Willow is emerging from the felt, much like a sculpture emerges from the stone. I think she is lovely.

All that’s left is to make her dress, jacket, knitted wrist bands and satchel. Oh, and the parsnip she carries around. Then we shall see what part she has to play in Fig Newton’s story.

I still haven’t chosen a button for the satchel, so if you have a strong opinion (you can see the three candidates in the photo), bring it on. A weak opinion is also acceptable.

You may have recognized that the title for this post is a reworking of the phrase “will o’ the wisp.” I’ve never really known what that was, so I had one of my many minions look it up for me. Oh, don’t be so scandalized – you use the same minions that I do; it’s called “browsing the internet.” It turns out that will o’ the wisp doesn’t have so much of a definition as it does a story. Gather ‘round.

The first known use of the phrase will-o’-the-wisp was way back in 1661, arising from the swamps. Yes, that’s true! It’s a flame-like phosphorescence that’s caused by gases from decaying plants in swamps and marshes (and who can tell the difference between a swamp and a marsh? Is there one? Have they ever been seen in the same room? I rest my case.). Anyway, these eerie lights from the marsh were personified as “Will (short for William) with the wisp,” little sprites who carried these wisps to lead travelers astray into the murky depths. Very creepy, which just goes to show you just how dangerous the imagination can be. If somebody uses the phrase nowadays, though, it means an impractical or unattainable goal, like trying to follow a flickering light in the darkness. Watch out for that swamp!

I’ll probably drop this in the blog swamp in the morning…

To start at the beginning of this series:
Adventures Part 1

I was already really good at guilt as a non-believer and therefore was rather irked that this new life in Christ should somehow seemed to have resulted in more guilt. Guilt upon guilt upon guilt. I’m one of those people you’ve read about that has an exceedingly sensitive conscience. The phrase “morbid introspection” was crafted for me. How do I get rid of all of this GUILT? Good grief – you’d think I’d never heard the gospel, the good news. I was continually dragging myself before the Lord, moping about my various inconsistencies, my lack of self-discipline, my ever-present sins. I had read Romans 7 a couple weeks before my conversion and it was like word salad to me at that time. What on earth is Paul gassing on about? “For what I will to do, that I do not practice; but what I hate, that I do…for the good that I will to do, I do not do; but the evil I will not to do, that I practice. Now if I do what I will not to do, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells in me.” Now it was making sense.

Ironically, my journals were starting to read the same way. I was confessing sin, but not getting any relief. There was an uncomfortable logjam of sins clogging the river of my soul. I needed some dynamite and found it one day in 1 John 1:9: “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” Somehow I had gotten stuck at the first part of the verse and hadn’t fully appreciated the promise at the end. The Lord was forgiving and cleansing me and I was acting like He wasn’t doing a very good job of it. I decided to take Him at His word. I wrote down a list of all of the things that were on my conscience, confessed them all, and threw the paper away. Confessed, forgiven, cleansed. What a light heart I had after that! It reminds me of a Peanuts cartoon in which Lucy was fretting to Linus about all the rain they were getting, worried that it would flood the whole world. Linus reassured her that according to Genesis 9, God promised Noah that He would never flood the whole world again, the sign of that promise being the rainbow. “You’ve taken a great load off my mind,” Lucy says happily, and Linus responds, “Sound theology has a way of doing that!” Yes, give me some more of that sound theology!!

I was very earnest and zealous for the faith and decided that I should start an evangelistic Bible study as an outreach to the other dietetic interns in the dorm. I made up some invitations and went door to door with them. At each door, I stopped before knocking to acknowledge the little war going on in my head. I shouldn’t do this, they’ll think I’m a kook. But if you don’t tell them, who will? But this seems so intrusive! They might be headed straight to hell – shouldn’t you be more concerned about that? Okay, okay. At each door I prayed and found the courage to knock on that door and hand out the invitation.

