This is from today's Vespers Office (Divine Hour).

It spoke to me and where I'm at...the last line in particular. I've said enough.Lord let me come after you withough a word...

Dear Lord and Father of Mankind

Dear Lord and Father of mankind, Forgive our foolish ways;
Reclothe us in our rightful mind;
In purer lives Your service find, In deeper reverence praise.

Drop Your still dews of quietness, Till all our strivings cease;
Take from our souls the strain and stress,
And let our ordered lives confess The beauty of Your peace.

Breathe through the heats of our desire Your coolness and Your balm;
Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire;
Speak through the earthquake, wind and fire, O still small voice of calm!

In simple trust like theirs who heard, Beside the Syrian sea, The gracious calling of the Lord, Let us, like them, without a word, Rise up and follow Thee.

John G. Whittier

Mountain Songs

A couple of weeks ago I was listening to the NPR about the diminishing culture of Hmongs (also known as Miao), an ethnic minority in China. They live in mountainous areas and have quite different customs from the majority Han Chinese.

One such tradition is a singing ritual in courtship called Mountain Songs.

A comment of an old Gao (boss or leader) struck a chord in me

"Han Chinese don't sing mountain songs," he says. "They look at a partner's talents, their figure, their weight, their family property, etc. But we find a partner through singing. Even if someone is very ugly, the main thing is if they can sing, then they might be able to show love. People who are too good-looking just love themselves."

I thought it was very interesting how traditional Hmongs place more weight on their partner’s ability to express love than how lovable the partners are to them.

I guess I’m more like Han Chinese when it comes to looking at a potential love interest. I wonder which approach brings more satisfaction in the end, though.

♪♪How well can I sing for him (whoever that might be)?♪♪

Egg Bomb

I just stuck an egg in the microwave because it (a hard-boiled-egg-to-be) was not done enough, and created a bomb that exploded with high temperature debris flying every which way.

Somehow I thought it would be ok to nuke an egg as long as I made sure it didn’t burst while it’s in the microwave.

It blew up when I was trying to peel the shell, so naturally the extremely hot egg white and yoke got on all over my hands and a large area of my kitchen.

Where is my brain today!? It’s not in my head, for sure.