Stitches: Kid 4, Round 1

A little over a week ago, a homeschool mother turned author/lecturer shared photos of her "active" boys in various stages of hospitalization.  Full body casts, head wounds, all that fun stuff...  I was thankful as I considered the relatively few trips we have made to the ER over the years.  We've had one broken collar bone (from falling out of bed), a couple of staples in the head (falling on concrete), and a couple high fevers/ear infections, but for the most part, we haven't had to visit the ER all that often.  We've been so blessed...

I should have known better than to compare.  Comparing never ends well, especially when you start to feel good about yourself or your circumstances.

Long story short, here's my sweet baby boy, showing off his bandaged "fingertip laceration."  I didn't get a chance to snap a photo of it pre-stitches, what with applying pressure and trying to get him and his three siblings to the ER and all.    

He's managing well, and I hope with all that is in me that it is a long, long time before our next trip to the ER...  because something tells me sooner or later, no matter how much we kid-proof or how closely we watch this one, he's going to injure himself again.  I hope this incident is not first of many, but I'm having a hard time believing he isn't just getting started...  

God have mercy on my sanity and strengthen me for wounds to come.

A Bitter Cup: Broken and Shattered

“This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too.” Luke 2:34-35

In Michelangelo's Pieta, we see Mary holding in her arms the broken, limp form of her son and savior.  The image of a mother, who had been told so many years earlier that a sword would pierce her heart, cradling her son is powerful.  My first, inescapable thought as I studied a photo of the sculpture, was that I could not bear to endure watching my son bear what Jesus bore.

The story isn't about a grieving mother, though.  And so I wanted to shout to Mary and to everyone around her who mourned the death of Jesus that this isn't how His story ends.

We who have the benefit of time know the glorious next chapter.  We know that Jesus was laid in the tomb.  We know the tomb could not hold him.  We know he rose again, bringing salvation to all who would believe in him.  We know that in drinking the bitter cup of death, Jesus shattered the cup of death reserved for each of us.

As I gazed at Michelangelo's lifeless Christ, I felt it unjust that his mother, friends, and disciples grieved.  I wanted to let Mary in on the secret, that her son and savior was not resting in her arms.  He was actively engaged in destroying Death once for all.  He was very much alive indeed.  Only waiting.  Waiting to return in glory and send his followers out to proclaim his awesome triumph over the bitterness of sin and death.

I also felt it unjust that we do not take the time to grieve with those who walked with Jesus in the flesh.  In a way, it is right, for we do know how it all turned out.  We should rejoice.  But I don't know...  I think we would also do well to feel a bit of the loss and grief of his mother and friends.  Jesus didn't just casually walk to Calvary, jump up on the cross, and watch the world go by till he got tired and decided to go ahead and do away with Death.  It was a monumental, earth-shaking and heaven-opening event.  And it wasn't easy.  It wasn't something we should just gloss over on our way to the resurrection.

I'm not suggesting we minimize the resurrection by dwelling on the morbid details of the crucifixion.  I just think we should take the time to wade a little deeper into the depths of what Christ did for us, to know and feel His sacrifice on a heart level, not just as an intellectual precursor to a happy Easter morning.

Going back to the bitter cup theme, a picture formed in my mind as I gazed upon Michelangelo's Pieta.  Bear with me, please, if it sounds stupid or irreverent...

I pictured Jesus, standing outside of his body - the body resting in Mary's arms - drinking the bitter cup of death.  The cup is squarish, red on the outside and black on the inside, just like the coffee cups that make me so happy each morning (and afternoon).  In one fluid motion, he takes his last gulp, tipping the cup way back to get every last drop, then moves the cup from his mouth.  As the cup breaks contact with his lips, it shatters.  It shatters to smithereens, and then to a fine dust that blows away into nothingness.  All because Christ picked up that bitter cup, and Death couldn't bear His holiness.

And now, praise God, there is no cup.  "There is now no condemnation for all who are in Christ," Christ, who was broken for a time, that Death might be shattered for all time.  “Death has been swallowed up in victory,” and nothing will ever be the same again.

