Questions

I stare up at the clouds that fly silver, cobalt, purple, magenta, like wings off the setting sun already tucked behind the hills. Venus is there, sparkling in her white dress, straight out to the west. Yesterday, she was northwest. The day before, southwest. I wonder at this, realizing how little I know of the earth's spin and the skies spin around her. Why don't the stars march slowly up and down the horizon like the sun in her seasons? Why does the moon set at a different time every night? So little I know, just a tiny bit of trivia about this grand earth and life. So much I want to learn with my children. When I am old, I want to understand these mystical stars.

I remember younger years when all the things I hadn't experienced yet weighed heavy, and I desperately wanted to live so I could do these things. Marriage. Babies. A home. A career. A spiritual life. I am not old yet, but I have felt the kiss of the sun in the springtime and learned how Jesus sings in the breeze; I have painted the hills with wildflower seeds scattered and seen a hummingbird perch on the long grass. I have heard the laughter lilting from my children's mouths, and I've felt my husband's eyelids crinkle beneath my cheek as he smiles. I know now that birthing a baby is the hardest work and the greatest joy, that pain in the soul is harsher than pain in the body. I've lost friends, lovers, grandparents, loved ones. I've lost the mirage that life goes on forever. But in the beautiful in-between, I've found a life I never imagined in the hush of the everyday. I've danced to music no one else can hear, I've sung songs I never wrote down, I prayed prayers without words, I've broken and I've been rebuilt, and this beautiful mosaic that is almost-33 is more than I ever asked for.

And still so many questions, and a myriad of hidden joys to be discovered. How many years would be enough? My soul whispers of the immortal Garden, walking with God through the verdant pathways. Only eternity is enough. I sigh, and look up at Venus again, high above the sooty hills, and I think about her singing with the constellations a tune only God himself can hear. And so my soul groans, happy and full this time, a song without words to a Creator without end.

Linked to Lisa Jo at the Gypsy Mama

Refine us

She is better today, fevers persisting, but with a dose of energy from the spinal tap and the antibiotics flowing every 3 hours. Dark circles under her eyes, she shuts them against the fluorescent light, showing off her new owl teapot with eyes squeezed shut.

The flurry and adrenaline of the initial decision making fades on hospital day 2, and we and the doctors begin to contemplate those hard questions that still persist without answer. Why does she get infections in her brain repeatedly? It's nothing like the question "why does Caleb have allergies all year every year". This has such significant consequences to her health, intellect and quality of life that we must find an answer.

Aaron says it, anguished, as we walk to the hotel for a few minutes alone, kids happy in hospital with Auntie Rosalie. "Why, whenever we start to thrive, why does something like this always happen?" I don't know. I can only offer what I'm learning about accepting your cross without fighting it. Carrying one cross - the one given - instead of two - the one given paired with the anxieties we let sneak in like foxes in the vineyard.

I don't ever want to lose this little life. I don't ever want to wait too long, or miss the symptoms, or run into doctors again who refuse to treat in the early stages. How do we function like this? The older girls and I have a long talk after Caleb sleeps this evening, and talk about refining gold and silver. How it requires high heat. How God is allowing that high heat through trials into their young lives. We read the verses in Malachi that were like timber beams holding up the sagging sanctuary of my heart this morning, before I headed out to the hospital, head shiny and cold in the winter-like winds.

Behold, I will send my messenger, and he shall prepare the way before me: and the Lord, whom ye seek, shall suddenly come to his temple, even the messenger of the covenant, whom ye delight in: behold, he shall come, saith the Lord of hosts. But who may abide the day of his coming? and who shall stand when he appeareth? for he is like a refiner's fire, and like fullers' soap: And he shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver: and he shall purify the sons of Levi, and purge them as gold and silver, that they may offer unto the Lord an offering in righteousness. Then shall the offering of Judah and Jerusalem be pleasant unto the Lord, as in the days of old, and as in former years.

The truth remains. He has always rescued us. We are all alive together still. The needleprick on Amelia's back is just a dot, no bleeding, no complications. The antibiotics seem to be working. We have every cause for praise in this, as in all the previous trials. God is great and good, here in this day of suffering. What a lesson to learn, at 6 and 8! May these children grow up with a deep, visceral understanding of what it means to wait on the Lord, trust in His mercy and grace in the most difficult of circumstances.

