tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281122082024-03-13T00:33:04.316-04:00Willing, Wanting, Waiting....Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.comBlogger187125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-25850997156823850672022-10-13T15:20:00.000-04:002022-10-13T15:20:06.896-04:00New website, etc.<p><br />Greetings!</p><p>Per usual, I've been pretty quiet on this blog. Part of this is because I've been working for the past year to create a new website that would give me more flexibility in what I can post. I've wanted a space where I could have a few different "pages" and a place where I could share some exciting details about publications I've been involved in. </p><p>So if you get updates from this blog, please be sure to hop over to <a href="https://lorebegins.com">A Shaft of Sun in the Rain</a> and subscribe. I've posted a few things there, the first post being <a href="https://lorebegins.com/?p=398">"Forging Ahead."</a> </p><p>This blog will still exist--I have too many memories I want to keep here! Also, I think I'll still post my annual Keren memorial here. That way it doesn't get lost in the shuffle of other posts.</p><p>See you over on my other site!</p><p>~Loren</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB06KVPH-Tau8rg6xz97Xa0s85EPLhmmRM_jWzB2UfT2LAa4owcg7ZI53x-K9fUqFZUrntgKpqokgDhjI0KGpPA8BUfQoawZuDqj2PWOCTrIxrUulKZeYy8XQsRJx2XQOxvtEk7v57gqT-NW_7NLag9IoXCtcONLWU6OHL493F4otQb7Z926I/s4032/IMG_9089.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="349" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB06KVPH-Tau8rg6xz97Xa0s85EPLhmmRM_jWzB2UfT2LAa4owcg7ZI53x-K9fUqFZUrntgKpqokgDhjI0KGpPA8BUfQoawZuDqj2PWOCTrIxrUulKZeYy8XQsRJx2XQOxvtEk7v57gqT-NW_7NLag9IoXCtcONLWU6OHL493F4otQb7Z926I/w262-h349/IMG_9089.HEIC" width="262" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A new web...site :-)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p>Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-43037890075048635262022-02-01T00:13:00.006-05:002022-02-01T00:13:55.475-05:00Resurrection<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEia-qummXVTUtyX_BAOKdZw-bcEJW1uDTrUnzEuPo1AC1JZXyyxzPe0vxT-1e-wCvsS5MfPIv419Na0gmfFaNMzXvvZa-od1QQ3vMm5cUKWYdgKYqhaEWtf2R_WD6wOmL5DBZoWk0u2GpjnV8zs54qpzKYKvEZvwr_wqxlplBjFTINLBAKu96s=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="411" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEia-qummXVTUtyX_BAOKdZw-bcEJW1uDTrUnzEuPo1AC1JZXyyxzPe0vxT-1e-wCvsS5MfPIv419Na0gmfFaNMzXvvZa-od1QQ3vMm5cUKWYdgKYqhaEWtf2R_WD6wOmL5DBZoWk0u2GpjnV8zs54qpzKYKvEZvwr_wqxlplBjFTINLBAKu96s=w308-h411" width="308" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Last Thursday a friend of mine asked a mutual friend, “Have you chosen your word for the year?”</span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Yes, I have,” our friend said, a smile illuminating her face. “It’s ‘resurrection.’”</span></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I didn’t realize till that moment how much <i>I</i> needed that word. I immediately pictured a bright red cardinal (I’d just seen one with his mate earlier that day in the crepe myrtle off our back patio). Cardinals symbolize many things, one of which is heavenly visitors who bring messages from loved ones in heaven, but I’ve always thought of them in relation to resurrection. They remind me of Philippians 3:20-21:</span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><blockquote><i><span style="font-size: medium;">But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will transform our lowly body to be like his glorious body, by the power that enables him even to subject all things to himself.</span></i></blockquote><p></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We had that verse, along with a cardinal and dogwood blossoms, etched onto Keren’s gravemarker. This past Friday, January 28, the day after my friend told us her word, was the thirteenth anniversary of Keren’s death. We’ve had thirteen years of looking toward resurrection. </span></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There is so much life in that word, and I know my friend was particularly considering the emotional and spiritual aspects of resurrection for her and her family this year. As much as I hope and long for the eventual physical resurrection, I needed the reminder that there can be other kinds of resurrection in my life right now.</span></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For some reason this January has been darker than the past few years. Maybe it’s the fact that we had a busy, wonderful visit with Kraig’s family over Christmas that ended with a dragging cold (just the regular kind, but still blah). Maybe it was the thread running throughout the visit reminding us that our parents are all getting older, and Kraig’s parents are facing serious health challenges, and I’ve had a few conversations with friends my age who are facing that same realization. Maybe it’s the knowledge that this March I’ll hit half a century, and that Kraig and my kids and their many cousins are speeding toward adulthood. Maybe it’s the fact that my friend Pam faced the first anniversary of her son’s death this January. Maybe it’s that the world seems to be in more and more chaos—Covid and other illnesses cancel events, U.S. politics grow increasingly partisan, Russia bullies Ukraine, China presses harder and harder on those within its borders…and without. Our local church limps through the process of identifying who we are and who we should be, and what hurts need to be healed. The darkness presses in.</span></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We arrived home from Michigan late New Year’s Eve, and New Year’s Day was cloudy and warm. Our Japanese maple put out a couple premature blooms, cups of fuschia held against the gray sky. I was happy to see the color after two weeks of northern winter deadness, but any time that tree blooms early I flinch because I know the blooms won’t last. Sure enough, the temperatures plummeted by January 2, and the few blooms drooped and browned. The rest of the buds have kept closed since, and though they often bloom at the end of January, right around Keren’s heaven-day, they haven’t yet this year. I miss them, but I am content to wait, because the later they bloom, the less likely they are to get zapped by frost. Resurrection is worth waiting for.</span></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But yes, January has been bleaker than usual. We’ve kept our Christmas tree up with its jewel-toned lights beating back the dark. I learned about Candlemas this year, the feast on February 2 that celebrates the day Mary and Joseph took Jesus to the temple and Simeon held him and said, “…my eyes have seen your salvation that you prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to your people Israel.” My friend Sunny said Candlemas was the traditional day for taking down the lights. I’ve usually done it around Ephiphany—Three Kings Day—on January 6, but decided this year that February was quite good enough. We have time tomorrow, February 1, so the kids and I will get the Christmas paraphernalia put away. But we will still keep up some lights. The white strand on the mantlepiece lasted all of last year.</span></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I wonder what this year will bring. Despite the undercurrent of bleak this January there are bright points of light and some incredibly exciting things we’re anticipating. But it all goes by so quickly. Life is fleeting, and it seems like so much time is wasting away. Maybe that thought is why I’ve needed more light this January.</span></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The kids and I have been working our way through Dante’s <i>Divine Comedy</i> this year alongside an invaluable resource, <a href="https://100daysofdante.com">The 100 Days of Dante</a>. This past Friday we read the 28th Canto of Purgatory. It seemed more than coincidence to me that on the 28th day of January, Keren’s heaven-day, we read the 28th Canto of Purgatory where Dante enters early paradise at the foot of Empyrion, the heavenly paradise. Since September we’ve taken the long road with him through the agonizing imagery of the Inferno, and the slow sanctification of Purgatory, so as we read Dante’s wonder as he stepped into the beautiful wood of earthly paradise, I felt like I had also stepped into the light. It’s amazing to me how God works like that. The sun shone brightly outside and my kids and I grasped a few lovely truths. I discovered that two friends of mine both have birthdays on the 28th and was thrilled to remember that life happened on the 28th, not just death. </span></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Miracles happen. Each day I can remember there will be resurrection. In the meantime, I will focus on the Life and the Light.</span></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p>Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-47170397881468727852021-01-28T23:49:00.002-05:002021-01-29T10:56:36.585-05:00Dates<p><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uPeEcFGOZak/YBOSYlkIolI/AAAAAAAAFwI/gTelotLY3aMkOcuPufeJQIlj5vCv8Q0aACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_0429.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="303" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uPeEcFGOZak/YBOSYlkIolI/AAAAAAAAFwI/gTelotLY3aMkOcuPufeJQIlj5vCv8Q0aACLcBGAsYHQ/w404-h303/IMG_0429.HEIC" width="404" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">This morning the kids and I watched a feature about the tragedy of the Space Shuttle Challenger. Today was the thirty-fifth anniversary of its explosion. The feature showed old grainy footage of the explosion and the kids watched wide-eyed…and I remembered. I didn’t see the explosion live, but I remember where I was the day it happened. I remember hearing about it in Mrs. Balconi’s eighth grade U. S. History class and our hubbub of discussion and shock after we’d heard about it. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">Thirty-five years ago today! It’s strange to look back and realize that when it happened it seemed a momentous date in my personal history, but in reality I’d completely forgotten the date. Days and years erased the exact point on the calendar, and when our daughter Keren died twelve years ago today I didn’t once connect it to the Challenger explosion. I wonder if next year I’ll remember. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">My dad loves to connect people and events with dates. It’s not unusual for him to say on the occasion of someone’s birthday, “Did you know that on this date in —year, so-and-so died?” Or, “This was the same day that we headed to the Philippines in 1977.” (Actually, I don’t know what date that was, and what other events might have happened on that date. Dad? Want to fill me in? 😀 ). The older I get, the more I see these overlaps and connections, and yet I forget the specific dates.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">January has a fair share of depressing dates. </span><span style="font-family: times;">Back in the ‘80s, before the shuttle explosion, January was marked by my grandfather’s death.</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px;"> </span><span style="font-family: times;">I think it was a year after we lost Keren that the daughter of family friends was killed in a car accident. Two years after she died, on the same date, one of my friends from church lost her husband to cancer. Two years ago the young son of a colleague of Kraig’s died suddenly and unexpectedly. That same January or the one after the grown son of family friends died leaving behind a wife and young kids. And then on January 14 of this year another friend back in Michigan tragically lost her sixteen-year-old son. My friend will never forget the significance of January 14.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">Yet I probably <i>will</i> forget that particular date. I can’t tell you what the date was when most of those other January tragedies occurred. I just know they happened in January. I probably wouldn’t even remember the month if Keren hadn’t died in January. It makes me a little sad that my brain can be so traitorous to forget exact moments that were life-changing to friends and loved ones. I want to remember with them, and comfort them.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">But dates on the calendar are about as concrete as minutes on a clock. We see them on paper and on a clock face, but they aren’t really <i>things</i>. The memories themselves, though, are real, and they stick.