What Kind of Person Homeschools?

There were twenty of us circled in my living room last night.  Nobody knew everybody.  Everybody knew somebody.  We all had two things in common...we were preparing to embark on a new year of homeschooling and we all attend the same church. 

We slowly worked our way around the circle, trying to figure each other out.  We were like planets on different orbital paths, but with the same center, the Bright and Morning Star. 

"Young planets," just getting started, shared their fears and anticipation as they cradled the newest born of their growing families.  "Veteran planets" gave us wise counsel, like meteors aimed straight at our hearts, discussing everything from high school transcripts to leaving a legacy of learning. 

We shared laughs over our children's antics, winced at the hard things we face, cried with one mother's painful discovery.  Like the gravitational pull that holds the physical world together, and the wisdom of God that holds all things together, we were attracted to each other's stories and hearts.  A little universe of twinkling stars and tilting planets.

We each shared three words that describe us.  So what kind of person homeschools?  Uptight, relaxed, talkative, quiet, outgoing, shy, firstborn, youngest, soft, firm, organized, scattered.  I was blessed and impressed by the diversity of personalities and yet the unity of heart and mind in this grand, galactic adventure. 

School on the Mat

A sweet friend, Becky, gave me the brilliant idea to begin our school year "on the mat."  Not so much a Charlotte Mason-style lesson, as a reminder that there are children in the world who don't have laptops, stomachs full of food, books galore, and basic safety skills.  Becky told me about a missionary she had recently spoken to who had returned from Cambodia and observed a real "school on the mat." 

What do the children there learn?  Why they should brush their teeth if they want to be healthy.  How to avoid being trafficked.  How deeply God loves them. 

So, in honor of these children a spin of the globe away from Minnesota, we laid down a blanket and talked about why we should be grateful for our abundance and security and how, deep down, God loves them as much as us because we don't measure God's blessing in material provisions. 

We sang the hymn "May the Mind of Christ My Savior" because it's powerful words swept me away at church on Sunday, and I knew they needed to be stretched across the framework of our schooling and lives this year like a painter's canvas. 

We felt a bit like Henny Penny with her falling sky as the acorns dropped from our giant oaks.  One bounced off Grace's head and landed in her hand.  Much laughter ensued! 

For science, we followed up on our trip to the Des Moines Science Center Body Vital exhibit, where we viewed plasticized bodies in marvelous poses that were at once mesmerizing and repelling.  We drew our own bodies and will continue to add details of cells and systems as we learn throughout the week.  Five billion billion billion atoms compose our bodies.  We are fearfully and wonderfully made, indeed.  (Psalm 39)

Noah, my 8th grader, realized that his day was going to last much longer than in the past with extra required reading, especially for his Biblical Worldview course called Starting Points.  We read the first chapter of the first book and found it to be at post-collegiate level.  He was discouraged until we sat together and discussed the heady thoughts and he "got" it.  He's also reading "To Kill a Mockingbird" because it is one of my favorites.  He stumbled through the first chapter of that, too.  Stretching is painful but good.

Megan snuck off whenever she could to work on a painting when she found a canvas in the back of a closet.  I thought the colors and brushstrokes were lovely. 

Grace, the communicator, wanted to write her 2 pen pals after her schoolwork was completed. 

Add in a morning run, laundry, meal-making, and an evening meeting, and I felt pleasantly exhausted  at the end of the day.  Nine more months til summer break!

Megan said the blessing at suppertime.  It included this comment, "Dear God, please let Mom tire out by the end of the year so we can be done with school." 

This, my dear, I can guarantee!

Holy Ground

I know what holy ground is:  that place where you want to take off your shoes because God is there, an unseen flame burning. 

Holy ground is where I stood on my back porch this summer and spoke final words to my grandfather, whose only response was labored breath on the other side of the telephone.  Holy ground was where I stood in church last Sunday morning, when I couldn't join the singing because it was too achingly beautiful.  It's where I sit right now, barefoot in my den, glancing out the window to see a tiny hummingbird hovering, inspecting me. 

