No wonder my children think I'm a nag. I'm no fun compared to Buck. I home school and make them make their bed. I make them fold laundry and put it away. They must clean their rooms before they are permitted to have screen time.

However, when I go out of town, my husband takes them to incredible events. Last time I went to Atlanta, Buck hooked up with our beloved master of fun middle school ministry intern and took the children to see Charlie Hall. Buck says Charlie is his inspiration for his won hairstyle. I could hear and feel the electric current of excitement in my family when I returned.

Over the weekend, Buck took everyone to see Group1Crew and Toby Mac. Nerdy or not, three of my children can't take the noise of concerts and must be back from the stage a bit, and Pooh Bear wears earplugs to safeguard her developing ears. Tater, who can't hear music unless it's loud, made his way to front and center stage to watch the sweat pour onto guitars from the musician's brows. Everyone showed off their Toby Mac wrist sweat bands to me. Have we returned to the 70's or something, and I completely missed it? Do people actually wear running gear like jewelery again? Seriously?

Apparently, the cameras caught my family a few times and put their faces on the jumbotron. Buck got a call from our youth pastor on his cell, saying, "Hey, I see you're here, man!"

Buck replied, "Yeah, the cameras are scanning for good looking people. I wonder why they haven't found you?"

For me, it was the final weekend of the course I was team teaching. The other two trainers inspired me to no end. I learned more about the work I do with children from my co-trainers and the participants than I ever have. As team teachers, we discussed running our course in an experimental and experiential mode. The traditional way to teach the course has been for the participants to take note on lectures and presentations (lessons for the children). Thankfully, the trainers I learned from had a particular knack to make the lectures more discussion than preachy. However, the format didn't match the method we offer children. Liz, Lori, and I took the lecture notes in our leader's manuals and asked the question, "How can we take this from lecture to a meaningful experience?" Here's an example of how that played out.

My assigned "lecture" was titled The Method of Signs: Baptism. I'd hidden five dollars in the room the day before and told no one. I led a warm-up discussion on how God has hidden things for us to find in the Liturgy and the Word. I told them about the money I'd hidden for someone to find and asked, "Why didn't you find it?"

"We didn't know it was there," they replied.

"What can this experience tell us about God and signs?" I inquired.

"They're everywhere, and we just have to know to look." came the answer from the participants.

We explored the parable of the prodigal son for signs. Their search yielded a white board of interesting and wonderful signs I, for one, had never considered. We went into the children's classroom and looked for signs leading us to God there. The participants filled the white board with what they found hidden in the work. These people see.

Lastly, we were to end with the gifts and signs particular to baptism. Such rich faith. Discussion lasted ten minutes past my concluding remarks. To me, that time of reflection showed the depth of the participants.

Good weekend. Now, back to the task of being a mom. How in the world can I measure up to the bliss my dear husband creates while I'm away? Fortunately, he's going to stick around and keep making fun for us all.

Meal as celebration

Mac gave me two particular prizes as I helped her sort and pack over the weekend- -two items I've always wanted but have never bought for myself.

1. a copper saute pan
2. a cast iron skillet

The black cast iron skillet has already been properly seasoned, and that's something one cannot buy. It's ready to receive yellow cornbread batter on my next whim. What a delight! And maybe, because I'll have the right kind of pan, I could serve edible fried potatoes. In the wrong pan, I've burned them beyond recognition or the crisp skin stuck to the stainless steel pan.

Last night, I lifted the bright copper pan from it's new home- a hook on my kitchen pot rack. It's solid, shiny, heavy, flat on the bottom. It heated nicely on the red hot burner. The chopped onions I sauteed sizzled and popped as they grew transparent then carmelized into perfect squares of brown. How the right pan does make a difference.

I have been thinking about the simple celebration in a meal contained in each day. It's God's way to bring us together around something everyone enjoys. Good, hot, well-prepared food matters. I daily fight my tendency to make something easy, quick, hardly celebratory. There is not a time that my family is unappreciative in either case, but have I given my best when I'm thoughtless about dinner? That's no gift. I giggle when I think of the book Like Water for Chocolate in which the despair and bitter tears of the wedding cook poisons the guests. There's something to that isn't there? Is my attitude reflected in my cooking? I think it is. The attitude of others is revealed as well at table.

Last night, Tater and I prepared a lovely dinner of fish in white sauce, cheesy mashed potatoes, and spinach. Three minutes before it was time to savor the meal together, one of our children thundered at Buck and I over corrections to a diagrammed sentence and stormed out of the house. I knew the child's anger would not pass quickly, so the rest of us sat down to eat. Buck never eats when he's unhappy, so he sat with us, his head in his hands, sighing. A lot. The rest of us ate and tried to make the best of it, but consuming during discord never quite works. This meal revealed the upcoming task we must undertake to bring our child back to a place of peace. I predict hard work for us all and a bumpy summer with this person.

Hopefully, our next meal together tonight will have some celebration- even if it's to recognize everyone is present and happy for the moment. I'll do my part to put care into the food, and we'll see where things go from there.

So you think nothing happens in the country? Today's excitement involved a car plowing into a tractor and throwing the tractor operator to the ground. Lifestar (University of Tennessee Medical helicopter) flew onto our road and took the man to the hospital. My family heard it, we're too far off the road to observe the street.

I do not want to make light of it, because if Lifestar showed up, it was serious.
I do not know these neighbors, but I know they could use our prayers.

Inside the Mind of a Sunday School Teacher

On Sunday nights, I listen to God with children between the ages of 2 and 12. I am constantly in awe and get choked up by the depth the children take us during our discussion and work. We are finishing our work concerning the death and resurrection of Christ. It's one of my favorite times of the church year, because the material is so very rich.

With the older children, I've began to ask these questions for the end of the year:
1. "What is your passion? What stirs your heart into action on behalf of the Gospel?
Widows, orphans, poverty, care of the earth, children who have been hurt or scared, animals? Do you like to cook, garden, clean, or make things?"

2. "How can YOU make a difference?"

In order to make this a real experience, we must spend time listening to God for our call as individuals and a group. Last week, I sought the Lord for more ideas on how to do this well. He brought his own 40 days of fasting and prayer to me as a precedent for the children. It was the beginning of his own ministry. He reminded me that, "Yes, I was tempted, but in that 40 days, God gave me serious direction for my teaching." So, I looked up the teachings which immediately followed. He was tempted, walked on water, and then gathered the crowds for...ready...

The Sermon on the Mount.
The Beatitudes.

Oh, my perfect work to study with the children on this project of "How can I make a difference?"

I thankfully had asked for binders to create prayer journals before Easter, and then promptly forgot about them after being swept away with the flood of Easter preparations and celebration. I pulled those journals out and cut paper to fit for the work last Sunday evening.

The older students and I opened our Bibles to the 40 days in the desert and discussed what else may have happened during those 40 days of prayer besides the temptation. My ten year old scholar announced, "It must have been very quiet in the desert. Jesus probably had a lot of time hearing to his Dad."
So I asked, "What do you suppose he and his dad talked about?"

He thought for a long time and said, "Maybe God told Jesus the things He'd like him to say and do next." BINGO. This child went right where the Spirit told me to lead.

"Let's look at the next time Jesus spoke to a crowd together." I requested, and we turned to the Beatitudes. "We'll talk about three of these and then we'll pick one to write in our prayer journals."

The discussion moved beautifully. "Who are the poor in spirit?" I asked.

Ten year old scholar proclaimed, "The ones who have great trouble and problems but still turn to God."

The meditation on the next two beatitudes were just as meaningful. after reading "Blessed are the meek.", he mentioned how he had protected a toddler from falling off a slide when others behind him were rough and pushing for the toddler to hurry. He had used his strength help someone small and weak just like Jesus.

When it was time for silence, I immediately wrote "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted." in my journal as it applies to this season in my life. Then I moved on to attend the young children.

Out of the corner of my eye, I observed the ten year old scholar take at least ten minutes to choose which of the three Beatitudes to write. He wanted to hear from God which one specifically should go in his journal. He took a painstakingly long time to write "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs it the kingdom of heaven." in cursive. I know that writing is a chore for this child. The work had the quality of a gift to his Father in heaven given from the bottom of his heart.

I'll be there Sunday nights again until summer break. I wonder what difference we will make together? Another student wants to give to orphans, because she was enamored with the movie Annie. I think that is a marvelous starting point. Don't you?

Nearly rolled out of my seat laughing while I watched these guys last night...

I so needed a good laugh. Thanks, boys.

I have another (less permanent) goodbye coming up. My dear girlfriend, Mac and her precious family, are moving six hours drive away. Tomorrow and Saturday, I'm helping her sort and pack. Mac is a sentimental soul, and with my help, I hope to make her load to move lighter by helping her let go.