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">And I remember that there are beautiful things that happened in cold January as well as the sorrowful losses. I remember a bitter winter morning early in the month when Keren was only three months old and had just gotten through her first cold. The house was packed with family over the holidays because none of us knew how long Keren would live, and all wanted to be with us and her. Kraig and I were exhausted from sleepless nights of trying to feed Keren and making sure she was breathing okay. That morning, though, the house was silent. Everyone had gone to church and I stayed home with Keren. She was resting in her bassinet, and I leaned over to look at her, and she looked up and smiled at me—her first, true smile. I will never forget the way the room filled with light.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">I remember the day Keren died, the snow falling on snow, driving after the ambulance that carried her to the hospital when I didn’t know if she was still alive. I remember glancing out at a field and seeing the sun pierce through the clouds and send a ray down, illuminating the white with radiance. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">I remember the following year when we welcomed family and friends, Keren’s teachers, and some of her classmates and their parents, and we celebrated the memory of Keren and how she had touched all of our lives. It was another frigid January day in Michigan and the sun filled the house with light. Children dashed among the adults, and laughter rang through the rooms.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">I remember January in Guadalajara when we remembered Keren’s heaven-day for the first time in a home far from Michigan, and how it didn’t seem so hard because <i>everything</i> was new, and the weather was like spring.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">I remember January here in Texas and watching the blooms burst open on the magnolia tree outside our dining room window. This year they’re growing more slowly, but I’m watching the buds increase each day, and I’m looking forward to the exuberant pink that will soon explode from the fuzzy green-gray pods. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">I probably will never be as skillful as my dad at remembering the dates. Thankfully, though, God continues to give the memories.</span></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p>Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-71142349689741730042020-12-30T14:56:00.006-05:002021-01-28T23:50:02.751-05:00Light in the dark<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qcq1kIqKvN0/X-zY_ByHlII/AAAAAAAAFvI/027UTCsigJwAPAmZ-SDo9PaafwJibmGQQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2016/Advent%2Bcandles.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qcq1kIqKvN0/X-zY_ByHlII/AAAAAAAAFvI/027UTCsigJwAPAmZ-SDo9PaafwJibmGQQCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/Advent%2Bcandles.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><span><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 12px;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-family: times;">A few Sundays ago we sang Christina Rossetti’s classic carol:</span></span><p></p>
<blockquote><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><i><span style="font-family: times;">In the bleak mid-winter</span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="font-family: times;">Frosty wind made moan;</span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="font-family: times;">Earth stood hard as iron,</span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="font-family: times;">Water like a stone;</span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="font-family: times;">Snow had fallen, snow on snow,</span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="font-family: times;">Snow on snow,</span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="font-family: times;">In the bleak mid-winter</span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="font-family: times;">Long ago.</span></i></p></blockquote><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><i></i></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: times;">This year those words fell more solidly than usual. Even though we live in Texas where snow doesn’t fall on snow, water isn’t like stone, and the earth isn’t as hard as iron, I know what that kind of winter is like. Rossetti’s words capture the bitterness of it. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">Of course, even as we sang the niggle of Real History nipped at me.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">“You do realize Jesus probably wasn’t born in the midst of winter,” said Real History. “And even if he was, the weather of a Judean countryside isn’t exactly like England in December where Rossetti penned these words.”</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">This year, though, Real History didn’t hang around long. The words and the images of the song were too strong, especially as I looked toward the front of the sanctuary where the Advent candles flickered, beating back the dark of 2020. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">After all, there’s a reason why early believers decided to place Christ’s birth at the darkest point of the year. There are times when metaphor is necessary to convey truth.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">This year Kraig, the kids, and I created our own advent wreath. It’s nothing fancy, and we didn’t go by a traditional color scheme. We lit each of the candles at the right points in the Advent season, but we didn’t do traditional readings. Instead, we simply lit them with the word reminders for each week: Hope. Peace. Joy. Love. Christ.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">It turned out those words were what I needed this year. I could focus on those single words without the paraphernalia and busyness of the Christmas season. I’ve returned to them as more and more of the world seems to unravel in this dark year of 2020. They have been lights in the dark.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">I keep hearing talk about how 2020 is almost over. It’s as if something magical is expected to happen on the stroke of midnight January 1, 2021. As a result, I’ve found I’m mentally preparing for what I know to be true: There won’t be a big change. We’ll still be dealing with the fallout of 2020 and working to move forward. I’m not trying to be cynical, just realistic. </span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">The problem is, despite my realistic take I have to fight my tendency to live in anticipation of the next thing to come crashing down, because bad things keep happening. On the Sunday before Christmas another unexpected piece broke when our church leadership announced that a beloved pastor in the church had resigned due to moral failing. In the midst of the shock and grief, the quiet disillusioned voice whispered, “Of course. You didn’t expect everything to keep going well in your church, did you?”</span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">But it’s already not been “well.” The thing is, I thought the “not well” was only the upheaval of 2020 with diverse responses to Covid. That has been upsetting enough. It’s hard to come week after week and not know if acquaintances have disappeared because they’re attending online, or if they’ve pulled up and moved somewhere else. When I know someone is gone I wonder why, and I wonder how I will talk to them when I see them, or if I should ask them about their decision. I thought that was the extent of the navigating. </span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">With this latest blow, I’ve realized we’ll be entering 2021 with even more to work through. There will be much deeper wounds that need care and more healing needed than dealing with losing friends. Kraig and I have been through turbulence before in other churches, and we aren’t going anywhere now. Our default response to upheaval is to latch on as tightly as we can and navigate through it. We’re praying that we can do that alongside our church and our pastor who’s resigned and his family. </span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">So yeah, no magic solution to the darkness of 2020 will occur as we slip into 2021. Rather, the way seems to get murkier and crazier. The earth is as hard as iron, the frosty wind moans. The snow is pretty at first, but as it piles, and the skies turn to lead, and the paths grow crusted and icy, it’s hard to keep trekking. </span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">This is the point when I look at the candle flame:</span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” ~John 1:5 ESV</span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">Christ is the light. He has come. He is here. He will come again. </span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">The darkness will not overcome him. </span></p><div><br /></div>Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-23032991218342660032020-11-26T19:33:00.001-05:002020-11-26T19:34:52.411-05:00Peacemaking and Another Post<p> Happy Thanksgiving!</p><p>I know this is a crazy year, but I can't help but say there is reason for thanks even when my camellias bloom a vibrant pink just as everything else is turning brown, red, and gold. I wrote a <a href="https://aliciapollard.com/2020/11/26/thresholds-peacemaking-by-loren-warnemuende/" target="_blank">post</a> contemplating this and other thoughts that my friend Alicia posted today on her blog, <a href="https://aliciapollard.com" target="_blank">Stories of Yearning</a>, as part of another collaborative project she put together. </p><p>Good thing she creates these projects or apparently I'd never post! Back in August she published an excerpt from a book I've written. That story was a part of her Summer of Faerie project, and I managed to get two posts done for that 😁. Here's the link to that story: <a href="https://aliciapollard.com/2020/08/09/summer-of-faerie-the-decision-by-loren-warnemuende/" target="_blank">The Decision</a>. </p><p>May you be encouraged!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eFbvxiPGx5Y/X8BIWjJER4I/AAAAAAAAFt4/51Ve-w-ccyUW_Nk0md7MMjLwJ5tMxjDiACLcBGAsYHQ/s2016/IMG_0188.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="448" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eFbvxiPGx5Y/X8BIWjJER4I/AAAAAAAAFt4/51Ve-w-ccyUW_Nk0md7MMjLwJ5tMxjDiACLcBGAsYHQ/w336-h448/IMG_0188.jpg" width="336" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-65943307441176393462020-07-01T14:46:00.000-04:002020-07-01T14:46:01.021-04:00Case in Point<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1YjOu8mUD0c/XvzPETXDw5I/AAAAAAAAFmI/1ktdIsBhIXwUKLaZrNW5NRHaTqLWmduWQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/1995-07-01%2BKraig%2Band%2BLoren.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="565" data-original-width="604" height="299" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1YjOu8mUD0c/XvzPETXDw5I/AAAAAAAAFmI/1ktdIsBhIXwUKLaZrNW5NRHaTqLWmduWQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/1995-07-01%2BKraig%2Band%2BLoren.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">July 1, 1995</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Twenty-five years ago today, July 1, 1995, Kraig and I got married. We looked at each other this morning and said, “A quarter of a century? Really?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">When we sat down to breakfast this morning, I thought I’d get nostalgic. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">“Someday,” I said to Kraig and the kids, “we should pull out the DVD of our wedding and watch it.” </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">“You have a recording?” the kids asked, jaws dropped.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">“Of course!” Then I paused. “Well, yes, there’s a video recording, and I’m pretty sure we’ve got it on DVD….”<br />
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“Yep, that was before digital recording,” Kraig said. “It was analog.”<br />
