The Good Portion: Godexplores what Scripture teaches about God in hopes that readers will see his perfection, worth, magnificence, and beauty as they study his triune nature, infinite attributes, and wondrous works.
This piece was written for yesterday’s Choir program/Sunday school Christmas pageant. It was read as a transition between the Sunday school Christmas pageant and a choir piece called A Manger Gloria, which includes a “gloria in excelsis Deo” refrain.
“On earth, peace” said the heavenly host. For us, the word peace might mean something like the quiet in the house after the children are all sleeping, or, perhaps, the quiet in the sanctuary after the children leave for Sunday School. But what happened the night Jesus was born was the breaking through of God’s peace in Bethlehem, and it wasn’t quiet, was it?
The whole town was crowded; at the very least, it was packed tight where Mary and Joseph were staying. Bustling might be a better way to describe things than quiet. Then a multitude of the heavenly host appeared to the shepherds; can a multitude of anything be quiet? What’s more, there were shepherds, rushing into town to see “this thing that has happened,” and afterward, on their return trip, joyously telling everything to everyone, “glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen.” Does this sound quiet to you?
Still, what happened that night in Bethlehem was the beginning of peace on earth; not the peace of “peace and quiet,” but the peace of “peace and joy.” It’s more like the peace there is in a home when the children are all playing together in harmony and the family’s favourite supper is waiting in the oven, ready to be served; or when the children are here with us, performing the perfect Christmas pageant.
The peace of that night was the peace of good news: God was beginning to save the world. It was the peace of great joy: Everything wrong was starting to be made right. It was peace with God, who was reconciling us to himself by sending us a Saviour. It was the kind of peace that still causes angels—and all people who understand the significance of this birth—to shout, “Glory to God in the highest!”
Did you know today is (Woohoo!) Left-handers’ Day? Here’s a repost of a piece I posted for Left-hander’s Day a couple of years ago. If you insist on new material, try A Salute to Southpaws for Left-Handers’ Day (mental_floss Blog).
Are you a southpaw? I am. Today, August 13th, is Left-Handers’ Day, our day to celebrate our right to be left-handed.
If you’re like me, you’re happy to be left-handed. It’s just one distinction among many, but I’m glad it’s there.
Although, to be truthful, I go through life not thinking much about my left-handedness except when someone hands me a pen across a desk so I can sign something. Reaching out to grab hold with my left hand always makes for an awkward second or two. And then there’s the bank. My bank has little pen stands fastened on the right, which means I have to reach across and bring the pen over to the left, and then write with the pesky pen cord running across my paper. It’s little annoyances like this that remind me that being left-handed does occasionally make a bit of a difference.
Things Lefties Might Find Difficult
From the Left-Handers’ Day page, here’s a list of things that left-handers can find difficult. I’m going to go through the list and comment on whether I have trouble with each item. If you’re left-handed, why don’t you do this, too?
Crossing other peoples paths/position on pavement. I don’t think I have more trouble with this than everyone else does, but I’m not sure that I’d know if I did.
Hugging. Hmmm…I will have to admit that I’m an awkward social hugger, but I think that’s more because I’m not much into social hugging in the first place. Stand-offishness would describe my usual attitude to touchy things in public. I’d really rather not, but I am making an effort to become better at these kinds of physical displays of affections because they seem to matter a whole lot to some people I like.
Taking neighbours drink/bread roll at dining table.This is one mistake I do not make. Hooray for me.
Direction of work, decorating/painting rooms.Yep, I do everything from left to right. Painting a room, loading a dishwasher, washing counters or walls. Starting on the right would seem oh-so very wrong.
Being helped to put on a jacket. My husband was left-handed, too, so we were perfectly in-sync when it came to these things. That’s why I married him. Being left-handed meant I was the perfect helper (left-hand woman, perhaps?) on his many projects. I knew instinctively which hand would take the tool I was handing, and he used different hands for different tools in a way that would make sense only to another left-hander. Scissors, for instance, force you to use them right-handed or they don’t cut well. And the guards on many power tools are placed for use with the right hand. When my husband and I worked in the kitchen together, we never got in each other’s way, something I can’t say for the times my daughters and I work together in the kitchen.