At the baby shower for my first child, Mac said, "True, I mean this when I say it. You can call me any time of the day or night if you need something." I hadn't known her very well until I took her up on her offer. She answered the phone every time I called even though I was sleep deprived and whiney. She listened intently, one of her best qualities, and offered advice and help. She kept Peace for the first date Buck and I ever had after Peace was born. Our children love one another. We have been there for one another in adopting and parenting children. We've choreographed and danced at a conference together. She and I even painted our bedrooms in the exact same icy blue color. We've prayed earnestly in one another's homes. Mac blesses me with every interaction.

So, as we sort antique linens and boxes of creative art supplies, I'll be saying,
"How do you feel about parting with this?" And she'll cautiously answer.

All the while, I'll silently ask myself, "How do I feel about parting with you, dear sister?"

How do I say Goodbye?

I'm obviously not finished grieving for my Uncle Laughter yet. I'll write to see if it helps process my feelings toward resolution and peace. I still want to sob in a moments notice if something reminds me he's gone.

Forty-four years ago, my very young mother went for help to my father's sister Artful and her husband. She had become pregnant with my father's child, before she was married in a time when marriage was a prerequisite to children. Uncle Laughter and his wife threw them a wedding and helped establish the new couple in an apartment.

I don't remember a time that Uncle and Aunt weren't an integral part of my family's life. They celebrated all holidays and birthdays with us as children. When my parents divorced while I was in second grade, they made a special effort to help my sister and I through the transition. When my dad married again, and had second family, and became disinterested in my sister and I, Uncle Laughter stepped into a fatherly role for us. I spent the night with them regularly. They took me to the museum, church, plays, circus, state parks, school field trips, parties, swimming, horseback riding, amusement parks, movies. One of my most fond memories of my Uncle Uncle Laughter remains in our yearly trips to the town Fair to watch him judge the horse shows. The horses pulling Southern Belles seated beside handsome suited men in buggies stole my breath every. single. year. You can imagine my strong attachment to my Uncle Lsughter through all the investment he made in my life.

When I graduated from high school, my aunt and uncle sat beside my mother. When I walked down the aisle at my wedding, I hung on Uncle Laughter's arm. He and Aunt Artful moved an entire day's trip from me around the birth of my first child. Uncle Laughter's hearing loss made a phone relationship difficult. We have enjoyed each other at a few family get togethers and funerals. Our family visited their beautiful island home on our last vacation. We intend to go back again to see my aunt this year. I don't suppose I'll ever feel ready to let go of a man so dear.

Though he hasn't lived in Kentucky for more than a decade, Uncle Laughter's funeral was packed. The receiving line of friends went out the door. He'll have another memorial service on his island too which I know will be jammed with those who love him there. Pray for strength for my dear aunt- these services are long and taxing. Did I mention how handsome and proud he looked in his white suit? Even in death his manner filled me with peace. The pastor who founded with Uncle Chuck's help, preached his funeral. I remember Brother Pastor fondly from my childhood days.

Saturday, just before the coffin was closed, we took a few minutes to stand with Uncle Laughter again. I was surrounded by a host of loving Uncles and my dad who all call me by a childhood nickname. My dearest Uncle W. and I lingered together a long time weeping, knowing this was our last moment with this great man. I stroked Uncle Laughter's cold hand and clutched Uncle W. with my other. Uncle W. helped me feel comfortable being a crybaby for just that little while. I needed to let go so desperately. Uncle Warn steadied me, pointed directly at me, and whispered to everyone standing around, "Laughter loved this one to pieces." Oh, don't I know it. Don't I feel it still?

I sat down in a nearby chair with my head in my hands as men took my Uncle's glasses, lapel pin, Mason apron, and ring. My mother came and put her arm around me. There's nothing like a mother's arms for comfort. Such a surprise to have time with her so soon after her surgery. And boy, does she look fabulous. I know the trip took everything she had to give, and I hope she'll rest these next few days.

I spent the afternoon chatting with my family, including my dad, and friends at a restaurant. Dad told me his wife's mother is on her deathbed. I was so sorry to hear that. I was amused to talk to my sister's first husband after 18 years. He's still the same gregarious person. My children enjoyed my sister's children as usual.

I had a soap opera moment that only my very own family could produce. I noticed two of my cousins whom I enjoy talking to very much, chumming with someone I didn't know. I hugged each of their necks and stuck my hand out to their friend and said, "And who are you?"

He gave a pleasant grin and shook my hand. "B.", he replied.
I hope my reply was warm though I'm quite sure my face showed surprise, "B. Yes, well. You're my brother then aren't you? (!) Strange place to meet, but I'm glad we finally have."

He doesn't know it, but B. will have my heart forever- I watched him take off his suit jacket and place it around our shivering Aunt F. at the graveside. Selflessness and kindness win me every time.

Uncle Laughter united a broken family in the same room with his good life and death. Miraculous. Now if he can work on uniting hearts as well from heaven with God's help...

2

Conversations from the back seat of the van while I was driving.

1.

Wise One: I have no idea what this means. Do you know, Tater?

Tater: O-bli-cue. I have no idea either. I've never heard it before. What's that word doing in your math book.

Me: What is the word?

Tater: O-bli-cue.

Me: O-bli-cue. What does it have to do with? Spell it please.

Wise One: It's something about a line. o-b-l-i-q-u-e.

Me: (snicker) Oblique! (snort) It's a slanted line. (chuckle)



2.

Pooh Bear: Dad says he needs to lose weight.

Me: Does he now?

Pooh Bear: I think I'm too skinny, and I need to eat more. (she weighs 43 lbs. at 7 year old)

Me: Should I feed you more, Sweetie?

Pooh Bear: Yeah. Momma, you have just the perfect body. Just right to match your hair and pretty smile.

Me: I think I'll keep you, dear.

Chores

Kat has asked about chores in Parent's University today. I have three things to say on the subject.

1. A friend of mine, Meredith Lee, taught me this about work and children a long time ago, "Make it look delicious!" Kinda like the Tom Sawyer painting the fence white, or "The Happy Working Song" from Enchanted. If I'm training my child in a new housekeeping skill, I need to present it in a positive "This can be fun and meaningful" kind of way.

If I'm sour or demanding, no one will want to do the job. For example, I hate folding laundry loads of whites/matching socks. No one here likes to,probably because of my attitude toward it.

2. Meredith Lee also taught me to make chores daily, so it becomes a part of a simple routine. No child of mine balks at emptying the dishwasher, caring for the livestock, or putting away laundry here. It happens everyday.

3. Wage war on clutter! I must battle it in my own life and the rest of my family's life. In this American culture, we drag home papers and stuff from every outing. We work together on getting rid of things we don't find essential. On their own last week, Tater (12) put a box of toys in the garage for Goodwill, and Pooh Bear (7) sold her doll house to a consignment shop.

Tonia posted something very moving to me on habits. Check it out if you have time.

Uncle Laughter

My sweetest sweet pea of an uncle passed away night before last. I don't have too many words except to say that he was one of the kindest most precious men on earth. He never had children of his own, so, since I was a child, he has treated me like his princess. He worked hard and enjoyed life to the full. I am not half the person he was, but I'd like to be more like him. God rest his soul. I know he's in the arms of Jesus whom he loved so very much.
And please whisper a prayer for my dear aunt. He was her world.

Never bet against a seven year old girl.

She might pick Kansas to win the college basketball championships, because Dorothy came from there before she entered Oz.

And her pick might be right.

Pooh Bear won the family bracket.

Beginner's luck?

I think not.

image
A friend explained to me that adolescent eagles have longer tail feathers than adult eagles. These tail feathers assist the maturing bird in flying, because they tend to lack good judgment in their air-borne expeditions. During puberty, hawks tend to overshoot and undershoot their destinations. The extra length of feathers accommodates the awkwardness of flight imbalance of the struggling youth. A full grown adult sheds these feathers when he has mastered flight.

I love how nature whispers clues to me about raising my own children. As my boys approach the clumsy, bungling, gawky teen years, I move from being ultimate authority into a place of flight adviser, "I wouldn't take off from that position. You won't have enough runway to gain speed."

"You can go on the camp out, but you might not want to go to party the next day. You'll need some good rest sometime over the weekend or you'll be too tired during the school week to study."

My son can heed my advice or try it his way. I have to talk myself into letting him try and fail on his own. It's easier to tell him to go bed rather than watch him fall apart, because he has not rested the night before. Which experience does he learn more from?

I still have to force myself to listen to stories I've no particular interest in concerning my young men's interest in science experiments, cheesy science fiction, twaddle movies and games in order to keep the lines of communication open. It's a gift I give to my sons, not something I like to do. If we are talking about his stuff, the more likely he is to listen when I speak to give advice. I also must discipline myself to not react with anger when I see his failure, or I won't be the soft place he falls in times of trouble. He'll find someone else who most likely lacks maturity and won't have his best interest in mind to listen to him.

Because he's a teenager, my authority must take a back seat and allow advice to drive, or he'll never have a chance to try things for himself. Otherwise, he'll leave my home without developed tail feathers, yet expected by the world to fly with precision. How many adults do I meet who are unprepared to face daily challenges with excellence?