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“What’s the difference between digital and analog?” Clare asked.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">That was all it took to desert nostalgia. For the rest of breakfast we had an in-depth discussion and analysis of how digital recording works vs. analog. Kraig, of course, did most of the technical breakdown. I added a few examples (“This is why vinyl recordings are becoming more popular again—seamless sound.”), but for the most part I listened and mentally sat back and pondered how I could translate this breakfast discussion into a blogpost celebrating Kraig and my twenty-five years of marriage. It was a perfect example of one of the things I love about being married to Kraig, but in a way it’s a picture of our married life—lots of unexpected twists.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">When Kraig and I married, we had plans—naturally! We were missionary kids who had loved that experience, and we wanted to go overseas ourselves. Kraig wanted to teach overseas and was in the process of getting his degree in civil engineering. I had a degree in secondary education and planned to get a master’s in teaching English to speakers of other languages. For the first years of our marriage we worked on those degrees, with Kraig moving into a master’s and then a doctorate. I taught secondary education for a few years, and then tutored international professionals in the Detroit area.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">About five years into married life we thought it’d be great to start having kids. Despite experiencing plenty of shifts in our lives growing up, I think this was the first time we came face-to-face with the truth that life doesn’t always go the way you plan. We had two miscarriages in 2001, and suddenly parenthood took on a greater significance. We realized we didn’t just want to have kids, we wanted to be parents and to <i>raise</i> kids and create a family. When we got pregnant with Keren in 2002, we were thrilled…only to have our world shaken again when we learned prenatally that she might not survive birth. But God had prepared us. Her life had significance and worth it might not have had if we hadn’t miscarried before. Keren was born with Trisomy 18, but she was ours, and God had given her to us for as long as he planned, and that was all that mattered. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Summer 2008</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">With Keren in our life and all of the doctors, therapists, and special education needs her life required, our life-plan changed. We no longer planned to head overseas. My life shifted into being a mom, even more-so when Clare and Evie joined our family in the following years. Kraig completed his doctorate, and did some teaching locally, but moved into a consulting firm. He saw the need to get practical experience in his field; the health insurance package didn’t hurt, either. We grew together, learned together. We watched how our family, church, and school friends came alongside us and loved all of us. As we lived with Keren and saw her love us, we discovered new depths to what God means by unconditional love. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And then January 28, 2009 dawned, and Keren left us, and our world shifted again. In the midst of our grief, God gave us joy. I was about thirteen weeks along with Jon when Keren died, and my doctor, looking at that early ultrasound, predicted he was a boy. It was as if God said, “I’m not replacing Keren—she will always be unique in your lives. I am giving you something new.” Again family and friends surrounded us and loved us. We moved with the shifting, grieved, and laughed, and changed.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">With Keren’s death, Kraig and I were faced with another question: Did this mean we should look at the possibility of going overseas again? It was a hard question, because in some ways it was as if we were setting aside our life that we’d had with Keren. It’s extremely strange to be a parent of a special needs child for six-and-a-half years and then suddenly have a “regular” family with no outside indication that we’d ever been different. By leaving our home and roots in Michigan, we left everyone who had known Keren and us when we had her. That was a tough choice.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Yet God opened the doors, and in July of 2014 we stepped off the plane with our family in Guadalajara, Mexico, into a new life and a whole new career for Kraig. The initial one-year visiting professor contract was extended to two, with hope of more years. Our first year was difficult, to say the least. I’ve written about some of that before—Kraig was exhausted with new work, the kids struggled with culture shock and change, and I struggled with, well, wanting to love what we were experiencing, but actually hating much of it. By the second year, though, we found our stride and as friendships grew and work life and home life settled, we looked forward to a longer time…only for the university to upend its hiring plan and structure, which meant it was impossible for us to continue there….</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">What we knew clearly by the end of those two years was that Kraig wanted to continue teaching. What we didn’t know was where. Would we move to another country? Would we be back in the United States? It was fascinating to watch as God opened the doors for Kraig to teach at LeTourneau, and in the fall of 2016 we settled into life in Longview, Texas. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I remember our second year here we got some estimates for new windows in our home. One of the assessors asked, “So, you’re planning on living here for a long time?” I cocked my head, puzzling how to answer. We needed new windows. How was this a decision that meant we’d be here longterm? I <i>liked</i> being here. All of us settled into life in East Texas extremely smoothly. I knew I didn’t want to leave. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">But in the years Kraig and I have been married, and in my life in general, being settled in one place has never been the key to our happiness and security. We haven’t even celebrated life events like anniversaries in particularly special ways—anniversaries typically fit around other momentous events. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">On our tenth anniversary we stayed close to home—we had Keren and expected Clare any day. </span></span> </blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"></span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">On our fifteenth we chose shingles for our new roof.</span></span> </blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"></span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">On our twentieth anniversary we left Mexico and headed to Michigan for the summer. </span></span> </blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"></span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">This year, our 25th, we were supposed to go on a cruise to the Baltic with my parents and sisters to celebrate my parents’ 50th, and our 25th and my sister and her husband’s 20th by default. Instead, thanks to the coronavirus, we headed to a quiet family cabin in Pennsylvania to be together. </span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">To say the least, life hasn’t gone as planned. Everything from children, to career changes, to breakfast conversations has taken detours we haven’t expected. But I wouldn’t change it for the world. I’ll never be fond of change or dramatic, life-changing events, yet I can look forward to the years God has in store for Kraig and me and our family. I will trust God with his plan because every time I look back I can see he has been with us and has helped us grow in him, which is what we want most. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And I will say, as I said to the window assessor in answer to his question about our living here longterm: “As the Lord wills!”</span></span></div>
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Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-51603883138665295692020-06-20T19:15:00.001-04:002020-06-20T19:16:32.501-04:00Another guest post: A fairy tale retoldMy friend Alicia is at it again with another fascinating collaboration on her blog, <i>Stories of Yearning</i>. For the past few weeks, a few of us have contributed posts to what she's called "Summer of Faerie." If you have the chance, check out the variety from the past few weeks! Today she posted a fairy tale retelling I wrote. I took the Grimm's Fairy Tale of 'King Thrushbeard," turned it on its head, and set it in East Texas. It was so much fun to pull on things we've experienced in that part of the world--I hope you hop on over and enjoy "<a href="https://aliciapollard.com/2020/06/20/summer-of-faerie-carla-and-the-prez-by-loren-warnemuende/"><b>Carla and the Prez</b></a>."<div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R2Fmulqq5Q0/Xu6W12J14SI/AAAAAAAAFlY/5dL6zyMTP3UgjbxiF1rT3lQ8fa6EMx6IgCK4BGAsYHg/s1080/Golden%2Bbitterweed.jpg"><img alt="Golden Bitterweed, by David Givens" border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1080" height="427" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R2Fmulqq5Q0/Xu6W12J14SI/AAAAAAAAFlY/5dL6zyMTP3UgjbxiF1rT3lQ8fa6EMx6IgCK4BGAsYHg/w640-h427/Golden%2Bbitterweed.jpg" title="Golden Bitterweed, by David Givens" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-56404281601859809152020-06-08T13:52:00.000-04:002020-06-08T13:52:06.918-04:00Precarious or Secure?<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Back in February, before the world turned upside down, my daughter Clare painted a picture for our local art museum’s student exhibition. Using watercolors, she painted a pair of hands holding the world. The globe is almost like a soap bubble—slightly transparent, and Clare worked hard to make the hands realistic.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When she first showed it to me she had titled the piece “Earth’s precarious state.” Knowing Clare, and knowing the family culture that surrounds her, I pushed back on her title. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Do you mean this seriously or facetiously?” I asked.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Facetiously, of course!” she said.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In her mind, the earth is not precarious. In her mind, the world is firmly held in a pair of strong hands—God’s hands. The world is secure. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Clare has been washed with this concept from birth. Both Kraig and I come from Christian families. We believe the Bible is true, that God is Sovereign, that our sins and failures are forgiven because of Christ’s death and resurrection, and we try to live our lives in grateful response to this truth. We also come from missionary families for whom the world has always been a place of wonder, and people from other cultures can teach us a great deal about who we are and how God works in various parts of the world. In addition to these influences, Kraig is a civil engineer who lives and breathes structures and soils, yet he looks at these from a biblical worldview. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kraig often sets up this analogy: </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">Many people see the world as something balanced on the tip of a finger. It’s spinning away like a basketball, but the slightest shake, shift, or touch will knock it off balance and it will—most likely—fall. This is a predominantly evolutionary view. If everything has been created by chance, one misstep will mean failure rather than success. In this scenario, the environment is a tragedy waiting to happen, and humans are the primary cause of its destruction.</span></span> </blockquote>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FFDq7ktrJzQ/Xt53WipxKdI/AAAAAAAAFkQ/3TREoy6TO2wQljuJQn7X54Ul_7stl5l8wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Kraig%2527s%2Bhands.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="241" data-original-width="288" height="167" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FFDq7ktrJzQ/Xt53WipxKdI/AAAAAAAAFkQ/3TREoy6TO2wQljuJQn7X54Ul_7stl5l8wCLcBGAsYHQ/s200/Kraig%2527s%2Bhands.