In this 64 minute message, missionary Paul Washer explains how not only the gate is narrow, but the daily path is narrow as well. He counters the common heresy that people can live carnally and still be a Christian. Washer rains on the parade of American Christianity.

Here is the overview from the host site:

This is a Shockingly Powerful & Biblical message preached to about 5,000 youth in a day when youth are appealed to through shallow and worldly means.

At one point in this sermon the 5,000 Youth are clapping and yelling BUT THEN the preacher makes a comment that CHANGES THE WHOLE ATMOSPHERE TO WHERE YOU COULD HAVE HEARD A PIN DROP… As you can imagine, the preacher was never invited back.

Heather writes:

Hey Amy, some topics I’d like to hear from you on are: a list of resources to read on Homesteading, how do people rationalize taking on such a huge debt for the land, post a new recipe or two, and how do you deal with clutter and finding time to rid yourself of it? You could toss in your thoughts on how to instill character in your children and ideas on how to show your husband how special he is with very little privacy (i.e. the little ones I am trying to instill character into being underfoot!) What is your current favorite Scripture passage and why? What are you doing for the Fourth? Or just ruminate on which attributes of God stick out the most at the moment.

A list of resources to read on homesteading
The very best list of resources on simple living is Cumberland Books. The free catalog is more than an inventory of books, but it is chockfull of commentary on simple living. Say “hello” to the Saenz family for me. If you are looking for something particular, they can point you in the right direction.

How do people rationalize taking on such a huge debt for the land
I’m not one of those, so I don’t know.

A new recipe
Here’s what everyone orders me to bring to potlucks, picnics, and dinners:

The Very Best Potato Salad in the World
3 lbs. cooked, cubed, and then chilled red potatoes
1 c. olive oil (this is the key)
¼ c. white wine vinegar
4 large Tbl. mayo
4 t. dijon mustard
Salt and Pepper
As much fresh minced garlic as you can stand
Parsley

Mix ingredients and pour over potatoes. Chill. Then get out of the way or you’ll be run over by the stampede.

How do you deal with clutter and finding time to rid yourself of it
There’s some truth in the statement by Edwin Teale, “Reduce the complexity of life by eliminating the needless wants of life, and the labors of life reduce themselves.” The way I would say the same thing is, the less doodads you own, the less time you have to find to wax them. The reason I say “some truth” is because my life goal isn’t to reduce my workload, per se, but to concentrate my efforts laboring at the right things. I think Teale might agree, though, as the more important things tend to surface once clutter-clatter is eliminated.

Clutter—material or not— is the noise of life. Clutter is (are?) the things that keep us from doing the will of God. When my husband and I looked hard at our life, we found we needed to avoid some things that were commonly perceived as noble. Someone once noted that the enemies of the best are the things that are good. Why is that? Because we can spot a bad thing easily enough, but our consciences resist letting loose of good things, never more so than if it comes Jesus-stamped. Thinking about this is a good first step.

The easiest way I’ve found to get rid of clutter is not to acquire it in the first place. This is one reason I don’t shop as a source of entertainment.

From Mad Magazine: The only reason a great many American families don’t own an elephant is that they have never been offered an elephant for a dollar down and easy weekly payments.

The first phase in eliminating clutter is to determine how you acquired it in the first place. The next steps become more obvious after you figure out the first.

A few posts back someone asked for a picture of the space shuttle cake. It is appropriate to post, as the shuttle is supposed to go today. We’ll spend the day at Greg’s family’s house. (Greg does rockets, not the shuttle.) They live on a lake, and the tradition is to ski, watch fireworks, and tell stories about the previous years’ mishaps. Our favorite is the one about the neighbor who ran his Seadoo into his boathouse and left a cartoon-like impression in the side. The story gets better every time we tell it. Every family has their stories, and this is one of ours.

At Thanksgiving with my family, we always mention the time my grandmother (God-rest-her-soul) said when all was quiet, “This is the WORST dressing I ever put in my mouth.” We always use the line, whether or not the dressing is good.

I bet you didn’t know that I could water ski.

Continuing with Heather’s fun barrage of questions, here’s another installation.

How to instill character in your children
Since faith comes by hearing the Word of God (and people who have faith are consequently faithful), we try to make sure they hear God’s Word daily. The other way is that we endeavor to live faithfully ourselves and are upfront about it when we fall short. You know the old saying, More is caught than taught. I hate being a hypocrite.

