Hill Meets Tuff Hill

 It might have been an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday morning—except for the change in staff plans that brought Antoinette Tuff to work on an unscheduled day and placed her right behind the front desk of a Georgia elementary school.

Placed her right in line with a young man armed with an AK-47 rifle and “nothing to live for.”

For the past week Antoinette Tuff has been hailed as a hero, and rightly so. Her unflappable courage, compassion, and authority while talking down a distraught gunman (you can listen to her 911 call) at a Georgia elementary school have garnered the attention of the media, as well as the White House.

Some hold her up as an anti-gun model. Some want to know if they can teach the leadership skills she used—she called him by name, related her own troubles, extended compassion and hope all  while keeping calm and composed.

And some, like me, see the power an ordinary woman, seasoned by life, trained in vocational skills, and “anchored in the Lord” has for such a time as this. She said her pastor had been talking about being anchored in the Lord and that is what she clung to as she employed all the skills and training she’d had for hostile situations.

Listening to her 911 call, you’d never know she was more scared than she’d ever been in her life. It seemed to me, a signature touch of the Lord that when she asked the man’s name. He told her  Michael Hill. She said, “I'm a Hill too!” Her mother’s name was Hill.

Hill meets Tuff Hill, and for that he can be thankful.

Antoinette Tuff is a reminder for me that it’s so easy to just react in any confrontation (not necessarily with gunman!). An eye for an eye sort of response. And yet, anchored in the Lord, we have the power and the skill to “see through” the situation and to respond with kindness and compassion.

Her story is also an example for me of how any day, any ordinary day, might just be the one the Lord chooses to use us for such a time as this.

Blessings on this National Just Because Day! May the fleeting days of August be sweet.

Marcia

First Day of School Fears (Mom's That Is!)

Here's a back-to-school repost for some mom out there in need of assurance as her child heads off to school. (Doesn't matter whether it's to kindergarten or college--we cry and worry nonetheless!)  My daughter is long out of school but I always think back to that first day when I see the crossing guards at their posts.

Our daughter, the only girl of five kids, was a Velcro child. For years she stuck so close to me we moved as a unit.I decided she needed to go to pre-school a few mornings a week to introduce her to the world beyond my pant legs.

Like a hound on a fox hunt, I searched out every kiddie program for miles around. I sat in on show-and-tell circles, surveyed classrooms for any potential dangers in the five-year-old world, and questioned teachers about their lesson plans. Finally I found the perfect program, made especially so because of the teacher.

Although the program was held in a church which we were not members of, and the classes were rapidly filling, the director assured me my daughter would be placed in that particular teacher's class.

First school day arrived. My little one donned her backpack and I donned my brave face. Before we got out of the car, I rolled up her sleeve and planted a rosy lipstick kiss on her arm.

"If you get scared, just peek under your sleeve and know I love you," I said.

As we approached the classroom, the director intercepted us and pointed to another room, which she said was my daughter's.

"Oh, no," I protested. "I was told we would have this teacher. She's the reason we are here."

Unmoved, the director said Mrs. First Choice Teacher's room was full, but that Mrs. Unknown was also a wonderful teacher. I could feel the panic bubbling up, but not wanting to get testy in front of nervous little children, I handed my daughter over to Mrs. Unknown Teacher, blew  a kiss, then raced to my car where I promptly burst into tears.

I fretted all morning. "Lord, I spent weeks looking for the perfect situation and now, at the last minute it changes! How could you let that happen to us?"

Finally in between my complaints, I realized the story of Joseph had been playing in the background of my mind. I paused to pay attention. Peace settled over me as the reminder that in spite of all the unfair, downright bad things that happened to Joseph, things he had no control over, God had his back. What was intended for evil, God intended for good.

When I met my daughter at her classroom door, I expected to find her either in tears or on the verge of them. Instead, a happy child laden with crayon drawings greeted me.

"How was it?" I asked.

"Good," she said. "I like my teacher. She has warm hands."

Warm hands. God knew my daughter needed warm hands far more than the most progressive way to learn ABC.

Blessings, parents of off-to-schoolers. Remember He loves your little (and big) ones more than you do!