Do you know what God said as Moses stood barefoot before a strangely burning bush? 

And this will be the proof that I am the One who sent you.  When you have brought my people out of Egypt, you will worship God right here at this very mountain.  -Exodus 3, The Message

I get it now.  We don't necessarily know we are on holy ground until afterward, in hindsight, when all we can think to do is go back to the beginning and worship. 

Last week, I had a Moses moment.  I was meandering across the Iowa State campus with old friends, reminiscing and laughing and trying to remember names and events that have blurred with time.  I recall a few things clearly:  the day I met Dave and he gave me his first of many sideways smiles; how we bumped into each other the next day on campus and said with synchronicity, "We should get together."  Holy ground...where two unholy people met and God turned it into beauty. 

I chuckled, remembering Becky, as a goofy RA, promising  the people on her floor that she would wear a giant bra across the courtyard if we would all show up to the dorm floor meeting.  We did...and she did, and we carried her on our shoulders. I don't think that qualifies as a holy moment, but it sure endeared her to me.  How fun to tease her about that 20 years later.

But there was a particular moment that day, when I stopped everyone and pointed to a courtyard and said, "That is where God called for me."  And my friend Mara smiled and said, "Yes, I remember.  You called me and said that you had found something."  Now I know that Someone had found me.

Right there, on a hot Wednesday afternoon, I worshipped, with our children skipping around us, among the college students slipping into their dorms, aside dear friends who share my passions.  I paused and worshipped because the proof was in front of me.  It was the voice of God I had heard all those years ago.

I had returned to the mountainside. 

Life by the Level

I sit here imagining all the metaphors for my scattery mind.  A radio skipping through stations and never quite tuned in.  A channel- surfing television.  A camera taking constant, random photos.  A merry-go-round of noise and blur. 

I desperately tried to rest in contemplatio this morning, that sweet, centered, undistracted time with my Maker.  But my brain rebelled, informing me of a thousand other possibilities.  I tried to savor the words from Romans 11:  Be mindful of the root that keeps you lithe and green.  My mind's eye simply could not focus on the root.  It tried instead to follow all the dandelion seeds blown by the wind, losing track of everything.

Finally, I tried to imagine a carpenter's level.  Many times during our deck building this month, I held the level for Dave while he gently tapped boards from bottom and top.  "There, that's it," I would whisper, and he would smile and lean into the drill to secure the board. 

I need to keep my focus on that tiny bubble, centered between two hash marks.  There is value in laying the level on my life, my heart, my attitude, because things become askew, priorities teeter on loose nails, laziness and apathy grasp tools carelessly, and we all end up tripping over crooked floorboards. 

If I emphasize the children's behavior more than the condition of their hearts, the bubble moves to the left.  If I fill our lives with activity and leave no time for relationships and communication, the bubble moves to the right.  If I jump into commitments without discernment, the level falls right to the ground. 

We start homeschool on Monday and I have this gnawing worry that I have overscheduled our family, most of all myself.  I enjoy and excel at the things I've agreed to do/lead/teach, but what will the level reveal in a month?  We shall see.  To be continued....

Living History

The long and winding road took the kids and me to Iowa these last few days.  It took us to the doorsteps of three friends who have marked my life in countless and profound ways.  All 4 of us Iowa State alumni.  All of us RAs in the dorms.  All of us lovers of God and words and children and home.   

First to Mara's, where two squash plants have nearly overtaken her yard, which is the perfect metaphor for how she plants good things and how they grow abundantly.  She has always planted seeds in me, challenged me to try new things, invited me to fall in love with history and plant life and books. 

Mara reminded me we met in Freshman English at Iowa State and that I had written a long-forgotten paper about homeschooling, which she thought made me interesting enough to pursue in friendship.  I'm sure back then  my paper had portrayed homeschooling as ridiculous (painful wince.)  Mara led me to a summer job at Living History Farms in Des Moines, and it was in the little pioneer church on the grounds where I married Dave, with Mara at my side.

