The Pros and Cons of Home Education

"The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence."  We mean, of course, to encourage someone pondering a major change not to act carelessly.  The idiom seems insufficient, though, in its failure to appreciate two truths.  First, that sometimes the grass, or at least patches of it, on the other side of the fence really is greener.  Second, that the weeds and thorns and such on this side of the fence really are bothersome.  A more accurate, though less succinct, piece of advice might be, "Sure, there are some dazzlingly verdant patches of grass over there, but there are also thorns the likes of which you've never imagined, and your chances of avoiding them are slim to none, so you'd better believe that greener grass is worth its accompanying pain before you jump the fence."

The reality is that just about every situation in which we might possibly find ourselves - or find ourselves pondering jumping into - is filled with good and bad, and we have to weigh those pros and cons carefully.  Choosing one side over the other eliminates neither that side's disadvantages nor the losing side's advantages.  We should be confident enough in our choice to acknowledge that it isn't perfect, and gracious enough in our bearing to admit the other side's clear advantage in certain areas.  At the same time, we need not apologize for the greenness of our position.

This is how I view our decision to educate our children at home.  In the beginning, we did not plan to make a lifestyle of home education.  We spoke casually of taking it a year at a time, probably home schooling through first or second grade, and then sending them to school.  Now, as we prepare to begin fourth grade and add a third student to our home school (Luke remains an active observer, though not of official "student" status), I honestly don't know if our children will ever attend traditional school.  I anticipate co-ops, online courses, and dual enrollment, but sending them out with a backpack and bag lunch in the morning and welcoming them home again just in time for their afternoon snack...  It wouldn't be the end of the world by any stretch, but it's hard to imagine.  I love what we do for reasons too numerous to count, and I don't really want to do things differently if we don't have to.  I wondered, as Elisabeth graduated from play school a couple weeks ago, if that would be our family's only graduation till college.  (Yes, they have home school graduations, but these are extra, not standard, not expected).

Anyhow, I do not know what the future holds and maintain a philosophy of taking it a year, a month, a week, a day at a time.  God alone knows if the day will come when we feel compelled or inspired to send our children off to school, and God alone knows when that day will come.  In the hypothetical meantime, every spring and at various times during the year when we struggle to determine what is best for a particular child and for the family as a whole, I carefully weigh our options.  There are advantages and disadvantages both to traditional school and to home education.  Part of the educating-our-children gig is deciding which option's advantages more soundly trump its disadvantages.  It won't be the same for every family, or even every child.  You might think something I count as a strength of  home education is a weakness.  That's fine.  Your list of pros and cons, and the weight you assign to each of them, will direct how you educate your child.  Mine will guide me.  We don't have to agree.  I just hope we can give each other credit for doing our best on whichever side of the fence we choose to stand.

I want to say, before I continue, that any disadvantages of traditional schooling that I point out in the following paragraphs are not meant to disparage traditional schooling, only to point out what I see as disadvantages to the system.  In and of themselves, I don't think they would prevent me from sending my children to school.  The disadvantages of traditional school, while they at times make me thankful that we home school, are not the reasons we home school.  The advantages of homeschool are why we do what we do.

Education is important.  Period.  Given the choice between school and no school, school would win hands down. But when home school comes to our family's ring, traditional school bows out of the fight until such time we deem home school worn out and no longer useful.  I haven't been tested in this conviction, but I hope that if traditional school is ever our best or only option, I will send my children with confidence and faith.  Because there are great teachers out there, some of whom I am genuinely sad not to have the opportunity to call my kids' teachers.  And because I know many bright, creative, wonderful children who thrive in both private and public schools, even supposedly subpar public schools.  And because there are many aspects of the school setting that I think would greatly benefit my children...  if only we weren't so drawn to home education.

But we are drawn to home education.  It isn't perfect, as my list of cons will show, but its advantages thus far have outweighed its disadvantages - for our children and our family, but clearly not for every child and every family.  Please understand that these are not lists of why we don't send our children to school and why we do home school.  They are simply things I have come to see as disadvantages and advantages of home schooling.  None of them alone is a deal breaker or maker.  Rather, it is the sum of these and many, many more pros and cons plus a good dose of prayer that have led us to the belief that home education is the best choice for our family for the present time and foreseeable future.  I have intentionally left out the areas of faith and academics because my opinions on those matters are too lengthy and complicated for this particular format - and because I believe that these issues depend more upon parental priorities than upon the school environment or lack thereof.  If parents care about faith and academics, they will nurture their children's hearts and minds whether they send them to school or teach them at home.  But that's another subject, and so without further ado, the lists to which my title alludes...


CONS

1.  Home Education limits social interaction.  Yes, I said it.  I'm not afraid to mention the "S" word, nor to admit that socialization is a concern.  For me, it's a relatively minor concern, but it does bother me a bit that my children's social circle is as limited as it is.  Growing up in Palm Beach County, Florida, diversity was unavoidable.  I had several friends for whom English was a second language and was exposed to various aspects of their native cultures as I visited in their homes.  I spent time with people from various cultures and family structures and people of various religious beliefs and socioeconomic standings.  Here in our small Southern town, diversity is a little harder to come by, especially when our social circle is narrowed down slightly by our choice to home school.  I'm not saying everyone we know is just like us, but in the grand scheme of things, most of our friends are pretty similar to us.  Even if they don't home school, they hold similar values and are of similar backgrounds and views.  There aren't many opportunities for heated debate or gross misunderstanding.  I'm sure that if the kids were in school, they would meet more people more different from them.  Ultimately, they would learn that a lot of those who are "different" are just like us, after all.  That's a good lesson, one I hope our children don't miss out on.


2.  Home Education may lack structure.  If I told you what time we get going some mornings, you'd either think home schoolers are lazy or want to home school yourself.  We get up when we get up, and get going when we get going.  We complete our work, and a lot of it at that, but our daily schedule can be pretty... undisciplined.  It's not a good thing, I know, but I won't apologize for it.  It's something we have to work on, something I hope will improve year by year as the little ones get older, the older ones grow more independent, and I remember what a full night of sleep is.  There are days when I wonder how my children, when grown, will ever be able to get up in the morning and get to work on time.  We're just not good at mornings.  Sometimes I think school, specifically its requirements to be there on time, to follow directions exactly, and to complete assignments on time - would benefit my children enormously.


3.  Home Education requires one to be with her children all day.  I'm not kidding.  All day, folks.  I love my children.  I love them more than life itself.  But when life requires me to, I don't know... sit on the toilet, sometimes there aren't enough locks in the world to make me feel safe from invasion.  Sometimes, there isn't enough coffee in the world to make me feel energized enough to keep up with the constant demands and desires of four lively children.  Sometimes, there isn't enough chocolate in the world to comfort me when the day just won't end.  Sometimes, the most articulate prayer I can utter is, "Dear God, help me through this day!"  Home schooling is intense.  The children have classes and clubs here and there, and they play outside and in their rooms, but I am rarely alone.  Most of my rare solitude is of the sort that interruption constantly threatens.