I've just returned from a conference in Nashville. I had a lovely time, and I look forward to reconnecting with my family today. Much to my surprise and delight, I'm being offered many opportunities to travel with my work. For the first time in my 14 years of being a mother, I have decisions to make concerning how much I can be away. Can Buck juggle my jobs and the pressure of his own? What happens to the hearts of my children when they are used to me being around twenty-four seven? It's a blessing to even consider these things, but I'd like to be wise.
Off to church and then a pioneer themed birthday party with Pooh Bear. It promises to be a long fun day.

42 Years of Observation

1. Every day counts, even if it doesn't seem so that day.
2. Every word counts, even if it doesn't seem so at the time.
3. Discipline doesn't achieve everything. Sometimes grace is better.
4. Children require everything.
5. God is good.
5. Husbands need attention.
6. In a relationship, nothing good grows in a long periods of silence.
7. April Fool's birthdays are challenging. One shouldn't have to be on guard the entire day.
8. Anything worthwhile requires hard work.
9. Friends help me breathe.
10. People taught to have a relationship exclusively with the Bible or exclusively in Eucharist cannot find a relationship with Jesus.
11. Children are close to the heart of God and have much to teach us about Him.
12. There will be a great and terrible day of the Lord.
13. Revenge costs the one seeking it the most.
14. Chickens and toddlers make me laugh.
15. Laughing is important.
16. Exercise releases tension even when I think I'm not tense.
17. Listening is the better path.
18. Letting go works out better than clinging to impossibility.
19. Grandparents are a treasure to cherish.
20. Love foolishly, even if it means it will hurt.
21. Music moves me.
22. Good food matters.
23. Learning keeps life interesting.
24. Stories are the quickest way to the heart.
25. Blogging is good for my soul.
26. Bill Cosby, Bin Laden, Bono, Oprah, the Pope, President Bush, are people just like you and me.
27. Growing things nurtures me.
28. Character reveals the inner man.
29. The charitable assumption is the high road.
30. Always better to focus on the Presence of God than his absence.
31. Together, brown and blue speak to me.
32. It's not right to demand of people what only God can give.
33. Quiet is essential for me to become.
34. Kindness brings the giver peace.
35. Anger gets in the way of relationship.
36. Wonder takes me where I want to go.
37. Mercy triumphs over judgment.
38. Abide is one of my favorite words.
39. Time does not wait for me and doesn't heal anything.
40. All I have to give is enough.
41. Art and beauty inspire.
42. Sudokus help me sleep.

Six Word Memoir

Almost tagged me to write a six word memoir. Tomorrow is my birthday so here's my memoir:


Will I be smarter at 42?


Six people I tag to write their own six word memoir:

Kat at The Secret Life of Kat
Thicket at Todays Lessons
Scott at The Glory of Everything
John at Locusts and Honey
Fancy at The Fancy Pants Factory
Amber at Homeschool Diva

Play along if you like by writing your own and tagging five more bloggers.

Fall Creek Falls

Off to Fall Creek Falls for a day hike. Catch ya later.

Buck tilled my garden over the weekend, and now chickens wander, scratch, and dust bathe all through it. Nothing planted yet though I should have sown at least few sugar snap peas and spinach. I'll make the hour trip to Stanley's Green house in a few weeks instead of sprouting from seeds. Except beans, watermelons, and flowers. Anyone can grow vines and flowers from seeds. When it gets warm again (yesterday it spit snow), I'll form the garden paths with my clay tiles and stones. I always say gardening is much more about art, so straight rows just won't do.
Won't be long till we start seeing baby chicks following momma hens again. Or hear them peeping from the hayloft. No matter how many times I've seen a baby chick, I'm still astonished by the cute factor of walking yellow fuzz balls.
When danger of frost is gone, it's time for the academics of home school to come to a close. We start in July and end in late April or early May. Tater is behind everyone else, because his trip last summer got him started late. I relish the free time away from the school books. In between swim team, I'll do the projects I put off during the school year. Here are some of my summer projects besides gardening:
1. Adopt a minimalist vision for my garage. Again.
2. Wrestle my unruly walk in closet. Again.
3. Help each child declutter their rooms. Again.
4. Take two of my children to vision therapy every two weeks an hour and a half away.
5. Work on a workbook regarding adoption issues with a friend for my son. We're developing a beautiful plan in the making to further draw him into our family. He keeps his precious heart at a tentative distance at present without even knowing it.
6. I'd like to find botanical and bird wallpaper for my kitchen and redo the counter tops, but wallpaper is altogether out of fashion. And how could anyone match the picture in my mind's eye? I can't decide on counter tops, mostly because of the expense.
7. All three boys will attend scout camp, and I asked Helen to consider keeping Pooh Bear so Buck and I could have some time.
8. Peace goes to New York this summer.
9. New flooring for the home school room would be gravy, but probably unachievable.
10. Visit Dollywood several times with our season's passes we got for Christmas.
11. Catch up with friends and family we don't see much during the school year.
12. Consider service projects.

After five year here on our pretend farm, I'm hitting my rhythm. Steady, not frenetic. That wouldn't do, and my relationships couldn't withstand it.

Must not get to wrapped up in the future when it's time to seize the moment of homeschool now. Off to hit the books. And laundry.

May the morning star
which never sets
find this flame still burning:
Christ, that Morning Star,
who came back from the dead,
and shed his peaceful light on all people,
your Son who lives and reigns forever.
Amen

Confession

Here's how I know I may have gone to Starbucks a little too often this past winter. A hip college aged girl approached me from out of nowhere in a school building and spoke in a chipper sweet voice, "Hey, I know you. You order a tall black and white hot chocolate with a squirt of cinnamon dulche' at Starbucks, right? My name is Austen. What's yours?"

Oh, dear. Makes me feel guilty about the children of Compassion I could have sponsored with that money.

Currently admiring the new space on my home school bookshelves. Don't worry. It won't last long.

I'm thinking of decluttering the homeschool room today. This job never goes well for me, because in order to declutter, I must get rid of books. I tend to want to hang on to books. What if I eventually need the book for some unknown upcoming project in the next fifty years? I am sure the Loudon County Library would not have it, since it's book collection is about the same size as mine. I think it would be easier for me to part with a body part than a book. I probably should have been a librarian instead of a mother. Wish me luck.

Not what I wanted to hear

Pooh Bear announced that her brand new white Easter shoes were great for climbing very tall trees.

I have a quandary, a good one this time, that I'd like to get out from inside me through blogging. Yesterday (and both had to happen on the same day), I attended a meeting about an excellent classical high school homeschool co-op which is coming together beautifully and approval of acceptance letter into a wonderful new public high school academy opening in another county. Peace, my oldest son, enters high school next year, so I've been stewing over these possibilities for a good long while. Both top choices became reality on the same day.

Classical co-op option
-Has the most rigorous course of study ensuring a willing child's path to college and scholarship.
-Matches the heart of my educational philosophy.
-Instructors of the highest caliber. One is a personal friend whom I admire greatly.
-My favorite course mixes history, English, and Bible in an Omnibus type setting. This is not offered anywhere else in this region.

-Costs several thousand dollars.
-Only two days a week in class instruction. I'd have to teach the other three days.
-VERY long academic days as son adjusts to intensive study

Public Academy Option
-FREE, all courses, all books, no mandatory hours of volunteering for momma
-Outstanding principal with innovative and progressive ideas. I've known her top notch work and incredible reputation for years as she was previously principal in the zone in which I used to live. No nonsense tolerated.
-College prep, advanced, and honors courses recommended.
-Fine arts.
-Brand new school building.
-Best teachers from all over are applying to teach there.
-Five days of instruction from people who know and hopefully enjoy what they are teaching.
-Keyboarding course.
-Clubs, sports.
-Even starting ground for all. No cliques already developed. Everyone new to the layout of the building. Culture to be developed with a high academic standard from the start.
-No upper grades until next year.
-I know some great families sending their children next year.

-Need for a cellphone.
-Need for something more than just the second hand clothing our son has always worn.
-May not accept transfers after this first year.
-End of homeschool read alouds and Bible study.



I have a concern that Peace needs to learn more of the bigger world than the co-op will offer. Doesn't that sound outrageous? I don't worry he'll fall into anything negative, because he stays clear of "goof offs and trouble makers" in all the academic classes and activities outside our home. In fact, I excitedly mentioned seeing a boy from last year's co-op at the Public Academy, and Peace responded, "Mom, that kid is not someone I'd want to hang out with. He was disrespectful and disruptive in class."

Some of my homeschooling friends may not understand why I would consider public school. High school is not something I want or like to teach. It would completely consume me, because my boys are not naturally self-directed learners. Could be bad parenting and homeschooling on my part, but I've had to stay on top of my children to keep them studying from the beginning. Could be that I have a slew of boys who would prefer to catch frogs to composition. Probably a little of both. As much as I love the idea of "delight directed learning" I haven't had the chutzpa to pull it off. My answer to all things challenging is putting on discipline, so that's how my family has accomplished homeschooling thus far.

