Our family has the great joy of getting together with my wise and wonderful sister, her kindly husband, and their four angelic children rather frequently, given the geographical distance between us. At least once a year, often more than that, we convene for a few days of frolic and frenzy. The children, all close in age, get along swimmingly, with the occasional exception of one or two of the second-borns acting funky upon feelings of real or imagined exclusion. Each visit picks up where the last left off, with no need for reacquaintance. They are cousins, magically linked to one another.
With a history of visits and a strong cousinly bond firmly established with their maternal cousins, I was glad, but very slightly anxious at the prospect of spending Thanksgiving with paternal cousins we had not seen in almost four years. I was eager for my children to get to know their "other cousins," but quite frankly, I didn't know how they would get along. I hoped it would go well, but one never knows. The last time we got together with these cousins, a dispute over a toy umbrella resulted in a gash over one child's eyebrow and the confiscation of another child's brand spankin' new Christmas presents. Talk about a merry Christmas...
As it turned out, I had absolutely nothing to fear and so very much over which to rejoice. Almost as soon as The Cousins arrived at Grandma's house, our older boys paired off with the older two boy cousins. Andrew and the cousin closest to his age were inseparable, as expected. John and his oldest cousin, now eleven, were practically joined at the hip. The younger children mingled with each other and with the adults and older cousins.
But the boys... I hope they will forgive me for calling their cousinly friendships nothing short of beautiful. One pair in particular touched my heart as they interacted with flawless peace and grace. Sometimes they ran ahead, but these two, rather noted for their exuberant energy, absolutely soothed my soul. Something in the way they walked together, talked together, stuck together assured me that they will, by God's grace and the kindness of sympathetic hearts, grow to be amazing, dynamic, compassionate, spectacular human beings... because in the light from a kindred spirit, that's what they already are.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Saturday, November 19, 2011
The Trouble with Keeping Christ in Christmas
I cringe a little every year when the old "Keep Christ in Christmas" signs and stickers come out of hiding. It's not that I believe in excluding the Christ child from the celebration of his birth. On the contrary, I believe He should have more prominence in our festivities, and on that point I agree with the "Keep Christ in Christmas" signs.
Additionally, in an age when "Happy Holidays" replaces "Merry Christmas," and communities dispute permissible content of "holiday displays," the "Keep Christ in Christmas" campaign has a clear, indispensable purpose. We must not allow the birth of the Saviour to be buried under political correctness. Nor must we allow materialistic greed to devour the wonder of God's infinitely generous gift to humankind. Keeping focussed on Christ is a challenge in our frantic age, particularly in the frenzied month of December. The slogan is a reminder, albeit a somewhat worn out reminder, to hold fast to Christ rather than be swept away in the festivities, to remember the Lord as we strain our brains to make sure we haven't forgotten gifts for any of our family or friends. In this busy time between Thanksgiving and the new year, we do have great need to "keep Christ."
My disagreement with the slogan boils down the to matter of the rest of the year. Keeping Christ in Christmas is all well and good, but what about the other 364 days? Are we keeping Christ in January 22, May 3, August 17, November 30? "Keep Christ in Christmas" seems a tad cliche, like we're merely paying our annual dues before going back to whatever we were doing before Santa showed up. I may be asking a lot of myself and others, but honestly, we need to keep Christ daily, not just on Christmas.
Again, I firmly believe we should remember the birth of the Saviour. We should keep our hearts fixed on the miracle, purpose, and grace of God assuming the form of a helpless human baby, living among us and ultimately dying to live again for our salvation. We should rejoice deeply in Christ on Christmas. But it shouldn't stop there. Jesus Christ is not the wrapping paper, pretty to look at but quickly tossed aside; He is the cherished gift, the long-desired teddy bear that fits snugly in a child's arms from the first moment till forever.
It is easy, natural and good to remind ourselves and others to remember Christ at Christmastime. The greater challenge - yes, it is a challenge - is to keep Christ throughout the rest of the year. In truth, we need to realize that it is not we who keep Him, but He who keeps us. When we truly realize that, "keeping" the Christ who keeps us will be our joy and strength, and we will need no reminder to "keep Christ" in Christmas or any other day.
Additionally, in an age when "Happy Holidays" replaces "Merry Christmas," and communities dispute permissible content of "holiday displays," the "Keep Christ in Christmas" campaign has a clear, indispensable purpose. We must not allow the birth of the Saviour to be buried under political correctness. Nor must we allow materialistic greed to devour the wonder of God's infinitely generous gift to humankind. Keeping focussed on Christ is a challenge in our frantic age, particularly in the frenzied month of December. The slogan is a reminder, albeit a somewhat worn out reminder, to hold fast to Christ rather than be swept away in the festivities, to remember the Lord as we strain our brains to make sure we haven't forgotten gifts for any of our family or friends. In this busy time between Thanksgiving and the new year, we do have great need to "keep Christ."
