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Diary of 1

• February 04, 2012
• 14:33

  The Staggering Relevance of Bonhoeffer

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  Bonhoeffer’s been dogging me for decades and sometimes I do wish he’d back off, because he’s always reminding me that anything of value has a high price. I’m a tight-wad, I don’t like to pay high prices.

  Perhaps you’ve not been introduced to Dietrich Bonhoeffer? Today is his birthday, and 106 years ago he entered the world, along with his twin sister, Sabine, in Breslau, Germany, bringing great joy to Paula and Karl Bonhoeffer, and eventually there would be eight children who had the most lovely and nurturing family a child could hope for. Above the west entrance of Westminster Abbey in London are 10 modern martyrs – Bonhoeffer’s statue is among them. In the briefest of words, Bonhoeffer was a theologian, a pastor, a writer, a Christian, a prophet, an anti-Nazi spy. He was executed on April 9, 1945 in a German concentration camp for his involvement in a plot to assassinate Hitler, just days before liberation of that camp.

  But I’d like to talk about why we should be concerned about Bonhoeffer in the 21st century.
  
  Eric Metaxas has recently written an award winning biography of Bonhoeffer, Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy. I liked it better than the massive volume by Eberhard Bethge simply for its readability and style. Metaxas explains why we should care about Bonhoeffer:

  Bonhoeffer’s relevance to us today is staggering, and I confess that when I began writing the book I had no idea I would stumble over so many powerful parallels to our own situation. For one thing, the story of Bonhoeffer is a primer on the burning issue of what the limits of the state are.

  Exactly why is he relevant to such a degree that people are still writing biographies about him and giving talks and holding congresses? Germany in the 1930s and 40s is challenging to comprehend — the Nazi and Jewish issues, of course, the role of the church, and I wonder how to extrapolate from those times without finding a Nazi behind every overreaching government act.

  The state of Bonhoeffer’s world was that the German Christian church looked the other way as Jews were being carted off for “resettlement in the East.” In Bonhoeffer’s last great work, Ethics, though unfinished he considered it his magnum opus, he rebukes the church for her grave offenses against humanity and allowing herself to be subjugated by the Nazi regime:

  The church must confess that she has not proclaimed often or clearly enough her message of the one God who has revealed Himself for all time in Jesus Christ and who will tolerate no other gods beside Himself. She must confess her timidity, her evasiveness, her dangerous concessions…She was silent when she should have cried out because the blood of the innocent was crying aloud to heaven…She has not raised her voice on behalf of the victims and has not found ways to hasten to their aid. She is guilty of the deaths of the weakest and most defenseless brothers of the lord Jesus Christ…The church must confess that she has desired security, peace and quiet, possessions and honor…She has not borne witness to the truth of God…By her own silence she has rendered herself guilty of a failure to accept responsibility and to bravely defend a just cause. She has been unwilling to suffer for what she knows to be right. Thus the church is guilty of becoming a traitor to the Lordship of Christ. [Ethics, p.117]

  Could this not have been written ten minutes ago, as Metaxes said in an interview?

  What are today’s burning issues? I ask, as I seek to find Bonhoeffer’s relevance.

  Abortion is one. I’m not comfortable addressing this contentious subject. Every person I know has been affected by this, either she has personally had an abortion or knows someone who has. And so who wants to go around telling a woman she is a negligent person, a selfish creature, a murderer? Not me.

  I vaguely, then rather insistently, wondered if Bonhoeffer ever had an opinion on the topic of abortion or the right to life. I discovered in his book, Ethics, what I was looking for.

  Destruction of the embryo in the mother’s womb is a violation of the right to live which God has bestowed upon this nascent life. To raise the question whether we are here concerned already with a human being or not is merely to confuse the issue. The simple fact is that God certainly intended to create a human being and that this nascent human being has been deliberately deprived of his life. And that is nothing but murder. [Ethics, pp 175-6]

  Bonhoeffer considered many facets of abortion, including the pastoral care that necessarily should be involved:

  A great many motives may lead to an action of this kind; indeed in cases where it is an act of despair, performed in circumstances of extreme human or economic destitution and misery, the guilt may often lie rather with the community than with the individual. Precisely in this connection money may conceal many a wanton deed, while the poor man’s more reluctant lapse may far more easily be disclosed. All these considerations must no doubt have a quite decisive influence on our personal and pastoral attitude towards the person concerned, but they cannot in any way alter the fact of murder. [Ethics, p 176]

  He further speaks to extreme cases:

  …with regard to the killing of the fetus in cases where the mother is in danger of losing her life. If the child has its right to life from God, and is perhaps already capable of life, then the killing of the child, as an alternative to the presumed natural death of the mother, is surely a highly questionable action. The life of the mother is in the hand of God, but the life of the child is arbitrarily extinguished. The question whether the life of the mother or the life of the child is of greater value can hardly be a matter for a human decision. [Ethics, p 176 n. 12]

  I’m amazed at the specific issues Bonhoeffer addresses with regard to abortion, and it all leaves me little room to wonder what Bonhoeffer would say today in the 21st century. As Eric Metaxas said, Bonhoeffer is staggeringly relevant. He further makes it clear that the right to life is not based on the qualities of the individual.

  Life, created and preserved by God, possesses an inherent right, which is wholly independent of its social utility. The right to live is a matter of the essence and not of any values. In the sight of God there is no life that is not worth living. [Ethics, p. 163]

  The distinction between life that is worth living and life that is not worth living must sooner or later destroy life itself. [Ethics, p. 164]

  It would…be intolerably pharisaical if society were to treat the sick man as though he were a guilty man in order to put itself in the right at his expense. To kill the innocent would be, in the extreme sense, arbitrary. [Ethics, p. 165]

  I read all this from Ethics just yesterday and my head fell into my hands and I wept. I almost didn’t want to know; silly, it’s not like Bonhoeffer’s opinion would change my mind, I had concluded when I was very young that abortion was an injustice. But have you ever experienced knowledge that suddenly unloads responsibility? It was this, and I wept, and I couldn’t even allow myself to grasp the entirety as I would have literally fallen to the ground from the weight of it.

  I don’t want to become a radical, oh, at least not any more radical than I already am. It’s dangerous to be radical. It’s so much safer to be non-radical, at least on this side of Heaven. Bonhoeffer was a radical of sorts by all accounts, and he paid for it with his life, with a a piano wire around his neck as he dangled naked in the courtyard of the Flossenbürg Concentration Camp in Germany.

  And yet he is my hero, and has been for two decades. Someone gave me The Cost of Discipleship by Dietrich Bonhoeffer when I was in my early twenties, and that was my introduction to this compelling man. I read bits and pieces and the words just sat smoldering in the recesses of my mind for twenty years. I do gravitate to the edge of costliness, but to actually take the leap, like Bonhoeffer, is not fully in my nature.

  Cheap grace is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance, baptism without church discipline, Communion without confession, absolution without personal confession. Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ, living and incarnate. [Cost of Discipleship]

  Such grace is costly because it calls us to follow, and it is grace because it calls us to follow Jesus Christ. It is costly because it costs a man his life, and it is grace because it gives a man the only true life. It is costly because it condemns sin, and grace because it justifies the sinner. Above all, it is costly because it cost God the life of his Son: “ye were bought at a price,” and what has cost God much cannot be cheap for us. Above all, it is grace because God did not reckon his Son too dear a price to pay for our life, but delivered him up for us. Costly grace is the Incarnation of God. [Cost of Discipleship]

  So from the beginning of my life as a committed Christian, I’ve had in the background of my thinking, always, the cost of discipleship, which is of course clear in the teachings of Jesus, but made so visible to me by Bonhoeffer.

  Bonhoeffer was continually accused of being a single-issue fanatic in his time. And why? He vehemently opposed Nazi interference in the church and so was stripped of his pastoral license and forbidden to speak in public or print or publish. He then helped Jews escape to Switzerland which led to his first arrest. Don’t we look back from our vantage point and not see this as fanatical at all? We are not allowed the privilege of seeing our present from a future viewpoint, and that’s why I spend all this time with Bonhoeffer, searching and probing for relevance and truth to help myself, and maybe spare myself from death of conscience.

  But I’ve come to realize there are rarely single-issue fanatics. There is a vast underpinning of philosophies and moralities that find expression in a single-issue, and start digging and you will find the true breadth of it all. Bonhoeffer’s extensive writings demonstrate this theory, and the complexity of what appears to be a single-issue begs to be examined.

  Five years ago, on the anniversary of Bonhoeffer’s execution, I wrote an essay exploring Bonhoeffer’s call to the church, a call to action for times when the state is involved in illegitimate actions. I said I’d write more later. And here it is, it took me a while. I quote again from Bonhoeffer’s writings in Ethics, scathing words to the church in his day relating to the Jews, but equally applicable and significant for the unborn in our day:

  She was silent when she should have cried out because the blood of the innocent was crying aloud to heaven…She has not raised her voice on behalf of the victims and has not found ways to hasten to their aid. She is guilty of the deaths of the weakest and most defenseless brothers of the lord Jesus Christ. [Ethics]

  Bonhoeffer, oh, could he have known that he would suffer to the last and to the fullest, with Christ and with the Jews? I do think he knew, and he intentionally chose the way of the cross.

  If we have watered down the gospel into emotional uplift which makes no costly demands and which fails to distinguish between natural and Christian existence, then we cannot help regarding the cross as an ordinary everyday calamity… We have then forgotten that the cross means rejection and shame as well as suffering.

  The Psalmist was lamenting that he was despised and rejected of men, and that is an essential quality of the suffering of the cross. But this notion has ceased to be intelligible to a Christianity which can no longer see any difference between an ordinary human life and life committed to Christ. The cross means sharing the suffering of Christ to the last and to the fullest. [Cost of Discipleship]

  May I leave you with some resources for you to further examine the relevance of the life of Dietrich Bonhoeffer to your world? Following are some links (which have been of immense help to me) to books, essays, videos, blogs, all of which either directly speak of Bonhoeffer, or involve current issues to which his principles could be applied.

  Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy by Eric Metaxas
  National Prayer Breakfast, 2012, with Eric Metaxas (begin at 35 min. in)
  Marco Rubio Pro-Life Speech at SBA event
  Catholic Leaders Urge Parishioners to Denounce Mandate
  Bonhoeffer Blog
  Bonhoeffer Timeline
  Dietrich Bonhoeffer Reading Room (links to all of Bonhoeffer’s works as well as books/writings about him)
  God & Caesar by Dr. Laurence White
  Bonhoeffer Blog Discussion Group @ Pebblechaser
  Bonhoeffer Documentary
  Bonhoeffer: Agent of Grace – DVD
  Hanged on a Twisted Cross – film

  Technorati Tags: abortion, Cost of Discipleship, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Eric Metaxas, Ethics, Jewish question, Nazi Germany

• February 03, 2012
• 14:09

  Why Claire Berlinski is Awesome

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  While Claire tells me exactly what is going on in Syria at this moment in totally understandable and frank terms, FoxNews thinks that today’s best world news is that a school principal in Trinidad puts students’ heads in toilets. Truly, nothing about Syria on Fox’s main page as I write this. CNN does have a story on their main page, but I really don’t like CNN and they fail to mention possible outcomes, they title their story including the words “bold and exhilarating” which is sort of inappropriate for the situation, and they seem to think diplomats or the UN might be of some use here.