Parenting "The Right Way"

Sometimes the biggest blessings in our lives are people quite unlike ourselves.  They teach us to look at life from a different perspective and sometimes, to appreciate the view through their eyes.  Yes, our differences can cause conflict, as we or they are not entirely comfortable not being in agreement with one another.  This is particularly true in the realm of parenting.

See, we all have our ideas of what "The Right Way" to parent is.  If you don't believe it, check yourself the next time someone criticizes your parenting.  You will come up with at least a dozen reasons why what you do is not just fine, but the best thing for your family, thank you very much!  At best, we research our options, consider our circumstances (beliefs, personalities, family dynamics, financial means, lifestyle, etc.), and make informed decisions about what we will do or not do with our children.  At worst, we take the stance that we have supreme authority to do whatever our fancy or mood dictates with our children, regardless of physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual consequences for good or evil to our children and others.  (I am most thankful not to know anyone who fits squarely into this second category as a rule).  Often, though, we do the best with admittedly limited knowledge of ourselves and the options, frequently falling short of our own ideals, ideals which, in the case of healthy parents, always - regardless of where we fall on the spectrum of parenting styles or how miserably we fail to uphold them - flow from a desire to love and nurture our children into healthy, capable, happy adults.

But here's the thing:  We aren't all going to parent the same way.  My Wise and Wonderful Sister, who has a style quite different from and yet quite similar to my own, commented the other day that none of the things we parents so highly esteem are necessarily "right" or explicitly "biblical," on the basis that there is only one clear thing God commands parents to do in regard to their children:

 Fix these words of mine in your hearts and minds; tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Teach them to your children, talking about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.  (Deuteronomy 11:18-19)

In Ephesians 6:4, Paul repeats the command:

Fathers, do not exasperate your children; instead, bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord.  (My sister observed that the command not to exasperate children is directed to fathers.  Does this mean we mothers may exasperate all we want?  Hmm...)

Now, I do believe that all of the commands regarding our treatment of our fellow human beings, summed up in the single command to LOVE ONE ANOTHER, AS CHRIST HAS LOVED US, apply to our children as well.  We are to love our children as Christ has loved us, and loving like Christ is a big command in and of itself.  While we may personally feel that natural childbirth, breastfeeding, baby-wearing, co-sleeping, delayed solids, organic foods, physical training, a good (academic) education, and a host of other things demonstrate our love, even that they are God's will for our families or that they are the undeniably best choices for the thinking human, the Bible does not speak specifically to these practices, and so we must be careful not to confuse these practices with the universal will of God for all families everywhere at every time.  In talking with people who parent differently and hearing their reasons for doing what they do, I am not swayed to change my practices (because I have put a lot of thought, research and prayer into what we do and am confident in our choices), but I cannot deny the love behind their choices...  or the reality that they have happy, well-adjusted children who are apparently no worse off for not having been cuddled to sleep till they were one...  or two... or well, let's just leave it at that.

No, the Bible does not address many of the practices we hold so essential to "good parenting."  That's not to say these practices are not good or that it doesn't matter what we do.  I do believe the responsibility to love our children requires us to make informed choices about what is best for them rather than what is most convenient for us.  Plain common sense tells us that a balanced meal is more beneficial, and thus more loving, to a child than a box of Twinkies and a two-liter of Mountain Dew.  But it's not always that clear-cut, and before we judge another parent too harshly or too generously, we would do well to hear their reasoning.  We would do even better to remember that it's none of our business how they raise their children.  While we may offer help and encouragement, we are not the ones who have to raise their children.  Nor are we the ultimate judge of their work.

And how will the Ultimate Judge of a Parent's Work judge any of our work, if not by our faithfulness to His one command:  Teach these words of mine to your children?


I really don't want to let go of my advocacy for natural childbirth, exclusive and extended breastfeeding, co-sleeping, baby-wearing, and even home education.  But I, and each of us, must fix as our primary goal the passing on of Truth to our children, for that is our clear call as parents and the one thing that will stand the test of eternity.  I do not mean we neglect temporal things like physical, emotional, and intellectual nourishment.  I only mean that we keep these things in their proper places, remembering always our higher calling to teach our children God's ways in all that we do.