Come, come and meet us here 

Come and touch our tears 

That we may weep no more 

Come, come and meet our pain 

Come and lift our lame 

That we may limp no more 

Come that we may want no more 

The doubters pray for your signs and wonders 

All the cynics say 

You’ll let us go under 

But we’re here to stay
God, will you come by here? 

Come, we have nothing else God 

And having You we want for nothing 

No death, life 

Angels or demons 

No depth, height 

Can come in between us 

And Your love, Your love, Your love, love

What I learned at my old church : lessons after leaving

We left our church in October and set out on a journey to find a church we felt called to, Aaron and I. It wasn't easy to leave our church, especially our dear friends who were our first and deepest relationships in the Eau Claire area when we moved back in 2004. Even before we were married, I started traveling on short term medical missions led by the senior pastor, and have memories of some of the most intense periods of spiritual growth in my early adulthood during those trips to El Salvador and Honduras.

It has been hard to know what to say or how to say it, here to friends and strangers, and to those in the community who've asked questions about what caused us to leave. I am finally at a point where I can say it "out loud" - "yes, we left our church. We're at a different church now". Months later, I find myself reflecting on the things that I learned at that church that I wouldn't have learned otherwise. Here is a list.

1. At my childhood church, if you'd asked me to draw a picture of someone worshiping God, I would have drawn you either a stick figure with folded hands, or one bowing low. The only worshiper I could really picture being myself was the stoic with folded hands. The drawing below is by Rosy, and shows how she thinks of worship. Yes, that's my daughter with her arm raised high, surrounded by the "cloud of the Holy Spirit" as she sings. At our last church, the tension in every fiber of my body started to slowly ease over the years and yes, every now and then I, a reserved Scandinavian, raised my hand in worship. Our old church taught us to practice I Timothy 2:8a: I desire that in every place, men should pray, lifting holy hands. I am really glad my kids learned it at an earlier age than I.

2. I learned to serve my community and made some attempts at local outreach. This is not something I had experienced, attending a church quite far away from my home through my childhood and teen years. Going to a church that was truly local offered me the opportunity to serve the poor, homeless, hurting, and those searching for God right in our community, where we spend the bulk of our time. I (and we as a couple) started to develop a mental folder of ideas for outreach and service that we will carry with us to our new church.

3. I grew more comfortable with praying aloud in groups. Public prayer wasn't part of my growing up years (other than around the family dinner table and at bedtime). The first time I had to pray in front of people I didn't know, I nearly had a panic attack and I think I might have stuttered. I am glad I'm more comfortable with this practice now, as the Bible frequently portrays group prayer (notably Acts 12:12 and II Chronicles 6:13-42).

4. I learned that music can be relevant to the culture and times. Using a drumset is not inherently wrong. Prior to coming to this church, a "band" was anathema to my understanding of "church music", the cornerstone of which was, of course, propriety and staidness. I was rather shocked to read that, back around 1200 B.C., Miriam ran around dancing with a tambourine and a bunch of other young women (never mind that she was a prophetess..that's an issue for another post). (see Exodus 15:20) A new understanding of music and performance style has opened my eyes to a vista of worship and praise that I had previously deemed sinful. I know some readers will disagree, but I don't think repeating a chorus 3 or 4 times in a row is any more "vain repetition" than repeating the chorus after each verse, as older sacred music is fond of doing.

5. I found out there are other Bible translations than the King James Bible...and learned that the King James Bible is also a translation (contrary to what I had heard about the KJV being the "literal Word of God"). Unless you feel like grabbing a scroll and learning Hebrew, Aramaic and Greek, you will be reading from a translation of the Bible as a modern-day English reader. At our old church, the favored translation was NIV. Although I myself prefer the ESV, which is a more literal translation of the original language texts, I often study in a parallel Bible that includes NASB, NIV, NLT, KJV, NKJV, and Amplified. For an academic discussion of the history of Bible translations, read on here. I recently discovered The Message (after resisting for years), which is an idiomatic translation of the Bible done by an excellent Bible scholar. Themes of grace and (rather ironically) God's sovereignty became clear to me while reading The Message, themes that I had missed in many other translations of the Bible. Although I can't recommend reading that one all by itself for Bible study, it is similar to the older Phillips New Testament used and oft quoted by the likes of Elisabeth Elliot, and can be useful for understanding some of the more emotional or heart level themes of the Bible. It can also be useful for rediscovering connection when you feel distant from God. Often The Message echoes the cry of my heart in the loneliest of times. I would liken it to reading the blog of a Christian struggling through issues of faith: although you need to study a good translation of the inspired Word, sometimes the viewpoint of another Christian is very valuable. Again, there will be readers who disagree with me on this point #5 (or parts of it), but this leads me directly into point #6:

