(Spoiler alert): I will try to not give the show away, but I might say something you didn't know so if you haven't watched the whole thing, STOP, and do so before you go any further.
Six years ago I started on a journey with the fictional Braverman family of Berkeley, California. We had little in common. They were liberal agnostics and I...well, I am decidedly neither.
There were times in the past years when I wanted to smack the writers (or characters) upside the head and I might have yelled at the screen a few times. But, for the most part, I loved this crazy family, a mom and pop, their four grown up (theoretically) children, and all of the offspring's offspring. The acting was superb, and the writing, true-to-life, right down to nailing birth order traits with a few anomalies (really, Julia is the youngest?).
Along the way we covered marriage, adultery, divorce, birth, adoption, abortion, homosexuality, charter schools, homeschooling, Asperger's, business failures, health issues, and a host of other issues. And were pretty true to the issues. Abortion and all its ugly consequences....Nothing pretty about that story. Adoption, its challenges and its heart. Divorce and its massive affects on kids and their future relationships. Nothing gets prettified to make you feel better about life failure.
The oldest, working so hard to keep it all together and do the right thing. The middle children, muddled and unable to make good relational choices for much of the show, finally growing up and taking big steps. The perfect child who had it all together, falling apart and left to pick herself up out of the mess she helped create.
But through it all....LOVE. Real conflicts, real pain, and still this family keeps loving each other. They model forgiveness in fantastic ways at times, leaving me teary and convicted to be different.
In a brutally honest way we watch a marriage virtually fall apart in front of us as we are screaming, NOOO!!! And then, little glimmers of hope, little rays of promise as two people decide to open up to love, to forgiveness, as they decide to be steadfast. The writers were true to the pain, to the time, to the issues.
In the series finale, the last fifteen minutes ended with a death and then flashes of the family in the future, going on with life, birthing and adopting more babies, affirming life and love.
I grew a little with the Bravermans. I hope I love a little better, forgive a little faster.
Showing posts with label Controversy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Controversy. Show all posts
Sunday, February 08, 2015
Wednesday, June 04, 2014
The Good Men Who Love #YesAllWomen
"He's checking you out." My tall classmate scooted closer to me in the auditorium and nodded toward the English professor up front.
"He's married. He has a kid."
"He's totally checking you out."
This came after several weeks of feeling increasingly uncomfortable in class and wondering if I was missing the stares he gave others. Maybe it wasn't just me; maybe some strange social quirk. And then there was the day he had me work on an in-class assignment involving a comic book that showed a woman and giant spider copulating. I looked around and noticed that other members of the class were given more normal assignments.
But I was still incredulous. Still thought perhaps I was making it up. My tall friend, a star basketball player at my college told me I wasn't.
When mid-semester one-on-one conferences came around, his appointment was right before mine. He walked out and said to me as I started to walk in the room for mine: "He's totally going to ask you out. I will be in the cafeteria. Come find me."
I sat down to a disconcerting interview in which I kept trying to keep his eyes up and he proceeded to change the final writing assignment required for both the class and a graduation pre-requisite from a term paper on an environmental theme to a "series of poems on your love affairs." He informed me that my writing was amazing, I was "really talented" and the normal term paper wasn't necessary for me. He wanted me to write my poems and then he wanted us to go for coffee and read them together because he really enjoyed my writing.
I exited his office in a daze, still thinking I had to have misunderstood. I found John, who had forewarned me, in the cafeteria, near Vicki, an older student who had befriended me.
"Well?" John inquired.
I blurted out the whole weird episode in the office while Vicki became increasing horrified. "To the dean. You are going to the dean," she got out.
I argued. I didn't want to be that girl, that screaming feminist who yells "sexual harassment" at every turn. I felt sick and I just wanted this to go away.
Vicki laid it out all: "What if he does this to some 18-year old freshman? You're older, and you are a good student. You have to speak up."
I went to the dean who with great wisdom asked key questions: 1) Was I learning in the class? 2) Did I feel like I was receiving fair grades on my work? 3) Was this man teaching well aside from this incident?
I answered "yes" to all three and the dean asked what I wanted to do about the invasive assignment. I told him I had one idea: I could write poems about my love affair with Ireland. He thought that was clever and encouraged me to proceed, stay in touch, and come to him if I felt threatened.
I did feel threatened, but that felt so unreasonable. My friend John knew how I felt, and made it his personal mission to sit by me in class. The last day of class he stared the prof down while moving even closer to me. I turned in my work and the class ended.
My previous work had been returned to me signed with the professor's first name and phone number. This time I received a message asking me to call him and we would go "off-campus" and he would give me "personal feedback" on my poems. I left a note in his campus box that I was busy and if he would just return the work to me in my box, I would let him know if I had questions. This went on for a couple of weeks under the dean's watchful eye; eventually I was able to get a grade, my work, and a final grade without seeing him again. The next semester he went after a younger student and the two incidents ended his employ at my alma mater.
Later, I learned he hadn't given John, the required "C" required in Advanced Writing to graduate. I had seen John's grades throughout the class, typically B's and B+'s. John calmed me down telling me he had to take responsibility because he had turned in his last assignment late. But I will always wonder, if he didn't getting stuck retaking that class because he came to my aid, knowing I was receiving unwanted attention.
In the wake of Elliot Rodger's hideous crimes and the great outpouring of female frustration tweeting at #YesAllWomen, I, too, found myself looking at this incident and others and understanding the fear, exhaustion, and helplessness that women are often subjected to.
But to be fair, each time I have been afraid of a man, there has been another man there who protected, stuck up or simply validated that I had done nothing to bring about unwanted advances.
Not very feminist of me to admit. A little helpless sounding. But only fair when we all turn our attention to Elliot Rodgers and to the creeps and stalkers in our lives.
I went off to an academic conference in my mid-20s. I planned to go to graduate school and I was encouraged to go to this conference and meet key representatives of the programs I was interested in as I sent off my applications. The top program in the U.S. was completely funded and I was hopeful I might get in. I was friends with a professor at another university who had been key to getting me to go and we shared a hotel room. At the opening barbeque, a respected publisher of an academic journal noticed me and enveloped me in his group of friends. I was terrified of all these intelligent and credentialed people and he noticed and asked me to write a book review for his journal. He also proceeded to point out the people for me to meet and talk with.
On the second day of the conference, I boldly made my way up to one of the top professors at the school I desperately wanted to get into to. He was a short, balding man and I told him I was making application to his school and asked for suggestions on making my application as appealing as possible. He stood way too close to me. He asked a few questions and then told me that he felt he needed some time with me, because, he could "affect my admission." He told me that rather than attend the evening's events, we would go away just the two of us and spend the evening by ourselves. And then he gave me a rather long kiss on the cheek. I was stunned. He told me where to find him and I started to move away, rather dazed.
My publisher friend, who had been about 20 feet away, motioned me over to him and asked if I was ok. I remember looking up at him, wondering if I looked that bad. He then looked at me and said, "You need to watch him. He has a bit of a reputation." I made some excuse and escaped up to my room, literally shaking by the time I got there. My friend was there and when I told her the story, she was livid. She asked me what I wanted to do. Disappear. She then told me that her graduate prof had constantly made advances toward her and she had been terrified too. He had power over whether or not she received her master's and in the end he had asked her to sit on his lap. Grateful, he hadn't pushed it further, she still never fully respected her decision to go along.
I stuck with the conference that night, telling the professor when he came looking for me, that I felt I needed to be part of the evening at the conference. I went home and never applied to the one school that would have had the funding for my doctorate. I was admitted into all the other unfunded programs I applied to. For years I wondered if I should have applied anyway. Just recently, I realized that I did the right thing. For me. I don't think I would have enjoyed having to fight my way through years of a Ph.D. program with that burden, funded or not.
But while dealing with more creepiness, once again, I found a good man. A nice man who let me know I wasn't crazy, that I wasn't imagining anything and that I felt icky for a reason. It was icky.
There have been other little moments: at work, in an empty subway station, being stalked by a classmate, when I have been threatened, and each and every time, there has been a male who was looking out for my best interest.
I get #YesAllWomen. And Amanda Hess's Slate article had so much truth in it, it sent shivers down my spine. Now I have two little girls, and how do I teach them to move and maneuver in a fallen world where men can be dangerous?
But I have a son too. And he is no Elliot Rodgers. And I don't want him him lumped into any category. So, remember. For all the crazy men, who view women as things they are entitled to possess, there are the good men too. The ones who step in the middle, or just listen and affirm. Or simply live their lives respecting the women they come into contact with for all they are and all they can be.
So rather than come together as women decrying the men who have scared, hurt, or killed us, let's come together as humans, saddened yet again, by humanity's curse, and while recognizing the evil, hoping, just hoping, we won't let this happen again.
"He's married. He has a kid."
"He's totally checking you out."
This came after several weeks of feeling increasingly uncomfortable in class and wondering if I was missing the stares he gave others. Maybe it wasn't just me; maybe some strange social quirk. And then there was the day he had me work on an in-class assignment involving a comic book that showed a woman and giant spider copulating. I looked around and noticed that other members of the class were given more normal assignments.
But I was still incredulous. Still thought perhaps I was making it up. My tall friend, a star basketball player at my college told me I wasn't.
When mid-semester one-on-one conferences came around, his appointment was right before mine. He walked out and said to me as I started to walk in the room for mine: "He's totally going to ask you out. I will be in the cafeteria. Come find me."
I sat down to a disconcerting interview in which I kept trying to keep his eyes up and he proceeded to change the final writing assignment required for both the class and a graduation pre-requisite from a term paper on an environmental theme to a "series of poems on your love affairs." He informed me that my writing was amazing, I was "really talented" and the normal term paper wasn't necessary for me. He wanted me to write my poems and then he wanted us to go for coffee and read them together because he really enjoyed my writing.
I exited his office in a daze, still thinking I had to have misunderstood. I found John, who had forewarned me, in the cafeteria, near Vicki, an older student who had befriended me.
"Well?" John inquired.
I blurted out the whole weird episode in the office while Vicki became increasing horrified. "To the dean. You are going to the dean," she got out.
I argued. I didn't want to be that girl, that screaming feminist who yells "sexual harassment" at every turn. I felt sick and I just wanted this to go away.
Vicki laid it out all: "What if he does this to some 18-year old freshman? You're older, and you are a good student. You have to speak up."
I went to the dean who with great wisdom asked key questions: 1) Was I learning in the class? 2) Did I feel like I was receiving fair grades on my work? 3) Was this man teaching well aside from this incident?
I answered "yes" to all three and the dean asked what I wanted to do about the invasive assignment. I told him I had one idea: I could write poems about my love affair with Ireland. He thought that was clever and encouraged me to proceed, stay in touch, and come to him if I felt threatened.
I did feel threatened, but that felt so unreasonable. My friend John knew how I felt, and made it his personal mission to sit by me in class. The last day of class he stared the prof down while moving even closer to me. I turned in my work and the class ended.
My previous work had been returned to me signed with the professor's first name and phone number. This time I received a message asking me to call him and we would go "off-campus" and he would give me "personal feedback" on my poems. I left a note in his campus box that I was busy and if he would just return the work to me in my box, I would let him know if I had questions. This went on for a couple of weeks under the dean's watchful eye; eventually I was able to get a grade, my work, and a final grade without seeing him again. The next semester he went after a younger student and the two incidents ended his employ at my alma mater.
Later, I learned he hadn't given John, the required "C" required in Advanced Writing to graduate. I had seen John's grades throughout the class, typically B's and B+'s. John calmed me down telling me he had to take responsibility because he had turned in his last assignment late. But I will always wonder, if he didn't getting stuck retaking that class because he came to my aid, knowing I was receiving unwanted attention.