Receiving change. It does confuse people when you hold out your left hand for the coins.
Putting children’s socks and shoes on. My kids got used to their parents’ backward ways.
Using your left-hand as a point of reference when giving directions. Well yes, always. Does this make a difference?
Feeling more comfortable sitting on the left hand side of things. If I can, I always sit on the left side. Being on the right of an auditorium or theatre or church discombobulates me. Is this just a left-handed thing, or do righties feel a sense of unease when they sit on the left side of things?
Putting belts on upside down. Huh? There’s a right side up on belts?
Visualise things the opposite way around. I’m not sure. What does this mean, exactly?
Trouble opening/locking locks. Not that I’ve noticed.
Work stations flow the opposite way around. Oooh yes! Since both my husband and I were left-handed, the family computers were always set up tilted for a lefty and with the mouse on the left. It’s another one of those parental quirks the children had to get used to. Right now, on my desk computer, the mouse is on the left and I’ve changed the configuration so that the two sides of the mouse are opposite what they were originally. None of my children has ever grown accustomed to that. (Updated Aug 13, 2010 to add that I’ve reconfigured my laptop mousepad as well.)
Organising files “back to front”. I’m pretty sure I don’t do this, because if I did, I’d probably know what this means.
Lefties and Hair Whorl Direction
Did you know that one of the things associated with left-handedness is the direction of the hair whorl on the back of your head? Right-handers tend to have clock-wise whorls and left-handers’ whorls tend to turn counter clock-wise. This is not always the case, mind you, but it occurs frequently enough that the correlation has been noted by researchers into left-handedness.
My whorl turns counter-clockwise. And I’ve noticed that I part my hair on the right side, while most side parters part their hair on the left. The right side is where my hair parts naturally and I assume that’s related to my backwards whorl direction. What about you? Do you fit the pattern or not?
Writing Left-Handed
Being left-handed can make writing more complicated. Lefties often write in an awkward (and painfully slow) over-handed way, or make a mess of things by smearing the ink with their hand. Being taught correct left-handed writing technique can prevent some of the leftie problems, but many teachers don’t know how to help little leftie learners. I am thankful that my mother and my first grade teacher both took the time to learn how to teach me to write as a left-hander should.
If you have a left-handed child, here’s a video that will explain some of the problems your left-handed writer might have and show how you can make writing easier for them.
If you’re a leftie, leave a comment to let me know. If you have lefties in your family, I want to know that, too.
Learning to Love It I love rhubarb now, but I haven’t always. When I was a child, rhubarb was the one fruit we had more of than we needed, so my mother was always finding ways to “use it up,” a phrase one should not use around children when referring to food you want them to like. Yes, there’s something about having an abundance of something that makes it seem ordinary and boring, or maybe even yucky.
But then I married a man who loved anything rhubarb. He grew up in a home without a mother grew things or baked things—or used things up, for that matter—so rhubarb treats were a rare thing. Instead of birthday cake, he’d request a rhubarb pie with half the called-for sugar. He was someone who relished his rhubarb.
For the first years of our marriage, we had no supply of fresh rhubarb, which meant that birthday pie was the only rhubarb we ate, and even that took some careful planning to accomplish. Struggling to have something can turn the ordinary into something cherished, and before long, I was anticipating the birthday pie as much as he was. I was starting to relish my rhubarb, too.
While it was it’s scarcity that made me love it more, I think rhubarb is also an acquired taste. Nothing else is quite like it, and it’s very tart. A Korean student I knew learned to stomach almost every North American food except rhubarb; even the sound of the word caused her face to crinkle up. Rhubarb was an acquired taste she had no intention acquiring. (I could sympathize: It turns out I felt the same way about her Korean fish soup.)
Monday, December 13, 2010 at 8:00AM 
