God Sees

Something happened yesterday that made me furious. My daughter played in a tennis tournament away from home, and she was up against some tough competition. In the second round, she was down in the second set, 3-2. The score was 30-30, she won the next two points, and my husband and I thought, fantastic! Now they're tied, 3-3.

But our girl and her opponent began to confer at the net. We were close enough to watch, but not close enough to hear. Tournaments have strict rules about parents not being allowed to interfere, but because we knew there was trouble, we signaled an official. He spoke to both girls, and suddenly they began playing again. I was confused about why, and even more baffled that suddenly, after they had tied 3-3, things changed and the other girl won the set, 4-2.

Our daughter explained through tears that when she won, her opponent said that they were only at 40-30, because she "didn't remember" having played two points. According to her, that had only been one point. When the official was called, it was one word against another, so his only option was to have them play it out from 30-30 all over again. And this time, the other girl won...when mine really had won. We had seen it, but had to go by the rules of no parent input. It nearly killed both my husband and me. 

Later that day, as we headed home, I cried angry tears at the injustice of it all. No, it wasn't life or death, but my child had been cheated out of something she had earned fairly. I was glad at that moment that the USTA had the rules against "parent harassment," because I confess that if not for them, I just might have been up in arms. It was because of those rules that we were actually able to set an example of taking something hard with maturity, even when everything in you screams to the contrary. In the heat of the moment, we want to fly off the handle, but in hindsight, I was grateful for my daughter's sake (and mine, too!) that we had appeared calm on the outside.

As I mulled over my anger in the van, I had the quiet nudge that "God sees." This is a truth that seems trite and obvious when we just say it, but God has a way of using our unpleasant circumstances to turn our "theology" into real life. Yes, I thought, He does see. Yes, He is the ultimate judge, the only "official" who matters. It wouldn't matter if fifty refs had made the call to redo those points; the only judgment that's worth having is God's, and His alone. 

The God of the universe had seen how hard my girl had worked for that win, and He, too, was hurt by what happened. The world is broken, and His heart breaks over every wrong done to us all, no matter how tiny or massive. What's more, when we hurt over something done to our children, we have to know He understands. God the Father had to turn His own head in order to bear sending His Son to the cross. 

Isaiah says in Chapter 42, verse 3: "He will bring forth justice for truth." The little things are big to Him, and so they should be for us. All I can do is remind my girl that God sees, and He knows. All she can do is what she did, plead her case, and not worry when an earthly judge makes a bad call. The only judge who matters is the Lord.

We don't think much about Hagar, who was Sarah's servant girl in the Bible. Back when they were still Abram and Sarai, she was unable to bear children, so she forced Hagar to go to Abram, but then couldn't stand her when Hagar conceived. When Hagar was cast aside, the Lord spoke to her. The Genesis account tells us:
"Then she called the name of the Lord who spoke to her, You-Are-the-God-Who-Sees; for she said, 'Have I also here seen Him who sees me?'" (16:13).

I love this! There is nowhere we can go where He does not see, or where He is not (Psalm 139:7-10). He brings us to a place where head meets heart. Though it hurts, theology becomes more than words; it's about life lessons that we believe with an authority that wasn't there before.

Many years ago, before we had children, my husband and I were at a hockey game. During a break, some t-shirts were thrown out into the crowd for spectators to catch. We watched as a little boy of about seven practically caught one, if not for the beefy bald man who crashed into him, swiping it from under his nose. During this collision, the little fella's glasses fell onto the floor, and were crushed by the man's foot. I thought, surely that man will feel horrible. We watched, anticipating that he would give over the shirt, and apologize profusely about the glasses.

It didn't happen that way. The man, a grown adult (in body only), held up the shirt for his admiring friends, gave a whoop to feed his own ego, and brazenly swaggered away. It nearly killed me to then turn my gaze to the boy, sobbing and holding his broken glasses. I expected his Dad, who had come to his rescue, to turn and punch out the man who had treated his son so horribly. It's what I wanted to do, anyway.

But again, I was left surprised. He didn't turn on the guy at all, but rather used his wits to comfort his son. The boy's father put his arm around his son, held him, and gently steered him away, speaking soft, unintelligible yet no doubt wise words. A non-believer at the time, I was stunned. That Dad made an impression on me that night that I still remember. He set an example that clearly told his son that he loved him, and that the mean, cowardly guy didn't matter ultimately. I'm sure that boy is now a man himself, probably in his early-twenties, who knows that as broken as the world is, we can trust an ultimate Judge with our issues.

