Cut the Baby in Half

Cut the baby in half.  That was the declaration of Solomon, the wisest king in Old Testament history.  His only request from God was for wisdom and discernment as ruler, and his first test was the case of two prostitutes fighting over a baby.  Cut the baby in half, he said, and the real mother stepped forward with this distraught plea...Give her the baby.  Solomon knew at that moment who the real mother was, and the little one was placed in her arms.  (1 Kings, Chap. 3)

I never tire of reading and re-reading the stories, proverbs, and parables in the Bible that illustrate wisdom.  You can't close the Book without knowing thoroughly the difference between a wise man and a fool. 

The world hates biblical wisdom because it cramps its style.  I struggle with it, too, because it brings all the blackness to the surface and I can see the stain of sin in the mirror.  But I treasure it, this Wisdom, because it reminds me I am not what I used to be and I am rescued by a Miraculous Grace.

Human wisdom sometimes sees the immediate cause of a problem but it does not see the root, which is always sin. It may see that selfishness is a cause of injustice, but it has no way to remove selfishness. It may see that hatred causes misery and pain and destruction, but it has no cure for hatred. It can see plainly that man does not get along with man, but it does not see that the real cause is that man does not get along with God.  -John MacArthur

A quick read-through of the first section of Proverbs paints a wonderful picture of wisdom personified as a woman, calling through the streets, "People, you are eating the fruit of your ways!  How long are you going to live this way?" (paraphrase)

She's talking to the depraved, wicked people, right?  The mass murderers, the drug addicts, the greedy politicians.  Or is she talking to me?  Is she getting down deep in the marrow of my bones and saying, "Jill, have you ignored my advice?" 

"Why, of course not, I'm a good person."

"Oh?  Have you gossiped lately? (Prov. 11:13)

"Um, maybe..."

"Have you withheld unduly?" (Prov. 11:24)

"Withheld what?"

"You tell me," is Wisdom's reply.  "Have you watched your tongue?" (Prov. 10: 19)

"Well, my kids might have an opinion about that.  Sorry." 

The longer I walk this road of faith and seek Wisdom, the more I am enchanted with her beauty and long for her peace and security...and the more I am aware of my own complacency.  The dingy froth of foolishness bubbles up in parenting choices, relationship foibles, and a million other decisions that could have been better had I sought Wisdom's way.

Discernment is not a matter of simply telling the difference between right and wrong; rather it is telling the difference between right and almost right. -C.H. Spurgeon

Let us consider together where best to seek wisdom.  It's so much easier to open O Magazine than the Bible.  The modern talkers will tickle our ears and stir up our passions, but the Word WAS, IS, and WILL BE, long after columnists, talk show hosts, and "experts" turn to dust. 

So I choose to join Wisdom in the public square, seeing the world through her eyes, listening to her instruction, and living in her circle of blessing.

Paddling in a Storm on Bluewater Lake

Bluewater Lake at sunrise with steaming coffee in hand and loon cry lifting.  Heavenly.

In the distance, I detect a little dot of a canoe where father and daughter are learning to synchronize paddle strokes.  They rose before dawn to share this moment; a curly-haired girl tiptoeing around the cabin with anticipation and a devoted dad stumbling over duffel bags in the dark. 

I can see through binoculars that she is more interested in gazing at gathering storm sky and rippling water than paddling.  Her daddy is steadily stroking his princess toward shore as her oar balances on her little knee.  That is, until the streak of lightening and sharp thunder clap disturbs her revelry.  At once, her paddling accelerates and that blue canoe nearly lifts out of the water cartoon-style, barreling toward the beach. 

Cold plops of rain drop in my coffee as I move to shelter.  The sky flashes and grumbles.  The two finally slide smooth onto the sand, shore up the canoe, and race toward me, wet hair plastered down like a swim cap.  Nature Girl runs, dances fairy-style toward the family camp gathering hall and Soaked Adoring Father hoofs it across the beach, grinning, catching my eye.

And this will be another summer moment to memorize.  Electrified canoeing.  Father and Daughter wrapped in towels, drinking hot chocolate, with a story to tell.

