Like a mop, recently retired...
... and the clumps of dried mud that fell from some little one's boots on the way from the backyard to the potty...
It is what it is. Sweep it up and get on with the day.
Monday, January 30, 2012
It Is What It Is
I have no words of wisdom, no encouraging insights. Sometimes life just is what it is.
Like a mop, recently retired...
... and the clumps of dried mud that fell from some little one's boots on the way from the backyard to the potty...
It is what it is. Sweep it up and get on with the day.
Like a mop, recently retired...
... and the clumps of dried mud that fell from some little one's boots on the way from the backyard to the potty...
It is what it is. Sweep it up and get on with the day.
A Method to the Madness
I have what Mary Sheedy Kurcinka might dub "a spirited child." (Truth be told, I probably have more than one, but I'm thinking of one in particular as I write this). Some would call him "stubborn" or "strong-willed," but I'm fond of "spirited." For starters, it sounds nicer. But the real reason is that "spirited" encompasses so much more than bull-headed determination, and does so kindly, recognizing that the spirited child is so much more than his superficial behavior - that he is not a wild, unthinking beast to be tamed, but a deeply thinking, intensely feeling individual to be nurtured.
Sometimes nurturing is hard, not because we don't want to nurture, but because we miss opportunities to nurture. It's easy to get wrapped up in how everything is "supposed" to go and lose sight of the child's perspective. Though I often fail, those moments when I do have the blessed relief of having seen small opportunities to nurture, rather than squash, my children's spirits, are precious. Many of those moments are but small, seemingly insignificant interactions requiring no more than a single thought, but leaving me unspeakably thankful that I took a second to think about what might be going on in my child's heart and mind, rather than rushing ahead with my own ideas of how everything should go. Little things matter big, especially to little ones.
Without going into too much background detail, I'd dropped John off at Art one afternoon last fall with explicit directions to do the project set before him, to do it to the best of his ability, and to do it with a good attitude. When I picked him up after class, he and his teacher quietly acknowledged that he hadn't quite completed the project as directed. His teacher affirmed that he'd had a great attitude, though. And John quietly, calmly, happily explained that he hadn't finished because finishing would mean cutting up a picture he had drawn in the first step of the project, a picture he judged "too good to cut." Strictly speaking, John hadn't done the project set before him. But he had done his best, and he had done it with a good attitude. He was happy, his teacher was happy, and I could not help being happy myself. That, whether I had realized it or not, had been my goal. His teacher has always been pleased to let John diverge from The Plan a little, in the interest of allowing the artist in him to flourish, and as long as the two of them... No, as long as one of them - the teacher (whom I trust not to treat John unfairly or otherwise give him a just reason to be unhappy)- is happy at the end of class, I'm happy.
Later that night, John and Luke were coloring on the floor, the crayons that had previously resided within the confines of a medium-size tupperware bowl littering the floor between their papers. As I was in the process of cleaning up before getting the kids ready for bed, the sight of crayons on the floor almost made me cry. Visions of crayons spread far and wide across the dining room and into the adjoining rooms blurred my mind.
"Put the crayons back in the bowl, please." I tried not to sound as desperate for a clean floor as I felt.
"But we need them on the floor..." John's voice was tinged with urgency. I sensed a tantrum lurking, waiting to pounce at the least provocation. He'd been so good all day, but I could tell the location of the crayons was, in his mind, a very important issue, one to be handled with the utmost care.
Deep sigh. What on earth could be so difficult about keeping the crayons in the bowl? I began to suspect that he might just possibly have a reasonable answer, a valid reason NOT to put the crayons in the bowl.
"Why do you need them on the floor?" I asked, my voice much calmer than my still-calming spirit.
"It's too hard to find them if I have to do this," he replied, shaking his hand to demonstrate the frustrating task of having to rifle through a medium-sized bowl of crayons to find an urgently needed color at the bottom of the bowl.
Ah! It made perfect sense. Of course it's so much easier to find the color you need in a single layer of crayons than it is to sift through layers of crayons crammed into a plastic bowl - and possibly never find the crayon as your hand pushes it constantly out of sight. In that moment, I learned something about my son. Rather, I was reminded of an important fact, one I sometimes find harder to believe than I care to admit.
The boy does not mean to be difficult. Though he sometimes seems erratic... Though I sometimes have no idea why he does what he does... Though he sometimes has no idea why he does what he does... there is a method to the seeming madness. There is a reason he does what he does, and it is a precious moment when he is able to communicate that reason and we are able to find a mutually uplifting solution to the problem at hand.
In the case of the crayons, a cookie sheet served both our interests. The crayons were in a single layer, yet unable to spread across the dining room floor. Win-win. More than that, he and I had the joyous satisfaction of identifying and solving a problem together.
