Help, I Need Cover!

Standing in my kitchen, I looked down at the floor, unable to meet my children's eyes.  They waited in silence.  At times like these (for this was not the first), I wonder what they think about me.

"Does she have the slightest clue what to do right now?"

"Why doesn't she just....?" (Fill in the blank, because kids always know what they want you to do.)

"I wish she would just say something."

"Is she even thinking at all?"

Their wills and mine had hit with a resounding clash, and I'd simply called a halt to all our speaking. Arguing, debating, reasoning - whatever you want to call the "discussions" we were locked in, each from opposing sides - they were getting us nowhere.  And the fact is, sometimes I just don't know where to take us from that point.  Everything seems to be flying around like pots and pans swirling through the air with bangs and clatters.  But I do know one thing for certain.  I will be the one to take the lead.  So I looked at the ground and let thought after thought run through my mind, chasing away the craziest ones first.

Two visions stuck out in particular.  One was that of Jesus kneeling on the ground and writing in the sand as the Pharisees waited impatiently for Him to pronounce judgement upon the woman caught in adultery.  The other was an image, I believe it might have been Sarah Edwards, wife of the evangelist Jonathon Edwards.  She would sit at her kitchen table with a towel covered over her head in prayer at moments throughout her day.  The children knew not to disturb her during this time, either handling their disputes that came up in a reasonable way themselves or holding them until Mother was once again available to address them.  These pauses for prayer and consideration in the midst of chaos were just what I needed to remember.  How I wished I had some sort of prayer shawl to pull over my head just then, to hide behind as I sought to meet with my Savior.

I'm not talking burkas or anything here, just a sort of physical means of "time-out" so I can sort through some of this and know where to go from here.  Lacking the fitting accoutrement of such a calming shade behind which to veil myself, I simply brought my hands up to my face and covered it. I lifted up my problem and asked for help, direction, and strength.  Peace descended to clear and cool my racing thoughts.  After a while, I lowered my hands and was able to speak with composed clarity, but more than that my heart was at rest.  So maybe my kids thought I was loco for a few minutes, but I'm pretty sure I'm onto something here.  

Perhaps I ought to begin leaving a shawl in every room from now on.

Shared with Titus Tuesdays, Works for Me Wednesdays, and Simple Lives Thursday

Curiosities and Diversions

Although I possess a natural inclination towards simplicity, I also recognize that we are people drawn towards stimulation.  By one means or another, we will seek that which tickles our fancy, plays with our senses, and leads us down paths of exploration.  This natural penchant is the impetus behind all of our questions and should be encouraged and nurtured.  It is also the means by which many have found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time, bred guilty consciences, or worst of all - become enslaved to that which they once chased with heart-hammering blindness.

As a parent, this is an area to which I believe a good deal of thought and prayer should be devoted.  Our kids will search out that which is made to delight, shock, and titillate; a wise parent will recognize their responsibility to guide their children as they endeavor to look around corners, under rocks, and inside cupboards.  It is a serious task we are given: to do our best at feeding curious delight and brave fortitude, at the same time embedding a healthy discipline to refrain and pass by more foolish enticements.  

It is a challenge - all these things come our way unbidden.  They knock on our doors, soliciting our buy-in to be the newest, latest thing to improve our lives; they buzz across airwaves with light, color, and sound designed to capture our senses; they trickling into conversations with lofty condescension, telling us we will be behind the trend if we don't jump in now; they crash through walls with wild enthusiasm, inviting us to be spirited away on the fun before we have time to think.

But we do have time - no - we must take time to think, and even better, to pray.

How this plays out and the decisions that are arrived at will be different within each family.  I am not the one to whom any of you are answerable.  But here are a few standards which you might find helpful as you navigate this responsibility.

1) What are your own diversions and where do your curiosities lead you?  Your children will recognize hypocrisy when they see it, so be the first to look for it within yourself.  As you look for ways in which you spend your free time, is Christ "your cornerstone, sure and precious", or is He seeming more like "a stumbling block" set between you and temptation? (1 Peter 2)

2) Evaluate your child's motivations both by who you know them to be and by probing conversations. Lead your children by example, asking questions which reflect a desire to hear from them as you seek understanding in making judgements, while teaching them that the final decision will be one that lines up with the Lord's standards.  All things should be viewed in the light of Christ.  What we choose to do with our free time will shape our character as much as anything.  See this as an opportunity to better 'know thyself.'

3) There is a saying that "timing is everything."  I've found it to be quite a fine check to have in place when making decisions.  Many lessons about maturity, delayed gratification, learning how not to follow the pack, and how to be strong when standing apart are all part of what can be gained by choosing the best timing (or not) of doing something.

4) Lastly, be sure to provide worthy choices to fill and satisfy the curiosity He has placed within us. Be proactive in searching out recreation, amusements, and occupations that will feed hearts, minds, and souls.  Healthy deviations from our routines abound, only be purposeful in choosing them.  Vary them from quiet, peaceful times designed to nurture a love and appreciation for reflection, to energetic adventures made for stoking fires of marvel and awe.

May we be mindful that all our time is under His watchful eye, in His loving hands, and bestowed as a generous gift of love.