In the wake of Elliot Rodger's hideous crimes and the great outpouring of female frustration tweeting at #YesAllWomen, I, too, found myself looking at this incident and others and understanding the fear, exhaustion, and helplessness that women are often subjected to.
But to be fair, each time I have been afraid of a man, there has been another man there who protected, stuck up or simply validated that I had done nothing to bring about unwanted advances.
Not very feminist of me to admit. A little helpless sounding. But only fair when we all turn our attention to Elliot Rodgers and to the creeps and stalkers in our lives.
I went off to an academic conference in my mid-20s. I planned to go to graduate school and I was encouraged to go to this conference and meet key representatives of the programs I was interested in as I sent off my applications. The top program in the U.S. was completely funded and I was hopeful I might get in. I was friends with a professor at another university who had been key to getting me to go and we shared a hotel room. At the opening barbeque, a respected publisher of an academic journal noticed me and enveloped me in his group of friends. I was terrified of all these intelligent and credentialed people and he noticed and asked me to write a book review for his journal. He also proceeded to point out the people for me to meet and talk with.
On the second day of the conference, I boldly made my way up to one of the top professors at the school I desperately wanted to get into to. He was a short, balding man and I told him I was making application to his school and asked for suggestions on making my application as appealing as possible. He stood way too close to me. He asked a few questions and then told me that he felt he needed some time with me, because, he could "affect my admission." He told me that rather than attend the evening's events, we would go away just the two of us and spend the evening by ourselves. And then he gave me a rather long kiss on the cheek. I was stunned. He told me where to find him and I started to move away, rather dazed.
My publisher friend, who had been about 20 feet away, motioned me over to him and asked if I was ok. I remember looking up at him, wondering if I looked that bad. He then looked at me and said, "You need to watch him. He has a bit of a reputation." I made some excuse and escaped up to my room, literally shaking by the time I got there. My friend was there and when I told her the story, she was livid. She asked me what I wanted to do. Disappear. She then told me that her graduate prof had constantly made advances toward her and she had been terrified too. He had power over whether or not she received her master's and in the end he had asked her to sit on his lap. Grateful, he hadn't pushed it further, she still never fully respected her decision to go along.
I stuck with the conference that night, telling the professor when he came looking for me, that I felt I needed to be part of the evening at the conference. I went home and never applied to the one school that would have had the funding for my doctorate. I was admitted into all the other unfunded programs I applied to. For years I wondered if I should have applied anyway. Just recently, I realized that I did the right thing. For me. I don't think I would have enjoyed having to fight my way through years of a Ph.D. program with that burden, funded or not.
But while dealing with more creepiness, once again, I found a good man. A nice man who let me know I wasn't crazy, that I wasn't imagining anything and that I felt icky for a reason. It was icky.
There have been other little moments: at work, in an empty subway station, being stalked by a classmate, when I have been threatened, and each and every time, there has been a male who was looking out for my best interest.
I get #YesAllWomen. And Amanda Hess's Slate article had so much truth in it, it sent shivers down my spine. Now I have two little girls, and how do I teach them to move and maneuver in a fallen world where men can be dangerous?
But I have a son too. And he is no Elliot Rodgers. And I don't want him him lumped into any category. So, remember. For all the crazy men, who view women as things they are entitled to possess, there are the good men too. The ones who step in the middle, or just listen and affirm. Or simply live their lives respecting the women they come into contact with for all they are and all they can be.
So rather than come together as women decrying the men who have scared, hurt, or killed us, let's come together as humans, saddened yet again, by humanity's curse, and while recognizing the evil, hoping, just hoping, we won't let this happen again.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
American Girl - And my girls
I despise trendiness. Hate it. Never watched Star Wars, haven't read Harry Potter, won't allow Barbie in my house. And I've tried my best to keep Disney princesses out.
This goes back to a little anti-establishment sentiment from being part of a upper-middleclass youth group where certain brands were all the rage while standing decisively outside of it and realizing that you weren't a more complete person because you had a Swatch watch. I went off to my southern California campus with not one, but two pairs of decisively not "in" purple corduroys from Goodwill. I'm quite certain I was known to some as "the girl with the purple pants."
I thoroughly and completely hope that my kids will all stand independently above the need to acquire things simply to achieve a certain status.
And so now we come to it. American Girl. Thoroughly the rage among my friends and their girls. And thus, I have been utterly resistant. First, the trendiness, as stated above. Second, the costliness. I am a big believer in not giving kids expensive things. Because kids just ruin things. Our furniture stands as a prime example. Third, I am not a big fan of dolls. I had a few in my day. I primarily liked naming them and then changed their clothes a few times and then they sat. So I haven't been big on the idea of American Girl.
But over the course of the last year, a few things have influenced my thinking. First, we have read several American Girl books (beyond the stories, historical supplemental material is available as well) as part of our history curriculum. They are well-written, accurate, respectful, and engaging. Even Ben loves these stories Second, I have come to recognize that quality in ideas and workmanship should be rewarded. Quality and trendy often go together but not always. In this instance, I've come to recognize the benefits of high quality toys for my children, just as I recognize them in footwear and jeans for myself. And my girls love dolls. Particularly Kyrie, who though she is spotty with consistent care (as she should be at 6), will go for hours rocking, feeding, changing, and having "conversations" with her dolls.
Lastly, I want to both encourage that nurturing instinct and put it into a context where she sees a doll not just as a "baby" and herself as its "mother" but she sees the doll as a friend, a person, with a story. These dolls have history; they were "born" into a certain time and place and their lives intersect with great happenings all around them. They represent real people, real girls, who within the framework of their culture, achieved all they could. It is a delicate balance, to uphold motherhood as something real and good and to be desired, while at the same time, teaching our daughters that they are women who can live full and productive lives, with or without bearing a child. American Girl gives them the opportunity to be little girls who dress, talk to, feed and play with dolls, while not having to be the mommy to that doll. They will always have the opportunity to be a friend, to nurture and help another. We want them to develop their skillfulness in that and find the joy in it.
So, while we haven't yet made this big purchase, it is coming. We are preparing. And I have come to terms with being part of the American Girl trend. Sometimes, the culture gets it right.
This goes back to a little anti-establishment sentiment from being part of a upper-middleclass youth group where certain brands were all the rage while standing decisively outside of it and realizing that you weren't a more complete person because you had a Swatch watch. I went off to my southern California campus with not one, but two pairs of decisively not "in" purple corduroys from Goodwill. I'm quite certain I was known to some as "the girl with the purple pants."
I thoroughly and completely hope that my kids will all stand independently above the need to acquire things simply to achieve a certain status.
And so now we come to it. American Girl. Thoroughly the rage among my friends and their girls. And thus, I have been utterly resistant. First, the trendiness, as stated above. Second, the costliness. I am a big believer in not giving kids expensive things. Because kids just ruin things. Our furniture stands as a prime example. Third, I am not a big fan of dolls. I had a few in my day. I primarily liked naming them and then changed their clothes a few times and then they sat. So I haven't been big on the idea of American Girl.
But over the course of the last year, a few things have influenced my thinking. First, we have read several American Girl books (beyond the stories, historical supplemental material is available as well) as part of our history curriculum. They are well-written, accurate, respectful, and engaging. Even Ben loves these stories Second, I have come to recognize that quality in ideas and workmanship should be rewarded. Quality and trendy often go together but not always. In this instance, I've come to recognize the benefits of high quality toys for my children, just as I recognize them in footwear and jeans for myself. And my girls love dolls. Particularly Kyrie, who though she is spotty with consistent care (as she should be at 6), will go for hours rocking, feeding, changing, and having "conversations" with her dolls.
Lastly, I want to both encourage that nurturing instinct and put it into a context where she sees a doll not just as a "baby" and herself as its "mother" but she sees the doll as a friend, a person, with a story. These dolls have history; they were "born" into a certain time and place and their lives intersect with great happenings all around them. They represent real people, real girls, who within the framework of their culture, achieved all they could. It is a delicate balance, to uphold motherhood as something real and good and to be desired, while at the same time, teaching our daughters that they are women who can live full and productive lives, with or without bearing a child. American Girl gives them the opportunity to be little girls who dress, talk to, feed and play with dolls, while not having to be the mommy to that doll. They will always have the opportunity to be a friend, to nurture and help another. We want them to develop their skillfulness in that and find the joy in it.
So, while we haven't yet made this big purchase, it is coming. We are preparing. And I have come to terms with being part of the American Girl trend. Sometimes, the culture gets it right.
Wednesday, August 07, 2013
Chicago - What I Love and What I Don't
Mike had some meetings in Chicago Monday and Tuesday and so our family came along and took in a few sites. Our visit was exhausting and expensive, fun and fulfilling. I took the girls to the American Girl store and Ben went to the Lego store. More thoughts on those later. Our friends (and Kyrie's godparents) Dave and Connie came in to town and went to the Shedd Aquarium with us, which helped with the 2-hr wait in line. Then they traded us their 10-year old son for the girls for the last night and day. They live west of Chicago and so the girls had some much-needed down time while Luke, Ben and I went to the Art Institute and went back to the Lego store.
My favorite stories:
-Miguel, at the Corner Bakery who smiled and made eye contact at our first breakfast there. The next day we went back and Miguel thanked me for returning. And then when making my entrance to the hotel where we stayed (Palmer House Hilton...no shabby establishment), there was Miguel in a door man's outfit, smiling and saying "hi." I did a double-take and checked the name tag. "You do double-duty?" "Yes, I work both places." I didn't have time to get Miguel's story and he didn't have time to tell it. But his English skills were strong, but definitely the skills of a second language speaker. But Miguel always smiled, and exuded gratefulness for his jobs, not bitterness that he has to work two to make it. He was busy helping other customers as we departed the hotel. It was nearly 7pm and I had seen him working at breakfast that morning. He was still smiling. Miguel represents why America has a fighting chance to make it back from this malaise. I am grateful for him.
-The Chicago Art Institute is a world class museum. The paintings and other art are amazing, the exhibits are fantastic and the building magnificent. Ben, his friend Luke, and I loved our time there. But the most impressive feature was the staff. We arrived before the museum opened and waited in line. A 60-ish gentleman walked the line several times answering questions, advising the end of the line to enter at the side entrance to save time, checking who had memberships and passes. As the line began to move, he greeted those entering, thanking us for visiting and wishing us a wonderful time. It was classy. The same man caught my questioning face a few hours later and asked how he could help. Then he asked what I thought of the museum. For all you could see, this man could have owned the place. He was proud of his part in it.
-CTA....I'm pretty sure this is a (3rd) world class transit system. I'm quite familiar with public transit systems. I've ridden in DC, New York, London, Rome, Boston and Portland. It took me 15 minutes to ascertain that REALLY REALLY you can't use credit or debit, the machine won't make change, and there is no change machine in the stations. I confirmed all these things with an apologetic attendant who used the words "antiquated" to describe her workplace. Then I discovered after going back up to the street level and convincing an employee at a business to give me change that the machines can't even read the reduced fare cards. So every time someone who qualifies for a reduced fare (children, senior citizens, students) wants to enter the subway (or elevated EL) the attendant has to leave their booth and let them through. SERIOUSLY!? No need to go into the smells and sense that the whole thing could collapse around us. Let's say that I am not a fan.
-Connections...For whatever reason, I couldn't get any decent mobile connections anywhere. Mike was receiving my texts 15 minutes after I sent them, I couldn't access my email without an eternity and I couldn't hear clearly when anyone called. Is it the wind? Or a government conspiracy? I have my doubts.
-Lou Malneti's...And at the end of a long day, amazing pizza and great service at Lou Malneti's. Chicago deep dish is amazing and this restaurant lets you pre-order so that when a table becomes available, your pizza arrives not long afterwards.
