Tennis Elbow and Teeth

When my sister was a teenager, she gave herself shin splints from playing the piano (over-enthusiasm with the sustain pedal). I guess I can't pick on her about that anymore, because this week I gave myself tennis elbow.

From typing. And chopping vegetables.

So I am wearing a brace specifically for tennis elbow (the kind that goes on your forearm and provides a counter-balance - and it works beautifully), and trying very very hard to not use my right arm more than is absolutely necessary.

Which is very difficult for someone who is so overwhelmingly right-handed as I am. Even typing with my left hand alone is driving me crazy. I am, however, very thankful for keyboards, because as awkward as it is to type left-handed, I CANNOT write with my left hand. My handwriting comes close enough to illegible even with my dominant hand - it looks like chicken scratches with my left! So I'm glad I don't have to worry about that.

And, in even happier news, we are all currently on the mend, and nobody is yet showing any signs of new sickness. Plus Gracie's second canine broke through, which means she only has two more canines and her second-year molars left, hurrah and hurray.

And now I'm off to figure out which of my usual daily activities I can still do!

Do you suppose I can quilt with tennis elbow?

Changes

I took the top picture last February, right around Gracie's nine-month birthday. The bottom picture I took just the other day, one of the few days we've had where the sun has shone brightly enough to warm up our porch so we could play out there.

She has changed so much in just one year! I am excited and nervous to get to her second birthday this May. I don't know if this is true for all kids, but for mine, they change the most between their first and second birthdays. First birthday: they still look like babies. Not newborns, of course, but still babies. But somewhere between the one-year mark and the two-year mark, they change from babies to little people. And with Joy, at least, all that's happened between year two and year three has been that she's stretched out and her features have taken on more distinction. She doesn't look like a completely different kid, not like she did between one and two.

See?

Joy: First Birthday (with me only in my first trimester and already puffy!)

Joy: Second Birthday (thrilled to pieces about her balloons)

Joy: Third Birthday

She certainly changed considerably from two to three, but nothing like she did from one to two.

This was Grace on her first birthday:

Making her opinion known, as usual.

Can't wait to see what she looks like three months from now!

(Also? Can't wait for it to be warm enough to be outside in a short-sleeved dress and bare feet. It's snowing again here today. Heavily.)

My girls may keep changing, but one thing is sure. They also keep getting more and more fun, each year they get older.

Tents

The other day I built a tent for the girls out of a fleece blanket, couch cushions, and the coffee table. As you can see, they loved it. (Note: Fleece will cause static in the hair, especially baby hair!)

Still Here, But Barely

My nose resembles a radish. The pile of tissues in the trash grows precariously higher. I have drunk more tea and hot lemon and honey this past week than I have in the previous month - and you all know what an avid tea drinker I am.

Carl and I figured out that we haven't had all four of us healthy for more than two days in a row since November.

This winter is trying to kill us.

And we're looking to move to Chicago within the next year and a half, where the weather is even more severe?

O Lord, give grace!

(I hope to post something remotely interesting soon, but right now my brain is mush. I am so very tired of getting sick!)

The Magic in Riverdance (on Ice)

Riverdance on Ice aired yesterday. You might remember that I was there when it was performed. My mother-in-law was out this weekend (to watch the girls so Carl and I could go see Rise on Thursday night, except they sold out of tickets ONE HOUR before we got there, so we ended up coming home and eating chocolate mousse, drinking white wine, and watching Brother Cadfael instead), so instead of watching it all right then, I taped it to watch in full later, and only caught bits and pieces while it was airing.

The little bit that I did see, however, aside from reminding me again what an amazing choreographer Steven Cousins is (seriously - fantastic job), and how much I love to watch Todd Eldredge skate, and how impossibly fast Padraic Moyles' feet are, brought back the same feeling I had after seeing the show live. Only then, I was still too - well, I've been sitting here for five minutes trying to think of a good word, and the best description I can come up with is too whoosh-ed to really articulate it. Seeing it on television gives me a little perspective.