Some of my other friends and family members have never understood why we have homeschooled. All I can say to that is my children have begged me to do so, and Buck has agreed. Homeschooling is neither easy or especially fun for me, but it's been worth it for the children. I intend to homeschool the other three children next year. We'll see what comes of these two options for Peace.

Me ma called this evening and sounded remarkably great. She told me her day started off horribly, but she's well on her way to something better. She spoke to each of my children just like she's done forever. Pooh Bear mentioned her new white Easter sandals. Tater and Wise One told her about the Wii game Zelda. Peace made a special effort to tell her, "You sound just like yourself now! Not like you just had brain surgery. I'm so glad to hear you sound good now."

I probably won't have another terrifying nightmare like I did last night where my mother was in excruciating pain and no one would listen to her as she cried out. Tonight maybe I'll dream about something incredibly sappy like unicorns, rainbows, and Teddy Bears.

To those whom have been so kind as to pray for her: your prayers seem to be making a difference. God, Our Healer, be praised.

China, the world is watching Tibet. Again. Please don't disappoint us.

Update on my ma

I found myself chatting on the phone late last night until 12:25. My mother has lost track of time and couldn't pull it together to call me until then. She's still not eating and now not drinking, so she's now dehydrated. Her blood pressure has dropped, and she is not allowed pain medication. We discussed things she's been worried about long before the surgery. I begged her to voice her concerns but to try and lay them down for now. I planted a seed that if she's still declining that it's time to look at a rehabilitation hospital to get her up to speed. She agreed, but I don't know that she can hang onto the thought. I'll speak with her husband about it. We'll see what today holds in store.

Kat's fun music geneaology

Kat posed these fun music genealogy questions today. Check them out here

1. What was the first album you remember buying?

The first album I ever bought was Tommy by the Who. I promise I had no idea as a fourth grader what I was singing when I memorized all the songs- especially the nasty Tina Turner song about sexual healing and the one about the perverted Uncle. Sheesh! What exactly were my parent's thinking when they let me buy that?

My first concert ever in junior high was Rick Springfield, who appeared and performed recently on Oprah. Yawn.

The first eight track, oh my goodness, yes, eight track, I listened to was my step father's Sweet Baby James by James Taylor. I still love that music.

2. Who were the significant artists/songs/albums during your childhood/high school/college years?

In junior high, I dug Styx. Owned all their albums. The commercials with Mr. Roboto now crack me up.

In high school, I became a huge guitar ballad fan through guitar playing fools who favored Dan Fogelburg, James Taylor, Billy Joel, REM. We hung out on weekends, cooked spaghetti, and endlessly sang "The Reach", "Fire and Rain", "Sadness or Euphoria","Locomotive 8" until we were perfectly hoarse. One of these high school hang out buddies is still a musician while also holding the respectable job as head of the French Department at a major university, Ritt Deitz. He still writes and sings his own tuneage too.

I was also in on the ground floor of Contemporary Christian music. Try not to laugh, but Evie and Jim Neighbors were my first two Christian albums. Next came the 77's, Russ Taff, Joni Erikson (did you know she recorded an album?), and Petra. Bless all their 80's hearts. My friend Rhea and I joined a Christian music club to score these magical tunes, but I think Rhea ended up paying for the tapes. You couldn't pay me to listen to any of that now. Thank God for David Crowder, Charlie Hall, Tim Hughes, and Matt Redman.

As for college, I feel head over heals for Peter Gabriel's lyrics after attending his So concert. Ricky Lee Jones enchanted me. The Cure and New Order introduced me to great dance music. Then there was my husband's crazy band.

3. What are the connections between the various artists in your musical geneology?
My favorite songs are still long slow guitar ballads like "It's been a While" Stained, "Everything" Lifehouse, "Higher" and "Hold Me Now" Creed, "Breathing the Breath" Matt Redman, "All I Can Say" David Crowder, "Gone" John Mayer. I attribute my particular affinity for men and guitars to the influence of all those hours of misspent youth with my high school friends.

The Truth About Horton

Hey~! I'm mad at the makers of Horton Hears a Who. The "bad guy", a sour mother kangaroo, dis'ed home schoolers in her second statement of the movie. Something about pouch schooling her son to keep him away from the riff raff. I had a hard time with the entire rest of the film because of it. Her comment made me skeptical on behalf of all homeschoolers, liberal to conservative, and kept me looking for other agendas.

However, my children enjoyed the movie and didn't even seem to notice.

And I LOVE the Dr. Seuss book. The theme of "every person is a person, no matter how small" is one close to my heart. Why did they have to ruin the story for me?

I finished off the third and last book of the Hawk and the Dove Trilogy, The Long Fall, on the plane. The words felt like preparation for the days which followed. It's funny how fiction can move me into self examination. Turbulence prohibited passengers from moving about the cabin, so I was stuck buckled in my seat wiping tears and snot consecutively on my sleeves as I sobbed. I was so connected to the characters, I felt like I was losing a dear friend, though I won't spoil any of it for anyone who has yet to read these profound books. I would have put down the book if I could have, so as not to make a spectacle of myself. However, the power of story and the anonymity of being on a plane with complete strangers made picking up a leftover copy of People in the magazine holder in the seat pocket in front of me instead of The Long Fall inconceivable.

I tried literally for years to read these books without success, but I am certain it was something divine saving the Hawk and the Dove for this particular time in my life. This is literature and insight into humanity at their very best.

Muddled Days

Days and nights have blurred together for me. Once they put my mother in a hospital room, I was able to spend every moment with her for the last three days. No wifi allowed in the rooms, so no updates till now. Her short term memory has returned in part, but I see it coming and going...probably has something to do with pain killers and a misfiring brain.

Anyhow, she got strong enough to walk with help, so she was able to go home today to recover for a full month. Her husband will have his work cut out for him. God bless him.

I hated to leave my mom looking so frail, but I flew home today to the arms of the my delightful family. And not a moment too soon for Pooh Bear. She cried on the phone last night begging for me to hurry home.

I'll welcome sleep in my own bed tonight, but Mom's husband told me she refused to eat all day. I call and begged her over the phone to try. She also started having auras (seeing patterns which were not really present) last night- pre-seizure brain activity.

If you're the praying kind, keep 'em coming.

A quick update for you dear hearts, like Almost, kat and anonymous. Thank you for your amazing kind words and prayers. My mom is progressing though it's not an easy road. She has no short term memory at this point, so she's asking repetitive questions. It scares me. I'm miffed with the hospital for not being forthright about care. My mother told me to expect she'd stay a few hours in recovery, proceed to an ICU room for a few days then to a regular hospital room and home maybe by Friday. The problem is that noone warned us that the hospital is overcrowded and the day after surgery still no ICU room, which is outfitted for the comfort of the family, is available. This severely limits my ability to visit her as she's still in recovery on the second day! It seems the job of the recovery room keepers is to keep the family away, so noone's hippa rights are violated by visitors. Arghh! The nurse this morning had great compassion for me and hid me from the recovery room keepers next to my mother for over an hour. To my horror, the good nurse was trying to feed my mom oatmeal, a much depised food to me ma's palate. Before the surgery, my mom said, "Tell the nurses if they try to feed me jello, oatmeal, or applesauce, I might just forget my manners and spit it in their face." The nurse was very concerned that my mom keep down food, but I suggested chocolate pudding might get a much better response than gagging oatmeal. It did, of course. I spent the rest of the day sitting in the horrible same chairs, begging for a peek at my mother and a chance to talk to the surgeon. The night nurse sent for me, because she couldn't get my mom to eat the unattractive and unappetizing chicken pot pie (maybe?). Hello! I again suggested the desperate measure of chocolate pudding and coke which the nurse let me feed her. Finally after one more ten minute visit, the keepers insisted on no visitation past 8:30 p.m., and sent me packing.
The surgeon called me at 9:30 to update me. He said the short term memory loss was common for a week, and he said it might be more long term. He apologized for not telling us ahead of time about the overcrowding issue. He kindly said he'd warn his patients in the future. Jolly good. He told me maybe by Thursday mom will be walking down the hall. Oh, yeah. That's what I'm talkin' about.
My answered prayers today have been the compassionate nurse and the doctor taking the time to call. I suspect he'd been there since 7:00 or earlier and called so late at night at his earliest opportunity.
Still praying for an ICU room tomorrow and the return of short term memory quickly and completely.
Love,
True

Church of the Pines

i woke up yesterday with the dread of today consuming every corner of my brain. "It's Sunday. i'll find a little way to do church on my own," i thought.
So, i slapped on my running shoes and sought the Lord about how to observe the Sabbath in this unfamiliar town. On my ipod, i cued up the ten minute version of "Where you go I go" by Brian Johnson as a spiritual and physical warm up. Great for focusing on obedience in prayer, so i listened again and contemplated,"Not my will,but Yours." My attention was drawn to the pine trees as i plodded. i selected a tree on my running path as Cathedral i'd return to at the end of the running church excursion. i then asked, "God, what is that my mom and i need?" EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING flashed across my mind, so i cued up my ipod to "Everything". David Crowder sang to me, feet pounding to the pace, something i desperately needed to hear, "You make everything glorious, and I am yours." Next Tim Hughes cut to my soul with "Christ in me. Christ in me. The hope of glory. You are everything!" as it became harder to keep my breathing steady.
The grand finale blasted Lifehouse "Everything" which took my sweaty body all the way back to the chosen tree. i wrapped my arms around the massive trunk of the pine and connected with my Father. "Find me here. and speak to me. i need to feel you." i took in the sweet smell of sap and fingered the soft texture of the needles tenderly.
"i need to hear you." Oh, yes i do! "You are the light that's leading me to the place where i find peace again." Peace!
i looked through the arch of my pine tree cathedral to the perfect blue sky dotted with exquisite white clouds. "How could i stand here with you, and not be moved by you? Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?"