4.  Home Education is emotionally draining...  for the reasons mentioned in the last paragraph, as well as for the burden of being your dearly loved children's primary educator and preparer for the future.  I think I speak for most home educating mothers when I say that we pour more time, energy, thought, and emotion into home schooling than we have into almost anything else we've done.  We aren't just preparing young people for their futures, we are preparing our own dear babies.  It is a huge effort, and hugely drains every resource we possess.  And we don't always have many opportunities to refuel, again for the reasons mentioned in the previous paragraph.  We must constantly remind ourselves of our priorities and constantly turn to God for the strength to stick to those priorities.  Otherwise, we end up a mess, as I can personally testify.  (As could my husband and children, I'm sure...)


5.  Home Education is costly.  Every year, when I plan out the coming year's curriculum, I shudder as I add up the costs of our books and supplies.  Every year, the number gets a bit higher.  I cringe when I hit the "PAY NOW" button.  Home education is not cheap.  Most home school families rely on one income, further increasing the financial costs of home education, as the family income is not bolstered by the teaching parent (usually Mom).

PROS

1.  Home Education limits social interaction.  As much as I would like to broaden my children's social horizons, I admit that I am thankful for a few things to which they are not exposed.  For example, I am more than okay with my kids not taking Sex Ed on the playground from kindergardeners who know more about sex than I do and nothing about healthy, stable relationships.  I'm also more than okay having my children at home when I hear that a fourth grader stabbed a classmate in the bathroom of one of our local schools this spring.  I don't hear of such things or remember the K4 class I taught in which one child climbed on top of another and a third came to tell me, "They's hunching...  You know, doin' the nasty!" without a small sigh of relief that we don't have to deal with those things now.  I don't want to keep sex and violence from my children.  They have to know that this stuff exists.  I just prefer introducing these subjects at the appropriate ages and in the appropriate contexts.  I also like knowing their friends and their friends' parents.  I like that we are friends with entire families because we don't just invite "a" friend over.  We invite a friend and all of his siblings and his mother, too.  Our kids learn to play with children of various ages, boy or girl, and to look out for the younger ones in the group.  No one cares what anyone else is wearing or what book they're reading or if they can't even read.  

2.  Home Education allows great freedom.  While I struggle with our very loosely structured lifestyle, I am thankful for the flexibility we have as home schoolers.  We can visit museums on off days, thus avoiding unpleasant crowds and allowing us to enjoy the exhibits longer and more fully.  We can sleep in when soccer games keep us out till nine or ten or when bad dreams wake a child in the middle of the night.  We can start school late when someone wakes up out of sorts.  We can cancel school when everyone is worn out - or when the spring makes its first glorious appearance.  We can take days off to visit family and friends.  We can start school in June, homeschooling through the stiflingly hot months of July and August, and finishing in time to enjoy the nicer weather of April and May.  Making our own schedule is great.


3.  Home Education allows one to be with her children all day.  There are so many things I would miss if my children were in school.  Today, my daughter asked, "How do you write, 'My mom is my friend?'  How do you write, "My mom is my best buddy?'"  I am so glad I was there to hear her ask those precious questions with my own ears.  I am equally glad that I got to tell her.  I love teaching my children new things, guiding them through the process of discovering the new worlds of reading, writing, math, art, science, history...  All of it!  And I love discussing with them what they have learned, hearing their thoughts and watching them connect information and ideas together in their own unique ways.  I love the sometimes surprising, sometimes silly, sometimes deep questions they ask - and the challenge of answering these questions honestly and adequately.  Sometimes their thoughts and questions are so disconnected from what we have been talking about at the moment that, had I not been with them through the entire day (or week or month or year), I might not know what they are talking about.  But I have been with them, and if I reach far enough into my memory, we can have lovely conversations about how something we studied months ago relates to what we studied yesterday.  I also see the daily and continuing personal struggles - with their defeats and triumphs - each child has.  Parents who don't home school see these things, too, but being with them all day, every day provides more time, and therefore more opportunity, to observe these things.  Sometimes I neglect to take full advantage of my added opportunity to observe, appreciate, and guide my children, but I have it and I try not to take it for granted.


4.  Home Education is emotionally exhilarating.  Just as in Point 4 on the CONS list, I directed you to Point 3, so now I point to the above point to explain why home education is emotionally exhilarating.  I get to do so much with my children!  I get to watch them make connections and conquer skills they once considered impossible!  I get to share with them in the victories of a finished math lesson, a book read, a conflict resolved, and a heartache relieved.  All the struggles and sacrifices and doubts pale in comparison with the amazing joy of knowing I have been present with my children, consciously and positively sharing in the good and the bad.


5.  Home Education is worth the cost.  When you add up the financial cost of home education, it seems like a lot.  When you compare it to the cost of private school, it isn't so daunting.   For what it will cost us to home school three children, we could put two of them in private school, but they could only stay there for a month.  My preliminary estimate for school books for next year - when I will be teaching three children - is about equal to what we paid to send Elisabeth to play school three mornings a week this past year.  In the grand scheme of things, it's not a bad deal.  Each of my children will receive an broad education tailor-made to suit his or her needs, abilities, and interests.  They and I will struggle through the many challenges of home education, and by God's grace, we will learn and grow.  The coming year will challenge my patience and sanity at times, but I trust that both will remain intact.  I trust that I will learn and grow as much as my children, and that when the year ends, we will all be a little better off than we are now.  As a picture of our past year emerges through the settling dust of many failures and victories, I see a year in which our family struggled and strove, a year in which we covered a lot of information and learned a few secrets of who we are and how we function as individuals and as a family.  If we take Mary Sheedy Kurcinka's words as our motto, "Progress not perfection," we have indeed had a great year.  It has been worth the cost on every level.

There are disadvantages to home education, and I am glad to have reminded myself of them today.  Facing the disadvantages serves as a reminder to take steps to avoid or minimize their effects.  That, however, is an entirely different post...  This one, my friends, is more than long enough!

What the Dickens Does She See in HIM?

Now, now...  Don't get too excited.  I'm not going to explain the mystery of how Geoff snatched such an amazingly wonderful bride.  ;)  I'm actually going to talk about, um, Dickens.  (And an uncomfortable hush descends upon us, broken only by the sounds of the shuffling feet of those close enough to the door to make a break...)


It may be my imagination, but Dickens just doesn't seem to be anyone's favorite topic.  I get it.  I really do.  Dickens is overly dramatic, his stories filled with a ridiculous number of outlandish coincidences.  Honestly, the number of crossed and recrossed paths and chance meetings in A Tale of Two Cities is a bit of a stretch for the imagination.  Many of his characters seem more like caricatures than characters, having one trait exaggerated about all others to a degree lesser authors might not dare attempt.  From spectral old Miss Havisham to angelic Lucie Manette, with eccentric Mr. Jarndyce in the middle, Dickens creates characters who, frankly, are a bit nauseating in the purity of their wretchedness, perfection, and -forgive my lack of eloquence - weirdness.