In the time that has passed since that fall day, I've had increasing opportunities to see beyond the madness into the method. And it seems the more open I am to see his method, the more he is able to share it. I'm always amazed at the thought he puts into things - from why crayons should be on the floor to why he shouldn't wear socks. (They're uncomfortable, they make his feet hot, he can't find any good socks, etc.)
Maybe some who are reading this think I'm too permissive a parent. To them, I say, "Rest assured. We have our share of non-negotiables. But when it comes to crayons and art projects and socks, for that matter, you may keep your 'Because I Said So's.' I want my children to learn how to express themselves and have the courage and grace to speak their minds with confidence, knowing their thoughts will be heard and considered. Besides, the location of my kid's crayons - or the color and smell of his feet after an afternoon outside - is far less important to me than the content of his heart."
There is a method to a child's madness, and a miracle occurs when he finds the words, the courage, and the grace to reveal the secret mechanisms of his mind. Every time it happens, I marvel.
Sometimes nurturing is hard, not because we don't want to nurture, but because we miss opportunities to nurture. It's easy to get wrapped up in how everything is "supposed" to go and lose sight of the child's perspective. Though I often fail, those moments when I do have the blessed relief of having seen small opportunities to nurture, rather than squash, my children's spirits, are precious. Many of those moments are but small, seemingly insignificant interactions requiring no more than a single thought, but leaving me unspeakably thankful that I took a second to think about what might be going on in my child's heart and mind, rather than rushing ahead with my own ideas of how everything should go. Little things matter big, especially to little ones.
Without going into too much background detail, I'd dropped John off at Art one afternoon last fall with explicit directions to do the project set before him, to do it to the best of his ability, and to do it with a good attitude. When I picked him up after class, he and his teacher quietly acknowledged that he hadn't quite completed the project as directed. His teacher affirmed that he'd had a great attitude, though. And John quietly, calmly, happily explained that he hadn't finished because finishing would mean cutting up a picture he had drawn in the first step of the project, a picture he judged "too good to cut." Strictly speaking, John hadn't done the project set before him. But he had done his best, and he had done it with a good attitude. He was happy, his teacher was happy, and I could not help being happy myself. That, whether I had realized it or not, had been my goal. His teacher has always been pleased to let John diverge from The Plan a little, in the interest of allowing the artist in him to flourish, and as long as the two of them... No, as long as one of them - the teacher (whom I trust not to treat John unfairly or otherwise give him a just reason to be unhappy)- is happy at the end of class, I'm happy.
Later that night, John and Luke were coloring on the floor, the crayons that had previously resided within the confines of a medium-size tupperware bowl littering the floor between their papers. As I was in the process of cleaning up before getting the kids ready for bed, the sight of crayons on the floor almost made me cry. Visions of crayons spread far and wide across the dining room and into the adjoining rooms blurred my mind.
"Put the crayons back in the bowl, please." I tried not to sound as desperate for a clean floor as I felt.
"But we need them on the floor..." John's voice was tinged with urgency. I sensed a tantrum lurking, waiting to pounce at the least provocation. He'd been so good all day, but I could tell the location of the crayons was, in his mind, a very important issue, one to be handled with the utmost care.
Deep sigh. What on earth could be so difficult about keeping the crayons in the bowl? I began to suspect that he might just possibly have a reasonable answer, a valid reason NOT to put the crayons in the bowl.
"Why do you need them on the floor?" I asked, my voice much calmer than my still-calming spirit.
"It's too hard to find them if I have to do this," he replied, shaking his hand to demonstrate the frustrating task of having to rifle through a medium-sized bowl of crayons to find an urgently needed color at the bottom of the bowl.
Ah! It made perfect sense. Of course it's so much easier to find the color you need in a single layer of crayons than it is to sift through layers of crayons crammed into a plastic bowl - and possibly never find the crayon as your hand pushes it constantly out of sight. In that moment, I learned something about my son. Rather, I was reminded of an important fact, one I sometimes find harder to believe than I care to admit.
The boy does not mean to be difficult. Though he sometimes seems erratic... Though I sometimes have no idea why he does what he does... Though he sometimes has no idea why he does what he does... there is a method to the seeming madness. There is a reason he does what he does, and it is a precious moment when he is able to communicate that reason and we are able to find a mutually uplifting solution to the problem at hand.
In the case of the crayons, a cookie sheet served both our interests. The crayons were in a single layer, yet unable to spread across the dining room floor. Win-win. More than that, he and I had the joyous satisfaction of identifying and solving a problem together.
In the time that has passed since that fall day, I've had increasing opportunities to see beyond the madness into the method. And it seems the more open I am to see his method, the more he is able to share it. I'm always amazed at the thought he puts into things - from why crayons should be on the floor to why he shouldn't wear socks. (They're uncomfortable, they make his feet hot, he can't find any good socks, etc.)
