayer in unison. A thousand people, praying the familiar prayer given by Jesus himself. Top that for sheer power.

I hope, dear readers, you all experienced a blessed Resurrection Day. Christ is risen, He is risen indeed. Hallelujah!

Skiing penguins

Yesterday Older Daughter decided to wear a long skirt to church, but since it was cold outside she wanted to wear leggings under her skirt for extra warmth.

Trouble was, she couldn't find her leggings. So, in the absence of time, she settled on pajamas.

Complete with skiing penguins. Hey, whatever works.

Her argument is no one knew she was wearing them except, arguably, God -- so what did it matter?

Happy Resurrection Sunday

Our Sunday started out beautiful and sunny. Here the morning shadows stretch long from the east.

The animals lounged under the awning.

Smoky greeted the morning on top an old tire.

Everyone seemed pleased by the mild spring weather...

...including pretty little Dusty.

Later in the morning we attended a community-wide church service, since it was led by our pastor. We’d never been to a service this large – so big, in fact, that it was moved into a college performance hall.

We didn’t know what to expect, but in fact it was splendid… even if things were a bit more “showy” than we’re used to. But the pastor gave a rip-roaring joyful sermon (he's a joyful guy anyway), and we came away energized.

No one in our neighborhood potluck had any special plans for this weekend, so we decided to have a Pascal feast (at our house, since it's our turn to host). As I post this, we have a turkey roasting in the oven. The house is clean, the stuffing is made, and our Lord is risen.

Happy Resurrection Day!

If you can read this, thank a vet...

Yesterday we attended a special Veteran's Day service at our church.

Some flag-bearing veterans welcomed everyone.

This extremely impressive Flag of Honor was on display...

...created from the names of those who perished on 9/11.

We had an elderly vet who brought the flag in and out, with due ceremony.

I hope everyone thanked a vet today for their service to our country.