Huizengas go to the farm....

A couple weeks ago, my sister and her family came out for a visit. During their time out here, I thought it would be fun to take their oldest son, Matthew, out to the farm. Here are some pics of Luke at our house and when went out to the farm.

Luke on the Loose

My sister and her family are visiting from Indiana. Here's a video of their youngest, Luke, on the move.


Luke on the Loose from Todd Zuidema on Vimeo.

Healthy Hull, Healthy Hope

The town where I live is sponsoring a fitness campaign, entitled, "Healthy Hull." To support the intiative, Hope church is temporarily changing its name. Dress comfortably--calisthenics during the offertory.

April Fool

I thought I'd share some of the joy of living in NW Iowa. It's April 1-Spring--and after receiving about 5 inches of wet, heavy snow the past two days, I wonder who is the bigger fool--me, or the robin who couldn't wait to get back up to Iowa, just to put his naked feet in the snow. I wonder if he's thinking the same thing.

Somehow, this didn't make it onto the job description...

As the snow fell on Wednesday night--yes, snow on March 26--we all gathered at church for the annual Christian Education fund raiser/auction. Grilled meat, fresh potato salad, and soft serve ice cream were on the menu. Tables were lined with all the items--handcrafted and homemade, coupons for meals at restaurants or at families' homes, toys and treasures, all side by side. And, my favorite part, the auctioneer's call. A limber tongue, strong voice, and a quick wit makes a good auctioneer, and Krommendyk and Co., supplied us well.

All was moving along smoothly. There was laughter in the room and the steady buzz of people having a good time. The food was good and I was enjoying chatting with friends while I kept track of the toys my daughters had spotted that I HAD to bid on--that's another story (Todd as lousy auction bidder/strategist). Anyhow, all this was going on when the auctioneer stops and one of the members from church takes the mic and begins to explain how much I like lemon meringue pie. (Which I do like...) All this moves very quickly to a money making proposition. "Who would pay to see Leah feed Pastor Todd a piece of lemon meringue pie?" Great. People raise their cards and the amount is soon to $200 or so (I threw in $25 as well.) (Edit: They tell me that this stunt raised more than $600 for the auction. If I knew that it had this much potential to make money, I would have volunteered Leah, too.)

So, I come up front and there is another development. We have to do this blindfolded. Hmmm... This is a poorly veiled setup. We know what's coming don't we?

This is me smiling, but thinking, "This is not going to end well."

It all started innocently, with Leah snagging a bite or two for herself.





Things took an unfortunate turn right here...



And the inevitable...

Thanks, Lavonne.

Notice, how clean Leah remains....





Thankfully, everyone there was shocked, simply shocked; dismayed at the indignity I had to suffer. Several women in tears, I'm sad to report.



Other than some meringue and lemon filling up the nose, nothing broken.



I think this whole event somehow falls underneath the whole "servant leadership" model they told us about in seminary. Perhaps being willing to take a pie in the face in good humor could be loosely connected with feet washing.

St. Paddy

Hope you had a good St. Patrick's Day. Mine was fine, as much as someone with Frisian Dutch heritage celebrates the holiday. Kinda like this YouTube video I stumbled upon:

Santa Barbara

It's been a few days since I've written. And, well, I don't have a lot to say, other than I am in the middle of the Lenten push to Easter. Funny, how Lent is supposed to be about reflection... I can't help being tempted for selfish reasons to look toward the Monday after Easter. Perhaps it would be wise to reflect upon my reflecting. Blogging invites that type of navel-gazing doesn't it?

Anyhow, Leah and I had a wonderful trip to Santa Barbara the last week of February. So nice. The locals complained about the cooler weather and the rain, but considering they were speaking to an Iowan who left sub-freezing temperatures, I thought the weather was great, and they were just whiny. Much thanks to family and friends who made this trip possible for us. We are so very grateful.

Leah had to present at a conference at University of California-Santa Barbara at a writing conference. While she worked, I loafed. With our rented car, I drove into the mountains, went to an old Roman Catholic mission, hung out at a coffee shop, spent some time at the beach, ate some of the local produce at a farmer's market. The fresh mandarins and chile-salted almonds were first-rate. Also the grape juice from wine grapes (syrah & cabernet sauvignon) was amazing.