Maybe some who are reading this think I'm too permissive a parent. To them, I say, "Rest assured. We have our share of non-negotiables. But when it comes to crayons and art projects and socks, for that matter, you may keep your 'Because I Said So's.' I want my children to learn how to express themselves and have the courage and grace to speak their minds with confidence, knowing their thoughts will be heard and considered. Besides, the location of my kid's crayons - or the color and smell of his feet after an afternoon outside - is far less important to me than the content of his heart."
There is a method to a child's madness, and a miracle occurs when he finds the words, the courage, and the grace to reveal the secret mechanisms of his mind. Every time it happens, I marvel.
(Closing paragraph brought to you by the letter m).
Friday, January 27, 2012
Another Reason We Home School
Like most home schooling families, we have many reasons for our decision to teach our children at home rather than send them to a traditional school. We have our own educational philosophies and lifestyle preferences. All that good stuff, and if you really want to know all the reasons we home school and the weight we give to each of those reasons, we can sit down and have a long chat someday. In the meantime, there's this one sticky reason for home schooling that resurfaces every so often...
I think my children might flunk out of elementary school if they were in a classroom.
Okay, maybe not really. But if you can forgive webcam induced blurriness, consider this worksheet:
I think my children might flunk out of elementary school if they were in a classroom.
Okay, maybe not really. But if you can forgive webcam induced blurriness, consider this worksheet:
If I were a classroom teacher checking this paper, I'd have to give the kid a miserably failing grade. At best, he'd have two out of seven correct. (If the photo isn't clear enough, that first one is a completed example, so no credit for knowing you can't catch a windmill). And no one would blame me for sending him home with a failing grade. To all appearances, this kid needs some academic help.
Then again...
He had very good reasons for marking his paper as he did.
Can you sit on a flagpole? You can sit on a flagpole if it's lying on the ground, but not if its standing upright.
Will a rosebud smell sweet? Yes, but also no, because some of them don't smell sweet.
Will a classmate sleep in a pigpen? They MIGHT. (This answer was confirmed when a friend told me her daughter climbs over the kennel fence to play with their dog. You never know what a kid will do for the love of an animal!)
Are you upset if you are homesick? I don't know. (Being home schooled, the concept of homesickness might be a little foreign to him).
Can you bake homemade cupcakes? I'll admit he didn't have an explanation for his dual answers on this one. I waited for him to point out that he's not allowed to use the oven, being a kid and all, but he didn't think of that. I guess by this point in the exercise the kid was too confused by all the trick questions - or by all the complexities he had read into the questions - to think straight.
Which brings me to the first question, having saved the best for last:
Will a wishbone bring luck? REALLY?!?!?!? Truthfully, I don't think this question is at all fair. What answer do they want? Do they want to know what the crazy, superstitious cat lady says about wishbones, or do they want the answer of a rational human being who has discovered that breaking a wishbone brings nothing more than a further fragmented carcass to one's life? Whatever the teacher manual says, I'm glad he answered "no" to this one!
So, um... Anyhow. I'm thinking it's a good thing that my kid has an understanding teacher who has the time to listen to his rationale and appreciate the complexities of what appears to be a simple exercise. I'm not saying he wouldn't find that in a classroom, of course. I'm just awfully glad we've put him in a situation in which he has a chance to explain his offbeat answers... and I'm secretly - or not so secretly - proud of him for seeing all the possibilities.
The Day is Coming...
Last night or maybe the night before, Geoff made two woggles, one for each of our older boys. (For those of you blissfully ignorant of Scout fanatic ways, woggles are handmade devices used to secure a neckerchief around the Scouter's neck). As my fantastically skilled husband held his pair of woggles up for my admiration, I remarked that there was only one thing wrong with them.
"You only made two."
See, while Daddy has been at work and Mommy has been teaching, cleaning, cooking, cleaning, teaching, and drinking coffee, Luke has been doing the inevitable. He's been becoming a Big Kid. This is a very good thing, of course. As often as I remind Luke that he will always be my baby, I would have it no other way. He is growing up, just like he's supposed to do.
But this means that two woggles probably won't be enough. It also means we're going to have buy another Star Wars Lego pack "with Star Wars Lego guy" and pull out the Darth Vader cake pan in a couple weeks, because our baby wants a Star Wars birthday. It means when three children make fishing poles out of sticks and rope, I have to make a fourth.
No, I get to make a fourth. And then I get to witness the miraculous moment of a little boy crossing a large back yard to join his siblings as they "fish" in the grass from a fallen tree, announcing proudly as he walks, "I have fishing pole! I have fishing pole!"
