As of last Friday, it takes two fingers to count my daughters who are engaged. Yes…

Kim is officially engaged to Mr. Kevin Lee.

I am not kidding. It is official. As you can see by the picture at their celebratory Red Lobster dinner, Kim has a ring and everything. (“Everything” is, in this case, a date — which is August 29.)

The proposal took place in late afternoon on a Corpus Christi beach, under the watchful eye of soaring seagulls and the applause of crashing waves. Kevin put one knee down in shallow water to ask for her hand. “Of course, I said ‘Yes,’ ” said Kim. “He knew I would. How could anybody be nervous about it when they know I’m going to say ‘Yes’?”

Wait a minute. A beach? In March? Well, providence provided a 90+ degree day. What can you say?

Mike got a text message picture soon thereafter, and Sherry further confirmation a bit later.

For Kevin’s mother, the news took a more roundabout route. True, Kevin called her personally, but he started out with a different story. “Mom,” he said, “it didn’t turn out quite like I planned. She said ‘No.’ ” His mother did just what mothers are supposed to do. She commiserated. Then he sprang the truth on her.

When they left here earlier today, they were on their way to stop by and visit his mother. At that point, we suspect she will do the other things mothers are supposed do to when their children make their hearts stop beating. She might kill him.

Kim and Kevin should have many bright days before them.

May the sea symbolize their marriage to come: Vast in its horizons, ceaseless in its opportunities, seasoned in its saltiness, and created for a purpose by its Maker.

See the Web site.

See the ads go.

Change, ads, change.

But change to something that makes sense, OK?

These ads are supposed to be “content-sensitive.” That is, the marvelous search engine ad servers read the Web page, do an instant analysis, and send an ad they think will appeal to a reader of that page.

It is truly remarkable that such a thing might happen. It’s doubly remarkable that it works so well, so often.

But once in a while there’s a hitch in the system. Witness this delightful ad, which appeared recently on one of the Fox News sites (yellow highlighting added):

Does that ad miss the mark, or what?

It lines up with the literal root of a word, but it misses the heart of the message. Badly.

I’m thinking that sounds familiar. It sounds like me.

Literally, I can do the right thing. My external behavior is picture-perfect. But my attitudes, my motives, even my when-you’re-not-looking behavior show up poorly. Inside, I’m missing the heart of the message. I’m on the right page, but I’m a pretender.

In Matthew 5, Jesus says the Pharisees are pretenders, too. They are teaching people how to be like this ad: “Line up with the right letters, in the right order, and you’re good to go.” But Jesus calls their bluff. Their say-so doesn’t make it so.

They have a page where they should be, but it’s not the one they’re on. It takes somebody outside our page to tell us that.

Christ knows toxic when He sees it. And He points out that we can only pretend to cleanse ourselves or our world. When it comes to toxic assets, we aren’t cleansers. We’re carriers.

When son Paul married Liz, her daughter Hannah gained a father. Mostly. To watch the family interact — to see Hannah regard Paul, and Paul regard Hannah — they were father-daughter in every way.

But under the surface, where the law reigns, the situation was different. Because he wasn’t Hannah’s biological father, his legal responsibilities were slightly tempered and his rights weren’t as absolute. As evidence, she still wore her previous last name.

All that changed Tuesday morning, when Paul’s adoption of Hannah was officially pronounced by the court. Under oath, Paul became her real father, accepting the irrevocable duties that come with that high office. As such, Hannah became especially chosen by Paul. She became his daughter and his legal heir. It was a marvelous occasion, followed by a justifiably marvelous celebration at Paul and Liz’s apartment!

When Hannah goes to school, or church, or just introduces herself to anybody anywhere (which she is rather prone to do), she will no longer need to explain why everybody in her family is named Branch but she. She is a Branch — marked with the name that confirms her membership in the family.

Of course, there is much to celebrate, simply in the merits of this moment. But also what a reminder of our own adoption as believers in Christ. In fact (and this should touch a believer’s heart), Jesus Himself was adopted, by one who played no role in His conception, Joseph.

In turn, we are adopted into God’s family. We have become His children. We hold an irrevocable promise as heirs.

Hannah’s adoption reminds me of that, so that the adoption process itself glorifies God. And my adoption by God brings new meaning to the precious process by which Hannah has been adopted — chosen and received by another person, whose love extends far beyond what she can even imagine at this point.

Congratulations, Hannah! Congratulations, Paul and Liz!

It’s a high calling, and worthy of your efforts. Rejoice and be glad!

When Paul ordered a new joke book through his school, he was eager to try it out.

“Hey, Dad,” he said. “Do you want to hear the joke about the mushroom?”

“Yeah!” chimed in Kim. “Tell him the joke about the mushroom!”

Paul turned to the right page and read, very deliberately, “What kind of room can nobody go into?”

OK, we’ll bite. What kind? Paul squealed with delight.

“A mushroom!”

So there you have it: The Mushroom Principle.

As our family gets larger, and the kids’ social lives get more complex, we look for ways to cope. The Mushroom Principle has become one way.

According to the Mushroom Principle, the punchline sometimes comes first.

If we don’t know why certain things happen the way they do — if they make no sense — then maybe they’re just the punchline to a story that’s unfolding. Sure enough, the biggest catastrophes often turn out to be the things we laugh about the hardest later on.
Right, Sherry?

Well, sometimes it’s much later.