All that to say: Chicago is a microcosm of America. The people who were working were friendly, helpful, and competent. The government entities and systems set up seemed difficult, slow and frustrating. Even the people who were part of them were frustrated. Somehow our government has to be tied in to the free market; if you do a service well, you are rewarded. If you don't, you get cast out. It is supposed to work this way; it clearly is failing. I am grateful for the thinkers and leaders in the state policy movement working to hold government accountable and keep it working.
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| Hancock Observatory |
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| Lego Woody and Ben |
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| Hancock Observatory |
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| Hancock Observatory |
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| Kyrie by the Chicago River |
-Miguel, at the Corner Bakery who smiled and made eye contact at our first breakfast there. The next day we went back and Miguel thanked me for returning. And then when making my entrance to the hotel where we stayed (Palmer House Hilton...no shabby establishment), there was Miguel in a door man's outfit, smiling and saying "hi." I did a double-take and checked the name tag. "You do double-duty?" "Yes, I work both places." I didn't have time to get Miguel's story and he didn't have time to tell it. But his English skills were strong, but definitely the skills of a second language speaker. But Miguel always smiled, and exuded gratefulness for his jobs, not bitterness that he has to work two to make it. He was busy helping other customers as we departed the hotel. It was nearly 7pm and I had seen him working at breakfast that morning. He was still smiling. Miguel represents why America has a fighting chance to make it back from this malaise. I am grateful for him.
-The Chicago Art Institute is a world class museum. The paintings and other art are amazing, the exhibits are fantastic and the building magnificent. Ben, his friend Luke, and I loved our time there. But the most impressive feature was the staff. We arrived before the museum opened and waited in line. A 60-ish gentleman walked the line several times answering questions, advising the end of the line to enter at the side entrance to save time, checking who had memberships and passes. As the line began to move, he greeted those entering, thanking us for visiting and wishing us a wonderful time. It was classy. The same man caught my questioning face a few hours later and asked how he could help. Then he asked what I thought of the museum. For all you could see, this man could have owned the place. He was proud of his part in it.
-CTA....I'm pretty sure this is a (3rd) world class transit system. I'm quite familiar with public transit systems. I've ridden in DC, New York, London, Rome, Boston and Portland. It took me 15 minutes to ascertain that REALLY REALLY you can't use credit or debit, the machine won't make change, and there is no change machine in the stations. I confirmed all these things with an apologetic attendant who used the words "antiquated" to describe her workplace. Then I discovered after going back up to the street level and convincing an employee at a business to give me change that the machines can't even read the reduced fare cards. So every time someone who qualifies for a reduced fare (children, senior citizens, students) wants to enter the subway (or elevated EL) the attendant has to leave their booth and let them through. SERIOUSLY!? No need to go into the smells and sense that the whole thing could collapse around us. Let's say that I am not a fan.
-Connections...For whatever reason, I couldn't get any decent mobile connections anywhere. Mike was receiving my texts 15 minutes after I sent them, I couldn't access my email without an eternity and I couldn't hear clearly when anyone called. Is it the wind? Or a government conspiracy? I have my doubts.
-Lou Malneti's...And at the end of a long day, amazing pizza and great service at Lou Malneti's. Chicago deep dish is amazing and this restaurant lets you pre-order so that when a table becomes available, your pizza arrives not long afterwards.
All that to say: Chicago is a microcosm of America. The people who were working were friendly, helpful, and competent. The government entities and systems set up seemed difficult, slow and frustrating. Even the people who were part of them were frustrated. Somehow our government has to be tied in to the free market; if you do a service well, you are rewarded. If you don't, you get cast out. It is supposed to work this way; it clearly is failing. I am grateful for the thinkers and leaders in the state policy movement working to hold government accountable and keep it working.
Monday, June 03, 2013
Birth Order Matters
Back in high school, I stumbled across a book on birth order by Dr. Kevin Leman. I was absolutely fascinated. I so identified with the descriptors attached to first-born children and this helped me feel better about the ways I was so distinctly different from the rest of my family. I was quite determined for a while to make a good birth order match (which would have made my mate a baby in his family, ideally, or a middle child). That didn't happen (gratefully) and now my firstborn husband and I sometimes struggle to understand the non-firstborns in our families.
Last week, I read Why Birth Order Matters and watched elements of it play out.
On Friday, I heard Ben carefully describing how one was supposed to accomplish a certain task to Kyrie. He laid it out diligently. She promptly started with "You don't have to do it that way."
"Yes, you do, Kyrie." And the tension began to escalate.
I took the opportunity to explain to her that her brother and her parents love rules, love black and white. She looked at me like I was from another planet.
This description could not be more perfect for the three firstborns in our family:
I know my kids aren't tied to these things and that there are always exceptions. (Kevin Leman is always mindful to point this out.) But this article gave renewed focus to my parenting and relieved a little of the guilt I have in always seeing the perspective of one of my children better than the others. I have to work a little harder. I particularly am focused on remembering that sometimes Kyrie is right; there is more than one way to skin a cat. And I have to be more diligent to make sure our little charmer grows up learning to pull her weight.
Lastly, Mike and I were both raised by a middle-born and last-born parent. Remembering that helps us understand why we are both more conventional than our parents and sometimes wish they were more interested in "following the rules." Hopefully, because we were raised by parents not of our birth order, we are more flexible and accommodating. Ben, however, may be a lost cause. (Smile.)
Last week, I read Why Birth Order Matters and watched elements of it play out.
On Friday, I heard Ben carefully describing how one was supposed to accomplish a certain task to Kyrie. He laid it out diligently. She promptly started with "You don't have to do it that way."
"Yes, you do, Kyrie." And the tension began to escalate.
I took the opportunity to explain to her that her brother and her parents love rules, love black and white. She looked at me like I was from another planet.
This description could not be more perfect for the three firstborns in our family:
Reliable and conscientious, they tend to be list makers and black-and-white thinkers. They have a keen sense of right and wrong and believe there is a right way to do things. They are natural leaders and achievement-oriented.My middleborn completely fits this descriptor with the exception of the last phrase. Negotiator, yes. Peace, not so much.
They're the hardest to pin down of all the birth orders, but they'll be the opposite of the child above them in the family. If the firstborn is very conventional, the second will be unconventional. Middle children walk to the beat of a different drummer. They are competitive, loyal and big on friendships. The middle child of the family is often the negotiator who tries to keep the peace.And then our baby:
These social, outgoing creatures have never met a stranger. They are uncomplicated, spontaneous, humorous and high on people skills. To them, life's a party. They're the child in the family who is most likely to get away with murder and the least likely to be punished. They often retain their pet name.This is the child who ran up to her uncle last weekend, jumped in his arms, and declared, "I'm your honey."
I know my kids aren't tied to these things and that there are always exceptions. (Kevin Leman is always mindful to point this out.) But this article gave renewed focus to my parenting and relieved a little of the guilt I have in always seeing the perspective of one of my children better than the others. I have to work a little harder. I particularly am focused on remembering that sometimes Kyrie is right; there is more than one way to skin a cat. And I have to be more diligent to make sure our little charmer grows up learning to pull her weight.
Lastly, Mike and I were both raised by a middle-born and last-born parent. Remembering that helps us understand why we are both more conventional than our parents and sometimes wish they were more interested in "following the rules." Hopefully, because we were raised by parents not of our birth order, we are more flexible and accommodating. Ben, however, may be a lost cause. (Smile.)
Monday, April 15, 2013
And When and How Do We Tell the Kids?
I jumped on the internet this afternoon to check work email and became aware of the tragic events happening in Boston. I didn't click on any news clips, just read a few online reports. I didn't turn on the TV. Little ears and eyes were about and instead I asked myself "how do you, when do you tell the kids?"
I may avoid talking about this for a little while longer, but not much longer. Ben found out about Newtown and he knows about September 11. The girls do not. Yet.
But evil is unavoidable, tragedy, a product of the Fall, and we can't hide from it.
About a month ago, Kyrie asked innocently, "What was the name of your friend who died?" I had no idea what she was talking about so I displayed genuine confusion. "It was something like 'Sharon,'" she pushed. My heart sank at what come next, but she didn't ask the questions I dread to answer. The questions about Shannon, my cousin whose murder when we were 25 forever altered the way I look at the world. I'm constantly formulating in my head how I will tell my children that awful story. How I will say "Do not be afraid" when I still will not walk through my neighborhood alone, when I still get up if I hear anything in the night.
I realized today how different 9/11 was for the mothers of young children, the parents who caught glimpses of coverage here and there, but who realized for a certain time and place, they needed to shelter their kids from those images, the fumbling of reporters, bystanders and pundits to make sense of the horror they were encountering.
I will not lie. Today is not an anomaly in the character of man; it is the norm. It is not surprising that these things happen, it is shocking that they aren't visible to us more often. The heart of man bears horrific darkness. The truth is finding the Light.
But I still don't know how to tell them.
I may avoid talking about this for a little while longer, but not much longer. Ben found out about Newtown and he knows about September 11. The girls do not. Yet.
But evil is unavoidable, tragedy, a product of the Fall, and we can't hide from it.
About a month ago, Kyrie asked innocently, "What was the name of your friend who died?" I had no idea what she was talking about so I displayed genuine confusion. "It was something like 'Sharon,'" she pushed. My heart sank at what come next, but she didn't ask the questions I dread to answer. The questions about Shannon, my cousin whose murder when we were 25 forever altered the way I look at the world. I'm constantly formulating in my head how I will tell my children that awful story. How I will say "Do not be afraid" when I still will not walk through my neighborhood alone, when I still get up if I hear anything in the night.
I realized today how different 9/11 was for the mothers of young children, the parents who caught glimpses of coverage here and there, but who realized for a certain time and place, they needed to shelter their kids from those images, the fumbling of reporters, bystanders and pundits to make sense of the horror they were encountering.
I will not lie. Today is not an anomaly in the character of man; it is the norm. It is not surprising that these things happen, it is shocking that they aren't visible to us more often. The heart of man bears horrific darkness. The truth is finding the Light.
But I still don't know how to tell them.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
The Healing Judgment
Then he said to them all: "If anyone would come after me, he must
deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever
wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me
will save it. -Luke 9:23-24 (NIV)
I read this quote from Dietrich Bonhoeffer about a week ago and it has been working on me, kneading my soul as I have watched those who claim the name of Christ go stumbling off cliffs in giant numbers, declaring that no one should have to deny himself, no one should have to lay down his life. It is not the claims of "equal rights" that bother me. It is the decision to not only let others take their own lives, but to hand them the weapon and pat them on the back.
I'm sad that our country is where it is at, but nations come and nations go. Ours is unique in the world, but not so unique that it can be everlasting, that it can avoid the pitfalls of humanity.
But when the church, when those who claim the name of Christ, abandon all fidelity to Him, and put their "needs" (consumer, sexual, emotional, etc...) above faithfulness to the Cross, what then?
One thing I've noticed in recent years is the Church's emphasis on Easter, the Resurrection, the Victory, while completely ignoring Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, the Vigil. You don't get Easter, you don't get resurrection, until you die. You have to pass through the crucifixion. Jesus did die for us. He did take our place, but He also told us we would have to die too.
Many who claim that God made them the way they are and they shouldn't have to change one thing about themselves would point to those of us who disagree and say we hold on to our petty sins of consumerism and judgmentalism and self-righteousness. And they are right. Many of us hold onto our idols and we are no different. We should hold ourselves up for examination. When others correct us, we shouldn't throw off their words with "Don't judge me." This very action brings judgement upon ourselves.