Before seeing the glimpses of Riverdance on Ice, I wrote a post on my writing blog (have I told you guys about my writing blog? I just started it a few months ago, and I'm really enjoying it - there's a link at the top of my sidebar, if you want to check it out) about the influence Edward Eager and E Nesbit have been on my writing and on my life.

One of the best things I took away from their books was the sense that magic was possibly lurking right around the next corner. You didn't have to be an extraordinary person, or travel to a distant land, to experience magic and adventure. That coin you pick up on the sidewalk might be a magical talisman! The carpet that your mother brings home for your floor might be a flying carpet, with a Phoenix egg tucked inside! That old red book you borrow from the library might be capable of sending you into any literary adventure you wish!

The world is full of possibilities. Anything might happen.

At least, that's how I felt as a kid. Not so much as an adult. Yet, watching Riverdance on Ice, seeing that combination of dance and ice skating, hearing that incredible music, feeling the impossible energy swirling through the building ... I felt that again.

Anything is possible.

For a little while, it makes me forget that I live a rather humdrum life as a stay-at-home mom, where my days are mostly filled with diapers and dishes and discipline. I can forget that I am the behind-the-scenes person, making sure things run smoothly for others. I can forget that I have very little discernible talent for much of anything.

For a little while, magic is real again, and it could happen to me.

I'm almost nervous to watch all of Riverdance on Ice now. I don't want to lose that magic by seeing it too frequently. Maybe I'll save it for a day when I'm feeling at my lowest, when life is discouraging and I'm starting to think that it'll never be anything different.

That will be the time I need that sense of adventure, that rekindled zest for living. So I'll dip into again, and start peeking around all the corners of life, waiting to see which one holds the magic.

If you missed seeing Riverdance on Ice yesterday, and want to get a sense of the magic I'm speaking of, it will be aired on Hallmark, March 15 and 21. Check for times.)

Family Recipes

My uncle has been posting a lot of old family pictures on Facebook lately - pictures of my grandparents, great-aunts and -uncles, and my dad and his siblings and cousins as kids. It's been great.

This is my current favorite, of one of my grandmother's brothers as a boy, my favorite for one simple reason:

Look like anyone else?

I also like this one - my grandmother as a little girl:

This is my dad as a baby:

And, oh fine, here's one of me when I was about two or three, in front of Grandma's flowers:

I love seeing family resemblance, the traits that pass down from generation to generation, the threads that tie us all together. Looking at all these pictures my uncle is sharing gives me the same sensation I get whenever I use a recipe that came from someone in the family. My sister has started typing up and printing out the old recipes, marking on them who they came from originally, so that she can save the old hand-written memories from becoming illegible with spilt ingredients. I need to start doing that! I love the idea of someday passing down to my girls a recipe binder full of recipes from everyone in the family, including relatives they've never met. What a wonderful way to bring about that feeling of belonging, of being part of a long-stretching chain whose links go back before they can remember.

My grandmother was a wonderful cook. My dad tells me I've inherited her knack. Certainly cooking runs in his family. (I have a very fun memory of one of my uncles calling me up one day - when I was still a teenager, living at home - asking me for a recipe from my sister's "Cookies for Kids" book. I read it to him exactly as printed: "With the help of an adult, carefully crack two eggs into the bowl, checking for any stray pieces of shell," I read solemnly. "Two eggs," he wrote dispassionately. "What next?") Every time I make something, whether it's an old family recipe or not, I feel connected to my past, especially to Grandma.

My sister and I call each other up and talk about recipes for hours. We scour the internet and send each other links to great food blogs. When we're all home, we tend to hang out in the kitchen, and plan our visits around our meals.

As many of you who visit this blog regularly know, my grandmother is in the final stages of Alzheimer's. It is a disease that runs rampant in her family (something that scares me not a little, I might add, and selfishly contributes to my passion for supporting research into how to prevent and slow this disease). We don't get to hear stories from Grandma anymore about when she was younger, like we did when we were kids. We don't get to connect to her personally.