My disagreement with the slogan boils down the to matter of the rest of the year. Keeping Christ in Christmas is all well and good, but what about the other 364 days? Are we keeping Christ in January 22, May 3, August 17, November 30? "Keep Christ in Christmas" seems a tad cliche, like we're merely paying our annual dues before going back to whatever we were doing before Santa showed up. I may be asking a lot of myself and others, but honestly, we need to keep Christ daily, not just on Christmas.
Again, I firmly believe we should remember the birth of the Saviour. We should keep our hearts fixed on the miracle, purpose, and grace of God assuming the form of a helpless human baby, living among us and ultimately dying to live again for our salvation. We should rejoice deeply in Christ on Christmas. But it shouldn't stop there. Jesus Christ is not the wrapping paper, pretty to look at but quickly tossed aside; He is the cherished gift, the long-desired teddy bear that fits snugly in a child's arms from the first moment till forever.
It is easy, natural and good to remind ourselves and others to remember Christ at Christmastime. The greater challenge - yes, it is a challenge - is to keep Christ throughout the rest of the year. In truth, we need to realize that it is not we who keep Him, but He who keeps us. When we truly realize that, "keeping" the Christ who keeps us will be our joy and strength, and we will need no reminder to "keep Christ" in Christmas or any other day.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
An Occasion for Dancing
My husband and I dance together every day. We dance this crazy little jig as old as Adam and Eve. Funny thing is, even after all these years, no one has quite figured out the steps. You can watch others dance this dance, read books about this dance, talk about it till you're blue in the face... but no one can tell you exactly when or where to place each of your feet. You have to figure it out step by step, and the music rarely stops long enough for you to look at your feet. It's the beauty and joy of this dance called "Life." This dance, under the providence of God and the sweetness of his blessing, is uniquely, marvelously, beautifully yours.
Sometimes, it's a gloriously elegant dance, with every intricate detail of motion, sound, and color coming together flawlessly. Sometimes, it's a little like two people bringing four left feet to a crummy DJ's dance floor. Regardless of what it looks like, though, we dance. Whether graceful or clumsy, it is a beautiful dance, for beneath our fluctuating coordination is something steady, something that drives us to strive for grace and to cover bruised toes with understanding, forgiveness, and laughter. It imparts the hope, courage, and faith necessary to dance on confidently.
As I celebrate the birthday of my love, my partner in this ancient dance, I rejoice in the love God has given us. I am forever thankful to Geoff for his gift of contagious laughter, his ability to look beyond my flaws, and his steadiness through every step of our sweet, always-ageless, ever-new dance.
Happy birthday, Geoff.
(For the sake of our pride and the serenity of observers, I will not ask you to dance with me in the literal sense, however grateful I am to dance with you in the figurative sense!)
Sometimes, it's a gloriously elegant dance, with every intricate detail of motion, sound, and color coming together flawlessly. Sometimes, it's a little like two people bringing four left feet to a crummy DJ's dance floor. Regardless of what it looks like, though, we dance. Whether graceful or clumsy, it is a beautiful dance, for beneath our fluctuating coordination is something steady, something that drives us to strive for grace and to cover bruised toes with understanding, forgiveness, and laughter. It imparts the hope, courage, and faith necessary to dance on confidently.
As I celebrate the birthday of my love, my partner in this ancient dance, I rejoice in the love God has given us. I am forever thankful to Geoff for his gift of contagious laughter, his ability to look beyond my flaws, and his steadiness through every step of our sweet, always-ageless, ever-new dance.
Happy birthday, Geoff.
(For the sake of our pride and the serenity of observers, I will not ask you to dance with me in the literal sense, however grateful I am to dance with you in the figurative sense!)
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
If They Only Knew...
A mother has many secrets, and I trust you not to reveal to my children those secrets I reveal to you today.
See, I was in the kitchen preparing lunch and I couldn't help overhearing my two oldest children, who were playing on the deck, just outside the open kitchen window. Said one son to another, "Mom would have a FIT!"
I, being a prudent mother, slightly scared but eager to prevent said fit with an appropriately placed warning not to attempt whatever maternal tantrum-inducing plan was on the backyard picnic table, peered out the window and asked my scheming sons just why "mom would have a fit."
My oldest looked up and pleasantly answered, "If we let Captain Brownie out in the house."