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">But there is another paradigm (When Kraig describes this he cups his hands like the ones holding the globe in Clare’s painting). God created the world; he is the first engineer and he knows what he’s doing. He created a system that works together, and though we have </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">horrendous ramifications because of the Fall, the world is still secure in his hands. After all, God knows how to design things so they don’t fall apart. The world wobbles and shifts and changes, but it is held secure in the bowl of God’s hands. It’s not going to fall out. </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">That’s not to say we just sit back and watch this world turn (and wobble). Our God-given job is to be responsible stewards, both in our care for the environment and our care for each other. I remember my mom talking about Lake Erie in the seventies when it was heavily polluted due to industrial waste. It seemed irrecoverable—it was evidence of humanity’s horrific treatment of the earth. Yet humans took measure, stepped in and made changes, and the lake was restored. I’ve camped by it and have swum in it. Irresponsibility was replaced by good stewardship, and something people thought destroyed was restored. </span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The past few months have thrown the world into chaos. The Covid-19 pandemic isn’t an environmental fiasco; if anything it’s a perfect example of natural tragedy that occurs in our fallen world. We have human responses to it, for good or ill. It’s not as clear a fix as Lake Erie, at least from this perspective. Lord willing an effective, safe vaccine will be discovered. But that won’t be the answer to everything. Hundreds of thousands will still have died, our economies will struggle, mayhem will thrive, and life as we have known it will shift. In the past couple weeks, we’ve seen more upheaval as our nation grapples with how we can be just and loving to each other no matter our ethnic roots. The world seems pretty precarious. These days I constantly wonder if I’m doing or saying the right thing. Should I wear a mask? Am I unknowingly spreading contagion? Is it right or wrong to keep my thoughts and feelings to myself? </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I didn’t think I was very stressed, but I realized the other week that my shoulders had knotted and my neck tightened causing a splitting headache. It was a wake-up call that stress was busy working beneath my skin. I have had to step back and mark it for what it is and figure out how to work with it and give it up to God. I have my small sphere of influence, but I am not in control.</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Because the world is cupped in God’s hands. We are secure.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Secure" by Clare Warnemuende</td></tr>
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Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-2384820884822891132020-03-01T20:48:00.000-05:002020-03-01T20:48:09.751-05:00Life, Writing, and a Guest PostWhile it's not clear from my sporadic blog posts, I actually love to write. I can make all kinds of excuses as to why I don't write here more often, but none of them are terribly good, or at all new, so I'll spare you.<div>
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However, I did take a step last year which has gotten me writing more. One year ago today I joined a fledgling online writing community called <a href="https://thehabit.co/" target="_blank">The Habit</a>. It was created by writer and teacher, Jonathan Rogers, who I first met through <a href="https://rabbitroom.com/" target="_blank">The Rabbit Room</a>. Over the years I have appreciated his skill at teaching good writing, and his encouragement to those who want to write. I admit I didn't think I could justify joining as a member. I'm a mom, I'm busy teaching the kids and keeping the house in some sort of order--I have not been a consistent writer. Therefore, I figured, I didn't qualify. But one of the items that came with the membership was a "Grammar for Writers" course that I knew would be marvelous for the kids. And obviously, if it's for the kids' educational benefit, it's worth the price, right? </div>
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Well, here I am a year later, and while the kids and I started the "Grammar for Writers" course (which <i>is</i> pretty great, by the way) we haven't finished it. However, <i>I</i> have definitely gotten back into the habit of writing, and have met a slew of lovely people who have been an encouragement and help for me in my writing. They have also challenged me, and given me chances to encourage and challenge them. One of these friends is Alicia Pollard. She has used her blog, <a href="https://aliciapollard.com/" target="_blank">Stories of Yearning</a>, as a place for collaboration projects. Last month she asked us to submit posts that had to do with the magic of late winter (yes, there really is beauty there!). My post, <a href="https://aliciapollard.com/2020/03/01/the-magic-of-late-winter-part-ii-guest-post-by-loren-warmendrue/" target="_blank">"Snow and Flower,"</a> just went up yesterday, and I thought you might enjoy reading it along with other posts that have gone up. </div>
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I'd love to say I will start writing here more frequently, but I won't promise that yet. That way you can be pleasantly surprised when I post something.</div>
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Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-52834570130590226332019-01-29T00:37:00.001-05:002019-01-29T00:37:11.977-05:00Looking toward resurrectionThe view from our dining room window is my favorite in our house. We look out through our front porch and the trees in our yard to the road that curves before our home and cuts down a hill through tall pines. Across the road, catty-corner, our neighbor's neat brick ranch sits on a rise with more pines towering high above it. Our window faces east, and the early morning sun is likely to hit one smack in the eyes as it lances through the trees.<br />
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There is always something to watch. The birds love the trees and sparrows, blue jays, cardinals, bluebirds, and the occasional woodpecker visit regularly bringing their songs with them. Last fall a hummingbird frequented the feeder hanging outside our window. Between sips of sugar water he'd perch up in the branches of the deciduous magnolia just where we could see him. While I'm sure part of his reason to hang out there was to be near his sugar supply, he also kept a sharp eye out for a rival hummingbird who liked to sneak some sugar before getting chased off.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rYyP9AfOfC4/XE_jr0Cg5wI/AAAAAAAAFPw/GmKQuNUHR7skbYzlHHDGy1xOsiQhS4x9gCLcBGAs/s1600/magnolia%2Bbuds.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rYyP9AfOfC4/XE_jr0Cg5wI/AAAAAAAAFPw/GmKQuNUHR7skbYzlHHDGy1xOsiQhS4x9gCLcBGAs/s320/magnolia%2Bbuds.JPG" width="320" /></a>The magnolia is lovely throughout the year, but January is the month we watch it with anticipation. Its bare gray branches are limned with fuzzy greenish buds that wax fatter as the month warms. It's at that point now where the buds are likely to burst within a week depending on the weather. The buds are so tantalizingly full, and in the morning the early sun catches the fuzz on fire, casting a glimmering halo around each one. When they burst we will have a tree of large pink fragile blooms that will eventually fall and cover the ground like a silk carpet.<br />
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Christmas a year ago my folks carted a special stone marker to us from the oak in front of their Michigan home. The oak was planted on Keren's first birthday and the stone is engraved with the following:<br />
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Keren's Tree </div>
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Birth 9-27-02 1-28-09 Heaven</div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-X4Y4_rodt4A/XE_j0UrXkzI/AAAAAAAAFP0/GEiglh6uh0MSFP2CgD6Sj41pE6xsC_HFwCLcBGAs/s1600/LGW_3416.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1063" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-X4Y4_rodt4A/XE_j0UrXkzI/AAAAAAAAFP0/GEiglh6uh0MSFP2CgD6Sj41pE6xsC_HFwCLcBGAs/s320/LGW_3416.JPG" width="320" /></a>We placed it under the magnolia and last January we actually had snow, enough to line the stone and to give us a couple days of the snag of real cold in the back of the nose. It was a reminder of winters in Michigan, and the snow upon snow ten years ago when Keren slipped out of this world.<br />
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But this is Texas, and winter does not linger. The buds on the magnolia bloomed and within a month Keren's stone was littered with a plethora of pink petals.<br />
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It's still just a stone marker. It's not her. But Spring and blossoms never fail to remind me of our future hope, and that I will see her again.<br />
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Last fall turned out to be one of more farewells. In September my great-aunt Marge, my oldest relative on my mom's side, passed away only a couple months before her 104th birthday. The kids and I were able to see her just weeks before. We knew she neared her end, but our meeting was one of joy, and her voice and strong hand grip brought floods of good memories. Her parting was not one etched in sorrow.<br />
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Then on November 30, dear Grandma Givens, my last living grandparent, stepped into eternity six weeks after her 100th birthday. We saw her last July, and as it was with Aunt Marge, it was a visit of joy and memories. She slipped out of life in the sweetest way I've ever known, looking forward to actually seeing the Jesus she loved most of her life, and at the same time delighting in her sons who were able to be with her, and in the ice cream served for lunch.<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0FsEOwVuHmM/XE_kJg5iFkI/AAAAAAAAFQA/yXkRgZ2Bs20rn_PsAL6Yt_SL03NSzSL1ACLcBGAs/s1600/LGW_3613.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1063" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0FsEOwVuHmM/XE_kJg5iFkI/AAAAAAAAFQA/yXkRgZ2Bs20rn_PsAL6Yt_SL03NSzSL1ACLcBGAs/s320/LGW_3613.JPG" width="320" /></a>Both Aunt Marge's and Grandma's deaths were what one might call "good." There was a long life concluded with minds still sharp. Pain and suffering had played a significant roll in both of their lives, but Christ had as well, and in the end he was who mattered. It's sad to know that I won't see them again on this earth, but the promise of the resurrection gladdens me.<br />
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But death is death. It is not known for its sweetness. January this year could not sidestep it any more than that January ten years ago. We got news the first weekend of the year that the grown son of family friends was ripped from earth when a blood clot hit his heart. he left behind his wife and eight young kids. Soon after, the 4 1/2 year old son of one of Kraig's colleagues drowned--tragically, with no clear answers as to how. Friends, family, and acquaintances are left reeling. Death is rude and brutal, no question.<br />
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God, though, is neither rude nor brutal. He is, many times, incomprehensible, but I will take that alongside the other things that I know of Him. He is Love. He is Sovereign. He is able to take what is broken and brutalized and make it into something new and incomparably beautiful. He kicks in the teeth the suffering caused by death and says, "Look at what I can do with the agony you caused." He knows this agony intimately. He watched as we tore ourselves from Him in the Garden. He's seen us make a mess of things since and has stepped in again and again to keep us from completely destroying ourselves. All the while he has offered an alternative and a way back to Him through Christ. He did this even when He gave us His son to murder, and Christ suffered more than anyone has...for us.<br />
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But, but, but--that's not the end. The end is resurrection, a remaking, a recreation. The magnolia tree will bloom. Spring will come. Resurrection is in the wings, and it will be glorious like the first resurrection.<br />
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In "His Heart Beats," Andrew Peterson sings about the first resurrection, and the future one:<br />