I did find some time with Leah, too, thankfully. We ate amazing food. Thai one night. Italian another. Fresh crepes at a French cafe for brunch. Seafood that was fresh and out of this world. It's good we didn't stay longer. At the price of a few of these meals, we would have been eating rice and beans at home. Somehow the culinary diversity of Pizza Ranch doesn't quite satisfy all the time. The broasted chicken and the "Sweet Swine" may be close to food for the gods, but sometimes you need to branch out.

We spent some time on State St. in Santa Barbara, touring the stores of the Paseo Nuevo. Later on in the day we went to wine country, through the mountains and inland to Los Olivos. I would recommend only two wine tasting stops. Seriously. If we would have gone to a third, we would have been sleeping in the car that night. If you haven't tried it yet, I highly recommend a bottle of port and some dark chocolate. That's a sensory experience to be had.

Also, we brought home some games we have played and look forward to playing with some of you. "Rat-A-Tat-Cat"--Remember playing the card game "Golf"? Similar, but the girls love it. Also, we brought home "Carcasonne," a game with some Settlers similarities, but an entirely different game. A lot of fun.

We bought them because of the most amazing game salesman we've met. His name was Rory, or "Roory," as he said it. Rory was Irish and was amazing. As soon as we figured out his thick brogue, we gave him the details on what we were looking for and he essentially told us what we were going to buy. Not only that, but he brought out his own copy of Carcasonne and played a game with us on a display case in the store. Meanwhile, he gave us a lightning fast history lesson on the relationship between the Scots and the Irish and how they came to settle the British Isles. Oh, and if you ever go to Santa Barbara and meet Rory, don't ever call him British. Or, as he said, "Do-ant eh-vehr f*****g call me British."

Anyhow, a great weekend. More stories to tell, but Lent is calling. A little over two weeks to Easter! (And the Monday after.) Here are some pics from the trip, too. There are a bunch and I didn't sort out the wheat from the chaff, so watch at your own risk.

I Hope Someone Does This for Me Someday...

If you can get past the fact that the music in the background was performed by the "Evangenitals," you will see a simple, winsome act of compassion, shown by a fellow who can do amazing things with balloons.

We've all been in nursing homes before. There's not a lot of joy there very often. Most of the folks there seem to be just living, existing day by day. Some, if asked, would say that they are anxious to not be living any more. I am thankful for people who are able to bring smiles to those who don't seem to have a lot to smile about any more.

The "Balloon Man" was able to practice his skills, but he also found that kindness pays dividends. By being a blessing, we are blessed.

Winter in Iowa

Took a few pictures the other day. I really don't mind winter. I say this as I look forward to leaving for Southern California next week. Hope all is well with you.

I Don't Know Why....

I'm embarrassed, but I don't think I should be. I was brought to tears in church on Sunday, and to be honest, I don't know exactly why yet.

I've been preaching through selections from Job recently and this past week I focused on Chapter 10. In this passage, Job laments about his situation and wishes to God that he had never been born. Job wonders aloud if God is pleased by the suffering he is experiencing. Maybe God is too near-sighted to see what Job is going through. Even worse, Job wonders if God has a limit to his days, just like humans do. If that's the case, maybe God is trying to get his licks in on Job while there is still time.

I used this passage to talk about lament and its place in faith and in worship. Lament is the process of asking hard questions of God--hard questions that arise out of faith, not out of doubt.

Anyhow, during the sermon, I read a selection from Nick Wolterstorff's, "Lament for a Son." I made some connections between Job and Jacob, when he wrestled with the angel of the Lord (Gen 32). I was struck by the desperate plea of Jacob when he and the angel were locked up in a fight that had lasted through the night, "I will not let you go until you bless me!"

I was almost to the end. Here is the last paragraph of my manuscript:

"Remember this—God doesn’t hold himself aloof from our suffering. The cross behind me is a symbol of it. So is the bread and the cup. Even the water of baptism. He is a Father who mourned the premature death of a Son as well. This was part of his plan, too, we remember. Yet, with dying, there was rising. With every Good Friday eclipse of the sun, there is an Easter morning sunrise. Today, if you lament with Job; may you cling to the hope and joy of the disciples. “Peace be with you!” “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.” “Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.”^[1] Even in our suffering, may we see the risen Christ."