"You're all i want. You're all i need. Everthing! Everything!" This experience of intimacy comforted me like nothing or noone else.

i was moved and grateful to share this holy moment with Him in the midst of my emotional storm.

Harrowing

Solemnly talking living will and surrogate care wishes with my mother and her husband last night.

Getting up at 3:30 a.m. for a quick shower and dashing out the door for an all day vigil at the hospital.

Hugging and "I love you's" and comfort for a broken heart yearning for someone not present as the gurney rolls my mother away for six intense hours of brain surgery.

Sitting endlessly in chairs in a sterile unbeautiful waiting room with no windows or plants.

Discussing with one of the top neurosurgeons in the country about the odd and complicated aneurysm now clipped, safe, and secure.

Visiting three precious minutes with my mother, head sewn ear to opposite eye at the hairline, one eye horribly swollen and bloody, IV port in the neck.

Whispering, barely audible "Cold." "Headache." "Headache." "Headache." "Feet." and a final "I love you."

Praying for peace and comfort.

Navigating a new and complicated city alone.



I thought surgery would be the worst of it. Now I quite certain the worst of it will be recovery.

I was graduated from the finest school, which is that of the love between parent and child. Though the world is constructed to serve glory, success, and strength, one loves one's parents and one's children despite their failings and weaknesses-- sometimes even more on account of them. In this school you learn the measure not of power, but of love; not of victory, but of grace; not of triumph, but of forgiveness. You learn as well, and sometimes, as I did, you learn early, that love can overcome death, and that what is required of you in this is memory and devotion. Memory and devotion. To keep your love alive you must be willing to be obstinate, and irrational, and true, to fashion your entire life as a construct, a metaphor, a fiction, a device for the exercise of faith. Without this, you will live like a beast and have nothing but an aching heart. With it, your heart, though broken, will be full and you will stay in the fight unto the very last.

Mark Helprin from Memoir from Antproof Case

Healthy Eating Families

Parent's University at Kat's focuses on healthy eating today. My children are healthy eaters for the most part. I made moosauka for dinner last night and every child ate some, eggplant and all. They enjoy most all food, including spinach, broccoli, and salad.

I educated myself when my sons were little about the goodness of whole foods. I joined an organic food cooperative until grocery stores caught on to the healthier trends.

Beginning at the age of 38, I've learned to grind wheat to make fresh bread, keep amusing dairy goats for milk, garden for beautiful veggies, and tend hilarious chickens for fresh free range eggs all in the past four years. Before age 38, I had an arrogant city girl disregard, yes apathy, for the source of my food. I gained more respect and admiration for My Creator and His creation, and for the fine folks who contribute to our grocery stores once I began to participate in a more self-sustainable life.

Today I'm going to split me wide open, so you can look on the inside. I'll take the zipper from my forehead to the end of my big toe and pull down quickly. I've purposely kept my innermost thoughts off my blog for the last few months, because I have been afraid to form my pain into words. Next Monday, a surgeon in Tampa will shave my mother's head, cut a rather large "c" shape into her skull, pry open her cranium, carefully and skillfully cut down into her brain, and clamp a life threatening brain aneurysm. I know the particular details of it because I watched a video of the procedure. Every time I think of this happening to my ma I gasp for breath. She anticipates a full recovery in one month, but we know full well the serious risks. She and I have dialogued through the tough "what if" questions over the months of waiting for the surgery- unpleasant questions like, "What are your wishes should you become debilitated in some way?". We'll have time for more if need be as I'm able to go be with her this weekend before.

Mom was diagnosed at the end of October,and the wait for care has kept us on eggshells. She got second opinions and smartly shopped for a the best surgeon in her region. Read anything on untreated brain aneurysms, you'll get the feeling it's a ticking time bomb. I'm dumbfounded and amazed that the surgeons wouldn't have rushed into surgery the day after the problem was found.

I'm grateful that my mother and I have come through the distance of strained relationship to a place of tenderness. It's the grace of God I can lay down the past and walk in friendship with my mom into this challenging week ahead.

She'll be in ICU for at least 2 days if not more and a few days in hospital following ICU. I visited my aunt (on my dad's side- not great genetic news for me on either side) just after she's had two brain aneurysms repaired, and I remember her just asking me to sit quietly and hold her hand, because her head ached and throbbed so terribly. It's daunting to think of my mother in great discomfort.

By another miraculous act of God, Buck was able to get the week off to take care of our children at home. My mother won't be up for the constant noise and chaos of four children for a bit. Either way, the children have achievement tests and classes which they must stay in town to attend.

If you are so moved, please keep us in your prayers. If you are a local friend, give Buck a call and see how he's doing while I'm gone. His schedule and tasks are numerous. Thanks and God bless for Helen for keeping Pooh Bear for a few days.

I'm fairly certain my children held a secret essay writing contest in our van and didn't tell me about it. When I was cleaning out the trash from the vehicle this morning, I found fifty two pens and pencils scattered front to back.

I wonder who won?

Here's what I'll be doing for the next three days.



Here's why.

Patience verses Anger

Kat chose Practicing Patience as the topic today for Parent's University. For me, to talk about patience in parenting, I must address the flip side of that coin- anger. I am not an endless font of patience (notice photo of red hair) and my response to my patience being tested is anger in a range from slight irritation to mad as a wet hen. What I know is that with any breach of patience with my children, I can see the hurt on their faces and eventually in their behavior. Patience builds trust. Impatience tears down relationship. And if my child's face no longer registers something when I show irritation, things are not as they should be.

Anger is not a pretty thing, but the consequences of leaving it unresolved in parents and children leads to devastation of families. The best source I've ever read on this has been Dr. Ross Campbell in his book
Relational Parenting.

It's tough stuff, but check out his anger ladder.

The Anger Ladder
Positive
1. pleasant~seeking resolution~focusing on source of anger~ holding to primary complaint~thinking logically
2. pleasant~focusing on source of anger~ holding to primary complaint~thinking logically

Positive and Negative
3. focusing on source of anger~ holding to primary complaint~thinking logically~unpleasant and loud
4. holding to primary complaint~thinking logically~unpleasant and loud~ displacing anger to other sources
5. focusing on source of anger~ holding to primary complaint~thinking logically~unpleasant and loud~ verbal abuse
6. thinking logically~unpleasant, loud, displacing anger to other sources~expressing unrelated complaints

Primarily Negative
7. unpleasant, loud, displacing anger to other sources~expressing unrelated complaints~emotionally destructive behavior
8. unpleasant, loud~ displacing anger to other sources~expressing unrelated complaints~emotionally destructive behavior~verbal abuse
9. unpleasant, loud ~cursing~ displacing anger to other sources~expressing unrelated complaints~emotionally destructive behavior~verbal abuse
10. focusing anger on source~unpleasant, loud ~cursing~expressing unrelated complaints~emotionally destructive behavior~
throwing objects
11. unpleasant, loud ~cursing~ displacing anger to other sources~expressing unrelated complaints~emotionally destructive behavior~verbal abuse~throwing objects

Negative
12. focusing anger on source~cursing~unpleasant, loud~emotionally destructive behavior~verbal abuse~destructive behavior
13. unpleasant, loud~ cursing ~displacing anger to other sources~ destroying property~ verbal abuse ~emotionally destructive behavior
14. unpleasant, loud~ cursing ~displacing anger to other sources~ destroying property~ verbal abuse ~emotionally destructive behavior~ physical abuse
15. passive aggressive behavior

This chart helps me keep number one as my goal for myself and my children in every test of patience. If I don't seek patience as a lifestyle, I'll one day be facing my growing children as they exhibit negative behavior I may have taught or left untrained, God forbid. I remember:

"Children have no defense against their parents' anger."
–Dr. Ross Campbell

There are only two ways to express anger- action or words. If anger cannot be expressed outwardly, then it turns inward. We've got to allow our children to fail and mature in expressing anger. If not, the results can be tragic.

