PICTURES

I am going to have to start putting pictures on this blog. Many of the blogs that I read are made all the more interesting with pictures. The thing is that it is time consuming to download them from the camera, choose, sort, name, file and Blogger is awkward to maneuver text around pictures.

Sometimes as I am writing I think of a picture that would be perfect for the text. But then I don't run off to take the picture. Don't take the time. And possibly it is past the time for that particular picture anyway. I think I need to form some new habits. Like keeping my camera handy and just take pictures. DO IT, Barbara.

Does anyone have some helpful hints that would make this chore quicker and easier?

YOGURT

Frugal is a word that is sometimes applied to my spending habits. I like to think of myself as innovative. Novel. Prudent. Bill would sometimes like to say 'cheap' but I don't hardly allow that.

Anywhohow! I make my own yogurt. I have it for breakfast every day. I do the kind with the "unique probiotic strain of bifidobacteria" as found in Dannon's Activia. The website says it plays a role in my intestinal ecosystem. I didn't know my intestines had an ecosystem. I do know that yogurt is good for the digestive system. And I do know that it is expensive. And most yogurts contain a lot of stuff unnecessary for my health. When I make my own, I know what's in it. Almost. I haven't as yet just ordered some plain garbage free starter. I use one container of Light vanilla Activia to a half gallon of fat free milk. And the fat free milk is Hood's Simply Special, but I assume that any fat free milk will do.

I put a half gallon of milk on low heat and bring it to 170 degrees F. Then I take if off the heat and let it cool to 110. While the cooling process is happening, three quart mason jars are half filled with water and heated in the microwave for seven minutes on high. Then I dump this very warm water into a cooler that is just the size to hold the three mason jars.

When the milk mixture has almost reached 110, I stir in one cup of dry non fat milk granules, one third cup Splenda, and a dribble of vanilla extract. This combination works for me. A container of Activia yogurt is dumped into a two cup Pyrex measuring cup and some of the milk is poured in, stirred to mix and then poured back into the milk and stirred slowly, just enough to mix it all together. Distribute into the three mason jars, screw on the caps, place in the cooler -- which is now a 'warmer' -- and close.

Leave the warmer someplace where is will not be disturbed. I put it on a stuffed chair in the sitting room and cover it with a comforter. (My house is cold. 67 degrees.) Forget about it. Well, forget about it for several hours anyway. I have actually forgotten about it and finally retrieved it after thirteen hours. But it was still perfect. Six to eight hours is good. Then it goes into the frig.

When I have used the fourth of the Activia containers of yogurt, I save half a cup from the top of the third container of yogurt to be the 'starter' for the next batch. I think you can do this three or four times before it peters out. A batch of yogurt lasts me about ten days, maybe a little more. The process is time consuming only in the fact that you have to be around and watch the temperatures. There are a cazillion combinations of this process, I just put together what I had and what I could do. Works for me!

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GOOD FRIDAY - CHALLENGING WORSHIP

Good Friday, the most somber day of the church year. It is all about death. It is all about what Jesus did for us. OR how the New Testament authors told the story of the fulfillment of Old Testament scripture. However we worship on this day, it is somber.

We enter a church stripped of all her refinement -- no candles, no fair linen everything taken away last evening by the Altar Guild. We pick up our service bulletins and take our seats quietly, barely nodding our greeting to others. We silently pray. We look over the service bulletin to check our responses. We await the entrance of the priest and choir who will enter in silence.

But WAIT! What is that I hear? Not the murmurings of the choir gathering, not whispered conversation from those seated behind. What is it? I hear 'Yes, Jesus.' I hear 'Hallelujah.' Those are the only words that I pick up but I hear the cadence and it is all well miked. It is the congregation that worships in the Undercroft beneath this worship space. They are NOT quiet worshipers. They want God to hear them. It is not the quiet way that we worship on this day. But it is their way.

At first I am annoyed. How am I possibly going to manage under these conditions? How dare my worship be compromised. But who are the interlopers here? They are worshipping at their regularly scheduled time. WE are the ones who are out of the norm. This is THEIR time. Well, really it is God's time. We worship in a way differently than they do. It is all the same God. Isn't it wonderful that we can all share this space and worship the same God albeit in a different manner.

I turn my attention to our own service. I have to concentrate. We pray part of Psalm 22 together. Together we can hear ourselves. The Passion is read. We hear it all. Clearly. Perhaps the congregation downstairs is having silent prayer. I don't know. I don't remember. During the sermon I have to watch Lois' mouth to be sure that I hear and understand the words. I have to concentrate. I am eventually able to let the downstairs service be a background for the sermon. It isn't easy but I manage. I hear the sermon. I understand the sermon. I get the message. We sing "Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?" We leave in silence. Was there really silence? I don't remember.

FOOT WASHING - WHO WOULDA THUNK

Our Maunday Thursday service began with a covered dish supper, candles on the table, real plates and flatware, tables set up in a large "U" shape set for thirty. There might have even been thirty of us there. The important thing is there were enough. Enough participants. Enough food. Enough spirit. Enough time for the enough people to greet one another and share a meal.

When the children became bored which, of course results in noise, Lois, our priest, softly rang her brass singing bowl with her little wooden mallet thingie. It is a soft sound -- but audible -- just. But the soft sound continues and the children finally catch it and begin to quiet down. The sound continues until they are silent. She calls them back to table to hear a story -- Raven Steals the Sun, Stars and Moon. We continued to eat. We listen to the story. The story is short. The children once again grow restless and then boisterous.