Linked with Titus Tuesday and Works for Me Wednesday and Simple Lives Thursday
  

Two Words, Twice a Day

"I'm sorry."

Part of raising children is teaching them to make a sincere apology.  There are two parts to this lesson.  The first is getting them to say it, the second is getting them to mean it.  The first part is usually the easier of the two, because of simple immaturity.  I remember many instances where my parents required me to make confession and express repentance for my offense towards my brother or sister.  No doubt their hope was that I would grow towards a deep and personal desire to do all I could to make amends for my wrongs.  I was far more deviant than they realized.

To this day I find apologizes, well... difficult.

(Aside:  As a happily married woman who enjoys a close and loving relationship with my husband, I maintain a continual mental consciousness of his listening in to my every word, whether he is actually present or not.  He is currently laughing his head off at my previous understatement.)

So I haven't yet arrived at a place where admissions come smoothly to my lips.  (Now the kids are joining in on the chuckling.  I cast them a glance meant to wither.)

Ok, I'm just plain bad at it.  As I've matured, the two parts have flipped so that I find more often I have a desire to apologize, but the harder part is in saying it.  I suppose holiness is experiencing both aspects fully and completely.

BUT it is my goal.  Not because I enjoy it, clearly, but because I am called to it. Forgiveness is the fulcrum whereby guilt and blame can be lifted and flow downward to reparations and restitution.

The world works against our success in this area.  Mistakes happen in life, and an apology goes a long way towards smoothing things over and getting us back on our way to where we mean to be, but eventually we all learn the game of jaded thinking that dominates the field out there.  And we often learn to play it.

You would think that in the public arena of service the benefit of honest acknowledgments might be understood.  However, I have noticed that more often than not, in public transactions a representative seems almost set against saying those two little words.  Recently, our microwave door needed to be replaced.  I won't go into the long drawn-out story, but the short end of it was that an entire month went by and the responsible party not only did not respond to any of our calls, but never even ordered the part.  We eventually got our door, but we never heard a word of apology from them.

Flipping through my insurance police, I see that I am advised not to say it in the event of any altercation.  Any expressions of regret or sorrow at a time of accident could be misused as an admission of guilt and responsibility.  How awful that we must be so on our guard.  I know this sounds Polly-Anna-ish of me, and far from my own personal side-steps away from honest appraisal.  But it all rings so brassy.  We live in a world not of integrity, but of chess.  Always be looking, thinking, and acting two steps before the other guy.

Around the beginning of the year I read a wonderful book titled Margin.  I'd really like to read this book at the beginning of every year from now on.  There is so much wisdom to be gathered from it, I will need to revisit the ideas and suggestions here over and over again.  One of the recommendations made was to seek to apologize twice a day.  This blows my mind.  I concede, this is up there in the farthest, thinnest, airy reaches of the stratosphere for me.  It's difficult to even conceptualize what this would look like, nevermind feel like for me.  BUT, ah, what a vision to contemplate.

My Savior embodies Forgiveness; inasmuch as I am His, let it begin with me between myself and my brother or sister.  May my prayer be 'Twice a day and more'; and may my children find comfort and encouragement in knowing that their mama is still working on the difficult but important lessons I am teaching.

Shared with Titus 2sday, Works For Me Wednesday, Simple Lives Thursday

Crooked

I've had this rhyme going round in my head lately:

"There Was a Crooked Man,"

BY MOTHER GOOSE

There was a crooked man,

Who walked a crooked mile,

He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;

He bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse,

And they all lived together in a little crooked house.

I think as we grow older, we think we are beyond nursery rhymes, in which many large philosophical truths and challenges can be found.  The poetry and stories learned as little ones are done, aren't they?  Left behind as though we were somehow beyond the bounds of the lessons they were designed to teach, or we suppose we took in their exhortations so well we have no need for reminders.

The Lord references crookedness in His word.  Here are just a few things He has said on the subject:

Wisdom will save you from the ways of wicked men,    

from men whose words are perverse, 

who have left the straight paths 

   to walk in dark ways, 

who delight in doing wrong 

   and rejoice in the perverseness of evil, 

whose paths are crooked 

   and who are devious in their ways.

Proverbs 2:12-15

Whoever walks in integrity walks securely, 

   but whoever takes crooked paths will be found out. 

Proverbs 10:9

And from Isaiah 59:8:  The way of peace they do not know; there is no justice in their paths. They have turned them into crooked roads; no one who walks along them will know peace.

Beyond nursery rhymes? I think not.  I've been minded to compose a few additional stanzas of verse for the little ditty running 'round in my head:

He had some crooked children,

Who spoke with crooked smiles,

And from their lips came crooked words, both twisted lies and guile;

He sought to speak unto their hearts, consider what they wrought,

Holding tongues and choosing, to not say what was naught.

And so what once was crooked,

‘came straightened, true and sure.

Words were weighed and measured, determined false or pure;

We too, can learn a lesson to slow down as we ought,

And crooked words can be made right, spoken after thought.

Addendum: I had to post early, as my girls needed my computer; but a friend prompted the writing of the last stanza which I knew was missing.  (Thanks Matt!)