The bottom rung on the ladder, passive aggression, is the best motivator of all for me to operate in patience as a parent. A passive aggression person is someone who found no means for learning to deal with anger. The child has so disconnected from relationship in self protection that they no longer understand their own actions. If I continue to be bothered by my own child and angry with my him, I could end up with a child who is depressed, sneaky mean, or self destructive yet unaware of the "why" behind it all.

Onto the pressing question of, "What if I blow it as a parent?". And I do. What if I speak to my children in an unpleasant or loud way? What if I get off focus? Or move off primary complaint into a litany of pet peeves? Here is where I apply the monastic principle of beginning again. You may have heard God's mercies are new every morning? Well, I say God's mercies are new every moment for a mom- we are simply to shake off the dust and begin again. I am to apologize and move on back up to the top of the ladder toward resolution as soon as possible. Being in the habit of self examination in the midst of conflict is not easy but worth everything.

The other key is to allow myself to be accountable. Last week, a gigantic conflict appeared between one of my sons and myself, and in fear, I did not handle things well at all. I had exercised no patience or understanding, but went straight to anger. I called Buck to warn him that we'd need to have a sitdown as soon as he got home from work. The three of us huddled in the living room, and I asked my son, "Want to explain our day, or shall I?" My boy requested me to tell Buck our broken situation with the stipulation that he could take notes on all the things to share after my turn, because he was quite certain I would leave out my negative behavior. I started from the beginning being sure to bring forward every loud, unpleasant, intimidating fault of mine. In the end, my son didn't write a single thing on his paper, and I could see his relief growing as I took responsibility for my anger and apologized to him in front of my husband. I'd have damaged my child's heart further if I'd have done it any other way.

Sleep, a peaceful family schedule, exercise, and healthy food remain essential to the patience equation also.

Be encouraged. I didn't grasp patience vs. anger in my home growing up. Instead, I've learned by failing and learning as a parent. It's never too late.

Early this morning when I was five minutes from shewing the children out the door for science class, Pooh Bear whined about Wise One getting more breakfast than her. She weighs a whooping 37 pounds at the grand old age of seven, so I assumed the two packages of oatmeal had filled her tummy just fine. She moped until I agreed to toast her an additional frozen waffle. "But Wise One got two waffles and a big bowl of peaches!" she exclaimed. Next she narrowed her eyes, shot me the look of death, placed her hands on hips, screwed up her chapped little lips to whimper, "And I don't think there is really such a thing anymore as the greatest mom in the world either."

I turned my head to mute my giggle and hide my smile.

You are so right about that one, Pooh Bear. There is no such thing, at least in this house.

HB2795

Tennessee home schoolers have a job to do. State legislature votes tomorrow on a bill(HB2795) to impose state testing of TCAPS on home schoolers. I know many home schoolers oppose testing at all, but we have our children tested with a national test every year. I use the results from the Stanford and from daily work and tests to plan goals for the next year. However, I would be discontent with a government which forces my children to take additional, unnecessary, and state-centric tests, because they want to have a thumb on my children's education. I guarantee the state does not care about the education of my child more than I do. Why would I want my children to endure three more grueling days of testing to the three they already have? Why has Tennessee stopped using national tests to gauge progress? Is it because we fall so far behind nationally?

A friend Miriam brought this point to my attention. What is to be done about the results of the TCAPS? If a home schooled child gets behind, will the state demand we put the child in public school? There are multitudes of children failing in public school. Will the government demand those children be home schooled?

Call or email your Tennessee reps today on this matter.

Peace: Mom, I have a slight fever. My head hurts. I don't feel like throwing up or anything, but I'm really tired. What do you think it is?

Me: (with a completely serious face) That is exactly what I'm told it feels like just before you die.

Peace: (gets a huge grin past the pain) How do you feel, Mom?

Me: Oh, I'm just fine, honey.

Peace: I'm told "fine" is exactly what people feel like just before they die.

Wanna help save the Smoky Mountains? A friend who is an amazing adoption attorney has left her job for a time to lobby with integrity in Nashville.

The Weeks in Review

Last week had been a doosey. Buck was on the long road home from Uncle Earl's funeral when I came to the conclusion one of our milk goats just might have rabies, because she'd suddenly become aggressive. I called goat experts, my vet, UT Veterinary Hospital for advice. UT asked me to bring the goat in immediately. Buck had the van, the farm van wouldn't start, and I had a child I couldn't leave at home alone. The fleeting thought of taking a biting goat in a little old Honda did not appeal. I decided to wait till the next morning to take her and had Peace put the nanny in seclusion for the night. Of course, she cried out like a baby. I considered the fact that we drink the raw milk (no conclusive research has been done, so the route of caution would be taken), and our entire family would have to go through the rabies series at no less than $400 a shot. That's $14,400 and pain for the lot of us. The medical conclusion? After three excruciating days of waiting and observation, UT vets told us we had a goat with new behavior problems brought on because she missed Buck, the one who usually milked her.

She's home now happily munching her hay, and has discontinued her aggression now that her (and my) favorite man is home on the farm. Insert an annoyed smile from me here.

In the very good news department, last Sunday we got an air card to replace our dinosaur dial-up service. It works like a charm, but I can't figure out the technological parts of document sending- essential to the course I'm teaching. The update in technology will probably allow me to put my own pictures back on my blog again. Blogger paired with dial-up became downright contrary about loading photos a few years ago, so I stopped trying.

Monday started this week with difficult news. The school we hoped our oldest son would attend decided against providing high school next year. Parents, including myself, were visibly shaken by the announcement. There are no schools like it in the area, and I have a very late start in finding an alternative for next year. My son, who is not scholarly by nature, needs academic minded folks around him to inspire his best work. Other choices offer godless arrogance, good hearts and intentions which graduate high schoolers to junior college, cut-throat culture, Christian Lite. Nothing fits the bill. I'm grieving the loss of an excellent choice as I wrestle through a new plan for Peace's high school years.

Mid-week I attended a college reunion dinner. I knew my two favorite friends from those years wouldn't be in attendance, so I went with a bit of self conscious awkwardness. What if no one would talk to me, and I had to sit in secluded silence? "I could enjoy people watching", I told myself. What if people I liked pretended not to know me? "I'll move on", I reassured myself. Still reunions are tricky personal business for me. The first person I saw when I stepped out of my van was a friend from my church studying counseling at the college now. She put my heart at ease immediately. After we chatted, I walked over to the cafeteria where dinner was to take place. I scanned the crowd and glanced at a vaguely familiar face and read his name tag. Joyfully, it was someone who had been very good to me at time I really needed a friend in college.

I walked up to him with anticipation and announced my name. I expected a hug, but got more of a look which read, "I don't really know you. I'd like it if you wouldn't talk to me." I tried my charismatic approach of questions to help him let his guard down but was unsuccessful altogether. Not a great start.

My natural confidence waned.

I spoke cordially in line with a few friendly people I recognized but didn't know well. I walked into the assigned reunion room and saw only one table with open seats. At that table, I spotted three faces of people who had never been my friends, and it was likely they were not especially interested in getting to know me now. I forced myself to sit down with them next to someone at that available table I couldn't quite place. Until he warmly spoke. I breathed in a sigh of relief, because I'd be able share my dinner with at least one kind and genuine gentleman, Drake, I'd connected with in college classes. The other folks at the table turned out to be interesting and funny. I discovered Drake and I share common interests in things ecumenical and contemplative, unheard of from this crowd.

Everyone from our class was asked to share from their life now. I tried to fade to the background but was discovered at last. I kept my words few- an accomplishment, I know.

I enjoyed a few more conversations with sundry people and even an invitation, and drove the hour back to common life as I know it.

Friday and Saturday I've studied for my upcoming teaching weekend away.

This is what I've been listening to lately. It's not really a video, just the song. A worship leader at church introduced it to us about a month ago. Don't know anything else by the songwriters/singers, Brian and Jenn Johnson (misspelled on the intro), but the lyrics are intense and fabulous for me.

By the way, I am of the opinion that three minute worship songs are for sissies. Wink.

I admire my son, Peace. Yesterday he came in from his early morning chores before school and explained to me he'd taken care of a dead hen in the chicken house. Being a city girl, I am squeamish about thinking or touching any hurt or dead animal. I mostly let my men handle the dirty work 'round the farm. Without telling me, Peace simply took out a plastic bag from the kitchen, suited up with gloves and coat, and placed the dead body into the bag and then into the trash can. Can't throw things like that into the woods because it attracts coyotes. Have to bury things deep and put rocks on the grave otherwise which we did with our goat for the same reason. When Peace was done, he threw his coat and gloves in the laundry. How many 14 year old boys do you know in America can take care of business like this without batting an eye?
I was touched by the solemn and matter of fact manner in which Peace dealt with the situation. We think it may have been Petunia, my garden digging buddy. Petunia followed behind every time I went outside to see if she could collect worms I'd uncover from flower beds or the garden. I thanked Peace for his care and teared up a bit. "Mom, it's just a chicken," he responded,"And by the way. When I die I'd prefer to be buried in a grave than put in a plastic bag in the garbage."