For the second time today, I find myself thinking I have outlined a very difficult task, one I'm not sure I'm up to accomplishing.  And so, as with living joyfully, I must look to Christ to train my children in His ways.  I must also rest in His grace, knowing that I will fail again and again, grateful that He receives me by His amazing grace, rather than by my feeble efforts, and rejoicing in the hope that my children's hearts are in His hands more firmly than in mine.

Loving Your Enemies, Mama-style

Despite an involuntary shudder when I think of the crowds and pushy vendors at the homeschool convention I attended this past weekend, I consider my time away from home well-spent, thanks in large part to Dr. Christopher Perrin, whose workshops I attended at every opportunity.  There is much I could share of what he said, but it will take time to process ideas and envision their application.  Someday you may read more of him, but for now, I will share just one of his themes.  Surely, it is not his alone, and I have heard it similarly, though not so bluntly phrased.  Here it is...

If we are called and enabled as Christians to love our enemies and even embrace our own martyrdom, can we not also love to do the mundane, dreary, and difficult?


Can we not sweep the floor with joy?  Can we not smile as we wash the dishes and fold the clothes?  Can we not struggle through, and teach our children to struggle through, difficult school subjects with patience, grace, and even delight?  Can we not do all these things and more, we who are called to take up our cross daily and follow Christ?

When we consider what Christ suffered for the joy set before him, and the many who have followed Him to literal, physical death for the sake of others, can we not rejoice in our small discomforts, inconveniences, and difficulties?  Can we not embrace and delight in the tasks set before us, however unlovely they may be?  Can we not delight in fulfilling our duties, duties that often feel like vicious enemies, with love, joy, and peace?

It seems so small a thing, in the light of greater sacrifices.  Yet it is no small task to live joyfully in life's every moment.  With constant distractions and frequent irritations, even on a pleasant day, joy must be a conscious choice.  We must not allow drudgery to deprive us - and those around us - of the delight of serving well.  Instead, we must fix our eyes on the Author and Perfecter of our Faith, He who gave all that we might receive all...  and be willing to give all away, even to give love to the awful, unyielding task of washing dishes day after day after day.

I'm not saying it's an easy calling, but it is worth consideration.

The Art of Humility

I have always held that every home with children should possess an Art Box.  Supplies - paper, pencils, crayons, markers, paint, play dough, and more - should be readily available for a child's exploration of his artistic inclinations.  I have encouraged creativity at every opportunity and truly enjoyed my children's masterpieces.  Yes, that extends to "Sith lightening" and accidental portraits (see photo below) on bedroom walls, and of course, to the almost infamous "Bloody Cat" (second photo).

Over the years, I've heard a few parents say they don't allow markers or paint or other art supplies in their homes, for fear of what their children might do with said instruments of creativity.  In such instances, I have thought, (somewhat smugly, I'm ashamed to admit), "How awful to stifle a child's creativity by depriving them of art supplies!"  I have patted myself on the back, ever so slightly, for so generously encouraging the development of "the whole child," artsy mess and all.

Then came Luke, a rather independent young man, who is slowly chipping away my pride.  After a joyous afternoon of washing the dog, the minivan, and several bikes and scooters, the children were spreading blankets around the living in preparation for a movie night.  I was googling "what to do with rosemary."  Suddenly, the older boys are shouting, "Mom!  Mom!  Come quickly!  Lukie..."

I imagined my youngest child pulling the television over on himself or standing on the mantle or something exceedingly frightening to a mother.  What I found...  and actually, it was rather frightening... was an assortment of tempura paints on the trunk we use as a coffee table, along with maybe half a cup of gold glitter dumped on the trunk and on the rug.

Two things occurred to me as I vacuumed the glitter explosion that ended up spreading from the living room to the kitchen as paint palettes were carried to the trash and sink.

1. An independent child is all fun and games until he discovers the whereabouts of the Art Box.
2. My independent child is instilling in me an understanding of and sympathy for those parents, perhaps more wise than cruel, who limit or completely ban art supplies in their homes.  For that, I ought to give thanks.