There are tons of books on the subject of child-rearing, but I like the Biblical description in Deuteronomy 6 of children catching God’s law along the way. Sometimes I’ll overhear my husband teaching with a bug, with a circuit, or with a story. He takes the trash out with my son every Sunday and Wednesday evening, and they take time to name the constellations. Greg will just casually mention how God is like the stars—vast, infinite, magnificent.

Shaping the tiny souls in our care is a large undertaking. We need wisdom—to know when to overlook an offense and when to stand firm; when to laugh and when to discipline; when to let go and when to manage carefully. We never pass up an opportunity to ask parents of grown children what they did right and what they wish they could do over. We try to listen without defense, and we pray for wisdom daily (and I’m not just saying that).

Ideas on how to show your husband how special he is with very little privacy
Sometimes when we need to catch up with one another, we’ll ban the kids to the backyard with a snack and tell them not to come in until we call them. If we need an evening alone, we’ll put the littles in bed at 8:00 p.m. and tell the olders to read in their room.

It is worth it to teach children obedience, if not just to have an hour alone but for the practice in obeying God. Even very young ones can be taught to occupy themselves for an hour.

Still, that doesn’t keep me from counting down the minutes until my oldest can officially baby sit. I can almost taste it.

What is your current favorite Scripture passage and why?
Psalm 73:25-26 says, “Whom have I in heaven but You? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”

This verse reminds me that this world is not my home, and that all I could ever want—if I searched both heaven and earth—I have already. It’s a proclamation of truth as well as a prayer. It’s a verse of worship as well as a comfort. Whom do I have? God, the One who made all things. “Earth has nothing I desire…” The Psalmist states this as a plain observation, but it’s a remark of adoration as well. I like this because I receive satisfaction in my worship of Him. St. Augustine noted, “Our souls are restless until they find their rest in Thee.” And John Piper’s famous tagline reiterates, “God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in Him.”

It takes a special kind of man to be married to a woman who shops at fabric stores, but it’s not like I begrudge my husband his Home Depot. My husband insists that “The Spirit of Sleep” overtakes him as he steps foot inside a fabric store. As soon as opens his mouth to protest, a yawn assails him mid-word. It’s quite amazing how he can do an exact repeat performance every time.

Thankfully, in the town we moved to five years ago, the fabric store is right next to the home improvement store. So, it’s been several years since I’ve had to subject him to regular stops. Usually, he just drops me off, and I do my thing. You have to make concessions in a marriage, and I’ve learned not to take along my husband on these kind of things. He just doesn’t appreciate a good-quality Waverly decorator fabric in the same way that I don’t value a clear, true, S4S piece of oak. We’re even, I guess you could say.

I remember the day that I really ruined it for myself. We were on vacation in New Jersey somewhere when I spotted a clearance sale at a craft store. I begged him to pull in with promises of “I won’t be long” and “I’ll make this up to you.” The place was a mad house, with people grabbing, shopping, and acting like the consumer gluttons that I rail about so often. In the spirit of divide and conquer, I pointed to some sparkly, twirly sticks on display and asked my husband if he could find me some of that in red.

Now, my husband is a guy, and so that means that he doesn’t ask for directions. But he did this particular day because he was so out of his element. You know, like a bull in a china shop or an NEA member at a homeschool meeting. This was, I believe, the first and last time he’s ever asked for directions.

An associate calls across the store, “Yeah, there’s a guy here looking for TING-TING.”

I realized at that moment that there is no sale good enough at which you should emasculate your man. My husband can brush our girls’ hair and put cosmetics in his grocery cart, but he draws the line at ting ting. I’m so in-love.

So, if you see me alone at the fabric store, you now know why. My husband buys tools and timber, and I buy thread and thimbles. We shop separately now. It’s not because our marriage is in trouble, but because we want to keep our marriage from it. It’s one way I respect my husband—or at the least, keep him awake. How about you?

It seems my first daughter has had a raw deal from the beginning. It all began on the morning she was born—December 25. Getting other people’s unwanted Christmas loot as birthday gifts is not the only reason it’s unfair. It’s so much more than that.

We were trying to deliver Abigail before the end of the year for tax purposes and all, and plus, Y2K was looming and I didn’t want to give birth as the world was ending. But Christmas morning wasn’t what we had in mind.

It’s not like we expected her to be like Jesus just because she shares a birthday with Him—at least, we did not expect it from the start. Good thing. I suppose she was trying to make us appreciate our Savior’s birth all the more, as she was the exact opposite of the “no crying he made” Jesus.