And then there is Dickens's writing style.  His books can be really hard to get into.  It took me two tries to get past the first few pages of Bleak House and there are pages in A Tale of Two Cities describing Monseigneur in the City, London streets, and swelling floods of raging French peasants that I trudged through, vaguely comprehending what I read.  His sentences, even in more interesting passages, are often so complex, poetic, and long as to justify a reread.

But I like Dickens.  Some of his characters are predictable in their dominant traits, but there are characters worthy of admiration for the growth and changes they undergo and for the sacrifices they make.  Who doesn't cry over Sydney Carton, after all?  (If you don't know who he is, go check out A Tale of Two Cities.  Even if you have to skip the chapters on Monseigneur in the City, and I wouldn't blame you if you did, it's well worth reading!) I love characters who come to life on the page, and all of Dickens's characters, even the slightly ridiculous, have life written into them.  These people, though exaggerated, seem real.  They speak, act, think like real people.  Sometimes like crazy real people, but real people nonetheless.  And truth be told, real people can be as ridiculous as Dickens's characters...

As can the plots of real life.  Dickens's plots are twisted and tangled, with coincidences galore.  Through it all is a thread of purpose, as events and meetings seem to lead to a predetermined end.  Life is the same - crazy and confused, with apparently random meetings and chance events, but through it all, the hand of God guides, directs, and orchestrates.  Life is not so random as we might think, nor Dickens's plot as unrealistic.

So I can forgive Dickens for creating bizarre characters and unlikely plots.  Real people and real life are no less bizarre, no less unlikely.  Besides, when you get through all the shifty London streets and floods of French peasants, Dickens writes intriguing tales.

I like Dickens for the reasons above, but mainly because he isn't easy to read.  In a world of lol and fwiw, imho, we ought to read Dickens and the like more often.  We ought to force ourselves to concentrate on what we are reading, even if to do so requires that we pick up books that will do the forcing for us.  Dickens will teach you a bit about social conditions and revolutions.  More importantly, he'll force you to think about what he's saying.  Not just the deeper implications of his words, and there are important deeper implications, but what the words themselves actually mean in the order in which he has strung them together.  You will likely come across sentences the meaning of which will be no clearer after you've read them than before.  Read them again.  Pay attention to the word order, the punctuation, the imagery.  It's a gift from Dickens, this struggle to unlock the meaning of what might at first look like words picked out of a hat.  It isn't necessarily easy, but it is worth it.  You'll leave a Dickens novel with a slightly better grasp of the English language.  And that's not Dickens's only gift to his readers...  At the end of a Dickens novel, if you are at all like me, you will feel you have accomplished a great feat.  That feeling will be superseded by one of the greatest gift an author can bestow, sorrow at having to leave your richly bizarre new friends and their strange and beautiful world.

My Memory, My Mind, and My Mid-sized Men

Memory is a strange thing.  The mind retains or releases memories in ways I don't think we can fully understand.  Though we may command our minds to remember something - a name, a face, a number, a sequence of words, or an image we hope to preserve beyond its dissolution, most memories are unintentional - moments recorded for no reason other than that they happened.  A great tragedy of the human mind must be the countless beautiful moments that slip away, along with many of those things we so diligently set out to remember, never again to be recalled to mind.  It seems so unfair that we should forget so many precious things, yet be left with seemingly random memories that remain with us throughout life, coming to mind at random times and for no apparent reason.  But Memory offers an olive branch in the shape of another set of memories that grow in significance and meaning with the passage of time.  They are like little lights along one's path, visible only in retrospect as having lit the path to the present.  We cannot see them as we travel forward, but looking back...  Well, looking back the crazy path is undeniably sensible.

Three such memories have been flitting about in my mind this week, in that funny way Memory has of bringing seemingly random memories to the forefront of one's mind.  Two of these memories are dear to me in that they involve words spoken lovingly to me in times of distress and confusion...  words that have come true in beautiful ways.  You really don't need to know all the details of those memories.  The circumstances under which my best friend tearfully wished a nice boy would come along and ask me to marry him will remain a mystery to those who do not know me well, as will the decisions which led to the mother of two of my other friends gently sharing with me how God had given her certain gifts and abilities, not to be used as the world might expect, but for the education of her own children at home.  The important points are that within eight months, I was standing at the altar with the boy who made me laugh when my world had fallen apart...  the boy who has been making me laugh for eleven years and would probably give me the infamous "Geoff look" if he heard me calling him a boy, and that in the first four years of teaching my oldest two children at home, I have been comforted beyond measure by the memory of this woman's words and the realization that God knew all along what He was doing when I was torn up with uncertainty, and later, when I wondered why I hadn't been able to bring myself to do what everyone else was doing.  It was all part of the plan to bring me to where I am today.

The third memory I've been enjoying this week is far less personal in nature.  It was eleventh grade English, the class that brought me the fabulous dictionary mentioned in a previous post.  We had taken a quiz to determine right- or left-brainedness, then lined up along the back wall extremely right-brained to extremely left-brained.  There I stood, smack in the middle.  Depending upon how you look at it, the test indicated I either had a perfectly balanced brain or no brain at all...  Seriously, though, the memory has lingered and till recently I wasn't sure why.  From time to time, I would think of that day, balancing between left and right brain dominance, wondering which way the scale would tip or if it would tip at all.  It might explain why I could never decide which way to go, whether to be academic or artistic, whether to write a novel or become a photographer, why I want to be organized but can't follow a recipe.  I began to suspect that each side of my brain has enough strength to persuade me that I want to follow its call, but the opposing side pulls in the opposite direction, leaving me in the middle, either a beautiful blend of or a raging battle between arts and smarts.  To be honest, it has been rather frustrating, wanting to plunge to either side but being unable to do so because of the other side's attraction.

But a neat thing happened last week.  This memory popped up in the midst of contemplating my oldest two children's gifts, abilities, interests, and overall personalities.  In my humble and unbiased opinion, both my boys are bright and creative mid-sized men, but one clearly stands on one end of the left-brain/right-brain spectrum, while the other hangs out quite comfortably at the other end.  I do not mean to suggest that one is all brains and no creativity, nor that one is all creativity and no brains.  They pass between the worlds of arts and smarts with ease, but each has his own cozy corner of one particular world, if that makes sense.  Whatever they may do during the day, at the end of the day it is not uncommon for one to read while the other draws.  One seeks comfort in a book, the other in crayons and colored pencils.  When I think of standing in the middle in this context, my position seems divinely inspired as I am able to appreciate and understand these magical boys in ways I might otherwise not be able to do.  I understand one child's need to create, invent, and and manipulate various materials -his need to get his hands dirty in the creation of something distinctly his - and the other's drive to learn, understand and connect information - his need to keep his mind well fed and his thoughts well organized.  Maybe I would be just as good a mother if I didn't "get" these things in each of them, but I like to think that having been pulled in both directions for as long as I can remember is an asset in parenting these very differently driven boys.