Reflected in my mirror,

I see a crooked man,

Broken heart, mind, soul, and strength in need of God's own plan;

He came to love all sinners, our lame and feeble frames,

Reborn by grace, redeemed for love, He calls us out by name.

Shared at Domestically Divine Tuesday, Titus 2 Linkup, Simple Lives Thursday, and Ramblings of a Christian Mom

Blessed w/ a Sick Day

I have had, in the words of one of our favorite unseen characters ever - the soothing Lemmony Snicketts, "A Series Of Unfortunate Events."  Ever since the weekend after Thanksgiving, I have been prone to tummy cramping ranging from mild to intense, private moments in the loo ranging with challenges from one extreme to the other (you get the idea, I'm sure) and three incidences of vomiting. Quite out of my ordinary.  The most recent was yesterday.  I have been to the doctor and had several tests of various sorts, and of course done my own personal research.  I'm thinking it might be IBS?  Anyway, under doctor and husband's orders I was instructed to remain on clear liquids and rest today. Upon rising this morning, my dear daughters met me and insisted I stay put as they would serve me.  I was presented with this beautiful menu from which to choose my fancy. As I told them, "I don't think anyone has ever made such a thing before - at least not to my knowledge."  What a blessing!  Wish me recovery, as I'm sure will soon follow such good care...

Halloween 2011

Halloween is not only a controversial subject among Christians, it has also been an area that I have wrestled with for at least the past fifteen years.  I grew up in a home where Halloween was not only an opportunity to get a bagful of treats (a rarity in our diet), but it was also a fun invitation to dress up using whatever we had around the house, calling on all of our creative impulses.  Once I grew up, married, and had kids, I'd still joined in by playing the part of a Mommy-mummy, pregnant hippy, gypsy, etc. as I met the challenge of dressing my children up and showing them how we didn't need to spend a lot of money to join in the merriment.

After giving my life to Christ as a Mommy, I began the process of trying to come to some sort of peace about this particular holiday.  I know I'm not alone in this.  I probably would have just turned off the lights and played games with my kids in our family room like many other families have chosen to do; however, my husband was not on board with the withdrawal tactic so I had to come up with some sort of compromise.  What worked for us was a progression of options.  First, we tossed out all scary characters.  You could be any kind of animal, super hero, role model, etc. so there were lots was options still available.  If there was a local church hosting a fall festival we attended there for the evening.  I prefer that choice over trick-or-treating (the other possibility) because it allowed my kids to both see other personalities as well as be seen, amounted to less candy to bring home, and the cast of masqueraders was communally of a milder nature.  No gore, no gross, no goblins.  I'm happy and so are my kids.

Bottom line for us was the fun of dressing up.  In fact, at one point my oldest boys felt too cool for Halloween.  I went out into the darkness of our neighborhood night with their younger brother that year while they stayed home to hand out candy.  A year or so later, their interest in Japanese anime and the chance to play their favorite characters proved too much.   Out the three went in orange and blue costumes with their hair gelled into crazy spikes and sprayed silver and gold.  They had a blast!

My girls have a public speaking club they participate in this year, and this week they had to dress up as a favorite author, book or movie character, or historical person.  They whipped up their costumes in a few hours before we had to leave.  I thought they looked great, don't you?  Can you guess who this is sitting outside prior to Gavel Club?

The Mad Hatter and Princess Leia

Have a safe, family-fun Halloween!

As It Ought To Be

One of the best things about working as a greeter at church is it allows you time to get to know other people a little bit better.  It seems to contain all the possibilities of airplane seat brevity yet intimacy, bundled up with the expectations of the open-ness to be found in God's family.  Not always, of course - but the possibilities are there.

Yesterday I had the pleasure of welcoming others to worship alongside a proud Papa, only ten months old.  All I had to do was mention his adorable little girl and the smile deepened, the chest swelled, and the telling began.  I asked is she's walking yet, and he launched into a tale of love.  Describing a recent afternoon when he was reclining on the family room couch, his daughter decided she wanted his full attention.  Crying out to him, her arms lifted in appeal.
"Come on," he coaxed, and she scooted over to the edge of the sofa, pulled herself up, and creeped along in unsteady determination to reach her goal, cheered on by one whose eyes were filled with delight.  Once close enough, she was rewarded by being swooped up, coddled and kissed for simply being his precious child.

"That's so wonderful," I smile, my heart mixing memories with the present, "every child deserves to be loved like that."

"How could anyone not?" he asks with youthful innocence.  My smile remains, but my eyes turn a little sad.  Indeed.  If only all the Mamas and the Papas loved their children as this father and I.

This song is for my children.  The melody carries the lightness of a tune sung to a little one, but a true parent knows that our children never really grow old in our eyes. The lilting words speak of the love our Father holds in His heart for us, his dearly treasured ones.  They rise and fall like our own attempts to love Him back as He shows us how.  They provide a pattern of how it truly ought to be, how I so wish I were all of the time, and what I inch along towards with unsteady but determined steps.

