Good Friday, Bread and Saying Goodbye to Friends

Yesterday was Good Friday. At least for some of us. The pastor speaking last night wondered if the residents of heaven, especially Jesus, would consider it to be a good day. It was a day Jesus had to "...endure the cross, scorning its shame..." (Hebrews 12:2a). Chances are, he would only think it good because meant that his work of justifying an undeserving people was finished and because, in the perspective of eternity, it was over in the blink of an eye.

Speaking of Jesus, I made an experiment this week with our bread machine that will ensure home baked quick breads throughout the summer. For those of you who are confused, Jesus claimed to be the Bread of Life, meaning that only He can satisfy our deepest needs. I know, the link is tenuous. Please give me some grace. Because our Breadman Ultimate Plus is of this world, it has a weakness in making quick breads. It doesn't mix the ingredients well. Many times, I have tried making banana bread, even stopping the cycle to mix the ingredients myself during the mixing cycle only to see white chunks of flour in the finished product. This week, I took my parent's zucchini bread recipe, mixed it in my Kitchen Aid, and poured half the recipe into the breadmachine to bake at the specified temperature and cooking time. It turned out great. The other half I baked in my mini-loaf pan. I like using the bread machine because, being a MUCH smaller oven, it doesn't heat up the house as much. I made carrot raisin bread last night, right before going to bed so that we would have portable, relatively nutritious breakfast ready in time to go to Kyle's 8 a.m. baseball game.

My father-in-law and his wife suffered a huge loss on Thursday when his friend, Don passed away. The picture to the right is of Don sitting next to my sister-in-law, Michelle during one of the many bonfire parties. Don was a frequent Boundary Waters canoeing partner of my FIL and the two couples often got together for food and games. My memory of him was being very gentle, very funny, very quick to smile and loving the outdoors. My heart goes out to his wife, Dorothy, daughter Beth and all the other kids and grandkids who will miss him, as well as my in-laws. And so, for yet another reason, I have a reason to rejoice that Jesus is "the Resurrection and the Life" and remember that just as he raised Lazarus from the dead and just as he was raised from the dead, so too, we will one day be resurrected and join Don in bodies that are unencumbered by age and free of any kind of disease. He is probably eating bread that tastes even better than the carrot-raisin bread that my bread machine baked because all food will taste heavenly in heaven.

Another comment that my pastor made last night was how inadequate, how understated, how lukewarm the word "good" is to describe this particular Friday. A song describes it as a "beautiful, scandalous night." I would describe it as horrifically wonderful day. But then again, maybe words cannot describe a day when God stooped to humble himself so much as to willingly accepted the punishment that we earned, so that we can receive the gift we can never repay.

Happy Easter!

Elizabeth's sestina

Background: This is the sestina that Elizabeth has been writing for the past week. I will warn you, though, it is morbid. Before you all tell me to take her to psychiatrist, please keep in mind that in the last month, she has experienced the following:
1. She has moved away from all the friends she has ever known.
2. Her great-grandmother, "Granny" Kloos, died recently. She and Jessi came with me when I visited Granny a few days before her death. Granny looked very different from the person she had seen a month earlier. She looked like she was close to death and didn't react much the whole time we were there. Two days before we started the trek to a new home/life, she attended Granny's funeral.
3. Charlotte is a guinea pig who died two years ago. When she died, we buried her in our garden in Grayslake, Illinois. She was very disappointed to know that we would not be bringing Charlotte's remains with us when we moved.
In summary, she has been dealing with a lot of loss and disappointment. She also chose words to use that can not help but create a morbid poem. Rest assured that if she continues talking about death and dying and grief six months from now, I might have her talk to a counselor, okay.

Charlotte’s Death

Our dear Charrlote was a gunea pig,
In our garden is where she lays.
We are very sad of her death.
Her sudden death left us in grief.
When we moved on, our hearts did weep.
Her death left us in sadness.

The rain washes away the sadness.
Her friend Sarah is also a gunea pig.
When we found Charrlote dead in her house, a long time we did weep.
We buried her in a garden near the front door, and that’s where she lays.
We do school to hide our grief,
We think Sarah grieves her death.

When I reach my death,
Our family will be encased in sadness.
They’ll do fun things to hide their grief,
But not like a gunea pig.
Charrlote’s in her grave, that’s where she lays.
When I am dead, my relatives will weep.

So when life is over, everyone will weep.
Death draws us to it, and we are drawn to death.
The dead man lays in his grave, that’s where he lays.
His reletives are clothed in sadness.
We are all like a gunea pig.
Everyone dies with grief.

In grief we die, in grief they die, everyone dies in grief.
In our life time, we will have to weep,
Even the gunea pig.
Everyone, everything, anything is doomed to death.
Everyone, everything is doomed to sadness.
In sadness we lay, in sadness they lay, in sadness everything lays!

Oh, she is dead, and there she lays!
Like all other people, we all die in grief.
And like all other people, we all die in sadness.
We weep when we die, like all other people we weep.
We fall into sadness, and into a trap, and the trap is death.
Pigs fall into the death trap, and so do every gunea pig.

In sadnness we live, in sadness we die, all around us sadness lays.
The gunea pig dies in grief.
In death we weep, and such a sweet sorrow is death.