On My Soap Box

Those of you who read my post 'In Good Humor' will understand the underlying tone of frustration in this post. I promise I won't rant. The photos speak for themselves.

We were blessed to receive a large bag of barely-used baby boy clothes. Most of the items were adorable (dinosaurs, trucks, and bears-- oh my!) but these two onesies made me stop. I understand that some people want to avoid overly sentimental and cute baby clothes, but I don't think messages like these are the answer. I might as well dress my son in a shirt that says, "I want to grow up and be incompetent like my dad."

And I'm not just picking on baby clothes. Girls shouldn't wear shirts that say "spoiled" on them and boys shouldn't wear ones that say "troublemaker". Shirts that put down (even if they are addressed to no one in particular) still convey a message.

Okay, I've said it. I'm off my soap box now… until next time.

More on 'Privilege'

I really like the word 'privilege'! Last July, I wrote about 'privilege' as applied to marriage. Here are two posts from March 2012 (revised into one post and edited to fit the fall season) about how 'privilege' applies to parenting your children. 

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I overheard my children playing the other day. Sometimes I hear them say nasty things to each other, or get overly competitive, but that day, I heard my oldest say to a younger sibling, "That's very good. You're doing a good job. Now try to stack this one over here."

My heart melted. My eight-year-old was encouraging! Instead of a typical response like "Don't mess with my stuff!" or "Mine's better than yours" (which I do hear every now and then), my son was teaching, sharing, and praising.

It made me feel better about myself as a mom. For all my bad role-modeling, I'm glad to see that the good role-modeling is sticking. And I never (and I emphasize the never) allow my children to put each other down. TV and movies make it seem like a normal part of growing up, but I don't buy that. The home is a training ground, and if my children cannot be encouraging and loving to even those around them every day, how are they going to go out into the world and love their neighbors? 

The word that comes to mind is 'privilege.' I looked up the word in our dictionary, partly because I never can spell the word right the first time (priviledge… privelege… priveledge...), and partly to see how it was defined. Here is what the dictionary read:

a right or immunity granted as a peculiar benefit, advantage, or favor

When it comes to raising children, one doesn't hear the word 'privilege' very often. The word I am hearing more and more often is 'entitlement'. The generation coming up wants their iPods, IPads, cell phones, educations, jobs, and room and board handed to them on a silver plate. Now, this may be because I'm living in the United States in an affluent suburb of San Francisco. Life in the midwest may be very different. But I do believe that the media is also playing a part; there is a subtle but strong message in TV, movies, and music today that young people should get exactly what they want. 

But many years ago, when I was a fledgling mom, I heard a wise mother share this thought: Teach your children about privilege. Most people think of a privilege as something special, something out of the ordinary, something beyond the everyday. Teach your children that the everyday is the privilege, because everything comes from God. Living in a safe neighborhood is a privilege. Eating three, good meals a day is a privilege. Going to school, having toys, feeling warm... if you are reading my blog, you are already among the richest 1% in the world!

Now, where I apply this thought most often when I parent is with words and siblings. When I hear a child speak unkindly, I remind them that speaking to a person is a privilege; God gave us a voice and words to encourage and love. If it's an issue that needs disciplinary action, then the child gets a silent time-out (loss of his privilege.) It's the same when siblings fight. I remind them that having a brother or sister is an amazing gift, and if they abuse the gift, they cannot play with each other for a certain amount of time.

It's a simple concept, but a good foundation for teaching about thankfulness, stewardship, and compassion. And it's a good reminder for all of us, that life in itself is a privilege, and that Christ Himself is our privilege. As Thanksgiving and Christmas draws closer with each day, let us keep this in mind.

Witnessing a Miracle

Here he is! Our little boy was born yesterday morning in our bedroom! It was my first experience doing a home birth (I had always wanted to do one, but it didn't work out until now) and it was all truly amazing. Being in my home, surrounded by my children, my husband, my mom, and my in-laws for most of the laboring process, I felt so much peace, joy, and love. This was my easiest birth ever (still painful, of course) and I know that being at home had much to do with it.