I stand by the belief that children should be allowed to express themselves artistically through various media, and I will continue to revel in my children's creativity.  The Art Box stays, though I might find a new, better hiding place for it.  But I will no longer quietly congratulate myself when another mother tells me she doesn't let her children have markers or "do art" at home - or whatever limitations she has enforced.  Instead I will look at my youngest child and understand full well the implications of a house in possession of both art supplies and an independent child.

And I will not judge.  No, no, I will not judge.

Counting the Days

In our state, we have three basic options for homeschooling legally.  One may homeschool through their local school district, in which case they are subject to the guidance of the district in regard to curriculum, attendance, testing, and so forth.  One may also choose to register with a large, state-wide accountability association.  They are then subject to the rules and regulations of that association.  The final "third option" is to register with a smaller accountability association.  As with the second option, "third option" homeschoolers are subject to the rules and regulations of the association of their choosing.  There are, of course, differences between each option, but one thing remains constant:  We must instruct our children for a set number of days.  Some associations allow absences, but as far as I have seen, every association, as well as the school districts, require 180 days of instruction.

And so we count our days...

The attendance calendar isn't always easy to look at, nor is it always encouraging, especially during times when we struggle to make school happen five days a week for an extended period of time.  The thing is, Life happens, and when Life comes at you hard and fast, as it sometimes will do, you have to duck and dodge and jump and adjust in all sorts of ways.

So I found my calendar looking rather distorted last fall.  Five day weeks, three day weeks, four day weeks... all executed with no apparent sense.  We were doing school, and doing it conscientiously, but the calendar was a mess.  We'd had a death in the family and were dealing with a couple medical issues with the children - nothing serious, but enough to disrupt the normal routine...  or rather, to prevent the expected routine.  Everything combined to make five day school weeks few and far between.

Still, we logged about half a year by Christmas.  We weren't quite as far along as I had hoped we would be, but we were doing alright.  We would still be done by early to mid-May, if we worked hard to stay on schedule.

And we did, for the first six weeks of the new year.  Then, for reasons with which I will not bore you, it became increasingly harder to make Thursdays productive school days.  Suffice to say, four day weeks are beginning to look familiar again.  

As I vacuumed the dining room, slightly simmering over a lost day of school, a question arose:  WHY?  Why does it matter if we miss this day?  Why does it matter if every week is a four-day week?  Why do I feel like we have to do five days of school every week?  Why does it matter whether we finish May 18 or May 25 or even later?

Okay.  Discipline, order, routine, training for an adult life in which they will likely work five-day weeks...  Yeah, yeah. No.

The real reason I hate unexpected days off boils down to a fear that we'll never finish fourth and second grades.  (Also, I'm really eager to get back to Ancient History and Zoology, with a brand new kindergartner doing her thing).  This fear is, of course, completely irrational.  We will, barring major catastrophe, finish the school year.  But it really makes no difference when we finish, at least not when we're still on track to finish in May.  I really shouldn't fret over the attendance chart. We'll log our 180 days.  

More than focussing on counting days, I must remember that though I am eager to finish the year, making the days count is far more important than counting the days.  I will, of course, keep counting the days, but I'll also try to remember that how we finish is more important than when we finish.  Given the choice between a mad, frantic dash to finish our books with little time for diversion and a leisurely exploration of the world through books and life in general, I'll take the latter.  If we take a little more time, but finish full of peace, joy, and happy memories of days of play entwined with days of diligent study, I think we'll be okay.  

Even if we're still doing school in June.

On the Close of A Decade of Parenting

I'm not a parenting expert by any stretch of the imagination, but with the oldest of my four children approaching his tenth birthday, I'd like to think I can offer at least a few valuable parenting insights.  So here's a brief list, meant to prepare would-be parents for their eventual offspring.