Today I will remember a Christ who said on this day in history: “Get up and pray so that you will not fall into temptation.” (Luke 22:46) (NIV) Like the disciples, I'm tired. I'm weary. I am sick of praying for an unrepentant people. But I'm commanded to keep going. This is a Cross for me.
Tomorrow, I will remember the death of our Lord. I will remember that there were two criminals put to death on either side of Him. Only one will be in heaven. The One who repented.
Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires.-Gal. 5:24 (NIV)
I read this quote from Dietrich Bonhoeffer about a week ago and it has been working on me, kneading my soul as I have watched those who claim the name of Christ go stumbling off cliffs in giant numbers, declaring that no one should have to deny himself, no one should have to lay down his life. It is not the claims of "equal rights" that bother me. It is the decision to not only let others take their own lives, but to hand them the weapon and pat them on the back.
When another Christian falls into obvious sin, an admonition is imperative, because God’s Word demands it. The practice of discipline in the community of faith begins with friends who are close to one another. Words of admonition and reproach must be risked when a lapse from God’s Word in doctrine or life endangers a community that lives together, and with it the whole community of faith. Nothing can be more cruel than that leniency which abandons others to their sin. Nothing can be more compassionate than that severe reprimand which calls another Christian in one’s community back from the path of sin. When we allow nothing but God’s Word to stand between us, judging and helping, it is a service of mercy, an ultimate offer of genuine community. Then it is not we who are judging; God alone judges, and God’s judgment is helpful and healing. -Dietrich BonhoefferBonhoeffer's quote packs so much meaning because he speaks to us from a church that had continually refused to stand for truth and justice and then paid a terrible price for it. At the heart of the Reformation, Christ was denied, and a people put their immediate temporal desires above the work of Christ, and the entire nation paid.
I'm sad that our country is where it is at, but nations come and nations go. Ours is unique in the world, but not so unique that it can be everlasting, that it can avoid the pitfalls of humanity.
But when the church, when those who claim the name of Christ, abandon all fidelity to Him, and put their "needs" (consumer, sexual, emotional, etc...) above faithfulness to the Cross, what then?
One thing I've noticed in recent years is the Church's emphasis on Easter, the Resurrection, the Victory, while completely ignoring Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, the Vigil. You don't get Easter, you don't get resurrection, until you die. You have to pass through the crucifixion. Jesus did die for us. He did take our place, but He also told us we would have to die too.
Many who claim that God made them the way they are and they shouldn't have to change one thing about themselves would point to those of us who disagree and say we hold on to our petty sins of consumerism and judgmentalism and self-righteousness. And they are right. Many of us hold onto our idols and we are no different. We should hold ourselves up for examination. When others correct us, we shouldn't throw off their words with "Don't judge me." This very action brings judgement upon ourselves.
Today I will remember a Christ who said on this day in history: “Get up and pray so that you will not fall into temptation.” (Luke 22:46) (NIV) Like the disciples, I'm tired. I'm weary. I am sick of praying for an unrepentant people. But I'm commanded to keep going. This is a Cross for me.
Tomorrow, I will remember the death of our Lord. I will remember that there were two criminals put to death on either side of Him. Only one will be in heaven. The One who repented.
Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires.-Gal. 5:24 (NIV)
Saturday, January 05, 2013
Christmas
As the 12th day of Christmas wanes, and a New Year has started, we reflect on a wonderful time with family.
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| Our Christmas gift to ourselves-furniture in our living room |
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| The five of us did Secret Santa gifts; Kyrie had Ev and gave her this doll, that was named "Bambi Sally Rockstar" by Ev. |
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| And Ev had Kyrie and gave her what she had begged for: a baby that went potty and had a potty for her to use. Kyrie's interest in potty training lasted about as long as her own mother's interest did. |
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| Grandpa got an Ipod. |
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| The only picture I managed of my mom. |
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| Gingerbread creations |
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| Ben had Mike's name |
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| Ben made Uncle Mark a personalized Seahawks calendar |
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| Aunt Amber learned to crochet and made this cool creation |
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| And one for Ev |
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| More for Grandpa |
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| Ben thought coffee an odd gift |
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| An Angry Birds cap hid inside |
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| Lots of Seahawks fans here |
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| After long months of waiting we opened a gift we received from Aunt Lindsay |
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| Gave Ben a copy of his itinerary for a trip to D.C. Mike wasn't sure he would like it; he declared it his favorite gift. |
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Peace on Earth: When?
Nearly everyone loves a good Christmas story. Right? Jesus is born in a warm, stable surrounded by clean animals that look at him adoringly while they eat. Mary feels great after delivering in a stable (I should have considered that option when I opted for the birthing inn...she looks SO good). Joseph is calm; you have to wonder what kind of stash he had found in that barn?
And the angels sing and the shepherds come and it is all "Peace on earth, good will toward men." It is lovely.
And then later, the Wise Men come and they bring him great gifts and they bow down and worship him. And there was the Star. All so very lovely.
Except this. I want to say:
"God, the Star. Not a good idea. And the Wise Men? Why don't you have them stay home? Or tell them to come later, more quietly. Definitely stop them from letting the cat out of the bag and telling Herod."
Because really, this is a peaceful event. Jesus is coming to bring peace and love.
Only Jesus really never has delivered. For gold, frankincense, and myrrh and the worship of three foreign kings, a town of baby boys under 2 was slaughtered.
It seemed to let up for awhile but then a new round of deaths started after His own life was taken. In fact Jesus seems to disown the whole "peace" thing when he says: “Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword." -Matthew 10:34
The history of the martyrs is one thing; but I still get a little mystified over those little boys in Bethlehem that died so Jesus could get gold, frankincense, and myrrh.
The spiritual part of me can say "Worship is worth it." Any price...fall at His feet, bring Him gifts. I do believe that. But I would reverently request a chance to discuss this when I get to heaven.
My world has felt far too violent. I don't need to go into it all here but having lost a family member to a violent murder has had an impact on me. I expect bad things to happen. I had a stomach ache all day while my husband was in the middle of a crazy political scene where protesters became violent. I keep it together externally fine. I just have stomach pain. A gunman went crazy today in a shopping mall I've been to a hundred times in a place I called home for 10 years of my life. People died. I'm up waiting for names to be released. That's the way I roll.
But the angel did say "Peace on earth!" How? When?
And that I think is Advent. He is the answer...but the waiting is not done yet. We still wait. We still cling to the hope of a peaceful earth. No amount of bumper stickers or political ideology will bring it about. If the baby who came to die isn't it, it will never happen. I believe Him. Do you?
And the angels sing and the shepherds come and it is all "Peace on earth, good will toward men." It is lovely.
And then later, the Wise Men come and they bring him great gifts and they bow down and worship him. And there was the Star. All so very lovely.
Except this. I want to say:
"God, the Star. Not a good idea. And the Wise Men? Why don't you have them stay home? Or tell them to come later, more quietly. Definitely stop them from letting the cat out of the bag and telling Herod."
Because really, this is a peaceful event. Jesus is coming to bring peace and love.
Only Jesus really never has delivered. For gold, frankincense, and myrrh and the worship of three foreign kings, a town of baby boys under 2 was slaughtered.
It seemed to let up for awhile but then a new round of deaths started after His own life was taken. In fact Jesus seems to disown the whole "peace" thing when he says: “Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword." -Matthew 10:34
The history of the martyrs is one thing; but I still get a little mystified over those little boys in Bethlehem that died so Jesus could get gold, frankincense, and myrrh.
The spiritual part of me can say "Worship is worth it." Any price...fall at His feet, bring Him gifts. I do believe that. But I would reverently request a chance to discuss this when I get to heaven.
My world has felt far too violent. I don't need to go into it all here but having lost a family member to a violent murder has had an impact on me. I expect bad things to happen. I had a stomach ache all day while my husband was in the middle of a crazy political scene where protesters became violent. I keep it together externally fine. I just have stomach pain. A gunman went crazy today in a shopping mall I've been to a hundred times in a place I called home for 10 years of my life. People died. I'm up waiting for names to be released. That's the way I roll.
But the angel did say "Peace on earth!" How? When?
And that I think is Advent. He is the answer...but the waiting is not done yet. We still wait. We still cling to the hope of a peaceful earth. No amount of bumper stickers or political ideology will bring it about. If the baby who came to die isn't it, it will never happen. I believe Him. Do you?
Friday, November 02, 2012
The Worship of...Food?
I love magazines. Nothing makes me happier than having a slick magazine and a hot beverage in hand. I'm looking forward to an upcoming 5 hours on a plane where I will catch up on my subscriptions: Christianity Today, The Atlantic Monthly, Budget Travel, and Cooking Light.
I gave up my subscription to that last one for a while earlier this year. When I was first given a subscription as a wedding present nearly a decade ago, it was a down-to-earth southern magazine with moderate circulation. It caught on and was bought out by Time, Inc. and the classy southern editor was dumped for a pretentious Manhattan-y foodie. (E.g. It used to have a spread of 10 new cooking utensil or cooking-related products and how to buy them. They used to be small items that cost moderate amounts, a new style of whisk for a couple bucks, a coaster set made by impoverished Asian women for $8/set, things like that. When Time took over, NOTHING in that section has ever been affordable. October's issue features a $775 coat rack and $250 plates are common.) I was annoyed. I like finding new ingredients but if you don't have a Whole Foods within driving distance now, you are out of luck.
But then we moved to Michigan and I gave away all my years worth of CLs so I didn't move them and I found myself uninspired and needing some new ideas. So I re-subscribed.
Which brings us to now. When scanning the editorial for October (which I shouldn't because the editor is annoying and I HATE all his editorials that are pretentious drivel) I read this: "...[F]ood has taken its rightful place in the center of a family's life....Life's a journey, if we're lucky, of about 82,000 meals." (Scott Mowbray)
SERIOUSLY? Seriously. Okay, perhaps it isn't SOOOO bad if you haven't read all his other editorials, but having read enough, I caught on right away to this sad fact. This man WORSHIPS food. That isn't slang for he really likes food. I really like food. It is the Center of his universe. The god he bows down to, the idol he has erected.
Which is sad. And thought-provoking.
My family does sit down together to eat dinner approximately 29 days a month. This is precious family time, a time to catch up on each other's days, review what we've learned, and try new things or enjoy old ones. Mike and I have a little foodie side in us. We are currently reading Tyler Cowen's An Economist Gets Lunch, for instance.
And when I read the above editorial, it caused me to think: What do I worship? Where is my worship misplaced? Do I tend to worship the food instead of giving thanks to the Creator? There is a largely-lost historic practice of blessing the food before and thanking God after the meal. I confess that even the first part of that practice gets rushed and automatic rather than sincere at times. I'm both saddened by the editorial because this guy is missing SO much and grateful for it. It has made me ponder what it means when we pray before we eat.
The center of my family's life is not food. Thank God! It is a wise and gracious Creator who has given us many good things to enjoy, including dinner.
I gave up my subscription to that last one for a while earlier this year. When I was first given a subscription as a wedding present nearly a decade ago, it was a down-to-earth southern magazine with moderate circulation. It caught on and was bought out by Time, Inc. and the classy southern editor was dumped for a pretentious Manhattan-y foodie. (E.g. It used to have a spread of 10 new cooking utensil or cooking-related products and how to buy them. They used to be small items that cost moderate amounts, a new style of whisk for a couple bucks, a coaster set made by impoverished Asian women for $8/set, things like that. When Time took over, NOTHING in that section has ever been affordable. October's issue features a $775 coat rack and $250 plates are common.) I was annoyed. I like finding new ingredients but if you don't have a Whole Foods within driving distance now, you are out of luck.
But then we moved to Michigan and I gave away all my years worth of CLs so I didn't move them and I found myself uninspired and needing some new ideas. So I re-subscribed.