But here is something I find to be even more amazing: this person I am now holding in my arms. Though I've had nearly nine months to ponder his growth and formation inside me, I still stand in awe of the fact that a complicated, beautiful, living being came out of my womb. If I had given birth to a clock, or an iPhone, we would all shake our heads and wonder how that came to be. (and I would be the newest Internet sensation, no doubt!) But no, I have given birth to something even more complex and incredible than a clock or iPhone, and moreover, he is alive, with a soul and a personality and a will. He is a miracle, like my five other miracles, like the million other miracles being born today.

I'm going to get some rest now. If you don't hear from me for a while, it's because I'm still adjusting to having a newborn again. And it takes me longer to type with one hand…

Being Stretched

A wonderful reminder from my past self to my present self…

This week is spreading me thin.

An unexpected medical bill, a to-do list that grows faster than it shrinks, a cold from my 2-year-old, and a baby that is looking to make more room where my diaphragm should be... oh, and it's only Tuesday.

I started school today 15 minutes late, before realizing that I hadn't even done the breakfast dishes. Everything after that was off, either late or out-of-place. I tried to lie down for a nap at two o'clock, but my mind would not stop racing. The image that came into my head was Elastigirl (from another one of my favorite Pixar films), her limbs being pulled in four different directions. Of course, Elastigirl has an ability that I don't have. She can make her body into a parachute, spread thin but not broken. I, on the other hand, am a piece of cloth that is stretched to the point of tearing.

But then a new image comes into my head. The piece of cloth is being pulled, and held up to the window. The sunlight shines through the pattern and sets it aglow, like a beautiful stained glass window. And that is when I understand: when I am spread thin, God can shine through me.

The Hardest Lessons

Sigh.

We are almost done with our second week of homeschooling. The first few days went surprisingly well, but as the subjects added up, attitudes changed. I have four students, grades kindergarten thru sixth, each with very distinct personalities, and each with subjects that they like and dislike. And for a few, dislike borders more on hate... detest... loathe.

Take my oldest daughter, for example. Just say the word 'math', and a scowl begins to grow on her face. Before she even knows the assignment, her shoulders are hunched over. All energy is somehow sapped out of her arms and she can barely lift up her pencil. And this is the girl who, just a minute before, was dancing around like a marionette puppet. I gave her one page of math review today, and she said, "That's too much!" She brightened a bit when she finished the page. But then there was piano. This girl gladly blows on her recorder without prompting, but when it comes to piano, she becomes a limp jellyfish again. My frustration grows as I say for the umpteenth time, "Please sit up straight. Please curl your fingers. Don't pound on the keys!" And I don't think it's me being picky as a classically-trained piano major. It's my daughter's attitude that frustrates me. She wants to 'get it over with' in five minutes, move on to what she would prefer to do, and I'm her only obstacle.

Of all the lessons I teach, lessons of the heart are by far the hardest. How can I reveal to my children that I have their best interest in mind? How can I teach them that perseverance and effort is more important than ease and comfort? How can they grasp that their attitude toward learning, and life in general, is mostly in their control?

As the years go by and my children grow older, I'm seeing more and more the importance of what I do as a homeschooling parent. There is the pressure to make sure my children can pass the SAT (and prove that I was an effective teacher), but the weight that I feel more on my heart is this daily molding, the lessons that are not in any textbook. Someday, my children will be 'tested', and my prayer is that they will be ready.

This is my story, this is my song...

Knowing that September is going to be a busy month for me because of school and baby (and sleep deprivation), I decided to do something different. Most of the posts this month will actually be re-posts. I've learned some valuable lessons in the three-and-a-half years since I've started this blog, and I'm sure that most of you don't have the time to sit at the computer and read all that I've ever written. So I will find some of my favorite posts (that are not already in the side bar to the left) and share them with you.  Here's another one from 2011…

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(I realized it might be helpful to some of you to hear the story of how I met Jesus Christ. My pastor had advised me to type it up as an exercise, to prepare myself if ever someone asked me. If you've never written out your story, try it. You will find that yours is remarkable!)