  CNN says the U.N. Security Council is drafting a resolution to “put more pressure on Syria,” while Ms. Berlinski says:

  Let me put this to you simply. Assad is a monster. He is evil beyond comprehension. No one is going to stop him until he and everyone around him is dead. But you’re out of your minds if you convince yourself the FSA is comprised of potentially friendly, liberal democrats. There’s not a liberal democrat between here and the Horn of Africa, just trust me on this; they don’t even know what those words mean, they just know that you have to say them if you want to have any hope of being saved by those weird but freakishly powerful Americans for whom the words “liberal democrats” are the magic elixer. There will be no friendly, moderate, secular regime in Syria, ever, and the first thing the FSA will do if anyone helps them is slaughter Alawites and Christians.

  Ms. Berlinski does honest risk assessment and thinks of a plan–slim chances of anything working but at least she’s thinking.

  The risk right now to Syria’s neighbors, if it tries to help, is extreme: Assad holds the PKK card, it has huge stockpiles of chemical and biological weapons. The regime is going bankrupt, at the very least there will be floods of refuges if this continues, Turkey certainly can’t absorb them. The Russians would be perfectly happy for every man, woman and child in Syria to be tortured and killed so long as nothing gets between itand its warm water base at Tartus. The French and the British will make very stern noises, but what are they going to do. UN? Useless. Arab League? Useless. GCC? Useless.

  Thanks, Claire. While I think she’s rather crazy and radical to choose of her own volition to live and write from Istanbul, isolate herself from friends and family, continually place herself in bodily danger, and insert her opinion at her peril on explosive Middle East politics, she’s pretty awesome.

• January 17, 2012
• 19:13

  The Clothesline

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  White sheets flapping under luminous blue skies, I would skip through the rows of clothes feeling billowy and clean myself. Sometimes it was my job to hang up the clothes, sometimes to unpin the dry, stiff socks and shirts. Of all the jobs of childhood, this work at the clothesline was my favorite.

  Scrubbing the dirty linens necessarily had to come first. There I’d sit, out under the endless expanse of Southwest blue, small pail under me, usually an old paint can which left merciless indentations in the backs of my thighs, and just before me like a yawning silvery gray band sat a large stainless steel basin. The brightness of metal caught the sun and cast a glow against the brown earth, loose and dusty, but hiding just below was endless clay.

  First, I’d dump a cup of suds right in there, that same tub we used for baths and dishes, then I’d position the old hose that snaked about from a spigot at the side of the house, and being this close I had no cause to worry about kinks in the tubing like when watering trees a hundred yards out. A turn of the valve, an eruption of liquid, and I’d be careful not to waste a drop of that first spurt, hot from sitting in the length of hose, the only hot I’d get.

  Cottons, and small knuckles, invariably, rubbed on a metal washboard, fingers quickly numbing from cold. I could never figure how to scrub the material closest to the big brassy buckles and buttons on my dad’s heavy overalls and was continually vexed by those fixtures. Scrub, wring, toss in a bucket. When all pieces were washed, I’d empty the great tub, at first by the pail, then once I could muscle it, by tipping the basin, creating rivulets and muddy swirls and soon my toes were submerged and curled under mud and clay. When you live in the desert, water is extra fascinating.

  I would refill the washtub for a rinse that never seemed to run clear, and now hands were raw and back aching.The water would be brown and filmy by the time the last sock was scooped up from a bottom crevice, the last shirt wrung as tight as my tired arms could wring. A final dragging of pails heavy with washing over to the lines that stretched from east to west between wooden poles, beckoning to take my load, and I was at the best part of the job.

  Arms stretched up, toes stretched, too, to hang the clean, wet clothes, and retrieve the dried, and this was a happier place.

  There is nothing tragic in an eight-year-old having to wash tubs of laundry by hand. Millenia of young girls have been little washerwomen and mothers’ helpers and labored under more than this. Ancient girls would have cleaned their clothes by pounding them on rocks and washing the dirt away in the streams, and made their own soap, too, from the fat of sacrificed animals. When I was eight, the electric-powered washing machine was barely 70 years old and it’s not unreasonable that I should still be scrubbing clothes.

  No, the tragic things aren’t the work and crudeness of the apparatus. It was my mother, sick in mind and body, lying in bed for weeks –in the hot summers even–loaded down with heavy blankets, alternately shivering and fevering, wet cloth on her forehead, and so the child was loaded down with all that laundry. Always with a wet cloth to cool her head, that’s how I remember my mother.

  It was my father, inexplicably letting a brand-new washing machine shipped by my aunt from nearly two thousand miles away sit untouched in an outbuilding. After a while, the mice took up residence in the beautiful machine, and after a greater while, it was unusable, important parts chewed through. Really, it wasn’t inexplicable, it was the way he did most everything, in fits and starts and always undone. I spent many moments lost in dream over that machine, as if it were a magic capsule to usher me into normal life.

  On the rare occasion when a friend was over, and it was laundry time, she would enjoy helping, quite entertained by the novelty of the washboard. In those instances, it was all joy — splashing water, wringing contests, and a race to the clothesline. The clothesline. If the cord had more tension, I could be a tightrope walker. If it were stronger, I could swing from my knees and do a cherry drop like on the monkey bars at school.

  The clothesline was the end of the job, reaching up toward blue sky and all clean around me, and endless possibilities.
  

  Technorati Tags: washboard, laundry, childhood, hand wash laundry, clothesline

• January 08, 2012
• 9:36

  The Year She Knew She Was Loved

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  Happiest of New Years to all, and blessings of love to you. The new year holds so many possibilities, promises, hopes, expectations.

  I’ve always wondered about how the Chinese proclaim a message or theme for each new year, awash in traditions and rituals, based on a complex Chinese calendar and Chinese zodiac. My own quiet celebration and resolution is not so festive, but observed in my own way.

  I met a new friend recently, the mother of a friend, actually. She is a small, wizened Hispanic woman who speaks of signs and symbols and prophecies in the most colorful way, and she shared with me that 2012 will be the year the bride knew He loved her. I took this word for myself, as it greatly resonated with me.

  The little woman related an anecdote to me, her words tumbling faster than I could catch, of two friends, and one knows she is completely loved by the other and is thus willing to share quite openly and honestly with her companion, with no fear of being taken wrongly or judged harshly and no fear of loss of that friendship because she knows how that love won’t break. This brief narrative was the beginning of my understanding of a powerful message of knowing you are loved and the consequences of that knowledge. I missed some points, I do know, and she knew it, too, and expected that I would.

  And that is how it must be between you and God, she declared. When I am completely at rest in the solid, unmovable fact that God loves me, I am willing to take risks, to be utterly vulnerable and honest with Him, to throw myself with abandon into all of Him. And then there can be real relationship.

  I’ve pondered, too, the relationship from the other end. If God knows that His bride is completely and passionately in love with Him, then perhaps He has access He didn’t have before? He can open Heaven’s gates and pour down abundant blessings and ravishing love upon the bride that He knows is also unmovable in her love for Him.

  And further yet, there are applications in these earthly vessels of husband and wife, mother and daughter, father and son, friends, sisters, brothers. You must know the critical nature of this point? Knowing you are deeply loved, oh, there is nothing like it to make for a glorious marriage, friendship, relationship.

  2012: The Year She Knew She Was Loved — I hope to share my journey of realizing this.

  Technorati Tags: Chinese New Year, faith, Love of God, The Year of 2012

• December 19, 2011
• 11:40

  Wishing you a Merry Christmas

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  And the angel said unto them, “Fear not! For, behold,
  I bring you tidings of great joy, Which shall be to all people.”

  “For unto you is born this day in the city of David A Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.” – St. Luke

  

  Bright and joyful is the morn,
  For us to a Child is born.
  From the highest realms of Heaven,
  Unto us a Son is given.
  {Hymn~Bright and Joyful is the Morn}

  

  Bring a torch, Jeanette, Isabella
  Bring a torch, come swiftly and run.
  Christ is born, tell the folk of the village,
  Jesus is sleeping in His cradle,
  Ah, ah, beautiful is the mother,
  Ah, ah, beautiful is her Son.
  {Hymn~Bring a Torch}

  

  

  Gather around the Christmas tree!
  Gather around the Christmas tree!
  Evergreen have its branches been,
  It is king of all the woodland scene;
  For Christ our King is born today!
  His reign shall never pass away.
  {Hymn~Gather Around the Christmas Tree}

  
  

  Gather around the Christmas tree!
  Gather around the Christmas tree!
  Once the pride of the mountainside,
  Now cut down to grace our Christmastide;
  For Christ from Heav’n to earth came down,
  To gain, through death, a nobler crown.

  
  

  Gather around the Christmas tree!
  Gather around the Christmas tree!
  Every bough bears a burden now—
  They are gifts of love for us, we trow;
  For Christ is born, His love to show,
  And give good gifts to men below.

  

  Hosanna, hosanna,
  Hosanna in the highest!

  Merry Christmas to you, with love from our house to yours.

  Technorati Tags: Christmas, christmas decorating, Christmas tree, Merry Christmas

• December 10, 2011
• 11:32

  Stocking Stuffer Giveaway for the Sports Fan!

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  Hey Sports Fan! Diary of 1 and TeamMASCOT.com would like to give you a FREE stocking stuffer!

  TeamMASCOT is our family business, and you can read about it here, and then there’s Business 101 From an Eight-Year-Old to prove there’s nothing better than a family business to create savvy little entrepreneurs.

  Here’s how to win a sports-themed stocking stuffer: be one of the first ten people to go to TeamMASCOT.com and click the “Follow us on Twitter” button. Tweet the stocking stuffer you’d like, choosing from one of the following items, any team that is currently in stock: [NFL, College, MLB, NHL, NBA, NASCAR]

  Bumper Sticker
  Temporary tattoo
  5×6 Decal

  Then, leave a comment here on this post telling me what you did…and I will contact you via email for your shipping address, and get your stocking stuffer on its merry way! Hurry, Christmas is coming!

  Merry Christmas!! ~ Jen

  p.s., I will ship International if you also post your own tweet mentioning TeamMASCOT.com!
  

  Technorati Tags: family business, stocking stuffers, TeamMASCOT, sports memorabilia, bumper stickers, temporary tattoos, decals, sports

• November 30, 2011
• 19:07

  Blogging to Bethlehem: Feeling Nauseous

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  I am desperate for anticipation in this season of Advent, the awaiting of the coming of the Messiah. Mother Teresa once remarked that John the Baptist was the first person to rejoice at the coming of the Christ when he jumped for joy while still in Elizabeth’s womb, and Jesus was yet in Mary’s womb. That’s the kind of joyful anticipation I want.