Whew. It's not so bad. Captain Brownie is the lizard they are subjecting to observation this afternoon, and if he were to be let loose in the house, I would cheer for his escape and ask him to catch any bugs on his way to freedom. If a lizard did have free roam of the house, and I'm not saying I'd encourage such a circumstance, I'd be far more concerned for the reptile's safety than my own. It's a lizard, not a gila monster. Besides, lizards and I are kind of old pals. Little do my sons know that a major part of my South Florida upbringing involved the capture of lizards larger than the one they have made prisoner in a plastic pineapple container. I've told them, but I don't think they believe me. Mom? Catch lizards all day? Nah, it couldn't be!
They also don't know - at least they don't seem to fully grasp the reality - that I could out-burp them and any of their friends... and probably any of their friends' daddies, too. This isn't a gift I routinely display. As a thirty-something mother in the South, it doesn't seem quite genteel enough to go around burping out people's names. I can do it, and I've done it for the boys. They laugh. They beg me to do it again... but a week later when they burp at dinner, they look at me as if I'm going to scold them for such awful table manners. I acquiesce. "No burping at the table." "Say 'Excuse me.'" All that good manners stuff.
I'm Mom. I'm supposed to teach them good manners. I'm supposed to be appalled when they fail to practice those good manners. Apparently, I'm supposed to be scared of lizards, too.
But, well... between you and me, I was a kid once upon a time, and I get it. Burping is fun, especially if you can do it better than anyone else and gross someone out in the process. Lizards are cool, especially if there's someone around who's deathly afraid that the harmless little reptile might get loose and come within ten yards of her foot. I guess there's some part of my boys that expects me to be that someone who finds burping scandalous and who will jump on a chair or hang from the chandelier if she discovers a lizard loose in the house. I'm not sure I'm quite up for the job, but I'll try. At the very least, I'll insist they keep Captain Brownie in his cage. I just won't tell them my rule is more for the poor lizard's protection than my peace of mind...
See, I was in the kitchen preparing lunch and I couldn't help overhearing my two oldest children, who were playing on the deck, just outside the open kitchen window. Said one son to another, "Mom would have a FIT!"
I, being a prudent mother, slightly scared but eager to prevent said fit with an appropriately placed warning not to attempt whatever maternal tantrum-inducing plan was on the backyard picnic table, peered out the window and asked my scheming sons just why "mom would have a fit."
My oldest looked up and pleasantly answered, "If we let Captain Brownie out in the house."
Whew. It's not so bad. Captain Brownie is the lizard they are subjecting to observation this afternoon, and if he were to be let loose in the house, I would cheer for his escape and ask him to catch any bugs on his way to freedom. If a lizard did have free roam of the house, and I'm not saying I'd encourage such a circumstance, I'd be far more concerned for the reptile's safety than my own. It's a lizard, not a gila monster. Besides, lizards and I are kind of old pals. Little do my sons know that a major part of my South Florida upbringing involved the capture of lizards larger than the one they have made prisoner in a plastic pineapple container. I've told them, but I don't think they believe me. Mom? Catch lizards all day? Nah, it couldn't be!
They also don't know - at least they don't seem to fully grasp the reality - that I could out-burp them and any of their friends... and probably any of their friends' daddies, too. This isn't a gift I routinely display. As a thirty-something mother in the South, it doesn't seem quite genteel enough to go around burping out people's names. I can do it, and I've done it for the boys. They laugh. They beg me to do it again... but a week later when they burp at dinner, they look at me as if I'm going to scold them for such awful table manners. I acquiesce. "No burping at the table." "Say 'Excuse me.'" All that good manners stuff.
I'm Mom. I'm supposed to teach them good manners. I'm supposed to be appalled when they fail to practice those good manners. Apparently, I'm supposed to be scared of lizards, too.
But, well... between you and me, I was a kid once upon a time, and I get it. Burping is fun, especially if you can do it better than anyone else and gross someone out in the process. Lizards are cool, especially if there's someone around who's deathly afraid that the harmless little reptile might get loose and come within ten yards of her foot. I guess there's some part of my boys that expects me to be that someone who finds burping scandalous and who will jump on a chair or hang from the chandelier if she discovers a lizard loose in the house. I'm not sure I'm quite up for the job, but I'll try. At the very least, I'll insist they keep Captain Brownie in his cage. I just won't tell them my rule is more for the poor lizard's protection than my peace of mind...
