The Last Weekend of Winter?

Elisbeth's Basketball Game: Barstow vs. W. Rutland

Fireman or Handyman?

JTT & His Puppies

Young Folks

The kids have a little CD player in their room for listening to books on tape and lullabies on CD and such. But recently they discovered the radio function and veggie tales have been eclipsed by much stranger fare. Just now I was talking to Christine on the couch and heard some familiar whistling from the girl's room. We paused to listen and found that it was the song "Young Folk" by Peter, Bjorn, and John. I'm not sure how I feel about them listening to music by Scandinavian artists at such a tender age.
What's next? ABBA?!!
I might have to put them on a strict Sandi Patti diet for the next few days.

The Amazing Shrinking Vocabulary

Last night at prayer meeting with the women down at the Village Manor I talked about sin: both the subject of sin and the word itself. We talked about the many ways in which we try to substitute euphemisms or explain away our behavior in other terms. I asked them if they could estimate the percentage of their daily behavior or thought life that might fall into the category of sin. None of us could, but we all agreed that it was probably a notable percentage.
Then I asked if anyone around the table had used the word "sin" in the past week, or the past month. The one woman who had was a faithful Roman Catholic who had used it as part of the ritual associated with her trip to confession.
So we talked about ways to bring "sin" back into our vocabularies. It was an interesting and thoughtful conversation.
So how about you? When was the last time that you used the word "sin," particularly to describe your own or someone else's behavior?

The highlight for me, by the way, was as we were wrapping up our conversation of sin to transition to prayer and one of the women, who I think was upset with the fire and brimstone, remarked that "we're going to have to start living some pretty holy lives." I took her to mean from her inflection that she would rather be holy than have to talk about sin, and that being holy was almost as unpleasant and onerous as bringing up the "s" word.
But she's right. We need to start living some pretty holy lives.

I should be doing . . .

Church work. The taxes. Moving something heavy from the van into the cellar.

But it's 9:30 at night. The living room looks drowsy in the lamp light. Christine is sewing a quilt. The kids are all sleeping. Eunice is stretched out pleasantly on the floor at my feet. And the wind makes the house talk and taps the windows with blowing snow.

I think I'll read an article and go to bed. I'd rather set my alarm for 4:30 than break the spell of a beautiful evening.