Linked to Far Above Rubies, We Are That Family, and Simple Lives Thursday

Never, Never, Never Give Up

As a parent, my mind often travels back to my own growing up years.  So much has changed in the world since then, but one thing I know now that I did not then is that there are a vast number of things we share in common with our children.  I used to look at old black and white photographs of my Mom and try to imagine what she was like, tried to envision our meeting one another in her time or mine, wondering how we might connect.  Would we have been friends in this inconceivable time where she and I both existed as the same age?  I liked to think so.

My relating to my own children has revealed that the parent-child relationship has more to do with who we are, and even who I was, than the differences that have transpired in the world around us since I was their age.  There is a smoke screen purposed to generate the belief and feeling that we have nothing in common and just cannot "get" the other.  It can be very tempting to buy into this and believe the heart-breaking tragedy that tells us there is a natural season of estrangement and even dislike that will one day pass, oh we hope!  All too often, I see parents retreat from the rolling eyes and snarling belittlements in anger and self-protection. Sometimes their eyes meet another parent's, seeking understanding and a confirmation that this is normal.  

As a girl, when I first began perusing the pages of Teen Beat, Seventeen, and the like, I began reading about this 'Generation Gap'.  What they call it now, I have no idea. (I looked it up and couldn't find a clue to its modern day synonym.)  On a summer morning just before I turned thirteen,  I went to my father and joined him on the family room floor where he was reading the newspaper, light streaming in the windows as it only can on a Sunday morning.  I can recall the sound and feel of the paper crinkling a bit where my knees rested on the periphery.  Hesitantly, I reached out in words, expressing my fears for the widening distance the future held for he and I and my great desire for this to not be our fate.  I don't remember what his expression was or how his eyes looked back into mine; he must have been wondering how in the world he'd wound up with such a strange, emotional, and embarrassingly talkative daughter.  I do recall his laughter and quick hug, his somewhat uncomfortable assurances that this was not what would happen to us.  I wished our hug would have lasted longer, as well as our conversation.

We went through our years of chaos.  We began coming out of this wasteland period when I became a young mother and was out there in the world, struggling to be a mommy and wife.  My dad's compassion was reborn for me, and with the years I grew older and wiser as well.  We forgave each other.  We didn't walk away forever and we didn't give up.  Neither did He.  *And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to eternal glory in Christ, will Himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.

I don't know just when the morphing began which told the adults that disrespect from that segment of mankind younger than they was acceptable.  Some say the 60's - and they certainly didn't help.  But I suspect that this has been a lie that has been around for a much longer time.  Whenever one person feels free to look down upon another, nation towards nation, neighbor towards neighbor, brother towards brother, we are wildly off track from reflecting the design for which we were fashioned or the One who created us for so much more than that.  Calling it a Generation Gap just assigns the blame to our age inequalities.  It is our hearts that need to learn how to navigate these years, these times, these differences.  This is a timeless truth.

And when I look into your eyes, mothers and fathers, I am telling you, "Never, never, never give up."

In trying to choose a scripture to offer for this message from my heart, my eyes flew from word to word of the desires for restoration which the Lord calls to us to live into relationally, with Himself and with one another.

**And when all these things come upon you, the blessing and the curse, which I have set before you, and you call them to mind among all the nations where the Lord your God has driven you, and return to the Lord your God, you and your children, and obey His voice in all that I command you today, with all your heart and with all your soul, then the Lord your God will restore your fortunes and have compassion on you and He will gather you again from all the peoples  where the Lord has scattered you.  If your outcasts are in the uttermost parts of heaven, from there the Lord will gather you, and from there He will take you.

Be encouraged...

*I Peter 5:10

**Deuteronomy 30: 1-4

I am sharing this on Domestically Divine, Works For Me Wedsnesdays, and Simple Lives Thursdays.

He Sings Over Us With His Love

I have been considering this subject for some time now, wanting to approach it in conversation with my girls, seeking His counsel as to how to rightly present it so that I might have success in winning their hearts to His ways.  Music is, historically, a land of exploration and expression for the young where most adults cannot be heard, and most certainly not if you are a parent.  Commonly accepted "wisdom" is that the older generation just doesn't get the younger generation; it has been this way from time immemorial, or at least as far back as a few generations go.

The common practice is to accept this as harmless and even, in some fashion, right.   Hogwash.

Personally, I feel that line is one which had to have been concocted by someone of just such an age; the minions to whom this sounded good jumped on the band wagon and took up the battle cry.  It was probably an idiot from my own generation, who are now parents (or old enough to be) and have lived with this fable long enough to unwittingly accept it as the truth.  Plus, it gives you "cool points" to let children have their way -  for those who care.

As I began this conversation with my daughters, I informed them that they are entering into an age of personal freedoms, responsibilities, and accountability and would need to begin thinking about how they will be handling a great number of things.  We discussed a few, advancing towards this subject of music.  In our family, we have found it best to address the foolishness of youth.  The intention is never to insult them or this particular age-group, rather our designs are to alert them to the pitfalls of their new terrain and the mindfulness that will benefit their walk.  For better or worse, scientific studies and statistics prove out the precariousness of decision making in the young, from driving records to credit card handling to cognitive maturation.