I used to feel like I didn’t have a story, because I had no extraordinary meeting with God. When you’ve been going to church for your whole life, it’s easy to think that you know God. I knew what other people said about Him, but I didn’t really know Him. I gradually became acquainted with God, as my Savior, as my Friend, and as my Lover, slowly over 32 years. This is what my story is about. 

My dad is a pastor, and I attended church as soon as I left the hospital. The church building became my home away from home. On those long days when my dad had meeting after meeting, I would play ‘hide-and-seek’ and ‘sardines’ with my siblings, running up and down the stairs and in and out of closets. I knew all the best hiding places in a church, which are in the curtains, in the pulpit, and under the communion table. Our family would eat lunch and sometimes dinner there, and I practiced piano there. I remember coming up with games that involved crawling under the church pews on my belly. And I hated having to wear dresses on Sundays, because it’s easier to crawl under the pews with pants on! But I did learn other things besides  ‘hide-and-seek’. I also knew every memory verse, every Bible story,  every hymn sung in church. There was no question in Sunday School that I couldn’t answer.

Except one.

When I was ten, a teacher asked me, “Have you accepted Jesus as your personal Savior?”

I had always assumed that I was going to heaven, just like my parents, just like everyone who goes to church. I finally learned that I had to choose for myself, that all the things I did on Sundays were not the way to heaven. I realized that I was a sinner, even if I went to church and was basically a ‘good’ person, because no matter how hard I tried, I could never be perfect.  My sin separated me from God, my Creator, and separation from Him equals death. So I was dead, and would remain dead, unless I accept Christ’s gift, that He died on the cross, in my place, taking my penalty. All I had to do was accept that gift, but I had to do it myself.

And so, that day, I accepted Jesus as my Savior. Then I knew that I was guaranteed eternal life in Heaven with Him.

As a new believer, I tried to do everything right. Sunday School teachers told me that I would become a new person, so I prayed about my short temper and asked God to help me with that. The teachers told me to read the Bible everyday, so I tried to do that. God did reveal Himself to me in little ways (my bad temper did get better), but my life seemed very much the same. I was so confused, asking myself “What more am I suppose to do? How can I be a better Christian when I already go to church and do all these things?” There was suppose to be some kind of growth in my relationship, but I didn’t feel it happening. So I strove to be a better person, and as I grew older, I also started teaching Sunday School, playing piano in the service, and leading the youth group. I guess I felt that I must owe God something for what He did for me. I would think back to the day I made my decision to follow Jesus, and try even harder to keep my end of the ‘bargain’. I knew what I needed to do to live a good Christian life, but sometimes I failed, and then I would call myself a bad Christian. At that point, I was so busy in the church that I had a hard time really listening to God. To many people, I looked solid, but there were many holes in my faith. But God never turned from me, even when I entered my college years and started questioning Him as new philosophies tried to fill those holes. He waited for the day when I was ready, ready to hear Him.

That day came when I was twenty. All it took was a sermon series on God’s love (not, “For God so loved the world…so He sent His son…and you must do this to respond”, but “God loves you! He enjoys you! He wants to be with you, and that’s why He sent His son!”) That was the first time I ever ‘heard’ someone say that God enjoys me, and that all He wants is a relationship with me. His entire motivation for sending Jesus to the cross was love! And He wants to give me more good things, beginning with the gift of His Son. I finally understood that ‘eternal life’ was not something that happens when I ‘go to Heaven’, but something that happens NOW, because the cross took away the gap between God and me, restoring the loving relationship between my Maker and me. And I can still do things to serve Him, but my love for Him is the foundation from which the service must flow.

For the first time in my life, my heart felt whole. The holes were gone. My self-image changed. I saw God not as the ‘Judge’, but as the ‘Friend’ and ‘Lover’ who accepted me, scars, filth and all. And it felt good knowing that my life’s goal is not working to get God’s attention. Sometimes I still fall into that trap. I get focused on reading the Bible as another thing on my checklist, instead of a time to be with God, my Friend. I volunteer for things because I know I should, not because I genuinely care. Sometimes I get so busy that I forget that I need to be still and listen. I need to hear him call me ‘Beloved’, which means that I need to

just

be

loved.