But when I bake a batch of bread, or make an apple pie, or prepare a meal from ingenuity and pantry scrapings, I feel that old connection again. And I know that Grandma will never really be gone, because her legacy has passed to so many.

As my daughters are now starting to enjoy helping me in the kitchen, I know that I am passing Grandma's legacy down to yet another generation, and that those ties that bind are showing themselves in ways beyond just the same nose and eyes.

Even beyond the same stubborn chin and mischievous twinkle in the eye!

Bruises and Blessings

You want to hear something ironic?

Joy and I were on the ice for an hour on Saturday, and the only falls I took were on purpose and controlled (teaching Joy the right way to fall).

Sunday morning, getting into the car to go to church, I slipped on the ice in our parking lot and am now so bruised and sore that I can barely move my right side.

Ha Ha, universe.

In happier news, it is 40 degrees (Fahrenheit) outside right now. The girls and I went for a twenty-minute walk this morning, and the birds were singing like mad, and I kept gulping in the fresh air. It's supposed to rain later.

Rain in February is, in and of itself, an ugly, bleak, colorless thing. But to me, it always seems sparkly and fresh, the promise of spring. I know the cold weather will roll back in before spring truly arrives, and that we will most likely get more snow, but at least we have a promise, today, of warmer weather to come.

Hurrah.

We are not celebrating Valentine's Day today, though after lunch the girls and I will probably make some cards for the grandparents. I used to be violently opposed to Valentine's Day, but lately I'm more just amused and tolerant toward it. I think it's foolish, but if other people want to celebrate it, am I really going to be superior and snotty?

Besides, I am rarely able to resist doing something special for Carl around this time. And I have to say it is nice to have an excuse for a fun celebration in the middle of hideous February. So, tomorrow, on the day after Valentine's Day, we'll make a nice steak dinner for the two of us (girls will eat earlier), and then just enjoy spending the evening together, just because.

After a truly horrible week last week, this week is promising to be better, even if I am bruised from tip to toe and limping around the house. I'm so thankful.

2011 Nationals: Men

Yesterday, I did nothing but alternate taking care of children with lying on the couch watching the four final episodes of Downton Abbey. I think it did the trick, though, because my illness seems to have been reduced a throbbing sinuses and general weariness, both of which are not uncommon for February anyway.

But it did mean that I missed posting on the men yesterday.

So I'll do it today.

I got so excited watching the first part of the men's long. Every skater was better or at least as good as the previous. I kept thinking, wow, if the first flight is this good, the final flight is going to blow the roof off the building!

Ha very ha.

My personal favorite from the entire evening - aside from Ryan Bradley, naturally - was Richard Dornbush. He skated to Sherlock Holmes, and he owned it. His technical ability was fantastic, but his showmanship was even better. He pretty much had me from the first few moments, when he was puffing his pipe and holding the magnifying glass to his eye. AWESOME. Don't get me wrong, I like Evan Lysacek, but sometimes drama drama drama gets a little old, and you just want to see something fun.

I'm a fan of Adam Rippon. Not only is he from Clarks Summit, PA (which is right next door to where we used to live), he is also loaded with talent to his fingertips. He didn't perform as well as he might have this year, but keep an eye on this kid. He's going places.

I also really enjoyed watched Armin Mahbanoozadeh. He's another I think we're going to see much more of in the next few years. Just a beautiful, beautiful skater.

I really wasn't sure about Ross Miner at first. He was skating to Casablanca, which is so iconically tied to Kurt Browning that I really wasn't sure he could do it justice. To my surprise, though, he nailed it. Mind, I've never actually seen Casablanca, so I can't say whether he was a good Bogie or not, but he interpreted the music beautifully, and his technical levels were impressive. So in the end, it was a win for me.

Then came the top flight, and they FELL APART. Brandon Mroz dropped all the way to seventh. I don't even remember the other men in the top flight except Jeremy Abbott and Ryan Bradley. That's how bad they all were.

