7 Random Facts about Me

so I've received a couple of emails lately with the '7 Random facts about me'. I like reading them, but I don't often forward chain emails, so I'll post mine.

1. I talk to myself when I'm writing -- how things will sound, what's best to say, that sort of thing. It helps with final drafts.
2. I 'scritch' as a soothing habit -- light scratching around my neck, chin, and shoulders has a calming effect.
3. '2' is inherited -- my son does the same at 15 months.
4. I seriously considered converting to the LDS church as a young man.
5. I've managed to control several self-destructive pastimes but still yearn for them from time to time.
6. I changed my major from English to Religious Studies during my undergrad.
7. I am almost totally inept working with any kind of construction tool beyond the basics.

what do you do when you only have a little time?
I've got to pick the co-director up from work in about an hour.
The Boy's got a head cold and didn't want to sleep anywhere but on daddy for the last three hours.
I've got a peri-tonsilar infection and antibotics that could stun a horse. I parsed Hebrew words the other day using Greek paradigms(my God!). Only God knows what the assignments I've handed in the last few days look like. For all I know, I've written them in pig latin.
so I blog.
This semester's almost done. I've got three assignments left, and about 15 clinical shifts at the hospital. They're getting easier -- or maybe I'm growing up a bit. Either way, I'm not quite as anxious going in for my shifts. I would, however, appreciate the pain in my throat going away for maybe, say, a day or two, which would be nice. It's not contagious, just painful.
the co-director's only got a month of work left, for which we're thankful. The apartment is already totally decorated for Christmas, the first batch of shortbread has been baked (sorry, Cory), and I think we're thinking about presents. She asked me what I wanted, and my initial reply was neither couth nor polite. But do you know what I'd like for Christmas?
I don't know.

a hundred years

10 years ago today, I was completing high school homework.
5 years ago, I was just beginning the journey with the young woman who became my wife.
2 years ago I was adjusting to married life and doing homework for my undergrad.
Last year I helped put my baby son to bed, sang him a lullaby, read him a story.
Tonight my little boy fell asleep on his own holding the handle of my empty coffee cup, snagged from my desk at I did homework for my Master's Degree.

Gracious God, God of time and transition, of youth and old age, of illness and death, if this should be the total of my days know that I would in this moment die at rest and at peace. Grant me a measure of thy grace, abiding in thy love, that I might be a presence and a joy to my family, bring peace to my friends, and share thy steadfast love with the world.
Amen.

A pittance of time

for my grandfathers, Jack Macintyre and 'Rusty' Stone, who rest from their labours. Jack, who trained as a pilot and nearly lost his life in a crash, and Rusty, who marched into Holland for Market Garden and was wounded twice. To your generation may mine be ever grateful.
to their children, I love you very much.

things not to leave unsupervised

so....I was out at class, yammering my way through a spot of Hebrew exegesis. That being done I moseyed on home, expecting to find the Boy and the co-director peacefully slumbering. The Boy looked...shiny...maybe a little greasy. He also lacked pants. being naturally observant, I remarked to the co-director "hey, did you know he doesn't have pants on?"
her reply was not printable in this g-rated blog. For that matter, due to certain content issues I cannot post a picture of the Boy, covered from head to toe in...vaseline. I could get arrested for that. The co-director had napped a bit in order to nurture the wee one, and the Boy took off to his room just in time to figure out how to get the lid of the squishy stuff.
I'll get the loofa.

homily for a baby

Text: Psalm 23; Matthew 18:1-5, 10b-14
Homily:

Let us pray.
God, we come before you today in sadness, because a baby has died and Linda and her family’s hearts are breaking. I don’t ask you to answer their questions now, to explain this or to justify yourself. I don’t ask you to take away their pain, for each tear says ‘I love you’ to this little baby. I just ask you to help them through this, to provide them with the strength they need, and to be present with the. God, take care of this little soul. We trust you with this baby’s care. Amen.

Linda, I’ve talked with you before and I still can’t even pretend to tell you that Baby’s death is part of God’s ‘plan’ for us, that her death was good, right, or just. It was none of those things. To say otherwise would be for me to deny your grief. Your grief is real – and you have a right to feel like you do. Anger, guilt, pain, immeasurable sadness and all the other emotions you experience right now are warranted. Though some may tell you otherwise, your grief should not be blunted because Baby’s life was so short. In reality, it probably hurts so much worse because of that. But I yearn for you to find something else in your grief. I want you to find hope.

Hope that Baby now rests in the arms of God, who loves all of us. Hope that her memory will become holy unto you even as her life, too short, was holy on this earth. You mourn, Linda, and all creation mourns with you. But you are not abandoned by God, and neither is Baby. Like that one lamb, she now rests with God who has known her from before the first time you felt her in your womb. You are children of God, and you may have confidence that it was not the will of God that your little one would be lost. But it is the will of God that she enters the kingdom of heaven, where she can rest beside those still waters, and even walk through the valley of the shadow of death – for God is with her.

And I know that you want nothing else in this world except for Baby to be here with you – for you to hold her, to comfort her, and to see her smile again. I can’t make that happen – there’s no power on earth that can. But I can promise that you will see your baby again. We are promised a time when our tears will be dry, and our sorrow will be over – the day of Resurrection. On that day we will see our loved ones again, when we are reunited with them to sing the song that began when creation was new. On that day, Linda, the lullabies that you sang out of love for your daughter will flow again from your lips, and you too will feel the perfect love of God. You will be together.

Have hope in that. Have faith that no lamb will be lost for Jesus, who will gather us all together as the shepherd gathers his sheep. The Good Shepherd, who gave his life for his sheep, now watches over Baby, and she is at peace. Linda, as you walk through death’s dark valley, know that God does more than walk with you. God carries you, as he carries your family and all of us, even as he carries Baby.

Amen.

a big drop in the bucket

so hallowe'en was good. now back to reality:

You receive a phone call from a woman who is sobbing. After a few minutes you calm her down and find out it is Linda, who sings in the choir. Linda is a single mom and is relatively new to the church. Her daughter, a three month old who you baptized about a month ago, was found dead in her crib by Linda’s mother while Linda was at work.
Respond:
1. what is your pastoral response?
2. write a homily for the funeral.

eek.
Some of you may notice that I've edited this post quite severely, and I have a perfectly good explanation.