Here are some more pictures from our annual trip to Bluewater Covenant Family Camp...

Dave took Noah on a 5-mile storm-free canoe trip the next morning. 

Something News

Somehow this crafty, musical, not-so-interested in politics momma agreed to teach Civics to middle-schoolers this fall at our homeschool co-op. 

If you're unsure what Civics is, it's the study of government with an emphasis on personal rights and responsibilities.  If you're unsure what a co-op is, it's a bunch of homeschooling families coming together to offer their kids special group classes, taught by hired (albeit not expert) instructors.  This year's classes for my kids include art, speech, gym, science fair project, and health, in addition to Civics.  www.cchomeschoolers.org

Suddenly I'm reading every political current event article, writing my legislators thank you notes, surfing the web for lesson plans, and relearning the difference between a democracy and a republic...oh, and LOVING it!  Here is the question I will present on the first day of class as we explore rights vs. resposibilities.  It was inspired by a recent Rochester Post-Bulletin article:  should a person be allowed to use a toilet as an outdoor planter? 

Something new.  There is so much joy in it.  It's what I try to teach my children:  don't ever stop learning something new.

I observe the current something news of my little family, as they spend their loosely structured summer hours.  For Noah at age 13, it's delving into sports statistics, navigating the new world of Facebook, developing his acting and singing skills, and pushing through a challenging piano piece. 

At almost 11, Megan has to have her hands busy creating something new if her nose isn't in a book.  And 8-yr-old Grace wants to learn and master games, perfect her musical theater jazz hands, and see how many ways she can write her name in bubble letters.  Dave is learning how to play his new homemade Irish whistles and figuring out our complicated new recording equipment so he can teach me in Kindergarten language. 

OK, so there's plenty of Netflix streaming and Wii playing, too.  The kids have made it through multiple seasons of The Brady Bunch and advanced many game levels.  I have wasted too much time blindly scanning Facebook when I should be cleaning.  I have chosen to eat more ice cream and run less miles.  Nothing new there.  (weak sigh)

Pastor Tim reminded me of one of my favorite verses in Psalm 16 last Sunday. 

You have drawn boundary lines in pleasant places. 

With each something new, the boundary lines expand, wisdom deepens through joys and hardships, and a mind set on gratitude and faith calls it all a pleasant place. 

The Beauty of Immersion

You might not notice him walking down the street.  Average height and build.  Jeans with a T-shirt tucked in.  Curly hair and graying whiskers.  Maybe a college professor if he was wearing a blazer.  Maybe a sports fan if he was wearing a Twins hat.  Perhaps a Mayo doctor if he had a stethoscope around his neck.

But put him on a stage surrounded by 80 kids listening with rapt attention, and you'd know he was doing what he was created to do.  Not just directing theater productions, but capturing minds and hearts.  Mr. Driscoll is my kids' beloved community theater director.  As I stand off stage, busily upholstering set pieces or painting storefronts as we prepare for opening night of Music Man, I listen to him.  He's a father of 7 (I think) and a homeschooling dad and literature teacher.  He directs many shows each year and dreams up incredible sets and costumes and casts vision for hoards of volunteers. 

At the end of each rehearsal, after running through his list of corrections and notes, he sets to the task of inspiring.  "Why are we doing this, kids?  Because it is IMPORTANT!" he booms.  "This story needs to be told, and you have been chosen to tell it!"  My heart leaps for my children, who get to do something as important as tell a 1912 salesman story to their community, bringing joy and delight to the masses. 

Mr. Driscoll (say it aloud...his name even sounds like a character) talked yesterday about the beauty of immersion.  He said he has taught the same set of 8 sonnets for 25 years and they have become like old friends.  He told the kids to live and breathe Music Man for the next 2 weeks; to help with set and costumes, to study librettos, to become the character, and with every knee-high march in 76 Trombones, to look like you are having the most fun ever! 