  I start with Isaiah.

  A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse;
  from his roots a Branch will bear fruit.
  The Spirit of the LORD will rest on him—
  the Spirit of wisdom and of understanding,
  the Spirit of counsel and of might,
  the Spirit of the knowledge and fear of the LORD—
  and he will delight in the fear of the LORD.
  Isaiah 11:1-3

  Feeling like a stump, it’s so reassuring to know that the Spirit of the Lord is coming. “From his roots…” and I wonder about what keeps roots alive and I’m still astonished that fruit should come from there.

  He grew up before him like a tender shoot,
  and like a root out of dry ground.
  Isaiah 53:2

  On this paved road to Bethlehem in my century, knowing the end of the story is a unique perspective, a blessed place. I don’t have to look for the signs, read the skies, search the prophets. But I think about the days of Isaiah, when the Advent was but a distant hope, and there is something unrivaled and momentous about that place, too, a place of watching, waiting, hoping. Anticipation stirs passion, and I’d like to go there, to Isaiah, in my mind, because here and now, with the gift already come, I sigh and fear falling into lethargy.

  …from his roots a Branch will bear fruit.

  When dear women in my life have babies, I visit them in the hospital and nearly without fail, I cry. Tears flow from wonder at the beauty and miracle, and how can I not notice the Mystery? The Spirit of the Lord rests heavily there, and I fairly swoon at the smell of the newborn, like milk and honey and fresh rain, and the sight of his tiny curled fingers–and I’m desiring now to be lifted to the heights at the thought of that One Baby, and I’m mortified that I don’t approach the Christ-child the same.

  Was there a moment, known only to God, when all the stars held their breath, when the galaxies paused in their dance for a fraction of a second, and the Word, who had called it all into being, went with all his love into the womb of a young girl, and the universe started to breathe again, and the ancient harmonies resumed their song, and the angels clapped their hands for joy? ~ Madeleine L’Engle

  I’ve asked the questions a hundred times at least, “How are you feeling?” as I observe the swell in the belly of my sisters and friends. “Are you hungry all the time, are you nauseous?”

  I want to be hungry all the time as Advent proceeds down this crowded, bustling road to Bethlehem. Hungry to feel His presence, to simply anticipate. For now, I just feel nauseous at my dispassion, but it’s a start.

  I’m asking what it takes to feel hungry, and perhaps part of the answer is an empty space, a fasting from busy, a tenable chance for hunger to wake me into longing and then I’ll hold my breath with the stars. I need an unpaved, uncrowded road to Bethlehem here in my heart.

  Technorati Tags: Advent, Blogging to Bethlehem, Christmas, Isaiah

• November 27, 2011
• 22:39

  The Brothers Karamozov and Me

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  What was I thinking? What can I even say about Fyodor Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamozov except that never again will I commit to write about such a sweeping novel with ideas so intricately laid down with the precision of a master architect who has weighed and measured every stick. Unless maybe I give myself a whole uninterrupted year. Or 25 years, like Joseph Frank (professor emeritus at Princeton and Stanford Universities) did, who finished his fifth and final volume on the life of Dostoevsky, a monumental biography at 800 pages for just that volume, back in 2002.

  It’s not that Dostoevsky is unreadable for the lay person. Yes, degrees in psychology and Russian history would help, but for a writer who is considered to be one of the world’s greatest authors and this his greatest novel, he’s very accessible.

  You may find yourself asking, “How could he know me?” To read Dostoevsky is to stand naked-hearted before a wise and piercing being and it’s quite uncomfortable to be so exposed. The major themes that course through The Brothers Karamozov are broad but it’s uncanny how they light in a small place of your own nature and prick your conscience. He is a master. Were he alive today, or had I lived 150 years ago, I’d have wanted him for a friend and confidante during my darkest inner battles, and he would look straight through me and diagnose me and make such sense that I’d be well just for having been diagnosed and having seen such stark and beautiful truth.

  The Brothers Karamozov is a big book of ideas, nearly 900 pages of dialogued postulations on love, guilt, forgiveness, responsibility for one another, money, the existence of God, atheism, socialism, freedom. And who among us hasn’t grappled with those big ideas in some small or grand way?

  And there’s an intriguing story, too, that weaves these big ideas all together, a family tale that follows the lives of the Karamozov brothers and their father and surrounding characters. There is a love story, a murder mystery, a courtroom drama, and always deeper meaning. Indeed, the entire nation of Russia is a character in the story, as is God himself, as even a cursory read reveals.

  The allegorical depth of The Brothers Karamozov is part of its richness and acclaim. The brothers each are emblems and caricatures–Ivan is the intellectual atheist; Dmitri is the worldly sensualist, Alyosha is the spiritual soul. Other allegories include each of the Karamozov brothers being subjected to three temptations, as in the biblical story of the temptation of Christ, each with varying degrees of success according to their character.

  In fact, it is this story of the temptation of Christ in the chapter on Ivan’s Grand Inquisitor that was one of my favorite parts. I had never read a more complete or compelling account of how Jesus was tested in the wilderness (Matthew 4:1-11). The first temptation, for the hungry Jesus to turn the stones into bread, Dostoevsky extends and shows himself to be a brilliant theologian. Jesus said no, that man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes out of the mouth of God.

  And Dostoevsky conveys this was an issue of freedom, as his Grand Inquisitor promises man, as Satan promised Jesus, everything in exchange for freedom, that single thing that defines man. The Grand Inquisitor tells the man that people are too simple and unruly for freedom, that what they really need is bread, to “feed men, and then ask of them virtue.” The Grand Inquisitor goes on to claim that “freedom and bread enough for all are inconceivable together.” His indictment against Christ is that He turned down social justice for the sake of freedom and the bread of heaven.

  The Grand Inquisitor makes such an eloquent case in this chapter that any atheist who reads it champions this as his proof. But Dostoevsky, having travelled through atheism and out the other end to Christianity, is in an uncommonly opportune position to be exquisitely credible to both sides, and still win. He thus commented on his own faith and responds to atheists and critics of The Brothers Karamozov:

  The dolts have ridiculed my obscurantism and the reactionary character of my faith. These fools could not even conceive so strong a denial of God as the one to which I gave expression… The whole book is an answer to that…. You might search Europe in vain for so powerful an expression of atheism. Thus it is not like a child that I believe in Christ and confess Him. My hosanna has come forth from the crucible of doubt.

  Fyodor Dostoevsky’s own life informed his writing of The Brothers Karamozov in many ways. As a young man, he was a socialist revolutionary who ended up arrested by the Tsarist police for associating with a secret socialist group. Dostoevsky claimed to not be against the Russian government but against the institution of serfdom. The next decade found him in prison and labor camps in Siberia. He emerged from the experience, having nothing to read but the gospels, one of the few books allowed, not a social revolutionary, but a spiritually awakened man.

  A journalist recounting Joseph Frank’s staggering biography of Fyodor Dostoevsky offered this insight into the theme of The Brothers Karamozov:

  Dostoyevsky, in Frank’s view, is comparable to Dante, Shakespeare and Milton in the grandeur of his thought and the power of his spiritual vision. His goal in this novel, Frank says, was both to portray the breakdown of social and family life (the principal theme of the much weaker ”Raw Youth”) and to warn, through the three Karamazov brothers, Ivan, Dimitri and Alyosha, and their corrupt father, Fyodor, against the impending collapse of Western civilization, which was inevitable unless humankind embraced a return to the (Orthodox) Christian faith.

  Dostoevsky indeed believed that the only salvation for us all is not found in politics, but in faith. There are so many more characters for you to meet in The Brothers Karamozov, countless conversations and incidents, that will illuminate this truth and more. There is Father Zossima, the crazy Father Ferapont, Katerina Ivanovna, Grushenka. There is this:

  Ah, children, ah, dear friends, don’t be afraid of life! How good life is when one does something good and just!

  and

  If they drive God from the earth, we shall shelter Him underground. One cannot exist in prison without God; it’s even more impossible than out of prison. And then we men underground will sing from the bowels of the earth a glorious hymn to God, with Whom is joy. Hail to God and His joy! I love Him!

  and

  Water the earth with the tears of your joy and love those tears.

  As the book’s final line echoes, “Hurrah for Karamozov!” Read it, you will be flattened, raised, amazed, challenged. This is the best I can do, for I have a long way to go in really understanding it all.

  Technorati Tags: Fyodor Dostoevsky, Russian literature, The Brothers Karamozov

• November 23, 2011
• 13:44

  Mommy, do I have Catholic or Jews in me?

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  Her question made me laugh out loud, and my heart warmed at the wondering, because don’t we all long to know where we come from and don’t we desire to be distinct and remarkable?

  Mommy, do I have Catholic or Jews in me?

  The confusion between blood ties and religious persuasion is understandable for an eight-year-old. Her inquiry followed with me explaining the difference. I was in the dark on the origin of her question, perhaps some discussion with a teacher or classmate or friend? But I heard her heart, and it was an innocent curiosity, a wanting to be special.

  I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
  your works are wonderful,
  I know that full well.
  Psalm 139:14

  

  It’s the same question I hear when my child says, “Mommy, tell me what I’m good at,” or “Do you like how I sing?”

  Oh, that we could really know how wonderful we’ve been made, that we are His workmanship, that we are chosen, redeemed, established, complete.

  Technorati Tags: childhood, faith, you are special, fearfully wonderfully made

• November 19, 2011
• 10:20

  All Things Bright and Beautiful

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  Out my wintry window today, I think of Mrs. Cecil Alexander, who penned in 1848, “All things bright and beautiful, All creatures great and small, All things wise and wonderful; The Lord God made them all.”

  My older son says the world is a better place when there’s snow, and it certainly is bright and beautiful. The way the snow sits in a cluster on the junipers, the tracks that leave behind a larger you, the way my child contours an image and shape with what was once water, it’s all so other-worldly, and I know why he loves this.

  Boots, hats, gloves! I see growing spheres of snow, half-bodies waiting to be put together. What compares to rosy cheeks, snowballs flying, frosty eyelashes, and pure happiness hung in crystals?

  

  Who would have ever thought to do it this way but the One who sent that other white manna from Heaven? Manna that brings joy, that is for the day, that brings sweetness to the soul and melts in the mouth–this snowy provision is a gift.

  The kids are out gathering early this morning, and those who are prone to fight have assembled in harmony, harvesting the plenty, powdered white as far as the eye can see.

  
  

  Bright and beautiful manna. Taste and see–and tell.

  He gave us eyes to see them,
  And lips that we might tell
  How great is God Almighty,
  Who has made all things well.