6. I learned more about the principle of "freedom in Christ". I no longer felt like a heathen if I was wearing pants at church. I understood that tomboys, female sports fanatics, artists, songwriters, and all around average people were accepted at church - and even allowed to serve. I felt like I had to hide my identity at the church of my youth, and, for many years, my last church was a haven for me to show others parts of the "real me". Although I felt pressure to conform in some ways, there were many elements of my personality and gifting that I expressed for the first time at my old church. I am thankful for entering a new realm of "freedom in Christ" there. Although there were parts of my personality and gifting that were not welcome or celebrated there, this church was a major step in my ability to express my God-given self in a corporate church setting.

7. I was introduced to missions. I alluded to this in the introduction. Prior to being part of my old church, my idea of "missions" was an inner-city outreach. Although I heard quotes from late greats like Hudson Taylor and Amy Carmichael, I had no current exposure to people involved in missions. My very first experience was my exposure to an entire family of missionaries, who became friends as I tended their son/grandson/nephew for nearly 18 months on the bone marrow transplant unit at the U of M where Aaron and I met. This family was integral to our falling in love and marrying, so I had a pretty positive first-time experience with modern day missionaries! At Cedarcreek, I had the opportunity not only to support other missionaries and missions, but to participate in them as well. The very first trip I took felt like a dream come true. I credit this church with introducing me to the long-term calling God has placed on my life - on our lives as a family...to be part of long-term out-of-country missions, most likely to Central America, where both Aaron and I traveled for our first ever short term mission trips.

8. Finally, this church has taught me volumes about relating to people within my community, whether or not I attend church with them. I have learned a few things about passive evangelism (in Judges 14 and the life of St. Frances de Sales, my favorite "saint"), contrary to my childhood church, which would be labeled a "Bible-banging" or aggressive evangelism church. An interesting article on 3 types of evangelism (pulpit, passive, and aggressive) can be read here.

At the moment of choice, there is always conflict. Whether you're deciding which can of spaghetti sauce to buy for dinner, or choosing whether or not to leave a church, there is conflict, albeit on different levels of intensity. Choosing to leave our church was something we did with a lot of prayer, seeking advice, guidance from the Bible, and trying to take things as slowly as possible. By the time we left, we were sure we were being "called" by God to do so. On the other hand, you never leave an experience with only negative reflections. As we seek Him, God is faithful to teach us as we journey along. No matter which church we choose to call home, He has lessons for us to learn. I am thankful for this last church and the many things I learned about God's character, my response to Him, and how to share my faith. I don't know exactly where He is taking us next, but I see His faithfulness each step of the way.


Excerpted from my Gratitude Journal, #116-146:
116. Wool sweater that smells like Aaron
121. Bible in 90 Days
122. Story of Tamar
123. God's vigilant pursuit
126. The best babysitters in the world
127. Grace = "one-way love"
128. Walking without crutches
129. Elevating leg forces me to hold my baby boy
130. Driving with the window down
133. Seafood dinner with my lover
138. Owl punch set
139. A break coming soon
141. Heidi Frank
143. Sunrise on melting snow
146. "So if a man lives many years, let him rejoice in them all; but let him remember that the days of darkness may be many." (Eccl. 11:8)

Necessary changes

(That's right. I'm blogging about school on a Saturday.

In case you hadn't noticed, by way of my 20 years of

schooling, I am a school junkie. I do school on Saturday.

That's just how I roll.)

At the very time she needs it most, school often gets pushed to the outskirts of our day. I'm sure it's an irony many parents have faced before me...the child with special needs is so overwhelming it is difficult to even attempt to meet them.

In November, Amelia was diagnosed with two things: Episodic Ataxia, a disease that causes her to lose balance, depth perception, and speech coordination at random times throughout the day; and a sensory processing disorder, which basically means that she either can't sense or doesn't react to stimulation (touch, smell, taste, see, hear) the same way you and I do.