And then to Tracy's, who is restoring a beautiful, big Victorian in Boone.  She is endlessly creative and is a re-junker, with a business called Once Was.  Our history goes back to middle school, where we were each desperately, awkwardly, painfully trying to figure out who we were. 

Tracy planted the most important seeds in me back then.  Seeds of faith that would not grow until college.  But when I heard the knock and cautiously considered opening the door, Tracy is who I called, and she has always cared deeply about my roots and my fruit as a believer in Christ.

Finally, to Becky's, the author, whose stories get into my marrow and won't leave.  Becky, whose tales touch and challenge me to live boldly for Christ.  Her family adopted 4 year old Joshua from China last year. 

Joshua taught me the most, in that moment when I drew him to me for a story, and he taught me the words for tree and dog and bird in his language of signs.  If I did it wrong, he gently touched my hand, shook his head with the solemn brown eyes, and showed me again.  After we shared that precious time, he ran to me often, let me hold him, "chose" me as a friend.  Strange how a boy with special needs could make me feel special.

Our final hours were spent walking the beautiful campus yesterday with all but Tracy, feeling strange and old among the backpack-laden college students, with our duck trail of 11 children skipping among us.  We paused for a picture under the campanile, where each of us had stolen kisses with our future spouses so many years ago.  See what has come of that!  Living history indeed. 

Lectio Divina

Lectio Divina:  (LEK-tsee-o di-VEEN-ah)  sacred reading

Those in the Catholic tradition might be aware of this Latin phrase, but it was new to me and something about it drew me in.  I read the words in an article somewhere and jotted them down to investigate.  I've always been fascinated with ancient monastic writings and practices and was exposed to many when I participated in a Bible study based on Devotional Classics, edited by Richard Foster. 

I've tried many approaches to my morning quiet time.  When one gets stale, I seek out a fresh one.  In this pearl of a phrase, Lectio Divina has proved to be as fresh and delicious as Emma's homemade bread.  I wake up eager to move to my place, open God's Word, discover His message for me.

There are many books available on what it is and how to do it.  I'm glad I randomly picked Tony Jones' Encountering God Through the Ancient Practice of Lectio Divina.  It's written from a contemporary pastor dad of small children who is even from Minnesota.  It's worth reading an in-depth book before you try it, but here it is in a nutshell.  Four steps:

Lectio-  reading...choose a short section of Scripture.  I use an on-line lectionary to guide my daily reading.  Read it over and over and over, 10 or 15 times.

Meditatio-  meditate on the word or phrase that most caught your attention and stirred up an emotional response.  Explore it.  Lean into it.  Think hard on it. 

Oratio-  prayer...pray your response back to God.  Whether you need to repent, offer thanks, intercede, or all of them, do it now.  Silence is a valid response as well. 

Contemplatio-  Let go.  Close your eyes and quiet your mind in God's love.  I envision myself plunging backward into the ocean of God or resting in his strong arms.  Clear your head of all thoughts but for sweet communion with Him. 

When I ease back into the day,  I realize I have been in a vortex of worship, communion, and interaction with the Holy Word.  I briefly journal my reading selection and thoughts, especially the phrase that came forth in meditatio.  I find that questions have been answered, my cup has been filled, my mind has been fixed on holiness, and I can enter into the day with gladness.  For me, it takes about 30 minutes.

This is obviously not an inductive style of study.  I've done those and they serve a different, yet equally meaningful purpose.  I think I will stick with this practice for awhile, because nothing compares to the sense of encountering God at the break of day.

Giggles Around the Table

I've had the privilege of helping a friend get-away with her husband for the first time in years by watching her five children for a few days.  It's been a while since I've changed diapers and tried to interpret 3-year-old language, but I can tell you that there was so much fun and laughter around the table I thought we were in an episode of the Waltons. 

I was an only child growing up.  Translation:  quiet meals.  I never got to say, "Raise your hand if you love Phineas and Pherb."  Playing telephone around the table was not an option.  I'm certain my mom never felt like a cafeteria worker.  But peeking out the porch door at giant smiles and burst of laughter, I feel their joy of circled togetherness on this beautiful August day.