1. Sleep.  Even if you aren't tired, sleep.  Sprawl out on the bed and sleep.  Sleep late, take your time getting out of bed in the morning.  Sleep.  Words cannot begin to describe what sleep will come to mean to you once you have children.  And a full night of uninterrupted sleep...  that will be a mere dream to you someday.  So sleep now, sleep deep, and sleep long. 
2. Clean.  Declutter.  Organize.  And understand that all bets are off in this department once you buy your child his first pack of Legos.  No.  His first pack of diapers.
3. Read the parenting books now.  When you have children, you won't have time to read them.  If you understand that you will disagree with, forget, or fail to implement 99% of what you read, all the better for you.  But read it now and tuck away in your mind the gems you gather.  If there are any "systems" you want to implement in the future, make your charts and buy your bins NOW.  It's a lot easier to think through what you need, where you need it, and why you need it when your brain isn't distracted by a million other things you need to do and your efforts aren't being undermined by the perfectly good and natural, though completely unorganized, business of daily life with children.  
4. Start changing all your plans at the last minute, because life with children is a series of altered plans.  You're going to run late because someone has to poop when he should be putting on his shoes to leave the house.  You're going to stay home from a few events because someone spiked a fever or threw a tantrum or you're just too frazzled to face an outing.  Other times, you're going to load everyone into the car because something comes up that is just too good to miss... or because you just need to get out and shake things up a bit.  Understand that unpredictability and flexibility can be huge blessings.
5. Get over perfection.  Figure out how to overlook flaws, appreciate quirks, and accept failure, and figure out how to do it with grace - because you're going to have rough days when nothing comes together quite like you want it to, and it will be a lot easier if you understand that the world won't end because your kids or you can't get it together.
6. Finally, when you do become a parent...  When you are holding that little bundle of promise, wondering how on earth you will ever do right by him, take comfort both in the knowledge that it gets easier and in the knowledge that it doesn't.  You'll figure some things out along the way, but even after years of parenting several different little (or rather, big) personalities, there are things that will remain a mystery.  We learn, only to find we have more to learn.  After almost a decade of this parenting gig, I know more and I know less.  Some days I feel like I have a pretty good handle on what we're doing, and that's great.  Other days, I feel completely clueless, and that carries its own brand of great, in that it proves no matter how long we're at it, the initial love-driven concern to get everything right remains.

That's the extent of my parenting insight for today.  If you will refer to points one through six, you may understand exactly that writing this post has been a lovely reprieve from more daunting duties and reflections on a day when I'd really like to wave a magic wand over a lot of things, starting with the floor.  If you do not understand, wait.  You will, in a baby or two or three or four....

A Bitter Cup: Sipping Sorrow

Jesus went out as usual to the Mount of Olives, and his disciples followed him. On reaching the place, he said to them, “Pray that you will not fall into temptation.”  He withdrew about a stone’s throw beyond them, knelt down and prayed, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” An angel from heaven appeared to him and strengthened him. And being in anguish, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground. (Luke 22:39-44)

I wrote yesterday that I am not big on the whole "give something up for Lent" thing.  I have two reasons for this.  First, giving something up seems a little bit like trying to make it up to Jesus... as if we could ever compensate for the agonies he suffered on the cross.  We simply cannot compete with his sacrifice.  We don't have to, either, so it seems a bit silly even to attempt it.  It seems much wiser, not to mention simpler and more biblical, to revel in the efficacy of his work than to rack our brains and test our bodies trying to come up with some trivial "sacrifice" to offer him.

The second reason I'm not a fan of Lenten sacrifice is that too often it smacks of a resurrected New Year's Resolution (pun noted, but not intended).  While some people give up or add things with the sincere intent of growing in faith, others just give up, well, stuff they ought to give up anyway, stuff they've tried and failed to give up in the past - candy, dessert, junk food, chocolate, soda...  In the end, assuming they stick to it, they might have the satisfaction of  having lost a couple of pounds they've been meaning to lose anyway.  It's really not about growing closer to Jesus as much as it is doing something they've wanted to do, but haven't had the motivation to do.

Even so...  The last couple of years, I've kind of, sort of felt like maybe I ought to give up something for Lent.  Nothing dramatic, mind you.  The older I get, the quieter my dramatic flair...  and the more careful I am not to promise anything I might not be able to deliver.  Last year, I was pleasantly surprised to make it forty days with no weekday coffee and no dessert.  (See what a wimp I am?  I gave myself an out by allowing coffee on the weekend...  How sacrificial is that?) I was pleased with the fact that I had made it through, as well as with the five or so pounds I'd lost.  I'm not sure, though, that I had really grown in faith.  I mean, there were moments... but if I am completely honest, it was more a challenge accepted than an exercise in faith.