The day of the first Bible study arrived and nobody came. Well, actually one person came – it was one of the nursing students that I’d been avoiding. She was a sweet Catholic girl, always talking about the Virgin Mary, whom she referred to only as “The Virgin.” I wasn’t ready to take on that discussion and hadn’t even invited her, but somehow she found out about it and showed up. In addition, she had a strong Hispanic accent and I had a very hard time understanding her, which embarrassed me. Well, I had prayed that the Lord would bring people and since she was the only one who came, it was time to face facts: He invited her and I’d better not send her away. But I’m sorry to tell you that I wanted to. I stalled for a few minutes, but finally resigned myself to the fact that no one else was coming. I was suddenly aware of how ill equipped I was, armed with mostly good intentions. We spent about 10-15 minutes looking at a few Bible verses and that was that. The difference between my idealistic imaginings and God’s plan was a lesson I had to learn the hard way many times over. I’d had a vision of who was coming and how it was going to go and that girl hadn’t been a part of it. But the Holy Spirit imparted some well-deserved shame to my soul for my close-mindedness. Confession, forgiveness, cleansing. Lather, rinse and repeat.

I’ll probably wash this post right outta my hair in the morning.

Next up:
Adventures Part 6

I took up lap swimming again a couple weeks ago after a 10-year hiatus. It’s been somewhat brutal to realize just how out of shape I’ve become. The words of the apostle Paul about buffeting his own body come to mind. Good old-fashioned self-discipline is what it is and there are times when it feels quite a bit like you’re punching yourself.

When I was in the locker room the other day, two women were talking about their exercise habits and one of them said, “I’m addicted to cardio…” Those are a set of words I would never dream of stringing together in that order (possibly not in any order, but definitely not in that one). Exercise doesn’t grant the kind of reward to me that you’d think an addiction would. It’s work. It’s good work, but it’s still work.

I had a friend tell me once that she didn’t feel good if a day went by without her being able to go jogging. Dear friends, any day without having to go jogging sounds like a remarkably GOOD day to me. And I’m not saying that just because I’m old and my knees are going bad, although that certainly has cemented the issue for me.

No, this is definitely about buffeting the body, one lap at a time. And I praise God that I can still do it, even with the huffing and puffing.

I’ll probably buffet this blog in the morning.

Mental meanderings ahead.

I made an angelfood cake recently and realized how very set I am in my ways. In 2014 (or so) I started using a lovely blue wine bottle to set my angelfood cake on upside down when it was done baking. This has become THE bottle, the only bottle I’ll use for this exalted purpose. I could at any time get rid of that one and use the next empty wine bottle that comes around or use one of the two or three others I have kept for no other purpose except that I liked them. (Mini-hoarding – no judging please.) But no, it has to be that one. We are all such creatures of habit, aren’t we? There’s nothing really wrong with that – we wear our habits like comfortable bathrobes. The danger is in having these habits set like concrete in our lives. My favorite story about that is what happened to my mom when she joined the University of Minnesota chorus in the 1970’s. She came to the first rehearsal on a Tuesday night and, as was her custom, arrived plenty early and was the first one there with a sea of empty seats to choose from. It was in a huge lecture hall with seating for over 300 people, so she found out where the alto section was and picked a random seat. A few minutes later, a second lady came to the alto section and told Mom that she was in her seat. Ha ha! That’s probably a little too set in your ways. It’s sort of like what happens when you get overly attached to the pew you sit in at church. Mom got up and moved for her and they later became good friends.

Next topic, pipe cleaners. I need a couple pipe cleaners for the little rabbit I’m going to be making and mentioned offhand to my husband that I wished I didn’t have to buy a whole package of them. He inquired, “You only need two?” Yes, just two. He disappeared for a moment and returned with two pipe cleaners. What? Somehow it had never dawned on me that pipe cleaners have any purpose other than for use in crafts. He had some for cleaning out his tobacco smoking pipe. Yes, pipe cleaners are for cleaning out pipes, fancy that. I bet you all knew that already though.

I’ll probably be deleting this in the morning as is my habit.

This is today:

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Brought to you by March in Minnesota.

This Lynnieebeemuseoday Blog Post is overcast and rainy and will be deleted in the morning. In the meantime, get your umbrella out.

To give you relief from my often wordy posts, I’ll just share photos of some things going on in my workshop. Words will be used to describe them, but I’ll try to keep it to a minimum.

