“…for they shall inherit the earth.”
~Matthew 5:5~

Everybody is back to school now. Yesterday was my first night returning after a much needed and very much enjoyed break from obligations and assignments of the academic kind. All in all I loved last semester, but I was also tired by the end. I am currently not at all looking forward to continuing with the online board posts and responses. I have one more semester long online class and then I am done with those. The rest continue to be the 8-week quarter classes. I like having the quarters.

Tonight again we watched the latest episode of The Chosen. So far I’ve still been liking the show. It can feel risky giving opinions on things because you never know how certain shows are going to develop. It does start to feel a little much at times with the way the livestreams or social media accounts emphasize the emotional responses of the viewers. To highlight the emotion takes away from the scene or the story that produced it.

Yet we do this at times. I do think, at times, it rightly human to do so. To say, “I cried five different times”, or “this brought me to tears” is to offer up evidence in the most accurate, intimate, and verifiable way. The tears are proof that something inside us has happened. What the show continues to do very well is portray the fallen human condition in an accurate, intimate, and still pitiable way, so that in some sense we are given “eyes”, a glimpse into the heart of God himself.

For the past almost two years I’ve been listening to the piano music of Dan Musselman daily. The first album I started with is called Healing: Two Hours of Instrumental Worship. When I no longer listened to it at night before bed, I played sections throughout the day, over and over. Last year he came out with an album called Calm which I also have listened to almost daily and continue to play as my day to day background music. His music has been a blessing to me.

Recently on his Instagram he announced a new album called Peaceful Piano Worship. He says it is based on the music he listened to from Spotify’s Peaceful Piano playlist. Inspired by his post I searched for a peaceful piano worship playlist on Spotify. Since then I have enjoyed the hearing again of so many worship songs from the period of time when I was in high school, when worship music was a regular part of my life. I remembered songs I hadn’t heard in years.

Sometimes worship music gets made fun of and put down. I understand the concerns about it. I’ve also been one who loves to sing these kinds of songs, and I’ve been trying to figure out what it is about them that feels like your soul is being freed to speak the words we’ve been created to sing and speak for the entirety of our lives. There are songs you sing about God, and there are songs you sing to God, directly to him. The best ones are the ones you sing straight to him.

“This mystery is that the Gentiles are fellow heirs, members of the same body, and partakers of the promise in Christ Jesus through the gospel.”
~Ephesians 3:6~

The error of Persia has ceased
For the stargazers, kings of the East,
Bring gifts to Christ the King of all at His birth:
Gold, frankincense, and myrrh.
Bless Him, O children, and praise Him, O priests,
Exalt Him, O people, throughout the ages…

The Magi, kings of Persia,
Knew that You, the Heavenly King,
Were truly born on earth.
They came to Bethlehem
Led by the light of a star,
And offered their chosen gifts:
Gold, frankincense, and myrrh.
Falling before You they worshipped,
For they saw You who are timeless
Lying as a babe in the cave.

Earth spreads out its wide spaces
And receives the Creator,
As He receives glory from angels
And the star from the heavens
Gifts from the Magi
And recognition from the whole world.

(From The Winter Pascha: Readings for the Christmas-Epiphany Season, by Thomas Hopko)

Dad and the big kids were back to school today. I was feeling a bit nostalgic after such a wonderful Christmas break so that when they left I gave them hugs and thanked them. I made the boys French toast for breakfast, then suggested they play a game together in the boys’ upstairs bedroom, next to ours. I wanted them close, quiet, and not on technology. They played nicely while I started on straightening our room after weeks of neglect.

When I came out to get a garbage bag the boys were out at the dining room table poking at the bread dough I’d laid out that morning. I still wanted to make the poppy seed bread. I had a bag of already ground up poppy seed from my husband’s Aunt Cyndy that had been patiently waiting in the refrigerator to be used. The boys floured the table and rolled out the dough while I mixed up the filling. I sent a picture of smiles to my brother.

We finished the loaves so they could be set in their pans to rise. One of the boys said something like, “See mom? Don’t you miss having us home like this?” I told them I do miss it, and I do. If I’d have had the energy to keep going with them, I gladly would’ve done so. Being with children, even your own, for prolonged periods of time requires tremendous amounts of patience. I don’t mean to imply I always had it, but what I had I abided in.

The mud room needed cleaning again. It’s amazing to me how quickly a room can go from orderly to completely disheveled. As I was digging through the game chest, making a pile for goodwill donations, I found two mini-photo albums that had come from my grandmother’s things in Florida. One was of me as an infant and toddler. The other was from our wedding, and of our first apartment in Seward when my family had come to visit.

I noticed in the background that our apartment was clean. Our dining room table was set with placemats I’d received as a wedding gift. Our bedroom shelf had the James Dobson couple’s devotional that we read. Every surface was clutter-free, except for the things that I had intentionally placed there. Most of the things we don’t have anymore, as I have gone through many phases and cycles of decluttering, downsizing, giving away.

Everyone can have two pairs of shoes in the entryway. The rest need to go into the shoe bins in your room. They all need reminders. Some will argue their case on why they need three. Shoes stored downstairs are incredibly inconvenient. This pair of tennis shoes is for taking out the garbage because they can be slipped on easily. This one is for when I need a better pair of shoes for something outside. The boots also need to stay.

We moved on to the Christmas tree and the kids took down the ornaments. I’m fine with the tree staying longer, but the reds and randomness of the ornaments needed toning down for me. The stockings and any remaining Christmas decorations are now in a pile to be returned to the Christmas bin whenever that happens. It was enough for me to have the tree cleared. I took an afternoon nap before heading out to the store.

My son came with me. A couple of days ago I typed out weekly meal plans with a corresponding shopping list as well as cookbook titles and page numbers for any questionable recipes. The idea is to rotate them through the winter, with the thinking work already done for whoever shops or makes supper. When we pulled into Aldi and parked I remembered my debit card expired Dec 22. I dug through my purse knowing I didn’t have any cash.

I called Josh and asked if he had any ideas of what I could do that did not include me having to drive all the way back to camp. He said he could meet me somewhere and bring me his card. We met at the church, which was about a 12 minute drive for him. Once I had money my son and I went back to the store. I remembered our pastor in Hoyleton telling us that you never go to Aldi on the first day of the month. This was the second day, but close.

The next stop was County Market. This is the store you go to for the obscure grocery items that Aldi doesn’t have. It wasn’t nearly as busy there, and always feels neater. Eggs were much more expensive than I ever remember them being. When we were done with our list I asked my son if he wanted to pick out a snack. He chose Pizza Pringles. While at the register I realized sadly that I hadn’t brought in my purse. He ran out and got it.