Marcia

The shadow of the spiritual all around us

A book I go to when I am feeling tedious or soggy-brained from days of rain is Warren Wiersbe’s Preaching and Teaching with Imagination. So after standing on the back deck in the wee hours of morning (three in a row)searching for meteorites that were supposedly streaking across the sky at a rate of fifty per hour, somewhere above the cloud cover that veiled them from me, I was in need of some Wiersbe inspiration.

Although I started with Wiersbe, a quote he used from Oswald Chambers set me off on another track. Here’s how it went: 

O.C— “Learn to associate ideas worthy of God with all that happens in Nature—the sunrises and the sunsets, the sun and the stars, the changing seasons, and your imagination will never be at the mercy of your impulses, but will always be at the service of God,” along with a reminder from Tozer “to perceive in natural things shadows of things spiritual,” reminded me of the photography and poetry of cyber friend, Richard Havenga over at Walk With Father Nature.

Although not a photographer myself, I love how looking through a lens causes you to see wonder all around.

This shot, "After Rain,  reminded me of the joyous praise in Gerard Manley Hopkins’s poem “Pied Beauty.”—“Glory to God for dappled things.”  (See Richard’s own poetic take on this.)

 

And how about walking on water, "Upstream"

Or the powerful silence of Swans on a foggy morning:

 Although Richard has many shots that invite praise, one in particular, symbolized a special moment I had had that morning.

Someone I have labored over in prayer for years, through seemingly impassable situations and wrong turns, sat across from me, awash in God’s light of healing and restoration.For the first time in years, I saw a future and a hope where previously I had hung onto it by faith. 

Persevere in prayer. God is ever-faithful. 

Richard sees it this way in "A Wing and a Prayer"

I saw the Spirit 

fly above the mountians

and placed a prayer

upon its wings.

Now I wait 

in patient silence

to accept with grace

what praying brings.

Many thanks to Richard Havenga for permission to use his lovely works. Hop on over to Walk With Father Nature and be blessed

P.S. I wonder where tomorrow's chapter will lead!

Blessings,

Marcia

"Marriage...that blessed arrangement that brings us together today"

Marriage. That blessed arrangement that brings us together today. That dream within a dream...



Celebrating thirty-two years with my man today. For a woman who (as a teenager) couldn't commit to a date two days ahead of time in case something better came along, and who (as a young woman) wore the lies of the liberated women's sexual revolution like splats on my tie-dyed T-shirts, this loyal longevity is a feat of the grace and goodness of both God and a good man.

I can't say it has always been a "dream within a dream." As a blended family, we merged with no idea of the work, hurt, and chaotic concerns that accompany wounded people. I, brand new in faith, thought that just being a Christian was enough to make it work.

We've scrapped and scraped and learned late. And have been covered by much grace.

But we have five solid children for whom I am thankful. And have each other to walk with through this next part of the journey.

My favorite hymn, sung thirty-two years ago on this day, To God Be the Glory, is still the theme song of my life.

Bob--always the same--frontward and backward! I have been given much.

Writing a Past You Won't Regret: Death By Living

A review of N. D. Wilson's Death By Living (And no, for those of you who know my penchant for murder mysteries, this is not one!)

You know you are in for a literary feast when the author dedicates his book to “My Lovely, in her eyes the sun is always on the water.” 

A master of imagery, Wilson pitches word pictures at us faster than balls in a batting cage as he challenges us, dares us, to “ride the roaring wave of providence with eager expectation.”Each page of Death By Living exudes the author’s sheer energy for living the life story he’s given and “writing a past he won’t regret.”

Looking square in the face of that day that is waiting for us that will be our last, Wilson reminds us we can’t “throw a diva fit backstage and force the understudy to take our place.” No, but we do have a choice as to how to live the days we're given—all of them—the good, the bad, and the ugly. We can go at them with an attitude that 1.The Lord gives and the Lord takes. Blessed be the name of the Lord or 2. Curse God and die—whining and moping and complaining.

Threaded with stories of his ancestors and their influence in his own life story, (because we are in fact, a sequel, not a standalone) Wilson shows us a life lived to die—empty, spilled out, overflowing with gratitude.

I appreciated the energy, the exuberance and the imagery. Panted a bit trying to keep up with him in places, but truly inspired to take a fresh look at the place I am in my own story.