Both of these issues mean that we've had to translate what was a very Type A mom, paper-and-pencil, books and workbooks sort of school into a very hands-on, flexible school that takes lots of breaks and only works for short periods of time.

Bring on the "manipulatives"! We are blessed to have a teacher for an aunt, so we get lots of great school supplies for very little expense. A math manipulative set means that, in the same 20 minute period, Katy can work on her fractions; Rosy her addition and subtraction; Amy her color sorting and counting skills; Caleb pattern recognition and numbers.

I think that, in hindsight, they're loving school more than ever before. The changes have been for the better for all four of the kids. My son will certainly be blessed by the changes we've made in how we "do" school, little go-getter that he is.

And so school keeps on going, in the cracks of the day, fit in when we have a moment, whether I just hopped out of the shower, or haven't even had time to shower yet this day. Sometimes during meals, and always it is an everyday miracle, it works even though I am desperate and overwhelmed, and the kids learn despite all my failings.

Amy's therapists have taught me that engaging her large muscles and using deep pressure help Amy engage in the many smaller, detailed tasks I ask her to complete as part of her rehab program. This "steam-rolling" activity is one of her absolute favorite school time-outs. Today it blended perfectly with what we were learning: the dimensions of objects - height, width, and depth. We had fun trying to turn the 3-dimensional children into paper dolls (Katy would quickly report that it didn't work. She *may* be a realist, Type A mom herself someday).

"Squishing" Amy's limbs with a balance ball.

At the same time I am finding new ways to help Amelia "engage" in learning, I am being forced to engage, too. I have always loved a good challenge, and this certainly is a challenge. The routine never gets boring, because we're constantly switching things up.

The parent is so often just a bigger picture of those she is parenting. Like Amy, I need God to speak through a megaphone in order for me to listen. Enter cancer and the suffering of Amy's illness. Like Amy, I need God to use deep pressure to help me focus on the details. Like Amy, I need frequent breaks, times when I can cry out my questions. Like Amy, the approach has to constantly change...so God forces change into my life to open my eyes to my sedentary faith. Just when I think I've got something mastered, He adds a new element for me to figure out. Just when I get comfortable at my current stage, He demands more from me.

And so, with a big God who cares to tailor my training program to my specific special needs, I will never stop learning.

School is really...simple

We've neglected the lessons, from time to time, when people are in hospitals or we travel to far away medical centers, or the side effects of cancer burrow their way into our routines. The loveliness of homeschool is that somehow, we catch up. Because we can do it any time of day, in any order we please, using whatever tools and ideas and books we please.

Today we circled chairs around the couch - the best way to get four kids varied in age and intellect onto the same page - and did our lessons. It was a beautiful thing, for this Mama's heart.

First, a book about nocturnal animals, the older girls drawing pictures in their dictation journals as "prompts" for their memory later on. The younger ones at rapt attention as we learn about mouse eyeballs and leopard teeth and the way the pads of their paws are designed to reduce point pressure and allow them to walk silently through the underbrush and over the twigs of the forest.

Next, Rosy and Amy dictated their stories to me, Rosy copying hers out for handwriting practice. Katy wrote her own, checking spelling with me from time to time. Caleb sat at his desk to draw pictures of leopard teeth. Then on to French vocabulary and pronunciation, and finally, a French cartoon from Netflix to finish as the afternoon sun shone bright across the floor of le salon.

I left the chairs, circled around the couch, just for the pleasure of seeing it. I never imagined I would be this mother, this teacher of small children, the point of focus for the circled chairs. Oh, the joy!

What am I going to call this disaster of a post??

I am drinking out of my husband's cup this morning because I miss him. Al's Breakfast. I miss that, too.

If I'd never known the joy of him, I wouldn't miss him. If it weren't for the clouds, would I ever notice the sun?

