It used to bother me that hardly a Christmas or an Easter, a Fourth of July or a Labor Day could pass without my parents inviting people over for a meal. Widows. Vicars. College students. If you were going to be alone on a holiday {or pretty much any day}, Mom and Dad would find you, hug you and tell you what time the turkey would be ready.
Whether you liked turkey or not. Continue reading “True Visible Beauty”
A few nights ago, I taught my husband the importance of the thumb in maintaining control in a household.
This, of course, is knowledge passed on to me by my father who learned it from . . . well, I think he came up with it himself. Continue reading “sit up!”
A week ago Sunday, I was kneeling at the Communion rail with my niece Wilhelmina. She’s two. She’s opinionated, like her mother. She’s chatty, like her mother. She’s determined, like her . . . well, I think you see where I’m going with this.
She’s also very Lutheran, just like her mother. 
And so it was no surprise, as she kneeled next to me at the Lord’s table, that when her dad, the pastor, came down the row of communicants with the Lord’s body, Willa whispered, like a tornado attempting to pass as a summer breeze, “THAT’S MY PASTOR!”
And then, to make sure I was listening, she poked me in the arm and said again, now pointing at him, “HEY, THAT’S MY PASTOR!” Continue reading “that’s my pastor!”
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