We want our children to be thinkers, and our goal is not only to encourage them to do so, but to verbalize this goal to them so that it is deeply impressed into their hearts and minds.  Questioning, seeking, extending ourselves are all healthy endeavors to which we should willingly yoke our hearts and minds.  And to all this, we should bring the Scriptures to illuminate and see how everything bears up under its light.

I have been hearing these whiny complaints from my kids concerning the repetitiveness of Christian radio - true enough.  However, if we were to listen to secular stations, the same will often be found.  In perusing the lyrics of a number of songs by "popular" artists - Lady Gaga, Train, Justin Bieber, Matt Nathanson, Beyonce, Rhianna, Shakira, Alicia Keys... I found I didn't even want my girls to look upon these words. And yet, they are played on radio stations over intercom systems in dentist offices, beauty salons, and malls, and I am sure that my children are familiar with some of them despite our sheltering.  Rising above my reticence, I determined we should approach this squarely and head on.  So, I decided to read the lyrics out loud and ask if they recognized any of these songs.  While there were a few that I was certain that they would identify if they heard the beat, they drew blanks on their own.  And therein lay the key.

We all love catchy tunes and melodies.  If an artist succeeds in creating something that hooks us and remains bopping around in our minds long afterwards, he's attained success.  The problem we find usually lies within the words that accompany the harmony.  Here is where our discernment comes in and our decisions are played out.  Will we mindlessly nod our heads and hips to what we know is wrong because we like the beat? Or will we weed out that which is not edifying, and seek that which is?  The common and recurring themes of girls moving their bodies and guys being encouraged to watch them do so was unequivocal and embarrassing for us all to hear, but couple it with a jazzy groove and they'd very well have supped up without hesitation.

My girls asked for me to review the words for several other songs, and I quickly looked them up and read to them.  After a while, one would think of a song and the other would identify it as unacceptable before I even began typing.  We did find some perfectly fine ones as well, and I think it was good for my kids to hear that I am not opposed to secular music, just anything that tears away at the strength and resolve we need to walk in The Way.  This past Sunday's sermon (dated 6/12/11) tied in wonderfully by its explanation of how the psalms connected to the music of life for Jews before and during the days of Jesus. Our lives should be hymns of praise, crying out, and worship today as well.

*The LORD your God is with you, 
   the Mighty Warrior who saves. 
He will take great delight in you; 
   in His love He will no longer rebuke you, 
   but will rejoice over you with singing.

He sings over us.  What do we sing back in response?  What songs are on our lips?  In our hearts?  In our steps?  And even in our hips?

*Zephaniah 3:17

Marital Counsel by Way of a Quote

When my boys were quite young and I was a new Christian, we would have conversations over dinner about how things would be when they were grown up.  There were several areas to which my response would invariably be, "I don't know how we're going to do it yet, but we won't be doing it the way Mama and Papa did it when we were younger."  And I would wonder silently to myself in follow up - how will we do it?

Dating was one of those areas, so understand we do not support the kind of dating for our children which we ourselves engaged in.  That kind of dating leads down one of two roads - heartbreak or marriage - and we would rather that our children live out relationships with others with greater care and honor than we did at their ages.  

Now the issue of the one they chose to marry was something else entirely.  Of course they should all marry someone possessing particular qualities well suited to their character.  And as the primary woman within our home, well attending to their individual person, they might do well to look for an example of some of these gifts in ... well, me.

I say this only partly tongue in cheek.  If any of my sons should be reading this, I'd wager they would tell you there are only a few grains of jesting in this confession.  They'd tell you there is more dogma than theory in what I have professed.  But do they really know?

The following quote is quasi-reflective advice for my boys from a young lady I read online.  And the best part is, she's a blogger.

(Oh, and since we've been blessed with our daughters: they, of course, should marry someone very like their Papa.  I tell them so on a regular basis.)

 A Quote-Worthy Quote:

"Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes."

— Rosemarie Urquico

Play Again (the Film)

We are fortunate that our local community college has reserved a showing of this film.  It states the obvious - that children are way too hooked into media in all its various forms these days, but I don't know that this message is being significantly heard out there in the world.  As I read blogs, I see a lot of Mommys of young ones are writing them.  I'm a Mommy to middles and olders, and believe me when I tell you the Media Monster is something that you need to watch out for.

Not all of us can move out to the country.  Not everyone can homeschool.  Not everyone has easy access to the green things of this world.  But we have a responsibility to be attentive to what kinds of things are shaping our children, and we have the power to do something about it.  I don't know that parents really understand that so much these days.  Maybe this film will give them a clue of what is going on (I mean no disrespect by that choice of words), and a nudge to make some changes.  I sincerely hope so.

We're going to see this as a family.  Check this link to see if it will be showing in your area, or what you can do about getting it shown.

Toil in Springtime's Beauty

Clouds move in, low and pearly grace.  Earlier in the day the sun dominated a brilliant blue sky dressed in gorgeous festoons of clouds.  The winds issued a challenging game of tug of war, threatening to wrest control away.  The winds won, bringing in a blustery interplay of warm and cool.  The light jackets we wear are on, then off, then on again.   Tis the season of light layering and umbrellas at the ready.