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His heart beats, He will never die again,<br />I know that death no longer has dominion over Him.<br />So my heart beats with the rhythm of the saints,<br />As I look for the seeds the King has sown<br />To burst up from their graves. </blockquote>
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I know, I know<br />He took one breath<br />And put death to death<br />Where is your sting, O grave?<br />How grave is your defeat<br />I know, I know<br />He took one breath<br />And put death to death<br />Where is your sting, O grave?<br />How grave is your defeat<br />How great, how great is His victory<br />I know, I know His heart beats.</blockquote>
1 Corinthians 15:12-22<br />
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But if it is preached that Christ has been raised from the dead, how can some of you say that there is no resurrection of the dead? If there is no resurrection of the dead, then not even Christ has been raised. And if Christ has not been raised, our preaching is useless and so is your faith. More than that, we are then found to be false witnesses about God, for we have testified about God that he raised Christ from the dead. But he did not raise him if in fact the dead are not raised. For if the dead are not raised, then Christ has not been raised either. And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile; your are still in your sins. Then those who have fallen asleep in Chris are lost. If only for this life we have hope in Chris, we are to be pitied more than all men. </blockquote>
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But Christ has indeed been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep. For since death came through a man, the resurrection of the dead comes also through a man. For as in Adam all die, so in Christ all will be made alive.</blockquote>
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Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-32562134631250969812017-07-08T22:40:00.000-04:002017-07-08T22:40:11.394-04:00A lament for home and humanity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When we put our house in Michigan up for sale last week the one thing I didn't anticipate was the bitter sting of rejection. We would never say that our home was perfect, but there is no denying that it is lovely, even after three years of a rental occupancy. Apparently, though, the majority of prospective buyers have no "scope for the imagination," as <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anne_of_Green_Gables" target="_blank">Anne of Green Gables</a> would say, and can only see what is before them. They see the scuffs and marks in paint (which may not be a color they like), the kitchen floor that needs repair because of a dishwasher leak we've just discovered, the few loose outlets and missing towel racks, the massive furniture of the tenant that dwarfs each room, the scum left in a sink that hasn't been scrubbed down, and the carpets that need to be cleaned. To the uninspired buyer, it doesn't make any difference that as soon as the tenant moves out, all of these defects will be fixed. Prospective buyers also see the cracks in the walls of our unfinished basement and unfortunately they don't have a civil engineer with them (reason #152 why I married Kraig) to let them know this is typical for Michigan basements, and that there are no structural issues, nor are there leaks or mold. Little consideration is given to the solid roof, the energy-saving windows, three-year-old sink faucet and dishwasher, or the two-year-old microwave and stove. New water heater? Who cares? The furniture takes up too much space and the tenant's packing boxes are beside the front door. This house "does not show well."<br />
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I feel like crying a bit--or fuming.<br />
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I think of the home we bought in Texas last year, and all of its idiosyncrasies. It has a lot more work that needs to be done than our Michigan home will ever need, but I love it. We are friends with the woman who grew up in that house, and I learned about her parents building it, and a little about their lives there. Neighbors speak of the previous owners with fondness, and we reap the pecans from the trees planted by them. There are so many stories we will never know, but it is a home that was consecrated by love. It is also full to the brim with potential, and in our first year there we have already stocked it with new stories. Rooms are slowly given a fresh coat of paint, windows will be replaced, kitchens and bathrooms updated. It will take time, but in the process we will live and love and work, and sometimes pull our hair out with frustration. This is life. Homes require work.<br />
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When I look at our home in Michigan, I see its lovely qualities and all of the layers of memories.<br />
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I see the way the light pours through the many windows even on gray January days.<br />
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I admire the sunset through the kitchen window, and the view of my neighbor Barb's gorgeous perennial garden through the bay window in the dining area.<br />
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I remember Keren and Ev playing on the floor in the kitchen while we worked to get the house move-in ready in the winter of 2008. The only room in the house that didn't need paint and carpet was the kitchen, so that became the safe zone while we worked. Clare, at two, helped paint...a little! I remember writing <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Philippians+4%3A6-8&version=NIV" target="_blank">Philippians 4:6-8</a> on our plywood floors before the new carpet was laid and believing every word of it even in the struggles. I still hold those words close.<br />
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I remember family parties.<br />
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I remember our final Christmas there with Keren, when Jon was just beginning to be a new family dream.<br />
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I remember the cold, snowy January day when my sister Carrie watched Clare and Ev and I rushed Keren to the hospital, not knowing she would never come back to that home. I remember the house full of family and friends surrounding us with so much love in those months that followed, and the dance between pain and joy as we grieved Keren, but laughed over Clare and Ev's antics, and looked forward to Jon's arrival.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Keren's dogwood</td></tr>
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I remember bringing Jon home and the joy of watching him grow and seeing the new shape that our family took with all of its complexity.<br />
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I remember the pleasure we had in forming our vegetable garden, and how each spring our neighbor, Barb, would hand me some perennials and say, "I'm splitting these, so feel free to plant them. They bloom at such-and-such point in the summer."<br />
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I remember the first days of school for each kid, the playdates with friends, and the neighborhood tribe of kids that played around our court and through our backyards.<br />
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I remember the slow process God took Kraig and I through toward a new life, a life that would take our family from this dear home to a sunny apartment and new friends in Guadalajara, Mexico, and then two years later, to a shady, rambling ranch house in Longview, Texas. I know now the hope and prayer that we will be in Texas for a long time.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our new home in Texas</td></tr>
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Life is an adventure, and our houses are a part of that. They are integral to our lives, whether we live alone or have big, crazy families that fill spaces to the limit. But houses are what we make of them; they are not simply what they appear on the surface. They are so much more than a limited first impression. They are homes.<br />
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We're praying that a family will walk into our home and realize that, not just because we want to sell the house, but because we want others to have the chance to build beauty there.Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-40258842622085541252017-01-29T00:50:00.000-05:002017-01-29T00:50:27.311-05:00The Truth of the Matter<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>They exchanged the truth of God for a lie...</i></div>
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<i>~Romans 1:25a</i></div>
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"What is truth?" Pilate asked Jesus. It's a question that has echoed down through the ages, and still confounds people today. My high school English teacher often challenged us to ask ourselves, "Is it truth with a capital 'T' or lowercase?" Is it absolute truth, or is it relative? That's an even more difficult question in our culture now where absolutes are shouted down absolutely. We are encouraged to be tolerant toward all...unless someone's conviction doesn't permit acceptance of all views. It's an impossible weight to carry, and at times it seems like the world is fracturing under the stress of it. This past year has been the worst I've seen, and I've found myself shaken when I've discovered many of my truths are at odds with friends and family whose beliefs and values I've trusted. I do believe there is Truth with a capital 'T', God's Truth, but I have to be careful to define it on His terms and not my own. </div>
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Recently Kraig and I started watching the series <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Man_in_the_High_Castle_(TV_series)" target="_blank">The Man in the High Castle</a></i>. Its premise is an alternate history 1962 in a world where Germany under Hitler won World War II. The eastern United States is now part of the Reich, and the Pacific States have been ceded to Japan; an uneasy alliance exists between Japan and the Reich, and a stranger relationship has developed between the former Americans and their captors. The story is intriguing and unnerving, obviously because the thought of the United States under an ideology like the Reich is horrible to imagine, but also because there are so many plot points that reflect realities that are in our own world today.</div>
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One of the most disturbing characters is Obergruppenführer John Smith, an American-born high-ranking official of the Reich in New York. Though he was born before the war he is, at least as far as we've gotten, completely loyal to the aging Hitler and the ideology of the Reich with its fierce anti-semitism and annihilation of anyone who doesn't fit the Aryan model. He is ruthless, and would be impossible to sympathize with in any way if he did not have a family which he obviously loves, particularly his teenage son, Thomas. </div>
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(For those who haven't seen the show and hope to, the following bit is something of a spoiler, though I have no idea how it's going to play out as the seasons continue. I'll leave the decision to go on up to you.)</div>
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In an episode 8 of the first season, Smith takes his son to the doctor to check out a strained wrist. After the appointment, the doctor privately pulls Smith into his office and reveals that Thomas is in the early stages of a terminal congenital disorder. In the scene, Smith is visibly shaken, and I remember thinking, <i>Whoa, this will make him more human!</i> Smith asks the doctor if they can get a second opinion.</div>
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"You have that option" the doctor replies. "But you should be aware that if he is submitted to others for examination this would become an institutional issue."</div>
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"Oh, I see. Yes, of course," Smith responds, flustered out of his typical reserve. </div>
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<i>What?</i> I thought. <i>That's not an option!</i> And it hit me that under a totalitarian system, there wouldn't be the freedom to privately seek other opinions, particularly in a system where illness was seen as imperfection to be eradicated.</div>