As if that wasn't enough, I get to hear the answering call of an older brother. "You have a fishing pole, Luke? Come fish with us!"
Observing all of this gave me a sweet foretaste of years to come, when Luke will have fully transitioned into a Big Kid who doesn't have to wait till Mom has her coffee in hand to go outside to participate in sibling endeavors. As the four of them climbed all over that fallen tree, I imagined them all a little older - playing together, building secret worlds of fantasy and adventure, laughing, shouting... making the neighbors shake their heads (hopefully in wistful enjoyment) at their antics. I caught a glimpse of a beautiful childhood upon which they will look back in their older years, a childhood shared with amazing, dynamic, wondering companions.
Luke isn't a full-fledged Big Kid yet. I still accompany him outdoors. I still keep him in my field of vision. I still prohibit him from some activities for which he is not quite old enough. But the day is coming, and I await it with joy even as I cherish the memories of my baby boy and revel in his transition into the realm of Big.
"You only made two."
See, while Daddy has been at work and Mommy has been teaching, cleaning, cooking, cleaning, teaching, and drinking coffee, Luke has been doing the inevitable. He's been becoming a Big Kid. This is a very good thing, of course. As often as I remind Luke that he will always be my baby, I would have it no other way. He is growing up, just like he's supposed to do.
But this means that two woggles probably won't be enough. It also means we're going to have buy another Star Wars Lego pack "with Star Wars Lego guy" and pull out the Darth Vader cake pan in a couple weeks, because our baby wants a Star Wars birthday. It means when three children make fishing poles out of sticks and rope, I have to make a fourth.
No, I get to make a fourth. And then I get to witness the miraculous moment of a little boy crossing a large back yard to join his siblings as they "fish" in the grass from a fallen tree, announcing proudly as he walks, "I have fishing pole! I have fishing pole!"
As if that wasn't enough, I get to hear the answering call of an older brother. "You have a fishing pole, Luke? Come fish with us!"
Observing all of this gave me a sweet foretaste of years to come, when Luke will have fully transitioned into a Big Kid who doesn't have to wait till Mom has her coffee in hand to go outside to participate in sibling endeavors. As the four of them climbed all over that fallen tree, I imagined them all a little older - playing together, building secret worlds of fantasy and adventure, laughing, shouting... making the neighbors shake their heads (hopefully in wistful enjoyment) at their antics. I caught a glimpse of a beautiful childhood upon which they will look back in their older years, a childhood shared with amazing, dynamic, wondering companions.
Luke isn't a full-fledged Big Kid yet. I still accompany him outdoors. I still keep him in my field of vision. I still prohibit him from some activities for which he is not quite old enough. But the day is coming, and I await it with joy even as I cherish the memories of my baby boy and revel in his transition into the realm of Big.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Is the Glass (Door) Half Empty or Half Full?
Well, one pane isn't exactly half... more like one fifteenth. Or one thirtieth, if you count all the panes on both of the French doors. However you do the math, the clunk followed by the music of shattering glass equated to one young man, whom for the duration of this post we shall call Bam Bam, sitting on the couch for several minutes while I vacuumed the floor and broke glass out of the door and vacuumed the floor some more. (Every mother should own a Shopvac!) By the time I had applied duct tape (another essential tool of motherhood) around the sharp edges, Bam Bam was standing on the couch, offering his sweet regrets.
"I sorry, Mommy!"
I can't say I was thrilled with the breakage of glass - or that I softened in my resolve to get Bam Bam quickly to bed before he broke anything else. (Our morning included the demise of a plastic lawn chair under the assault of a metal baseball bat in the skillful hands of Bam Bam, but that's another story... I promise he's not an inherently destructive child!) No, even as I assured him of forgiveness between warnings to stay back, I was tired and ready for him to go to bed. But one mind-soothing reality dawned on me as I cleaned up shards of glass: We really have had it pretty good.
Granted, our walls are in constant need of soap (and possibly paint). And a lot of things do break. But big breaks are relatively rare, given the number of children we have and the energy with which they move through their daily activities. Statistically, you'd think we'd have had more than a couple windows to replace and more than one bone to reset. Even our one broken bone, being a collarbone, didn't need to be reset. All it required was rest and immobilization in a sling. You'd also think that the broken bone would have happened in some more dramatic way than a toddler falling out of bed.
But there it is. Our crazy, chaotic, buzzing with energy, beautiful brood has managed, surely by nothing more than the grace of God and parents wise enough not to invest in fragile valuables, to keep damage to themselves and their surroundings to a tolerable minimum.
Without doubt, Bam Bam is pushing the boundaries of that minimum, but for now, I'm going to look at my glass (door) and pretend it's all the way full, even overflowing. Because let's face it. The way things work around here, it might be awhile before we get around to replacing that broken pane!