I don't know how it will all play out in the end...  which direction I'll lean when our home-schooling days end and I stand once again in the position of needing to decide what path to follow.  For now, though, it is a great comfort to hold the memory of that day in high school as a credential and prod, assuring me on my doubting days that I am indeed well equipped to teach my boys and reminding me to neglect neither end of the spectrum for my children's benefit and my own.

I know there is debate over how much influence brain-dominance actually has.  I don't care about the science of it, as far as this discussion goes.  Whatever anyone says, some individuals are at home with the arts and some with the smarts.  Others are in the middle, strangers at home in both worlds.  I thank memory and my boys for teaching me to value my position and challenging me to use it to encourage each of them in their natural world while exposing them to the beautiful lands beyond their stronger inclinations.

Listen Up!

Like most children, if not all children, my darlings have a lot to say.  Sure, there are times when I have to draw information out of them, and those occasions happen more frequently as they get older, but for the most part, they are rather loquacious individuals.  I love their ability and desire to share the stories of their lives, but... and whether or not this makes me a horrible mother, I am sure it lands me in the good and crowded company of millions of other mothers and fathers...  I can't always comprehend what they are telling me.  Thankfully, their interest in Star Wars has waned to the extent that they are only occasionally exasperated by my inability to name the specific type of spacecraft they have created out of Legos, let alone the pilot of said ship, but Star Wars is just the tip of the iceberg.

From characters in books to characters they have created, from computer game levels to imaginary worlds, from real life events to imaginary play, my children, especially the two oldest, pass a wealth of information on to me.  I genuinely try to follow as much as I can, but sometimes I fail miserably.  When I am juggling washing lunch dishes, preparing dinner, sweeping up spilled cheerios, mopping up the dog's water, and trying to convince Luke that he need neither drag a chair from the dining room into the kitchen to "help" me wash the dishes nor lie on the floor to slurp up the dog water, sometimes it's a little hard to muster up the attention necessary to follow the activities of people I'm not even sure are imaginary or real - not sure because they frequently use the names of real friends in their imaginary play.

Sometimes it's downright hard to listen, but I've been reminded more than once this week how important it is to listen to my children.  With four voices sometimes coming at me all at once and rarely leaving me in complete silence, it can be hard to decipher meaning, let alone distinguish patterns, but I noticed a pattern in one of my children's speech this week.  "You never do...  with me!"  "You said you'd...  with me."  "I want you to...  with me!"  "Mom, can we...?"  In short, there was a lot of "You and me" in his chatter.  The final alarm came two nights ago, when he said, "I want you to read to me, and only to me."  I won't deny the fleeting temptation to reprimand him for being selfish.  After all, we have four children and I can't be everywhere at once.  Plus, it had been a long day, it was already late, I'd just read to all four of them together, and he was being a bit pouty...  but to reprimand him for wanting some individual attention, however tired I was and however inconvenient an extra 15 minutes of tucking in would be (really not very), to do so would be akin to reprimanding a hungry child for wanting a whole sandwich instead of just one bite.  He was not being selfish, but expressing a very real need for one-on-one time.  Besides, we didn't have kids for convenience, and one of the reasons I chose to stay home with them in the first place is because I want to spend time with them.  Needless to say, we did have a nice reading session that night and every night since.  It seems like a little thing - to read a couple pages of a book before bed, just the two of us - but it's a big thing to him, and I am so glad that I finally heard his message!

Another day this week, one of my children had a bit of trouble during a friend's visit.  Afterward, I asked him what had been bothering him.  After a couple minutes of coaxing him to share with me (because I'm on his side and may be able to give him a few tips for future use), he reluctantly shared what had upset him.  It was a simple matter, one which, to my adult mind, he should have had no hesitation sharing.  But he did, and it reminded me how crucial it is to be there for my kids, even in the seemingly little things.

Those little things aren't so little to a kid, and if we hope to hear about the big things when they are older, we'd better be interested in the big things in their lives now.  We can't afford not to care about tie-fighters and x-wings, Secret Agent Clubs and Dragon Training, the tree fort in the backyard or the fifth level of the video game they just created on computer paper.  Someday heftier matters will take the place of these things, and I want to have established certain modes of operation so that they'll have a home base to which to run when they don't know what to do with life.  I'm not naive enough to believe they'll come to me with all their teenage woes, but I hope that through caring about the little dramas of childhood, we will send them into their teen years and beyond confident in their parents' unconditional love and acceptance.  I don't want them to have to go it completely alone.  They may choose to go it completely alone, but I want them to have the option of a listening and loving ear.

So, I'm working on listening more closely to the chatter that seems senseless and the concerns that seem trivial.  And I pray they never stop talking.

"I Want To Be A Mommy When I Grow Up!"

Last night, our baby girl graduated from 3-year-old play school.  As the children received their diplomas, the teacher shared what they had told her they want to be when they grow up.  There were several aspiring police officers and construction workers, a doctor, a ballerina, and then my girl...  who wants to be a mommy when she grows up.  She has shared this dream with me in the past, but hearing it never fails to warm my heart, especially when "I want to be a mommy," is followed with, "just like you."  Looking into those sparkly blue eyes and seeing that smile of pure adoration...  Wow!

It's uplifting and humbling all at the same time.  On the one hand, I love being her role model, the person to whom she looks and thinks, "That's what I want to be like."  I feel pretty amazing knowing this kid thinks so highly of me, and it encourages me to shush that little part of me that tends to find fault with everything I do.  I mean, if I was totally messing up this "Mommy" thing, surely she wouldn't aspire to take on such a crummy job.  I must be doing something very right!  But - here's where the humbling part happens - I haven't yet managed to fully squelch that part of me that reviews the day critically and finds so many moments when I should have said or done something differently, and that part of me wants to tell her, "No, honey...  Don't be a mommy just like me.  There are a few things you should do differently, better...  because I fumble all the time.  Maybe you don't notice, but I do.  And I want you to be better.  I want me to be better."  Uplifting, humbling, and challenging is this hope of hers.

So yeah...  My little girl wanting to be a mommy like me is the sweetest thing I heard last night.  Sweeter than her singing, sweeter than her thanking her Daddy for the flowers he brought her.  Sweeter than her brother clapping, sweeter than his "See Eggy" as I literally pulled him by his shirt to keep him from running to her.

I know there are feminists enough who would lash me for not having instilled a higher level of ambition in my daughter.  To them, I say, "Yeah, whatever.  She's not even four.  Get over it."  I fully intend to raise my daughter to know that she is capable of pursuing whatever career on which she sets her little heart.  I may have to make some exceptions, like if she wants to be a singer and has a voice like nails on a chalkboard, but as a general rule, I do believe she, like her brothers, has a whole world of options open to her, and I will encourage her to seek God's will and follow the passions He places within her heart.

But for now, wanting to be a mommy is the perfect dream for her, and I hope it comes true.  I hope she grows to know the same amazing world I am coming to know more intimately with each passing day.  While I might wish her a little less sleep deprivation and fewer frazzled days than I have known, I wish her all the joy and laughter and wonder and love of watching her babies grow.  I wish her a husband who will love and cherish her in ways she never would have guessed she would need.  And I wish her a little girl as full of spunk and tenderness as she is herself, who will look into her eyes one day and say, "When I grow up, I want to be a mommy, just like you!"

