Hymns--boy, talk about old. Some of the ones we know are centuries old, literally, and growing up in the church of my youth I was resigned to the weekly plowing through of these songs. I liked listening to my mom sing. She had a light and airy voice, but it was in tune, and I enjoyed standing beside her at hymn time in church, and strove to sing like she did. My dad tells me that his mother, who died when he was twelve, so I never met her, used to sing hymns all day long as she worked doing laundry or baking or whatever. I would have liked to have heard that, and some day I will, but there was a time when I couldn't understand why anyone would voluntarily sing hymns. They were dry, ancient, obligatory things--good for studying music theory with, but that was about it.
They also made good piano-lesson fodder. I had two piano teachers, one in my elementary years and one during junior and senior high school, and they were both fine Christian ladies. That meant that (once I had acquired the necessary skills) hymnals were fair game for lesson books. So I learned to play a lot of hymns. Do you know what that entails? It means that you play them every day, over and over and over. And that can get pretty mind-numbing, because it's actually the kinesthetic memory in your fingers that is doing the learning, not your "thinking" center. So I had a lot of time to think. What I chose to do (being the rabid reader that I am) was to read the verses of the hymns as I practiced. You know, a lot of people can sing one verse of a lot of hymns, but after the endless repetitions of the years of my youth, I could sing a LOT of verses from memory of an awful lot of hymns. And Christmas carols. Oh my yes; I still know many many verses of the Christmas carols, and I'm a formidable person to have along if you're caroling because I can keep going indefinitely.
Rabbit trail number one--It shocked me the first time I attended a Christmas-season service at an Episcopalian church. I thought I knew a lot of verses to carols. But the Episcopalian hymnal has at least twice as many verses as anyone else ever knew existed for each carol. These people were inexhaustible soldiers of hymn-singing. It was amazing.
Rabbit trail number two--As you may have guessed, although I was intimately familiar with the hymnal, I can't say I got any enjoyment out of it. There was one exception. There is a hymn in the Methodist hymnal written by John T. Grape. I can't even tell you what it's called, but I got a really unreasonable amount of happiness out of knowing that there was a hymn written by a guy named Grape. It's a dreadful hymn to sing, and goes up into the stratosphere at one point where very few people go with any kind of grace. Our church had a soprano who sailed on up there with glee, but she shouldn't have. Screechy would be a nice way of putting it. I remember her at one point saying that singing was the gift that God had given her, and she was happy to exercise it in His service for as long as she could. I would think "Oh please no, don't bother, really", but I never said this out loud. This is the one solitary example of tact from my entire misbegotten youth, and I'm very proud of it.
Why am I telling you this? Because of something I discovered. Once I got into a church that really taught the Bible, chapter by chapter every week of the year, something odd happened. After a few months of this extensive Bible-learning, I went back to my home town and visited my old church with my parents. Much to my astonishment, those moldy, dreary old hymns were suddenly packed full of meaning. I nearly wept (and sometimes I do) singing those songs written by people from years past who had obviously had a spiritual life rich with knowledge, and experience of God and His grace. What a difference! There wasn't anything wrong with the hymns, there had been something wrong with me! Once I really knew the God of which they had written, hymns became beloved things. I have a couple of wonderful CDs full of hymns that I listen to on purpose in the car as I drive to work. A good way to alleviate the miseries of a long commute, let me tell you.
One last rabbit trail--Since I was a violin major in college, I always played in the orchestra that accompanied the singing of Handel's The Messiah. It didn't matter that I was also in one of the choirs and had rehearsed my brains out singing it; since violin was my major area of study that's where I had to be--in the orchestra pit. It had long been a heart's desire of mine to sing the Hallelujah Chorus. Seriously, how full of meaning can you get? That's the epitome of Christian choral music. After I had graduated, a friend of mine in a more traditional church than mine invited me to come sing the Hallelujah Chorus with his church choir. Oh, that was so exciting. Finally, at last, I was going to get to express my joy vocally--the end of many years of yearning. So the great and sunny morning finally arrived, and I stood there in Eddie's church choir and the music swelled up and I opened my mouth--and burst into tears. I was so overwhelmed by the experience that I never managed to get out a single note.
But Hallelujah anyway.