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But the scene didn't end there. The doctor counsels Smith that he and his wife can treat their son at home (quietly and behind the scenes, I thought, to get around regulations). Then the doctor pushes a syringe and ampule across his desk to the dazed father. </div>
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"As for medical assistance..." he says, describing the ingredients: morphine, scopolamine, and prussic acid. </div>
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And finally the full truth of what was going on in the scene sank in. The "medical assistance" was death. In the Reich, there was <i>no room</i> for disabilities or long-term care for anyone terminally ill. They had to be terminated. They were a drag on society, or worse, a blight. Later that evening in the same episode, Smith flips through an old photo album of he and his brother. His wife looks over his shoulder reminiscing and speaks of how she wished she had had siblings and the great relationship like what he had had with his brother. "Seeing your brother like that, it must of broken your father's heart," she says, revealing to the audience that Smith's brother must have died of the same disease Thomas has. Then, in complete contradiction to her own logic regarding the joy of siblings, and in oblivion to the truth she says, "Well at least now, when someone is terribly ill, they're not allowed to suffer. That's a blessing."</div>
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I was still mentally reeling over the sight of that bottle and ampule. This was not an alternate history. Oregon already has its doctor-prescribed death-in-a-bottle for terminal patients. Colorado and California passed similar laws in their November votes. It's not our policy-makers who voted in these laws, it is "we the people." We don't have the excuse of a dictator with a hit-list against anyone who doesn't fit his ideal of humanity. In our country, the arguments seem to run along the lines that these prescribed suicides are for overall "health" in a way--family health, society's health, the removal of an individual's suffering. We should not allow suffering. We should not create an economic drag on society. All the while we move blindly into a new Reich where prescribed death is acceptable and cheap, while actively researching potential cures and caring for those who are weak and suffering, and learning from them in the process, is seen as an impediment to cultural advancement.</div>
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Eight years ago today, our daughter Keren died. During the course of her life, from before she was born to the day she died, and since, she had purpose and significance. This wasn't just because we loved her, but because we saw that every piece of her Trisomy 18, genetically-flawed, body had been given to us by a God we loved and trusted. She was not a curse; she was not an object of suffering; we were not heart-broken by her brokenness. We were transformed by her existence. We grieve her death, but it is not grief without hope.</div>
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In addition to our own walk, throughout her life we were surrounded by family, friends, doctors, and teachers who were there for us and for her. They sought ways for her to reach her full potential. No doctor or teacher could really state her full potential with "facts" because in this world where we can help the sick, people are continually seeking to discover things about our bodies and about diseases. There is always the possibility of a cure. It is only in a world where suffering is considered unacceptable, life expendable, and death preferable that nothing will be done to improve it. </div>
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We have a choice. We can go with the current flow and accept the "truth" that suffering is unacceptable and that there are certain people who disrupt things by their flawed existence, or we can stand against it by holding those who are suffering and learning together what true love really is. Yes, the world is broken, but it is God's Truth that it will be made new, and in a small, faithful way, we can be a part of that restoration.</div>
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Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-54907688278351073342016-11-06T23:18:00.001-05:002017-01-28T22:56:14.225-05:00Finding the Light SideWritten Sunday, October 30, 2016<br />
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Here we are back in the States and once again on the verge of Halloween. Buckets of candy are looming, costumes, and today--carving pumpkins. Two years ago, our first fall in Guadalajara, we had to think through their <a href="http://lorenwarn.blogspot.mx/2014/10/complicated-decisions-when-to-accept-or.html" target="_blank">Día de los Muertos</a> and while we heard that trick-or-treating happened, we had no where to go for it. We ended up skipping costumes (which was fine by me) and per a friend's suggestion we gave each kid some money to choose their own candy from the store.<br />
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Last Halloween, our second year in Guadalajara, our friends the Smiths lived in a gated community where trick-or-treating happened. The kids cobbled together costumes and we went out with the Smith's son, Luke. It was Luke's first time ever trick-or-treating and it took us a house or two before we realized there was a song we were supposed to sing in order to get candy. Mexico is happy to take on other countries' traditions, but they're going to put their own twist on them. Whatever the case, great enjoyment was had by all.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This year's crew: Sapphire Girl, Obiwan Kenobi, & Owl Girl</td></tr>
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Some folks are able to track down pumpkins to carve, but we never got that far. Because of this the kids were thrilled to get pumpkins this year, and this afternoon we had a carving party. The kids are definitely growing up because I didn't have to do much beyond cutting off the top of the pumpkins and digging out the final bits of the innards. I did end up helping Jon, but mostly because the concept of negative space was new to him and he almost cut his pumpkin's giant mouth in reverse.<br />
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Once the kids found their groove, I wandered the yard picking up pecans. They planned and worked and eventually songs broke out, and ballads were sung to the "brains" of the pumpkins, the stringy orange strands lined with seeds. Ev eventually lapsed into Spanish and sang, "Me gusta tus naranjas, con mi amor"* in convincing tones. It certainly moved me to tears of laughter.<br />
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Three jack o' lanterns now grace our porch waiting for their darkness to be turned to light tomorrow night. As Clare aptly put it, "The only way to make the pumpkins truly bright is to take out their brains." We have succeeded.<br />
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* "I like your oranges, with my love."Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-24412390734872536432016-11-01T23:19:00.001-04:002017-01-28T22:59:09.216-05:00Pulling It All TogetherWritten Saturday, October 29, 2016<br />
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We've done certain things to make this house homey. The kitchen is in order and functioning, the dining table accessible. The family room and library are inviting. All of the books are at hand--this is extremely important.<br />
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Decorations are, on the other hand, a little random. Of course, I suppose they always have been. My mom likes to say she decorates in "Early Eclectic" and I've taken after her in that. Our couch is a hand-me-down originally from my mom's mom. The dining table was a wedding gift from my grandmother and actually new (when we got married, twenty-one years ago), but the chairs were from my dad's side and are probably going on 100 years old. We have paintings painted by Kraig's grandmother, kids' art projects, garage sale finds, and lots and lots of trinkets from around the world.<br />
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Right now the trinkets are a complete hodgepodge. They are primarily the items I came across first when unpacking and actually had a place for. Since a lot of the house isn't organized yet, and even the core isn't completely put together. Many things are still packed away. So right now our fireplace mantle has a set of shi shi dogs from China, an angel figurine which was a gift from our neighbors in Michigan, a candle holder from Guadalajara, a pot Ev made from clay at Guachimontones in Mexico, a china plate from Kraig's grandparents (I think), a mini pumpkin Clare got at a fall festival last week, and a carved turtle--probably from Kenya. Don't even get me started on what's in our China cabinet.<br />
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Sometimes I look at the hodge lodge and wonder if it will ever come together in a harmonious whole. I see those home design programs and wish I could have a room or two with that kind of unity. But then I look at the things we have and all the history, places, and memories attached to them and I wouldn't trade them for anything.<br />
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Now...if we could just get a few pictures up. There's always room for improvement.<br />
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Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-54403213747378646462016-10-29T00:28:00.000-04:002016-10-29T00:28:01.135-04:00Zoo Trip<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Animals found!</td></tr>
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Today we visited <a href="http://caldwellzoo.org/" target="_blank">Caldwell Zoo</a> which is in Tyler, Texas, a little less than an hour from us. We met up there with my new friend Jenn and her two kids and spent a productive few hours socializing and discovering certain animals from different parts of the world. Jenn's kids have just finished a biology unit on animals and she'd made up a animal scavenger hunt which my kids were able to join in on. Great excitement on all sides.<br />
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The Caldwell Zoo isn't a big city zoo, but it's pretty and well-kept and the right size for a few hours. I that a good selection of animals, especially birds. Their macaws are magnificent as well as chatty.<br />
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Sadly, the elephant exhibit was under construction so we didn't get to enjoy those pachyderms, but their two black bears and white tiger were impressive. I loved the Texas Longhorns, but the kids' favorite place was an enclosure filled with small birds, primarily parakeets and cockatoos, where you're given a little stick coated in bird seed and the birds flock to you to get some.<br />
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There's something so refreshing about a nice zoo. Animals are always interesting and great for conversation. Even alligators lounging in the shallows and a rat snake muscling its way up a wall are worth taking the time to watch. And, I don't know, but maybe a parakeet is the pet we should get...or maybe a squirrel monkey :) . Think Kraig might go for it?<br />
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<br />Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-4381267141735557782016-10-28T00:24:00.002-04:002016-10-28T00:24:58.409-04:00International Flavor<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I think I'd go a little stir crazy if I lived in a completely monocultural community. Having grown up in a missionary family, and being married to a fellow missionary kid has certainly formed my viewpoint, but there it is. Throughout our lives our homes have had people in and out who come from different countries, or have worked in other parts of the world, or who are from other parts of the country. In our home the world is never small...and yet you never know when you'll run into someone who knows someone you know.<br />