Because I Have a Life... (and don't just spend my days contemplating random subjects)

The blessed end of a long, arduous school year has ushered us into Summer Break.  And what exactly does "Summer Break" mean for this home school family?  Eventually, it will look like everyone else's summer break, with lots of rushing to and from soccer practices, Cub Scout Day Camp, Art Camp, and Vacation Bible School after Vacation Bible School after Vacation Bible School - because in our town, kids go to VBS at their church, at their friends' church, and at the church of any kin who may have strayed from the true faith to the church down the street.  This is one time I am thankful that we don't have any relatives in town, as I have a little more power over our summer schedule and can limit Vacation Bible Schools to two or three.  Don't get me wrong.  I like VBS and think it's important to go.  But I also like a certain level of calm and consistency, and so there's a part of me that cringes at the thought of our daily schedule turned upside down by anything, even good things.  But I'm getting off topic.

The chaos of summer is coming, but in the mean time, we're just here.  We've gone from hanging out at home doing school to hanging out at home doing...  whatever strikes our fancy.  So far, it's been nice, despite frequent requests to play on the computer, occasional sibling wars, and a scary, but seemingly not-too-bad incident in which Luke fell with a spoon in his mouth.  The big boys have been filling their days with water gun fights and Lego building marathons, as well as with the aforementioned computer games and sibling wars.  Andrew is taking a break from piano lessons, while John has begun piano lessons.  Elisabeth and Luke, my poor boy, have been playing Mommy and, wait for it... Big Sister.  But they are all enjoying these carefree days.

As am I.  I have a list of books in the back of my mind that I will need to order one of these days, but I am in no rush to begin schooling.  At least not today.  I know there will come a day when I am itching to resume our school routine, but for now, I'm enjoying laziness immensely.  My only grief is that Geoff does not have the same leisure.  I almost feel guilty thinking about him at work while I sip my midmorning coffee to the distant sounds of playing children.  But alas, I cannot help the man!

As for the children and myself, we have worked hard this past year, and accomplished much, both scholastically and personally.  Without undue pride, but rather in sober acknowledgement of all that we have worked through this year, I feel that we have earned this respite, and I intend to use it to its fullest that we might start fresh and renewed in...  whatever month I decide to start school.  June, July, August...  I really don't know yet.  And I'm not overly concerned about it.  For now, my primary concern is giving my children and myself the freedom to rest, be it at Legos, computer games, water fights, imaginary play, piano playing, or - to prove that some things remain the same - disappearing for days after a trip to the library.

Book Review: Raising Your Spirited Child by Mary Sheedy Kurcinka

I don't read many parenting books, and not just because, as a parent, I have little time to sift through the gads of parenting books out there.  The real reason is that parenting books on the whole have left me entirely unimpressed.  The ones I have read - or attempted to read - tend to fall into at least one of three categories.

The first category is filled with formulaic books, books that promise that if you follow these steps, you will have a perfect little baby who sleeps all night long and is only hungry at convenient times or an older child who says "Please," and "Thank you, Ma'am," and never fights with his brother or balks at having to do chores.  The problem with these books is that child-rearing isn't that simple.  Children are not all alike, so even if a formula existed, I doubt it would work on all children.  Among my children, there are things that are not only tolerable, not only enjoyable, but necessary to the well-being of one child that would be near torture to another child.  Since I don't have time to find and read a formulaic book for each of my four children, let alone keep straight the formulas for each child so that I'm not sending one of them into the horrors of the solitude for which another so desperately longs, I steer clear of books promising a recipe for a perfect child...  which is probably good, because I thoroughly stink at following recipes.

The second category of books suggest that children are the enemy.  (I know, I know, sometimes it feels like they are the enemy...)  A title that make me cringe every time I hear it is Have a New Kid by Friday.  Glancing over the book, it looks like the formulaic books mentioned above, but the real offense lies in the position it appears to take against children, as if we need to subdue the little monsters before they take over.  (Again, I know sometimes it feels like this is the reality).  Countless books take this same approach.  My issue with such books is that no matter how much my children may irritate me on any given day, I stand by my belief that God has created them with their specific personality traits for a reason and that He intends to use those traits for His glory and their good.  By God's grace, bull-headed stubbornness turns to undaunted perseverance, obnoxious mouthiness to courageous speech, dizzying hyperactivity to useful energy, and emotional hypersensitivity to genuine empathy.  These are good traits in our children, at least potentially good traits.  I don't want to eradicate them, but to train my children to use them well.  I am offended as a mother by books that aim to "fix" my children.  I am offended as a Christian by books that suggest that children created by God are evil monsters who need to be tamed, rather than children who need to be instructed and guided with love and grace.  (Note:  I'm not talking about sinners in need of a savior here, but basic parenting philosophies).

The third category of parenting books is neither ridiculous nor offensive.  It's just not practical.  These are books that present theories of child-rearing with which I agree - or mostly agree, but fail to demonstrate practical ways to implement the theoretical in daily life.  They are good to read, as they often remind me of what is truly important and help me prioritize for the good of my family, but they really aren't all that helpful in the long run.

In walks Mary Sheedy Kurcinka and Raising Your Spirited Child (after an unexpectedly long introduction)...

I hesitated to buy the book, for reasons made clear upon reading it, but my wise and wonderful sister kept recommending it.  In the end, she commanded more than recommended...  "Lisa, you NEED to read Raising Your Spirited Child.  Go get it!"  And I am ever so thankful that I did.

The book is divided into five sections:  Understanding Spirit, Working With Spirit, Living With Spirit, Socializing With Spirit, and Enjoying Spirit - a short epilogue.  (Confession:  I am just now finishing Part Two, but am so impressed with the book that I couldn't wait to recommend it.  The parts of the book I have yet to read deal with specific situations like bedtime, mealtime, getting dressed, and socialization.  Understandably, I can't say much about those chapters till I've read them, but I feel Kurcinka has laid a solid enough foundation in what I have read that I have no qualms recommending the book).

In the first section, Kurcinka expounds on the book's subtitle - "a guide for parents whose child is more intense, sensitive, perceptive, persistent, and energetic" - by listing personality traits often found in larger doses in spirited children than in their less spirited counterparts.  Intensity, Persistence, Sensitivity, Perceptiveness, Adaptability, Regularity, Energy, First Reaction, and Mood each get a paragraph or two of description before she asks you to rate your child from one to five in each category.  After you discover how spirited each of your children may be, Kurcinka plays a nasty, nasty trick...  She asks you to rate yourself!  The neat thing about this section for me was that I discovered that I had not one, but two spirited children...  but spirited in different, often opposite ways.  I was a little surprised, too, to discover that I myself fall into the spirited category.  As I have read the book, I have often seen myself as much as my children as I read about various personality traits and am learning to recognize the rising up of certain traits in myself.  For example, through the chapters on Adaptability and First Reaction, I began to understand why my wise and wonderful sister had to recommend this book and the Couch-to-5k running plan a gazillion times before I accepted either of her excellent recommendations.  I'm...  slow... to... warm... up... to...  new... ideas.  And, as Kurcinka would assure me, this is good, because I'm going to think about it before I jump off a bridge with all my friends.