And Jeremy. Oh, how I want to shake that boy. He is so, so incredibly talented. And he has the hardest time putting together two clean programs. Ever. He had a strong short program, and just stumbled his way through his long. Even worse than the jumps was the dead, wooden expression. That program needs to be full of life and joy, and Jeremy was just going through the motions.

Jeremy? Get your head together, please! You are an amazing skater! You just need to start letting your head match your feet!

(And also? Please explain to me the significance of the half-coat you wear in your short program. I don't get it, and it just looks silly to me. And very distracting from your brilliant skating.)

And then there was Ryan.

Closing out the night, of course. (Never say skating doesn't provide the drama!)

He had two quads planned, and he didn't execute either of them cleanly. My heart started to sink, but he got stronger and stronger as the program continued, drawing energy from the crowd and giving them everything he had in return.

It wasn't the "dream" comeback, of a perfect routine after everyone had written him off, as it was for Alissa Czisny. But it was good. And it was enough.

(And the backflip he did before leaving the ice, his final "gift" to the crowd? Perfect.)

And when he saw his scores afterward, and realized that he won, I got all teary-eyed again. If anyone deserved to win, he did.

It was all somehow very fitting - Ryan Bradley and John Coughlin were best friends from childhood, and Coughlin's mom encouraged both of them to keep skating right before she died. And they won their titles in the same year.

Alissa was another comeback story, another skater everyone believed was done after last season, another skater who defied the odds.

Meryl and Charlie, everyone believed would win, and yet this season has been a triumph for them as well, a definite throwing down of the gauntlet, letting the world know that they are, in fact, a force to be reckoned with.

Overall, some disappointments, but a strong championships. As we build toward Sochi in 2014, I think the US team is already showing signs of being very, very strong.

Next up, the Worlds!

US Nationals 2011: Ladies

I stayed up late so I could watch the ladies' long program live. Anyone who even skims this blog knows how much I like Alissa Czisny, and how much I wanted her to win. After she won the Grand Prix Final (against the Japanese, no less!), I knew she had a really good shot at the title again this year, and I wanted to see how it all went down, live.

Of course, I also really like the other two top US ladies - Rachael Flatt doesn't get enough credit, if you ask me, and Mirai Nagasu is just adorable.

None of the lower-grade skaters really stood out to me and made me say "HEY there's someone who's going to be a force in a couple of years." Even Agnes Zawadski, whom the commentators adored, just made me shrug. Yeah, she was good, but to me, she looked like every other newcomer-impressive-energetic-big tricks-blah blah blah skater that we've seen over the years. Most of whom fizzle after a couple seasons, and never really live up to their potential.

But I could be wrong. It's happened once or twice. So when she becomes the next Olympic star, you all can point to this post and snicker.

Then there's Mirai. Sweet, energetic, bubbly Mirai Nagasu.

Get a different coach.

Look, I know Frank Carroll is one of the best coaches in the world, Michelle Kwan and Evan Lysacek and all that, but every time I see him interact with Mirai, or hear him talk about her, I want to slap him.I would so love to see her with a coach who will encourage her and build her up, instead of browbeating her all the time. Carroll's "tough love" approach may be effective with some, but after watching Mirai skate for the last several years, and seeing how she still struggles with confidence, I think it's safe to say that his approach is not the best for her. I would really love to see her with someone like Brian Orser (who coached Kim Yu-Na to Olympic gold), or Yuka Sato and Jason Dunjen (who have helped Alissa Czisny turn her career around).

She's a beautiful skater, and a beautiful person, and I want to see her believe in her own beauty and talent.

My sister and I have a theory about why more people, both fans and judges, don't like Rachael Flatt.

She is built like a real human being.

Like the Hughes' sisters, Rachael is not a porcelain doll, not a tiny little dainty fairy. She has muscles.

She also (again, like both Sarah and Emily Hughes) has a life outside of figure skating. She is a top student. She's planning on attending college. She has a vibrant social life and is extremely well-balanced.