Love, Spud.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Possible Worlds
I see at the Holy Huddle that you're having your discussion on possible worlds tomorrow, and I realize that time is running out for me to state my opinion! Heaven forbid that I should not state my opinion! Well, heaven may actually be fairly neutral on the subject, to be honest. Some time ago I promised you a paper called God's Sovereignty and Doctor Who's Big Ball of Time. I still intend to write that some day, when my weekends clear up enough that I can, but for now I'll give you the bare bones of the beginning so you can take it with you tomorrow night and say "Here's the view of some crazy woman down in Ohio". Unfortunately I haven't spent a great deal of time thinking about it lately, so this may or may not be coherent in any way. We'll see!
Traditional 5-point Calvinism and current Reformed theology seem to hinge on one major point regarding the election of Christians--What did God know, and when did He know it? Doctor Who, strangely enough (I don't generally recommend him for theological input, but every once in a while he gets something right), made a statement that I think summed it up nicely. It was in an episode from last year, possibly Blink (which was the Best. Episode. Ever.) and he was talking about time. Now, this is not an exact quote, but it's pretty close:
"People always think that time moves in a straight line, because that's how they see it, but in reality it's a great big ball of wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey STUFF".
Time is a fairly fluid concept when you're talking about God, because there's evidence that He functions outside of time as we know it. As the good doctor rightly points out, we do see time in a linear fashion, because that's how we live it. We have no choice in the matter--time proceeds on from beginning to end in our lives, and what's past is past and what's future is anybody's guess. Much as we might like to, we can't see the future, only make educated guesses about it, and that's a good thing. But God is not limited in this way. He certainly sees the future as well as the past, and arranges the present to meet His purposes. A good study of fulfilled prophecy will demonstrate this pretty well. So if time really is a big ball to God, and that's as good a way of looking at it as anything since we don't have words for what we can't fathom, then the whole issue of election becomes a non-issue.
The Bible states that God does choose us--based on His foreknowledge. Don't neglect that last part--it's absolutely crucial. God sees all of time at once, and knows, because He can see that future with clarity, what we will have decided in regards to Him. Open theism is the theory, basically, that we change the future based on our decisions, and God then changes what He knows about the future accordingly. What rot. Is God in charge, or not? Certainly I do believe that we have free will to choose God or not (Ha! Now you know! Not dealing with a Calvinist!) but that He knew from eternity past what we will have decided--not because He determines that decision for us (although I do agree that there are some people He hunts down with extreme fervor) but because He can see all of time at once, and knows what decisions we will have made.
This is really hard to wrap our linear little brains around, because it breaks all the rules as we know them. But the bottom line is--is God sovereign, or not? Do we change the future, to which then HE must adapt, or does He know without error what the future IS? If He can see all of time at once without error (and if He can't then we are in big trouble as regards prophecies still to be fulfilled) then we can trust Him with our futures. If He can't, then the implications are staggeringly awful. Only a God who is truly sovereign can give us free will choices, because His hand is firmly on the helm regardless of how stupidly we mess things up, and His will is going to be done.
When I write this up in its complete form, it will have all sorts of Biblical backing, including a verse from Esther and a nice quote from Spurgeon, but that will have to do for now. Douglas Adams, of Hitchhiker's Guide fame, another unlikely and accidental theologian, actually had a pretty good handle on this, with his convoluted future tenses, and I may drag him into it too! Have fun with your discussion, and give me the low-down when it's over. Should be interesting!
Love, Spud.
Traditional 5-point Calvinism and current Reformed theology seem to hinge on one major point regarding the election of Christians--What did God know, and when did He know it? Doctor Who, strangely enough (I don't generally recommend him for theological input, but every once in a while he gets something right), made a statement that I think summed it up nicely. It was in an episode from last year, possibly Blink (which was the Best. Episode. Ever.) and he was talking about time. Now, this is not an exact quote, but it's pretty close:
"People always think that time moves in a straight line, because that's how they see it, but in reality it's a great big ball of wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey STUFF".
Time is a fairly fluid concept when you're talking about God, because there's evidence that He functions outside of time as we know it. As the good doctor rightly points out, we do see time in a linear fashion, because that's how we live it. We have no choice in the matter--time proceeds on from beginning to end in our lives, and what's past is past and what's future is anybody's guess. Much as we might like to, we can't see the future, only make educated guesses about it, and that's a good thing. But God is not limited in this way. He certainly sees the future as well as the past, and arranges the present to meet His purposes. A good study of fulfilled prophecy will demonstrate this pretty well. So if time really is a big ball to God, and that's as good a way of looking at it as anything since we don't have words for what we can't fathom, then the whole issue of election becomes a non-issue.