The second section consists of a chapter devoted to each personality trait.  (The last four traits get one chapter together).  In each chapter, Kurcinka defines a trait more fully, offering various real-life examples of the trait in action and giving the trait a positive spin - reasons to feel hopeful when you realize that your child or you yourself are more...  whatever the frightfully overwhelming trait may be.  She also offers both tips for dealing with a child who is overwhelmed by the trait and tips for coping when you are overwhelmed by the trait in yourself.  Each chapter closes with a summary page for quick reference. Taking the chapter on Persistence as an example, the summary pages include lists of tips entitled"Persistent spirited children need to hear," "Teaching tips," and "If you are persistent too."

Throughout these chapters, Kurcinka maintains a tender tone toward spirited children, even while laughing and crying with their amused, perplexed, exhausted, discouraged, furious, overwhelmed, but always loving parents.  She recognizes that people are people, that we are all specially created with amazing personalities full of promise, even if that promise is hidden under less than admirable behavior.  She recognizes that sometimes coping with what's going on inside is something kids can't do on their own.  They need someone to name the feelings that overwhelm them and give them tips for coping with those feelings.  She recognizes that sometimes it's Mom or Dad who needs a bit of help coping.  Even as we train our children to cope, we must train ourselves.  Kurcinka addresses all of this with love and humor, as a trusted friend who's been through it already.

For me, it is the perfect blend of theory and practice.  She does not offer a formula, but hope and help for parents struggling with abundant personality - in their children, in themselves, or in both their children and themselves.  It's not just good for spirited people, though.  The principles in Raising Your Spirited Child can be applied to any child (or adult).  They are respectful of individual personalities and aimed at building strong, healthy parent-child relationships, in which parent and child understand and appreciate one another's unique personality traits.  Kurcinka presents a child-rearing philosophy in which the parent draws from experience and observation to teach the child to cope with the external and internal challenges of life.

In the epilogue Kurcinka writes, "Building a relationship is a process that occurs over years, and every stage of development brings new challenges that force you to stretch, learn, and grow in different ways.  Remember, our motto is progress not perfection."  (p.467)  That is what I think parenting should be - a relationship in which we seek to understand our children and help them understand themselves that we might learn and grow together.  None of us will attain perfection in this lifetime, but we press on together, hand in hand and heart to heart.

Now, if only Kurcinka would write Understanding Your Spirited Spouse, I'd have Geoff's anniversary gift all figured out...

What About the Calling? (with a lot of side notes)

In a sermon I heard a few months ago, a pastor threw out the following statistic:  Of all the young people who receive a call from God to go into full-time ministry, only twenty-five percent follow through to become pastors, missionaries, and the like.  He lamented the seventy-five percent who turn to secular careers, asking "What about the calling?" and suggesting that these believers had been lured away by money, power, and leisure.   Something about the whole thing did not quite sit well with me.

My first and unavoidable thought was that he (and whoever calculated the statistic in the first place) would count Geoff and me among that deplorable seventy-five percent.  We both, at various times in our lives, have felt a tug toward ministry.  I spent a semester in a cross-cultural studies program, rubbing elbows with would-be missionaries.  Geoff spent a year in seminary being prepped to be a pastor.  Then he decided to go to law school, and now here we are...  part of the seventy-five percent.  A little secret about me...  (If Liz Kennelly Smith is reading this, feel free to laugh, my friend, and laugh hard)... I kind of, sort of, maybe, really, seriously tend to over-analyze things.  So when this pastor suggested that I, being part of the sad Seventy-Five, have been lured away from God's will for my life... deep breath...  the wheels in my head start turning ever so slowly, gearing up for months of intermittent consideration.

(As a side note, these months of consideration are far more indicative of my tendency to think every possible aspect of a situation to a long and tortuous death than they are of self-doubt, another of my vices, but one that did not play as prominently in this scene as it might appear on the surface.  There will always be the "What If..." when I think of the paths we have taken, but I believe God has led us to where we are now, trust He will continue to lead us, and hope we will be willing and ready to go wherever He leads - or to kick off our shoes and make ourselves at home wherever He compels us to stay).

I want to make two things clear before proceeding to share the culmination of these months of mulling over the pastor's take on this statistic.  First, I have many friends who are in full-time ministry as missionaries, pastors, and pastors' wives.  I have the utmost respect for the difficult tasks they perform and the grace with which they perform those tasks, and I am unspeakably thankful that they heard God's call to full-time ministry and responded with wholly surrendered hearts.  I pray that nothing I say in this post will in any way take away from the sacredness of their service to Christ, for that is as far from my intention in writing this as anything possibly could be.  Secondly, there are many who walk away not only from the ministry, but from Christ Himself.  Those departures from the call are indeed lamentable and in such cases, I echo with deep sorrow the pastor's question, "What happened?"

However, he wasn't speaking only of such cases.  He was talking about people who in their youth and young adulthood felt a call toward full-time ministry, but gave it up to pursue secular or "worldly" careers.  (This is the group of which I will be writing.  Please go back to the previous paragraph anytime you think I'm suggesting it is alright to be spiritually apathetic).  It's easy to associate such people with Jonah, who tried so hard to dodge his call to Ninevah, but I wonder if a kinship to Abraham might be more appropriate.  In Genesis 22, God called Abraham to offer his son Isaac as a sacrifice.  Did Abraham follow through?  No.  Do we condemn Abraham for abandoning his calling?  No, because just when he is on the verge of killing the boy, God intervened to place Abraham on a different path, one that, much to Isaac's relief, did not involve following through with Plan A.  (As another side note, I can't help wondering what Isaac was thinking through this entire event and how it affected his relationship with his father...  It kind of makes your family seem normal, doesn't it?)   The Lord commends Abraham for his willingness to follow Him at all costs.  He did not want Isaac's blood, but Abraham's heart.   It may not be the best analogy, but I think it works.

I suspect that many of the Christian youth who respond to cries to help the poor in body and lost in spirit  throughout the world, including here in the United States, find after the initial passion has subsided that their calling is not about the doing, but about the being.  God is not looking for a job applicant, but a surrendered heart.  Some will and do go on to serve at home or overseas in positions of full-time ministries.  Some are, as the pastor suggested, lured away not only from the ministry but also from Jesus Himself by money, power, and leisure.  But there is a group of individuals who find themselves following Christ into more familiar territory - as husbands and wives, fathers and mothers, doctors, lawyers, teachers, plumbers, burger flippers and so forth.  It's as if God has said, "Would you, for My sake, leave all that you hold dear, move into an African hut, and shine my light among this people?  Great!  Now, for My sake, go home, grill some hot dogs, and shine my light among your neighbors."