I grow uneasy with this distraction. This sound of disruption is annoying. They will soon be out of control running with abandon and squealing with the delight of their uninterrupted antics.

The calling of the bowl repeats and children are called back to hear the short reading before the foot washing begins. The foot washing ceremony is a very meaningful ritual for me. It not only instills in me, once again, how Jesus became servant, but allows me to be served and to be servant. It is ritual filled with holy love -- for the person being washed and the one doing the washing. It is a solemn ritual, done in a hushed atmosphere....

Add children. Add water.

Lois explains the procedure. The children immediately rip off their shoes and socks and gather around ready to 'participate.' Lois washes the feet. Lois dries. Lois washes more feet. Lois dries. Then she is tapped on the shoulder. The tapper wants to take a turn being the washer. AHAH! His sister is next in line to be washed. He wants to wash his younger sister. As the pessimistic observer, I can see water all over the place, tickling of feet, screams, and kicks. But Lois has him sit on the floor next to her and turns to the second chair where a washee awaits. She guides him through the washing and tells him how to dry. He listens and follows her instruction. Lois meanwhile washes the feet of the sister. The brother continues to wash feet of others. Slowly. Solemnly. With great attention and with great care.

I decide that I will have my feet washed. The sister is there to do it. "I'm tired," she says to me. "Too tired to wash my feet?" I ask. "Oh, no," she replies, "I can do it." And she does. It is not the slow and careful ritual that I have experienced in the past. But this child is serious about this washing. It is quick. Pour the water, swipe the towel. She has an observing helper who points out that she missed the water on the bottom of my feet. The bottoms of my feet are duly dried. I return to my place at table. Others have their feet washed. The young boy stands up from his last foot washing, stretches out his arms and says, "Any more customers?"

Foot washing is done. We move on to share communion. These children probably do not fully grasp what we have just experienced together. And that's okay. Next year when we gather for this same ritual, they will remember. They will be one year older. They will be in a different place spiritually. They will understand a little more. They may participate, they may not. But they will remember.

I will remember.

CASCADING CLUTTER

Once again there is just too much stuff. I don't even know if all of this stuff has a home. And if it doesn't have a home, should I make one or just toss? Now there is a dilemma. Probably why so much stuff is collecting -- no designated home. And yet with the clutter comes an inner sense of instability -- almost panic. Too much to do. Not enough time. Not enough space to do the work. My mind gets boggled and crowded and my sense of self gets confused and productivity comes at a price. And the price usually is cluttering up another sight with yet other stuff.

It gets just so deep and then action must be taken. Usually I know what is in the layers. Not exactly 'where' but at least 'what.' When I lose track of the 'whats' because they have been there for so long and the 'where' of what I do remember is history, then I must DO something. The call to action is brought on by a variety of things: a lost important something; lack of space even for list making; a torrential cascade that threatens to finally slip away to the floor when I try to get to my calender; molding citrus rinds; and most of all the sense of futility it instills in me.

So the day after the above picture was taken I vowed to clear the clutter. It took the better part of the day. I made sure that what I picked up found a place to live -- or was history into the round file. And while I was at it the places that I went with 'stuff' got a little attention also. But the primary goal was to clear down to the desktop. To have no clutter. To relieve my stress. To bring peace into my life.

And this is how it looked when I was finished. And I have been able to keep it this way for almost a week. I am having to relearn efficiency and organizational principles. Basics: take care of mail -- NOW; return items to proper place when finished; make new homes for new items or projects; don't even think I am going to come back to finish something, either finish it or put it away.

I am enjoying this. It is freeing. Spirit lifting. Opens a world of possibilities instead of 'have tos.' There is still more to come, of course. I am negotiating for a new desk and counter and places to have things at hand that I use often. Work in progress. Isn't that wonderful?

JESUS AND THE FIG TREE

This morning's reading always amazes me. I would just as soon have titled this piece Vindictive Jesus, or Spoiled Brat Jesus or any number of other heretical titles. But, really! What gives with this Jesus. His infantile hunger prompts him to put a curse on an innocent fig tree, just because the tree has not offered him an out of season fig to satisfy his immediate need. He has a temper tantrum. The fig tree withers and dies.

When questioned, Jesus came forth with the 'faith can move mountains' analogy. For me it would have been a better lesson if he had commanded the out of season fruit to spring forth for his satisfaction rather than condemn the tree to death. I abhor the thought that 'faith' can be used unjustly.

Scripture bewilders me and angers me.

THE SLOG IS OVER

Not to mean that Lent is over, but that we are now into Holy Week. The liturgy of Palm Sunday has been laid to rest for yet another year. The palms are still green and flexible and beautiful. The music still echoes in our minds. The Passion has been read -- Matthew this year. I was privileged to read the 'Evangelist' part. I love reading this part because it is the glue that holds it all together. The whole of the congregation participates. We live the story of the betrayal and the condemnation and the crucifixion. But it is only a 'taste' of the story. As the week goes on we will participate more fully in the events that lead to the cross.

And isn't it odd that when I was at the halfway mark of Lent, I thought it would never end. Now I am feeling as though it has sneaked up on me and I am ill prepared. Did I do all those things I wanted to do? Have I been prayerful? What about repentance, self-denial, fasting, reading, meditating? How am I measuring up? And who is doing the measuring anyway.

This is one of the lessons that I have to learn. NO ONE is watching me. NO ONE is keeping score. No one probably even cares. Whatever it is, whatever choices I make, it is between me and God. And it is for that relationship with God that I strive.