This unattractive cardboard box is the current repository for all the Little Travelers. I think they deserve better, but haven’t come up with anything. Should I commission hubby to make a nice wooden box? Should I use the toy box from his childhood? (photo below). Buy a nice plastic see-through bin? I think you can tell from the look on Colonel Purslane’s face that he is pleading for better quarters.

This blog post will expire in 24 hours.

If you want to start at the beginning of this series:
Adventures Part 1

What’s one thing that children do constantly? They ask questions. Questions, questions and more questions. It’s a wonderful stage of life, even though it sometimes proves wearying for the parents.

Similarly, as a “newborn” Christian, I had questions, so many questions. Here’s a sampling of some questions and concerns that I wrote down to ask my friend Jodie about when I was less than two months into this adventure:

What does “God’s love is perfected in us” mean?

Why do I have a difficult time with Pastor Erickson’s statement “we are here solely to glorify God? What exactly does he mean? What are ways I glorify God?

Does God intend for us to feel so guilty for all our daily imperfections? What part do guilt feelings play in the life of a Christian?

Is my holding back and hesitancy a normal thing to be experiencing still? I find myself with doubts and worrying what others (non-Christians) will think of my behavior. If I have doubts, I cannot be sincere. I don’t want to indulge in trite Christian phrases as of yet that don’t carry full meaning for me.

I am afraid to be sure. Being sure means pressure to me, pressure to be the perfect Christian, to save everyone I meet. Being sure means being unable to be sensitive to the unsureness of non-Christians. Yet, if I am unsure, what am I communicating to non-Christians about Christianity? I guess I am still afraid to be a fanatic. I am afraid that I am drawn more to the “romantic” ideal of true and fervent dedication to something (anything!) than I am drawn to glorify God.

I am expecting myself to teach a new language to other people when I am still learning the alphabet.

I don’t really understand the Holy Spirit at all.

Does praying in front of people ever get easier? Can you learn how to do this better? I lose my concentration on God and begin to concentrate on sounding good in front of the person I am with.

Do we pray to Christ ever? What exactly is our relationship to Christ, to God the Father, to the Holy Spirit? Do other people have these relationships straight in their minds or are we all confused?

I have a hard time being humble about any gifts I have. Yet wouldn’t God want me to feel good about the gifts he’s given me? How do you reconcile basking in praise of your gifts with trying to be an example of humility and giving God all the credit? I like to feel good about the things I do well – is this feeling wrong?

What does the Bible say about pre-marital sex?

What about discrepancies between Old and New Testament?

What about people for whom the Bible is just “propaganda”?

What about casual dating (dating without intent to commit)?

I was definitely giving Jodie a run for her money. I don’t remember all the answers to these questions, but I do remember her patience and her continual reliance on the Scriptures to seek out the answers. She encouraged me to start memorizing Bible verses and I was off and running. She prayed with me and for me. I can’t imagine what my early life as a Christian would have been like without having someone right there to go to for questions and encouragement, a true God-send.

Jodie and I are still friends, although we don’t see each other very much now. She just turned 60, so I’m offering up a slightly belated “Happy Birthday, dear friend and mentor. I thank God for you!”

Will I delete this in the morning? So many questions!

Next up:
Adventures Part 5

Just to clear up any confusion, this is NOT about the festal shouts of egg whites, although that is certainly an intriguing topic. Perhaps another day… No, these are two separate topics that come straight from the Holy Writ.

We read through a psalm every morning in the Book of Common Prayer and I have placed a special marker on Psalm 89:15.

Happy are the people who know the festal shout!
They walk, O LORD, in the light of your presence.

In my New King’s Jame Version Bible, the phrase is “joyful sound,” which is plenty appealing, but there’s something extra jazzy going on with the idea of the “festal shout.” I not only want to know what the festal shout is, I’m a festal shout kind of gal. If I knew the festal shout, I would be shouting it at the feast, at the appropriate time, of course. I’ve been contemplating to what this phrase might refer. My best hypothesis is that it is the Shema: “Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God, the LORD is one!” (from Deuteronomy 6:4. Shema is the Hebrew word for “hear”). I delight to think of everyone shouting this together at the next fellowship feast, although perhaps this isn’t to be shouted at just any feast. My Bible notes say that the Shema was recited every morning and evening by the Jews of the Old Testament. I’m open to other ideas; please share with me any wisdom of the festal shout variety that you have.