I know it hurt God to see that precious little guy get stomped on that night. It hurts Him that my girl was cheated. He hurts over the bully who threatens the weak one at school. His heart breaks for widows and orphans, over sex-trafficking, divorce, cancer victims, and miscarriages. He sees those with dementia who can't remember five minutes ago, and He knows about the unkind words spoken to all of us. 

I've asked God, Job-style, "Why???" "Lord," I've said aloud, "the Word says You are our Protector, that You see...so why?" And I'm reminded that I don't have to know why, although it's okay to ask. God knows that I think it, anyway, so why not just bring it to Him, openly and raw? Why...because Adam and Eve ate that fruit, and the world is "upside down," as my younger girl says. Things happen that were never meant to be, but those who trust Christ have eternity to look forward to. Until then, we have to trust that He sees, and not a sparrow falls without His knowing. There is comfort in knowing that His eye is on the sparrow, and I can know He watches me. 

Weekend Odds & Ends

I love the sermons and writings of Charles H. Spurgeon, an English preacher born in 1834. An excerpt from the introduction of The Essential Works of Charles Spurgeon states that he "...was baptized on May 3, 1850...About six months later he delivered his first sermon...in 1851 he became pastor of a small Baptist church...and his first literary work, a gospel tract, was printed in 1853" (published by Barbour Publishing, Inc.; used by permission). No litany of theological degrees; just a transparent heart desperate for Christ. 

My girls have heard me talk about Spurgeon so often, he feels like a personal friend. It's not unusual for them to catch me somewhere in the house pondering something from this thick book. That's just how my younger daughter, an artist like me, found me this past Sunday. We decided to try our hands at our ole friend's likeness: 

At that moment, I couldn't have come up with anything in the world I would rather be doing. I felt like I had hit the jackpot, sitting at that table on a restful afternoon, pens in hand, my gal by my side, doing something together that we both enjoy. She gave me permission to glue her rendition in my commonplace book, under my own.

"Submission and trust compose a condition of character that is peculiar to a renewed soul, but will surely be found in a man if he is indeed saved, for it is the mark of being saved from self-justification and the hatred bred by despair."
                                                                                              --C.H.S.


Are you familiar with the hymn, "Gift of Finest Wheat"? I recall it from my childhood. I love the refrain:
               "You satisfy the hungry heart
                With gift of finest wheat.
                Come give to us, O saving Lord
                The Bread of Life to eat."

Christ is the giver of life, the sustainer of breath, the "God of all Comfort," (2 Corinthians 1:3), our Redeemer who took our sin and shame, "far above all principality and power and might and dominion, and every name that is named" (Ephesians 1:21). I like to play this hymn loudly and often, letting the words and beauty of it, and the love of Him, sink into my heart and mind. Treat yourself to listening, too, here.

A Book Finished...Woo Hoo!
This is how I feel about my latest read, The Johnstown Flood, David McCullough's first book. You know him from other biographies, like John Adams and Truman. 

I had a special reason for reading this book. My great-grandfather was a six-month-old baby in Cambria County, Pennsylvania, when this epic disaster hit Johnstown on May 31, 1889. In doing much family research over the years, I am particularly interested in Cambria County and Pop's childhood home of Summerhill Township, just outside of Johnstown. Since my family is planning a trip to western Pennsylvania this spring, I decided to immerse myself in the details of the tragedy that wiped out almost the entire town, killing 2,209 people. The Johnstown flood was Clara Barton's first encounter of a major disaster as founder of the American Red Cross.

McCullough is a master at taking all sides of an event and winding them together with equal interest. I was just as intrigued by the descriptions of the members of the South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club (which owned the dam) as I was in the harrowing details of the dam breaking. The havoc and horror that ensued were hard to stomach in some parts. Bodies of humans and animals floating by at top speed, along with debris composed of furniture, homes, clothing, and everything else imaginable...McCullough takes his readers there, to the reality of every moment.  I found it doable even for my oversensitive mind. Read this book and hug your families; rejoice in the warmth of your home, and learn the lesson of heeding warnings. Anyone who has done Titanic research will notice a few similarities. The people of Johnstown thought the world was ending. I'm grateful my Burtnett ancestors lived to tell the tales, but unfortunately, Johnstown is flood-prone; in 1936, they lost their entire farm.