Friday, January 20, 2012
How Does Your Garden Grow?
Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells and cockleshells
And pretty maids all in a row.
Ah, parenting, that glorious endeavor in which we frail mothers and fathers seek to nurture our children to blossom like the tender flowers of a beautiful garden... I don't know about silver bells or cockleshells, but "pretty maids all in a row?" HA! They aren't always pretty, they aren't all maids, and very rarely - if ever -are they all in a row.
The problem is that, unlike flower seeds, which typically come in neat little packages with detailed instructions for growing, children come with no instructions. Sure, there are general principles to follow - love unconditionally, teach diligently, correct consistently, etc. But when it comes to the specifics, nada. There is no script, no outline of what to say or do when our children say or do x, y, or z.
On top of that, often we don't even know what sort of "flower" has fallen to our care. You might get a nice little flower who greets you with a cheery face each morning and requires virtually no care, a flower that will indeed grow, blossom, and spread its cheeriness whether you tend it or not. But you might just as easily find yourself with a rare, mysterious plant requiring delicate care lest it grow not into a beautiful, fruitful plant, but a tangled mass of... of... of who knows what? (Audrey comes to mind, if you want to go to the theatrical extreme).
Awhile ago, my friend posted a picture to Facebook of a tomato plant that had grown to occupy an entire corner of her yard, extending above the height of her privacy fence. Underneath the photo, she commented,
I love gardening and HATE pruning my plants. It seems so counterintuitive to me, and yet these TWO tomato plants that have gotten completely out of control remind me that in the garden, as well as with my children and in my own life, things are always easier to take care at the beginning BEFORE it reaches this point!
We don't necessarily know if God has blessed us with roses or dandelions, tomatoes or strawberries, pansies or oak trees, but whatever we have, we must prune. And that isn't always easy. At times pruning seems, as my friend observed in her garden, counterintuitive. We must step out in faith, not only to prune, but to discern those areas in our children's lives that need pruning, those that need tender care, and those that just need to be left alone.
It's a tough job, and my friend's words regarding pruning came at just the right time, as we were facing a dire need to prune and nurture one child in particular. I am so very thankful for my friend's encouragement, for the encouragement of others, for the prayers of many, and most of all, for the wisdom and leading of the Master Gardener who knows both what sort of plants He's given us to tend and what sort of plants we ourselves are. It was looking pretty stormy for a couple months last fall, but through a few changes and a bit of restructuring, God has blessed our little garden with brighter days. I am so glad to say that the little plant I - in a less than inspired state of heart - sort of feared was growing disastrously out of control has become a very special blessing in my life, embracing me enthusiastically and showing me daily that our struggles to nurture and prune and leave to grow have not been in vain.
I still couldn't tell you what sort of plants we're raising behind our figurative white picket fence, nor could I tell you exactly what varieties Geoff and I are. But I can tell you that by the grace of God, by creep or by leap, our garden grows wondrously.
The problem is that, unlike flower seeds, which typically come in neat little packages with detailed instructions for growing, children come with no instructions. Sure, there are general principles to follow - love unconditionally, teach diligently, correct consistently, etc. But when it comes to the specifics, nada. There is no script, no outline of what to say or do when our children say or do x, y, or z.
On top of that, often we don't even know what sort of "flower" has fallen to our care. You might get a nice little flower who greets you with a cheery face each morning and requires virtually no care, a flower that will indeed grow, blossom, and spread its cheeriness whether you tend it or not. But you might just as easily find yourself with a rare, mysterious plant requiring delicate care lest it grow not into a beautiful, fruitful plant, but a tangled mass of... of... of who knows what? (Audrey comes to mind, if you want to go to the theatrical extreme).
Awhile ago, my friend posted a picture to Facebook of a tomato plant that had grown to occupy an entire corner of her yard, extending above the height of her privacy fence. Underneath the photo, she commented,
I love gardening and HATE pruning my plants. It seems so counterintuitive to me, and yet these TWO tomato plants that have gotten completely out of control remind me that in the garden, as well as with my children and in my own life, things are always easier to take care at the beginning BEFORE it reaches this point!
We don't necessarily know if God has blessed us with roses or dandelions, tomatoes or strawberries, pansies or oak trees, but whatever we have, we must prune. And that isn't always easy. At times pruning seems, as my friend observed in her garden, counterintuitive. We must step out in faith, not only to prune, but to discern those areas in our children's lives that need pruning, those that need tender care, and those that just need to be left alone.
