Taran Killam believes "rural = so stupid"

 

I'm apparently stupid because (a) I'm rural and (b) I have no idea who Taran Killam is, other than that he's a former SNL actor who got flack on election night because he tweeted "rural = so stupid" and then clarified his remark by later tweeting that voting for Donald Trump meant a person was stupid.

Now, Taran.

 Buddy.

I know it was just a little tweet, but I want to clarify something too.

I have two degrees. I use polysyllabic words. I even read The Wall Street Journal every day.

I don't wear bib overalls. I haven't driven around with a dog in the bed of my rusty pick-up, and I've never had Bud Light under a bridge in Daisy Dukes while fishing in the dark.

Or ever actually.

But neither of these sets of characteristics have much to do with being stupid. Just because a person has lots of letters behind his name or an impressive title doesn't mean he's the brightest.

Just because a person has a flashy TV job or a big Twitter following doesn't mean he's the smartest either.

Living in a big city doesn't actually make you a genuis, nor does being progressive or rich or well-traveled.

Plenty of pretty bright people were rural.

Say - oh, I don't know -- George Washington.

Stupidity doesn't come from living in the country. It's a result of failing to engage life or know history, failing to learn from the greats before us or rejecting truth.

Stupidity isn't the result of believing in the Second Amendment, going to church on Sunday and taking walks on gravel roads. Doing loads of my husband's manure-y laundry and owning as many pairs of boots as I do high heels doesn't mean I'm a moron.

Stupidity's a result of thinking small. 

And assuming that because a person lives in a small town or rural setting he's automatically stupid is a pretty myopic view.

I'm not offended by your tweet, Taran. (People use that term way too much in my opinion.)

But I do think you'd be wise to pack up your hatchback and head out of town. Start driving toward Kansas or Iowa or Nebraska. Stop at a farmstead with hog sheds. Pull into a dairy and watch the activity. Con a farmer into giving you a ride in a combine if he's finishing up harvest.

Ask questions. Be inquisitive. Allow curiosity to do its work.

If you do, I'll legit bet the farm you'll discover rural folks aren't stupid just because they're different from you.

And you may -- you just may -- find that you're not as smart as you think either.

Turns out . . . we all have a lot of growing we could do.

Now THAT'S something worth tweeting.

if Christmas is hard for you or those you care about this year . . .

"Let us spare no effort to remind ourselves and teach our children to look upon His coming with both awe and reverence once again. Advent gives way to Christmas and the perfect gift is given. For those among us who grieve and suffer, there is Good News too, and we can seek to comfort them. No matter how one's heart may ache, worry or grieve, the 'hopes and fears of all the years are met' in the perfect God-Child, and the dear Christ enters in. It is Christ, the perfect Gift, who gives us His peace in the face of all travail, sadness and uncertainty, forgiving us all of our sins and providing everything needed to sustain us one day at a time through each of the days of Christmas and beyond. Christmas is an awe-full time indeed. Come, Lord Jesus!" - Dr. Beverly Yahnke

Read more here. 

thanksgiving 2015

It's never good to step on the scale after Thanksgiving. It's an especially bad idea when you're pregnant. Nothing good can come of it. Just don't. Or don't look. Or live in denial. You have options. 

That's really the only downside to Thanksgiving. The upsides are countless. You get to spend time with your family, discussing everything from manure management plans to how to build life together in churches. Because that's what happens when you've got a pastor and farmers in the family. 

You can also wear princess dresses and help your grandma make the cranberries, but I really only recommend that if you're a 3-4-year-old girl. 

You can peel potatoes because you're the mashed potato queen . . . Ok, so the KitchenAid is the mashed potato queen but somebody has to show that thing who's boss. It also helps to have cute nephews nearby to pick up any scraps you may drop. 

You can eat until you feel like you're about to pass out. Or you can't breathe, which is really just like any other day if you're pregnant. Juicy Alton Brown turkey, lumpless mashed potatoes with sour cream and butter, homemade rolls, sweet potato bread pudding, strawberry pretzel salad . . . 

You can order up a pie flight: gooseberry, raisin cream, caramel apple and pumpkin. Or just eat a piece every hour on the hour through the entire Thanksgiving weekend. 

Or you can try to sample them before the meal even starts and while the girls aren't looking. It must be a guy thing. 