I got to the end of the sentence, "...there was rising" and I couldn't speak. All I could do was look out at the people gathered there and then look down back at the sheet of my manuscript again. I was surprised by muteness. I felt the tears well up, and they were the worst kind of tears. They were the tears that you don't want to let loose, the tears you try to swallow down and keep inside. They weren't the cathartic tears that come when you can let go and sob.

I desperately wanted to say what was left on my page. They were the words of grace that I wanted people to leave with, words of hope that I wanted to give.

After a few deep breaths, I tried to get them out. If people were wondering what was going on before, they knew now. The pastor was crying.

I finished the sermon, my voice thick, and to my ears, not sounding like my own. After the, "Amen," I offered a brief prayer. (What I prayed, I have no idea.) We closed in praise, like a lament usually does, singing, "We Will Glorify." The words were comforting, but no easier to sing, than my "words of grace and hope" were to say. I raised my hands for the parting blessing, my voice a little stronger, finding some comfort in the routine of the service coming to its conclusion. We sang, "By the Sea of Crystal," the second and third verses, which speak of our joyful deliverance on the last day.

I walked down the aisle to go to where I greet after the service. As I made eye contact with a few people, some faces showed concern and compassion, some had red eyes and runny noses, like mine, and some, some looked perplexed at what had happened.

As I received the exiting worshipers, some expressed their thanks to me. A few gave me an embrace. Many shook hands, pinched out a smile, and kept walking as if nothing had happened a few moments ago. One person asked for a copy of the message so she could pass it along to others in her family. Later on in the day, before the evening service (which went off without tears, by the way) another stepped into my office to ask if everything was all right, "since you had that little breakdown this morning." My voice mail and e-mail contained messages expressing thanks for the message on Sunday. I was thanked for being "real," "transparent," and being "compassionate." One person stopped by briefly this morning and gave me two books to read, one entitled, "When God Is Silent" and the other, "Wrestling with God."

I am truly thankful for those expressions of kindness. They're gifts to me. Yet, that said, I still don't know why I cried, and I'm still a little embarrassed. I am a little hesitant to stand up in front of everybody next Sunday morning, because I think I don't want people to worry whether or not the pastor is going to lose it again. To be honest, it was such a surprise to me, I don't know that it won't happen again next week.

I don't think I was crying for myself. Was I emotional for those in my congregation whom I know I have experienced or continue to experience tragedy and loss in their lives? It's a possibility, but a bell doesn't ring in my head when I think of that option.

I told someone later on Sunday afternoon that when a pastor preaches, every sermon is a profession of faith in a very real way. You either believe it or not. I suppose you could say the words and not believe them, but I don't think you could play that game for long.

Perhaps that's the reason. My faith, or my desperate need for what I have faith in is what brought me to tears. If that's it, my hope is that everyone cries for their faith once in a while. It shakes us from an apathy that slowly numbs us from thinking or caring about what we believe. I can affirm that my faith certainly is on the forefront of my thoughts right now.

I may be embarrassed about what happened, but I'm certainly not ashamed of it. It's not the first time I've cried while standing behind the pulpit, but it's been a long while.

Even though I was preaching about the lament of Job, I will try to receive this event as a blessing. I haven't parsed out what the blessing exactly is yet. With Job, God wasn't very forthcoming in his answers. In short, God's "answer" to Job was, "I'm God. You aren't." Yet blessing followed for Job.

That in mind, I will try to be patient for what's ahead, prepared now with a couple of tissues in my suit coat pocket.

---

^[1]The Holy Bible : New International Version. 1996, c1984 (electronic ed.) (Jn 20:26). Grand Rapids: Zondervan.

Saving My Life

Long time, no talk.

I have been on a back-up binge.

Every couple months, I remember that I haven't backed up my computer for awhile. I blanch a little when I think about all that I could lose if I don't haul out the disks and fire up the DVD burner.

The problem is that it is a pain in the neck. However, whenever I hear the computer at home grind and moan when we do ask it to do something besides play the screensaver, I know that it is something I better do, or else I will regret it someday.

This is what I hate about backing up.

1. Multiple disk back ups. I love storing pictures. I love I-Tunes. However, for me that's over 17 GB of data on each of our computers. That's small potatoes for some people, I understand, but that's four or five DVD's. It's just a hassle.
2. Storage. Where do you put those disks anyway? In case of a catastrophe like a fire or a burglary, chances are that your storage disks are going to disappear with your computer, so what's the point. I had looked at picking up an additional disk drive for storage purposes, since the prices have gone way down, but the whole catastrophe thing is still an issue.
   