She had colic. She was not a “fussy baby.” I’ve had those. She did not have “crying spells.” Been there. It was so much more than that. She wasn’t just a little difficult. If her eyes were open for the first three months of her life, she was wailing. The doctor pronounced her “fine.” Say what. No one believed me until they saw it for themselves, and by then, people were making excuses not to visit us.

That wasn’t the worst of it, however. That would be only small change in the economy that was about to commence. The really bad part surfaced when her personality emerged: she’s just like me, the poor soul. Yes, she’s my girl. Whenever she displays a little fire and feist, my husband will glance at me and declare the obvious, “Gee, I wonder where she gets that.” Pity her.

What he’s implying, of course, is that she acts like me before I “came into my own.” I’m sure this is what he means. In other words, the years have taught me lessons of temperament that don’t come natural to a spirited sinner—lessons my daughter has yet to learn. It would be un-humble to say that I’ve learned all that’s needed for godliness and contentment, but at the very least, I don’t stomp my foot very often. (Anymore.)

Yes, my daughter has a long road ahead of her: one of peril and trial as she learns to die in order that she might live. I speak from experience. Even as I type now, she is in her room contemplating her waywardness. The good thing, I note, is that she is maximizing her time by organizing her dolls and crafts into impeccable order. I wonder where she got that from. She is a neat one.

She’s m’ girl.

The search feature is finally working on the sidebar. Thanks, Valerie.

It was Albert Einstein who said, “People love chopping wood. In this activity one immediately sees results.” Immediate gratification is not the currency of a mother, a farmer, or a bond investor.

While there was no wood to chop, I did mange to produce a few visible steps forward yesterday. The squash plants were pulled, and I hand-tilled the soil for the next planting. I weeded all the front beds, had dinner on the table when my husband got home, and spoke kindly to the children all day long (except for the times that I didn’t). Even my patience remained untried, as no solicitor interrupted my life to sell me auto insurance.

Late at night in bed, I mused over my perfect day with a Mitford book (recommended by a reader a few posts back), whilst nursing a bowl of cherries instead of a baby. I congratulated myself on having a good day, which should’ve been a sign in itself. If I pieced all these days together, yesterday’s day would resemble a sort of life I’d like to live. A good life merges the sacred and the secular and doesn’t draw a line where one ends and the other begins. A string of good days forms the garland of a good life. Life isn’t a box of chocolates; it’s a bunch of moments, it is.

As I relished in the satisfaction of a day well spent, the baby and the two-year-old began to tag team their needs… all night long. It was exhausting and more trying than a solicitor’s phone call. It was my attitude, however, that stunk more than the situation. It’s easier to be holy when things are going your own way, but that isn’t real holiness, eh? They carried on and on, hollering something fierce. There was no relief, except for the hour between two a.m. and three a.m., when they decided to rest recharge.

So, suffice to say, I had a good day… until I didn’t. It was like a good book whose ending stunk. It somehow dampens even the good part. If a book is 90% good and 10% bad, the only time the 10% matters if it’s at the end. It ruins the whole book. The end matters.

If the end matters—which it does—and we don’t know when the end of our lives will be—which we don’t—then shouldn’t we live our ordinary moments as if they’re the ending ones? There’s a lesson in here, I’m sure, but the phone just rang.

I don’t want to know who it is.

Since I just heard that World War III began, I went out this evening to coddle an overpriced frappachino from my local coffee shop before gas prices make that improbable in the future. I had an hour to myself, and this is how I spent it.

The reason I like this local coffee shop is for all the things it’s not. There are no lines, no long menu choices, and no unfamiliar faces. The kid who served me tonight was the same kid who was there a few weeks ago. I like that. (I also like how I can call him a “kid” now even though he’s probably about 20.) It’s the sort of place you’d find in the imaginary town that I imagine too much about. The kind with a Main Street. Except for the free Wi-fi, this local shop could almost find itself staged in an Anne of Green Gables narration.

The conversation there is good, even though I’m not one for excessive small talk. The habit of “cutting to the chase” of a matter might be due to the fact that my (uninterrupted) time is so limited, but I’m learning that one earns the right to ask questions that are more difficult precisely because one has entertained the mundane.

But small talk just for the sake of itself is good too. It’s one of the simple pleasures in life. Overpriced coffee is another one.

My day was just getting along just fine until I read this observation from Ernest Hemingway, “Real seriousness in regard to writing is one of two absolute necessities. The other, unfortunately, is talent.”

Rats.

This week– for some reason that I’ve since forgotten– I was thinking about a required art class I took in college. I hated that class. It’s not that I hate art; it’s just that I don’t appreciate it nearly enough. I wouldn’t have known my stick figures were substandard unless my kids informed me, but I’m glad they are honest. Anyway, I learned something in that class which I was thinking about earlier this week.