And when it's all over, you can go right back to the beginning: spending time with your family, talking about the things that matter and maybe, just maybe, sneaking a bite of turkey off the bone when nobody's looking before remembering that the scale knows . . . especially when you're pregnant. 

in defiance of tyranny

This week, you will be tempted.

You will want to give in, give up, give out.

You will endure one of the most intense situations you will ever encounter in this life.

The very fiber of your being will be tried in a Jack Bauer-esque struggle of epic proportions.

This week, you will be tempted to give in to . . . Christmas.

The day after Thanksgiving, your fingers will twitch, your ears will roar, your legs will become unsteady as you move slowly towards the attic, drawn inexplicably to the Christmas decorations stored there, sultry sirens calling your name, begging you to skip right over Advent and dive headlong into Christmas.

This week, though, you get to fight. You get to do battle with the world’s mad dash to Christmas. You get to engage in hand-to-hand combat with consumerism, mommy bloggers’ Christmas projects, and Pinterest boards of Christmasy goodness.

Instead, you get to confess Christ boldly. You get to wait. You even get to work yourself into an Advent frenzy with William Wallace-like bravado. FREEDOMMMMMMMMM!

Fight and you may die. Run and you will live at least awhile. And dying in your bed many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that for one chance, just one chance, to come back here as young men and tell our enemies that they may take our lives but they will never take our (Advent) freedom!

Ok. Well. Still.

This week, you get to reclaim what is yours: the season of Advent, the Advent wreath, the waiting, the anticipation, the measured pace through the next few weeks, the looking forward.

We Lutherans ought to be good at Advent. {Heck, we’re the ones who created the Advent wreath, after all.} We don’t move quickly. We’re often quietistic. We don’t like to make up our minds too quickly.

And so, this year, let’s play to our theological strengths. Let’s wait. Let’s not be rushed. Let’s take our time. Let’s be slow and deliberate. 

Like salmon swimming against the culture’s current, let’s measure our pace, take a deep breath, and focus on waiting for our Lord.

The anticipation of Christmas is a picture of the Church’s faithful waiting for our Lord’s coming again. “This Jesus, who was taken up from you into heaven,” angels tell the disciples on the Mount of Ascension, “will come in the same way you saw Him go into heaven” (Acts 1:11), namely, openly, for all to see. Ever since, God’s people have been “on the lookout.” We “look for the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come,” all of which will take place when “He will come again with glory to judge both the living and the dead” (Nicene Creed). {Read the full article by the Rev. Dr. Herbert Mueller here.}

Let’s not tick off the days in exasperation, anxious to get to presents. Let’s go in our own way: Sundays in Advent, candles in purple and rose, days, weeks, time.

Let’s look to Christ, who is never rushed, never impatient. Let’s wait with the whole Church on earth, methodically and with grace. Let’s pray the O Antiphons. Let’s sing Advent hymns. Let’s look forward joyfully.

Advent is not pre-Christmas. It is not a series of mini-celebrations of Christ’s birth. But Advent is a season of hope, a season rooted in waiting for the arrival of Christ’s mercy. . . . Advent is always there to build you up by showing you the love of the Savior for whom you wait. {Read the full article by the Rev. Hans Fiene here.}

This week, eat turkey. Gorge yourself on mashed potatoes. Give thanks for our Lord’s love and mercy shown at your table on Thanksgiving and at His each Sunday. And then sit back in your recliner. Breathe. 

And like Mary, ponder it all in your heart: Christ’s second coming, His forgiveness for you, and Christ Himself, whose timing–slow and measured–is always, always perfect.

pumpkin pie and conversation

When most families are busy planning what day they'll show up for Thanksgiving or whose house they'll stay at for Christmas, mine is busy sharing recipes. 

Our holidays, it turns out, center around food. 

Mostly. 

Requests for favorite recipes fly back and forth. Husbands clip recipes from magazines for wives to try. Moms and daughters check to see if others have random ingredients needed for one dish. 

Some people order their lives by days or hours or events. 

We order ours by . . . uhhh . . . food. 

People say that farmers just eat meat and potatoes, and while we do serve up plenty of beef and bacon, we also believe homemade food, a big table and chatty families are some of the best ingredients for a good meal. 

