Our Crock-Pot is the casualty of a church dinner, its three legs now reduced to two that one rubber appendage knocked away by some helpful Lutheran brother just not paying attention. We swept the house, as the parable says, looking for the lost leg. But no luck. These things happen. Yet long before we were Lutheran we were Baptist, and Baptists are savers and scrimpers and make-doers. So we leaned on our roots and prosthetized with the lid of a candle from Bath & Body Works to shore it up level for dishes like beef bourguignon, which would never show up at a Baptist or Lutheran potluck (too decadent) but is a frequent recipe now in our house because beyond the denominations of men the sons and daughters of God must stay true to their nature: we are new-wine-skinners soldiering on in the war for joy.