  Technorati Tags: family life, first snow, All Things Bright and Beautiful, manna, Cecil Frances Alexander

• November 17, 2011
• 12:26

  Thursday Threads

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  Good Thursday to you! I’m too busy to write much or write well, but here are some threads catching my attention today.

  1. The Iron Lady. This film is a biopic on Margaret Thatcher, Prime Minister of The United Kingdom from 1979 – 1990. Because Hollywood hates conservative women, I’m afraid this will be a hit job, but I await the release with huge anticipation. Her arrival at 10 Downing Street was historic, and I’d love to see a fair treatment of her complex personality and contribution to world affairs, but casting Meryl Streep as Thatcher is like casting Sean Penn as Reagan–you can’t get more politically polar. The jury is still out on whether Streep, an outstanding actress, will put aside her own contempt of conservative politics and do right by Maggie.

  2. This fantastique French blogger is on her way to publishing a book in 21 days! Kristin Espinasse, my French connection and kindred spirit, is culling hundreds of blogs post to compile into a vignette of French life, to be self-published through Amazon’s CreateSpace. Go Kristin!! She had previously put out a traditional house-published book, also a collection of blog posts, and this new book will pick up where that one left off.

  3. Today in history (November 17, 1558) marks the beginning of the Elizabethan Age! (Hello, Shakespeare). Queen Mary Tudor died, and Elizabeth I ascended the English throne. Also on this date in 1603 Sir Walter Raleigh went on trial for treason and today in 1796 Catherine the Great of Russia died. This day was also terrible for the tango: on November 17, 1913, Kaiser Wilhelm in Germany banned the armed forces from dancing the tango.

  4. Thanks to give in Detroit.

  5. Detroit also has a coffee angel.

  6. The secret of contentment.

  Random photos from my file (and wow, rearrage the letters of file and you have life!):
  
  

  

  
  
  Have a thrilling Thursday, and wonderful weekend!

  ~Love Jen

  Technorati Tags: Margaret Thatcher, Prime Minister UK, The Iron Lady

• November 11, 2011
• 15:48

  The Wind and Leaves on Veterans Day

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  The wind, he wasn’t going to miss the parade. Swiftly, anticipating, as one enthusiastically awaits a spectacular homecoming, he gathered himself from the four corners and whirled in with the leaves. I saw him, I heard the whispers.

  “Honor, valor, true grit,” the murmurs grew louder, and I perceived it was the wind passing the message to the leaves. “Heroes!” The leaves, they came rushing as a ghost army of soldiers, crimson and scarlet, yellow and brown, colors of sorrow to greet their standing comrades, themselves fallen and buoyed only by the wind.

  The first wave of veterans marched down the main street, a strong one in the lead calling the marching cadence, “Sound-off, 1 – 2; Sound-off, 3 – 4.” The leaves curled with the rhythm of the call, and then suddenly, like footweary fighters, bowed before the veterans with a crackling applause.

  “Remember!” bellowed the wind, “it is but disgrace to forget.”

  “Glory!” rustled the leaves.

  Together came the chorus, “We’ve seen where they’ve been, the battles they’ve won, how heavy the gun, carry on, carry on!”

  And with one great gust, the wind bore the corps of fallen leaves past the procession of perseverance, into the distance, seeking another band to honor.

  As he bid farewell, the wind called upon the flags to salute straight out, no star or stripe was hidden. “It was for this they fought,” he lastly hailed, and once more, “Remember!”
  

  Technorati Tags: Veterans Day

• November 07, 2011
• 15:38

  Thanking God for Mrs. Young

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  The wooden bench in the hallway, between the pot-bellied stove and the hanging ivy in a macramé plant holder, that was where I learned to love. With my skinny legs dangling almost to the worn linoleum and my green eyes hung down to avoid Mrs. Young, I studied the brown and orange geometric lines on the floor beneath my dirty tennies with intensity. I had picked out the shoes myself from the rack at Value Village in Tucson and now they were squeezing my toes and maybe my heart. Mrs. Young had placed me there on the bench and I burned with shame.

  Despite my anxious discomfort, this house was warm and safe, and the place to learn about how normal people do life. Like a plant engaged in phototropism, I found a light source and turned to it for survival.

  I was there for church, a house-church in my desert village, planted in that southeast corner of Arizona by Providence for my sustenance. I think now of Deuteronomy 8:15. “He led you through the vast and dreadful desert, that thirsty and waterless land, with its venomous snakes and scorpions. He brought you water out of hard rock.” This place was my water.

  Strings of memories wrap around this place like a large ball of twine, strong enough to tie a young sapling to a stake to steady it in the wind. Holy words were said there, pudgy old ladies in flowered dresses and bloated ankles served potluck meals, and I heard laughter. I cherished a few special sanctuaries as a child, the leafy branches of the poplar tree in my own yard, the flat roof top of our shed, and here too in this place, the swing in the side yard where I’d tuck my feet up under me to get away from the chickens or where I’d lazily rock and pretend I lived there.

  And there was Mrs. Young in front of me, the best mother I knew, her brown hair in a bun with gray wisps falling near her porcelain face. She and Mr. Young owned the general store about five miles down the dirt roads that criss-crossed the clay and dust, grasses and tumbleweeds, and sometimes I’d walk all the way there just to buy a Baby Ruth. A small group of girls, including myself, and a little Korean girl named Kim wearing the prettiest clothes of all and shiny black patent leather shoes, we’d all been playing after Sunday-School.

  And why, I don’t quite know, because I was the least of them all and thought so little of myself, but I had been terribly offensive that day, and perhaps I’d fallen victim to that psychology of only liking what is “similar to me,” and in fact in my tiny homogeneous community I’d never known anyone before who wasn’t white like me.

  “You are not being very nice, young lady!” Mrs. Young had seen it all, heard the words, noticed the hurt, and pulled me aside there to the bench. I was ablaze with honest shame because it was all so dreadfully true. I wasn’t nice, and I didn’t like her daughter, and I had actually said to the brown girl, “you can’t play with us.”

  The best mother stood over me and spoke to me privately about her daughter, an adopted Korean girl with impossibly thick black hair, smooth brown skin, and small dark eyes that held all of Seoul. Mrs. Young told me where her Kim came from, that she was just like me, and though very few words were said, something in her voice seared my soul about the dignity of each human life. She asked me to apologize.

  I embraced that other little brown girl. She soon, almost instantly, became my first best friend, a treasure. I spent many nights at her house, and we were just two little girls with dreams, and we’d give each other a head massage as we sleepily talked about the possibilities out there in the great big world. She wanted to be a gymnast. I thought the circus sounded fun. We ate spicy kimchi at her house and dressed up in kimonos. Mrs. Young told me how much Kim wished for hair like mine, and I told my sisters I wanted to be Korean.

  If you never have a best friend you can’t learn about things like keeping secrets, writing notes with bubble letters and hearts, sharing those silly glances when you have a crush. You learn that girlhood is universal no matter what your race or religion or social status. Sometimes you get hurt, too, like the time in 7th grade when I moved away for a year and after I came back, Kim had a new best friend. Things were not the same, and a year later, Kim moved away to California.

  But I thank God for Mrs. Young and that holy bench, and this lesson in love.

  Beloved, let us love another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. I John 4:7

  (to be continued)
  

  Technorati Tags: childhood, faith, friendship, God, love

• November 04, 2011
• 17:43

  To honor when it isn’t fair

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  Our paths connected through our children and so I didn’t expect to be sitting there talking about our mothers. Kelly is one of those rare, faithful confidantes who is an exceptional blessing to know, the kind who sees you through weary, complicated trials and you shake your head sometimes marveling at the loyalty and wondering how you gained such a friend.

  Behind me a sheet of water was eternally cascading down an ornamental fountain. The small café was cozy with warm colored walls, burnt yellows and cinnamon, just big enough for a dozen or so comfortable patrons. I was late to our breakfast appointment and greeted her with a hung head. She laughed at me and was thankful I had still come.

  

  “How are the kids? And your mom?” Kelly’s inquiring brown eyes searched out the answer, glossy auburn locks falling perfectly past her shoulders, and I remembered I hadn’t applied a spot of make-up in my hurry.

  The waitress offered the special, eggs Benedict with Hollandaise lime sauce and cooked pears over sourdough, or something along those lines, I couldn’t remember but ordered it anyway. I squinted at her hard, trying to recall just where it was the previous day I’d seen her. It came to me, it was the library. Her son brushed past mine, my freckled boy who clutched the Scooby-Doo video in his little hands, utterly cheered to find it there, finally. This mother with son at the library – I’m always so happy to see mothers with children at the library, it’s my strange joy. And her son wanted that video, too, and he squalled to his tall, blonde and beautiful mother, “It’s not fair!”

  And those were the very words I painfully expressed to Kelly over coffee and breakfast platters, just as petulant as that child. Why should I have to take care of my mother? She barely took care of me, I practically raised myself, and it wasn’t fair, and sadly it was only at the end of the meal I considered my unforgiveness.

  It happened that some years after I met Kelly, her mother moved in with her, too, and like mine, has degenerative brain problems. She’s forgotten how to comb her hair and take a walk. Her conversation has dwindled to “no.” Kelly gracefully chided me with, “At least yours talks.”

  

  And grace it is that I need at this moment, and the compassionate forbearance of mercy. I know it. I know it by its absence. I know it by the tightness in my chest when she walks into a room. Oh, grace to cleanse my irritated soul. The way she shuffles, asks again what day it is, tells me she forgot how to whistle, burps at the table, a thousand ways that need grace.

  I mourn that I’m not doing this well. I mourn that my own children observe my lack of grace and mercy, because one day, they may need to draw on it.

  Kelly explained how she came by new grace for her mother. “Last time,” she shared, speaking of her mom’s prior six-month stay, “it was really hard and I was always frustrated.” But then she returned from retrieving her mom from a sibling who shares the care-taking, and here sensitivity laced Kelly’s every word. The mother she knew had never a hair out of place and things ordered just so, but now her hair was stringy and unkempt, her clothes ill-fitting, and her exercise unattended to. Sometimes it is seeing the indifference in others that provokes us to tenderness.

  “Is that honoring to my mother?” Kelly had asked herself with renewed humanity.

  Those words tumbled around my head. Honoring. The sheets of water continued to course behind my chair, molecule after molecule, and I wanted to jump right in and wash away the vexation, the impatience, the anger. Could I replace those insipid characters with esteem, respect, appreciation, love? And how? One molecule at a time by the grace of God.

  

  Is it fair that Jesus died for sinful me? Is it fair that I don’t deserve his grace but receive it freely and abundantly? I guess fairness really can’t be part of this equation, but forgiveness, yes, to forgive as I have been forgiven. And that will be another story, my friends.