Which brings us to now. When scanning the editorial for October (which I shouldn't because the editor is annoying and I HATE all his editorials that are pretentious drivel) I read this: "...[F]ood has taken its rightful place in the center of a family's life....Life's a journey, if we're lucky, of about 82,000 meals." (Scott Mowbray)
SERIOUSLY? Seriously. Okay, perhaps it isn't SOOOO bad if you haven't read all his other editorials, but having read enough, I caught on right away to this sad fact. This man WORSHIPS food. That isn't slang for he really likes food. I really like food. It is the Center of his universe. The god he bows down to, the idol he has erected.
Which is sad. And thought-provoking.
My family does sit down together to eat dinner approximately 29 days a month. This is precious family time, a time to catch up on each other's days, review what we've learned, and try new things or enjoy old ones. Mike and I have a little foodie side in us. We are currently reading Tyler Cowen's An Economist Gets Lunch, for instance.
And when I read the above editorial, it caused me to think: What do I worship? Where is my worship misplaced? Do I tend to worship the food instead of giving thanks to the Creator? There is a largely-lost historic practice of blessing the food before and thanking God after the meal. I confess that even the first part of that practice gets rushed and automatic rather than sincere at times. I'm both saddened by the editorial because this guy is missing SO much and grateful for it. It has made me ponder what it means when we pray before we eat.
The center of my family's life is not food. Thank God! It is a wise and gracious Creator who has given us many good things to enjoy, including dinner.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Reflections on Politics, Death, the Imago Dei and Parenthood: A Letter to My Baby
I know I should break up the seriousness with a funny story or a photo or something. But on this very somber and serious Friday when I received news of a friend's just-diagnosed Stage 4 pancreatic cancer and reading the news brings back remembrances of my childhood with Iranian hostages, gas lines, and anti-American demonstrations, I read this beautiful letter written by a brilliant friend, Leeann Walker Gibson, written to her unborn child. I was privileged to meet Leeann when she was on the brink of adulthood and I was her admissions counselor at Patrick Henry College in Virginia. That was years ago and now she is expecting her first child. This letter summed up so much of what I want to convey to my own children. This is my prayer for them too.
Dear precious child,
I wish I was bringing you into a perfect world, but I’m not. And I don’t think there’s been a time in your life thus far I’ve been more aware of this fact than this week.
There's plenty of crazy in this world to go around, and I've seen it for years in my chosen field of politics and policy. You'll come to see how people will prefer the easy way out, favor name-calling and demonizing to dialogue. Sometimes it is ridiculous to the point that it would be funny, were it not treated as a national past time that can divide family members and neighbors. Truly, it’s heart-wrenching, what people will do and say to each other under the banner of "freedom." It is not hard to tell the difference between honest policy debate and those who take politics to be a blood sport and are glad of it.
There is an even darker shade of this crazy, highlighted recently by events that occurred in your 29th week of life – events that took the lives of four American diplomats. Part of me doesn't know why I react so vehemently to these murders, when I know senseless deaths occur not just in remote corners of the world, but right here in our country, on a regular basis. Children starve, and starve to death. In the face of such darkness, I understand why people would ask why I would want to bring someone into this messed-up world.
The simple answer is that I don’t think the world’s problems are quite as complicated as some make them out to be. The very worst of this world – every indecency, all violence and abuse, rage and murder, dissent and discord all take root in a common moment – when a person or group of people fail to see the image of God in others, when respect for life because it is sacred ceases. Where there is no sense that every other person we encounter is created in the image of God, we begin to treat them as less than they are. For this reason, and that alone, have atrocities as murder and slavery – and the more accepted, everyday sins of pride and – ever found safe harbor. One of my favorite writers put it this way: “There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts,civilization—these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat.But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, andexploit—immortal horrors or everlasting splendors.”
I believe you can and will make a difference in this world if you believe this truth and behave accordingly. Never expect to change the fundamentals of humanity, which have hobbled on in their twisted, deformed state for more than six thousand years – but by all means, expect that you will be transformed and an agent for transformation if you submit your life to truth. You will not solve world hunger, but you will feed the hungry. You may not end greed,but you can inspire others with your generosity. You will not cause all war to cease, but you can be a peacemaker.
I wish I could explain it all, but I can't. What I do know is that Christ Himself is our peace, just as His Word promises. Sometimes He brings peace by speaking directly to your heart in times of trouble; sometimesit’s through a common grace, such as the beauty of a verdant river front dividing the blue sky from the deep blue river on a day that left you unsettled. His peace is real, and it’s bigger than all the darkness of the world, and that is why I can have confidence for your future and mine.
I bring you into the world not because I have hope for this world, but hope for what can be done in this world while we look forward to the next. I know you will encounter trouble and trial and see death and suffering in this life. I may try to shelter you from it, but I can't protect you from the reality of fallen humanity. You come into the world to be a light in dark places.
And though it won't always feel that way, being a light so simple, really. "Love your neighbor as yourself." See the fingerprints of God Almighty on your parents, your siblings, your friends, your classmates,your coworkers, your spouse, your children, strangers walking down the street, the homeless beggar on the corner, see His image on your enemies. And you will realize the folly of being short with a loved one, of making cruel jokes at the expense of another human being. You will realize that debate for debate's sake does not solve problems. You won't say things just because you were blessed to be born in a country that affords you that right; you will choose to say what is useful for edification and building up others. Hatred and bigotry will have no foothold in your heart or mind, because you see things - at least as much as you can this side of eternity - as they are.
Few others will see the world through this lens. Accordingly, they will not behave as you do. Don't expect them to. But share your light. Loving your neighbor opens doors for you to share why you are different. Don't just be a nice person. Be radical in your love toward your fellow immortals because of the love God has demonstrated toward you.
Turn the “how could your mother have brought you into this world?” question into, “why aren’t there more like you?”
Dear precious child,
I wish I was bringing you into a perfect world, but I’m not. And I don’t think there’s been a time in your life thus far I’ve been more aware of this fact than this week.
There's plenty of crazy in this world to go around, and I've seen it for years in my chosen field of politics and policy. You'll come to see how people will prefer the easy way out, favor name-calling and demonizing to dialogue. Sometimes it is ridiculous to the point that it would be funny, were it not treated as a national past time that can divide family members and neighbors. Truly, it’s heart-wrenching, what people will do and say to each other under the banner of "freedom." It is not hard to tell the difference between honest policy debate and those who take politics to be a blood sport and are glad of it.
There is an even darker shade of this crazy, highlighted recently by events that occurred in your 29th week of life – events that took the lives of four American diplomats. Part of me doesn't know why I react so vehemently to these murders, when I know senseless deaths occur not just in remote corners of the world, but right here in our country, on a regular basis. Children starve, and starve to death. In the face of such darkness, I understand why people would ask why I would want to bring someone into this messed-up world.
The simple answer is that I don’t think the world’s problems are quite as complicated as some make them out to be. The very worst of this world – every indecency, all violence and abuse, rage and murder, dissent and discord all take root in a common moment – when a person or group of people fail to see the image of God in others, when respect for life because it is sacred ceases. Where there is no sense that every other person we encounter is created in the image of God, we begin to treat them as less than they are. For this reason, and that alone, have atrocities as murder and slavery – and the more accepted, everyday sins of pride and – ever found safe harbor. One of my favorite writers put it this way: “There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts,civilization—these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat.But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, andexploit—immortal horrors or everlasting splendors.”
I believe you can and will make a difference in this world if you believe this truth and behave accordingly. Never expect to change the fundamentals of humanity, which have hobbled on in their twisted, deformed state for more than six thousand years – but by all means, expect that you will be transformed and an agent for transformation if you submit your life to truth. You will not solve world hunger, but you will feed the hungry. You may not end greed,but you can inspire others with your generosity. You will not cause all war to cease, but you can be a peacemaker.
I wish I could explain it all, but I can't. What I do know is that Christ Himself is our peace, just as His Word promises. Sometimes He brings peace by speaking directly to your heart in times of trouble; sometimesit’s through a common grace, such as the beauty of a verdant river front dividing the blue sky from the deep blue river on a day that left you unsettled. His peace is real, and it’s bigger than all the darkness of the world, and that is why I can have confidence for your future and mine.
I bring you into the world not because I have hope for this world, but hope for what can be done in this world while we look forward to the next. I know you will encounter trouble and trial and see death and suffering in this life. I may try to shelter you from it, but I can't protect you from the reality of fallen humanity. You come into the world to be a light in dark places.
And though it won't always feel that way, being a light so simple, really. "Love your neighbor as yourself." See the fingerprints of God Almighty on your parents, your siblings, your friends, your classmates,your coworkers, your spouse, your children, strangers walking down the street, the homeless beggar on the corner, see His image on your enemies. And you will realize the folly of being short with a loved one, of making cruel jokes at the expense of another human being. You will realize that debate for debate's sake does not solve problems. You won't say things just because you were blessed to be born in a country that affords you that right; you will choose to say what is useful for edification and building up others. Hatred and bigotry will have no foothold in your heart or mind, because you see things - at least as much as you can this side of eternity - as they are.
Few others will see the world through this lens. Accordingly, they will not behave as you do. Don't expect them to. But share your light. Loving your neighbor opens doors for you to share why you are different. Don't just be a nice person. Be radical in your love toward your fellow immortals because of the love God has demonstrated toward you.
Turn the “how could your mother have brought you into this world?” question into, “why aren’t there more like you?”
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
September 11, 2012
My brother, Mark Bigger wrote this in a short time this morning after hearing criticism of President Obama’s response to the
September 11 embassy and consulate attacks in Egypt and Libya. He was asked "What Would Romney do differently?"
"What would Romney do differently?”
First, President Romney, or anyone who is striving to be someone
other than the Neville Chamberlain of the Middle East, would refrain
from apologizing for leading a free nation where little known filmmakers
are actually allowed to express unpopular views. Certain hard words, or
perhaps even actions would follow this week’s attack on United States
sovereign soil. The President of the United States would cancel any trip
to Las Vegas that he may have planned, call leaders of different
nations to build support for whatever action he may take, and then act
like responding to a terrorist attack on 9/11, of all days, is the
highest priority.
I should also mention that a
President Romney would actually have taken part in his security briefing
in the week leading up to 9/11. But this should go without saying. I have observed (from President Obama’s not convening his economic growth
team for months at a time during a time of recession), that meetings are
not a high priority for him. Rallies are so much more fun and there are
almost 17,000 golf courses in the United States to be played. Meetings
seem like a waste of time.
To recap, protests
started in Egypt and then Libya, over a video made in California that
made fun of the founding Muslim prophet. It quickly became violent, the
Embassies were attacked, our flag was burned, and then replaced with a
flag stating that Allah was the one true God and Muhammad, his prophet. As the attack on the
Libyan consulate grew more violent, an evacuation was ordered. During
the evacuation, three American Embassy staff members were shot and the
Ambassador was suffocated to death. This was the first American
Ambassador killed in the line of duty since 1979, under the last notably
pacifist President, Jimmy Carter.
When word first
leaked out of the attack in Egypt, the burning of our flag, and the
invasion of our sovereign nation, all done in flagrant
disregard of all rules of civilization instituted among nations
to govern their dealings with each other, President Obama’s
administration responded with mollifying our enemies. On the 11th anniversary
of the greatest terrorist attack ever propagated on American soil,
President Obama responded to a new terrorist attack with an apology for
opinions held in the United States by private citizens that may be
deemed offensive.
This is no surprise. His
greatest foreign policy achievement has been to apologize. Which is why
the extremist behind these attacks are emboldened to attack in the first
place. It should be no surprise that in Libya the violence
orchestrated against the consulate extended to killing our diplomats
sent to keep the peace.