Onward to egg whites. Remember the Dark Ages when we were told that eggs were evil? Yes, those days, when cholesterol was a bad word and egg yolks were sent in shame to the dietary dungeon. During those dreary days, restaurants did their best to kowtow to the Dietary Powers That Be and promptly put “egg white omelets” or “scrambled egg whites” on their menus. For all I know this may still be a thing in places where people are living in unenlightened misery. If you should happen upon those items on a restaurant menu, I give you permission to quote from the Book of Job:

Is there any taste in the white of an egg?
My soul refuses to touch them;
They are loathsome food to me. (Job 6:6b-7)

You couldn’t pull the wool over Job’s eyes and we should be just as discerning as he was in these matters.

And now we come to the audience participation segment. I have 5 egg whites leftover from recipes that called for egg yolks. What should I do with them? I know some of you jokesters will immediately suggest an egg white omelet, but beware: you will be cast into the Lynniebeemuseoday Blog Dungeon.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning with a blog postal shout.

While I’m giving my arm a break, I thought it would be fun to share some old posts from my previous blog (Further Up and Further In) or older posts from this one. Here’s one first published on April 21, 2017. Still true.

Remember when bobbleheads became a thing? I’m trying to imagine the first person pitching that as a product. I would definitely have been the one at the table shaking my head saying, “It’ll never sell.” That’s why I’m not invited to those types of meetings. Someone else gave the go-ahead and pretty soon, bobbleheads abounded while everyone tried to ride the tide of this weird trend for as long as it would last. Even Martin Luther had a bobblehead! [a funny aside – every time I try to type the word “bobblehead,” it comes out as “booblehead,” which I then have to erase and fix. Tee hee.] Thanks to our having a good connection with the Minnesota Twins, we ended up with quite a few Twins’ bobbleheads. Somehow Pete became the Keeper of the Bobbleheads and then in a bloodless coup, he also became the de facto owner of them. This is, I think, an oldest child thing – there’s probably even something biblical about it, or at least he’d like to think so. My favorite of his collection is the Hermann the German bobblehead. Three cheers for New Ulm!

And now, the stunning revelation: in a strange turn of events, I’ve become a bobblehead myself. Yes, it’s true. This is a consequence of not always hearing what people are saying to me, especially in loud places like restaurants. The bobble is a handy maneuver which allows you to give the impression that you heard what was said and are definitely tracking the conversation. Here’s how it works:

Other person: The other day I mumble mumble and it is so mumble mumble in the morning…(and so on)
Me: Bobble, bobble.

If the person is smiling and generally looking pleased with the world, I’ll accompany the bobble with a smile. If they look worried, the bobble will take on a concerned-looking aspect. The only time the bobble doesn’t work, and those of you who are clever will have already figured this part out, is when the other person asks an actual question requiring words as a response. It may surprise you to learn that many questions don’t require words as a response, for example:

Other person: Mumble, mumble, mumblety mumble…do you know what I mean?
Me: bobble, bobble.
Other person (perfectly satisfied): mumble more mumble…

If someone looks rather aghast or confused after I’ve issued a non-committal bobble, this is my cue that I’ve completely missed something important and, well, bobbled it.

On that note, I’ll just be bobble, bobble, bobbling along.

He who has ears to hear, let him hear.
Matthew 11:15

I’ll probably…what’s that you say?

I haven’t abandoned the blog, my friends. I’m not even playing hooky. I’m taking a tendinitis break. Every once in a while I overdo things and have to give my poor arm a break. I’ll be back!

I’ll probably…ouch!

I beg your pardon –
Did you say “fat?”
I’m pleasingly plump
Don’t forget that!

The seeds that I eat
Fill me with verve
So don’t call me fat
(Of all the nerve!)

I’m with the Mrs. Cardinal on this one.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning with plenty of verve. Look it up.