The call to follow Christ in ordinary, every day American life often does not come as dramatically as the previous call to full-time ministry.  It may not even seem like a call at all, until one glances around and realizes that God has placed him in his particular circumstances for a reason.  Like me, a woman may watch her children playing and know that every step along her disjointed, indecisive, emotionally varying path led to this place and time, a place and time overflowing with the enormous task and privilege of showing her little ones the Savior in a million tiny ways.  I never said, "Lord, I feel you calling me to be a wife and mother, ministering to my husband and children that they may know and love you and grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior."  I wanted to get married and have babies, but being a wife and mother happened to me while I was trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life.  It is a calling, in the sense that God calls us to perform whatever task He gives us with love and integrity and such, but no angels or high church music accompanied my marriage, and the only bright light in the delivery room was lighting the doctor's way.  But I look at my family, my church, my community, and my world, and I know that I am just where I need to be...  at least for now.

Not long ago, I found a slip of paper from my missions major days.  On it, I had written, "God says, 'I want you, and I want all of you.'"  Clearly, I was not in an eloquent frame of mind, but the sentiment foreshadowed what I've concluded about the seventy-five percent who do not proceed into full-time missions - that following God is not a matter of careers, but hearts.  So I will not be discouraged by any who would lament or chastise me for not going into full-time ministry.  Instead, I will go back to that piece of paper and ask not, "What happened to the calling?" but "How am I responding moment by moment to God's calling in my ordinary, everyday life?"  That's the heart of God's calling - not a commitment to go to far off lands and preach the gospel, but a lifelong devotion to Jesus that may or may not include traveling to far off lands to preach the gospel.

I can't help but think a little of romantic love at this point.  It is a beautiful thing when the exuberant passion of young love matures into a different sort of love, a love whose passion has solidified into steadfast devotion to the object of its affection.  Lovers may be a tad disappointed that the frenzy has subsided, but often find immense comfort in the assurance that love has passed the tests of time and emotion and has settled into their lives like an anchor.  It's an under-appreciated sort of love that reminds me of those in the seventy-five percent who realize that their calling is not to a specific ministerial career, but to serve God wherever they are.  It's unglamorous, but no less attuned to the will of God than if He had continued to lead them to the rainforest or inner city.

Since the purpose of this post is not to defend my choices, but to offer an alternative view of the seventy-five percent, I won't tell you you many times a day I fail to be all that I should be, but lest anyone be tempted to think I've got it all together (Everyone who knows me at all, please feel free to laugh, but not too loudly, please, or I might burst into tears), I close with a paraphrase of Philippians 3:12:

Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on (sometimes meander, sometimes go kicking and screaming) to take hold of (sometimes stumble upon, sometimes have thrust into my hands by a God who's a lot smarter than I) that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.

To Children Everywhere...

Moms are weird.  Yes, I said it.  I said what you all think 364 days out of the year and pretend not to think on the one day of the year when you're supposed to think only warm, fuzzy thoughts about your mamas.  We're weird.  We worry about silly little things like whether your underwear is clean or your teeth are brushed.  We fuss at you to wear a helmet, buckle your seatbelt, and eat your vegetables.  We warn you about poking your eye out with sticks and never stop drilling you on what to do if a stranger asks you to help him find his puppy or wanders into your yard.  And it doesn't get any better.  Just when you think we have accepted that you are wise and mature enough not to dart out into the street without looking left, then right, then left again, we start warning you against crazy things like drugs, alcohol, and sex.  We start telling you all the things you'll need to do to get into college, get a good job, live a long and happy life...

And those are just the things you know about.  You have no idea how many things we fret over that never make it to your ears.  If you knew all the things we imagine could have happened but didn't or might happen but don't...  If you knew all the rare diseases we worry you might have and all the freak accidents that might as easily have happened to you as to anyone else...  If you knew all the times we fear we're being too strict, only to decide we're being too lenient, and vice versa...  Good grief!  If you knew everything that went on inside our little heads, you'd question our sanity even more than you already do!  You see, from the moment we know you exist, and often even earlier than that, we are aware of millions of things we might do to mess you up for good, and we know the odds are against avoiding every one of them.  It's no wonder my nine-year-old recently told me that moms are "jittery little creatures."

And yet we aren't all crazy.  There's a little awesome mixed in there, too.  We have, right off the bat and beyond the undeniably amazing ability to bring you into this world, an incomprehensible ability to function on next to no sleep.  We teach you to tie your shoes, ride a bike, bake a cake.  We teach you to blow bubbles, give hugs, say "sorry," read a book, and a gazillion other things.  We know just how to make a skinned knee feel better - or a broken heart.  We wipe away your tears when we can and hold you close when tears fall that not even our expert hands can wipe away.  We help you let go of broken toys and broken dreams and inspire you to believe that something better is just around the corner.  We may sometimes worry about the worst, but we always see and hope for the best.  We love you with a crazy, awesome love.

So we moms are a little crazy, a little awesome.  Sometimes we're nothing short of weird "jittery little creatures."  The important thing to remember this Mothers Day is that we love you - and that someday, you're quite likely to be just as weird - or married to someone just as weird - as your weird mother.

Packing Up

Today I breathe a huge sigh of relief...  almost.  It would have been our last day of school, had not Andrew left his math book in Geoff's car yesterday.  As it is, the book is half an hour away, and the boys are celebrating the end of the school year by running around the house calling the dog "Cerberus."  One of the benefits to exposing your children to Greek mythology is the way they incorporate myths into their play.  In this case, I smile at their clever play on words.  Sara the dog becomes Cerberus the guardian of the underworld.  She also gets a second breakfast from a boy who thought to feed her.  Under the circumstances, I think she deserves it.  Her role in the game cannot be a coveted one.  Besides, she has two extra mouths to feed.

So, much as I scowl at the gray, thundering sky that has propelled my children out of the big, wild backyard into the house I had hoped to clean this morning, at least I have the assurance that they have learned something over the past eleven months.

Yes, eleven months.  We began school in June with the hope of being done by early to mid-April.  Breaks for Vacation Bible School at our church and a friend's, visits from grandparents, and trips of our own - all very good things - pushed the blessed end of the school year back further and further.  Ending at the beginning of May seems early, but when you start in June...  Well, I want to throw a real, whooping and hollering, singing and dancing party as we gather round the banker's box and toss in everything we've done this year before sending the box to the deep, dark recesses of the attic.

It's not that my feelings about home schooling have changed significantly since the day I decided to give it a try.  I still love it, but we come to a point every year when I'm tired of looking at the same books, tired of the papers that need to be filed, tired of the projects I've put off "till a calmer day," tired of the same old stuff and ready for something new.  The same could be said of the boys, though they hardly know how to express these emotions civilly.  I completely understand, though, when they tell me they are done with school.  We all need a break.

I would throw that whooping and hollering, singing and dancing end-of-the-year party, but honestly, the sounds of my children playing in another room are so much sweeter than party sounds.  Plus, in the time it has taken to write this, the thunder has stopped.  (Back outside, my dears...)  In addition, I have good reason, in the shape of a large cubby-hole bookcase that has filled me with organizational hope since I first spied it on IKEA's website and that has been promised to me as a Mother's Day gift, to buckle down and not only pack up last year's books, but clear out our entire school/computer room, a task much easier to accomplish without the sort of curious help my children are prone to offer whenever long neglected books and possibly art supplies are involved.  