Pretty pinks and purples, brilliant whites and golden yellows have burst into bloom over the grasses, trees, and bushes within a matter of days; sometimes it even seems to happen overnight.  The faded deep greens and browns of our winter months sport the spiked bright green of fresh leaves and blades.  The artist’s eye falls upon this inter-seasonal mix with appreciation, finding that which bears both the mark of what has endured and that which is just beginning.

Last week was a really good week for me as a parent.  I have been sowing seeds and tenderly nurturing what has sprung up, pushing its way to the surface.  I thrilled as I watched my efforts bring forth fresh life and goodness.  These are the moments that oxygenate my blood and passion for that which I pour my heart and soul and life into on a daily basis. 

But when sudden winds blew with unexpected bluster and intensity, my brow knit at the intrusion and I hunkered down in bodily protest.  No, this is not what I ordered.  Warm balmy days and soothing sprinkles of rain falling gently, all perfection and consideration for the new shoots I have planned, those are my desires.  And just like that, a cumulus of despondency settled upon my soul, darkening my eye and threatening to steal my joy at the process underway.

How is it that I still can get so carried away as to be broad-sided by the challenge sure to arrive on the next wild wind?  Childish enthusiasm, I suppose.  I can smile now, a few days later; I have stepped back to look with a more appreciative perspective, attentive to the Master Gardener.

I am reminded that this is a season of changeability.  What I see outside now can shift and vary within the hour.  Sun chases clouds, or billows of blue and grey pull like blankets over the day and block its brightness.  Back and forth, up and down, this way and that.  I attend to my seedlings: sun exposure, water, soil, and covering mulch for weed protection. Frosts might very well threaten; it is my duty to think and prepare them for surviving what would truly harm them.   I must also trust that they themselves can and must learn to withstand some of the difficulties and challenges that come their way. 

Delight applauds the blush of spring, all that is new, fresh, and bright.  But I am finding that I am looking at the hardy grasses beneath, the bare and naked branches bringing forth life once again – the faithful backdrop to the splashes and bursts of color.  And the heart of my eyes smiles in appreciation of that which has endured, survived, and continues on.  Exuberant energies notwithstanding, I am not a child.  I am a mother, and I will keep on learning even as I train up, so long as I am given the gift of seasons upon this earth.

To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring.                                                                                        ~George Santayana

Of Stock and Substance

We are a two car family, and as our children have gotten older we have sometimes found ourselves with an unequal ratio of drivers to cars.  One morning I found myself having to chauffeur my husband in to work, and as I returned home I used the time to lift others before the throne.  At the end of my prayers I just had to laugh out loud as I referenced my youngest son to the Lord, using a phrase I have often used regarding him, "he is just so full of pepper!"

Its a good thing I was nearing the end of my prayers, as this sent me on a mental tour of my kitchen in a spontaneous game of association with each one of my children.  Come on, am I really the first?

In no particular order...

R - was the easiest for me as I have long known he is pepper (this includes chilis.)  He is full of the zest and spice of creativity. He can get me hopping, that's for sure; and like pepper, he might not be the first you reach for, but can be counted on to always add an unexpected zing to things.

L - was a bit tricky.  I began thinking of sugar, brown or white, or even honey, but was not settled on any of these possibilities.  I wound up hitting upon molasses!  In addition to the familiar metaphor "slow as....", molasses has a sweetness with a bit of bite and creates warm homey desserts like gingerbread.  Settled.

Q - clearly is salt.  Scripturally this goes without saying, and just as no kitchen or meal would be complete without salt, so our family would be incomplete without him.  Salt brings flavor and depth to things, can be overdone, is missed when it is absent, compliments and embraces.

A - a knotty one to match.  I toyed with balsamic vinegar for a while, but that was not quite right.  Then I hit upon chocolate - of course!  She loves all kinds of chocolate, but this child, while she would want to be white chocolate is instead dark.  I could write a dissertation here, but I'll just allow the sweet savor of it to settle.

D - the most difficult to pin down.  Capers, pickles, ginger, olive oil?  I had almost despaired of his culinary counterpart.  Then I knew.  He is wine - sophisticated yet earthy, both dry and sweet, the stuff to mellow your bones and loosen the imagination.  Requires time to reach fullness and to breath. (In a deep voice with arched eyebrow:) Complex.

Not an exhaustive nor necessarily final combination of child/staple alliances - I'm tossing around the likeness of one to an orange at this very moment; but for now this will do.  Its funny the things we consider when we're thinking about our kids.  They are my "fruit", if you will.  I am blessed in abundance.

I've always loved this blessing given in the movie It's A Wonderful Life.  We'll just have to imagine that they included all the staples I've concluded with as well, and that George and Mary Bailey were speaking to us:

Bread... that this house may never know hunger. Salt... that life may always have flavor. And wine... that joy and prosperity may reign forever.  Enter the Ruiz-Esparza Castle. 

Preserving The Ties That Bind

I have a dear friend I have begun a new friendship with.  She and I were spending an evening together with our children recently, sharing a meal, good times, and building blocks of getting to know one another.  In discussing our mutual decision to homeschool, she declared with great passion, "I need every moment I can get!"  That sentence explained perfectly what I have always felt regarding the responsibility we have to train up our children before releasing them to the world.