I nearly dropped my book last night when I read these words, the words that echo straight from my soul and describe my paralysis as God's saint and matron of my household:

I think I can brave this Beauty? Not an empty, tinny beauty but a Fierce Beauty, Flaming Fire who burns through the thick masks and leaves the soul disrobed. I am naked and ashamed. I know how monstrously inhumane I can be. Raging at children for minor wrongdoings while I'm the one defiling the moment with sinful anger. Hoarding possessions while others die of starvation. Entertaining the mind with trivial pretties when I haven't bowed the head and heart in prayer longer than 5 minutes in a week. My tongue has a razor edge and my eyes have rolled haughty and my neck has been stiff and graceless and I have lived the filth ugly, an idolater, a glutton, and a grace thief who hasn't had time for thanks. What am I doing here? I am filthy rags. Is sight possible? I've only got one pure thing to wear and it's got Made by Jesus on the tag and the purity of Jesus lies over a heart and His transparency burns the cataracts off the soul. The only way to see God manifested in the world around is with the eyes of Jesus within. Is that why joy hurts - God stretching us open to receive more of Himself? ~from Ann Voskamp's chapter, What do you want? the Place of seeing God, from One Thousand Gifts, available for purchase here, e-book download here, or audio version here

The verses, the Scriptures that I cannot...cannot...bury or ignore or turn away from or pretend are not True, they echo off her pages and I shudder in fear because I do not want this to be True. I want to be joy-filled and I don't want it to be a matter of contrast, a matter of knowing sorrow to understand joy, or sharing in Christ's sufferings to understand that just in the presence of God, and in a thousand ways in our darkest nights, HE is enough. I want only good, yet I am almost all only bad, and how can those two things live in the same sentence??

Surely, just as I have intended, so it has happened, and just as I have planned so it will stand. (Isaiah 14:24)

Does disaster come to a city unless the LORD has planned it? (Amos 3:6)

See now that I, I am He, and there is no god besides Me; it is I who put to death and give life. I have wounded and it is I who will heal. (Deuteronomy 32:39)

"Your eye is the lamp that provides light for your body," Jesus said. "When your eye is good, your whole body is filled with light. But when your eye is bad, your whole body is filled with darkness. And if the light you think you have is actually darkness, how deep that darkness is!" (Matthew 6:22-23)

Oh, Father, forgive...Should I accept good from you, and not trouble? (Job 2:10)

I've said it before: cancer loosed the hands that have been tight gripped on everything - joy, sorrow - I wanted control of it all. Cancer teaches you in a way that no pure joy could that you have no control over this life. Do you really think God hands down your blessings and then turns His back when the suffering begins? That this is not also from His sovereign hand?

Instead of closing my fists around my blessings, and closing my heart to the opening of suffering, I have got to get this lesson learned: I am simply a channel for God's glory and I have got to keep the floodgates from slamming shut. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. (Matthew 26:41)

So easy in the newborn glow, the click of the camera stealing moments of joy and storing them for future reference on a dark day.

So difficult when the children scream in the hospital room and their souls are all crazy wild (like children's souls are, like maybe even they are supposed to be??) and I want control of this, too. I just want them to be quiet, serene, and in control.

I don't want the flip side.

I am still flailing, two and a half years into cancer. Thirty-one - almost thirty-two - years into my life. Nine years into my marriage. Eight years into mothering.

I need to learn to be quiet, serene, and in control myself.

All I want for Christmas

I am a second-generation homeschooler. Meaning I was homeschooled myself - all the way through high school - and now I homeschool my own little brood. In this season of sickness in our home, it is hard to imagine how the kids are going to get enough book learnin' - yet harder still to imagine how I would get them on a bus every day!

Somehow, in the cracks of the day, the learning slips in. We bake pies for Thanksgiving, and Katrina learns fractions and volume. We put photos into a calendar, and Rosalie practices reading and learns the months and the seasons. Today is Hannukah, so we're watching a video and doing an art project to learn about it.

Christmas, likewise, is a season that begs me be more intentional. I read about it everywhere on mommy blogs - Jesse trees, Advent activities, such organization! I called my mother yesterday..."You know that felt tree we did every year as children? The one with the devotions? Could we do it with my kids now? I've been meaning to make this thing called a Jesse tree..." My voice trails off, the doom of another failure as mom and teacher and mentor choking the words out. I can hear Mama's smile in her words. That felt tree is a Jesse tree! And how perfect to celebrate Advent down the road at Grandma's, carving time out of each day for devotions, a song together, the ceremony of placing the next symbol on the tree branches.

I wonder if this is how it was, in olden days. You learned by accident, you soaked up tradition through daily work instead of planned activities, you learned at Grandma's knee, too, not just Mama's or teacher's. You read whatever literature lined your parent's bookshelves.