Unfortunately, this
action by the President means that every American diplomat or support
staff serving overseas in a potentially hostile nation will have the
certainty of knowing that as they try to represent America with
diplomacy, they have a President who does not have their back. Their
personal safety is not a priority for the President. The feelings of
people sympathetic to a group of extremists who disregard the
international rule of law and the well established rules of engagement
regarding diplomatic staff and the embassies of foreign nations, are
more important than protecting American property and lives. Our
American diplomats have targets on their backs.
What
must American soldiers feel like? Perhaps that is why one of the most
cited reasons among soldiers for the death of their comrades is that
they do not believe they will be backed up for making life and death
decisions on the battlefield. If President Obama feels the need to make
an apology for some filmmaker, then it’s only logical he will not
hesitate to hang soldiers out to dry when they make a mistake and kill
the wrong person when confronted with enemy fire.
This
attitude of mollification will further serve to embolden extremists to
attack Americans, and our allies, such as Israel, England, France, or
even Jordan or Turkey, for almost any and every reason. Because if
attacks on an embassy because of a film made in American are met
with apology, what other justifications to attack us will be adequate?
If
you remove the fact that the protesters were extremist Muslim, I
suspect you would see a different result. if you made them WASPS, or
Catholics, or Jewish, or Atheist, or following geo political, or
geographical, or any other form of strategic alignment, this behavior
would require a strong announcement demanding the Egyptian and Libyan
governments to capture these terrorists who invaded foreign soul, burned
our flag, and in Libya, murdered our ambassador. We would have
immediately asked for them to be turned over to us to be prosecuted
under American laws because most of these actions took place on American
sovereign soil or as part of an attack on American soil. But instead,
the administration issued an apology.
Now under
the direction of Hillary Clinton and other more seasoned foreign policy
leaders, a more traditionally American response will be issued.
But it will be too late. We issued an apology for something in the United States that we do not control in a free country.
By
apologizing, like Chamberlain did for England, Obama is sentencing
American's to die. He is sending a message to Iran that their nuclear
program can be converted to use as weapons without a check; that we will
not defend our regional allies if they are threatened or attacked.
Because if we will not step up for our own sovereign embassy and our
representatives abroad, it follows that we certainly will not stand up
for our allies.
Perhaps you think that is not what Obama is trying to convey. And perhaps you are right.
But it is the message he conveyed.
It
is the message he conveyed to hundreds of millions of people overseas,
some our allies, some who seem hell bent on being our enemies. Our
allies will be afraid and may make rash decisions that cause unnecessary
war. Our enemies will be emboldened and believe they can attack our
allies and us without fear of serious economic, diplomatic, or military
consequences.
Just like in World War II, pacifying
those who do not follow the same rules of engagement and who are bent
on destruction will only lead to more destruction. It is a sad day. Not
only because of the American lives lost serving our country, and the
attack on our embassy and what that means for diplomatic relations in
the middle east. But what the American response means for our future.
Now
that deaths have occurred the administration will make a show of force.
They will bluster, or maybe even take some significant action.
But
when the cards are dealt, it is the first tell that counts. Hundreds of
millions of people overseas have seen that tell in response to this
crisis. No matter how tough the administration tries to sound now, it is
too late. The damage is done. Our friends and our enemies know that
President Obama’s heart is not into defending our interests, or
soldiers, or our diplomats. President Obama is a lightweight President
leading a heavy weight country. His reluctance to stand up to bullies
ensures that more people will want a piece of the champ.
Romney will be different. Any good President would.
Friday, April 20, 2012
The Dads and ObamaCare
Our dads were both home from the hospital mid-week, which was a great relief to all.
Last night Mike served as moderator for a team of experts speaking on ObamaCare. I was able to have Sarah (our wonder sitter) babysit and drive up in excruciating traffic to be there. The three experts all had very different expertise: Karen Harned, spoke as an advocate for small business and as a member of the legal team that presented the arguments against ObamaCare in the U.S. Supreme Court earlier this month; John Graham is a policy expert on healthcare; and Dr. Tim Chestnut was a physician until he retired for medical reasons and is now a consultant on healthcare issues.
They each addressed the implications of ObamaCare from their background: legal, policy, and physician/patient. It was a lively evening with the line of the night going to Dr. Chestnut who when asked how he would fix the bill (ObamaCare) replied "with a match." I was encouraged that there may be real reform in healthcare and that the chances of Obama's grand regulatory dream becoming reality are slim to none.
Suffice it to say, with dads whose health has suffered this year, there is no way this bill would make their situations better.
For more on what the experts said, go here.
Last night Mike served as moderator for a team of experts speaking on ObamaCare. I was able to have Sarah (our wonder sitter) babysit and drive up in excruciating traffic to be there. The three experts all had very different expertise: Karen Harned, spoke as an advocate for small business and as a member of the legal team that presented the arguments against ObamaCare in the U.S. Supreme Court earlier this month; John Graham is a policy expert on healthcare; and Dr. Tim Chestnut was a physician until he retired for medical reasons and is now a consultant on healthcare issues.
They each addressed the implications of ObamaCare from their background: legal, policy, and physician/patient. It was a lively evening with the line of the night going to Dr. Chestnut who when asked how he would fix the bill (ObamaCare) replied "with a match." I was encouraged that there may be real reform in healthcare and that the chances of Obama's grand regulatory dream becoming reality are slim to none.
Suffice it to say, with dads whose health has suffered this year, there is no way this bill would make their situations better.
For more on what the experts said, go here.
Wednesday, February 08, 2012
Oh, the Folly of Wives
I saw a photo of Gisele Bundchen talking to Tom Brady after the Super Bowl and thought, wow, she looks like a German frau and not a supermodel. Yes, a pretty German frau, but a wife, not an underwear model. I'd glanced over headlines like this one: Gisele Bundchen reportedly asks friends and family to pray for Tom Brady and felt a little bad for her, that the news media was creating a media frenzy over a perfectly normal request.
And then the Patriots lost the Super Bowl and Gisele was overheard blaming the Pats receivers and all media hell broke loose. Now even a Giants' running back has joined in and given Gisele some good advice: "Shut up." I hope for the sake of her husband's career and her marriage and peace of mind, she can follow that advice. Because it isn't always easy advice to follow.
I am also an opinionated wife, predisposed to say too much, and to turn into a Rottweiler when I think my husband is undervalued, overworked, or just not properly appreciated. (And that is perhaps where any similarities between Mrs. Brady and me end.) And I'm not the only one. I don't know very many wives who think their husbands are paid enough (though I hope Gisele knows better), don't work hard enough, or are appreciated for their full merit.
We may at times be right. But the best advice I have for Gisele, expanding on Brandon Jacobs, is the advice I think all wives should benefit from: be careful, very careful when you weigh in on your man's career. There is a time and a place to work together and make decisions about his livelihood (and yours), but the best support you can give is to believe in him as a person and supporting and trusting him to look out for himself out there.
I'm always honored when my husband asks for my advice on something he's written or a situation at work. I hope he keeps asking. I suspect he will if I can always remember that mine is just one piece of advice. He can compile it with others and make a decision, sometimes a decision that runs contrary to what I said. Likewise, I ask him for advice on work I'm doing knowing him to be wise and knowledgeable. But in the end, the decision has to be mine because I'm accountable for the results.
Somehow, I don't think Gisele knows best how to do Tom Brady's job and in a less heated moment she would know the Patriots' receivers wanted to catch those balls. She's just being a wife.
And then the Patriots lost the Super Bowl and Gisele was overheard blaming the Pats receivers and all media hell broke loose. Now even a Giants' running back has joined in and given Gisele some good advice: "Shut up." I hope for the sake of her husband's career and her marriage and peace of mind, she can follow that advice. Because it isn't always easy advice to follow.
I am also an opinionated wife, predisposed to say too much, and to turn into a Rottweiler when I think my husband is undervalued, overworked, or just not properly appreciated. (And that is perhaps where any similarities between Mrs. Brady and me end.) And I'm not the only one. I don't know very many wives who think their husbands are paid enough (though I hope Gisele knows better), don't work hard enough, or are appreciated for their full merit.
We may at times be right. But the best advice I have for Gisele, expanding on Brandon Jacobs, is the advice I think all wives should benefit from: be careful, very careful when you weigh in on your man's career. There is a time and a place to work together and make decisions about his livelihood (and yours), but the best support you can give is to believe in him as a person and supporting and trusting him to look out for himself out there.
I'm always honored when my husband asks for my advice on something he's written or a situation at work. I hope he keeps asking. I suspect he will if I can always remember that mine is just one piece of advice. He can compile it with others and make a decision, sometimes a decision that runs contrary to what I said. Likewise, I ask him for advice on work I'm doing knowing him to be wise and knowledgeable. But in the end, the decision has to be mine because I'm accountable for the results.
Somehow, I don't think Gisele knows best how to do Tom Brady's job and in a less heated moment she would know the Patriots' receivers wanted to catch those balls. She's just being a wife.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Education vs. Indoctrination
I've just spent the last two weeks teaching Ben about Islam. I told Mike this week that Ben now knows more about Islam than 95% of Americans. It was a head-trip at times and I found myself saying a lot, "Those are good things, but...". Probably the best thing about the whole exercise is that it brought a very legalistic little boy back to a key of Christian faith: "None of us can ever be good enough."
Ben is much like his mother who doesn't much like doubt. And I haven't had many doubts. But occasionally I have struggled through a dark period and asked a lot of questions. And sometimes the answers I've come away with have been quite different than where I started and just brought me into the realization that God is so much bigger than what I can wrap my head around. Ben also has done a little wrestling and he doesn't rest until he has created a safe place for himself. Which is ok. That is a very good thing to do at this age.
Over and over again I have come to the realization that I have to lay bare the reality of doubt and not wrap things up in nice little packages for my children that erase their doubts. I can do that now, but it never works in the long run. Which is why when I read this post (and the one it links to), it gave me the vocabulary to formulate my thoughts. I've witnessed so many young people (and older people in their 30s and 40s and even 50s) whose faith I believed to be solid lay it all down. It used to shock me; it has become so frequent, I'm no longer shocked. And I think it might have something to do with why I was so uncomfortable in my recent meeting with homeschooling moms. What I heard articulated was a desire to send their offspring to "safe" places that would only expose their children to lifestyles and thought with which they were comfortable. And I think that is dangerous.
Not everyone has to question the existence of God (though, I did). But the startling statistics say that those who are raised Christian are less likely to lose their faith if they go to college (for more, go here) has me wondering if those who go to college are more likely to question. And for me, questioning has always led to a deepening of faith.
Our culture has so many idols from consumerism to sexuality to create-your-own-god (in your image). The temptation as a parent is to put up walls that keep all those temptations out. But those walls can never be tall enough or thick enough. The only hope is to keep before us the blinding light of the grace of God and pray that the light keeps dancing off everyone around us. Because it shows up the darkness for what it really is.
Ben is much like his mother who doesn't much like doubt. And I haven't had many doubts. But occasionally I have struggled through a dark period and asked a lot of questions. And sometimes the answers I've come away with have been quite different than where I started and just brought me into the realization that God is so much bigger than what I can wrap my head around. Ben also has done a little wrestling and he doesn't rest until he has created a safe place for himself. Which is ok. That is a very good thing to do at this age.
Over and over again I have come to the realization that I have to lay bare the reality of doubt and not wrap things up in nice little packages for my children that erase their doubts. I can do that now, but it never works in the long run. Which is why when I read this post (and the one it links to), it gave me the vocabulary to formulate my thoughts. I've witnessed so many young people (and older people in their 30s and 40s and even 50s) whose faith I believed to be solid lay it all down. It used to shock me; it has become so frequent, I'm no longer shocked. And I think it might have something to do with why I was so uncomfortable in my recent meeting with homeschooling moms. What I heard articulated was a desire to send their offspring to "safe" places that would only expose their children to lifestyles and thought with which they were comfortable. And I think that is dangerous.