My parents made sure that we ate supper together every night. We had to try everything our mom served, even if it was just a bite or two. We cleaned our plates. We asked to be excused. 

And we were always mentally prepared not to give a wholly honest answer when our dad asked, "Have I ever made you taste something you didn't like?" 

(Hello, split pea soup!)

This Thanksgiving is no different. While we won't all get to be together, we're still swapping recipes, still pulling out our grandma's handwritten recipe cards, still getting out our fat pants so that we can feast on all the deliciousness the cooks have prepared. 

And we're still planning our time together around the fellowship that happens at the table: the jokes, the political debates, the theological discussions. 

And the food. 

But mostly the food. 

Sugar Cookie Recipe

3/4 cup butter

3/4 cup sugar

2 eggs

1 tsp. vanilla

2 3/4 c. flour

2 tsp. baking powder

salt

Heat oven to 400. Cream butter and sugar. Beat in eggs and vanilla. Add powder and salt, one cup at a time, until the dough is stiff. Divide into 2 and roll out one half of the dough at a time on a floured surface to 1/4 inch thick. Do not refrigerate the second half. Cut out cookies and place on an ungreased cookie sheet for 6-7 minutes. Cool slightly and remove. 

Icing

3 egg whites

4 c. powdered sugar

5-6 tablespoons water

Beat for 7-10 minutes until stiff peaks form. 

babies and mustaches

"Hard work, honesty, integrity, faith, family, love, forgiveness." 

That's what we're about . . . and something tells me, that's true of a lot of other farmers too.

PS Oh yeah, and Baby and my farmer's mustache make appearances too. 

all the things

After I got married, I felt awkward talking about marriage because I was the girl who, quite literally, wrote the book about being single. I know what it's like to be the single girl who wants to be married, the one who listens politely to all the relationship talk but secretly wishes someone would just put her out of her misery so she can extract herself from the conversation. 

And now that my farmer and I are expecting our first baby, I feel awkward talking about having a child, because I was the girl who prayed and waited for the Lord to give the gift of a baby and was so entirely over having to see pictures of babies and announcements on social media that I about found a wall to smack my head against. 

So if you are single and not married, or married and wish you were pregnant or had kids at home, you can skip reading any farther. Don't put yourself through it. I used to, and it just caused undue angst. Don't do that to yourself.

But before you go, know this: The Lord has a good and perfect plan for your life. It may not feel like it. It may not seem like it. But He is -- patiently and methodically -- working all things for good, drawing you close to Him, causing you to trust in Him alone. And that's better than any husband or baby out there. You can bank on it. 

_________________________________________________________

In this house, we love babies. A day old. A month old. A week old. Pre-born. Born. We've never met a baby we didn't like. Simply put, we believe they have value and worth regardless of their size. 

And we are so grateful to be surrounded by others who believe the same, which is, I'm convinced, why there is not a thing that our baby could still possibly need. 

Well, except for prayers. Baby will always need those. 

little milk drinkers and cutie yogurt eaters

Hey, everybody. This is Tamara. 

Tamara: Hi, everybody.
Everybody: Hi, Tamara. 

L-R Me, Tamara and Lynne: the Three Stooges

Tamara and I worked together when we both lived in Indiana. We got all sorts of good stuff done while our friend Lynne entertained us with her general hilarity. 

Now, unfortunately, none of us live in the same state, but Tamara lives a couple hours away in Kansas, which means we came up with the pretty spectacular idea to meet halfway in between our houses -- in Kansas City -- at . . . wait for it . . . IKEA.

But when she's not making me laugh or meeting me for lunch and a desperate attempt to buy all manner of Swedish furniture, Tamara and her husband, Ben, are the hilarious, insightful and downright fun mom and dad to four kiddos: three spunky girls and one thoughtful young man. 

They're also milk drinkers and yogurt eaters, and that just makes us appreciate them even more! Last summer, Tamara and the kids even drove from Kansas to meet our cows and cats and dogs firsthand. We loved having them, and they loved being here. 

Never been to a dairy farm? Got kids? Then cozy up to your computer for just a minute while Tamara explains why her kids love yogurt and why she loves buying it. 

good friday farming

Lent is good for farmers. It reminds us of what we already know to be true, what we see every day, what we witness throughout the seasons, that: "All people are like grass, and all their faithfulness is like the flowers of the field" (Is. 40:6).