  He has show you, O mortal, what is good.
  And what does the Lord require of you?
  To act justly and to love mercy
  and to walk humbly with your God.
  Micah 6:8

  Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you. Ephesians 4:32

  Technorati Tags: alzheimers, caretaking, dementia, family life, God, grace

• November 02, 2011
• 11:07

  The House of the Lord on the Ocean

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  The day he taught her to surf was a beautiful day with slate-gray waves pushing up arcs just her size and sun and wind offering competing comforts. She, so brave, he, so proud. And me, just so content to watch the unfolding of a love transferred.

  We talk often about the future and where we’ll live and how we’ll live, as if we really have the freedom to make our lives what we want. And always, the ocean comes up. He wonders if it’s just childhood nostalgia, a deep longing for the simple, but a deep so elusive one wonders, was it real?

  The mighty waves call “come ride with me,” and awaken something unutterable and eternal. The two push out there, and then she comes gliding in with a smile and flicker that tells me she’s been captivated, too, as deep calls unto deep.

  The voice of the Lord is over the waters; the God of glory thunders, the Lord thunders over the mighty waters. ~ Psalm 29:3

  The house of the Lord is all around, they entered it there, so real in the surf, and it’s here too in my desert, and may I dwell in his house all the days of my life, may I notice the beauty of the Lord as I seek Him in his temple.

  Technorati Tags: childhood, family life, Oregon Coast, Psalms, surfing

• October 27, 2011
• 10:29

  It’s like going into a strip bar and being offended by nudity.

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  It’s a Catholic University, for God’s sake. Really, it’s for God’s sake. And Muslims who CHOOSE of their own free will to pay lots of money and attend this Catholic religious educational institution, are now complaining and filed a 60 page complaint with the D.C. Office of Human Rights against Catholic University in Washington, D.C. for violating their “human rights” by not providing them with special prayer rooms that are devoid of any Christian symbols such as the cross.

  I would love to think this was a joke. Or at least that it was some mentally unbalanced fringe character who filed the lawsuit. But no (or maybe yes), it was an attorney and professor at George Washington University who filed the complaint. The Office of Human Rights expects the investigation to take as long as six months. It should take six seconds: it’s a private Catholic University, assimilate or go to a Muslim school or a government school. And then let’s talk about how you feel about a Christian church in Mecca.

  It’s like going to the Louvre and filing a complaint that there is not a single room in the entire museum that is devoid of art. Or like going to La Scala and being offended that singing filled the entire opera house. Or like watching the World Series and being offended by the balls.

  *my title comes from a comment on this article~thanks, Timothy in Georgia

• October 25, 2011
• 14:22

  Two-Hundred-Proof Grace

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  We could have been at a mountain distillery in Scotland, and indeed, my sister Nancy had just returned from a month in that lush, green country and deposited this array of single malt Scotch whiskies on my dining room table. She regaled us til past midnight with stories of the Highlands and its clannish folks, along with histories of each distillery, some centuries old, which produce one of Scotland’s finest gifts from her unparalleled mountain springs. Nancy spoke of oak casks and aging and proofs and I delighted in the mere names on the bottles.

  And so I thought of this visit with my sister when I read this bit about two-hundred-proof grace and one man who found it:

  The Reformation was a time when men went blind, staggering drunk because they had discovered, in the dusty basement of late medievalism, a whole cellarful of fifteen-hundred-year-old, two-hundred-proof grace—of bottle after bottle of pure distillate of Scripture, one sip of which would convince anyone that God saves us single-handedly. The word of the gospel—after all those centuries of trying to lift yourself into heaven by worrying about perfection—suddenly turned out to be a flat announcement that the saved were home before they started…Grace has to be drunk straight: no water, no ice, and certainly no ginger ale; neither goodness, nor badness, nor flowers that bloom in the spring of super spirituality could be allowed to enter in. ~ Robert Farrar Capon

  I saw that quote yesterday and so my mind began throbbing about grace. I considered how my sister’s Scotch was proof enough with just a whiff to convince me of its power and how just a taste sent my nagging cold into oblivion, and wasn’t grace good medicine, too, especially for ailments of the conscience?

  And then today, as the Lord would have it, I got to follow up on Martin Luther’s wild discovery, uncovering, about that grace. A radio show this morning told the story about the day Luther was conducting his very first Mass (still in the Roman Catholic church, and before his crisis of faith that led to the Reformation). His father, bursting with pride over his son, who he really wanted to be a lawyer, but at least now he had an official vocation, invited his closest business associates to the momentous event.

  Martin Luther executed the mass flawlessly, up until the point where he was to pray over the bread and wine, to supernaturally intercede for it to become the actual body and blood of Christ. And then, in what his father hoped to be Martin’s finest moment, Luther froze. He opened his mouth to speak and not a word came forth. He trembled. Sweat beaded down his face. Another priest had to take his place.

  Luther’s father pulled him aside afterward to express his agonizing disappointment, and really, because he was humiliated in front of his important friends. Luther, ever the man to feel the full guilt of his humanity, but so deeply aware of Christ’s presence, was only able to say (something along the lines of), “But, I was holding Jesus in my hands!” He was terror-struck at the thought of the majesty and justice of a holy God right there in his hands, his own sinful hands, and could not go on.

  Who am I that I should lift up mine eyes or raise my hands to the divine majesty? For I am dust and ashes and full of sin, and I am speaking to the living, eternal and true God. ~ Luther

  And what does this have to do with grace? Because Luther so desperately himself needed grace, because he literally could not function without it, as evidenced by this terrifying experience in his first Mass in which grace alone could stand between him and a holy God, though he hadn’t yet grasped that, because of this and so much more, Luther found a way to grace.

  He was condemned as a heretic, but he had found grace.

  Faith is a living, daring confidence in God’s grace, so sure and certain that a man could stake his life on it a thousand times. ~ Luther

  And what are we to do with this gift of two-hundred-proof grace? Accept it, for it was prepared for us and done before the foundation of the world, and is already ours for the taking, and isn’t it just ridiculous to leave a gift unopened under the tree?

  

  This is Part III of my study on Romans 12:3-8, just a look at grace in this post, because as Martin Luther preached in his Preface to the Letter of St. Paul to the Romans:

  
  

  To begin with, we have to become familiar with the vocabulary of the letter and know what St. Paul means by the words law, sin, grace, faith, justice, flesh, spirit, etc. Otherwise there is no use in reading it. ~ Luther

  And here is Part I and Part II.
  
  

  Technorati Tags: faith, grace, Martin Luther, Scotch whiskey

• October 23, 2011
• 14:45

  Many Members, One Body

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  [This is Part II of a series on Romans 12:3-8. Part I is here.]

  Just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. Romans 12:4-5

  Part I: Many members and functions; one body.

  Unity in diversity is the beautiful picture here. Both physically and spiritually, many parts make up the whole. Each unique, specific, necessary, and diverse part fits together to make one unified healthy whole. Without the eye to see the danger and relay it to the brain which tells it to the feet which run, the whole body is in jeopardy. (see I Cor. 12:12-27)

  God’s purposes are sovereign…the diversity of gifts is necessary to accomplish His unified purpose.

  This is the DNA of all creation. Within the cosmos, the earth cannot say to the sun, “I don’t need you,” or to the moon, “please move other there.” No, our very existence would cease; it must be precisely as God ordained, and He calls it “good,” as when He marveled at the diversity of creation in the very beginning.

  There is only one body. Not two or three. Haven’t we all learned through trials that it’s critical to the health of the whole body that we not take up any offenses, feel like we don’t fit in, and look for some other body? Our enemy is skilled at setting up counterfeit bodies, like cults or gangs, that mimic some of the good “belonging” feelings of the one true body of Christ and so ensnare the unsuspecting or the weak, but are actually dangerously unhealthy. Our membership has only one place to be redeemed and that is in Christ.

  “…and these members do not all have the same function…” And oh, the trouble in keeping the parts where they belong! My kids used to be silly with Mr. Potato Head and stick an ear where an eye should go or feet on top of his head. Do you recall the Mr. Potato Head character in Toy Story? He was a jealous, rude, and unfriendly character — precisely our traits when we wish we were mouths instead of hands or feet instead of eyes. May we rejoice in our distinct giftings with humility and understanding.

  Part II: Each member belongs to all.

  We are mutually dependent on one another. How can we really, humbly know that our gifts are not for any selfish purpose or display, but always for the good of the whole? We have a profound interconnectedness by which we need each other, even the meekest contribution.

  It’s no wonder that the section of Romans directly following this passage on gifts is all about love, as that is the key:

  Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one another in brotherly love. Honor one another above yourselves. Romans 12:9-10

  To love sincerely is to accomplish this “belonging to” with grace and triumph.

  A pastor once told it this way:

  “A number of years ago I fell and injured my wrist rather severely. It swelled up and got very painful. And the rest of my body felt so bad about it that it sat up all night to keep it company. That is what the body of Christ is to do when one member is hurt.”

  We see a moving demonstration of how “each member belongs to all the others” from Christ on the cross as he utters in one of his last moments:

  When Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved, standing nearby, he said to his mother, “Dear woman, here is your son,” and to the disciple, “here is your mother.” From that time on, this disciple took her into his home. John 19:26-27

  To know that within Jesus’ dying words was this request to live out our Christian experience in fellowship with one another and caring for one another as if they were our very own flesh and blood (and oh, the beauty of His provision for his mother) ~ this is another gift from the cross. Each member belongs to all.

  Find out how much God has given you and from it take what you need; the remainder is needed by others. ~ Augustine

  Jesus, we praise you for the privilege of membership in your body, each of us different members. We ask for your grace to keep us functioning exactly as you designed. Help us to honor one another as though we each belonged to the other. Amen.
  

  Technorati Tags: Body of Christ, Romans 12:4-5, spiritual gifts

• October 14, 2011
• 11:41

  Beware the secondhand stress!

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  “Beware the secondhand stress!” Practicing patience today with my children. I grew up inhaling secondhand smoke every single day thanks to my dad, and I’m terrified I’ll die of lung cancer, but maybe secondhand stress is just as deadly for children?

  As Kevin DeYoung points out in this insightful article titled Children and Secondhand Stress, research has shown that it’s not the parents’ ability to make their children feel loved or appreciated that’s the problem…it’s the anger.

  It’s Mom or Dad with a short fuse of patience because what they’re really worried about is how to pay the bills or make the dinner or find the time to do everything they’re juggling, and it’s overwhelming to the point of explosions of stress that shower down on the children, wounding like sharp bits of shrapnel that never really get removed.

  The interesting thing about blast injuries that involve shrapnel is that the deadlier physical trauma actually occurs from blast overpressure, or shock waves. Especially when the explosion occurs in a confined space. External injuries aren’t evident, but inside? Lungs can be collapsing, hearts can be bleeding, brains can be swelling.

  Really. It’s that deadly. We should be more intentional about removing stress triggers in our family life.

  Maybe we schedule fewer family activities that require the hurry and rush that inevitably causes stress. Are there other ways to simplify our lives, like downsizing and eliminating things that cost more, so there’s less financial demand on the parents? Maybe take time at the beginning of each week to schedule meals so the family dinner isn’t a grab-n-go scramble, but a thoughtful and peaceful event?