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Of course, sometimes one needs to search a little for the multicultural. Canton, Michigan, is incredibly diverse culturally, but even there there are pockets of folks who were born and raised in Southeast Michigan, and so were their parents and grandparents. In Guadalajara we were the unusual ones. Naturally we met a lot of others not from Guadalajara, but the overall culture is not diverse. Here in Longview there are generations of folks who have lived here, like one of the librarians who told me she thought Longview was one of the beautiful places in the world though she's never actually lived anywhere else.<br />
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For us, though, Longview is multicultural. For one thing there's the large Hispanic contingent which often make me feel I haven't really left Mexico. And then at LeTourneau there are staff and students from all over the globe. The prof wives I met hail from all over, which makes for a great mix. And then one of the moms I've connected with through the homeschool group is Russian. She and her son who's Jon's age were over this afternoon and it was so fun to talk food and culture and world with her. And of course, Longview itself is a new culture for our family, so we can be the strange newbies for a while...or forever!Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-69473569418589487512016-10-27T00:02:00.003-04:002016-10-27T00:02:34.040-04:00A Taste for the Quiet LifeThe problem with events that happen in the evening is that we aren't at home. And home in the evening is a haven. We had nighttime events for all of us Monday and Tuesday this week, and this evening Clare had practice for a Christmas musical. Evie came with me to drop Clare off, and then the two of us ran some errands...and then it was time to pick up Clare. And now it's past bedtime for the kids. So much for the evening. I'm looking forward to tomorrow night since we'll be home.<br />
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Perhaps it's my introvert side, and Kraig's too, that we prefer home to going out and about. The two events this week were great, but I wouldn't want to make a habit of it. hen we were house-hunting last summer we met a lively rental manager who originally hailed from Venezuela. She gave us all sorts of tips about things to do and see in and around Longview. "But," she said with a sigh, "there's not much night life here." Kraig and I gave our condolences but made sure we didn't look at each other or we'd have burst out laughing. An active night life is that last thing we've ever pined for.<br />
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We also hold dear the kids' bedtime which happens a couple hours before ours. We're hanging on to that for as long as we can. Even when we're doing nothing, or Kraig is swamped with grading and class prep so I'm left to my own devices--even then the kids are sent to bed because we want to be alone. Selfish, aren't we?<br />
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So, yeah, quiet nights are our preference. But the last few nights haven't been, and tonight has been later, too, because of Clare's event. As a result I'm writing with kids milling around getting ready for bed. Evie, who's done, is cuddled beside me and pointing out words she can't read because I'm writing too fast and messily. "What's that word?" she wants to know. And then she comments on my editing process.<br />
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But the others are done now and it's time to herd them into bed. Then, hopefully, I won't stay up too late relishing the silence.<br />
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Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-55774115065171423202016-10-26T10:15:00.003-04:002016-10-26T10:15:42.224-04:00Shakespeare Under the Stars(I wrote this out last night, but it was to late to type it up and post it.)<br />
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I've wanted to write at some point specifically about our homeschool experience--the good, the bad, the uncertainty and insanity :) . There are so many pros and cons and so much we're still figuring out that I haven't been quite brave enough to attempt the topic. So I'm not going to yet.<br />
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But tonight we got to do something incredibly fun that we really couldn't have done if we weren't homeschooling. We let the kids stay up late on a school night to go see a play. And it wasn't just <i>any</i> play. It was Shakespeare's <i>A Midsummer Night's Dream</i>, put on by a theater troop from <a href="https://etbu.edu/" target="_blank">East Texas Baptist University</a>, a university in a neighboring town They performed it outside of the student center at LeTourneau this evening...for free! And it was terrific.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ydIlzTfF328/WBC3xlOS4jI/AAAAAAAAE38/0Um2H17YRQkPxBxBtGMmqk9xpLIPd654wCLcB/s1600/LGW_1768%2Bcopy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ydIlzTfF328/WBC3xlOS4jI/AAAAAAAAE38/0Um2H17YRQkPxBxBtGMmqk9xpLIPd654wCLcB/s320/LGW_1768%2Bcopy.JPG" width="320" /></a>Not only did Kraig and I like it, but the kids--all three--thoroughly enjoyed it, and not just because there were free snacks :) . I took the plunge this fall, decided to go completely nerdy, and introduce the kids to Shakespeare's plays before they are old enough to think they are boring and impossible to understand. I've heard a lot in the past few years about using picture book versions and other retellings as a jump off point to the real text. <a href="http://amongstlovelythings.com/" target="_blank">Read-Aloud Revival</a> hostess, Sarah Mackenzie, has interviews some folks about it, as has Pam Barnhill of <a href="https://edsnapshots.com/ymb16/" target="_blank">ED Snapshots</a>. The clincher, for me, was when Read-Aloud Revival introduced Ken Ludwig and his book <i><a href="http://www.howtoteachyourchildrenshakespeare.com/" target="_blank">How to Teach Your Children Shakespeare</a></i>. He not only hits on some of the stories, but he helps guide memorizing some passages. And the first play he tackles is <i>A Midsummer Night's Dream</i>.<br />
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The kids have responded varyingly. All three like hearing the stories, but while Ev and Jon have dug into the fun of memorizing some of the poetry, Clare has balked and groaned. But she always does that regarding anything she deems pointless, and you can talk to her till you're blue in the face about the beauty of language and how great it all is for stretching your brain. It's no use because she knows better. It's amazing how knowledgeable an 11-year-old can be....<br />
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But tonight all three were enthralled. Jon got the actors to sign his program, and was excited to see some kids he knew from church. Ev decided she wants to act out a scene with Puck (as long as she can play Puck). Clare chatted with the girl who played Hermia and was challenged to try acting something sometime, and she didn't toss her head in scorn! All in all it was one of those experiences where I see a glimmer of progress and a reason to keep on the path we're currently taking.<br />
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P.S.~ Sarah Mackenzie's site is currently down for maintenance, but be sure to save it to check out later. It's lovely.<br />
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<br />Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-21456919162339884542016-10-25T01:14:00.000-04:002016-10-25T23:27:33.406-04:00Pecans<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I know I've mentioned our pecan trees, but I haven't shown them to you up close and personal. They probably would have only been a passing mention if this month of posts hadn't fallen at the peak of their harvest. </div>
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When we moved in, we knew they were pecan trees, but not much else. One neighbor mentioned back at the end of August that the nuts would be ripe "in a month or two" and we'd have to fight the squirrels for them. Both statements have proven true, though considering how many nuts we're getting, I'm not going to begrudge the squirrels their share. Another neighbor gently informed us of the proper pronunciation around here: Be sure to pronounce "pecan" with a long "e" in the first syllable, and make the "a" and "ah" (not the sharp Michigan "a" as in "can"). The stress is still on the second syllable, which shortens the first "e" a bit, but not enough to make it an "eh" sound. There's your linguistic lesson for the day.</div>
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Google was our friend for other insights and details.</div>
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1) How do we know the nuts are ripe?</div>
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The outer husk darkens from green to blackish-brown and the end starts to split.</blockquote>
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2) How do we get them off the trees?</div>
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Wait till they fall (for the most part). Then pick them up as quickly as possible and get the outer hull off so they don't get buggy or bitter.</blockquote>
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3) How do we know if a nut is good?</div>
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Well, the final test is to crack it open and look at it. However if you shake it and there's no noise, and if the hard shell is an even color (ours are brown with black stripes and speckles), there's a good chance it's fine. </blockquote>
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4) What is the best way to store them, and how long do they last?</div>
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I don't have a complete answer on this one yet. We need to do a little more research. They're definitely easier to store than the peaches we used to get from a tree at our first home back in Michigan!</blockquote>
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I'm quite sure we don't have all our answers yet (and probably don't even know half the questions to ask), but we certainly have some good nuts. Thank goodness we have some old nutcrackers on hand. </div>
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Now I just need more recipes.</div>
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Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-64161587673171468002016-10-23T23:13:00.000-04:002016-10-23T23:13:20.918-04:00Grocery ShoppingThe kids have Awana Clubs on Sunday evening and it's the perfect time to do our serious grocery shopping. I got to Sam's Club and Walmart tonight, as well as Harbor Freight to pick up a couple things for Kraig. Getting to stores here is certainly easier than in Guadalajara.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v70hxmEYnko/WA15-4nA5jI/AAAAAAAAE28/Lz0LKfvIxwMiM5YsNK-3rBbqmjH350dpACLcB/s1600/IMG_4833%2Bcopy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v70hxmEYnko/WA15-4nA5jI/AAAAAAAAE28/Lz0LKfvIxwMiM5YsNK-3rBbqmjH350dpACLcB/s320/IMG_4833%2Bcopy.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JDU-15bXFvc/WA159ZZ8UJI/AAAAAAAAE20/-InGMFgMo3sg7qrqZhTECZePc1exHP9OQCLcB/s1600/IMG_4720%2Bcopy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JDU-15bXFvc/WA159ZZ8UJI/AAAAAAAAE20/-InGMFgMo3sg7qrqZhTECZePc1exHP9OQCLcB/s200/IMG_4720%2Bcopy.JPG" width="200" /></a>It's nice to be in a town with such a large Hispanic population, though, because the stores carry just about all of the favorites we got used to in Guad. There are a couple things we haven't tracked down yet. We got hooked on Fritos con Limón (Fritos with Lime) while in Mexico, and unfortunately they don't seem to have crossed the border. But there are some more authentic Mexican groceries I haven't gotten to yet, so I'm holding out hope.<br />
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I also am reminded I'm in the South when I go to groceries here, that and we're near Louisiana. There are shelves full of Cajun fixings, and Sam's Club has an aisle devoted to various kids of fry oil--peanut, vegetable, coconut, you name it. Big vats of it. And fish fry seasonings and bread crumbs. These are delicacies we are still too new to Texas to fully appreciate. No worries there, though. There's time.<br />
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Now...if I can find the Middle Eastern spices and sauces I could get in Canton, Michigan, we'll really be cooking.<br />