Not everyone has to question the existence of God (though, I did). But the startling statistics say that those who are raised Christian are less likely to lose their faith if they go to college (for more, go here) has me wondering if those who go to college are more likely to question. And for me, questioning has always led to a deepening of faith.
Our culture has so many idols from consumerism to sexuality to create-your-own-god (in your image). The temptation as a parent is to put up walls that keep all those temptations out. But those walls can never be tall enough or thick enough. The only hope is to keep before us the blinding light of the grace of God and pray that the light keeps dancing off everyone around us. Because it shows up the darkness for what it really is.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
On Preschool and Academics
"Schoolwork is the easy way out."
We seriously considered putting Kyrie in a preschool this year. I'm thankful that the cost and timing made me hesitate long enough to read a description of the program which was entirely focused on learning letters and numbers and how to read.
I wanted Kyrie to have some time to herself but I also wanted time to get my strength back. Parenting her is a minute-by-minute test of character for me. I am constantly having to sort out where I'm teaching her valuable life lessons and where I'm attempting to control the universe, which is my prevailing sin.
But about the time I was at the point of enrolling her in preschool, I was confronted with an article (that I can't find now) about the rising generation's weaknesses and how one of the prevailing issues they will face is how to be self-directed and entrepreneurial. Why? Because their entire lives have been programmed. Their grandparents played stickball in the streets, their parents participated in Little League or took swimming lessons. They are doing it ALL. Programmed. They hit daycare running and their day is full of pre-planned activities. They sit at a table and cut and paste and paint and play organized games. Then they move on to school and when they are out in the summer, they participate in day-camps and lessons until they collapse in to bed at night.
They never encounter large gaps of time that they have to fill with their own creativity. They never have a minute to figure out how to amuse themselves. They are rarely alone. Even their time in the car when they used to have to look out the window and think has now been taken over by the in-car DVD player, the IPOD, and a host of electronic games.
And as the first of them is hitting the workforce, they want to know exactly what they are supposed to do. They aren't geared to sit in their cubicle and creatively figure out how to get something done in the most economic and efficient manner possible. They are waiting for someone to tell them how to do that. The American workforce is capable of being busy but will it be able to think?
Which brings me back to Kyrie. This little girl is so creative that I do occasionally reign her in with a workbook. If not, she will simply cut her hair or her sister's AGAIN. But she is at her best when she is helping in the kitchen or moving the duster or lining up her dolls in a row and determining who has messed up their clothes and needs to be changed and have them laundered. She loves puzzles, to color and painting...Oh my, she loves to paint.
She wants to learn her letters so we talk through them. She is learning phonics and reading by looking at the Off/On on the light switch and asking me about them. She's working on teaching herself Spanish with a CD I've given her. She knows how to use a measuring cup, how to put away the groceries and how to get her sister dressed in the morning (when she wants to).
Why would I send her off to sit and table for six hours a week and talk about the letter "A"?
The research says that children who are taught to read earlier actually lose their academic advantage by the time they are 9. Early readers don't do as well at science; those who had more time to explore cause and effect on their own are the ones who excel in science.
Kyrie will occasionally think she wants to read but she hates to sit still. So I read to her. (And the others.) We read an hour or two a day. While I read, Everleigh is playing with blocks (or napping), Kyrie is coloring, doing puzzles, cutting or arranging and sorting something, and Ben is playing with Legos.
Which is why when a friend sent this article today I was gratified to read this: That "the single biggest predictor of high academic achievement and high ACT scores is reading to children. Not flash cards, not workbooks, not fancy preschools, not blinking toys or computers...". I know that. But on the heels of having made a tough decision, it affirmed what I know.
Meanwhile, what is important to teach all of my children is how to be prepared for life. Character, emotional maturity, social skills, and how to be independent are all foundational skills that are typically established by the time a child reaches double-digits. I have some work to do.
Sources: The Finnish Miracle
Do we send our children to school too young?
Homeschooling 3-and-4 Year Olds
We seriously considered putting Kyrie in a preschool this year. I'm thankful that the cost and timing made me hesitate long enough to read a description of the program which was entirely focused on learning letters and numbers and how to read.
I wanted Kyrie to have some time to herself but I also wanted time to get my strength back. Parenting her is a minute-by-minute test of character for me. I am constantly having to sort out where I'm teaching her valuable life lessons and where I'm attempting to control the universe, which is my prevailing sin.
But about the time I was at the point of enrolling her in preschool, I was confronted with an article (that I can't find now) about the rising generation's weaknesses and how one of the prevailing issues they will face is how to be self-directed and entrepreneurial. Why? Because their entire lives have been programmed. Their grandparents played stickball in the streets, their parents participated in Little League or took swimming lessons. They are doing it ALL. Programmed. They hit daycare running and their day is full of pre-planned activities. They sit at a table and cut and paste and paint and play organized games. Then they move on to school and when they are out in the summer, they participate in day-camps and lessons until they collapse in to bed at night.
They never encounter large gaps of time that they have to fill with their own creativity. They never have a minute to figure out how to amuse themselves. They are rarely alone. Even their time in the car when they used to have to look out the window and think has now been taken over by the in-car DVD player, the IPOD, and a host of electronic games.
And as the first of them is hitting the workforce, they want to know exactly what they are supposed to do. They aren't geared to sit in their cubicle and creatively figure out how to get something done in the most economic and efficient manner possible. They are waiting for someone to tell them how to do that. The American workforce is capable of being busy but will it be able to think?
Which brings me back to Kyrie. This little girl is so creative that I do occasionally reign her in with a workbook. If not, she will simply cut her hair or her sister's AGAIN. But she is at her best when she is helping in the kitchen or moving the duster or lining up her dolls in a row and determining who has messed up their clothes and needs to be changed and have them laundered. She loves puzzles, to color and painting...Oh my, she loves to paint.
She wants to learn her letters so we talk through them. She is learning phonics and reading by looking at the Off/On on the light switch and asking me about them. She's working on teaching herself Spanish with a CD I've given her. She knows how to use a measuring cup, how to put away the groceries and how to get her sister dressed in the morning (when she wants to).
Why would I send her off to sit and table for six hours a week and talk about the letter "A"?
The research says that children who are taught to read earlier actually lose their academic advantage by the time they are 9. Early readers don't do as well at science; those who had more time to explore cause and effect on their own are the ones who excel in science.
Kyrie will occasionally think she wants to read but she hates to sit still. So I read to her. (And the others.) We read an hour or two a day. While I read, Everleigh is playing with blocks (or napping), Kyrie is coloring, doing puzzles, cutting or arranging and sorting something, and Ben is playing with Legos.
Which is why when a friend sent this article today I was gratified to read this: That "the single biggest predictor of high academic achievement and high ACT scores is reading to children. Not flash cards, not workbooks, not fancy preschools, not blinking toys or computers...". I know that. But on the heels of having made a tough decision, it affirmed what I know.
Meanwhile, what is important to teach all of my children is how to be prepared for life. Character, emotional maturity, social skills, and how to be independent are all foundational skills that are typically established by the time a child reaches double-digits. I have some work to do.
Sources: The Finnish Miracle
Do we send our children to school too young?
Homeschooling 3-and-4 Year Olds
Thursday, July 14, 2011
The Cult of Marriage
If it seems odd that a happily married woman spends so much mental energy (which is a scarce commodity at this time of life) thinking about the topic of marriage, you need to understand three things: 1) I married at 32, slightly older than the average age and the "counsel" I received from the Christian community was at times misguided, and at times, downright harmful; 2) I worked with young singles for years and have many single friends who would like to be married and/or have the right to be respected as adults while unmarried, and; 3) I have three children who, at some point, may, or may not, marry.
I recently finished reading Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage
by Elizabeth Gilbert which has generated a lot of thought on marriage. Throw in the bizarre books that have come out in the Christian world in the last couple of years that advocate getting married as if it is a Christian duty and this wonderful article by Gina R. Dalfonzo, and my thoughts have been focused once again on the bizarreness of this little pseudo-Christian subculture in America that has absolutely no biblical or historical basis for its beliefs on marriage and parenting.
Recently my reading has caused me to consider that Jesus (God/Man) chose not to marry in a culture that considered the unmarried to be second-class. And then Paul writes that it is better to be single. (1 Cor. 7) Many of the early leaders of the Christian church took Paul's words to the extreme and discouraged marriage and made sex an evil, evil thing, dirty and disgraced even between married persons. (http://christiansexualethics.wordpress.com/2010/01/17/christian-sexual-ethics-as-seen-through-the-eyes-of-the-church-fathers/)
In considering God's word as a whole, I have thought that Paul's statements on marriage may have been a partial reaction to a culture around him that married for reasons other than love. His statement that it is better to marry than to burn (1 Cor. 7:9) may have been directed toward those couples that were truly, genuinely attracted to each other, body, soul, and spirit. (I'm not a biblical scholar but would be interested to know more on this subject.) When marriage was being propagated all around to strengthen political alliances and fortify financial wealth, proposing this would have been radical. And I don't think one can read the Song of Solomon without recognizing that God seems to be at work in romantic love.
Reading Gilbert's book reminded me that the definition of marriage has changed over time. Marriages were often arranged according to political and business interests; in many cultures men (and sometimes women) could have many spouses.
While I thoroughly believe that marriage entered into rightly by two mature parties devoted to each other is a good and wonderful thing, I am a little down on the attitude that marriage is a state to be sought desperately. When singleness is done right, chastely, with purpose, it is an amazing testament to God and his saving work in lives. Some of the Christians I most admire (John Stott, Corey ten Boom, my brother, and some amazing female friends) have never married. Some of them would like to; and I admire this more. To a culture that says a chaste life is not possible without being "weird" they demand a consideration of Christ and his transforming work.
And then there is this one (also by Dalfonzo) which I wish I could say that I wrote. (Except for the ending which was a bit too cynical for me.) I thought it was such a great reminder of how "Christian advice" about relationships is a moving target, or dare-I-say "evolving" science. Apparently God changes his mind frequently about how he wants unmarried Christians to go about, or not go about, seeking a mate. It is enough to make your head spin. (And that is tongue in check, just in case you couldn't tell.)
I'm increasingly uncomfortable with the parts of American evangelical culture which seem to have absolutely no basis in true Christianity. I continue to believe that in my marriage I live out my faith, becoming better by being in a relationship with someone whose faith often looks much different than mine and by learning about submitting to Christ through submitting ourselves to each other. But I am also aware that my Christian walk while deepened in this way, would have been equally deepened in other ways if I had remained single. And when I watch the ways in which my single friends live in community and hold each other up, I'm pretty impressed. They may have the harder task.
And while I can empathize with those friends who would like to marry and have families, I'm more and more convinced that "pity" is the wrong attitude. As they live their lives fully in the way God intended, they need support, encouragement, and community. But not pity. They will have the selfish benefits of singleness, surely. "Full possession of the remote control," as Sandra Bullock states aptly in While You Were Sleeping
. But they will also have opportunities to walk out their faith in ways that I don't have and may never have.
As I raise a son and daughters I pray for their future. If I feel led, I will pray for a spouse for one, two or all of them. But I won't do it presumptively. That may not be the path that is before them. It may not even be God's best for them.