On That Note...

Make sure you do this either outside with the birds singing, or inside in a warm, cozy spot, with a good book in hand! 

"Nibbles, Guinea Pig of Hendersonville"

And who doesn't love a guinea pig?

I'm amazed at the personalities that God

gave to these little creatures, rodents

who are lovable, purring squeakers!

Joyfully, until next time!

Family Game Helps With Beginning Math Skills

I'm not sure which has brought more delight: playing this game as a child, or playing it with my own children. It matters not that the box is shabby; the Annie "Path to Happiness" Game has been the object of many good times. Only as an adult homeschooler did I realize the math and analytical skills that are sneaked into the fun.

Here is what the board looks like:

I highly recommend this game for any family, but especially to parents of students who are learning beginning math facts. It should be available on Amazon, eBay, or elsewhere on the Internet. The object is to be the player with the most stars at the end of the game. 

There is only one "man," the red rectangle with Annie's picture, that moves back and forth. If the square has a red or white die, the player rolls only that color. However, things get interesting on other squares, as both dice must be rolled. The smaller number is always subtracted from the larger. If the larger number is on a red die, then the player moves forward that many spaces; if it's on white, then the player must move back that many spaces. For instance:

In this case, the player would think, 6-4=2. He or she moves back two, since the bigger number is white. If it were reversed and the six had been red, then the player would move forward two. Also, if the player rolls doubles, then the numbers are added together. For example, Herman rolls three on both dice. He thinks, 3+3=6. Herman then counts six spaces both ways, forward and backward. He then gets to decide which space he wants to choose: the one six ahead, or six backward. There are lots of decisions to be made in this game, in "addition" (sorry, bad pun!) to the addition and subtraction.

Here is a closeup of the end section of the game. Players can land on a "Go to" space that enables them to advance and earn three stars. Certain spaces require giving a star to another "orphan," or allowing the others to get stars from the pot, known as "Miss Hannigan." When landing on "Roll for Stars," the player rolls both dice. He or she either earns the difference (when the red star is bigger), or has to give the difference back to Miss Hannigan (when the white star has the bigger number). The same happens in "Roll Against an Orphan," except the player either takes from another player, or has to give the difference to that player, depending on who rolls the higher number. 

I love to share good finds and ideas with other parents. This game will provide enrichment to all children, either during homeschooling, or in after-school hours. I have wonderful memories of playing it for hours with my Dad, and my children will cherish their own memories of it, too. It's a blessing to be able to experience this game from both sides, as a child and also a parent.

Papi & Community

My grandfather died 14 years ago today. He was Antonio Jimenez Blanco, known to his friends as just Blanco, and to me as Papi. Every year until now, I have dreaded February 16. This year, I feel content, as God reveals new ideas that I'm realizing were influenced by Papi, and I see them spilling over into my own life.

I used to think I was weird for noticing details about people, like remembering their names, or knowing their birthdates. Most folks seem not to care much for details, and we often aren't taught to notice. We plow through life, taking and consuming meager crumbs which are expected to satisfy. In the meantime, we bypass a feast because we won't make time to stop, and have no idea why we're left empty.

I'm grateful for the focus God is giving, the yearning for community and what's good. I'm unable to concentrate and focus among the masses, but I can get to know individuals and the details of their hearts. God has woven community into my life's tapestry; Papi demonstrated it, and my grandmother, Abue, still does, even at age 96. 

How unfortunate that our culture diminishes the art of being intentional! Community takes time, but we're "busy" filling ours with empty activities. Also, people are messy; getting involved in the details of their lives is often more than what we bargained for. What my grandparents and others have shown me by living their lives in a counterculture way is that true living involves living slowly, in small, close-knit community. For them it wasn't hard work; it was just life. 

I can either bemoan the treadmill of our society, or I can choose to be intentional about living differently. Other cultures remain community-oriented, and I'm grateful that my grandparents never abandoned their Cuban traditions when they came to this country. Our own country was much more community-focused in the days of our grandparents, but many today want to leave archaic ways behind and not put time into real relationships.