This year, I kept it simple.  Remembering last year - and remembering it with a hint of hollowness - I didn't want Lent to be about healthy living choices that would make me look and feel better or about meeting a challenge to make a radical change.  Still, I couldn't quite shake the nudge to do something to direct my thoughts daily to Christ's journey to the cross, and it ended up quite a small something...  little more than a teaspoon of sugar left out of my coffee.

But what a difference a teaspoon of sugar makes!  With each sip, my coffee gently stings my tongue, alerting me to the absence of the tiny amount of sugar that would so sublimely balance its bitterness.  It isn't bad, but it's not the same.  I still enjoy my coffee, but I'm reminded sip by bitter sip that I have given up a tiny bit of sugar in my coffee.  I'm reminded that for a season, I will drink a bitter cup.

And I'm reminded, thanks to a passage from I Peter that I stumbled upon a few days into my bitter coffee experience, that Christ, too, drank a bitter cup.

"He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, so that we might die to sins and live for righteousness; by his wounds you have been healed." (I Peter 2:24) 

As I read these words, I thought of Christ's bitter journey to the cross.  How he turned his steps toward Jerusalem, how he told his disciples again and again that he would be betrayed, mocked, spit upon, beaten, and crucified, how he promised he would rise again in glory...  and how in the Garden of Gethsemane, he fell on his face and prayed that this cup be taken from him.

My coffee is sweet by comparison, nothing to match the bitterness of my Savior's cup, and as I grow accustomed to the lack of sugar, sometimes I gulp it down without much thought at all.  But when I drink with purpose, allowing myself to reflect upon its unsweetened flavor, sip by sip it reminds me of Christ's willful consumption of that truly bitter cup.  Each fully savored sip feels like a tiny step with Jesus on his journey to the cross, a journey he took with tears of agony and sweat of blood, a journey he took to redeem and sweeten life for me and you...

This, I think, is the secret of Lent, quietly keeping watch as our Savior makes his way toward our salvation, sipping his sorrow - and in the end, when the sugar bowl comes back out on Easter morning, gulping down the all-consuming sweetness of his triumph.

A Bitter Cup: Lent in a New Light

Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, 

“My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. 

Yet not as I will, but as you will.”

Matthew 26:39

I used to think Lent was strictly a Catholic thing.  Growing up, none of the churches I attended observed Lent.  Neither did my family.  I just assumed it wasn't something Protestants observed.

But Protestants do observe Lent, starting with Ash Wednesday.  I confess that for many reasons - from Lent's foreignness to its seeming ritualism - I am only now and very slowly learning to appreciate these holy days, for reasons I am just beginning to be able to articulate.  I'm not big on making a show of ashes on the forehead and grand gestures of denial, and I probably never will be, but I do think there is something to this season.  For me, it comes down to a sentiment expressed by Mike Cosper in an article entitled Ash Wednesday, Criticism, and the Fear of Death:  

It quietly reminds us, in the days before Easter, that death comes for all born under the curse, and it lays groundwork for the hope of Easter Sunday to ring all the louder and more powerful....We live in a culture loaded with death-denying strategies. How are we, as the church, refusing the blinders they offer, staring death in its face, and saying all the more boldly, “Where is your sting?”

So, I'm coming to view Lent not as ritual, not as show, but as a time of preparation and expectation... and as a challenge to live as one who has been redeemed from Sin and Death.  Similar to the Advent season leading up to Christmas, Lent asks us to ponder the wonder of the crucifixion and resurrection.  It asks us to think for a moment of Death and Christ's defeat thereof.  It compels us to consider the bitter cup from which Christ drank in order to turn us from Death to Life, from bitterness to joy.  I hope it also inspires us to love Christ all the more deeply, as we taste the heavenly sweetness He pours into the most bitter of our earthly cups.