I recently finished reading Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage
by Elizabeth Gilbert which has generated a lot of thought on marriage. Throw in the bizarre books that have come out in the Christian world in the last couple of years that advocate getting married as if it is a Christian duty and this wonderful article by Gina R. Dalfonzo, and my thoughts have been focused once again on the bizarreness of this little pseudo-Christian subculture in America that has absolutely no biblical or historical basis for its beliefs on marriage and parenting.Recently my reading has caused me to consider that Jesus (God/Man) chose not to marry in a culture that considered the unmarried to be second-class. And then Paul writes that it is better to be single. (1 Cor. 7) Many of the early leaders of the Christian church took Paul's words to the extreme and discouraged marriage and made sex an evil, evil thing, dirty and disgraced even between married persons. (http://christiansexualethics.wordpress.com/2010/01/17/christian-sexual-ethics-as-seen-through-the-eyes-of-the-church-fathers/)
In considering God's word as a whole, I have thought that Paul's statements on marriage may have been a partial reaction to a culture around him that married for reasons other than love. His statement that it is better to marry than to burn (1 Cor. 7:9) may have been directed toward those couples that were truly, genuinely attracted to each other, body, soul, and spirit. (I'm not a biblical scholar but would be interested to know more on this subject.) When marriage was being propagated all around to strengthen political alliances and fortify financial wealth, proposing this would have been radical. And I don't think one can read the Song of Solomon without recognizing that God seems to be at work in romantic love.
Reading Gilbert's book reminded me that the definition of marriage has changed over time. Marriages were often arranged according to political and business interests; in many cultures men (and sometimes women) could have many spouses.
While I thoroughly believe that marriage entered into rightly by two mature parties devoted to each other is a good and wonderful thing, I am a little down on the attitude that marriage is a state to be sought desperately. When singleness is done right, chastely, with purpose, it is an amazing testament to God and his saving work in lives. Some of the Christians I most admire (John Stott, Corey ten Boom, my brother, and some amazing female friends) have never married. Some of them would like to; and I admire this more. To a culture that says a chaste life is not possible without being "weird" they demand a consideration of Christ and his transforming work.
And then there is this one (also by Dalfonzo) which I wish I could say that I wrote. (Except for the ending which was a bit too cynical for me.) I thought it was such a great reminder of how "Christian advice" about relationships is a moving target, or dare-I-say "evolving" science. Apparently God changes his mind frequently about how he wants unmarried Christians to go about, or not go about, seeking a mate. It is enough to make your head spin. (And that is tongue in check, just in case you couldn't tell.)
I'm increasingly uncomfortable with the parts of American evangelical culture which seem to have absolutely no basis in true Christianity. I continue to believe that in my marriage I live out my faith, becoming better by being in a relationship with someone whose faith often looks much different than mine and by learning about submitting to Christ through submitting ourselves to each other. But I am also aware that my Christian walk while deepened in this way, would have been equally deepened in other ways if I had remained single. And when I watch the ways in which my single friends live in community and hold each other up, I'm pretty impressed. They may have the harder task.
And while I can empathize with those friends who would like to marry and have families, I'm more and more convinced that "pity" is the wrong attitude. As they live their lives fully in the way God intended, they need support, encouragement, and community. But not pity. They will have the selfish benefits of singleness, surely. "Full possession of the remote control," as Sandra Bullock states aptly in While You Were Sleeping
. But they will also have opportunities to walk out their faith in ways that I don't have and may never have. As I raise a son and daughters I pray for their future. If I feel led, I will pray for a spouse for one, two or all of them. But I won't do it presumptively. That may not be the path that is before them. It may not even be God's best for them.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Those Gray Lines
Wrote this for Very Light Suitcase. So much gray blurs the line where freedom ends and where responsibility begins. I appreciated the chance to think about it. I'm still biting my nails over it.
Thank You Mom & Dad
First, everyone should read this article from The Atlantic Monthly. I normally put these things in my sidebar but "How to Land Your Kid in Therapy" was just too important. Mike immediately thought of kids we know who are headed for therapy. I thought of a few adults I know that are never happy and seem to think what they are feeling should make the world around them come to a stop in pity. It also caused me to contemplate the crazy world of handing your kid every little thing you think they will need and trying to make their every experience a constant whirlwind of fun. And it made me thankful.
My parents were pretty good at the balance. They prioritized raising their children, didn't leave us out of their world, and encouraged us to use our gifts. But they sent some criticism along the way. Which is important.
My mom told me I was fat when I was 19. I didn't love it; it hurt. But when I'm tempted to believe the lie that I should just accept myself for who I am, those words motivate me. Because who I am is a lazy, unmotivated, overindulger. I love to overeat. I hate to exercise. And I have to believe I can be MORE than I am.
My father told me when I was in grade school that I was a "whiner." And then he quit responding to my whining. I am a whiner. Still. But I am less of a whiner because he made a conscious decision to confront me on it and PARENT me. Not indulge me. And my husband should be mighty grateful.
He also told me when I worked for him in high school that I was SLOW. Oh that hurt! I wanted to argue with him. Instead I worked on doing my job more quickly. I think you would be hard-pressed to find any of my (later) employers who would tell you that I was slow on the job.
So, thank you, Mom and Dad. And thank you Lori Gottlieb. You reminded me that part of my job as a parent is to tell my kids the hard things. To motivate them to do the right thing. And to not hand them all of life's pleasures and rewards but teach them how to work hard for them. My job is to raise future adults.
My parents were pretty good at the balance. They prioritized raising their children, didn't leave us out of their world, and encouraged us to use our gifts. But they sent some criticism along the way. Which is important.
My mom told me I was fat when I was 19. I didn't love it; it hurt. But when I'm tempted to believe the lie that I should just accept myself for who I am, those words motivate me. Because who I am is a lazy, unmotivated, overindulger. I love to overeat. I hate to exercise. And I have to believe I can be MORE than I am.
My father told me when I was in grade school that I was a "whiner." And then he quit responding to my whining. I am a whiner. Still. But I am less of a whiner because he made a conscious decision to confront me on it and PARENT me. Not indulge me. And my husband should be mighty grateful.
He also told me when I worked for him in high school that I was SLOW. Oh that hurt! I wanted to argue with him. Instead I worked on doing my job more quickly. I think you would be hard-pressed to find any of my (later) employers who would tell you that I was slow on the job.
So, thank you, Mom and Dad. And thank you Lori Gottlieb. You reminded me that part of my job as a parent is to tell my kids the hard things. To motivate them to do the right thing. And to not hand them all of life's pleasures and rewards but teach them how to work hard for them. My job is to raise future adults.
Friday, May 13, 2011
The Lure of Saints
"...Luther and the first Protestants tossed out the baby (tradition, devotions, pieties) with the bathwater (the belief that tradition, devotions, and pieties would justify one before God)....Faith became belief centered rather than practice centered, and belief and practice remain separate in many of our lives even today." -Jon M. Sweeney, The Lure of Saints: A Protestant Experience of Catholic Tradition
.
I loved this book. At times I stumbled along trying to understand the incredible bizarre behavior that seems to characterize Saints (capital). I'm not sure how I feel about praying to (or more correctly, with) the Saints. But as Sweeney points out, Christ defeated death and if He did so, if we really believe He did so, then we cannot believe we are separated from other Christians by the grave. And while I think some have improperly idolized the saints, when we look at their lives, I see individuals who only wanted to point us to Jesus and did it with such intense passion, that we couldn't help but notice.
While I'm skeptical about the Roman Catholic process of beautification and canonization, I have to admire the care they take before thrusting someone up on a spiritual pedestal. Protestants would be wise to take more care in whom they emulate, because we tend to create Christian celebrities a little too easily and then be crushingly disappointed when they fail in their Christian walk. (Think of any number of high profile Christians and the end result.)
And who are we kidding? Protestants have their own saints, or what are Jim Eliot (and Elisabeth for that matter), Rick Warren, Martin Luther, John Calvin, John Wesley, Amy Carmichael, Jonathan Edwards, and C.S. Lewis? While our practice may be different, we certainly do elevate devoted followers of Christ. And I don't think we are wrong to do so.
I loved this by iconographer Marek Czarnecki: "...[I]t is difficult for me to understand Christ and his gospel without the example of saints....I love the saints because they take Christianity out of the realm of pure, beautiful ideas and existentially live inside them....It's not always comfortable or pretty, but they show the sum of what happens when someone becomes the variable, or unknown sum, in Christ's own ideal and divinely formulated equations." In other words, a saint doesn't just wear the WWJD (What Would Jesus Do?) bracelet, he/she LIVES it.
The practical thing I took away is a new understanding of a novena, a term I've heard but never understood. Novena means "nine" and tradition teaches that the Disciples and other followers of Jesus waited nine days between the Ascension of Christ and Pentecost. During that time they stayed in the Upper Room, praying and waiting on the Lord. And then the tongues of flame fell. A novena is a specific prayer that is prayed repeatedly and with intent for nine days (or sometimes nine weeks). I have a family member in intense peril right now and I have had no idea how to pray. Understanding the novena gave me a biblical reference to praying a focused prayer; the situation is so baffling to me that I found the words of another who understood better what he is going through to focus my prayer time. Now I pray and wait.
For me the beauty of the book came down to this: "We spend a lot of time trying to be spiritual...but God does not ask us to be spiritual; God asks us to become like Christ, to become Christ in our unique way...to become ourselves." This is becoming a saint, the only kind I'm certain about.
.I loved this book. At times I stumbled along trying to understand the incredible bizarre behavior that seems to characterize Saints (capital). I'm not sure how I feel about praying to (or more correctly, with) the Saints. But as Sweeney points out, Christ defeated death and if He did so, if we really believe He did so, then we cannot believe we are separated from other Christians by the grave. And while I think some have improperly idolized the saints, when we look at their lives, I see individuals who only wanted to point us to Jesus and did it with such intense passion, that we couldn't help but notice.
While I'm skeptical about the Roman Catholic process of beautification and canonization, I have to admire the care they take before thrusting someone up on a spiritual pedestal. Protestants would be wise to take more care in whom they emulate, because we tend to create Christian celebrities a little too easily and then be crushingly disappointed when they fail in their Christian walk. (Think of any number of high profile Christians and the end result.)
And who are we kidding? Protestants have their own saints, or what are Jim Eliot (and Elisabeth for that matter), Rick Warren, Martin Luther, John Calvin, John Wesley, Amy Carmichael, Jonathan Edwards, and C.S. Lewis? While our practice may be different, we certainly do elevate devoted followers of Christ. And I don't think we are wrong to do so.
I loved this by iconographer Marek Czarnecki: "...[I]t is difficult for me to understand Christ and his gospel without the example of saints....I love the saints because they take Christianity out of the realm of pure, beautiful ideas and existentially live inside them....It's not always comfortable or pretty, but they show the sum of what happens when someone becomes the variable, or unknown sum, in Christ's own ideal and divinely formulated equations." In other words, a saint doesn't just wear the WWJD (What Would Jesus Do?) bracelet, he/she LIVES it.
The practical thing I took away is a new understanding of a novena, a term I've heard but never understood. Novena means "nine" and tradition teaches that the Disciples and other followers of Jesus waited nine days between the Ascension of Christ and Pentecost. During that time they stayed in the Upper Room, praying and waiting on the Lord. And then the tongues of flame fell. A novena is a specific prayer that is prayed repeatedly and with intent for nine days (or sometimes nine weeks). I have a family member in intense peril right now and I have had no idea how to pray. Understanding the novena gave me a biblical reference to praying a focused prayer; the situation is so baffling to me that I found the words of another who understood better what he is going through to focus my prayer time. Now I pray and wait.
For me the beauty of the book came down to this: "We spend a lot of time trying to be spiritual...but God does not ask us to be spiritual; God asks us to become like Christ, to become Christ in our unique way...to become ourselves." This is becoming a saint, the only kind I'm certain about.
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