I think about the things in my life I have poured myself into, sacrificed for, saturated my mind with, sold my soul to.  They are most dear and known.  They are mine and all mine.  In this world of a million pleasures and ample distractions and ADD, may I pursue the art of single-mindedness.  May I teach my children the beauty of knowing something deep and wide...a verse of Scripture, a poem, a piece of art, a selection of Beethoven. 

I am guilty as any of leaving a thousand things unfinished, like books, half-written songs, partially knitted scarves.   Because I worry my kids aren't getting enough exposure, I overteach subjects and underteach depth and they never fall in love with anything. 

I'm challenging myself this school year to slow down.  To give my kids space to fall in love.  Over and over and over.  Perhaps we'll start with a sonnet.  A question for you, reader...what do you know deeply and love forever?

Everybody Homeschools

I am not a person who thinks everyone should "officially" homeschool their kids.  That would be an arrogant and divisive position to take, and frankly, I had a great public school experience and I know many kids do.  The beauty is that we still have rights as parents to make decisions about our children.  Besides, my favorite quote from the sage grandfather of my friend, who sat at the head of the dinner table one night listening to his adult grandchildren debate homeschool v. public school v. Christian school said, "I have one thing to say on the subject.  You ALL homeschool no matter where your kids spend their days.  Do it well."

As I enter my 9th year of the beloved responsibility of teaching my kids at home, I admittedly am encouraged by the substantial list of successful people who were homeschooled. http://www.homeschoolacademy.com/famoushomeschoolers.htm  Not because I think my kids need to be famous someday, for I do not equate success with fame.  Many of the people listed were taught at home by highly qualified tutors, not by moms and dads who entered into the endeavor with fear and trembling, feeling unqualified and nagged with doubts.

I would not do this if I did not feel called by God.  If I could look you in the eye and say, "I'm not created and called to do this," then I wouldn't.  But I've been given everything I need, day by day like portioned manna, to accomplish this task.  I battle inner demons on a regular basis...pride, envy, comparisons, and the list goes on.  I pour countless hours and tremendous dollars analyzing and purchasing curriculum, creating spaces and schedules, estimating strengths and weaknesses of myself and each child, and praying for favor and balance.  And in the end, my kids are just kids, I am just a mom, Dave is just a dad, and God is still God, putting it all in eternal perspective:  this world is not our home, this body is just a tent, and everything will turn to dust.  (Can you tell I've been reading Ecclesiastes?!)


And so, quite simply, I wake up each day and hug my kids and kiss my husband and love my Lord and make music and read wonderful stories and grow things and be grateful and laugh and run and occasionally trip and fall and get back up. 


Artistic post-script...


I recently discovered that two of my favorite contemporary artists/entertainers were homeschooled.  Tim Hawkins is a brilliant comedian, with the facial elasticity of Jim Carrey, the parody-writing talent of Weird Al, and the wholesome wit of Bill Cosby.  Just type Tim Hawkins in a YouTube search and get ready to belly laugh.  Every now and then, he will poke fun at his homeschool experience.  Here are a couple of links:


Adam's Family parody called "The Homeschool Family" by Tim Hawkins
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VM6uqj0_jQc

Comedy routine called "Restaurants"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z427iKrXPvE


My new favorite singer/songwriter is Audrey Assad, and I just found out this morning that she was homeschooled.  The girl knows how to use poetic language and unique melody to create an enduring moment, and her voice is a cross between Karen Carpenter and Sarah McLaughlin, with brilliant power in her upper range.  I am unashamedly jealous of her pipes.  Here is one of her best songs:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3moGYtZxDwA&feature=fvsr

Who Cares More?

Life lessons are often taught and learned in the mundane episodes of life.  It's like The Brady Bunch.  Everything starts out as a normal day, with a cheerful music soundtrack, you know, a little 70's flute melody, and long, blond hair swinging like a pendulum.  Then, surprise, conflict enters, the plot thickens, the chords become dissonant, wise parents intervene, wiser housekeeper cleans up the mess.  Cheerful music closes the show.

Enter two Pearson girls who want to re-bunk their beds.  Daddy cheerfully complies with wrench in hand.  But....squealing tire sound effect...who will get to sleep in the top bunk first? 