Ponder the Rock

I've become well-acquainted with rocks of late.  I've picked through flagstone in the bulk yard for hours, shoveled endless wheelbarrowfuls of purple quartz into the landscape, and taught my 8-yr-old geology basics, like why river rock is smooth and rounded while quarry stone is angled and glinting, as she tagged along on my multiple trips to Sargent's Nursery.

Many moments my mind wandered to Opa, my dear grandfather, who passed away last week.

 
Opa was born by the light of an oil lamp in 1919, in a primitive cabin built by his father.  He played army baseball with Joe Garagiola, worked on the Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo space projects, fought wars, built a cabin, reeled in a giant, and I mean, giant fish.  I remember it.  It stared at me from his basement wall.   

But more profound is what he taught me of generosity, love, and acceptance; how his eyes twinkled when I entered the room; how he passed on his appreciation of the Canadian wilderness and blueberry pancakes and good shoes and Dunkin' Donuts.

Ponder the rock from which you were cut...-Isaiah 51:1

This is the verse that jumped off the page this morning in my quiet time.  With gratitude I thank God for all of the best and beautiful things I have inherited, and for the generational issues I've been spared, and that I have been brought to...

A place filled with exuberance and laughter, thankful voices and melodic songs. -Isaiah 51:3

Building More Than a Deck

This summer has been a deep dive into projects.  Other summers have passed with long road trips, lounging at pools, and putzing in the garden, but not this one.  We've wielded paint brushes, power washers, hammers, drills, and the almighty shovel. 

For several weeks I have poured significant time into laboriously painting shop windows for the Music Man set.  I loved it so much I seriously thought I may have missed my calling as a sign painter!  Then, last weekend, I joined a hundred people to tear it all down (sad sigh.)  Sunday night I collapsed in exhaustion.  Monday morning I took my daughter camping for American Heritage Girls, and Tuesday I started the next project...building a 2-level deck with my husband and son. 

Every summer for seven years we've talked about this, sketched out plans, and then shelved it for another year.  I'm so glad we waited.  The little boy who would have been in the way is now big enough to hammer 4-inch nails and carriage bolts, and drill a thousand deck screws.  His compensation for a week of hard work?  Vikings tickets!

While the boys (and daughters, too) get to drill, measure, hammer, and place the wood,  I get to shovel, shovel, shovel.  Fill up the wheelbarrow.  Roll is to the back.  Empty it.  Spread the dirt and pea rock.  Wheel it back up the hill.  Do it again.  Here's the thing...I love it!  I've been lifting weights at our local athletic club for a couple of years, and I surely don't get a new deck at the end of all my exertion. 

Purposeful labor is a thing of beauty in our cerebral, technology-driven life.  During the school year, our heads are in books and laptops, our hands lift nothing heavier than guitars, remotes, laundry baskets (and, well, weights,) and the results are nebulous and hard to measure. 

When you slide on your work gloves, grip the wooden handle, sink the spade hard into earth and rock, feel your muscles strain and contract and occasionally rebel, now that is satisfying.  Watching your son and husband work side by side, seeing the pile of wood in your driveway transform into a deck in your backyard, listening to classic rock on the radio, warm sun, cool breeze, tiger swallowtail and monarchs, dog rolling in the dirt.  It's poetry.   

Dave always amazes me with his skill, hard work ethic, and patience in teaching the kids.  My hero in a tool belt! He claims the most useful summer job he had as a teen was assisting a building contractor.

This was one of my projects.

A strange teen phenomenon:  planking.  Why?  Good question.

There were many breaks taken on the rope swing.  A steady stream of neighbor girls have stopped by to watch the project.

Not feeling guilty about eating a DQ blizzard at the end of the day.  Perfection.

The dictionary is the only place where success comes before work.  -Vince Lombardi

Where the Air Meets the Water

I read during my quiet time this morning an excerpt from Dallas Willard's The Spirit of the Disciplines, found in Devotional Classics, edited by Richard Foster.  A great book that I return to often. 