Wilson is definitely a writer who “shows” more than he “tells,” which is terrific for us visual learners, but it you are the expository sort and learn in a linear way, you may have to concentrate to keep up with the life stories, parenthetical asides and visual feasts that all really do work together to proclaim by grace, we are "water made wine, dust made flesh."

May we "grab a hold, live hard and die grateful." 

Blessed and full-lived weekend, friends,

Marcia

 ( I received a courtesy copy of this book from the publisher through Booksneeze.)

Insecurity and the Overcomer

Although I had booked a room for myself at a conference I recently attended, shortly after I checked in I discovered I had an unwelcomed roommate. It wasn’t one of the seven hundred women who were gathering for She Speaks 2013, nor was it a confused hotel guest.

No, it was no other than a former acquaintance I thought I had kissed goodbye a while back.

Insecurity, with her attendant baggage of lies and self consciousness tried her best to tag along with me. She trailed me to meals and whispered things like, “Look at all those women eating together. You’re going to look so awkward sitting alone—or worse yet, barging in on a group’s conversation. Their average age must be thirty. Who’d want to pay attention to someone as old as you.”

I reminded her I was a daughter of the Lord and it was up to Him when and where He was finished living through me. Insecurity is a stubborn character though. She followed me into the lecture hall, but slunk to the back when Lysa Terkeurst opened with the admonition to “let your identity, not your insecurity lead in a situation.”

I thought I had lost her until I walked into my small critique group where I would give a five minute speech, along with the other eleven women. I’d always been confident about speaking before groups but was suddenly overcome with insecurity’s presence: “You’re just talking about something God did for you a long time ago. These women have ministries and lessons for today’s woman. “

And then her coup d’ etat: “Look at there! Mandisa is in your group! Sure hope no one wants you to sing. Now you’re really out of your league.”

Sure enough, there sat Mandisa. She said God was calling her to speak more and although she had no problem singing, she was actually nervous about delivering her speech to us!  

“Ha! I whispered to my lying shadow. “Even a stage savvy, gifted woman like her gets nervous. Our God has gifted me as well in different areas, and He can say what He wants through my mouth and my writing. I am His workmanship created in Christ Jesus for good works as much as every other woman in this room.”

As each woman began her message, the Lord took over and spoke healing, redemption, freedom, and grace. Insecurity moved to the back of the room but caught my attention after several powerful deliveries and mouthed, “They’re all so good.”

In turn, I stepped to the lectern, opened my mouth and let out my story of the mighty deeds of the Lord—timeless deeds regardless of age or season. Insecurity moved toward the door.

Mandisa stepped forward, did a few warmup jumping jacks to shake off her nerves and banged out her message with as much power as she does her songs. 

Then, wedged in there in between the bathroom and the microwave counter of the little suite we were in she gave us another gift and sang "You're an 

                             OVERCOMER"

I looked behind me in time to see the door close as Insecurity slithered out.

Yes, our hearts may race and our palms sweat but we are OVERCOMERS in Christ! May we set that ever before our eyes.

Blessings friends,

Marcia

Say Shibboleth

Hi there. I know it’s been a while. Sometimes you just have to go do a different thing. In fact, research on the brain shows that brain cells thrive on new activities. This is good news for those of us who grew up thinking we had a set number of cells that were irreplaceable. So for the past few weeks I have left off with thinking/writing words and have been playing with house plans.

I’m not an architect, nor am I comfortable with numbers and measurements, but I enjoy making houses, moving rooms around depending on light and traffic flow, and seeing how creatively and efficiently I can divide space into function and beauty. This is in hopes of building my final house this side of heaven one day. 

 Now that those brain cells have been satisfied, I've returned to my computer.I wanted to discuss some thoughts about being a church member and even whether or not you think it’s important to attend church,(inspired by Thomas Rainer’s book, I Am Church Member) but I will put that on hold til next week because you know how certain songs get stuck in your mind?  Well for days I've woken with this going through my head:

Say Shibboleth.

Say Shibboleth.

Say Shibboleth.

For those of you unfamiliar with the story, Shibboleth was the word the Gileadites used to ferret out the imposter Ephraimites who were trying to cross the Jordan. It was a simple test based on a quirk of speech. The Ephraimites couldn't pronounce sh and thus were snagged when they said Sibboleth.(Judges 12:6)

Many countries since have used linguistic passwords to identify friend from foe. According to Wikipedia, for example, American sentries in the Pacific arena used lollapalooza as a shibboleth for Japanese spies who mispronounced the letter L as R. Thus, a pronunciation of rorrapalooza was grounds for fire.