Before going further, I give the disclaimer that I have not achieved this. My days seem full enough with homeschooling and housework. The Holy Spirit is starting to remind me of the example set by Abue and Papi, however, and giving me the desire to cultivate deep relationships. "Community" isn't having 1,000 Facebook friends, or traveling from activity to activity until everyone is exhausted. Rather, it involves few intimate friends, and a little time, like one night to invite friends over, or an hour over coffee with someone while the kids play. It's not too late to resurrect just "stopping by" for a few minutes like they did in the olden days.

A gathering of Burtnett family members (some of them distant relatives)
in Charleston, WV, circa 1960. My Dad is the boy in the photo,
between his grandfather and father (my other grandfather).
Togetherness like this was common, as I have albums full of
similar photos taken at various times....and the adults all
dressed for the occasion, too!

As God further plants the desire for community and being intentional into my heart, He gives me more courage to be the real me with others. I believe our culture is afraid of getting deep because we'd have to remove our masks and learn who we really are. I also grow in admiration for my predecessors, those whose blood is in my veins, that seemed to "do life" with others so naturally. It's how God meant for us to live, and because we swim upstream, life is stressful. 

The Burtnetts knew how to do life together. Here they are in
the late 1940's "at Sleepy Hollow."

We are under the impression today community means spending a lot of money on a party, or doing something elaborate. We go "all out" once or twice a year, and live the remainder of the time holed-up. My grandparents knew that a simple cake and a few bottles of soda were enough. I love to make coffee or tea and enjoy a piece of pie or a cookie with a friend or family member. Pretty patterned napkins can be purchased on the cheap, and add a touch of elegance.

Abue and Papi with my Mom and aunt,
celebrating in Cuba over cake, sandwiches,
and bottles of pop.

Papi and me, about 25 years later,
celebrating in SC over cake, canned pop,
and fake fruit.

We have a group affiliated with our church that meets in our home each Wednesday. Home groups are a wonderful way to be in community, and to get to know people on a personal, deep level. As tired as we may be, we agree that we're always glad that we got together. Folks arrive at 5:30 for Bible study and discussion, then we enjoy a meal together. Everyone contributes: main dishes, sides, and desserts. The women usually sit together at one table, and the men at another. We laugh, cry, enjoy each other, and dig deep. Even if only two people can attend, we still have our group. Deep growth happens whether all or just a few are here.

One Wednesday night during the Christmas season.
We are some eatin' folks!

Celebrating our friend Michael's birthday at his house.
We try to alternate eating at each other's homes every few weeks.

Thank you, Papi and others, for showing me what community and simple living are about. It's worth it to take the small steps required in getting to know others better. I find that when I am intentional about knowing others in a simple, profound way, then I learn more about myself, too. It can be scary to put oneself out there and be known. Christ Himself did it, experiencing the realness of others, and even being betrayed. We should take the risks that He took; Jesus is the ultimate example of what it looks like to live in community: discipling, living, fellowshipping, laughing, loving, weeping, confiding, growing, being known, and not being scared to see people without their masks. 

My grandparents and their community, enjoying a meal together in the mid 1980's.
Papi is standing on the left, and Abue is seated next to last on the right, holding her glass of wine.

I'm grateful and content to remember Papi and his Christlike example today. Gracias por tu ejemplo.

A Sensitive Heart is Not a Curse

I'm chewing on a new nudge the Holy Spirit has given me: Sensitivity of the heart and mind is not a curse, but a blessing. This is such a part of my life, I can't begin to touch the surface of it in a blog post. The condensed version is this: When I hear or see things, I can be extremely sensitive to the information and/or image presented, sometimes to the point of being mentally bogged down and not being able to get past it. 

My friend, Jenny, describes this beautifully in her blog post, "It's a HSP Thing." When I read this a while back, I agreed and identified with it, and put the term "highly sensitive person" (HSP) on the back-burner (after all, there's so much at the front of my mind already!). Jenny shed light for me, but at the time, I was thinking more about one of my children and not about myself.

Anyone who reads my blog or knows me intimately is aware of my mind battles. For all of my life, I have considered them a curse, something to "struggle" with for the rest of my life, a constant "fight AND flight" response about so many things I see and hear. For instance, one day I heard a horrific story on the news about what a mother had done to her baby girl. I choose not to repeat it here for myself and others, as it stayed with me all night and for days after. See, I don't just hear news items; they become real in my mind, almost as if I feel them.

