WI needs balance -- take a look at MN

This came from a friend in MN...glad to know our neighbors are thinking of us in the upcoming election on Tues! With permission, I'm posting it on my blog: Minnesota leaves Walker’s Wisconsin in the dust Since January 2011 Wisconsin has had a one-sided state government under Scott Walker. At the same time, Minnesota has operated with a balanced government: a Democratic governor and a Republican legislature. Through April 2012, Wisconsin lost 12,800 jobs while Minnesota gained 38,800 jobs, and while Wisconsin’s unemployment rate dropped to 6.7 percent, Minnesota’s unemployment rate is down to 5.6 percent. Over the past year and a half, Minnesota took pragmatic positions on a number of policy issues, while Walker passed short-sighted laws that weaken Wisconsin's educational system and threaten the well being of its environment. An educated workforce is key to strong economic growth, and Wisconsin’s fishing, hunting and tourism industry, and its general quality of life depend on sound environmental policy. If Walker stays in office, education will suffer, and air and water quality will deteriorate. Electing Tom Barrett on June 5 will bring balance back to Wisconsin. Barrett has a solid record on economic development, education, crime, and protecting the environment. No more playing catch up to Minnesota.

Koen walked today! I was rolling out pizza dough that didn't want to be rolled out when I saw him moving from his favorite spot in the kitchen, the pantry, towards his second favorite spot, the garbage. What he spotted was a tub of hummus on the counter and was so focused, he forgot to get down and crawl. He proceeded to eat out of the hummus tub I handed him while standing on his own. I think we have a toddler in the house! We won't have to worry about forgetting the date, as today is also Rob's birthday. Way to go Koen!

Jump Start to Spring

A week ago Ryan took the boys sledding while I sat on the couch and read the newspaper (Koen napped). We knew the end of the snow was coming, but there was plenty to sled on. By Tuesday it started warming and water rushed down the gutters and seeped into the frozen ground. Wednesday brought a hard enough rain to clean things up a bit, and Thursday I could smell the sweet spring dirt. Friday was cold and windy, but Saturday a warm front moved in and we moved out -- of the house and into the yard, street, anywhere that was unsheltered and in the welcomed sun. Everyone emerged from their houses, groups of parents and kids gathered together basking in the warmth of the sun and conversation. Kids made up games, rode bikes up and down the sidewalk, and shed layers of clothes as the afternoon went on. But it is tiring. Just breathing in the air for hours at a time when I am used to being in the heated domes of home and car and store made me sleepy by dinner time. We sprung the clocks ahead, but I feel like I am an hour behind. Elliott collapsed on the couch, no meltdown, no whining, just pure, beautiful exhaustion. Dietrich put his head on the table after he was done eating. They still rallied for bedtime and put on their usual show, but it was subdued and short-lived, the air now turning cooler and beckoning them towards a deep sleep. And it calls me too. I'm sure we'll have another dumping of snow -- after all, it isn't even April yet -- but what a treat. What a joy to be given a taste of spring so early.

Sparkly Ski

There is nothing like a drought of snow to bring out the sparkly magic of a perfect ski. Before last week it had snowed exactly twice -- November 9th (a Thursday) and December 17 (a Saturday, happily the day we went to the Christmas tree farm). Besides those two days, nothing. Without snow in Wisconsin is tolerable, it even had its bright spots. The sidewalks remained wide, the car relatively clean, the smell of soggy mittens absent. No backaches in the house from over-shoveling (pretty sure that is a medical diagnosis here) and no headaches from driving on snow covered roads. What we've missed though was worse. It felt like the ground was left outside naked, as if someone forgot to dress her and she just keeps showing up anyway. Bare trees, bare lakes, even open water. Not enough stillness for winter, not enough fresh, warm dirt for spring. We felt caught in the in between times and nothing we could do about it.

And then, the snow started to come. Not a lot and it didn't last real long, but we had a snowy day or two last week, and then another few inches and below freezing temps this week. It really feels like winter may come after all! The quiet that the snow ushered in surprised me. I kept wondering what was different? Why so quiet? Then today I took the boys skiing while the baby napped at home with Ryan. For the first time they wore real skis and used poles. Their coordination has changed so much since the last time I saw them ski -- for Elliott, probably two years ago with his broken arm last January. I would even say we had a pace going, a rhythm. As we came to a bridge that crossed over a frozen creek bed, the snow caught our attention. It sparkled. In all the stillness and quiet that a blanket of snow offers the earth, the light it reflects is what captured our attention. We swished over the sparkly snow until the boys' rentals were due back (and Elliott's tummy grumbled). Who knows, it may be the last sparkly snow of this crazy winter, but it has lightened us, and I am grateful.

Vacation Day One

We are 111 miles from Mauston, where we got onto the freeway after taking a state highway over the rolling hills of south central Wisconsin. Just a mile shy of what iron-athletes travel on their bikes before embarking on a marathon (and after having swum nearly two and a half miles). Now we're in Eau Claire at a hotel on the side of the road, along with a good portion of Minnesota's little leaguers. Here's hoping they have 7am games tomorrow and are going to bed soon. It's our first night in a hotel with all three boys -- cozy! Tomorrow we drive the rest of the way to Duluth where we will first go shopping because, once again, the weather up there is going to rapidly change upon my arrival. The last time was in 2002 when the temperature went from 80's one day to a brisk 50-something the next. The high on Sunday? 67. Do we have even a long sleeved shirt? Doubtful. At least Ryan won't overheat at the triathlon (not an ironman, but a long distance one). Sounds like the baseball players are quieting down, guess I should too.