But the connection of Shibboleth in own mind has to do with the deception of the times, especially for those of us living in North America. We have been so blessed as a people that I think we have let down our guards and instead of testing the persuasions of culture, we are giving way to the rapidly approaching darkness that disguises as enlightenment and love and tolerance and inclusiveness.

I think of how John the Baptist lost his life holding God’s law up to Herod—it was unlawful to have his brother’s wife. Imagine what he would have done with same sex marriage, the dissolving of the family, and the abandonment of our children to sexual exploitation (see the Chuck Colson Center for Christian Worldview.)

Jesus not only warns us there will be false prophets and deception in our midst, but He exhorts us to not get weary, to run with endurance. To not let the popular and easy persuade our affections. I suspect weariness is as much a danger as lack of discernment.

We not only need

to apply the Shibboleth test to the confusions of culture—clarify our own understanding of a biblical worldview.) Is Jesus Lord in this situation? Is it according to the will of the Father?

But also

to practice it in the daily little things so we are strong in the big ones: 

Shibboleth—Jesus is Lord of my today, of my plain ordinary and potentially boring routines. I will present them as “holy habits of the eternal” (Richard Foster) and offer them up instead of believing they don’t matter or have eternal consequences.

Shibboleth—Immanuel, God with us, here and now. Even if I don’t see, hear, feel Him.

Shibboleth—I set my marker on the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen because I belong to The I Am, with whom nothing is impossible. Nothing. Not even this stinking hard, seemingly impossible situation.

Say Shibboleth. Jesus is indeed my Lord.

Blessings friends. I'm off to the She Speaks Conference this weekend. Looking to get refreshed and rekindled and come back with something to pass on to you.

Marcia

Parenting: A Time to Hover and a Time To Pray

 

The term helicopter parent wasn't widely used until around the time our last child was in college.  Even if I had been aware of the label, I don’t think I would have assigned it to myself. No, I think of myself more as a concerned parent –one with long-distance drone strike capabilities.

Just because the kids grow up, get degrees, or hold jobs doesn't mean they don’t need a bit of maternal wisdom now and then. Like the time President Bush came to town to speak at a local university.

Our son was on the Secret Service advance detail responsible for sweeping the area and securing the route.

I knew he’d been highly trained and knew what to look for, but I, on other hand, lived here. Not wanting any mishap on my son’s watch, I took it upon myself to drive to Furman, making note of the dangers along the route, as well as the layout of the campus itself.

I called my son with my findings. “It’s a long way from the airport to the campus. I don’t see how you can keep it safe.”

“We know what to do, Mom.”

He tried to reassure me, but then visions of rubber-suited scuba terrorists emerging from the shallow depths of the lake I discovered on campus prompted another warning. “Did you know there’s a lake not far from the field where he will be speaking?”

“Really,” he said. “We’ll make sure we look into it.”

Satisfied that I had done what I could to help my secret agent son keep the President safe, and because I was not a helicopter parent, I refrained from any more patrols. (Although it wasn't until Air Force One pulled up its wheels and headed on to the next town that I was able to breathe easily.)

No, a mother’s work is never done.

Recently our daughter sat for her personal trainer certification exam.  She does have a business degree and is quite capable of studying, but I thought I’d help drill her the last few days before the test.

“Gastrocnemius,” I said. “Sounds like it comes from Latin. Must have something to do with the stomach.”

“It’s your calf, Mom.”

“Okay, I see you don’t need my tips for memorizing muscles, but I do know how to read between the lines for what they’ll test on. Make sure you know all about the Overhead Squat.”

On the day of the exam, I felt prompted to go with her. Helicoptering? Or Lord? I dropped her at the door and decided to wait in the parking lot for a few minutes. About ten minutes later, she emerged in tears. Of all the different exams happening at the same time(cosmetology, dental, etc.) her computer program was the only one that wasn’t working. Every time she logged on, it crashed.

The proctor told her if the IT tech couldn’t fix it, she would have to reschedule—possibly months out. And besides, proctor lady advised, she shouldn’t take it now that she was so upset.

Although I wanted to march right in there and deploy my drone strike, I stayed in the car and did battle in prayer.  