  The next time I’m driving down our gravel road late for life and spilling out my anger and stress-laced piercings on those absorbent souls, I hope I remember my dad’s old Ford rumbling down Havasu Way, a trail of dust pluming into the Arizona sky behind us rivaled only by his toxic smoke irreversibly penetrating my lungs. And I will pause, pull over if necessary, roll down the windows, and breathe slow.

  If we’ve blown it, parents?

  Pray. Always pray. Both alone and together. Ask forgiveness. Hold tight one another. Breathe fresh clean air and listen. And make the necessary course corrections.

  Blessings on us all as we pursue peace and patience.

  This you know, my beloved brethren. But everyone must be quick to hear, slow to speak and slow to anger; for the anger of man does not achieve the righteousness of God. James 1:19-20
  

  Technorati Tags: faith, family life, simplifying, stress

• October 07, 2011
• 11:58

  For by the grace given me

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  For by the grace given me I say to every one of you: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the measure of faith God has given you. Romans 12:3

  This verse precedes an amazing section of scriptures in which Paul lists several gifts (charismata), gifts of grace freely given by God for the benefit of the whole body of Christ. I’ve always hastened over this verse that begins the introduction to the gifts, but I’d like to take a closer look.

  Part I: For by the grace given me

  Before Paul speaks this word of warning and instruction, he notes that he’s only speaking “by the grace” given to him. Might we also, before we speak words into someone else’s life, be sure the words are foremost given in grace?

  And then I noticed this other thing about “for by the grace” –over there in Galations 2:9, Paul has a word about this grace:

  James, Peter and John, those reputed to be pillars, gave me and Barnabas the right hand of fellowship when they recognized the grace given to me.

  We are called to recognize the grace giftings of our brothers and sisters in Christ. Grace in this sense means a special endowment that brings responsibility for service. Paul is adamant that his apostleship be recognized by his fellow believers, and always he points to Christ as his authority to exhort and instruct them. And didn’t Paul know the consequences of opposing this call to acknowledge the God-given grace at work in a believer? {His letter to the Galations reveals that the gospel gets perverted otherwise, and that is a whole other study.}

  I will be looking for the grace in you.

  

  Part II: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought

  As I investigate more deeply this call to humility, I find something intriguing about its connection to grace (what I will call grace-gifting in this context).

  I read in 1 Peter 5:5-6 to clothe yourselves with humility toward one another because

  God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.

  And then,

  Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time.

  If we are proud, vain, conceited, thinking about our own greatness, I believe we’re in danger of not receiving, or losing, our grace-giftings, as this grace is reserved only for the humble.

  Paul knew something powerful about this relationship between humility and grace-gifts. It is Paul who continually (and in true modesty) proclaimed himself the “chief of sinners” and “the least of the apostles.” Apostleship was bestowed upon him by the grace of God and he knew it, he knew it wasn’t of himself.

  If we could know it, too, that self-pride and grace-giftings cannot reside together in our hearts, we would be so powerfully moving in our gifts and a tremendous blessing to the Body of Christ.

  

  Part III: In accordance with the measure of faith God has given you

  Our measure of faith is critical to this whole process of our calling to exercise our gifts. It seems there are different measures of faith. As Paul states in Romans 12:6, we have different gifts, and the various measures of faith needed to carry out these gifts is a gift itself. We need to know our measure of faith and act accordingly.

  Dangers lie on both ends, both in underestimating our faith and in overestimating our faith.

  To underestimate our faith can lead to spiritual laziness, and can be likened to the man who buries his talent. He neglected the abilities God gave him, out of fear, and do you remember? It was taken away from him and given to the one who showed himself wise in the use of gifts.

  To overestimate the faith God has measured to us is equally dangerous. Perhaps we’ll try to serve in ways God hasn’t prepared us for. Maybe we’ll be sidetracked from our true purpose. We may find ourselves walking into situations we naively or pridefully think we’re equipped to manage and find ourselves floundering. Or maybe we become like the clay who says to the potter, “what are you making?”

  To exercise your grace-giftings exactly in accordance with the measure of faith God has given you, though? That is effective, life-giving stuff that benefits the entire body of Christ.

  

  Jesus, we praise you for the privilege of your grace, we ask for your help in keeping us bowed low before you, to have a correct view of ourselves. What an honor to be faith-filled believers in your service, and help us to always embrace our gifts in accordance with that faith, for the good of the Body and to your glory. Amen.

  [Part II of the Romans 12:3-8 series is here: Many Members, One Body.]

  {visit the Christian Blog Carnival for more great posts}
  

  Technorati Tags: faith, grace, humility, Romans 12:3, spiritual gifts

• September 28, 2011
• 9:17

  Hope Renewed

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  Those who hope in the LORD
  will renew their strength.
  They will soar on wings like eagles;
  they will run and not grow weary,
  they will walk and not be faint. (Isaiah 40:31).

  “Your pace will change from a sprint to a marathon,” she counseled. These words brought immense hope to my soul on the heels of a few exhausting years that did indeed feel like the 50-yard dash on replay every hour of my day.

  The thought of a marathon panics some, but its pace is slower, steadier than the sprint, and yes, we still have a race to run, but perhaps it didn’t have to kill me?

  I had been waiting for this comfort, and many translations in fact interpret the words “hope in the Lord” as “wait on the Lord.”

  Following a difficult circumstance that involved condemnation, emotional pain, all my own irresponsible and naive decisions, and despair of such magnitude I thought I might die of it, I discovered the truth that those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.

  This renewal of strength is conditional of course, as all of God’s promises are, on a decision I had to make: would I hope in the Lord? If so, then I could soar with the wings of an eagle! I could run and not grow weary! I could walk and not be faint! These are miracles, all humanly impossible, for who among us can sprout wings or never tire or feel faint after endless movement?

  I remember praying to God to make me invisible. For the first two weeks after this situation erupted, I couldn’t leave my house (except for the picking up of the raw fragments of it all), held there by my own almost manic despair.

  My husband did the shopping, errands, and all necessary functions of life as I half-lived, my movements like a lizard’s tail that moves after it’s been dropped from the body. When finally I did have the strength to make one small trip to the store, I got through it by praying, “Lord, please let people miraculously look right through me. Make me invisible. I can’t handle the bitter words.” I yet had no hope and felt no grace.

  I lived for a long time in fear and mistrust, which may be the antithesis of hope. Fear of never recovering, mistrust of the intentions of everyone, afraid of sleeping, for then the shadow of death settled in. And then came the period of the sprinting, sometimes running hard to prove I was something, sometimes running hard just to get away. I was wounded too much to hope, I thought. I couldn’t speak and I was mute and knew no one and no one knew me.

  I lived in the Psalms during the dark days as in no other season of my life. In fact, I believe I never before even remotely had an emotional connection with the Psalms, with the pursuit of enemies, the sheer agony of despair that David cries out about. I never before needed Hope like I needed it during those years. I cried out to the Lord out of the brokenness of my spirit as I had never before cried. I could almost physically feel my mind splintering.

  And behold, this hell is the very best opportunity to experience Hope, though who would want to live in these dark David-like caves? But who was called a man after God’s own heart?

  “Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall.” These words precede the promise in Isaiah 40:31. In my own strength and youth (immaturity), I was weary and had utterly fallen. I needed Hope.

  It took time, but gradually I re-entered normalcy as best I could, and bit by bit He renewed my strength. I would still be in that cave were it not for this promise of God: Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. God-sent friends thoroughly loved me through these months and years, believed in me, lifted me up, and indeed still lift me up, like the wise woman who shared the gift about the marathon. I clung to His Word. I was as the deer who panted for water.

  Biblical hope is powerful and mighty to save. This hope is an expectation that positively, absolutely the thing will come to pass. The hope we’re waiting for is always God’s salvation, both His eternal salvation and the salvation we need in the daily moments of life. It’s beyond me, yet I must actively participate.

  I found that Hope required me to move. I wanted to lie in bed in my despair but it was in the rising up, pursuing Him through prayer, worship, and meditation upon the Word, that Hope changed me.

  Hope renews, and I’m also learning that it’s a daily renewal. Hope yesterday was for that day. Today? I need it fresh. Because sometimes, I still hear a graceless word and want to crawl in a cave and am overcome by fear and mistrust.

  As Vincent McNabb, Irish scholar and priest, once said, “Hope is some extraordinary spiritual grace that God gives us to control our fears, not to oust them.” I pray daily for that special grace to have Hope for the day, for new wings and fresh feet.

  {A very special thanks to Anita at Dreaming Beneath the Spires who first invited me to write on this topic.}

  And sharing today with Ann at A Holy Experience, as she also explores Hope.

  

  Technorati Tags: faith, God, Hope, Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength

• September 14, 2011
• 19:44

  île flottante and more

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  In the kitchen with Elise tonight, it’s Quiche Lorraine, une salade, and les baguettes, followed by the fabulous île flottante (which is sort of a ball of meringue floating in a sea of custard). How did I get so lucky? And why does she leave so soon?

  
  Tomorrow, we head to Eugene to show her the University of Oregon, then it’s on up to Portland to stay the night with friends so the early morning trip to the airport the following day isn’t so tiresome. It’s been fantastique, our time together. I found a wonderful American friend for Elise, too. When you’re a young girl exploring cultures, this is a dream come true! I love being a match-maker! Now, I just wait for the time when I get to visit her in France.

  I told Elise about the time when I was around her age and had the opportunity to be an au pair for a family in Besançon, a city in the northeast of France at the foothills of the Jura Mountains and near the Swiss border. I shortly thereafter met my future husband and cancelled the job and the opportunity of a lifetime, which is unknown to a young girl at the time who just worries about whether he’ll be there when she gets back. I’m so proud of her, and perhaps a bit envious, for getting out there and doing what is not so simple and unfettered a thing to do once you’re married and have children. Oh, I’m so happy I stayed back and married my husband, and someday I will have another opportunity. However, I generally counsel the youth I work with or come in contact with to just go. Really, if that boy truly loves you, he’ll still be there.

  I have a French Bible which I’d love to give Elise, and I’m wondering about that. It’s a little book I’ve had for at least 20 years, and once in a while I’ll read it to practice my French. I’ve so far avoided direct discussion of my faith and her lack of faith. I’ve prayed, wondered, and haven’t sensed the time is right. During Elise’s previous visit, we spoke often on issues of God and Christianity, and she’s mentioned just once this visit, during a discussion of her boyfriend, about her disbelief in God. I didn’t press. Just prayed. Perhaps I’ll tuck it in her bag with a note, would she consider God?

  La cuisine beckons, so je suis aller!