The Bible states that God does choose us--based on His foreknowledge. Don't neglect that last part--it's absolutely crucial. God sees all of time at once, and knows, because He can see that future with clarity, what we will have decided in regards to Him. Open theism is the theory, basically, that we change the future based on our decisions, and God then changes what He knows about the future accordingly. What rot. Is God in charge, or not? Certainly I do believe that we have free will to choose God or not (Ha! Now you know! Not dealing with a Calvinist!) but that He knew from eternity past what we will have decided--not because He determines that decision for us (although I do agree that there are some people He hunts down with extreme fervor) but because He can see all of time at once, and knows what decisions we will have made.
This is really hard to wrap our linear little brains around, because it breaks all the rules as we know them. But the bottom line is--is God sovereign, or not? Do we change the future, to which then HE must adapt, or does He know without error what the future IS? If He can see all of time at once without error (and if He can't then we are in big trouble as regards prophecies still to be fulfilled) then we can trust Him with our futures. If He can't, then the implications are staggeringly awful. Only a God who is truly sovereign can give us free will choices, because His hand is firmly on the helm regardless of how stupidly we mess things up, and His will is going to be done.
When I write this up in its complete form, it will have all sorts of Biblical backing, including a verse from Esther and a nice quote from Spurgeon, but that will have to do for now. Douglas Adams, of Hitchhiker's Guide fame, another unlikely and accidental theologian, actually had a pretty good handle on this, with his convoluted future tenses, and I may drag him into it too! Have fun with your discussion, and give me the low-down when it's over. Should be interesting!
Love, Spud.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
That Crazy Baptism
All right, Timotheus, here it is: the story of my crazy baptism.
While I was attending that Charismatic church, I became convinced (and rightly so) that I needed to become baptized. Yes, I had gone through a christening as an infant (I refuse to call that a baptism, but we can get into credo- vs. paedo-baptism some other day...) but I had absorbed enough basic doctrine to understand that I needed to do this as an adult. So I hopped onto the schedule one January evening and drove down to Ebenezer Apostolic Church with the others. We didn't have our own facility, but someone found out that they had an indoor baptismal pool, and they agreed to let us use it. So thus I was baptized in an African-American church on the questionable side of town.
I seriously don't remember how many other people were baptized the same evening, or even a great deal about it. This was even farther back in the mists of time than the Spudwoman sweatshirt, so things are a little hazy. But two things I remember very clearly.
The first thing is--it was cold. Not just cold, but C-O-L-D COLD. It was January, and I was in a bathing suit, going into water in an ostensibly-but-not-very heated church. You never saw anybody come up out of the water as fast as I did. Hint: If you have any choice in the matter, do not voluntarily get baptized by immersion in January. It's cold. Trust me.
The other thing is--what happened immediately afterwards. You see, I expected that I would be allowed to go get dressed and get warmed up, but that didn't occur right away. The others gathered around and laid their hands on me and prayed over me. Well, that was kind of pleasant, and nice of them, and generally I wouldn't have had a problem with it, but I was COLD! I wanted nothing in the world so much as to get warmer. But one must be polite, so I stayed there while they prayed. And prayed. And prayed. And prayed some more. And gradually, and to my horror, it dawned on me that they were waiting for something. They were waiting for me to speak in tongues, to prove that the baptism "took" and I was indeed a child of God. This I had not anticipated.
So after a suitable period of waiting, and with the realization that no strange languages were coming to the surface, nor were they going to, I did a dreadful thing. I faked it. And they all cheered, and let me go.
I can't even express what this experience did to me spiritually. For months I was sure that I was utterly under condemnation, and that God was disgusted with me. Surely that was the equivalent of blaspheming against the Holy Spirit, and there was no hope of heaven in my future. This faded after a while, as no lightening bolts came down to claim me and God did not seem to have rejected me the way I felt I deserved. What should have been a joyous occasion in my life turned into emotional disaster.