Time Won't Let Me Go

Kat poses the question of finding personal time in the midst of parenting for Parenting University.

You're not getting the typical response of "Make sure to make 'me time'" from me. I have spent too many parenting years selfishly and unsuccessfully looking for ways to make me happy.

The last few years I've lived with far more intentionality and integrity. I've reformed my social grid drastically from accepting any and every invitation outside my home I could squeeze in, to carefully weighing the cost of each and choosing wisely. I used to believe that the more fun stuff I did, the better and more pleasant mother and person I'd be. It simply wasn't the case. I began to see my own children as getting in the way, and I think I was running away from any serious self examination. I'd been pouring my life into a sieve when I was under the illusion I was filling my bucket.

Eventually, I did not like the shallow person I was becoming and set out to change. I cleared my calendar and began to listen to the still small voice of God inside. He helped me to lay down all the "good things" to save for "the best things". With great trepidation and a deep seated fear of loneliness, I quit book and Bible studies, teaching/speaking, attending concerts, homeschool support groups, coffee/lunch out with friends, cooking/jewelry/craft type parties, and retreats altogether for a good long while. I even limited my time on the phone and at the gym. After some reclusive months, great opportunities opened which I'd never had before, and I was at last spiritually more prepared to accept. I know those opportunities to be directly connected to obedience to God.

The result of quitting the rat race? I've become introverted, introspective, sensitive, a better listener (not that I don't have much more to learn about listening), and more effective at everything I do. I work smarter. I understand the difference between cutting down the time tree with a sharp edged ax and beating it with a baseball bat.

As for personal time today? I refuse to be that frantically busy person with a chaotic life again. Now I don't require enormous amounts of personal time. It's built into the day even though my family is present. When my responsibilities of the moment are fulfilled and my children feel enough enjoyable connection to me to be at peace among themselves, I can steal away to my room and read, write, and most of all, just be and remain in the True Vine.

He gets it from his dad

Peace casually posed this question yesterday afternoon in conversation, "You the know the Miss Universe Pageant? It doesn't seem quite fair. Why is the contestant who always wins from Earth?"

Buck retold the joke to friends at our lovely Valentine's Day dinner last evening. Someone asked from across the table, "Well, is there also a Mr. Universe?" To which Buck responded by pointing his fingertips into his chest, haughtily wagging his head, and replying, "Hello?!"

Love

When I don't feel loved,
I try to make myself feel better
by thinking of my mom and dad
hugging and kissing me.

When I do feel loved,
I feel joyful,
kind,
and honorable.

by Pooh Bear Vyne

The Daring Book for Girls, twizzlers, a Star Trek movie, a necklace, a shirt, a dozen long stemmed red roses, and some pink toile pj's composed the Vyne's Valentine's Day celebration.

This blogger shares a more thoughtful approach. Tonia, I admire your family's ways.

Developing Compassion in our Children

Compassion. My favorite word. Kat
has made developing Compassion in our children the topic for Parenting University this week. For me as a parent, I hope to live the principle which is a far better teacher than words.

I believe compassion is a gift given by God already present inside children. It's a gift something like innocence and purity. Ever seen a small child cry when she stumbles upon a dead bug? Ever had a little one gently rub your hand when you are shedding tears? So why don't all children continue to exhibit compassion? I think it has more to do with adults not preserving, even stomping out the gift in children. Tragically, I know I have done so with my own children. For example, when we lived in the city, my children cried out, "Mom! That person has a sign that says they are hungry. Aren't Christians supposed to feed the hungry?" My answer? "We don't have time for that. We're on our way to..." or "It's too risky to talk to a stranger." "We already give to..." I wrestled my conscience for a long while over these calloused positions and finally came up with doable solutions. One great remedy was pulling together bags to hand out with pop top food, napkins, and shelter phone numbers plus fifty cents for the call.

Country life does not afford that kind of opportunity, but opportunities of compassion come abundantly in other forms. When my child excitedly shouts, "Hurry! Come look at the bluebird." I decide I'd better drop everything to take the time enjoy the moment with him. Otherwise, I'll diminish the importance of my child's passion. I also try to eliminate judgement from my talk in daily life as much as possible, especially about people not present. No more "He's such a creep, because...", "What a jerk!" "She deserved everything she got." "He's a bad person for all these reasons." "What a loser." Every single human being on the earth has value whether they continually make poor choices or act exactly as I'd like. We strip away compassion in ourselves and our children when we make out anyone, stranger or lover, as disposible in some way. The message of "bad guys, good guys" with no hope of forgiveness leaves everyone in a vulnerable position of moving to being unforgivable themself one day. How many times have I done just what I'd hope I'd never do? Lose my temper with a child? Use cutting and thoughtless words? Manipulate someone for selfish purposes? Use force rather than waiting for natural consequence to take it's course? I believe I owe compassion even to myself in order that I might offer it to others.

Here are some quotes which tell it much better than myself.

“Compassion is sometimes the fatal capacity for feeling what it is like to live inside somebody else's skin. It is the knowledge that there can never really be any peace and joy for me until there is peace and joy finally for you too.”
Frederick Buechner

"All major religious traditions carry basically the same message, that is love, compassion and forgiveness the important thing is they should be part of our daily lives."
Dalai Lama

"Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible."
Dalai Lama

"Happiness is not something ready made. It comes from your own actions."
Dalai Lama

“Compassion will cure more sins than condemnation.”
Henry Ward Beecher

“Make no judgements where you have no compassion.”

"Without a rich heart, wealth is an ugly beggar."
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Buck, Pooh Bear and Wise One have been gone for days to dear Uncle Earl's funeral in Pennsylvania. Uncle Earl has battled dreadfully with cancer for years now, and I know death has brought him final peace and rest. When we got word about his passing, Tater had just been diagnosed with the flu, and I volunteered to stay home with him. Peace stayed home to help me with the animals. The peditrician prescribed everyone doses of Tamiflu. Tater got better in three days, and none of us have any symptoms a week later. That's a miracle. Tater got the flu around this time of year, and everyone in the family caught a version of it following. Those were miserable days for everyone. So, I 'm feeling lucky to have avoided that same plight.

Buck and the two youngest arrived home late last night after a wintery drive through snow Cincinnati to Richmond. He told me I'd have been nervous as a cat with those slippery road conditions. I could tell the long drived taxed him, but he's off to take a sick goat to the vet. Sigh. No rest for the weary here.

Winter brings many things. Right now things seem dreary to me- drabness of nature, bitter cold, death, missing my husband, sickness of people and animals, difficulties with children. All these things seem to be an expression of Lent.

As with seasons, even seasons of the church, things are sent to remind of what is to come. Peace and I noticed a family of cardinals which live near the top of my driveway, and another flock on down the road. The flash of brilliant red feathers darting against the browns of barren thorns and trees encourages me to look toward the bright greens, cheery yellows, and romantic pinks of warming weather. I wait for spring. I wait.

Triple Negative from the Runway

As spoken to an air traffic controller with whom I am intimate:

.
.
.


"I will be on the side of the taxiway, and I ain't gonna be no factor to no aircraft"


After thoroughly dissecting the sentence .. the controller decided it was OK to proceed with business as usual.

Organization

Kat has picked the subject of organization for Parenting University today. I can tell by her orderly personality she'll have some great advice to offer, but organization is not my strongest suit. However, there are two areas which work for me at this time- homeschool and meal planning.

Homeschooling
Since I have four children in four different grades, I must find a way to keep track of all the books required. Each child has the following books of his or her own: language arts, vocabulary, math, literature, practice test taking, composition, and at least three teacher's guides per child. Every student has at least one novel to read at all times apart from the textbooks. We also have several references for history, science and Bible. In the course of one school day, that comes to about twenty eight books in use.
How in the world do we keep up with so many texts? I consulted with other homeschool mothers and borrowed their ideas. I've come up with a system which works for us. I've color coded each child's materials. Peace is red, because he is melancholy. Pooh Bear is purple, her favorite color. Tater is green being so very full of energy. Wise one is blue because he is serene and peaceful.
According to the person's color, I've bought painter's tape at Wallyworld to match. Each child's text has a strip of colored tape across the top spine and an inch around the sides. I tape two strips of colored tape to the bottom spine and side of teacher's manuals. If I spy a book with green tape on the couch, I know to call Tater to come fetch it. If Peace leaves me something to check, I know to find the blue taped teacher's manual.
Each child has a basket with a colored ribbon attached to catch sundry books and carry them around the house or out and about. It's fairly easy to take work on the road with a prepared basket. We have one assigned shelf where the baskets rest and another for books to placed in colored order when not in use or in the basket. The notebooks of paper I've purchased also match the child's color.
Around 1:00 in the afternoon, children, books and papers are spread all over the house on couches, kitchen table, homeschool table, breakfast counter, living room floor, my bed, my floor. It takes about five minutes to clean up the chaos at the end of the day.