  Recipe for île flottante

  Ingredients
  2 1/2 cups sugar, divided
  1 cup water, divided
  1 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract, divided
  1 1/2 cups (5 ounces) sliced almonds
  8 extra-large egg whites, at room temperature
  1/8 teaspoon kosher salt
  1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar
  Creme Anglaise, recipe follows

  Directions
  Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

  For the caramel, heat 1 1/2 cups of the sugar and 1/2 cup water in a small, heavy-bottomed saucepan until the sugar dissolves. Cook over medium heat until the syrup turns a warm caramel color. Don’t stir, just swirl it in the pan. Off the heat, add 1/2 cup water and 1/2 teaspoon of the vanilla; be careful, the syrup will bubble violently. Stir and cook over high heat until the caramel reaches 230 degrees F (thread stage) on a candy thermometer. Set aside.

  For the praline, combine the almonds with 1/4 cup of the caramel and spread them on a sheet pan lined with parchment paper. Bake for 10 to 12 minutes, until the almonds are lightly browned. Allow to cool at room temperature and then break up in pieces.

  Lower the oven to 250 degrees F. Line 2 sheet pans with parchment paper.

  For the meringues, beat the egg whites, salt, and cream of tartar in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment on medium speed until frothy. Turn the mixer on high speed and add the remaining 1 cup of sugar. Beat until the egg whites are very stiff and glossy. Whisk in the remaining teaspoon of vanilla. With dessert spoons place 12 mounds of meringue on the parchment paper and bake for 20 minutes, or until a cake tester comes out clean.

  For serving, pour creme anglaise on the bottom of individual plates. Place a meringue on top of each serving, drizzle with caramel sauce, sprinkle with praline, and serve.

  To make a day or two ahead, leave the caramel and praline at room temperature and refrigerate the creme anglaise. Bake the meringues before guests arrive and assemble the desserts just before serving.

  Creme Anglaise:

  4 extra-large egg yolks

  1/2 cup sugar

  1 teaspoon cornstarch

  1 3/4 cups scalded milk

  1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

  1 1/2 teaspoons Cognac

  Seeds of 1/2 vanilla bean, optional

  Beat the egg yolks and sugar in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment on medium-high speed for 3 minutes, or until very thick. Reduce to low speed, and add the cornstarch.

  With the mixer still on low, slowly pour the hot milk into the eggs. Pour the custard mixture into a saucepan and cook over low heat, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon, until thickened. The custard will coat the spoon like heavy cream. Don’t cook it above 180 degrees For the eggs will scramble!

  Pour the sauce through a fine strainer, add the vanilla extract, Cognac, and vanilla seeds, if using, and chill.

  Yield: 2 cups

  Technorati Tags: French cooking, ile flottante, family life, France

• August 23, 2011
• 23:25

  Preparing for Elise: Partie Deux (or, hosting a foreign exchange student)

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  Elise arrives next week from France! Her presence always creates a pleasant stir, a certain je ne sais quoi, an excitement of the exotic and faraway lands–and of course, a nervous energy on my part as I prepare for her once again.

  The first time around, four years ago when Elise was fourteen, I worried about having her room just so, I squawked about in French trying to improve my language skills real quick like, I fretted over the menu, I positively wrecked myself over itinerary. I’ve since learned, after hosting several foreign students, and especially with Elise, that:

  1) my home is a grotesque mansion, our cars are monstrosities, they are used to small and simple in the villages–do not worry about the room;

  2) I needn’t worry about my French, their English is better than my French and they want to speak English, that’s why they’re here;

  3) they will cook for you and show off their amazing culinary skills, nearly always, if it’s a girl in a home with a smart French mother, so do not worry about the menu and bring on the île flottante;

  4) just living with an American family in la vie quotidienne is all they really want–everyday life. Special trips to the beach, museum, or the deepest lake in your state (and the whole U.S. for that matter) are just bonus. They may even want to work during their stay with you to earn some extra cash, and my experience with Europeans so far has been that they are quite industrious and hardworking.

  And then there’s this. How to handle politics and religion? She is liberal atheist, I am conservative Christian. Our differences made for some interesting discussions last time. I love her so, and I love her country, and want for her to intimately know the love of God and the miracle of salvation in Christ, and surely the Lord’s merciful hand is upon her return here.

  I will speak only as the Holy Spirit leads, and love a lot. I’m not backing down to avoid a conflict, I think I’ve just learned a lot about the French postmodern culture since she first came, and I need to be deeply prayerful about, and educate myself about, how to represent Jesus Christ to the postmodern.

  The French hand towels Elise brought as a gift on that first visit are still used daily in my kitchen, and I pray as I dry my hands and a dish, Lord, how can she know objective truth? How to present one crucified and risen Savior, when the very thought of only one and utterly necessary is offensive?

  And pray for us, too, that God may open a door for our message, so that we may proclaim the mystery of Christ, for which I am in chains. Pray that I may proclaim it clearly, as I should. Be wise in the way you act toward outsiders; make the most of every opportunity. Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone. Colossians 4:3-6

  I’ll be driving to the airport in Portland a week from now, and would you pray for me if it comes to mind? And for Elise? We’ll all have so much fun, she’ll teach us new songs and folk dances and read French fairy tales to the children again, I’m sure. I’ll correct her English because she asks me to, and play chef in the kitchen with her and instruct her about American measures, and she’ll have many questions. And the things of eternity will swirl around, and oh that I will be always full of grace and seasoned with salt, knowing how to answer.

  Technorati Tags: education, family life, France, God, hosting foreign exchange student, postmodern culture

• August 18, 2011
• 11:26

  Life in a picture frame

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  I visited Jane yesterday, stepping carefully over oxygen tubes and scattered papers in response to her call to please come by, she had a painting to give me. She worked with oils 25 years ago, and her days closing in like her lungs, wanted me to have this Hopi Indian Woman canvas. Her only son didn’t want it.

  “Promise me you’ll put it in a fancy frame.”

  Of course I will, I assured her with all true grace mixed with deep knowing. It’s not all together attractive, but it’s like her very soul that she wants well remembered after she’s gone. “Don’t you love the deep purples and blues?” she wanted to know.

  Don’t I want my life put up in a fancy frame, too, and hope my children would think it beautiful?

  

• August 12, 2011
• 10:41

  Beauty: Five Minute Friday

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  The deep burnt red coffee mug I sipped from just now, a swallow of hot, smooth brew, is my favorite. It’s beautiful; a thank-you gift from a friend, it held a bag of quality chocolates on the day it was given. A school year’s end, a child well taught, another chapter closed and a new one to begin. The beauty of life lived together.

  This mug I reach for every morning, its gentle curve of a handle makes exactly half a heart; I hold a half, another holds the rest. Is this how it is? Yes, this makes life beautiful, this willingness to have half a heart, to be made complete in relationship with another; a spouse, a sister, a friend, a daughter, and ultimately, the One who created all hearts.

  

  From Gypsy-Mama, a writing prompt:

  Want to take five minutes with me and share what you found? Want to just write without worrying if it’s just right or not. Here’s how we do it:

  1. Write for 5 minutes flat with no editing, tweaking or self critiquing.

  2. Link back here and invite others to join in {you can grab the button code in her right side bar}

  3. Go and tell the person who linked up before you what their words meant to you. Every writer longs to feel heard.

  OK, are you ready? Give me your best five minutes for the prompt:

  Beauty…

  Technorati Tags: Five Minute Friday, beauty, God

• August 09, 2011
• 23:22

  Fair Time!

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  It was county fair time last week, and the kids and I quietly gathered a few items to exhibit in the open class…just for fun.

  A few of my photographs…this first one, such a sweet little duckling, and such a sad story! My dear friend Linda, my country neighbor…her little son called me up several weeks ago, entreating us all to come and see! the baby ducks had been born! We all just oohed and ahed at the darlings, hiding there under the mama. It was hot, and a tray of water had been set out for them to wade in. Somehow, no one quite knows how, every one of the six ducklings drowned two days after this picture. I’ll frame this for Linda.
  

  This old fence, like any other country fence, its splintered wood and barbed wire marking a boundary, just captured me. Who twisted those wires way back before rust took hold? What was this barrier keeping in or keeping out?
  

  Did you grow up looking forward to the fair? For me it was the Cochise County Fair in Douglas, Arizona when I was very young. You must know about the cotton candy, cowboy hats and rodeo, happy music, dizzying rides, the earthy smell of livestock, colorful people? Oh, I loved it, and also that long, quiet ride home, all exhausted from that spun out endless day, sleepy eyes on the black sky with twinkling stars, one with my name, and if I turned my head back I could still see the fireworks exploding against that great dark canopy above.

  My last year there, I brought my 4-H lamb. There under the bluest sky with those classic Arizona clouds, little white puffs that went on forever, I washed my lamb in the livestock pen, preparing for a final shear, adding to those little white puffs above. This was a market lamb, and this was time for goodbye, a goodbye to daily feedings, walkings, worrying about weight, wool, and bracing a lamb. I remembered when I chose this one, there at Diane’s place down the dusty road from me, and I had the last pick since I drew the shortest straw, but this was the best lamb for me, even though he escaped more than once to explore the tumbleweeds.

  My kids didn’t have animals to show this year, but perhaps next time. We submitted photographs, carvings, crafts, paintings, and joined the community of people that have been gathering for a century to show the best of their harvest and hands.

  Luke won a blue ribbon for his angry-browed, scar-faced, Victorian button-eyed bear.
  

  Josie won a second-place ribbon for her watercolor of a glass bottle. I was glad the judges overlooked the potential awkwardness of an eight-year-old painting a wine bottle, but she just loved the design on the label.
  

  Levi’s soap carving was fun, another second place. After learning how to do this at school, we spent a terrific summer day at the table slipping about in soap shavings, all the children armed with butter knives and Ivory, and Levi was the only one who could master this art. I remembered him telling his teacher, “I didn’t know I could do this.”
  
  Then there were the “crazy critters”–those healthy creatures carved from our very food, the cucumber shark, the apple swan, and the potato porcupine.
  

  

  

  Until next year, my fair friends.
  

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon, childhood, Cochise County Fair, country life, Deschutes County Fair, food art, photography

• August 02, 2011
• 19:20

  Stormy, Yellow Thoughts of Thunder and Puddles

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  The potbellied raindrops came thundering down, the cat hid under the bed, the dog barked at the booms, the kids danced all silly out there under umbrellas, and I was in awe. Don’t you love a good storm?

  The voice of the Lord is over the waters; the God of glory thunders. ~Psalm 29:3

  It was rolling out there last night and I couldn’t take my eyes off the yellow hue of the sky, the light spectrum showing off a new reflection. Now, yellow can have a lowly meaning, as in a yellow-bellied coward. But did you know that a pure, bright yellow is the easiest color to see and that some people blind to other colors can usually still see yellow? And yellow can also symbolize wisdom, intelligence, joy, creativity, and of course energy, as in the powerful energy source of the sun. Have you seen yellow after a storm?