(From our 1991 family newsletter. I think the Mushroom Principle still applies today, don’t you?)

When it comes to this world, I’d give God an F. Make that four F’s.

This morning, at the intersection between a night’s sleep and the morning’s waking, my mind began to turn over the immensity of God’s work in creation.

“In the beginning…” Wait a minute. Genesis begins with God’s foundation of a realm where He would eventually place man. But God had no beginning. He just started the story there because it’s what He chose to show us.

Before the beginning, God had a thought. More accurately, He had the fullness of the thing that we experience as only a shadow — the thing we would call a “thought.” (For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the LORD. Isaiah 55:8)

In the fullness of his thinking and imagination, God pictured the entirety of our universe perfectly, and He did so all at once. At least that’s the way I imagine a God-Who-Can-Do-All doing it. If it wasn’t that way, it was an even better way. He only does things the best way with the best outcomes. (And God saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good. Gen 1:31)

Here’s something I hadn’t pondered before:

Not only did God create all the things we can discover, and all the things too big to know, and all the things so small they are forever hidden…

Not only did God create all things with infinite diversity and variety…

Not only did God create things physical, things spiritual, and even the idea that we could have an idea…

He created nothing without giving it a function. (The LORD has made everything for its purpose, even the wicked for the day of trouble. Proverbs 16:4)

Every single thing now — or in the past from the beginning, or in the future to the infinity of all being — bears a particular assignment from God, a purpose to fulfill. All of creation somehow cooperates with all other parts, even in its broken state. Beyond that, each thing bears an assignment common to all, to bring God glory. (Yours, O LORD, is the greatness and the power and the glory and the victory and the majesty, for all that is in the heavens and in the earth is yours. Yours is the kingdom, O LORD, and you are exalted as head above all. 1 Chronicles 29:11)

Just one example, rain. By His say-so, the water we can’t live without is distributed in a way so creative that only God could have imagined it. He moves it unevenly, creating extremes of environment so He can showcase an even broader variety of animate and inanimate being. Different terrains. It floats in pools. It cuts across the landscape to reveal wonders beneath the earth’s surface. In the storm, He shouts His presence. (Keep listening to the thunder of his voice and the rumbling that comes from his mouth. Job 37:2)

God’s mind saw it all in a flash.

Before the beginning, He saw function to all things.

Then He fashioned all things. In the beginning there was nothing, then there was something. His thing.

When all things rebelled, as He foreknew (He ordained it as part of their function), He made Himself to be their source of freedom.

And He did (does!) all things for the sake of celebrating the very highest good possible — His glory, His fame.

Four F’s, perfectly imagined and executed.

I used a camera in church today. (Please don’t ask. And I hope you ignored that big bang in the sound area at the back of the church.)

I left the camera on my seat for a while after church, and my wife later picked it up.

When I unloaded the pictures this evening, it was apparent that somebody had helped himself to the camera and intruded his likeness among my photographs.

Here’s where you come in. Can you help me determine who this is?

I am posting his photo below, in the form of a jigsaw puzzle. Click [Create Puzzle], and see how fast you can put him back together.

Then comment below. Who is this intruder?

I recently read an important research finding that explains how belly button lint comes to be accumulated in the… well, the belly button.

You can read about it here: http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,504067,00.html .

But as the story says, “So now that we know how it forms, the next question is — why?”

Why, indeed.

I am a great fan of brainstorming and group thinking. In brainstorming, people present every possible idea they can think of. There are no “bad ideas” at the brainstorming stage.

Are you ready to brainstorm? I hope so.

Just comment below with your theory: “Why did God create belly button lint?”

For every creative idea, I’ll donate another $1 to the Raimi Adoption Fund. (P.S. If we keep this up, I’m going to have to find a sponsor for these little events. If you’re a potential sponsor, e-mail me at mbra...@knowsowgrow.com.)

This lady is getting under my skin. Again. Again. Again.

She’s trying to poison me. On purpose.

Under the euphenism of “allergy testing,” she has spent all day disrupting the happy enclosure of my epidermis with a syringe. Her goal is to make little red circles that grow… I think. After my whole upper arm is marked by these shapes, I’m feeling an intense desire to go hunt buffalo, or mount a Harley.

At the moment, I’m getting high marks in “weed mix 1″ and “ragweed.” This helps my self-esteem, because earlier in the day I was identified as “boring” due to my lack of response to their serums.

Several of us — allergy mates, as it were — are confined together this day in a single room. For obvious reasons, they don’t allow pets in here, but the room would fit in perfectly at a vet’s office. The floors *and walls* are tile squares, and the place you sit while they administer the toxic material is cold metal. Even the ceiling is shiny, comprised of metal sheets. All the room lacks to be vet-worthy is the clitter-clatter of little claws on the hard surfaces.

Sitting against the walls of starkness, we are called one by one to mount the metal pedestal and endurejoy the injections. She Who Administers The Shots has eyes that light up when your raised sleeve indicates a reaction. I think it validates her existence.

I go back next Friday for more. Maybe more after that, who knows? Stay tuned. I may be allergic to you.

(Well, maybe it’s not that bad. Actually, she’s nice. They’re all nice. ALL RIGHT ALREADY. THEY’RE ALL NICE. EVEN THE OTHER PATIENTS ARE NICE, *OK?*)

Still, I may be allergic to you. I’ll let you know.