The enemy has attempted to make me hate that my mind is this way, that I envision and feel things. My counselor-friend once told me something astounding. He said that the Lord created me as someone with extreme empathy, that is, when I hear someone else's problem, I literally put myself in their shoes and feel their pain. I responded that I wasn't sure I wanted to have that trait! However, when I think about it, didn't Christ Himself feel everyone's pain? Am I not called to "know Him...and the fellowship of His sufferings..."? (Philippians 3:10, my emphasis). Yikes. In taking off the masks I've worn for so long, I'm seeing that who I really am is someone it might be painful to be, but the reward comes in knowing Christ and being known by Him.

As I've stated in past posts, in seeking healing for many life wounds, the enemy has used my sensitive mind against me, having me "see" atrocities I've never dreamed of thinking about before. There have been days when thoughts or images suffocate me all day and night. What Satan should have anticipated, though, was that it has only brought me closer to Christ, and for that I am thankful. Again, it is through suffering that we know and are brought closer to the Lord. "He leads me in paths of righteousness for His name's sake" (Psalm 23:3).

Anyway, the other day I was on the Facebook newsfeed, which, because of my mind, I wish I could filter. I come across countless ads and stories that I wish I didn't have to look at, and for that reason, I tread carefully. I saw an image that went with an article (fake, according to Snopes), but all it took was a split-second glance, and the photo was etched. I won't describe it, but it was grotesque. My husband couldn't see the big deal since it was fake, but those without such sensitive minds don't always grasp the magnitude of one little story or image.

Incidentally, the enemy has been using this sensitivity against me all my life. As a child, and during my teenage years, I saw and later allowed myself to be exposed to numerous ideas, images, and stories that stripped my innocence and  have changed life as I should have lived it. Now, as an adult, I see the damage that unfiltered eyes and ears can cause, and am having to undo multiple lies I've believed about who I am and how God sees me.

Back to my story...
So, I had this image from Facebook locked in my mind, and couldn't let it go. I remembered Jenny's HSP article and emailed her about it. I cried out to the Lord and asked, "What on earth is wrong with me?! Why can other people just mosey along and see all kinds of things, and sleep fine at night? Why do I hang on to these images and notions?" And He answered the way He did once before when I asked pretty much the same question: God meant for us all to be sensitive toward things that are repulsive. 

Our culture is de-sensitized. We watch revolting pornographic scenes in movies like it's no big deal. We hear about human beings in the womb being stabbed with scissors because they are considered inconvenient, and it's as ordinary as the weather. Heck, we even watch videos of it, and don't give it a second thought. We look at pictures of animals mistreated and mangled, and it's just another story. No, being "overly sensitive" is not a curse; it's a blessing.

I should be overly concerned about what I'm putting before my eyes, because it goes into my heart, and I am warned to "keep [my] heart with all diligence, for out of it spring the issues of life" (Proverbs 4:23). I should be horrified at some of the images and stories I see and hear, as if they're no big deal. It should bother me that certain things are happening in the world, and I should be cringing and refusing to hear more about it. And for believers in Christ, we should seek to honor Him in all we see...and all we think about.

We live in a culture of T.M.I. Where do we draw the line? I've been accused of having "my head in the sand," but that's okay. I know what's too much. If a person is squeamish about blood, others understand. If someone is intolerant to gluten, no one else questions it. I contend that all of us were designed to guard our hearts against the filth that has infiltrated our culture, but most just aren't sensitive to it anymore. Either that, or it just isn't cool to be a "prude," as the world sees it.

I do know it is cool to have a clean mind and heart. It is productive to be surrounded by beautiful things. It is wise to use discernment about what is good and what is unhealthy to put into our heads. A person isn't tougher or "more hip" because they can "handle" certain images; that's a lie. I'm trusting God to keep me intentional, and to continue to renew my heart and mind. I believe that after more healing, He will have me fully embrace my sensitive mind. I'm not completely there, but well on the way to viewing it as a blessing.

Adding Life to Math

Math has always seemed cut and dried to me, and yesterday I was thinking about my second grader's addition and subtraction facts. She knows how to find the answer to, say, 4+3, by counting on her fingers. I have no problem with this, but feel strongly that it's time to start doing the dreaded work of memorization. I want the facts to come easily and quickly, without her having to think about them.

