Weekend in Review

The weather says its supposed to be cold and cloudy. So this large patch of sun that I'm sitting in must be some kind of illusion. Usually the weather is never wrong…well, frequently the weather is wrong, as in morally evil, but the reporting of it is correct. Considering whether or not to go outside. The minute I do all the clouds will assemble and chase me back in. That is the meaning of Binghamton.

I spent long amounts of time this weekend trying to cope with the piles of spam that are destroying my blogging life. I need to do something about it. Or rather, I need to keep nagging Matt to do something about it. I'm terribly sorry if you have commented and I haven't approved your comment. For every one true comment there are about 59 spam ones. I feel so violated. But please keep commenting! Because whenever I find a real one, I feel justified for the hours of wasted time combing through the refuse. I'm sure there's a metaphor for reality in there somewhere.

When I wasn't doing that I was freezing at a baseball game and doing laundry. It was a super fun weekend.

That sounds bitter. It was a really good weekend. Matt preached a sermon that, as usual, left me flayed out on the floor, my guts exposed, blubbering quietly over my wretched blindness and sin and surprised by the mercy and grace of God. I wish he wouldn't do that. He's gettiing better and better at it. Every week he tops himself.

And we cleaned the house. Which we haven't done since the onset of baseball. Well, we cleaned parts of the house. In the process of cleaning the downstairs I trashed my own bedroom. You know, because that's what has to happen when you have piles of stuff you're removing from one place to another. You have to put them in your bedroom. And then you have to feel guilty for not making your bedroom a 'sanctuary' where you and your husband can escape from the pack of barbarians. Then you can feel guilty for wanting to get away from the pack of barbarians. Then you can feel guilty for feeling guilty….

Oh! And on Saturday Evening, after the Bathing of the Children, as we, bizarrely and uncharacteristically sat down all together in the livingroom to watch, what else, Leave it to Beaver, (a stereotypical American family, mass of children sitting watching old time tv show, parents reading facebook on phones, opulant home clean for the first time in months) the doorbell rang and a neighbor ushered in a French couple cycling around the world. Our neighbor immediately thought of us, naturally, when he discovered they needed a place to stay. They were very interesting and lovely. They have been to 54 countries in eight years. They arrived in New York two weeks ago from Hanoi. Our neighbor asumed they were Christian since they often stay in churches. Turns out they're just smart. Churches around the world have welcomed them and given them shelter and food and hospitality. You know, because Christianity is a Religion of Hate. Turns out I don't speak french all that well anymore. Couldn't remember how to say 'kitchen' or 'bathroom' or 'welcome' or 'I am a stupid stupid American who lived almost my whole life in a French Speaking Country and yet I cannot converse with you because I am so selfish and ignorant.' Resolved to stop reading Ace of Spades and start reading stuff in French. I'm sure this is the first day of a better, more disciplined holy life.

Just kidding.

Anyway, in a round about way, their arriving on a Saturday evening was encouraging because we've been praying for that particular neighbor for many years and have never had an opportunity to speak with him for more that a few seconds. So it was good to have him stand in our hallway and be friendly and interested in the same thing (where will these nice French people sleep) and on a common mission (pushing their bikes into our garage for safety–how do you say garage in French). Then he betook himself home and I rushed around to de-child the bathroom and make it bearable for guests, and then, while they took showers, I stumbled around in French feeling more and more the fool. Collapsed into bed at 10pm.

And then woke up at 7 in a panic, threw myself and the children together, and ran over to church by 7:30 to make coffee and see if they needed anything. Collapsed onto the atrium floor at 9am for Sunday School and discvered that the new little girl that's been coming to my class doesn't know what a shepherd is and has no point of reference whatsoever to talk about things like lost sheep and Jesus. Descended to a new all time low and used Frozen to try to talk about the gospel. “You know, Jesus, the Good Shepherd, laid down his life for the sheep, just like Ana laid down her life for Elsa” I babbled. She looked up at me dubiously with her big gorgeous eyes and said nothing. Baby Elsbeth lustily launched into Do You Wanna Build A Snowman. Wanted to die but intsead lit one candle per child. I know, you should only light one candle and everyone take turns, by week, to put it out, but by that point, something had to give. Regained hope when Marigold prayed clearly and beautifully, thanking God for each other child by name, that they were each a sheep, that Jesus was their Shepherd, that when the sheep is lost the Shepherd always finds him. Gathered up my tattered energy and got through the rest of the day.

So, it looks like the sun is still here, all these paragraphs later. Guess I'll go visit my tiny seeds and then brush my teeth so I can be violated by the dentist. Have a lovely day!