It's a tough job, and my friend's words regarding pruning came at just the right time, as we were facing a dire need to prune and nurture one child in particular. I am so very thankful for my friend's encouragement, for the encouragement of others, for the prayers of many, and most of all, for the wisdom and leading of the Master Gardener who knows both what sort of plants He's given us to tend and what sort of plants we ourselves are. It was looking pretty stormy for a couple months last fall, but through a few changes and a bit of restructuring, God has blessed our little garden with brighter days. I am so glad to say that the little plant I - in a less than inspired state of heart - sort of feared was growing disastrously out of control has become a very special blessing in my life, embracing me enthusiastically and showing me daily that our struggles to nurture and prune and leave to grow have not been in vain.
I still couldn't tell you what sort of plants we're raising behind our figurative white picket fence, nor could I tell you exactly what varieties Geoff and I are. But I can tell you that by the grace of God, by creep or by leap, our garden grows wondrously.
A Lesson from the Storybooks
Reading Donita K. Paul's DragonSpell, I was reminded from time to time of C.S. Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia. Perhaps the most striking similarity was Paul's depiction of Kale's perception of and relationship with Paladin. Like the characters of Narnia relating to Aslan, Kale finds herself both in awe of and in love with Paladin. She longs to be close to Him, but finds Him difficult to access at times. Others crowd around Paladin. He comes and goes at His will, not hers, often leaving her questions unanswered. As she stands on the brink of danger, she longs for Paladin's arrival, wondering a little angrily why He doesn't save the day with a word from His mouth. She knows that He is good, faithful, and mighty. Still, she struggles with what she perceives as distance or inaction on Paladin's part.
I thought first of Aslan and almost accused Paul (lightly, of course, given my immense enjoyment of her book) of wonderfully pleasant mimicry of the great Lewis. But she hasn't mimicked Lewis. She has described, like Lewis before her, a reality of the Christian life. Sometimes Jesus, whom we have been told is always with us, seems a million miles and a thousand years away. Sometimes Jesus is so close we feel we could reach out and touch Him... but for some inexplicable reason, we just can't get close enough to Him. Sometimes Jesus leaves our questions unanswered. Sometimes He doesn't show up when we think He should. Sometimes we, like Kale and Lewis's characters, just don't get why our Lord behaves as He does.
Donita K. Paul explores these complexities of our faith with brutal honesty and amazing grace. Her understanding of God's patience and His ways among men and women encourage a wondering soul (but I won't spoil the book for you by giving you any details. You'll have to read it yourself!). As Kale's questions are answered (or unanswered) and her faith is strengthened, Paul's readers may find hope and encouragement for the moments of doubt and uncertainty that accompany faith in Christ. Like Paladin, Christ has not left us, He sees all things, and He works in ways unseen to bring about our best and His glory - all in His perfect time.
What was meant to be a post on a common challenge of the Christian life is turning into another book recommendation. I do unreservedly encourage you to read DragonSpell, but more importantly I encourage you to believe. Believe what God has said of Himself, despite unanswered questions, despite unrelenting fears, despite all that rises to squash your faith in the omnipotent One who has promised never to forsake you. Returning to Lewis, who said, “Faith is the art of holding on to things your reason has once accepted in spite of your changing moods,” I encourage you not to lose heart when circumstances look bleak, when Jesus seems inaccessible, when doubts assail your soul. He who promised is faithful. I also encourage you not to beat yourself up over this struggle of the faith. It is far more common than you might think. God knows our weakness and doubt. He knows us best and loves us still.
In closing, a beautifully honest song on the subject, Compliments of Rich Mullins and Phil Stacy
I thought first of Aslan and almost accused Paul (lightly, of course, given my immense enjoyment of her book) of wonderfully pleasant mimicry of the great Lewis. But she hasn't mimicked Lewis. She has described, like Lewis before her, a reality of the Christian life. Sometimes Jesus, whom we have been told is always with us, seems a million miles and a thousand years away. Sometimes Jesus is so close we feel we could reach out and touch Him... but for some inexplicable reason, we just can't get close enough to Him. Sometimes Jesus leaves our questions unanswered. Sometimes He doesn't show up when we think He should. Sometimes we, like Kale and Lewis's characters, just don't get why our Lord behaves as He does.
Donita K. Paul explores these complexities of our faith with brutal honesty and amazing grace. Her understanding of God's patience and His ways among men and women encourage a wondering soul (but I won't spoil the book for you by giving you any details. You'll have to read it yourself!). As Kale's questions are answered (or unanswered) and her faith is strengthened, Paul's readers may find hope and encouragement for the moments of doubt and uncertainty that accompany faith in Christ. Like Paladin, Christ has not left us, He sees all things, and He works in ways unseen to bring about our best and His glory - all in His perfect time.