I discovered these nice printables from worksheetfun.com, and made a booklet out of addition facts for each number: 2,3,4...all the way to 9. 

My original plan was to have her do the left column one day, skip one up (move to the 3's, for instance) the next day, then go back and review. A friend suggested also having her write them out several times. Sometimes work like this has to be mundane.

But if I think like Charlotte Mason, there can be an element of fun, too. Charlotte wanted her students to think in terms of real life, and I agree. How could my child understand what all of this means? How can we teach the dry facts, but make them come alive?

I took a plastic cup from the kitchen and filled it with about 12 slips of paper, each one containing a "fun" noun. Here are some examples:

As my girl completed each problem, I had her take a slip of paper from the cup. With each problem, we used the noun to make the sum come alive. For example: 
Teacher: "If you already have 2 birthday gifts, and receive 2 more, how many do you have now?" 
Student: "Four!"
Teacher: "Why?"
Student: "Because 2+2=4."

We went all the way down the column, my girl delighting in choosing a new noun for every problem, with me having to think fast to ask questions!
"If there are two poodles at the pet store, and six more arrive, how many are there now?" 
"Eight!"
"Why?"
"Because 2+6=8!"

This works for subtraction, multiplication, and division as well. Sonya Shafer conducted an informative workshop at the Grace to Build conference last fall, and demonstrated this teaching style for our group. The teacher asks the question, the student answers, but it's most important for the child to express the why in the form of the equation.

I extended this to my 3rd grader's math page today as well:

From Horizons Math, Level 2, Book 2.

Of course, after seeing her sister have all the fun, she was itching to get in on the action!

Teacher: "If ten missionaries each want to take five Bibles to Africa, how many total Bibles do we need to collect?"

Student: "Fifty."

Teacher: "Why?"

Student: "Because 10x5=50."

Teacher: "If there are two kids and they each get three tennis balls, how many total tennis balls are there?"

Student: "Six."

Teacher: "Why?"

Student: "Because 2x3=6."

Doing plain math facts with a Charlotte Mason flair makes math real and much more fun. The girls can't wait to see what will be on the next slip of paper, and they even get to practice reading the words, too. I hope this helps homeschoolers who need to "add" a little life to their math! Pun intended.

Beautiful Girlhood

What a lovely book this is, and a must for all mothers of daughters. I had ordered it from Amazon a while back, and put it on the shelf for "the future," when I felt the girls would be able to understand it. That time has come! My older girl has been going through some challenges lately that caused me to think of Beautiful Girlhood and wonder if it might help. I thought, maybe she'll be bored, or not quite comprehend. She begs me for chapter after chapter! What a blessing. Never underestimate young ones; they rise to higher levels if we provide them.

Here is a favorite snippet:
"She who has an ideal character is first of all pure and true, then earnest and sincere, patient and gentle, and more ready to serve than be served. It is easier to build bad than good character....Choose well as the days go by. Build for all time, not just for present pleasure...To do right will often mean a struggle, but it is always worth the effort...Christ is our Perfect Pattern, and only those who form their lives after Him are building the best character." (p. 32-33)

I find this book a treasure for my daughters as well as for myself. It is loaded with wisdom. Many in today's culture would call it archaic or old-fashioned, but I cannot agree that a lot of what our society promotes today cultivates healthy living. There is rightness and satisfaction in simple goodness.

"I want my daughters to be beautiful, accomplished, and good; to be admired, loved, and respected; to have a happy youth, to be well and wisely married, and to lead useful, pleasant lives, with as little care and sorrow to try them as God sees fit to send...My dear girls, I am ambitious for you, but not to have you make a dash in the world." (Wisdom from Marmee, Little Women).

On a Funny Note....

I love our local grocery.
It looks like it hasn't changed since 1985!
The girls like to take produce and weigh it,
then we talk about what weighs more, less, 
etc. It's fantastic, real-world math!
Anyway...they also enjoy shaking the coconuts
and hearing the milk slosh inside. Our store doesn't just sell coconuts...
they have GROOVY coconuts!

And Alas....

It seems the time has come to retire my oversized mugs till next year. Usually I put them away after Christmas, but this year I decided they looked wintry enough to get away with using them through January. They were a gift from Aunt Susan, and boy, what bliss they have brought!