When Jesus walked among humankind there was a certain simplicity to being a disciple.  Primarily it meant to go with him, in an attitude of study, obedience, and imitation.  There were no correspondence courses.  One knew what to do and what it would cost.  - Dallas Willard

Willard laments that the modern Western World has not made discipleship a condition of being a Christian.  Calling Christ the Lord of your life is optional. 

Here I sit, 20 years into this Christian life, still wrestling with what it means to be a disciple.  Calling myself a Christian without displaying it in my life is not an option.  I fight hypocrisy fiercely.  But there is an ocean to be explored and I have only splashed at the surface, with occasional deep dives.  I want to be lost in its depths, astounded by its mysteries, and yet life happens where the air and water meet, where two worlds collide and tug at each other.  Air pulling out water.  Water pulling in air. 

Three dirty pans still sit on the counter from yesterday's dinner and I want to close my Bible and go wash them.  Wonderful books are at my fingertips in the evenings and I choose to watch a show that makes me dumber.  My life intersects with people in need of kindness, comfort, prayer, and I am too busy to stop and minister. 

A sweet little family of Jehovah's Witnesses stopped by yesterday.  A kind father, an earnest mother, a little girl scratching at the ears of our dog.  We chatted a bit in the stifling heat and they pointed out what we had in common as believers in Christ.  While I don't agree with their interpretation of Scripture or their approach to evangelism, I had to admire their commitment and discipline to sharing their faith.  Such encounters always makes me pause to evaluate my own commitments. 

Study.  Obedience.  Imitation.  Three simple concepts that truly can and ought to be woven into every mundane task before me.  At once duty and devotion.  My flesh leans hard toward spiritual laziness and apathy, but the Spirit within me uses all its resources to keep me awake, alive, vibrant, effective...and discipled. 

Why I Love a Party

We do kid birthdays up big around here.  It's not that I like the idea of spoiling them or think they "deserve" it, it's just that I LOVE to plan their parties with them, to figure out what they would enjoy doing and bless them by saying yes to as many of their ideas as possible.  (Ooh, I just licked some random birthday cake frosting off my finger.  How did that get there?) 

It probably goes back to my years as a camp counselor and wanting to give the kids a wonderfully fun experience.  Or maybe it goes back further, to my own mom always making my birthday very special. 

I truly adore children, well, most of them :)  I loved being a teacher and I love homeschooling my own and speaking into the lives of their friends and other kids in my circle of influence.  For instance, I spent a good half hour with a friend's 4-year-old the other day blowing and popping bubbles while waiting for my kids to finish a rehearsal.  Oh, to make a small child giggle.  It's time well spent. 

Megan, the tiny thing who surprised me by arriving over 4 weeks early for her birth, just arrived at age 11.  I picked zinnias from the garden and Queen Anne's Lace from the roadside to decorate the birthday table.  The colors and textures are mesmerizing.

She asked for a "camping" sleep-over this year.  The only thing I had to limit was the number of friends she could invite.  Her list was long as she has so many dear and wonderful friends of all ages, but I said she could invite as many as would fit in the tent.  Alas, the tent sat empty last night.  Too hot!

This is what it looks like to be surrouded by grace...as in sister, Grace, and BFF Grace.

Dave invented this creative homemade lantern that the girls assembled with mason jars, outdoor solar lights, and wire.  Charge them in the sun and they stay lit for playing and camping at night.   Here is what they look like in the dark...

Megan received marvelous gifts this year.  An electric drill from Grandpa Bo and Cathy.  A new sewing machine from Nana.  A kit to make a 3 foot wooden wishing well from us.  A tool kit from Noah and Engraving Art from Grace.  Meg was in heaven.  Nature Girl now has an alias:  Carpenter Seamstress. 

 

I think about God's emphasis on celebrations and marking milestones, and I know he created us to love a good party.  I honor the Creator of my dear girl, and I cherish her with all my heart.