Meal Planning
I don't like to cook or shop. I hate to think of "What's for dinner?". I'm always looking for new ways to make this work for our family. Currently I'm subscribing to a website which masterminds a five day dinner plan, shopping list, and recipes for each meal. Once a week, I shop big for breakfast items, bread, milk, yogurt, fruit, orange juice, snacks, and the website's list, and the deed is done. The recipes are fairly easy, so cooking is not too big of a deal.

There. you have my very best organizational tips. You might not want to ask about other areas of home order, because I have entirely too much stuff. I think if I was a rich woman, a library and office might solve every problem, because books and papers are the things in too great of abundance for our allowed space.

My mother braved the seriously juvenille antics of Alvin and the Chipmunks with my children, so Buck and I could see

There Will Be Blood

in the theater. I wanted to like it, because of the brilliance of Upton Sinclair, hero and reformer of the American industry.

Truth be known, I suppose I like a screenplay to be a really good and terrible tragedy or something somewhat redemptive. Neither was true of this movie.

It's no spoiler to sum the plot up for you, so you don't have to sit through the tedium. Oil companies, like the main character in the film, never had and never will have any kind of heart.

After a splendid weekend with Grandma, I spent the day helping a friend get her new homeschool cooperative off to a good start. I learned applied algebra from an eight year old boy and a game of dice. I admired others playing a real pirate game called "Shut the Box" which formed math equations. We looked at a map of the world to find the true size of Alaska compared to Texas. Watching children learn is a wonder. I'm grateful for the opportunity.

On a Much Lighter Note

I found a lovely list of Family Read alouds here. I have not looked at the rest of the site, but the excellent recommendations are in order by grade level.

Since I have multiple age levels in my home, I choose the family read aloud at the highest grade level and make sure to read appropriate grade level books to individual children.

Open Letter to President Bush

Dear Mr. President,
Arrogant. Rude. Childish. Inappropriate. Each time you flashed that smug trumping smile and even reduced yourself to snickering during your State of the Union addresss, I became infuriated like never before. It was like watching a fourth grade boy taunt, "Na, na, na, nuh, boo, boo. I got YOU!"

Perhaps you isolate yourself with people who won't speak the plain truth to you, so I'll say it myself. Apparently noone has told you over the years that smirking in triumph over your enemies does not build trust in either those who support you or in those you so visibly disdain. If you expect to accomplish the goals you set out last night by working together with opponents, you will be sorely disappointed. Will you have the gall to blame THEM if they do not cooperate? You only succeeded in alienating those you mock further.

I voted for you. I've trusted you. Please make amends, sir, before it is too late.

Sincerely,
Truevyne

This evening I feel that nervous urgency which visits me in the very beginning of my creative process. I have two projects due in one month, and I get the jitters as I'm about to jump into planning. I'm to prepare "lectures" for my training, and a series of prayer stations on the theme of refreshing for a retreat. I also have another side project of making a display for a conference, but I've secured two thoughtful designers to assist me there.

I'm at the point in the shaping process where I read and mull over the requirements. I almost always feel overwhelmed and panicked at the volume of material to be covered. I think, "This may be the time I really won't be able to think one. original. thought." I do not like to learn by lecture nor give lectures. I endeavor to present materials in such a way that the focus is on the work and not me. It takes enormous yet natural effort for me to move from a script toward developing ideas in community through creative means. I weigh that effort against the ticking clock and gulp.

After the initial "creative ball starts rolling", I relax and enjoy the flow of ideas. But beginning for me, is the hardest part. I wonder about the cause of my anxiety. Fear of failure? Deadlines? Worrying my muse won't cooperate? Other busyness? Lack of interest? Insecurity?

The interesting part of it all is that none of this is required of me. I do it for the joy of the work. I don't need consolation- it's simply a matter of getting over shivering and thinking about how cold the water is before I dive into swim.

Do you ever have trouble starting projects? What helps or hinders creativity in you?
Do you fear failure? Do you enjoy the work of your hands and mind?

Faith in Parenting

Kat is hosting the topic of faith in parenting this week for Parenting University blog project. Here's my submission:

Maybe you, like me, have heard and believed the expression

Love the sinner, hate the sin.

Today I came to the conclusion that this is not a biblical statement. How? Through the difficult work of parenting one of my sons.

Last night this son managed to expose my last nerve and jump repeatedly on it. I found myself talking at him, lecturing really, while he shut down and shut me out. Sullen. Arms bound tightly around his knees. Sour expression on a hardened face. Everything about him screamed, "I'm not listening!" except his voice.

This morning he woke up and greeted me with his arms flung wide, a huge delightful grin on his face, and exclaimed "Mommy!" In this magnanimous gesture, he was testing if the storm had passed between us. We embraced in a giant bear hug.

His polar actions got me thinking about the rock wall I'd hit in him last evening. He has a particular weaknesses which I'd like to see gone, and I hammered hard like he was made of some kind of stone. "It's so easy to tell the whole truth! It's not like in this family you are mistreated if you make a mistake. We have grace! So, why, oh why, do you keep this up? The truth is easy. Furthermore, why do you take things so far with your brothers. You stir up trouble and act surprised when discontentment comes flying back at you! Why don't you get it?", I demanded. How ironic that I'd insisted so passionately when I know deep in my heart this boy struggles terribly with impulsivity and self protection. Obviously, I was stomping about on my moral high horse on moral high ground.

Problem is that love doesn't work that way. I asked this child point blank this morning if he believed he could be deeply loved by me, and more so by God, when he lies? He painfully answered, "No. I don't deserve it. I try and try to be good, but I always fail. I don't know what to do." Doesn't that break your heart? He felt helpless. He'd internalized my anger and judgment of his sin as directed to core of his person, because I was picking on his weaknesses. If I couldn't somehow manage to rebuke my son without him feeling attacked, then I certainly wasn't "hating the sin and loving the sinner". I realized that if can't accomplish this statement with my own beloved son, then why did I think I could do so with anyone else on the planet?

I've decided the saying should go like this instead:

Love the sinner. Hate my own sin.

That's much more like the Gospel. My propensity to lecture a child utterly mocks me. In fact, it reveals my own pitiful weakness of controlling behavior and judgment.

Mulling this over has given me new depth to understand Paul's words in Roman 6:15:
"For what I am doing, I do not understand; for I Am not practicing what I would like to do, but I am doing the very thing I hate."

This morning I spoke to my son about Paul's words. The Great Apostle Paul failed again and again. Next,I shared my own entrenched weaknesses. I laid out my choices. I could shut whom I chose out, believing myself to be a good person. Of course, I'd be forced to work diligently to hide or justify my own sin if I made that choice. Or I could take another route entirely in which I'd humbly admit my shortcomings and the hurt which they cause yet know that I am still deeply loved by God.

In this new conversation, I watched my boy come full circle from "I don't deserve love" to "I am incredibly loved by God."

Deeper still, I asked my son if we both could try to embrace the unlovable parts of ourselves and promise to remain open to God's love when we feel like closing the door on others.

As parents, we are the keepers of the faith until the child learns to have faith for himself. Yesterday I failed. Today I've gained astounding faith for myself and my child.

The fire yesterday got me thinking of my attachment to things. Gandhi is said to have only owned the few things in this picture. At the othe end of the spectrum, I'm overcome with all the stuff in my house. There are days I'd like to get rid of it all and live a much simpler life. However, I have things to which I'm attached.
Here's a list I've come up with so far:

a fruit bowl from my grandmother's house
my notebooks from Catechesis of the Good Shepherd
a picture over my computer of a woman in a storm
a metal piece of artwork in my living room of birds in a tree
a few antiques
a quilt from my grandmother
a picture I painted for Buck which hangs in our bathroom
last supper figures my husband and I made together
a creche made for Meredith Lee and my work in the city
of course, old photos
a chest Helen and Clay refinished for my fortieth birthday

How long would it take to replace all my homeschool material collected over seven years? I shudder to think.

I'm sure there are more items I'd miss. I know I'd be impatient and irritable working to replenish my home. I don't like that about myself.

I thought of how my neighbors might be ever so grateful to have everyone make it out safe from the fire. However, I considered the grief they'd experience as they remember something sentimental lost in the flames. How the grief would keep coming in waves over the entire year as they reached for something they used for a particular holiday, and it would have been destroyed.

What would you hate to lose? How would you handle such great loss?

Sirens approached. More than one. Blue and red lights flashed. Tater yelled through the bathroom door as I relaxed in a hot bath, "Mom, the house at the end of driveway is on fire!" Buck and the boys ran the quarter of a mile down the road for a closer look. Our neighbors stood shivering in the freezing cold helplessly watching the blaze.
"It's bad, honey," Buck reported to me, "I'm taking them some blankets."
Pooh Bear looked down the distance from the porch, "Everything's burning!" Tears filled her eyes.
I thanked God when Buck assured us that all people and animals were completely safe. Not being an expert on such things, I wonder if any amount of repair would undo the massive damage. The roof caves in at the middle in the morning light. Whisper a prayer for these folks. I can't imagine what it's like to lose everything.