Little sister:  "I should get to, because she got to first the last time."

Big sister: "But she already said I could go first."

Little sister:  "But that was before I remembered that she went first LAST time."

Motherly insert:  "Why don't you flip a coin?  Remember, the coin is neutral.  Don't get mad at the coin."

Coin is flipped.  Little girl loses.  Shoot; it would have been easier if she'd won.  Dumb coin.

Little sister runs off in tears.  Big sister smiles smugly.  Mom and Dad look at each other and nod.  The time has come to share a helpful fact of life with Big Sister. 

In most conflicts, the issue at hand matters more to one side than the other.  The coin flip doesn't take that into account, but you can.  You can consider your sister's feelings about this and do a selfless, gracious thing.  Or you can play by the rules of the coin that say you won fair and square.  It's up to you.  But your mom and I try to remember this when we are disagreeing.  One of us may have the more logical, practical, reasonable argument, but the other might simply care more.  It matters who cares more. 

Big sister let her cry it out for awhile, but a grateful Little Sister was happily tucked into the top bunk last night. I'm not implying that we should reward tears and tantrums, but sometimes we need to look past the contrary behavior and into the heart of the matter.  Being able to lay down our desires for another is something we need to teach our children...and practice ourselves.   

Cue happy flute music.

Wool Sweaters in July

Yesterday I blogged on finding my way through the maze of my Middle Girl's heart.  This is what she wanted to do with our special set-aside time:

On a toasty summer day, when normal people go swimming, we re-purposed old, wool sweaters.  Megan transformed hers into slippers.  We made up stories about the man who wore the sweater.  He must have lived in Alaska because there was a moose on the tag. 

She started with a simple, draw-around-your-feet pattern.  She used the wrist-cuffs for a strap.  Very clever.

I made a book bag.  It's vintagy cute spread on the floor, but when you pick it up it's floppy, and I'm not sure I'd want to carry anything more than a paperback in it.  The button cluster is charming, though, and what matters is that we sat on the living room floor listening to Norah Jones and Colbie Callait and J.J. Heller and created new from old.

And that we shared some iced cappuccino.

 

Late in the afternoon, brother and sister returned and I captured some moments on the front porch with our faithful dog, Bullseye.

Zinnias from the garden.

Megan's peepers, raised from tadpoles.

I love container gardening.

And I cherish snaggletooth smiles on porch swings in July. 

At the end of the day, Graci (this is her new way to spell her name) brought me a bouquet of flowers...cut from my container garden.  Um....oops.

What to Do When You Have Your 10-Yr-Old All To Yourself

Oldest and youngest will be off to a play rehearsal all afternoon and middler will be with me. 

I would like to fill her love tank and have been thinking on it in my early morning rise.  We could sit and watch a few of her hundred tadpoles morph into peepers out in the baby pool in our driveway, but that would take the patience of Job, not Jill, so I think we will pull out the wool sweaters I have been collecting at garage sales and find a recycled sweater project. 

There are hundreds of free on-line projects and I will put her to work this morning researching. 

You see, my firstborn and I share an easy, teasing humor, and my lastborn is perky and affectionate and soaks up simple hugs and cuddles.  But Middle Girl is more obscure.  There is a maze I must travel to get to her heart, and I can get there, but it takes time and energy that I'm not always willing to expend. 

I like to tease and she does not often take well to teasing.  I value a quick wit and rapid understanding and she is not always quick like that.  I don't have an abundance of tolerance for her sensitivity and she knows this and will retreat from me, while I kick myself and ask God for extended grace toward her. 

But today will be for her.  And I will meditate on every good gift she has to offer.  We will create new things from old, because this is the most beautiful of ancient metaphors.  It is the business of God.

Setting Your Husband Up to Fail

As he innocently pours milk on his cereal and anticipates a nice breakfast with his wife on the screened porch this beautiful morning, I'm sure he doesn't suspect the trap.  I've been pouring over curriculum choices for an hour, ready to present my $800 idea and not really interested in his opinion, only his support.  (wince)

He takes the bait.  Gives his alternate opinion.  Puts me on the defensive.  Gives me a "fine, do what you want" and stalks off.