In the years since, I have discovered that I'm not the only one to have done this. A friend (and my dentist!) who went to a Christian college did the exact same thing, and for similar reasons, and there have been others. And this brings me to my point--the dangers of sloppy theology. Make sure you're looking at the whole of the Bible, not just isolated verses. When Paul says "All do not speak in tongues, do they?", he means it! The obvious answer is "no"! God does indeed dispense spiritual gifts to all Christians, but as He sees fit, not as *we* have decided He should, and not everyone gets the same ones. This is fairly plain from scripture, but only if you read the whole thing. Every verse must be studied in its context. No exceptions.
I'm still glad that I underwent baptism as an adult, and I joyously participate in the baptisms of others. I yearn for the day that my own daughter undergoes this wonderful ritual, and I'll be there, God willing. Wild horses could not keep me away. But there won't be anybody there insisting that she perform by exercising a gift that God has not given her--I'll make sure of that. What else are mothers for?
Love, Spud.
While I was attending that Charismatic church, I became convinced (and rightly so) that I needed to become baptized. Yes, I had gone through a christening as an infant (I refuse to call that a baptism, but we can get into credo- vs. paedo-baptism some other day...) but I had absorbed enough basic doctrine to understand that I needed to do this as an adult. So I hopped onto the schedule one January evening and drove down to Ebenezer Apostolic Church with the others. We didn't have our own facility, but someone found out that they had an indoor baptismal pool, and they agreed to let us use it. So thus I was baptized in an African-American church on the questionable side of town.
I seriously don't remember how many other people were baptized the same evening, or even a great deal about it. This was even farther back in the mists of time than the Spudwoman sweatshirt, so things are a little hazy. But two things I remember very clearly.
The first thing is--it was cold. Not just cold, but C-O-L-D COLD. It was January, and I was in a bathing suit, going into water in an ostensibly-but-not-very heated church. You never saw anybody come up out of the water as fast as I did. Hint: If you have any choice in the matter, do not voluntarily get baptized by immersion in January. It's cold. Trust me.
The other thing is--what happened immediately afterwards. You see, I expected that I would be allowed to go get dressed and get warmed up, but that didn't occur right away. The others gathered around and laid their hands on me and prayed over me. Well, that was kind of pleasant, and nice of them, and generally I wouldn't have had a problem with it, but I was COLD! I wanted nothing in the world so much as to get warmer. But one must be polite, so I stayed there while they prayed. And prayed. And prayed. And prayed some more. And gradually, and to my horror, it dawned on me that they were waiting for something. They were waiting for me to speak in tongues, to prove that the baptism "took" and I was indeed a child of God. This I had not anticipated.
So after a suitable period of waiting, and with the realization that no strange languages were coming to the surface, nor were they going to, I did a dreadful thing. I faked it. And they all cheered, and let me go.
I can't even express what this experience did to me spiritually. For months I was sure that I was utterly under condemnation, and that God was disgusted with me. Surely that was the equivalent of blaspheming against the Holy Spirit, and there was no hope of heaven in my future. This faded after a while, as no lightening bolts came down to claim me and God did not seem to have rejected me the way I felt I deserved. What should have been a joyous occasion in my life turned into emotional disaster.
In the years since, I have discovered that I'm not the only one to have done this. A friend (and my dentist!) who went to a Christian college did the exact same thing, and for similar reasons, and there have been others. And this brings me to my point--the dangers of sloppy theology. Make sure you're looking at the whole of the Bible, not just isolated verses. When Paul says "All do not speak in tongues, do they?", he means it! The obvious answer is "no"! God does indeed dispense spiritual gifts to all Christians, but as He sees fit, not as *we* have decided He should, and not everyone gets the same ones. This is fairly plain from scripture, but only if you read the whole thing. Every verse must be studied in its context. No exceptions.
I'm still glad that I underwent baptism as an adult, and I joyously participate in the baptisms of others. I yearn for the day that my own daughter undergoes this wonderful ritual, and I'll be there, God willing. Wild horses could not keep me away. But there won't be anybody there insisting that she perform by exercising a gift that God has not given her--I'll make sure of that. What else are mothers for?