In other words, she doesn't fit the female skating stereotype. And I think, whether people realize it or not, they don't like that. 

And so she never gets the full credit she deserves for being the amazing skater that she is.

It doesn't help that her music and outfits never really complement her ability. As others have pointed out, her dresses always serve to make her look chunky and clunky, neither of which she really is. Plus they are very generic-skating-dress types, the sort you automatically conjure up in your brain when you think about skating. Nothing unique, to make them wholly Rachael's.

And the music is the same. My absolute favorite exhibition piece she's ever done was a number to Alison Krauss's "Simple Gifts." The music was strong and simple, and it suited Rachael's skating perfectly.

I only saw her skate it a couple times that season. Then she replaced it with R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Aretha Franklin.

Everyone and their sister has skated to that song ohmygoodness could we please just ban Aretha Franklin's music from figure skating for the next fifty years thank you very much.

I thoroughly enjoyed Rachael's short program. Despite Michelle Kwan's iconic short program to the same piece of music (East of Eden), I thought Rachael owned it. She skated with more passion than I'm used to seeing from her. I was so happy, because I felt like she was finally showing the world something real, instead of just "upbeat perky strong American skater."

Her dress was terrible. The yellow made her look bilious, at least on camera. The cut was dreadful for her. Everything about it sent a completely opposite message to the passion and strength of the routine. I am not an expert on skating outfits, but I would love to see her wear something very, very simple and subdued, to make Rachael's personality really shine all the more. Like, navy blue with some silver detailing. Sleeveless, with a high neck. A longer, symmetrical skirt.

Her long program was back to being just bland. Nothing wrong with it, but nothing really spectacular. If there's one thing I hope for Rachael before Sochi, it's that she finally brings her presentation up to her technical abilities. After all, Nancy Kerrigan was not exactly small and dainty, either. And look at how beloved she was!

And now ...

Alissa Czisny. 

What can I say about Alissa that I haven't already? She is my ideal skater: strong; graceful; musical; and elegant. She is Audrey Hepburn on skates. I have been hoping for years that she would be able to learn to control her nerves, and this year, she finally has.

She has truly come into her own this season, and I am so, so happy.

I cried at the end of her long program. What more can I say?

I was going to do the men in this post as well, but seeing as how it took me forever just to write this much, I think the men will have to wait until tomorrow.

(In the meantime, and on a different note, would you pray for me today if I cross your mind? I've been sick this week, and the girls are going absolutely nuts with being stuck inside with no outlet for their energy aside from running in circles around the coffee table, destroying books, squabbling with each other, and ignoring me. Plus the household work is piling up ... and Carl's not sleeping well and out of energy, too. So we're all grumpy right now, and nerves are fraying. Or frayed, in my case.)

 

US Nationals, Pairs and Dance

I meant to do this post ages ago, but other things kept coming up. However, here, at last, is Part 1 of Louise's recap of the US Figure Skating Championships.

(I am assuming, in this post, that you either already know the outcome or don't care about finding out. So I am not going to be avoiding talking about the results. Just to forewarn you.)

Pairs:


Ever since Meno and Sand turned professional, I haven't cared so much about US pairs. Pairs in general is my least favorite out of all the divisions. However, last year I thought Denney and Barrett showed a lot of potential, and I really did enjoy watching Evora and Ladwig. So I was willing to watch just to see how those two teams would do.

Denney and Barrett still need some work, but I think they might be able to make a good showing at Sochi, if they continue as they've begun. Evora and Ladwig did really well, and I hope they stick with it until Sochi as well.

Photos courtesy Getty Images

I was, as many people were, thoroughly creeped out by Rockne Brubaker and his new partner, Mary-Beth Marley. The age gap shouldn't be that big of a deal, except - okay, truth? It reminds me of Mr. Rochester and a more excitable Jane Eyre. Rockne is all brooding and dark and intense, and then there's this little girl bopping alongside him, hugely grinning and completely naive.