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Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-34990263228291451232016-10-22T23:55:00.002-04:002016-10-22T23:55:37.235-04:00One man's trash and all that....Of course, moves mean one has to restock some essentials. For example, when we moved to Guadalajara Kraig and I sold our bedroom set. It made more sense than storing it, and considering that it had been a free hand-me-down we had no deep attachments to it. And then there were things that weren't worth hauling across the country because it was--presumably--cheaper to buy a new or used thing here.<br />
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But moves mean a lot of expenses, and suddenly all that extra cash we thought we had (well, not really, but the thought was nice) wasn't there. So "essentials" get prioritized and garage sales become the new pastime, and the new bedroom set is on the wait list. At least we have a bed! Last weekend an acquaintance put us on to an annual flea market that runs along miles of a highway that cuts through Longview and a few of the other towns east and west of us. Kraig headed out to see what he could see and not only found an old lawn mower, but also a hedge trimmer, air compressor, and functional bikes for the kids. I've mentioned the mattress/boxspring set we stumbled on, and yesterday we hit a sale where we found an amazing skill saw for just the price Kraig was looking for.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the new-to-us chairs</td></tr>
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Today, though, I succumbed to the beauty of a table with four straight back chairs. The chairs were something I've been wanting and felt were high on the essentials list, and I figured we could make use of the table. I thought the price was great, and Kraig reluctantly agreed.... It wasn't as high on <i>his</i> essentials list. Unfortunately the base of the table needs some work to get shipshape, and I've felt a bit guilty as Kraig has pointed out the various and sundries he'll have to fix now (adding to the many other fix-its). But I don't feel <i>that</i> guilty, because now when we have more than two people over for a meal we can put them in real chairs that are similar to our beloved straight-backs, the hand-me-downs from my grandmother and great-grandmother. Real chairs rather than folding chairs. I'll take that over an air-compressor any day.<br />
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I guess treasure is all about perspective.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our table and chairs, waiting for guests :)</td></tr>
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<br />Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-35558464920198708582016-10-21T23:46:00.001-04:002016-10-21T23:46:22.170-04:00Kindred SpiritsThe kids and I have been listening to a lot of audio books as we take Kraig to and from work, or when we run around town. We've gotten a bit addicted :) . Anyway, the latest has been <i>Anne of Green Gables</i>, the first time for Ev and Jon. It's as lovely as it's always been.<br />
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This time through I've been struck by Anne's gift for friendship. After she befriends Diana's fearsome great-aunt, Miss Josephine Barry, she remarks to Marilla, "Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It's splendid to find out there are so many of them in the world." And on her first day at Queen's College, away from home, Avonlea, and her BFF Diana Barry she grieves, but she also speculates who will be new friends in this new phase of her life. After all, she thinks, she has "lots of second-best affections to bestow." According to Anne there is always room for new friends.<br />
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I wholeheartedly agree with this philosophy, and also with Anne's opinion that there are so many kindred spirits in the world. I don't have one best friend who I've left behind in one of the many places I've lived; I have numerous friends across space and time who are very dear to me. I can't tell you how thankful I am for this, and for the new friends that I'm making.<br />
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This afternoon Jenn and her two kids came over to our house. We've gotten to know each other a bit on the Wednesday park days, and our kids get along nicely, so we took the next step of a playdate at home. It went off beautifully. The kids had fun, and Jenn and I were able to delve into deeper conversation than an hour in a park with multiple other people allows. It was the deep, strong draught of communion that restores the heart and encourages. The kind of conversation where you know that this is the beginning of something lovely. Each time I meet one of these kindred spirits I am humbled that God has given me another one.<br />
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It doesn't hurt the thrill at all that Jenn has red hair.<br />
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<br />Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-74776576002329111012016-10-20T22:33:00.001-04:002016-10-20T22:33:17.972-04:00A Time to Cook<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3SEbltWuFvY/WAl-NyRQdDI/AAAAAAAAE18/EtxkjMIVETYbx4G6NANf4_RBevcIL-EbACLcB/s1600/IMG_4881.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3SEbltWuFvY/WAl-NyRQdDI/AAAAAAAAE18/EtxkjMIVETYbx4G6NANf4_RBevcIL-EbACLcB/s320/IMG_4881.JPG" width="240" /></a>A few days after moving in, amidst the chaos that brings, I threw up my hands and declared to Kraig and the kids not to expect homemade meals for a while. Life was too nuts, and the family was just going to have to put up with freezer meals and take-out.<br />
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Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on stress levels), my family likes home cooked meals, Kraig being the chief of these lovers. That evening of my explosion he wisely didn't argue. But a day later (when I was calmer) he said, "Why don't you take a few days and concentrate on getting the kitchen in order. Forget the rest of the house. I think you'll feel better about cooking and everything else once the kitchen is done."<br />
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I probably bared my teeth and growled at him. Even in a calmer mood there seemed too much to do to think about kitchens and meals. But after grumbling I cracked down on the kitchen and got it in decent working order.<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fQXR3TmQ0vk/WAl-Nxnr6sI/AAAAAAAAE2A/fvZ-zkgMDZ0nKwOddgWmSKA5al3ACY23ACLcB/s1600/IMG_4879.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fQXR3TmQ0vk/WAl-Nxnr6sI/AAAAAAAAE2A/fvZ-zkgMDZ0nKwOddgWmSKA5al3ACY23ACLcB/s320/IMG_4879.JPG" width="320" /></a>And the truth is, it <i>did</i> help immensely. I enjoy cooking, and in a lot of ways it's therapy for me. It's a creative outlet in the midst of a life stage that doesn't permit a lot of personal creativity. An ordered kitchen and home cooked meals are part of the core of our home. Kraig was right. Everything else could be taken care of once there was a kitchen and meals on the table.<br />
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So despite the fact that one child groaned when she discovered what was for dinner tonight, I know we'll get a decent meal. The majority of the family will be happy with it, and even the grumpy child will be nourished. And if the rooms don't all get painted when I'd like, at least we'll have something to eat.<br />
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<br />Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-52328044133430359432016-10-19T22:46:00.003-04:002016-10-21T23:47:59.964-04:00Park Day<br />
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Isffo4uo70M/WAgvlEcaNWI/AAAAAAAAE1k/xzUvD7vtNgMQx0FCHnxDdOQXWEbqDF26gCEw/s1600/IMG_4798%2Bcopy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Isffo4uo70M/WAgvlEcaNWI/AAAAAAAAE1k/xzUvD7vtNgMQx0FCHnxDdOQXWEbqDF26gCEw/s320/IMG_4798%2Bcopy.JPG" width="320" /></a>Park day was this afternoon. We've made it every Wednesday since mid-September, five or six times now, I guess. The park where we gather has a small splash pad, a large playground structure, and a wood begging to be explored. The temperatures have dropped since September, from the sauna blast to a pleasant heat. The splash pad would still be welcome, but unfortunately two weeks ago it stopped working. I suppose that since technically it's fall it means the water has to be turned off, much to the chagrin of hot children.<br />
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This has been a fairly good place to meet other moms and kids, and I've enjoyed some good conversations. Topics have ranged from places we've lived, animals kept, parenting ups and downs, curriculum we like, to one today about good books. You can't go wrong with a conversation about books between two booklovers.</div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5YSy5uMdFCY/WAgvlI9STCI/AAAAAAAAE1o/PB9aGpgI4OIarJd6FKeu9Wt2U4OA_F1zQCLcB/s1600/IMG_4799%2Bcopy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5YSy5uMdFCY/WAgvlI9STCI/AAAAAAAAE1o/PB9aGpgI4OIarJd6FKeu9Wt2U4OA_F1zQCLcB/s320/IMG_4799%2Bcopy.JPG" width="320" /></a>The kids have had some success in meeting other kids. There are a number of seven-year-old boys, so Jon's been in fine company. Clare and Ev have had a harder time connecting with kids their age, though Clare found a fellow explorer in one of Jon's new buddies, and Ev has enjoyed the boy's six-year-old sister. I like their mom, too :) . I'm praying that more friends will emerge through this group, though there are also kids they're meeting through church activities, and at some point there will probably be sports. Time, time, time.... </div>
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For now I'll work on my patience and keep enjoying the park days.<br />
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Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112208.post-10036494259799495322016-10-18T23:32:00.001-04:002016-10-18T23:32:24.209-04:00All That LandHave I mentioned that we have a big yard? It's delightful. It needs work like everything else, but it's just fine for sending the kids into for exploration and play. And, also like the house, it has plenty of potential.<br />
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Now that the heat has dropped a bit the kids have been out more. A few weeks ago Jon and Ev started an archaeological dig in the back corner and turned up quite a rock collection. Another day the threesome put their heads together and built a castle, complete with moat. We did have to advise them to put dirt back around tree roots they exposed, but points for a creative drawbridge!<br />
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In front we have a number of shade trees, including three pecan trees that are producing nicely right now. Ev and Jon are in charge of nut collection while Clare is on leaf-raking duty. The squirrels aren't too thrilled with this arrangement.<br />
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And last night we made a fire pit right off our back patio and roasted s'mores. There isn't much light pollution around us, either, so we got a pretty good look at the stars. It was like camping again, but with the handy benefit of running water a few feet away. I realized how long it's been since we enjoyed a family campfire, too. Personally, my favorite way to enjoy a fire is to roast marshmallows and contemplate the glowing embers and sing some songs. I think the last time we went camping I was able to do that. But that was about three years ago--four summers--and Jon is seven now and in full boyhood, so a campfire's purpose, apparently, is for poking and seeing what all will burn in it. Ah well. I guess I'll have to shift my definition for a few years.<br />
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Part of the yard is fenced off and we already have some alluring options for that. A dog is high on the kids' list. Kraig has been talking a lot about keeping chickens. We shall see.... Next year, depending on life and craziness, we will plant a garden. And I'm especially looking forward to spring because there are two well-grown dogwoods out back. Now <i>there</i> is potential.<br />
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<br />Loren Warnemuendehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11970015967353038870noreply@blogger.com5