Love, Spud.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Why I Left
In reading blogs of other Christians over the last few months, one topic which I have seen covered with astonishing regularity is the question "Is it okay to leave my church?". The answer given is always "no". I do understand the rationale--I understand it completely, and even teach it--that you need to stay there an enact change from within. If you see (hear?) that the powers that be are playing fast and loose with essential doctrines, then by golly YES you need to say something and say it again. I agree! Do I ever think there's a time to admit that there will be no change and your church is going in a strange direction and nothing you say or do will prevent it and it's time to get out? Yup. This is where I differ from everything else I have read.
I myself have left a couple of churches. One leaving was for geographical reasons, and of course nobody could fault me for that. It was when I went away to college. I left the United Brethren/United Methodist church of my childhood, never to return except as a visitor. In fact, I spent my freshman year at college not attending any church at all. It was my own wimpy little version of teenaged rebellion. But in the summer between my freshman and sophomore years something interesting happened to me--I encountered God one Sunday in a friend's church (the friend had skipped out that morning, and maybe that's why I finally had time to pay attention to Someone Else) and discovered within myself a deep yearning to be part of a Body, to be with God's people. So when I went back to college that fall, I attended the nearest church on campus, and was happy with that for a while.
Then my Very Best Friend Ever invited me to go to her church with her, and I went once and was hooked. It was a small Charismatic church, with small group meetings, and for the first time I was more than just an audience member. I was a participant! And boy did I ever participate. These people were wonderful, and down to earth, and near my age, and I had a blast. The large meetings involved lots of singing and dancing and people speaking out whatever they felt was needed, and I enjoyed myself hugely. I stayed there for maybe three years, and then WHAM! I got hit between the eyes with something that was clearly something else.
A good friend of my Best Friend invited me to his church. The first event I attended was a retreat weekend, and it was a fun, refreshing time with lots of Bible studies and times of solitude and times of hanging out. I really liked it, but the weekend was marred by twenty dollars disappearing out of my purse. I also spent some time arguing Charismatic theology (such as it was) with one of the older females, and it was pretty clear she had no idea what to do with me or why I had shown up to torture her in this way. Poor Judy. I still feel bad about that.
But I went again about a week later, to the large group meeting on Sunday night. There was very little singing, and no dancing at all, and absolutely no words of prophecy. But what there was, was an in-depth Bible teaching. I'd never heard anything like it before. Certainly the Methodists were never like this. I recognized that a very deep need which I'd never before realized existed was being met. Who knew all that was in the Bible? Who knew that regular people could read it and figure it out? Who knew that it could actually direct my life and make a difference in how I thought and acted? Who knew it was alive? I knew I couldn't live without it.
Well, this church did, and despite the fact that more money went missing from my purse, I knew I was on to something. To this day I remain convinced that the petty robberies were Satan's way of trying to keep away from the Bible, but the pull of Truth was too strong for him. He lost. By Christmas of that year I was attending a small home church meeting too, and eventually dragged my Best Friend there to join me, and abandoned the Charismatics.
So that's why I left, and I'm still at that church. It would take quite a shoehorn to get me out of there now. But do I feel I was justified in leaving my old church? Certainly I do. For one thing, I was a spiritual baby. I hadn't the first clue in the world what was really necessary for a good solid Christian walk, and it would never have occurred to me that I wasn't getting it. I had no idea what was missing, and no chance therefore of ever correcting it. It was years before I had that kind of foundation, and of course by then I was long gone. It's probably been a decade since I've seen the guy who got me to my church, but I haven't forgotten. He was a gift from God, and led me to where I needed to be.
If my church started to go in weird directions would I say anything? You betcha. Now I'm old enough that I would know what to do. Fortunately this hasn't been needed. Our elders are very perceptive, and very open to the leading of the Holy Spirit, and an intelligent bunch who notice for themselves when something just isn't right. We have an enormous meeting once a year to which the entire church is invited where we hear what's going well, what's going poorly, and what we should probably do about it. The leaders are unusually open to input, and averse to fads. Bless them. Long may they wave.
Next up--do I talk about my crazy baptism, or hymns? Your call.
Love, Spud.