I was so frustrated with the Lord because we already had prayed so much. I was ticked with the enemy in case he was trying to thwart her success, and I was determined to keep at it until the Lord gave me some peace. A half hour passed and she hadn’t come back out, so I assumed they had gotten the program to work.

Still anxious, I needed a specific word, but any word from my Bible was far better than the ones that were in my mind. I began a desperate random reading from a psalm. 

And there it was.

That certain descriptor I’ve used much in the past for prayer for my daughter. It is a word only God knows I use in reference to her. Smack dab in the middle of a psalm about the God of the sanctuary was the assurance of prosperity, and I knew all was well.

Convinced she would pass, I picked up my Writers Digest and enjoyed the wait.

She got in the car and flashed her results: now a certified personal trainer. She said the proctor was so happy when her test results came up on the screen that she hugged her.

After all the exuberant congratulations, I asked,” Were there many questions on the Overhead Squat?”

“Yes, lots! Thank God you went over them with me.”

Ah, . . . A time for prayer.

And a time to hover.  

Blessings of joy and assurance of His care over your children.

Marcia

Butling On The Rise

I couldn't resist using that unfamiliar word. Butling. Right out of Downton Abbey. Except for my summers as a live-in sitter and a brief stint as a house cleaner in San Francisco, I have never butled nor been butled.

But according to an article from Business Week, butling is on the rise on all sides of the sea. The rich will be served, and academies that teach you how to serve professionally are thriving.

Although learning the tricks of the trade (dishwashing liquid for cuffs and collars!) is important, the website of The International Butler Academy, advises that success has a much to do with attitude and character as it does with skill: “You must be willing to put another person’s wishes before your own, and do so with a genuine wish to be of service.”

The academy lets you test that attitude and learn those skills in real-life scenarios experienced in a real castle.

 Learning to be a servant. Hands on.

Sounds like the approach of another servant school I know. One to which I have gained entrance: the Lord’s Academy of Butling and Household Management.

I was, of course, familiar with the importance of being a servant. I knew how the Lord modeled it for us, how He came not to be served, but to serve. I thought I got it.(Although if you read my book, Call of a Coward, you’ll remember I served in lots of ways, but when the kids came asking for my precious chocolate, I did have to slug it out with the proverbial devil on one shoulder and angel on the other.)

It’s one thing to gush over the text book version and quite another to apply it to life, as my current hands-on opportunity to serve my elderly in-law is revealing. Although I do wish to be of service, the “putting another person’s wishes before my own,” isn’t flowing out of me as smoothly as I hoped.

I’d prefer to serve on my own time, in my own way.

My father-in-law’s needs are so few, thank God, but the ones he has are hitting where it hurts, and the Lord isn’t let me move on up from footman status until I relinquish going-through-the-actions-but keeping-a self-will.

I know it’s the Lord because nine time out of ten, when my husband isn’t here my f-i-l sleeps til late morning, or even noon. But when I am here, he is up, dressed, ready for breakfast and wanting to know, “what’s on the program?” by 8:30 or 9:00. It is so predictable I know it’s a lesson for me.

And the lesson isn't in the details of household management. No, making oatmeal or coming up with some errands, whether I have any or not, so Pa can get out, or sitting awhile doing crosswords with him isn't difficult. It’s the invasion into my right to my own time that stirs up the inner murmurings. My reluctance to open my hands and let my rights slip through.

Jesus really has a way of getting to the heart of things, doesn't He?

I think of looking to the Lord and doing the things He leads me to as so visually presented in Psalm 123:                                                                                                                                                                                                          

As the eyes of servants look to the hand of their master, as the eyes of a maidservant to the hand of her mistress, So our eyes look to the LORD our God.                                                         

But service is not just in doing the things—there’s this part also: Serve the LORD with gladness.—Psalm 100. And that’s the part He’s really after.

Welcome to the International Academy of Butling for the Lord where the instructor is merciful, and graceful, and ever-patient.

Blessings dear ones whichever course you are in. Be assured—He will perfect that which concerns you!                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

Marcia

                                                                                      

Finding Home: How Does Your House Reflect You?

I know a person’s home reflects as much about her tastes as it does her place along her journey, but I was hard-pressed to imagine the whimsy that inspired this design. 