3. Old disks--when is it time to throw out previous back ups? How do you dispose of them in a way that you don't share your data with some guy at the garbage dump who flips your discarded DVD into his disk drive.
4. Paranoia that when I might need the disks that they won't work.

Then, an epiphany. Online storage! Maybe you all have heard of this before, but there are a number of companies that are now peddling online storage. All you do is download a small program and then upload all your data to a remote storage site. It's encrypted and secure. Here's the great part--once your data is all uploaded it checks your computer regularly and updates changes or additions to your files. Wunderbar! No more DVD's. No more back up hassles. It is well worth the five bucks a month ($50 per year) for the subscription.

Maybe this interests you, or maybe not. But these services satisfy my back up needs as well as provide nourishment to my "tech geek" craving. (Don't get me started about the Mac Book Air.)

I am trying two services right now. At home I am trying Carbonite. They offer a 30 day free trial (no credit card needed for the trial). For the computer I use for work, I am trying Mozy. Both get pretty good reviews, but after I started with Carbonite, I read some good things about Mozy (primarily the fact you can set your own encryption key). Try them out if your interested.

Some words of advice--First, you need a broadband connection. These services need speed and time. Second, be patient. For 15-17 G of data, figure on a week or so for it all to be uploaded. Carbonite doesn't seem to slow your internet browsing too much, and Mozy has a feature where you can throttle your speeds up or down depending on your usage needs. Handy.

Back-up bliss.

Christmas letters...

It's time for the annual Christmas letter. Or, for the Zuidemas, it will be the mid-winter letter, because I haven't started ours yet.

Either through the mail or our box at church, we've been getting a lot of Christmas letters. Cards with stars and shepherds are common, so are the pictures of families with Mom and Dad often strangely absent. I don't think they want to have a photographic record of how they've aged over the past year. Kids are supposed to grow up. We just get balder, grayer, fatter, wrinkly-er and so on.

We've received some gift cards to area restaurants, and we're looking forward to trying out some places we haven't been to before. Just before I wrote this note--for some reason I can't bring myself to say "blog"--someone brought in a large "Dutch letter" pastry or "banket" for some of you (pronounced bahn-KET).

Anyhow, everybody seems to put on the best face for these notes and letters. However, as a pastor to many of these families, I know that life has been far from easy for many of them. Illnesses and death, trouble at work or with family, or even worse, trouble at work with family.

However, most of the letters have the pictures and a little blurb summarizing the year's highlights. Usually, everybody is " busy" and "doing well" and they wish us joy as we celebrate the "reason for the season." (Call me a curmudgeon, but I am a little tired of that phrase.)

One note stuck out for me. It was from a family who were members of the church I served while in Michigan. I found out in the past year that they had moved from Grand Rapids to Grand Haven. It made sense for them, due to the husband's long commute to his work while they lived in G.R.

Everybody was healthy. The photos showed that the kids were getting bigger. There were no pictures showing if the adults were getting balder, grayer, fatter, wrinkly-er and so on. All was well, and I thought, "Good for them."

Yet, my heart hurt for my former church. This family was what I would call a "core" family. The husband was a very capable and thoughtful leader in Council. His wife was a leader as well, helping plan worship at church. The liturgies she crafted were almost always on point, engaging, and helped provide a strong accent to whatever the topic or theme was for the day.

They moved six months ago and I never heard about it. No one was obligated to tell me. Yet, hearing the news brought me back to when I was open to considering a call to go elsewhere. I knew that there was a good chance that this family was probably going to move sometime soon and I knew that at that time didn't have the energy to fill the hole that they would leave. It wasn't the main reason I left. I don't think there was a main reason. Yet, I'd be lying if I said that it didn't play a part in influencing my decision.

Hearing that they had moved just sucked the wind out of me. Like some amputees who have "phantom pain" from the lost limb, I felt the sense of loss that my former church must have felt. I am no longer a pastor at that church. Yet, I still love the people there. Just like I love the people where I am at. Sure, there are some I am glad I left behind, but they aren't the ones I think about.