I myself have left a couple of churches. One leaving was for geographical reasons, and of course nobody could fault me for that. It was when I went away to college. I left the United Brethren/United Methodist church of my childhood, never to return except as a visitor. In fact, I spent my freshman year at college not attending any church at all. It was my own wimpy little version of teenaged rebellion. But in the summer between my freshman and sophomore years something interesting happened to me--I encountered God one Sunday in a friend's church (the friend had skipped out that morning, and maybe that's why I finally had time to pay attention to Someone Else) and discovered within myself a deep yearning to be part of a Body, to be with God's people. So when I went back to college that fall, I attended the nearest church on campus, and was happy with that for a while.
Then my Very Best Friend Ever invited me to go to her church with her, and I went once and was hooked. It was a small Charismatic church, with small group meetings, and for the first time I was more than just an audience member. I was a participant! And boy did I ever participate. These people were wonderful, and down to earth, and near my age, and I had a blast. The large meetings involved lots of singing and dancing and people speaking out whatever they felt was needed, and I enjoyed myself hugely. I stayed there for maybe three years, and then WHAM! I got hit between the eyes with something that was clearly something else.
A good friend of my Best Friend invited me to his church. The first event I attended was a retreat weekend, and it was a fun, refreshing time with lots of Bible studies and times of solitude and times of hanging out. I really liked it, but the weekend was marred by twenty dollars disappearing out of my purse. I also spent some time arguing Charismatic theology (such as it was) with one of the older females, and it was pretty clear she had no idea what to do with me or why I had shown up to torture her in this way. Poor Judy. I still feel bad about that.
But I went again about a week later, to the large group meeting on Sunday night. There was very little singing, and no dancing at all, and absolutely no words of prophecy. But what there was, was an in-depth Bible teaching. I'd never heard anything like it before. Certainly the Methodists were never like this. I recognized that a very deep need which I'd never before realized existed was being met. Who knew all that was in the Bible? Who knew that regular people could read it and figure it out? Who knew that it could actually direct my life and make a difference in how I thought and acted? Who knew it was alive? I knew I couldn't live without it.
Well, this church did, and despite the fact that more money went missing from my purse, I knew I was on to something. To this day I remain convinced that the petty robberies were Satan's way of trying to keep away from the Bible, but the pull of Truth was too strong for him. He lost. By Christmas of that year I was attending a small home church meeting too, and eventually dragged my Best Friend there to join me, and abandoned the Charismatics.
So that's why I left, and I'm still at that church. It would take quite a shoehorn to get me out of there now. But do I feel I was justified in leaving my old church? Certainly I do. For one thing, I was a spiritual baby. I hadn't the first clue in the world what was really necessary for a good solid Christian walk, and it would never have occurred to me that I wasn't getting it. I had no idea what was missing, and no chance therefore of ever correcting it. It was years before I had that kind of foundation, and of course by then I was long gone. It's probably been a decade since I've seen the guy who got me to my church, but I haven't forgotten. He was a gift from God, and led me to where I needed to be.
If my church started to go in weird directions would I say anything? You betcha. Now I'm old enough that I would know what to do. Fortunately this hasn't been needed. Our elders are very perceptive, and very open to the leading of the Holy Spirit, and an intelligent bunch who notice for themselves when something just isn't right. We have an enormous meeting once a year to which the entire church is invited where we hear what's going well, what's going poorly, and what we should probably do about it. The leaders are unusually open to input, and averse to fads. Bless them. Long may they wave.
Next up--do I talk about my crazy baptism, or hymns? Your call.
Love, Spud.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Why I love my veggies
I pack my lunch, nearly every day. It's cheaper, and I can more or less control my calorie intake that way provided I have any self-discipline at all, which sometimes I don't.
One of the things I like to pack are these little vegetable-for-one dishes that you can buy in the frozen-foods section. They're probably over-priced, but they make me feel all virtuous and they're actually very yummy.
There's a little film on the top that you have to peel back slightly, to vent the package while it microwaves, and on the film in small black letters you see "Microwave 2 to2 1/2 min or until hot." And then right below this, it advises you "Caution: Hot!".
I love it. It makes me chortle every time.
Love, Spud.
One of the things I like to pack are these little vegetable-for-one dishes that you can buy in the frozen-foods section. They're probably over-priced, but they make me feel all virtuous and they're actually very yummy.
There's a little film on the top that you have to peel back slightly, to vent the package while it microwaves, and on the film in small black letters you see "Microwave 2 to2 1/2 min or until hot." And then right below this, it advises you "Caution: Hot!".
I love it. It makes me chortle every time.