Tribute to Pastor Kevin

Our pastor from our church in North Carolina, Reconciliation UMC, is moving on this summer. Here is a reflection on our experience of Kevin's ministry during our 3 years there.

It could not have been a more North Carolina Easter Day on April 16, 2006 when we brought our twin baby boys forward to be baptized into Christ's death and resurrection. It was hot, sticky, and the sun beamed down on us as one by one they were handed over by their sponsors to Pastor Kevin. I remember the look of surprise on Elliott's face, and that Dietrich seemed ready to play in the water and with the shell. It marked the beginning of their life in Christ though they had long been loved by the congregation at Reconciliation.

Each year while I was in seminary at Duke, Pastor Kevin was an integral part of how God was awakening me. Kevin was the small group leader in my "spiritual formation" group and he wasn't interested in having us feel good about ourselves and our sacrifices we made going to seminary. After a week or two of getting to know each other, he pushed our comfort with church as usual. We read articles that helped us check our assumptions about everything at the door; I began to ask questions about reconciliation in Christ -- which was what I came to Duke to learn -- that I hadn't even imagined. It wasn't long before Ryan and I began going to services at Reconciliation. Even that word -- services -- changed for me while working with Kevin as I began to see that reconciliation means service in Christ to each other.

My year as an intern under Pastor Kevin's supervision remains one of the most surprising parts of my seminary education. I would have never imagined being drawn into parish ministry when I started at Duke; now I cannot imagine ministry apart from the parish. Kevin faced the struggles of our church head-on while remaining humble. He followed through on the questions he asked and was a model for how to keep asking questions. He gave praise and constructive criticism, but I always felt that I was part of the church first, and that I belonged. But he always remembered to have fun, to smile, to keep on.

But a tribute to Kevin would not be complete -- would not be possible -- without a tribute also to Denise. When I came into a Monday morning meeting sick as a dog but with the exciting news that we were expecting twins, Kevin was excited for us. But it was Denise who gave me the reassuring look every time I saw her that it will all be okay. It was Denise who planned the best baby shower ever, and Denise who kept us fed in the early weeks with our babies. If there was ever a model of team ministry (without the compensation) Kevin and Denise would be it!

Thank you to both of you for your many years of sermons and salads, baptisms and baby-showers, honesty and hospitality. The amount you gave to this congregation cannot be measured, nor can the amount you will be missed. God's speed to you and your next adventure.

Ascension Day

Had it not been for a quick click on the Daily Text in my inbox, I would have missed this, but here it is, the winding down of the Easter season with remembering Jesus' going up. Something like a pianist after the final chord, after all the themes and repetition, crescendos and diminuendos, the rests, the scattered notes that are all pulled together into that final chord. And then she lifts her wrists, fingers falling softly underneath. Lifted up. The somewhere isn't even a thought because it is the music that is left behind that we hear echoed in our minds. Her wrists dangle there for a moment while she takes it in and breathes before the organized raucous of applause. So here it is, Ascension Day.

Yesterday I dared to pick up the winter coats from the lower hooks in the almighty coat closest and shuffle them over to the washer. Is this just tempting a last cold blast before summer swooshes in? After all it was just a couple of weeks ago that I sent the snow pants into the washer, dryer, and finally the attic. I first peeled off a sticker from Elliott's pocket that said, "I met a farmer today!". It came from an exhibit at the children's museum on the rooftop where we drank chocolate milk, petted baby pigs and sheep, and made crayons from soy beans before ducking back into the heated exhibits. His hidden pocket inside his coat held a long piece of purple yarn, rolled into a ball and a quarter along with the remnants of the last washing when a beeswax sculpture made it all the way through the dryer cycle.

Dietrich's sticker never made it off the waxy paper, and it read, "I voted today!" from what would have been a non-news election had it not been for the wild Wisconsin winter when a governor grabbed hold of power and whipped it around like a jump rope with a weight on the end -- no one, even the governor himself, knows where it will land and whom it will hurt. But we voted (or at least I did). Dietrich and Elliott were home recovering from another Kindergarten virus. He also had some string, just a short bit, and a stick that had no bark left on it at all. It barely fit into the pocket. I can see him struggling to squeeze it in, only to be left there for weeks, maybe even months. I found a black sweat band made my Grandma Carol to adorn complete his Packer outfit reminding me of the months (yes, months) that he wore yellow pants and a green jersey. The purple karibeener (sp?) I have no idea where he found, but surely had something to do with the yarn at one time, and will likely have some use when he finds it again in the pile of things on the laundry table.

Koen's fleece snowsuit goes into the load, too, though he has no pockets to empty. Just a veneer of baby chew from the velcro he liked to nibble while snuggled into the snowsuit, a hat, a carrier, then zipped underneath my jacket. By the end of the season his hands could actually peek out when the flap was flipped back, and the zipper was snug across his belly. The pockets will be here soon enough, and I wonder what they might carry?

In they go, washing away the haze of salt, the playground sand, and the wiped noses. I doubt they will fit next year, but I will keep them up with the snow pants, stowed, quiet, until old man winter whispers to us again.