What was meant to be a post on a common challenge of the Christian life is turning into another book recommendation. I do unreservedly encourage you to read DragonSpell, but more importantly I encourage you to believe. Believe what God has said of Himself, despite unanswered questions, despite unrelenting fears, despite all that rises to squash your faith in the omnipotent One who has promised never to forsake you. Returning to Lewis, who said, “Faith is the art of holding on to things your reason has once accepted in spite of your changing moods,” I encourage you not to lose heart when circumstances look bleak, when Jesus seems inaccessible, when doubts assail your soul. He who promised is faithful. I also encourage you not to beat yourself up over this struggle of the faith. It is far more common than you might think. God knows our weakness and doubt. He knows us best and loves us still.
In closing, a beautifully honest song on the subject, Compliments of Rich Mullins and Phil Stacy
Friday, January 13, 2012
What's That Poem About Leaving Fingerprints on Walls?
You know the old poem that shows up every Mothers Day...
Sometimes you get discouraged
because I am so small
and always leave my fingerprints
on windows and on walls
Well, I wonder what the author would say about murals, specifically murals signed by the artist. See, this afternoon my attention was drawn to this:
The mural, the edges of which are visible to the left of the doorjamb, was surprisingly small, given the magnitude of the autograph.
The best thing about this is the way my discovery went down.
"Mommy, Luke's writing on your wall!" Elisabeth exclaims, pulling me by the hand into the computer room. (I love how she calls it "my" wall!)
I study the letters on the doorjamb, barely glancing at the little boy standing to the side with a black crayon in his hand. Something just doesn't seem quite right about the whole situation.
Is it that my child wrote all over the wall? No, that's not that unusual an occurrence around here...
Could it be that the L is not aligned with the rest of the letters? No, kids often ignore things like that...
Wait! I have it! It is most definitely that Luke doesn't even know how to form some of those letters, let alone form them in the (very close to) correct order!
I turn to my precious daughter.
"Did you write on the wall, Elisabeth?" Silence allows an apparent struggle in my daughter's tender little mind. "Elisabeth, be truthful."
"I helped him with the K!" she announces at last.
Uh huh. I thought so.
Whatever anyone might say about Luke's propensity to adorn my walls with murals or Elisabeth's attempt to help him autograph his artistry, I've chosen to cherish this incident. I have a creative little boy, and creativity is something I can't help admiring, even if it is exercised in less than ideal manners. I also have a sweet girl who loves to help others (both by aiding her brother and alerting her mother), a little girl who chose honesty in a moment when the temptation to lie was strong. To top it all off, my children were working together. However many letters she "helped" him write, I have no doubt he'd made his mark(s) as well. Sure, I'm not thrilled that they bonded over writing on the wall, but don't we all want our children to work together, to help one another, and all that sweet stuff?
So, I'll scrub the wall tonight or tomorrow or the day after. I'll destroy the evidence of this afternoon's activities and remind them when the opportunity arises, as I'm sure it will soon enough, that "we don't write on the walls." But I'll hold onto the photo posted above, and I'll smile when I remember the incident.
And maybe years from now, I'll slip a can of chalkboard paint in with a pack of diapers and tell one of them, "You're going to need this before long, assuming my grandchild is anywhere near as artistic as you were." Better yet, maybe I'll paint my entire house with chalkboard paint (it's tint-able nowadays), teach my grandchildren to draw on the walls, and then send them home...
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Welcome to our World, Little One!
No, we haven't popped out another one...
At least not literally, but I can't help but think of the excitement, the agony, and the ultimate joy that surround childbirth as I contemplate one little thing happening in the life of our family.
Elisabeth is learning to read.
When she first asked to read a page of Green Eggs and Ham to me last night - and as she proceeded to twist her little mouth into the sounds that make up the simplest of the Bob Books, I was thrilled to think of the world that was opening up to her. In a weird way, I feel like I'm welcoming a new baby into our family - except its a reader, not a baby. She's only beginning to read and will labor toward fluent, high level reading (hopefully her labor toward fluency will be no match for that of childbirth). But oh, what joys await her! And what joys await our entire family as she shares her impressions of what she has read and as she reminds us of old favorites and introduces us to books we might otherwise have overlooked!
She's a long way from Anne of Green Gables, Jane Austin, and the Brontes, but someday she and I will meander together through those tales - and she will wander down her own sweet, secret paths in those tomes and others. I'm delighted that she is joining the world of readers. It's a great, glorious world in which to live and I am so happy to welcome her into this world!
I guess this means my girl is growing up, and I couldn't be more proud of her.
At least not literally, but I can't help but think of the excitement, the agony, and the ultimate joy that surround childbirth as I contemplate one little thing happening in the life of our family.
Elisabeth is learning to read.