After 20 years as a Christian, 18 years as a loving wife, and 8 years as a devoted homeschool teacher, you'd think I'd have squelched this sin-habit of Just Tell Me What I Want To Hear.  I scour marriage and homeschool life books, sincerely trying to internalize the sage advice of smart and savvy women who have mastered the art of submission in marriage. 

Yet I hold this homeschooling endeavor tight to my chest with a Mother-Knows-Best attitude.  Sure, I'll submit to his opinions on new computers and when the right time is to build a deck.  But not this.  It's my hill to live or die on.  (deeper wince)

I slink off to the bedroom, stewing because he has questioned the validity of my idea.  He sits alone on the porch with his cereal and private thoughts.  I slide into the shower, feeling it coming, the gentle conviction that flows from a heart given over to a Spirit Who calls out sin.  It's not guilt that washes over me. 

It's love. 

A Love that makes me want to love.

And here is what I know about the man I gave my heart to on a warm June day.  He will come and find me.  He will pull me to him and apologize for hurting my feelings.  He will not leave for work without making things right.  And here is what I know about myself.  I will move into his arms and I will apologize, too, and confess I set him up to fail.

Yes, there it is, the knock on the bedroom door.  He has come.  My love.

4th of July: Memorizing Moments

There are moments when everything is perfect; when you want to take a picture, but you will miss the moment getting the camera, and anyway, the camera can't imprint what is being poured out of the Big Dipper straight into your heart on a warm 4th of July night. 

It can't capture the laughter of the children you can barely see racing across the grass, their voices hooting for the fireworks on the neighboring farm.  It can't splash you like the water balloon breaking on your shoulder when you lost the toss.

I think of these moments as God's Kingdom Come to Me.  I try to memorize them, leave the aperture of my mind open long to fill with light and sound and all manner of sensation.  They will never be repeated.

Dave captured some of them, though.  A parade, picnic, and visit to the Grotto in West Bend, Iowa.  Man made fireworks and God-made ones, called stars and fireflies.  We enjoyed our independence and freedom with every last ounce of gratitude this weekend.  Here are some of the moments...

Gather or Scatter

"If I miss my quiet time in the morning, I feel off for the entire day." 

 I have heard this spoken often over the years.  Just last night, as we broke bread with two lovely young couples from our church, one of the women, cradling her baby as her toddler jumped into giant pillows by her feet, said the same.  She would rather rise at break of day before the first calls of children and lose sleep than lose time with God. 

The other sweet young thing, balancing her one-year-old between her knees, said that when asked about her hobbies, the only thing she could think of was how she and her husband listen to sermon podcasts and read theology books in their free time.  These are two bright, beautiful, savvy, sociable leaders.  God is filling them up and his goodness is spilling out. 

I have often wondered why it matters.  We are saved by grace.  Isn't it good enough that we know the Jonah and Noah stories and can get the gist of Jesus' parables?  At least we own some Bibles, right?  We get a good dose of religion at church, right?

Something about the verse I read this morning in Luke wrapped a ribbon around my wonderings...

He who is not for me is against me, and he who does not gather with me scatters.  -Luke 11:23

I know what it feels like to gather around God, a player huddled with the coach, looking for wisdom and direction.  And I know what it feels like to scatter.  To flit from one chore to the next, never feeling productive, or worse, to hide from priorities and waste all manner of time. 

I tell my kids... "First things first."  There is really not a better mantra. 

 "Do what you have to do so you can do what you want to do."  That's another favorite mom-quote. 

"What must be done is best done cheerfully."  I stole that from Pa Ingalls. 

But it's all true.  When I gather with God, as I should and ought; as I cultivate a relationship with Him and draw deeply unto Him, then what I ought to do becomes what I want to do.  What I should do becomes what I get to do. 

What could be scattered and lost is suddenly gathered up, like morning manna held in an apron-sling, perfectly portioned for the day ahead.