I do wish to be intentional, organized, a woman with a plan.

That's the woman I used to be.

But life has squeezed that desire into the margins. Cancer, a brain infection, therapy every day for my youngest daughter, daily chores that overwhelm me as my heart beats too fast even while I sleep. These things split my soul, letting the bottled up emotion spill out in rivers, cracking the crust of my perfectionism, the crumbles washed away in a river of tears - tears of joy, tears of pain, tears of anguish. I didn't used to be this way: quick to cancel any appointment that doesn't really matter, quick to see when my children need a day with me at home, quick to throw myself into something messy or time-consuming when logic tells me to clean my house instead. I didn't use to cry at the drop of a hat, the tears running silent down my cheeks for no reason I can explain. I didn't say no to my kids, and recant in the next 15 seconds because it really does matter to them and it really doesn't to me. (Tea last night, for instance. I just plain didn't want to make herbal tea at 8:30 p.m. with their bedtime snack. I wanted them to hurry up and go to bed. But was that 5 minutes of work worth breaking hearts over? Really? I said no, my voice harsh with frustration. And then turned soft and said yes. And made them their tea.)

This Christmas, these lessons are seeping over into the busy season. I'm not crafting this year. I spent money on pop-up tape dispensers and razor paper cutters and paper with lines on it. All so I could teach my kids to wrap gifts, instead of doing it in a hazy flurry on December 23rd myself. We wrap on the front room floor because my dining room table is still piled with the summer/winter clothing change-over (I lack the strength to carry the 8 tubs downstairs).

This Christmas is going to be slow. And I'm going to be loving every minute of it.

Linked up for Bonnie Gray's Faith Jam Thursday

Gifts along the way to the grave

A week ago, they danced across the rock ledges on the shore of The Big Lake in the hours after the exhausting funeral.

Propped against each other, even tired as children, watching the waves foam up laying tireless, endless siege on the black basalt shore.

I looked over at my brother and his beautiful wife, second baby on the way, and it struck me that his hands are a man's hands.

I turned my face to the sun to soothe the ache that welled up inside, babe in partial seizure cuddled on my lap, exhausted from her rock climbing.  Let it soak in that it is a blessing that she can jump those rock ledges...even part of the time.

A fellow mom and blogger has just returned from Guatemala and writes that she will forever fight the middle ground.  (that middle ground that I so long for when I am on the edges of this battleground of life, offering up daughter and self on a tin platter of belief, trying hard not to feel the flesh tear when another piece is taken) She is the same woman who started thousands of others counting their blessings in her campaign challenging others to count 1,000 gifts.  My list is silent.  It includes the breathless gape of mouths open in joy, hair whipping in wind, skin bathed in the cool lemon of a September sun as the spray of water lashes the icy cheeks.

The boundless-joy grins - a matched set - of a grandpa and a granddaughter driving the boat.  (When did our parents become the grandparents?  Isn't there some way to stop time marching on?)

Her neck tight in little girl squeal as she starts the descent downward out of the trees in the lake air, thick with the last breath of summer heat.

The flap of flannel and blowing blond locks as he runs down the hill for the hundredth time, fists still chubby with babyhood beating a tempo of delight in the hot morning air.

This weekend, too, a mixture of joys and sorrows.  Meeting my brothers twins, their curly black heads smaller than my palm.  Seeing the look of fatherhood on my brother's face...the last of us to experience this speechless, love-at-first-sight thing called parenthood.  Traveling up, again, to my grandparent's house.  Emptiness.  Loneliness.  Fear as my mother's white hand reaches out to the window where my grandmother's used to, waves in just the same way.  We have all taken our place in a new generation now that the last of the grandparents is gone.  I am firmly in the middle, and my parents are next in line for the grave.  My whole life I have been battling back the worry about tomorrow (Matthew 6:34).  So I let the tears drop on my hands as I type, and find a host of photos that remind me of the gifts that go along with our consequent decay.  Thanks be to God, we are all alive today.

The narrow pathway
Through the needle's eye
I'm stepping forward
To the place I die

For I know that You are faithful
As we walk these fields of white
To the waiting and the humble
Your Kingdom comes


The way of mercy
Takes me to the least
Down the road of suffering
To the wedding feast
~ Faithful, David Ruis ~

available for download here