All this said, I guess its a reminder to me, that the church needs its members to be the church and not just the "crowd." Perhaps there are some pastors out there who have so much energy and talent that they are practically forces of nature--and can fill those empty spots at the drop of a hat. Not me. I need people who love the church enough that I don't necessarily have to cheer lead them into action. They are there, ready to be used in whatever way God wants them to be used. They are spiritual self-starters--if that's an appropriate term. Even though I am 700 miles away I mourn the loss for that church.

One last realization, though. I am guessing that while I am saddened, my former church is doing fine. I don't say this to give this piece a cloying ending where everything is tied up in a bow. Things work out. People adjust. The church moves on. New people step in to take responsibility and do well. The church changes directions--maybe for the better. God takes care of his church. I've been witness to this several times. Yet, that doesn't mean it's easy.

Probably all of a half a dozen people know that this blog--there, I said it--exists. So, if you're reading this, you might know the names and the places I have left unmentioned. If not, no big deal. What I have learned is that Christmas cards make me thankful for where I am and the people I have the privilege to serve. They also make me thankful for where I've been as well. And, as I found out today, even though people get older, kids grow up, and families move away, a part of you never leaves that place.

Frosty

 
 
 
Leah took a walk this morning with her friend, Julie. A thick fog had settled over town early in the morning, but the temperature was close to freezing. The walk, the fog, and the temperature had an interesting effect.

Graduation

Well, it's done. She's crossed the finish line. It was worth the 700 miles and driving through snow for eight hours. The video is of Leah being "hooded" by Marilyn, the chair of her doctoral committee and her crossing the line of graduation.



Also, here's some pictures of our trip. Of interest, we passed the Oscar Meyer "Weinermobile" on the tollway by Schaumburg outside of Chicago.



Other interesting happenings... After the graduation, an Asian fellow took pictures of Lindsey and Emily, "So cute!" He said. Also, there was a German family who sat behind us. After the ceremony was finished, the mother(?) pulled out a small hand drum and a tambourine, complete with mallets and handed them to the girls. Apparently, they had brought the instruments to celebrate and make noise when their family member crossed the line. However, they must have been chastened by the announcements hanging on the door that banners and noisemakers of any kind were prohibited. So, the girls were recipients of the contraband and we listened to their beautiful music on the van ride back to the hotel.

i love snow.

Nothing like driving through two states in a steady snow. As we prepared to leave for Leah's graduation in E. Lansing, we watched forecasts and radar to see where the snow would be. South looked bad. North looked good. So, we went north... and drove into snow.

We drove past snowplows that either tried to blind us with all the snow they threw into the air or with their their seizure inducing flashing lights. We drove past vehicles in the ditch, some that looked like their might be serious injury involved. We drove on roads that were being coated with a steady snow, making us drive a tedious 15-25 miles per hour less than the speed limit.

I couldn't help but feeling angry at the snow--stupid as that sounds. We had worked so hard to avoid it. We wanted to be so responsible on where we drove and seeing all the advisories were to the south, we thought we'd miss any of the white stuff. Maybe we even felt a little smug that we were so savvy in our planning. It is/was a control issue.

The right answer is that I am supposed to be thankful that we arrived safe. My first inclination, though, is to be frustrated that I had to be worried about our safety. I didn't want the stress of weather added to the stress of traveling in general

Anyhow, after some switching of hotels, we headed into Middleton, west of Madison. We were thankful for a warm bed and a safe trip so far.

Today, we head to E.Lansing. The computer is telling us that we are looking at 375 miles or around 6.5 hours if we can drive at a normal speed. I will be satisfied if I can see where I am going and I don't have to white knuckle the whole drive.

Off to see Leah where a mortarboard and get "hooded."

AWOL Santa

Sinterklaas didn’t show up this year and we were disappointed. Over the Thanksgiving weekend, we traveled to Pella to visit family. Its been a tradition in Pella that on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, there is a small parade where Sinterklaas, the Netherlands’ version of Santa Claus rides down Franklin St. in a big boat (with wheels) and passes in front of the Tulip Tower. Traveling with him are some folks dressed up as gifts—box costumes with ribbons. Trailing behind is the newly selected Tulip Queen and her court—making one of their first official appearances since their selection.

Sound a little cheesy? Yes, it is. However, it has always given us an excuse to go up town and grab a coffee or head to one of the local bakeries for some Dutch Letters, macaroons, or my daughters’ preference, “Cookies with LOTS of frosting.”