This is what I’m working on now; this is the sin that still creeps in, and prevents me from feeling like I’m truly abiding in Christ.

And so, for the first ten year of my life, I knew ‘of’ God. The second ten years, we were acquaintances. The third ten years, we’ve been friends. Now I’m thirty-two, and I want to know Him as my Lover. I want to fall completely in love with him,  and be like an old-married couple with Him. I want to live in the knowledge that God’s Son on the cross was not a one-time act of love, but a symbol of ALL the love He has for me and wants to give me.

(and for those of you who are parents, I want to say, "Don't assume that bringing your child to Sunday School is enough. And don't assume that having a child that serves in the church is enough. Talk to your children about Christ, when you are walking, when you are eating, whenever you are together!") 

On 'Stories'

Knowing that September is going to be a busy month for me because of school and baby (and sleep deprivation), I decided to do something different. Most of the posts this month will actually be re-posts. I've learned some valuable lessons in the three-and-a-half years since I've started this blog, and I'm sure that most of you don't have the time to sit at the computer and read all that I've ever written. So I will find some of my favorite posts (that are not already in the side bar to the left) and share them with you.  Here's one from 2011…

*This post is mostly about books. I've added a bit about movies as an afterword.

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Building on the book list in my last post, can I emphasize enough how important it is to read to your children? By reading to your children, you are building the foundation for their spoken and written language, their higher thinking skills, and their creative minds. But there is another important reason to read to your children: you are passing on your 'narrative'.

The idea of narrative goes back thousands of years, back to the time when people sat around the fire and told stories about their day or their past, including folktales. The morals and beliefs of one generation passed onto the next, and in this simple way, a culture endured. 

Fast forward to present day, and we have generations that are isolated and disconnected. Older generations call the younger ones 'rebellious' and 'disrespectful', while the younger generations argue that the older ones 'just don't get it' and blame them for 'messing things up anyway'. There are many factors that can cause this rift, but one is that narrative is no longer passed from generation to generation. What has taken the place of stories around the fire? Movies, television, and video games. Pop culture, not parents and grandparents, passes on its beliefs to the new generation.  Dana Gioia, poet, critic, and former chairman of the National Endowment for the Arts, said on Volume 70 of the Mars Hill Audio Journal (an audio magazine focusing on contemporary culture and Christian conviction), "There is a human hunger for narrative... In fact, psychologists have demonstrated that when someone is telling you a story, you listen differently than from how you would a discursive argument. Unfortunately, that need for narrative is being satisfied at the lowest levels by video games, by action movies, by television, and other electronic media." That is why I worried when 'adult' movies like American Pie or The Ring became a hit among junior highers. They were filling their need for narrative with media that glorifies sex, drugs, rebellion, and exhilaration.

Jesus taught in parables for a reason. Stories stick. They don't lecture. They invite the listener to live another's life, and learn from it. You, as the parent, can choose which stories stick with your children. In our family, we read books aloud, before naptime and bedtime, and also at the dinner table. The dinner table book is always a chapter book picked by my husband; right now we are reading The Hobbit. We also listen to books and stories on CD in the car, instead of the radio. And of course, we have our children read on their own, by themselves or aloud to us. Lastly, we like to tell stories in our family, stories about myself or my husband we when were younger. Some stories have morals, and some are just fun memories. Our kids ask for those again and again. 

How can you pass on your narrative? Start with your infants. Check out books at the library (some may need previewing). Read and discuss books. Tell stories about your childhood. Ask grandparents to tell stories about their childhood. And above all, read Bible stories, either from the Bible or a good illustrated version (I recommend The Jesus Storybook Bible). I also highly, HIGLY recommend three books by David and Karen Mains, titled Tales of the Kingdom, Tales of the Resistance, and Tales of the Restoration. Another good resource is Honey for a Child's Heart, by Gladys Hunt. The book discusses the importance of reading with your children, how to pick great books, and includes book lists for all ages.