When she first asked to read a page of Green Eggs and Ham to me last night - and as she proceeded to twist her little mouth into the sounds that make up the simplest of the Bob Books, I was thrilled to think of the world that was opening up to her. In a weird way, I feel like I'm welcoming a new baby into our family - except its a reader, not a baby. She's only beginning to read and will labor toward fluent, high level reading (hopefully her labor toward fluency will be no match for that of childbirth). But oh, what joys await her! And what joys await our entire family as she shares her impressions of what she has read and as she reminds us of old favorites and introduces us to books we might otherwise have overlooked!
She's a long way from Anne of Green Gables, Jane Austin, and the Brontes, but someday she and I will meander together through those tales - and she will wander down her own sweet, secret paths in those tomes and others. I'm delighted that she is joining the world of readers. It's a great, glorious world in which to live and I am so happy to welcome her into this world!
I guess this means my girl is growing up, and I couldn't be more proud of her.
Under the Spell of Dragonspell
It's happened again. My Wise and Wonderful Sister has introduced me to a marvelous children's book series. (This time, however, I didn't wait quite as long to read the first book, having learned that generally, she knows what she's talking about when she recommends a book). Her latest recommendation was Donita K. Paul's DragonKeeper Chronicles. It begins with DragonSpell, and yeah, I think we're going to have to buy these books.
In DragonSpell, I find a book that begins a journey through a world quite similar to our own, a world in which evil rises up to defeat all that is good, and good men (or rather good doneels, emerlindians, urohms, kimens, mariones, tumanhofers, o'rants, and did I mention dragons?) stand to fight for what is right and good. A young o'rant slave girl, reluctantly deterred from the honor of servanthood in The Hall by an urgent quest in Paladin's service, learns through sometimes painful, sometimes glorious moments who she is, what freedom means, and from whom true freedom comes. As Kale is painfully aware, she "has much to learn." But she has learned and is learning still.
I'd been comparing DragonSpell to C.S. Lewis, wondering if I was giving Paul too much credit, when I checked out out the DragonKeeper Chronicles website (click on link over title) and found I wasn't the only one to make the comparison. While Lewis is Paul's clear literary superior - and while Paul's world of Amara, her characters, plot, and writing style are all uniquely her own, DragonSpell carries echos of Lewis's works. The epic nature of events, the grand diversity of Amara and its inhabitants, the faith and hope in an invisible, omnipotent someone, the yearning for Paladin and the peace and joy laden interaction of His followers... All mirror the works of Lewis - perhaps because both writers draw from their experience of the grand Christian adventure.
DragonSpell is definitely a worthwhile read. The tale is intriguing, the characters endearing, and the content uplifting. Paul touches on various aspects of theology that will make one want to revisit and mull over her presentations of spiritual truth. As Kale has much to learn, so do we, and we may learn along with her.
I will share these books with my children joyfully, the words of C.S. Lewis whispering in my mind...
“No book is really worth reading at the age of ten which is not equally – and often far more – worth reading at the age of fifty and beyond.”
DragonSpell meets Lewis's criterion perfectly.
In DragonSpell, I find a book that begins a journey through a world quite similar to our own, a world in which evil rises up to defeat all that is good, and good men (or rather good doneels, emerlindians, urohms, kimens, mariones, tumanhofers, o'rants, and did I mention dragons?) stand to fight for what is right and good. A young o'rant slave girl, reluctantly deterred from the honor of servanthood in The Hall by an urgent quest in Paladin's service, learns through sometimes painful, sometimes glorious moments who she is, what freedom means, and from whom true freedom comes. As Kale is painfully aware, she "has much to learn." But she has learned and is learning still.
I'd been comparing DragonSpell to C.S. Lewis, wondering if I was giving Paul too much credit, when I checked out out the DragonKeeper Chronicles website (click on link over title) and found I wasn't the only one to make the comparison. While Lewis is Paul's clear literary superior - and while Paul's world of Amara, her characters, plot, and writing style are all uniquely her own, DragonSpell carries echos of Lewis's works. The epic nature of events, the grand diversity of Amara and its inhabitants, the faith and hope in an invisible, omnipotent someone, the yearning for Paladin and the peace and joy laden interaction of His followers... All mirror the works of Lewis - perhaps because both writers draw from their experience of the grand Christian adventure.
DragonSpell is definitely a worthwhile read. The tale is intriguing, the characters endearing, and the content uplifting. Paul touches on various aspects of theology that will make one want to revisit and mull over her presentations of spiritual truth. As Kale has much to learn, so do we, and we may learn along with her.
I will share these books with my children joyfully, the words of C.S. Lewis whispering in my mind...
“No book is really worth reading at the age of ten which is not equally – and often far more – worth reading at the age of fifty and beyond.”
DragonSpell meets Lewis's criterion perfectly.
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