Thursday, November 3, 2011
For the Love and Trepidation of History
In any discussion of our reasons for choosing home education, whether I'm speaking with others or pondering to myself, the subject of teaching history chronologically is sure to arise. One of the things that most attracted me to home education and that has kept me at it for four-and-a-half years is the freedom to study history chronologically. We began with the Ancients in First Grade - nomads, Greeks, Romans, Incas, Aztecs... and are now, in Fourth Grade (Second for John), on the brink of World War II.
I've loved almost every minute of it. History was never my favorite subject in school. Looking back, my education in social studies seems like a hodgepodge of information. Geography one year, American history another year, with Economics and Civics each given a semester... It's a mess. No wonder History bored me. I did well in my classes, but learned very little. (Being married to a bit of a history buff, this is all quite embarrassing to admit).
When I came across the idea of teaching History chronologically, I fell in love. It made perfect sense. Why wouldn't you tell the story of the world chronologically? Stories are typically told in that fashion. Why should History be treated differently?
And so we began with Susan Wise Bauer's The Story of the World Volume 1: Ancient Times and have progressed through each of the four volumes, gaining for myself and hopefully for my children a clearer understanding of History than I was taught. I have to say, I love The Story of the World. It has introduced my children to a wealth of information and presented countless opportunities for discussion of real-life issues. We have broached some tough subjects over the years - false gods, slavery, social injustice... and now I'm about to introduce my sweet, little children to wretched, old Adolf Hitler.
This is when I start to hate History again.
Okay, "hate" might be a bit strong, but I definitely approach Hitler with trepidation. How do I look into my children's big, bright eyes and tell them the horrors of committed against millions of innocent people? How do I explain the Holocaust - why Nazis did what they did and why good people let them get away with it? I find myself searching for more grace to teach this brief span of History than I have needed to teach the previous thousands of years combined - jaguar-headed gods, human sacrifices and all.
In realizing my need of grace, I realize something else. It's not just Hitler who horrifies me, from whom I wish to shield my children. Throughout History, civilizations have puffed themselves up, crushed others, and committed atrocities without remorse, and it hasn't stopped. We've come a long way from virgin sacrifices on South American pyramids, yet arrogance and violence remain. Slavery still exists. The mass killing of innocent human beings continues. Hitler may be prince among the evil leaders, but he is certainly not alone, nor did terror die with him, as the past sixty-six years have proven.
There is a saying, "Those who do not know History are doomed to repeat it." Three-and-a-half years into our chronological study of History, I wonder if even those who do know History are doomed to repeat it. I mean, we're still at all our old evil games, just in thinly disguised forms. I'll admit it: When it occurs to me that the knowledge of History might not prevent its repetition, I kind of want to keep History's darkest moments a secret from my babies. Why subject them to History's horrors when they will have their own horrors to face? Each day has enough trouble of its own. Why add to their worries?
I found my answer in Corrie ten Boom's The Hiding Place. Early in the ten Boom family's involvement in the Dutch underground resistance against the Nazis, a Jewish mother with her two week old baby come to their home seeking a hiding place. Corrie asks a pastor if he would take the mother and infant into his home. His answer is clear. "No. Definitely not. We could lose our lives for that Jewish child."
Casper ten Boom, Corrie's eighty-year-old father, responds by taking the child in his arms. "You say we could lose our lives for this child," he says. "I would consider that the greatest honor that could come to my family." (p. 99)
In another place, Corrie's sister Betsie tells her, "There are no 'ifs' in God's world. And no places that are safer than other places. The center of His will is our only safety - O Corrie, let us pray that we may always know it!" (p. 67)
The example of the ten Booms and others throughout history - Sojourner Truth and Harriet Tubman, for example - and the reality that just as no place is safer than any other, so no time is safer than any other compel me to teach History thoroughly and honestly. I do not teach my children History to expose them to the cruelty of Hitler and others, but to uphold the honor of those who stood for what was right, who honored God and their fellow human beings even in the face of great suffering, who trusted in God's sovereign providence to provide all they need in life and death.
I do not know what horrors of History will be repeated or how they will be tweaked to avoid immediate detection, nor do I know what new cruelties man might conceive. But I pray that whatever comes, my children will recall their History lessons and find the courage to follow the example of those men and women who shine in History, those of whom it can be said:
32 Remember... when you stood your ground in a great contest in the face of suffering.33 Sometimes you were publicly exposed to insult and persecution; at other times you stood side by side with those who were so treated.34 You sympathized with those in prison and joyfully accepted the confiscation of your property, because you knew that you yourselves had better and lasting possessions. (Hebrews 10:32-34)
If we are doomed to repeat History, whether we know it our not, God grant that we remember the faithful, true, and good, and He who upheld them in their hour of suffering. God grant that we imitate them in our own hours of suffering, and let us pray with Corrie and Betsie ten Boom that we may always know and find our safety in the center of His will.