Photo courtesy Getty Images

And then. I'd heard about everything with John Coughlin and Caitlin Yankowskas, about how his mother died last year, and their routine this year was a tribute to her. I knew it was going to be emotional watching them skate. I just wasn't prepared for how emotional.

I sat there and sobbed through the entire routine. The choreography was impeccable, revealing the story of his grief, her comfort, and their journey together toward healing. It was one of those routines that completely transcends sport or art or anything definable, and just becomes - something more. As Scott Hamilton said (after the routine, when he could finally speak again), they just took all the air out of the building.

"Hug your mom today," Coughlin Tweeted before the event.

In the end, there was no question who had won the title. Although Evora and Ladwig skated a routine that would have won almost any other year, the night was all about Yankowskas and Coughlin. They seemed stunned when they saw that they won, but I think they were the only ones surprised. For everyone else, it was the only possible result.

Photo courtesy Getty Images

Dance:


Of course Meryl Davis and Charlie White were going to win. About the only way they wouldn't would be if they went out there and just stood still. Or, alternately, fell all over the place.

I have to confess that I was in a pretty bad mood when I watched the ice dance competition. The girls were having a bad day, I was tired, and instead of skating cheering me up, I imported my bad mood onto the competition. Plus, I was a little disappointed that Emily Samuelson and Evan Bates weren't there. They've been out all season with an injury, so I wasn't expecting them, but I was still sorry not to see them skate. I have no idea if Evan really is a distant connection or if we just share the same last name, but in any case, I like to claim that he's my "cousin," and I always, always enjoy watching them skate.

In any case, I was not terribly impressed with the dance teams, either (except David and White. Naturally). It didn't help that Tracy Wilson was doing the commentary for the dance, instead of the much better team of Sandra Bezic and Scott Hamilton. I used to like Tracy, back when she was still doing commentary for CBS (ah, how I've just dated myself), but it seems in late years that she's fallen prone to that most horrible disease of all commentators - talking too much, and showing off knowledge instead of helping the viewers appreciate what they're seeing more. At least she hasn't started announcing halfway through the program whether they've won it or blown it (I'm talking to you, Barb Underhill). She's even succumbed to the Bad Commentator Hair. Fight it, Tracy! Grow a ponytail!

Ahem. Anyway.

I know most people really, really liked the Shibutanis, and I could recognize that they are a very good team (and cute! I just want to pat their heads), but I just couldn't get into their program, or even really like them at all. I'm blaming it on the misery of a teething toddler, and I'll reserve judgment until the Worlds.

Photo courtesy Getty Images

I did not, at all, like the other brother-sister team, the Hubbells, for the simple reason that I get thoroughly squicked out by brothers and sisters being all sexy - WITH EACH OTHER. I know they're just acting, but hey, it IS possible to do great ice dance without resorting to looking like you're about to produce some six-toed kids. Seriously, people. Ick.

Sorry, no photo for these two. My eyes!

The bronze medalists, Chock and Zuerlein, were fine, I guess. I'll blame the fact that they looked really creepy to me on Grace's teeth, too.

Photo courtesy Getty Images

I did quite enjoy the fifth-place team, Kriengkrairut and Giulietti-Schmitt, and I had hopes that they would take the bronze - until they fell. I am going to be keeping my eye on them over the next three years. Maybe I'll even learn how to pronounce their names.

Photo courtesy Getty Images

Meryl and Charlie were stunning, of course, and their free dance is breathtaking. If they don't win the Worlds, I will be furious. I still haven't quite forgiven the Canadians for beating them at the Olympics. They were robbed. (And don't get me started on the Russians getting the bronze instead of Belbin and Agosto. That disgusting Original - sorry, Short Dance? And their lame FD? No way, even with the Compulsories, that they should have placed higher than Tanith and Ben. No way.) If they couldn't win the first-ever Olympic gold for US ice dance, they should at least earn the first-ever World gold for US ice dance.