I realized that if one wants to learn to draw, one must first learn to see. My drawings improved once I was able to look– really look– at the lines, the shape, the form of an object. I think what I’m referring to might be called “perspective,” but I didn’t pay attention well enough to say. Having a concrete object in front of me did wonders to improve the dimensionality of my drawings. After time spent in study and observation, drawing became easier, though it will never be natural for me. Despite what Walt Disney believes, imagination can only take you so far. For those of us who lack talent, it’s all just a pile of hard work.

Writing is a lot like drawing, though I do believe that I wholeheartedly prefer one to the other. The ability to write well is tied inextricably to the ability to see well. Writers take the raw material of life and serve it on palatable plates, which makes the grim portions go down easier and the ho-hum pieces more savory. Good writers help us see what we’ve been missing.

I’m not writing about good writers because I imagine myself one, though I hope more time in study, hard work, and a meteor falling on my morbid lot will remedy that one day. Rather, the subject comes to mind because I wonder what makes a writer, a writer. Certainly one’s grammar usage comes into play at least a little. Is one a writer simply because one takes pen to paper or fingers to keyboard? Does one need readers in order to be a writer? Does journaling count? Is the quality of one’s writing tied to the amount of currency one can command for his words? And what about blogging? (Yeah, what about it.)

Blogging is a form of writing whose rules are—precisely because there are none– more difficult to grasp. The question of whether a writer needs readers is akin to the old question, If a tree falls in the middle of a deserted forest, does it make a sound? If a writer writes to no one, does she write? Well, of course, she does. The question is really, Does she make a difference? Maybe and maybe not.

Professional writers aren’t the only ones with readers anymore. Blogging has opened up a whole new venue for those who would have never had the opportunity otherwise. For myself, it has prodded me to see life more clearly and look at it more critically. Because if I am going to write about my life—just like an artist must do– I must look at the lines, the shape, the form of it more closely. This is healthy, so long as one can keep from airbrushing, gross introspection, or any of the other many narcissistic maladies common to man.

All that to say, thank you for dropping in sometimes to look at life along with me. And forgive me for taking so long to say so. Writing about my life is one thing. Living a life worth writing about is a whole other matter. The latter is the better virtue, so I’ll sign off for now.

Writing is an adventure. To begin with, it is a toy and an amusement. Then it becomes a mistress, then it becomes a master, then it becomes a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster and fling him to the public. ~Winston Churchill

My fascination with the Amish dates back to my teenage years. Like most tourists, I was intrigued by the romanticism of a pre-modern lifestyle expressed through their dress, barns, and carriages. I love to spot quilts drying on a clothesline, but the people in my community do not own such artifacts. The passage of time has served only to grow my curiosity of Amish life, but my reasons are entirely different now.

I’ll only take a moment to mention the strongest reason for my current interest, and that is this: The Amish merge their daily lives with their spirituality, and there is no defining line where one ends and the other begins. I wish I could say the same of the larger Reformed community, but as a general rule, we are strong on theology and weak on practice. I only mention this critique (1) because it is obvious and (2) because it applies to me. The quickest explanation for why this might be is pretty clear: It is easier to wrestle the doctrine of Particular Atonement to the ground than it is to wrestle my sin nature into submission.

One of the things I learned while reading The Riddle of the Amish Culture is that the Amish rejection of modernity has more to do with careful consideration on the impact it has on community life than it does with the common, hasty assumption of “legalism.” The Amish chose or reject a thing for deeper reasons than we presume. Forget about the conclusions for a moment—which might lead us to different places for different reasons– and consider the beginning. Before we buy our iPods, do we even ask, Why is this good for me?

While I’d argue that the answers are important, it is impossible to answer questions that are not being asked. For myself, I’m learning to ask the questions. Doing something about the answers is the next step.

From The Amish in Their Own Words,

We dress differently and our lifestyle is different, but is that the only difference between the Amish and other churches?

Well, let me tell you a story. Some years ago a group of 52 people chartered a bus and came to Holmes County to see the Amish. They had arranged to have an Amishman meet them and answer some of their questions. The first question was, “What does it mean to be Amish?”

The Amishman thought a bit and then he asked a question of his own. “How many of you have TV in your homes” Fifty-two hands went up. “Now, how many of you feel that perhaps you would be better off without TV in your homes?” Again, fifty-two hands went up. “All right. Now, how many of you are going to go home and get rid of your TV?” Not one hand went up!