I'm not quite ready to fill my bookcase up with next year's books, but I do look forward to planning out Fourth Grade, Second Grade, and a little taste of K4 for a certain young lady.  But the fun of planning and the excitement over a new year are not for this post.  Tomorrow, we'll worry about that final math lesson.  Today, I'm basking in the glory of a hard-earned year's end.  

And Cerberus stands guard...  at least until she realizes the game is over and plops down on the nearest soft surface for her morning nap.

The Miracle of Language

I love words.  I confess my nerdiness in admitting that I have attempted to read the dictionary.  I made it into the c's before life intervened.  I further confess my nerdiness by telling you that it almost broke my heart when I discovered one of my children had scrawled his name on the inner cover of a dictionary I received as an award in my junior year of high school for combining "academic excellence with clarity in written and spoken expression."  The award side of it is minimally relevant...  I just love that dictionary.  It's pretty, and it's full of words.

I used to have this little soap box of sorts, back when I was twenty-one and hadn't started to outgrow obnoxiousness.  (There may be a debatable idea in that sentence.  Please overlook it for now).  Anyhow, there was a time when, if the subject of words came up or if I could turn the conversation to the subject of words, I would argue that we'd be a lot better off if more people knew and used more words, and used them correctly.  Much less confusion and misunderstanding, if only we communicated more clearly...  Tsk.  Tsk.  I still believe words are important and that wider and properly used vocabularies would benefit society.  I just don't have time or energy to argue about it.  Sometimes I hardly have time or energy to compose a coherent sentence, and as such feel a bit hypocritical arguing for improved vocabulary skills.

This does not diminish my excitement, however, over recent developments in our home.  We have a two-year-old, and as I mentioned in a previous post, his vocabulary is increasing daily and dramatically.  As a word lover, I find his discovery and mastery of the English language delightfully mind-boggling.  (I would say indescribable, but since I'm continuing to write about his discovery and mastery of the English language, clearly "indescribable" is not the appropriate word).

On the surface, it's exciting to watch a little person learn about his world.  On a slightly deeper level, it's exciting to observe him assign names to the people, objects, and actions he sees daily.

Then there's the level on which I marvel at the ease with which little human beings acquire language.  We may intend to teach them particular words or phrases, but we don't look at our babies and think, "Sweet baby, it's about time to teach you some English.  Lesson One..." No.  In a miraculous, unavoidable process, big people speak and little people solve the puzzle of language.  They may fit words together in ways we don't normally consider graceful, but when you think about it, "Pick up me," a phrase more than one of my children employed in their early speaking years, is more direct than "Pick me up."  It may not be more advanced or more stylistically developed or what have you, but the beauty is in its simplicity and in the fact that the child put it together himself, without having been told how to arrange his words.  That a little guy who can barely put his shoes on or carry a cup without spilling can construct a sentence that so clearly communicates his desires is a miracle of human life.

This brings me to the most thrilling aspect of language acquisition.  I know why mothers can't wait to tell everyone they know that their babies have learned a new word.  It's not for any of the wonders listed above.  Rather, it is because the words a child uses and how he uses them reveal a little more of who he is.  From the moment of conception, we wonder who our children will be, from what color their eyes will be to what will delight them.  I'm sure older mothers would confirm my suspicion that a mother never stops wondering what lies within her child's heart and mind.  Herein lies the greatest joy of a speaking toddler:  We get to peek inside his secret world.  We learn, by the words he latches onto and the emotion with which he utters them, what lies within his heart and mind.

In our case, we are learning that Luke has at least two great loves.  At nearly twenty-seven months of age, the boy cannot refrain from exuberantly naming every baseball, football, soccer ball, and basketball that comes within his range of vision.  He has learned almost every rank of Cub Scout - "Tiger," "Wolf," "Bear."  We're still working on "Webelos," but I have no doubt he'll master that word, too.  (If only they had Cub Scouts for preschoolers!)

In addition to showing us what he loves, he is showing us that he has a sense of humor.  He comes up with little jokes, like telling his sister, who claimed to have no name, that her name is, "Buzz Lightyear!" He is also expressing his opinion on various matter, from his objections to taking a nap to what he'd like to drink.  Words new and old proceed from his mouth in such rapid succession that I could not possibly, even if I had the time and inclination, keep a toddler vocabulary notebook.

So I just revel in this union of language and boy.  It's a spectacular time to be a mother.

Rejoice and Mourn

"He has showed you, O man, what is good.  And what does the Lord require of you?  To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God."  Micah 6:8


How do we do this in the face of a dead terrorist?  How do we uphold Justice and Mercy together?  It's easy to go to either extreme, either to say in support of Justice, "The wicked will not go unpunished," (Pr. 11:21), or in support of Mercy, "Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you" (Matt. 5:44).  But how do we celebrate Justice and show Mercy?  Perhaps the answer comes in the final phrase of Micah 6:8.  Perhaps in walking humbly with out God, we find the paths of Justice and Mercy not so divergent as they appear at first glance.  Perhaps in walking humbly with our God, we are able to rejoice in Justice, even while Mercy floods our hearts with sorrow.

Walking humbly with our God, a habit I have not perfected by any stretch of the most imaginative of imaginative minds, requires us to look at the situation through the eyes of a holy and loving God - a God who hates evil and loves people.  I don't claim to have perfected viewing everything through God's eyes, but some things have been brewing in the brain... Thoughts about why we should rejoice and why we should mourn as we consider recent news.

If you rejoice, rejoice that earthly justice has been served.  A wicked man has been punished for his wickedness.  If you mourn, mourn that human soul who now faces a sentence worse than physical death.  Mourn every human soul who has stood and will stand before their Creator having never accepted the grace of Christ.  Mourn the fall of man away from God and into sin and death.

If you rejoice, rejoice that fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, and friends will go to sleep knowing that the man responsible for the emptiness in their hearts has met his end.  If you mourn, mourn that this knowledge will not fill the emptiness in their hearts.  Mourn the loss of those lives they have mourned for so many anguished years and will continue to mourn for the rest of their lives.  Do not forget to mourn the first life destroyed by this man - his own life.  It may be difficult to imagine, but remember that even he was once a sweet baby, as full of promise as your own dear babes were the first day you held them in your arms.

If you rejoice, rejoice that this man can harm no more.  If you mourn, mourn the long, treacherous path that was his life.  Mourn that every step led to this.

If you rejoice, rejoice that one evil has been removed from our world.  If you mourn, mourn that this was neither the first nor the last evil to plague our world.

Whether you rejoice or mourn - or if you do both - rejoice that we have a God who has promised never to leave us.  A God who is our strength and our guide, who comforts us in distress and leads us forth in joy.  A God who has promised to wipe away every tear and bring us to a place of pure rejoicing, untainted by even the slightest shadow of sorrow.