Photo courtesy Getty Images

So, those are my thoughts for the Pairs and Dance. Next up, the singles!

Farewell, Brian Jacques

Once again, double posting from my writing blog, because I want to pay him as much honor as I can:

I just barely saw the news - not five minutes ago - that Brian Jacques died after a heart attack this weekend.

I am crying and still don't quite believe it. The man who created Martin, Mariel, Gonff, and all the rest, gone? It seems impossible. He should be immortal.

And in a way, he is. He lives on through his books, his beloved characters. His stories about tiny little creatures fighting for justice, freedom, and love against larger, more ferocious adversaries will ring true in the hearts of all who love such ideals, for as long as books endure. His legacy is a great one, indeed.

Less well known than Redwall, but just as good (in my opinion) was his Flying Dutchman series, featuring a boy named Ben and his faithful dog Ned, traveling the world as immortal creatures, righting wrongs and comforting those without hope wherever and whenever they went.

I will miss, terribly, anticipating a new book from him every year. Yet I am so thankful for all the books that he did write, that we are left with. There have been many writers who have tried to imitate his style, but none can match him. The world is a sadder place with this Weaver of Tales gone, but thankfully the tales themselves live on.

May your adventures in the next world be as grand as they were here, sir. And I know that wherever you journey through the Dark Forest, you will be accompanied by a grand troupe of mice, moles, hedgehogs, badgers, hares, squirrels, and otters, all laughing, valiant, and hungry.

You will be missed.

Prayer for Egypt

I have been fascinated by Egypt ever since I was a very young child. As with most cultures, the mythology hooked me first. I remember reading The Egypt Game, borrowing it from the library simply by virtue of the name, and being equally enthralled and creeped out (but in a good way - you know how books can do that). Mom, being the good homeschooling mother she was, encouraged this interest by doing a series of unit studies on Egypt, until my interest in that waned and we moved on to Medieval Europe.

I've forgotten much of what I learned then, although reading Elizabeth Peters' Amelia Peabody series, and, more recently, Rick Riordan's The Red Pyramid, has helped rekindle my fascination. Still, I've kept a fondness for the nation, and I've always hoped to someday visit, see all those amazing archeological sites for myself.

All of which goes toward explaining why my heart has been so heavy for Egypt lately. The violence happening there would be tragic no matter where it happened, but it might not have such a personal impact on me. As it is, I can only read few of the news articles on Egypt right now, because too much and I just want to weep.

And while I have many thoughts on the effectiveness of a revolution of this sort, and whether, despite my sympathies for the protestors, justice and peace can ever truly be achieved through violence and force, and while I wonder where the line ought to be drawn between standing up against corruption and descending to anarchy ...

Ultimately, I just ache for the many people who have suffered so greatly over the centuries, who are still suffering, and who just want something better. And I ache for the innocents who are always the ones hurt the worst in anything like this.

And so that is my main prayer for Egypt. Not just that justice and freedom would come. Not just that the US would focus more on cleaning up our own mess before interfering with others' business. But that the Lord would bring comfort and hope to the people who are suffering and afraid.

Because all the protests, all the revolutions, all the changes in regimes, cannot bring the peace that comes only from him.

Keeping Secrets

We are getting hit with another snowstorm. Another thick layer added to this blanket of white, freshening up the slightly grimy undertones.

Flowers that Carl and Joy brought home to me on Sunday are brightening up the inside, but looking out our windows, it seems impossible to believe that spring, and flowers, will ever come again. One tends to think that there will be snow, and ice, and cold, forever and ever, world without end.

Yet life still exists beneath that frozen ground. Not yet, but soon enough, the snow will start to vanish, and growing things will begin to stir beneath the surface, ever-so-slowly pushing their way to the top.

Spring comes, every year.

For now, though, this white blanket wraps our world soundly, holding the promise and hope of spring safe within its embrace, whispering promises of new life coming forth in our ears, keeping the secret well until the proper time for its revealing.

(This post is part of the Madhouse. Come join us!)