This year we showed up, waiting for Town Crier to announce the coming of Sinterklaas. There were quite a few others milling around the town square waiting as well. Soon, we hear the buzz that there wasn’t going to be a parade. There was a rumor that there wasn’t enough interest, or that those normally in the parade had other obligations.

So, there we stood, pastries in hand, waiting for a parade that wasn’t going to happen. We shrugged our shoulders, expressed a little disappointment, and then we went home. Sinterklaas was soon forgotten.

Over this Christmas season we will drive past houses covered with flashing, blinking, lights, some even choreographed to music. (Pretty clever.) Our children may be dressed up like shepherds or wise men. We will arrange miniature nativity scenes on our mantles. We will put up trees, buy gifts, and make Christmas themed treats. We do all this to celebrate a birth that happened over 2000 years ago.

In the minds of some, this is simply silly. To be honest, a lot of it maybe is. There has long been the complaint that Christmas is too commercialized and that we forget the “Reason for the Season.”

Yet, amidst all the decoration and flash, most Christians acknowledge that they have hope that Jesus will make His appearance again. Christmas may mark Jesus earthly birth years ago, but it should also point ahead to the time He comes again.

I encourage you to celebrate, decorate, and enjoy the holiday, but somewhere between the tinsel and bows, the Christmas meal and treats take a minute and reflect on Jesus’ impending coming. If another holiday passes and Christ has not yet come again, may we be a little disappointed, but may we never forget that He is coming again. May that hope change us. Decorations will be packed away. Lights will come down, but may we never lose our desire to see the King. May we say, “Maranatha,” “Come, O Lord. Come soon.”

Hull is Steamrolled

The latest big attraction in Hull--one of many, I assure you, is the lightshow offered by one of our citizens (who attends the church I serve, I am proud to say).

FACEBOOK!

I am so current, so relevant. I now have a Facebook page. Now I will wait patiently for all my friends to appear.

Truth and the Golden Compass

Truth, not the saccharin "Truthiness" of Stephen Colbert is one of the themes of the book, "The Golden Compass," by Philip Pullman. As the opening book of the "The Dark Materials" trilogy, Pullman introduces us to a type of parallel universe, where things resemble the world we live in, but yet unique and different. Truth, or the Magisterium's hiding of the truth (i.e. the church) is there for Lyra, to try to find.

As a side note, as I begin reading this book, I was intrigued to find reference to John Calvin as being the "last pope," who moved the headquarters of the church to Geneva. Poor Calvin, the whipping boy for any one with RPE (i.e. Regretted Puritan Experience).

Anyhow, I have received chain e-mails, had concerned parents knock at my door, and read articles pro and con about this book. So, of course, I am reading the book, so I can form my own opinion.

As I begin the book, I've done a little research on the side. (www.hisdarkmaterials.org is an excellent resource.) What I'm finding is that Pullman, like Dan Brown of "The DaVinci Code" fame has an agenda. They both have an almost allergic aversion to anything that has to do with the established church. Pullman isn't the atheist that people claim him to be. Instead, he is more concerned about breaking down the dogma and doctrine of the orthodox church. In his view, the established church is authoritarian and preoccupied to the level of paranoia with holding on to power.

It is my opinion that Pullman is very religious in a sense. He doesn't deny the divine. In fact, he uses his powerful imagination to picture the divine in ways we have never imagined. The problem that people (i.e. orthodox Christians) have with Pullman is that his sense of the divine doesn't have a lot of use for the Apostles' Creed.

Anyhow, I'm reading. From where I am at right now, I can tell that this is a book I would read WITH my children, and not let them read it alone--not until they are older, anyway.

What it comes down to is this--If a book of fiction is enough to shake a person's faith, I would be inclined to ask how much faith there was in the first place. Related to that is that if the Christian faith cannot sustain a challenge from a work of fiction, it isn't much of a faith at all.

Time....

I have best intentions...

I could break out into a whole list of navel-gazing reasons why I don't keep up with this blog as often as I want (should?).

The simple fact is that I don't take the time. Apparently it's not a priority yet. Yet, there is a lot of other stuff that I am doing that I don't feel is worth my time. So, I am trying to rearrange a bit. Once a week. That's where my goal is set for now.

So, there it is. See you next time.