I felt as though we had kayaked into a nursery rhyme. “There was an old woman who lived in a shoe. She had so many children she didn't know what to do. . .  Peter, Peter pumpkin eater, had a wife and couldn't keep her. He put her in a pumpkin shell . . . ”  

As we paddled deeper into the cove, I imagined poking the bulging side with a paddle and watching it explode, or unseating it from its foundation and seeing it float away, or maybe bounce along the bank and bob along the water.

There’s no end to the creative endeavors people put into their homes. A quick search of unusual homes offers the following sample:

For the extreme prepper, who still wants the amenities of luxury living, there is the Zombie- proof concrete house, (complete with indoor swimming pool)that folds up into an impenetrable box, the only entrance is over a drawbridge.

For the ocean lover—a seashell house.

For the hermit—a house on a rock.

And even a home for when you feel like “climbing a wall.”

Making home digs deep into the things we value. Whether playful or peaceful, bulging at the seams with friends and family, or silent and austere with meditation, our homes, in part, enable us to use the gifts we have been given.

I've discovered being an HGTV (House Hunters International, yes!) junkie (and yes, I did enter the Dream House contest) helps me to define the things that are important to me in a house at this stage of my journey. (I know, I know. Didn't we just finish renovating a house?) But my husband and I think we have one more in us.

And so, we pack up my father-in-law and scour the countryside for properties. At the end of the day we say: “Okay, we need to eliminate one. Which one will it be?”  Our little game helps us to stay on track, to keep refining and redefining what we've come to value—peace, serenity, and beauty.

Sometimes I feel guilty about enjoying these pleasures.  But when I have guests and they are able to sit by the pool, surrounded by bird-song filled trees, shed their tensions and soak in beauty, I know it is the gift I have been given.

So come on by. Once you make it past the initial canine chaos at the front door, I guarantee a relaxing afternoon. And maybe, if that HGTV van comes along with my winnings—we’ll move on over lakeside!

How about you? What do you like in a house?  How does your home reflect the place you are in life? Do you think the different places you've lived have been representative of your journey and gifts?

And don’t you wonder just what that final place is going to look like?—the one whose architect and builder is God!

Habit or Humor?

Ever since my ninety-three-year-old father-in-law moved in with us a few months back, I've been witness to the mysteries of memory and habit.

 Although the memory of daily doings sticks to him as loosely as a dandelion puff on a breeze, once he has repeated an action several times it becomes entrenched in his mind. He even continues to do the things here at our house that he used to do when he lived on his own—like rinse out his cup as soon as he’s finished, turn off the light every time he gets up, and shut doors and drawers.

I am thankful for this power of patterned behavior. It helps him to function very well even if he doesn't remember what he had for breakfast twenty minutes earlier. The problem is—how to reprogram some of those routines that don’t work so well in my own house.

For example, I always keep open the door of my Shaker jelly cupboard where I have my random collection of family forget-me-nots.  One day, I walked by and saw it closed. I opened it.

Two days later, there it was shut up tight as Buckingham guard. I opened it.

Now the first time something unusual happens, you might think nothing of it. The second time it happens, you question yourself—am I forgetting whether or not I did this? The third time it happens you cast about for suspects. Pa was high on my list but I never caught him doing it.

Finally one night my husband saw Pa shuffle by, stop, shut the door and continue on his way to his chair.

The next time he walked by the cupboard I intercepted him. “Pa, do you see this door?”

He stared at it as though I were the peculiar one. “Yeah, what about it?”

“It’s open,” I say. “I like it open, but you keep closing it. You had me worried. I thought I had a ghost!”

“I’ll never close it again,” he declared. Smiling all the way to his chair.

Two days later. . .              

P.S. One of the ten books in my June pile was The Power of Habit by Charles Duhigg. Interesting insights on habits and how to change them. Duhigg covers a wide range of subjects as examples—from business and advertising, to addiction to football coaching techniques. He acknowledges the power of belief in changing our response to habits, albeit not necessarily a belief in God,although we know He is the One who sets the prisoners free.

Still, worth your while if interested in changing habits. (Not sure about Pa’s!)

Blessings abundant this middle week of June which includes National Hug Holiday, Loving Day, Kitchen Klutzes of American Day, Flag Day, and National Hollerin' Contest Day, among other who-would-have thought-occasions!

 Marcia