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.

I think it’s amazing how patterns work. You start with scraps of fabric and felt, do some cutting and sewing, and voila! You have cats and mice. These were gifts for our sweet little granddaughter’s third birthday.

I learned to sew in seventh grade and although I thought I’d never return to it after making that repulsive one-seamed skirt, here I am all these years later still using that skill. My seventh grade teacher didn’t teach me nearly as much about sewing as my Mom did, however.

Where did you learn to sew? Do you still do any sewing? Do tell!

I’ll probably rip the seams out of this blog post in the morning.

Sometimes I open up the blog and stare at the screen, willing the words to appear. I like words. I’m what you might call a “wordy” person. If you ask me a simple “yes” or “no” question, I might just go the distance and give you all the reasons behind that simple “yes” or “no.”

But this is a “nada” day. Please tell me that you have days like that.

Well, since the words are hiding, I’ll just share a little montage of photos I took the other day from our kitchen window.

Nada Nada Nada in the morning.

Synopsis of the story thus far: Our frog hero, Fig Newton, met a little girl on the river named Lucy, who knitted him a scarf, made him a sailor’s hat, made him a little boat and reluctantly said goodbye to him so he could go see the world. Along the way, Fig was thinking through his trip when he ran across a bear carrying another girl. The bear was Grimpus Leatherfoot and the girl, Miss Agra Glendalough. They decided to travel along with him, walking by the riverside since his boat was too small for them. He spent some time thinking about what he’d want to do and see before returning home. While Agra and Grimpus were out exploring, Fig was singing in the boat by himself and was accosted by a fox named Phineas who stole his boat, leaving Figgy sitting on the riverbank, bereft. When Grimpus and Agra returned, Fig indulged in some self-pity, receiving a much needed rebuke from Miss Agra. Suitably chastened and in better spirits, he told them of the theft. Grimpus recognized the thief as Phineas Fox and recommended that they give chase immediately. They ran off in the direction of the river, but Grimpus ran so fast that all the bumping up and down made Agra sick, so they took a break. As they were taking stock of their situation, they were joined by Colonel Purslane, a hedgehog of some renown in the forest. (See Parts 1-7 if you want to know more).

Fig Newton Part 1
Fig Newton Part 2
Fig Newton Part 3
Fig Newton Part 4
Fig Newton Part 5
Fig Newton Part 6
Fig Newton Part 7

“Let me learn your names, first. I already know Mr. Grimpus Leatherfoot,” said the Colonel. Once satisfied on that score, he bade Miss Agra to tell him what had them all in such distress. Figgy felt that it was really his story to tell, but kept quiet, not wanting to waste more time. Agra summed up their plight quickly and efficiently. The colonel nodded along as she spoke and when she was done, he said, “So, Phineas Fox is up to his old tricks again! Give me a moment to think this through.” He got out of the sleigh and paced around slowly while thinking out loud.

“What we need is to consult with the one creature in this forest that always knows what is going on with everyone. As a source of information, he is unparalleled. Now, the only question is, how do we find him without delay?”

He stopped pacing and looked around, realizing that this small group of travelers were depending on his plan of action. Grimpus said, “Colonel, we are ready to look for this helpful fellow. Who is he?”
“We are looking for Clive, the snail,” the Colonel answered. This was really too much for Fig.

“A snail?!? We’re going to be depending on a SNAIL, when time is of the essence to catch Phineas Fox and retrieve the Lucky Lucy?” Poor Figgy. He really hadn’t learned his lesson yet.

“Tell me, Mr. Frog,” Colonel Purslane said frostily, “Do you know anything at all about Phineas Fox? Do you know where he lives? Do you have any idea why he needed your boat? Do you think you can figure out where he’s headed? If you want to continue running blindly without any information or strategy, I will not stop you!”

There was a moment’s awkward silence. Fig Newton was impulsive and impatient, but he was not, in the end, a complete fool. “I beg your pardon, Colonel. Just ignore me. Please do not abandon our quest because of my big mouth.” And just like that, Fig Newton remembered a song that his mother used to sing:

When words are many,
Sin is not lacking
Set a guard, O Figgy
Over your mouth.

‘Tis well to be silent
Instead of yakking
Think first, O Figgy
Before opening your mouth.

Colonel Purslane clapped his paws together and said, “I know just where Clive will be right now. At this time of day, he has finished his rounds and will be taking a rest at his home, The Last Mailbox. Agra, you come into my sleigh and I’ll lead the way!” To Fig’s relief, it appeared his indiscretion was already forgotten.

Agra was much happier riding in the sleigh, while Fig Newton and Grimpus loped along behind them. It wasn’t long before they came to a small clearing and saw a mailbox on the ground with the door flap down. The sign next to it said in big letters “CLIVE CAN DELIVER!” Seated on the door flap was a handsome snail wearing glasses and reading a book. As they came to a stop in front of him, he set the book down and seeing Colonel Purslane, he called out cheerfully, “Good day, Purslane! What can I do for you and your companions, my fine fellow?”

Fig Newton looked him over and was filled with admiration. He was obviously a learned creature, and everything about him cried out, “Can do!” They had come to the right place.

Stayed tuned for the next chapter. Good old Fig Newton – he’s a lovable froggie.
Fig Newton Part 9

If you can tell me what book Clive had been reading, this post will be saved from destruction.

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There’s snow and more snow
Till we have our quota
That’s what it’s like
To live in Minnesota

If you don’t like our snow,
Don’t like it one iota
Perhaps you should not be
Living in Minnesota

I’ll probably snow blow this post in the morning. It’s a Minnesota thing.