I cannot begin to imagine what contrasts there would be had we not had the years we did with our boys;  but I have no doubts that there would have been tremendous differences.  They have each come to the day when we waved and drove away from a campus, leaving them to now deal with a greater weight of independence than ever before.  Retaining those bonds of attachment was vitally important and required deliberate and conscientious efforts over the years.  Once we came to the day we lived long distances from them, it served to provide a reliable sounding board for reaching out, for counsel and connection.

As I review the parenting past and present my husband and I share, there is clearly a strong base of that which we have come from and the examples our parents gave us, along with a goodly dose of our own self-educated searching.  Our temperaments compliment one another in fairly consistent balance with ringing in accord more often than not.  I am almost finished with the book Hold On To Your Kids and it has been a fantastic light to shine back upon various decisions we have made over the years.  This issue of Attachment is HUGE, folks, and is critical to being able to reach our kids and connect over the things that matter. And virtually everything matters on some level, believe me. As I've been reading this book, a few memories have come to mind.

Around the time when D was nine or so, he developed a decided aversion to me.  My husband retained his privileged status of "My Main Man" for this son.  (Years later, same-said son had remarked upon a list of those gigantic things of childhood, "You know, mountains, bears, Pop, the ocean."  Clear hero worship.)  So anyway, I had always had a bit of an animated relationship with this one son, but we had descended to new depths for reasons unknown to me.  Suffering from the rejection I was feeling, I went complaining to my husband (who always took his side), in a weak hope for some help.

"Just keep on loving him," he said. "Don't make your decisions based upon his ugliness to you right now.  He doesn't know he still needs you, but we do."

Man, was that hard to hear - and yet I knew immediately that this was counsel born of Godly wisdom. So, I began my covert operation of swooping in and dispensing random bits of love to my prickly boy.  I would tussle his hair as I walked by without a backward glance, give him a quick squeeze from behind and move on before he could react, compliment him with a smile and look away as though I were a simple flash of light.  I knew that D was responding with scowls and frowns, but holding to the truth of what my husband had said, I stayed with it.  And eventually, not only did it pass, but I must tell you - I had a better son than I'd had before.

Years later a friend surprised me by asking what the secret was to my good relationships with my sons.  She had three daughters of similar ages to my boys and things were going quite well on that front; but coming along behind was her son.  At the time, he still retained the sweet spirit of a loving little boy; however, as she looked around she saw that often those relationships between Mothers and Sons grew cantankerous and abrasive.

"Just keep on loving them," I answered her with a smile. "Whenever my sons have appeared to struggle with having me around, or act like I'm embarrassing, or in any way communicate to me that I'm not wanted, I make sure I show up.  It's a balancing act, and I vacillate between being a bit over the top sometimes or coming alongside them mildly, but I never let them push me away.  They may not know that they need you, but you should never forget it."

 “When Israel was a child, I loved him,
   and out of Egypt I called my son.
But the more they were called,
   the more they went away from me.
They sacrificed to the Baals
   and they burned incense to images.
It was I who taught Ephraim to walk,
   taking them by the arms;
but they did not realize
   it was I who healed them.
I led them with cords of human kindness,
   with ties of love.
To them I was like one who lifts
   a little child to the cheek,
   and I bent down to feed them.                       Hosea 11:1-4

A View From The Wall

At the moment, my current reading has two particular books riding the top of my waves of thought.  The first is Unchristian by Dave Kinnaman and Gabe Lyons, and the second dovetails beautifully with it, Hold On To Your Kids by Gordon Neufeld and Gabor Mate'. The first is written by Christians and supported by findings from the Barna Research Group.  The other is secular, but I find its interpretations and conclusions resonate with my own experiences as both a child once and now a parent of twenty-five years.

Neither book is for those looking to browse and capture enough in a brief perusal.  Although I consider myself a Reader with a capital "R", both leave me with so much to chew upon and mull over that I have found the going to be rigorous; yet there is so much of value and weight within that I continually rest and then return to feast upon the wisdom these men have unearthed. Each chapter is a veritable tome in itself, and in my frustrated desires to extract all that is shared upon their pages, I have envisioned a book club in which I and others could spend time in worthy consideration of the contents. Personally, I could do so page by page - there is that much here.

Being the adoptive Mom of two daughters, I have found myself exposed to all kinds of issues and challenges that my parenting of three biological sons had not prepared me for.  In our country, if you haven't read about Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, Hoarding or Gorging, Oppositional Defiance, Bi-Polarism, Identity Issues, and so on prior to adopting, you will find yourself searching fearfully for answers in these dark realms at a later date.  Your answers might not lie within any of these spheres, but your familiarity with these challenges will be the greater because you had to look.  Adoption does that.

It is because I am an Adoptive Mother that I know something about the issues of Attachment.  Neither of these books are specifically about adoption, and Unchristian does not directly address Attachment but there is this ethereal unknown that wafts through the pages while describing the young today.  Hold On To Your Kids calls it right out and names it.