Now that is what it means to be Amish. As a church, if we see or experience something that is not good for us spiritually, we will discipline ourselves to do without. The world in general does not know what it is to do without!
(Monroe L. Beachy)

Chad Degenhart discusses a situation where two men who work together finally discover that the other is a Christian. He reflects on this by saying,

“…the Amish stand out in the Christian world as having brought their Christian ethics with them into the business world. While we non-Amish may disagree with some of those principles, we can’t deny that they have religious principles which influence the way they conduct themselves in business. People know that they are Amish - you would never, for example, hear two Amish people saying to each other “I didn’t realize you were Amish!?”

Amish businesses also generally garner respect and their products and services are considered by the general public to be superior in many respects to those of their secular and Christian counterparts. “Amish-built” brings to mind a certain style and quality, while there is no corresponding mental picture for anything which is “Christian-made”, “Baptist-built”, or “Presbyterian-crafted”.

Frequently, when you hear an advertisement for an auto dealership on the radio, you have the announcer speaking at 2000 WPM in a hushed voice at the end of the ad trying to cram all of the dealership’s disclaimers into the final 5 seconds of the spot. It sounds ridiculous, and it serves no purpose other than to protect the dealership from the legal ramifications of his ad. Nobody can hear, understand, or process what that guy is saying, but to protect himself from claims of false advertising, the dealer crams it in.

I don’t do that here. The old principle applies, “You can’t say everything all the time, because if you try to say everything all the time, you wind up saying nothing at all.” Of course, whether I say anything useful when I do talk is another matter entirely.

It is very interesting to me what posts illicit a strong response. Cranberry sauce. The Amish. Who knew?

In Acts 17, Paul is preaching Christ to the pagan Athenians. These people have never heard this Gospel, and so Paul brings home his point by appealing to their own secular poets (v. 28). In education circles, this is what we call appealing to a person’s schema. This God is new to them, and so Paul appeals to them using their own literature. We introduce the unfamiliar by appealing to the familiar. While Paul would obviously disagree with a pagan poet’s worldview, he nevertheless sees the good in what the poet notices (“We are His offspring…”). While I didn’t have this in mind when I wrote the post below, using an imperfect illustration to make a broader point is valid, just as Paul did.

These pagan poets were orthodox (they believed the right thing on this specific point) without even knowing what they are talking about. All truth is God’s truth. Can we not say the same thing about correct practice (orthopraxy)? All orthopraxy is God’s orthopraxy – even if those practicing don’t understand fully what it is they are doing. We may learn by their good example if can we refrain from throwing the baby out with the bathwater, as one commenter said.

While the Amish arguably have problematic theology, it is intellectually ingenuous to write them off completely. I’m afraid my single, larger point was lost on the fact that some Amish aren’t saved. Of course. But to turn that around, one must note that many professing Evangelical Christians aren’t saved either.

My position was a simple one. Namely, it is a good, worthwhile activity to consider why we choose the things we choose. The Amish are more notable than Presbyterians for scrutinizing a thing. If I said, “We should ask these important questions just as the Presbyterians do,” everyone would wonder what I’m talking about. However, when you mention that we should evaluate our widgets just as the Amish do, that makes a lot more sense.

Perhaps its simplicity was so simple that one was certain that there was more to it than that. (You shouldn’t give me that much credit.) When I mentioned in the comments that we should imitate that which is worth imitating, I meant exactly that. Gobble the good stuff; spit out the seeds.

If I thought the Amish had figured it out, it would be disingenuous for me to keep living as a Reformed woman who uses electricity. As it is, I enjoy my handy laptop.

Blessings to all who wrote…

Laura from Kentucky has 7 children aged 8 and under. I just love babies so much, and my heart and prayers are with Laura, her family, and little Giovanni. She writes with this request:

Amy, I hesitate asking this, but we are desperate for prayers, and I know you must have a large readership. Our baby Giovanni (born about a month before your newest arrow) is having many problems. The doctors think that he has the same genetic liver disease as one of our daughters. However he is having significantly more problems. (He is just 10.5 lbs. at almost 6 months old.) He will be admitted to a children’s hospital tomorrow for further testing. They will also be placing a feeding tube in him. I would appreciate it so much if you would have the time to request prayers from your readers for our baby. This is a very rare disease, so the doctors are having to do a lot of guess-work with treating him. We’d appreciate prayers for wisdom for the doctors caring for Giovanni and for healing of Giovanni’s body if it’s the Lord’s will. Thank you so much, Amy.