Here’s the latest project – adding some color to our kitchen. I did a couple sample stencils on some extra tiles (we didn’t have any extra 4”x4” tiles around) and am starting to realize how long this is going to take. I have four different stencils and am trying to decide whether or not to use all the different colors for each one (like above) or to do one color per stencil and vary them by color throughout the kitchen. Or should I just pick one color and use only that one? I’m not doing every tile – just select ones. I can’t imagine building a house and having to make decisions about every single thing in every single room. Anyway, opinions are welcome!

We’re in the midst of a good old-fashioned Minnesota blizzard right now. “Snow on snow on snow…” Thoughts of hot chocolate, a lap blanket and a good book are swirling around in my head as the snow swirls around outside. I’m done here.

I’ll probably…(do you hear the hot chocolate calling?)

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

I was in the midst of doing a dietetic internship during most of that first year after coming to Christ. It was an intense time of study and work, with a lot of expectations attached. Only 8 students from all over the country had been chosen to be part of this internship in the city which boasted of being the home of the Mayo Clinic. I lived in a dorm attached to St. Mary’s Hospital (SMH), which housed both the dietetic interns and nursing students. At that time, St. Mary’s was still very much a Catholic institution, run by nuns. Perhaps it still is. At the beginning of the internship, we were all gathered into an auditorium and given a speech by Sister Gennerose, who was at that time in a position of leadership there. She told us, among other things, that SMH would remain staunchly pro-life even when other medical institutions were willing to do abortions. This impressed and irked me at the same time, as my convictions on abortion were decidedly on the other side. In spite of my own stance on the issue, I could not help but be stirred in some way by her commitment that the hospital should do the right thing, or at least what she perceived as doing the right thing, amid pressures from the outside world.

It wasn’t long before my convictions about abortion would be challenged, however. My spiritual mentor, Jodie, had asked me to join a Bible study with some of the other nursing students. I was a little intimidated by this as a newbie in the Christian world, but had been gobbling the Bible up in my free time and wanted to be with others who were reading it, too. I had so much to learn! I don’t remember anything about that Bible study, but at the end of the first meeting, Jodie mentioned to the group that we had an opportunity to babysit for some of the women at church who wanted to go up to the capitol for the pro-life march. She passed a sign-up sheet around, asking us to sign up if we were willing and able. Uh oh…I squirmed uncomfortably. There was NO WAY I was going to sign that sheet. Not too long ago, I’d been doing volunteer work for the other side. And let’s not forget that I’d had an abortion several years previously. But now I was a Christian. Did that mean I had to become pro-life? My conscience was pricked and you can be sure the Holy Spirit was involved.

I spoke to Jodie privately after the study. “Jodie, I think you should know that I’m not pro-life. I’m really more in the pro-choice camp. Does a Christian have to be pro-life? I’m not sure if I can take that stance, but I want to be open to what God would tell me about this issue.” She listened thoughtfully, and instead of judging me or lecturing me, she suggested that I read some materials about abortion from a couple Last Days newsletters and passed them on to me. I took them back to my dorm room. This was a big deal for me. When I told the Lord I would surrender everything to Him, did I mean it? I prayed before reading those newsletters, simply asking the Lord to show me the truth, no matter the cost, but behind the words, I was still holding back.

I didn’t think the Bible had much to say on this topic, but I was wrong. I had never looked at photos of aborted babies either. When you read about Jesus healing blind people in the New Testament, they all have something in common: they knew they were blind. Until that moment, I hadn’t known just how blind I was, but that evening, the Holy Spirit applied the clay of truth to my spiritual eyes and bade me wash it off so that I might see. I wept for what I had done. I confessed my sin before the Lord and received His forgiveness.

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,
that saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now am found,
was blind but now I see.

Do you think that a blind man after receiving his sight would ask to be made blind again? After all, there are a lot of things in this world that are traumatizing to see, and once seen, impossible to un-see. There are some who might say that I was better off blind, but they would be wrong. What a wonderful mercy it is to know the truth, to know the Man who is Truth. “You shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free.” I would not return to those chains of self-deception for anything.

I was growing up.

Next up:
Adventures Part 4

I’ll probably delete this in the morning…or not.

My husband and I do a short exercise routine most mornings guided by videos from Bloom Young. They’re very doable and I recommend them to anyone who needs to get off the couch and do some low-impact exercising. I think they’re geared toward older people, but anyone could sign up. In fact, I’m fully expecting our 3-year-old granddaughter to do these along with us the next time we see her. You can purchase on a subscription basis, or you can do what we did, which is just to buy the basic package, a one-time purchase which is a lot cheaper, but you only have a limited number of workouts available. We don’t mind doing the same ones over and over again.

Anyway, the reason I bring that up is that the young man who leads the exercise routines tells us all the time what an excellent job we are doing. I counted the number of times he said “Excellent work!” or “Excellent job!” or just “Excellent!” during a routine we did recently and it was 22 times. This is remarkable in light of the fact that he can’t see us and has no idea what sort of bumbling around we might be doing in the privacy of our living room. So, it’s phony feedback, but I’ve become accustomed to it nevertheless. I’ve gotten to the point where I expect to hear it and feel affronted when the praise is not forthcoming, even when there’s no basis for it.

Such is the danger of the whole self-esteem movement of the 70’s. (Didn’t see that coming, did you?) A whole generation of children (probably two generations now) became accustomed to hearing how awesome and excellent they were without actually earning the praise. It’s just as Dash said in the movie “The Incredibles.” “When everyone is special, nobody is.” When everything is excellent, nothing is.

Monday meanderings for you.

I’ll probably delete this excellent post in an excellent way in the excellent morning. See what I mean?