Love, Spud.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Why Spudwoman?
No, I'm not from Idaho, but thanks for asking. I'm sure it's a lovely place from which to be. I don't think I've ever been there, but it's hard to say. Filled with Dramamine because of my tendency toward car-sickness, I got tucked into the back seat and then slept through several states in the union during my childhood and youth. So you never know.
And it's not because I love potatoes, which I do. Baked, mashed, roasted, boiled, fried--they're all good. Which is why, during several years of my life, I have somewhat resembled the tuber of which we speak. Yum. A good baked potato is one my favorite dinners.
Spudwoman is a relic of my pre-marital days, back in the mists of time. I was living in an apartment with a handful of other unmarried Christian women and we heard a Bible teaching which featured the Greek word "spoudazo". Spoudazo, in ancient Greek, is roughly translated "zeal". There are undertones of eagerness, diligence, and a little fear. I loved that word. Loved it from the first hearing. I embraced that word as how I saw the Christian life. My housemates thought I exemplified the word, and so Spudwoman was born. We pronounced it spood-woman, but none of us had ever seen it written, only heard it said, and assumed it was spelled spudatzo. Somehow I think we confused Greek and Italian. We were young.
For Christmas, my lovely housemates decided that I needed a Spudwoman sweatshirt. Well, naturally, you can't buy those, so they set about to make one. I can't remember any more exactly what happened (remember, this was in the mists of time!) but it never quite materialized. It's possible they ran out of time, or ran out of iron-on letters, or just realized they couldn't fit the whole thing across the front (I wore a size small back then--potato sizes came later), but for Christmas I received the plain sweatshirt and a pile of iron-on letters. I never got around to ironing them on either, but it was the thought that counted.
Spoudazo--it's still the watchword of my life. Although there have been years when the light dimmed a little due to life situations and the usual human sins, it has never gone out entirely, and these days I find myself more full of eagerness and zeal than ever. Spudwoman lives. I've had occasion this last year to do some really in-depth Bible studies, and the more I study, the more real and exciting the Word gets. This is a good thing--I pray my spudliness only increases.
This blog is primarily a way for me to keep in touch with some dear relatives waaaaaaay out of town, but I am happy for other friends and relatives to join in the fun and conversation. Comments are wonderful things. Let the wild rumpus start!
Love, Spud.
And it's not because I love potatoes, which I do. Baked, mashed, roasted, boiled, fried--they're all good. Which is why, during several years of my life, I have somewhat resembled the tuber of which we speak. Yum. A good baked potato is one my favorite dinners.
Spudwoman is a relic of my pre-marital days, back in the mists of time. I was living in an apartment with a handful of other unmarried Christian women and we heard a Bible teaching which featured the Greek word "spoudazo". Spoudazo, in ancient Greek, is roughly translated "zeal". There are undertones of eagerness, diligence, and a little fear. I loved that word. Loved it from the first hearing. I embraced that word as how I saw the Christian life. My housemates thought I exemplified the word, and so Spudwoman was born. We pronounced it spood-woman, but none of us had ever seen it written, only heard it said, and assumed it was spelled spudatzo. Somehow I think we confused Greek and Italian. We were young.
For Christmas, my lovely housemates decided that I needed a Spudwoman sweatshirt. Well, naturally, you can't buy those, so they set about to make one. I can't remember any more exactly what happened (remember, this was in the mists of time!) but it never quite materialized. It's possible they ran out of time, or ran out of iron-on letters, or just realized they couldn't fit the whole thing across the front (I wore a size small back then--potato sizes came later), but for Christmas I received the plain sweatshirt and a pile of iron-on letters. I never got around to ironing them on either, but it was the thought that counted.
Spoudazo--it's still the watchword of my life. Although there have been years when the light dimmed a little due to life situations and the usual human sins, it has never gone out entirely, and these days I find myself more full of eagerness and zeal than ever. Spudwoman lives. I've had occasion this last year to do some really in-depth Bible studies, and the more I study, the more real and exciting the Word gets. This is a good thing--I pray my spudliness only increases.
This blog is primarily a way for me to keep in touch with some dear relatives waaaaaaay out of town, but I am happy for other friends and relatives to join in the fun and conversation. Comments are wonderful things. Let the wild rumpus start!
Love, Spud.
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