If you would like to see my recommended book lists, click on the following links:

Book List for Girls

Book List for Boys

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*My husband and I are always emphasizing to our children and other parents how movies are a form of narrative. Even the most faithful of our parenting friends (or grandparenting friends) tend to get too lax in the area of choosing movies for their children to watch. Remember that G and PG ratings are based only on certain things such as violence and language. The simple letter rating cannot tell you about spiritual content or messages on morality. I recommend previewing movies (especially newer ones) before you take your children to the movie theater or show them at home. There are also online Christian resources that will give you a thorough movie review; the one I use is Focus on the Family's Plugged In. And more importantly than censoring everything you children watch is discussing what you watched with your children during or after the viewing. We even talk about Lego cartoons with our oldest, because the ninjas practice meditation and the Chima creatures have their crystals. Our goal is to make sure our children are not blindly absorbing what passes in front of their eyes. We are training them to filter everything through God's Word and to examine their surrounding culture with intelligence and good moral judgment.

On 'Home'

Knowing that September is going to be a busy month for me because of school and baby (and sleep deprivation), I decided to do something different. Most of the posts this month will actually be re-posts. I've learned some valuable lessons in the three-and-a-half years since I've started this blog, and I'm sure that most of you don't have the time to sit at the computer and read all that I've ever written. So I will find some of my favorite posts (that are not already in the side bar to the left) and share them with you.  Here's one from 2011…

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My 4-year-old is on a rhyming spree. She come up with random little couplets, and repeats them for several days. Usually, they involve a sibling or an animal; for example:

"No!" said the pig who was wearing a wig.

"No!" said the cat who was wearing a hat.

Fun and silly, we get a good laugh out of them.

The other day, she was in a rhyming mood again, and started spinning a long, rather elaborate poem while playing in the other room. I was only able to really hear the end of it, when she walked into the room where I was working.

"...and then you're home, and your home is a poem."

My first reaction was, "That is such a good rhyme! And such a sweet sentiment!"

But the phrase stuck with me. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it's not just 'sweetness'. Sweetness is splitting a cookie with a friend. This goes much deeper than that; it's giving your friend the whole cookie. 

I started asking myself, "Is my home a poem?" I sometimes want a Thomas Kinkade home: vines climbing up the side, warm firelight shining out through the windows, the countryside blooming all around... some would say that that is poetic. I will probably never have a house that fits that description. But how do vines and a fireplace make a home anyway? Or matching furniture? Or retro flea market finds? I'm asking myself the wrong questions. This is what I should be asking: Do I lose my patience and raise my voice too often? Do I overly criticize my children? Do I praise them, hug them, and kiss them enough? Do I make judgments and hold grudges? 

The reality is that I cannot give my children a farm, or a beautiful large backyard, with a pony, playset, and tree house. They will never have individual bedrooms, or designer bedroom sets (I haven't even put curtains up in their rooms yet!) But we have a home. It may not look impressive, but it is a home. We play board games and hide-n-seek in the dark. We read books and eat dinner together. Our garden is not professionally done, but the children are right by my side, digging the holes and pulling the weeds. We don't have satellite TV (or cable), but the kids look forward to 'Saturday Morning Cartoons' with their dad. It's easy for me to get distracted when I start comparing my family to what other families do or have, but I can make up for anything 'lacking' by knowing that to be a homemaker is a calling. If I strive to love my children for whom God made them to be, and not let busy schedules, worldly standards, or my own sinful nature get in the way, my home will be a sanctuary. If I am a  peacemaker, and teach my children to be the same (my husband and I never allow teasing or 'sibling rivalry'), my home will be a haven. If I build traditions, like half-cakes on half-birthdays and advent stockings, and decorate my walls with my children's art, and stay on top of the cleaning (yes, this is important too!), my home will be a place where my family wants be. Then, my home will be a poem.

Where every member is perfectly loved

Where every member feels safe and secure

Where every member knows he belongs

Where everyone feels joy and peace

Where a family wants to be together

Where a family wants to be

This is home