I've loved almost every minute of it. History was never my favorite subject in school. Looking back, my education in social studies seems like a hodgepodge of information. Geography one year, American history another year, with Economics and Civics each given a semester... It's a mess. No wonder History bored me. I did well in my classes, but learned very little. (Being married to a bit of a history buff, this is all quite embarrassing to admit).
When I came across the idea of teaching History chronologically, I fell in love. It made perfect sense. Why wouldn't you tell the story of the world chronologically? Stories are typically told in that fashion. Why should History be treated differently?
And so we began with Susan Wise Bauer's The Story of the World Volume 1: Ancient Times and have progressed through each of the four volumes, gaining for myself and hopefully for my children a clearer understanding of History than I was taught. I have to say, I love The Story of the World. It has introduced my children to a wealth of information and presented countless opportunities for discussion of real-life issues. We have broached some tough subjects over the years - false gods, slavery, social injustice... and now I'm about to introduce my sweet, little children to wretched, old Adolf Hitler.
This is when I start to hate History again.
Okay, "hate" might be a bit strong, but I definitely approach Hitler with trepidation. How do I look into my children's big, bright eyes and tell them the horrors of committed against millions of innocent people? How do I explain the Holocaust - why Nazis did what they did and why good people let them get away with it? I find myself searching for more grace to teach this brief span of History than I have needed to teach the previous thousands of years combined - jaguar-headed gods, human sacrifices and all.
In realizing my need of grace, I realize something else. It's not just Hitler who horrifies me, from whom I wish to shield my children. Throughout History, civilizations have puffed themselves up, crushed others, and committed atrocities without remorse, and it hasn't stopped. We've come a long way from virgin sacrifices on South American pyramids, yet arrogance and violence remain. Slavery still exists. The mass killing of innocent human beings continues. Hitler may be prince among the evil leaders, but he is certainly not alone, nor did terror die with him, as the past sixty-six years have proven.
There is a saying, "Those who do not know History are doomed to repeat it." Three-and-a-half years into our chronological study of History, I wonder if even those who do know History are doomed to repeat it. I mean, we're still at all our old evil games, just in thinly disguised forms. I'll admit it: When it occurs to me that the knowledge of History might not prevent its repetition, I kind of want to keep History's darkest moments a secret from my babies. Why subject them to History's horrors when they will have their own horrors to face? Each day has enough trouble of its own. Why add to their worries?
I found my answer in Corrie ten Boom's The Hiding Place. Early in the ten Boom family's involvement in the Dutch underground resistance against the Nazis, a Jewish mother with her two week old baby come to their home seeking a hiding place. Corrie asks a pastor if he would take the mother and infant into his home. His answer is clear. "No. Definitely not. We could lose our lives for that Jewish child."
Casper ten Boom, Corrie's eighty-year-old father, responds by taking the child in his arms. "You say we could lose our lives for this child," he says. "I would consider that the greatest honor that could come to my family." (p. 99)
In another place, Corrie's sister Betsie tells her, "There are no 'ifs' in God's world. And no places that are safer than other places. The center of His will is our only safety - O Corrie, let us pray that we may always know it!" (p. 67)
The example of the ten Booms and others throughout history - Sojourner Truth and Harriet Tubman, for example - and the reality that just as no place is safer than any other, so no time is safer than any other compel me to teach History thoroughly and honestly. I do not teach my children History to expose them to the cruelty of Hitler and others, but to uphold the honor of those who stood for what was right, who honored God and their fellow human beings even in the face of great suffering, who trusted in God's sovereign providence to provide all they need in life and death.
I do not know what horrors of History will be repeated or how they will be tweaked to avoid immediate detection, nor do I know what new cruelties man might conceive. But I pray that whatever comes, my children will recall their History lessons and find the courage to follow the example of those men and women who shine in History, those of whom it can be said:
32 Remember... when you stood your ground in a great contest in the face of suffering.33 Sometimes you were publicly exposed to insult and persecution; at other times you stood side by side with those who were so treated.34 You sympathized with those in prison and joyfully accepted the confiscation of your property, because you knew that you yourselves had better and lasting possessions. (Hebrews 10:32-34)
If we are doomed to repeat History, whether we know it our not, God grant that we remember the faithful, true, and good, and He who upheld them in their hour of suffering. God grant that we imitate them in our own hours of suffering, and let us pray with Corrie and Betsie ten Boom that we may always know and find our safety in the center of His will.
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