I have been befuddled as to the reason why so much change has occurred within the young.  And I'm not talking about the vast technological advances, or changes in hair or clothing styles that make them feel so much hipper than the rest of us, or the fact that we now can talk, and text, and email and send pictures from a spot outside of our own homes.  I am addressing the far more basic issues of relating; of respect, and compassion, and responsibility being replaced by a predominance of avoidance, and bravado, and contemptuous disdain.  Growing up, the killings we heard of on the news were primarily political, and most often far from our own backyard - I recall television scenes of soldiers in Vietnam, and the whispers about the Black September group.  My own kids have not only had to deal with extremism on our own soil, but have become familiar with the added element of randomness, snipers picking off unrelated ordinary folk in Washington, numerous shootings in schools by fellow classmates, even a police chase-down of two people with a van full of weapons that ended bloodily in our own little town here in bucolic North Carolina.  When we lived in Sacramento, CA it was a frequent enough occurrence for me to have to close the blinds tighter and whisper words of comfort to my babes while helicopter strobe lights raked the peace and quiet of their slumber.

These two books are giving me answers.  Both are watchmen upon the wall, sounding a hue and cry for us to wake up now to what we are allowing to happen, and are a help to equip us to deal with the changes.  It is not enough to just protect your family behind the wall; you need to prepare your children to deal with what is on the other side and recognize what is happening out there.  One family at a time is slow going but worth the effort - especially when we see the alternative.  When I heard about the tragic shooting in Arizona this week, it was the first time I didn't simply wonder "Why?"  I felt like, sadly, I understood at least in part.

Time and Space and Imagination

It has always been important to me to not be the modern-day family. While I am glad to take my kids here and there as needed, the emphasis has always been on "needed." I recall the first year we began homeschooling, comforting my sons with the promise that fall soccer season would soon be over, and we would be able to concentrate just on school and outside play again.

This year we have two regular outings during the week. One is spent doing volunteer work for two hours, and the other is for the art lessons I prayed would be provided for A. It is a lengthy drive for the latter, but the lessons are an hour and a half long, and the teacher is a gifted Christian artist, so I find the sacrifice well worth it. Plus, it gives L and I some individual time together which is treasured by us both.

More than casting envious glances at the Joneses, my eyes tend to look back wistfully at my own childhood. There are any number of fond memories of skating and biking and swimming and games of kickball and freeze tag. But my favorite "growing up" year was the one we spent living on the island of Crete. I was nine.

There were no other American families stationed there when my Dad accepted his appointment. However, my gypsy Mother was not going to be left behind for a year or more, especially at a time when she was expecting their sixth child. So once Dad left, she sold the house, boxed up our things in storage, packed us all up, and we went sailing through the skies to be reunited as a family on a far distant shore. She homeschooled me and my two younger sisters, with two little ones underfoot, and soon after our arrival gave birth to the last baby - in a Greek hospital amidst people who knew no English. From the fertile soil of these memories sprang the courage to homeschool my own children (half in number at the time) many years later.

We had such amazing freedom! We lived in a village called Kounoupidiana (translation: cauliflower, ???), and roamed its length and width and breadth, and a bit beyond its borders as well. At our little girlfriends' houses we did our best to fork snails out of their shells, and ate soup containing the heads and feet of chickens as well as the familiar parts. We saw women gathering greens for dinner out of what we considered "empty fields." We raised fertile chickens and cats and rabbits and experienced all manner of strange situations that come up in animal husbandry. Shepherds herded their flocks of sheep through the village. We drank goat's milk delivered by a village woman each morning. I attended my first wedding - a Greek one - and it formed my impressions of what a wedding was like... lots of crowding forward. Our favorite place to go was the nearby olive grove, a beautiful gnarled woodland on its own, ripe for the imaginative creativity of childish minds. And when Mama wanted us, she rang her large brass bell and we came running home. I have chosen to share just a few memories from among the garden of delights that remain within me; my roots, as it were.

I have my own bell now, yes I do. ;D A friend purchased it for me on a trip years ago, and I have used it many days to call my own children back from their play. Times and the world have changed since I was a child, but we have tried to give our kids as close to an upbringing as we were blessed to have. We have lived in a few places that have had nearby woods for my kids to explore with compasses and lanterns and packed up lunches.

We are big fans of the Food Channel, and have all been impressed by the recent show, Chopped! We cheer our favorites on in this fast-paced, challenging contest. Our most beloved was a contestant by the name of Johanna who wanted to win in order to go visit her Grandmother in France. She was so sweet and humble and gifted. I wanted to bring her home here. So this past week, my girls have created their own version of the show during their outside time. They choose four different ingredients: three from the yard and a piece of chalk. They and their friend from across the street create fantastic and unique assemblies for a dinner entree and call one of us to be the judge. We take it all very seriously (and in great fun), and choose from among them who will be Chopped. The remaining two chefs get to duel it out for the dessert round, then call us to judge this as well.

And none of us misses where we might be driving to instead. It is my hope that afternoons and days of freedom will leave a deep and lasting impression upon my children's minds; that they will work good things into the fertile soil of their memories for the day when they will be nurturing their own children in years to come.

And if they want, I'll buy them each a bell.