  It’s His glory I hear in every rumble and His splendor I see in every strike of light. I do feel small at times like these, and wonder who am I that you are mindful of me?

  And then, suddenly, the sun broke through! If only you could have seen through the new lens that flipped, creating vivid, high-contrast shadows thrown long from the junipers, you’d beam and be in awe, too. Thunder still pealed in the distance, echoing a reminder from a far corridor that God’s voice thunders in marvelous ways and he does great things beyond our understanding (Job 37:5).

  Luke found a puddle in the midst of this, as all children do, his toes squishing the sticky earth as delighted as a rhino taking a mud bath, while rain pelted his enormous maroon and white umbrella, magnifying the sound of every drop to the decibel of a cannon. I did the same as a child, and would have wondered at any kid in my desert who didn’t like to jump puddles with face in the rain.

  Why is this so, this irresistible draw to these pools in the mud? Maybe we’re born to love this, some wild sense of freedom and power, and weren’t we born of the dirt anyway? That day when God scooped up a handful of soil from the ground, it must have been wet and moist, for in those days before the rain the water came from the depths. We all desire to know where we come from, and this was the beginning.

  And could it be there’s a sense in this small puddle of the child feeling so big it’s like walking on water? That’s what Jesus did in a storm–He walked on water, so I suppose it’s natural for us to long for the same.

  Today, there’s no trace of the storm. It fled fast across mountains and plains for new encounters, and I’m left with the reverberations in my head, and continued pondering of His displays of power. As Psalm 29 ends, after a vivid description of God in the storms, we’re told that “the Lord blesses his people with peace.”

  Peace to you~I love that it ends with peace.

  {Counting One Thousand Gifts~41-50}:

  ::thunderstorms::best friends::visiting sisters::tennis with child and grandma::chess with a friend::wildflowers picked for me::great coaches::boys learning football::catching crawdads::river play::

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon, childhood, counting blessings, country life, faith, family life, God, Psalm 29, puddles, thunderstorms

• July 21, 2011
• 11:07

  Sister Love, Brother Bear

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  “If my hair and face and shoes were like yours, then we’d be exactly alike!” Josie’s words gaily skipped across the once bumpy space between her and Jaime, flooding my senses with gratitude at this sister-love. After one sewed a dress for the other, the two girls had disappeared up to their room, returning quickly, arm-in-arm, wearing matching shirts and pants, a symbol of their hearts turned to one another. He who knit them both together in my womb smiled with me.

  

  
  The Day of Sewing was like magic, this enchanted day where sisters weren’t fighting, arms were for hugging, and needles were only for making something beautiful. It started the day before with a teenage babysitter who completely showed me up–and showed us a way toward love and bears.

  While my husband and I were out dining with old friends in a nearby town, the four children were left in the care of Abby, an able young girl who turned out to be more capable and skilled than I could have imagined. She was brave to take on the four kids and the grandmother who couldn’t remember names, dates, or pills, and little did she know she’d also be threading bobbins and teaching backstitching before the night was over.

  The sewing machine had sadly been consigned to the corner of my closet for a number of years, me too lazy to figure out why it wouldn’t stitch, and perhaps ungrateful for this thoughtful gift from my husband from a birthday past. The girls hauled it out when Abby came, their hopeful eyes begging the question, “Can you make it work?”

  “It just so happens I can,” was the happy reply.

  And so I came home to a mess of fabric scraps spilled across the walnut floor, machine whirring and bears stuffed with the most cheerful of hands. “Look, Mama! A teddy!” shrieked Luke as he thrust a skinny blue bear with white stuffing leaking from all sides toward my chest.

  
  

  The hour was late, the entire floor was swept into the oversized old red gift bag, and kids were soon ushered to bed. The miracle that unfolded the following day was bigger than all this.

  I left for an early doctor’s appointment the next morning, kids still in bed with my husband in command. Yet savoring the joy of the previous night, I had no thoughts of how the remnants of all that would sweetly hem in around the four.

  The Day of Sewing was in full swing when I cracked the door after my doctor visit. Both boys, both girls, all busy with patterns, cutting, sewing, stuffing. Their ages stack up at 6, 8, 10, 12, and they all stitched together with no attention paid to numbers or genders. I didn’t even need to convince the oldest boy that sewing was cool, and I had a great story ready, even.

  I told him about how the younger kids went on a field trip to the smoke-jumpers unit, and how they have a sewing room there because all the manly firemen who jump out of airplanes made their own uniforms there, their broad fingers running industrial machines for every task from a delicate parachute repair to building a thick pair of fire-resistant pants.

  The morning scene in my living room, that frenzy of strips of cloth and bolts of color and stitches whipping, was all about creation and reconciliation.

  

  My older girl can have a sharp tongue that pierces little hearts and my constant reminder to her about tone, words, kindness, seems nagging. She has some repair work to do (and don’t I, too), especially with her little sister. Josie loves dresses, and Jaime, not so much. But I watched as Jaime fitted the fabric for Jo, carefully considering what style her sister wanted, and the patience, oh the patience! It was redeeming.

  Stitch by stitch, their souls were being connected. Jaime held the fabric tight against Josie’s back, and her “Keep still, Jo,” hit just the right note of a big sister intent on being helpful and Josie received it with love.

  “Can I please wear this to town?” Josie pleaded. “No, it’s not done yet, you can wear it Sunday.” I was thrilled; she felt like Cinderella and Jaime was the fairy god-mother. It was shortly after this scene that the girls appeared in their matching t-shirts and pants.

  For the boys, I suppose anything involving a power-operated machine is enticing. Both made bears, pillows, pouches, and other oddities. Luke entered his Victorian-button-eyed sky blue bear in the upcoming county fair in the 6 and under division, and is prouder than a haute couture designer.

  
  

  The Day of Sewing was literally an all day activity, and something of His restoration was threading through the fabric of this family. Now I’m off to buy more sewing notions for the ravenous seamstresses and seamsters.

  {Thank you to Abby, who began to unravel it all.}

  The Practice of Love
  .
  

  Technorati Tags: art, childhood, faith, family life, dressmaking, sewing

• July 11, 2011
• 12:50

  The Miracle and Gift of Brotherhood

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  The brothers ran together, again together. These grown men with children of their own who now run together, up at the crack of dawn to reconnect the joy of boyhood that’s always down in the heart somewhere.

  We had watched the old home movies the night before, those captured bites of colored motion and time, my husband and his brothers as playful little boys in snowball fights and splashing wars and games with Grandpa.

  I heard the small clatter in the kitchen at 5:30 a.m. as the brothers stole a mini-breakfast before heading over to Smith Rock for the sunrise run with several hundred other brave early rising runners. I wanted to go, to see it myself and snap that photo at the finish line. But it was more than the early hour that kept me home. This moment was just for the brotherhood, this triangulation of boys that makes its own unique folk sound just like that metal instrument that sings when touched with the wand. The triangle can always beat the call to dinner later.

  Back home with stretched legs and aching calves, I saw the boys happy and accomplished and fulfilled. Next year at Smith Rock can be the call. Shouldn’t we all run this race together?

  After the run, we all, the brothers and families, headed out for a day full of fishing, swimming, sunning, and barbecue. The brothers’ children then had splashing wars and mudball fights and silly games at the lake.

  {Counting One Thousand Gifts~#31-40}:

  ::brothers running in the early morning::racing numbers::catching little bass and throwing them back::home movies 40 years old::the good family memories::little boy making mud trails on shore::little girl building princess castle of same mud::playing with cousins::grilling burgers::blowing out candles on the cake::

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  Technorati Tags: childhood, counting blessings, country life, Central Oregon, faith, family life, Smith Rock, One Thousand Gifts

• July 05, 2011
• 22:58

  The Toothpaste Story

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  I hastily wiped my dripping hands on the red flowered towel hanging askew from the oven door and answered the commanding ring of the phone.

  “Hi, this is Jasmine, can I talk to Jaime?” trilled the young voice, obviously experienced in phone-calling.

  My kids aren’t phone-talkers yet, and at ten, I’m not ready for my daughter to jump into the world of wireless communication. After a brief hello, Jaime queried, “What did you call for?” because she’s not accustomed to this way, and surely one only calls if one has a question or certain purpose? Jasmine hesitated only a moment, it seemed, and I learned later she had phoned simply out of boredom.

  “I just got done making toothpaste,” Jaime offered. I heard the confusion on the other end as one of our many family peculiarities was revealed. Jaime had come to me several days ago complaining that every time she brushed her teeth, her eyes were watery and stinging. “I must be allergic to toothpaste,” she surmised.

  Being the independent, thinking person she is, Jaime set out on a quest to discover a perfectly natural toothpaste that would leave her with clean teeth and clear eyes. Tom’s of Maine seemed to give rise to no problems, so I suggested she make a list of every ingredient in the standard Crest versus the Tom’s. What was Tom’s missing that the other had? She couldn’t figure it out. I was sure it was the sodium lauryl sulfate, but was surprised to see that the Tom’s of Maine variety she used actually did have that ingredient.

  Coincidentally, The Toothpaste Millionaire by Jean Merrill was on my bookshelf at this moment, on loan from the library, and by the way, it’s a fantastic children’s book on entrepreneurship and business. Having read bits of it already, Jaime took it up again when I reminded her of a recipe the boy in the book used to make his toothpaste.

  There followed the collection of various ingredients–mint and lavender from the garden, vanilla, cinnamon, flour, starch, and of course baking soda. She settled on a mint flavor, but only after much trial and spitting and because she didn’t want to take my advice right off the bat.

  Jaime now has a small tupperware tub of sticky toothpaste next to her sink that she uses daily. She’s bugging me to take her to the camping section at the store to buy those reusable tubes. I’m so proud of her. She wants to sell it and make money, but I’ll tackle that problem another day. I do think I’ll let her call Jasmine on the phone so she can tell her all about her plan.

  Technorati Tags: childhood, education, family life, The Toothpaste Millionaire, entrepreneurs

• June 27, 2011
• 23:31

  Dear Mom, tonight we will go to Starbucks.

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  She smiled a toothless grin, eyes sparkling as she handed me the note, carefully written in her ever improving handwriting but still lopsided and multicolored. “Dear Mom, tonight we will go to Starbucks and I will pay. We will leave at 5:00 and you can bring a friend.”

  Not only had she stolen my heart, she set up a play-date for me. Her own money, her own kind heart, her…just her. She really melts me. A tear escaped later at Starbucks as she paid for my coffee, along with our friend Julia’s latté and her own hot cocoa, and I fought the strong urge to pay myself. No, I had to let her do this. This gift was hers to give and her eternal blessing.
  

  ::love letters from my children::dates with daughters::connections with sons::a faithful dog::a broken egg, found and treasured::Vacation Bible School::crème brûlée and the way it makes me all happy when seven little girls say it’s the best dessert ever and thank you for making it::friends who bless::so many good books::summer swims::counting my blessings today.

  

  

  

  

  

  {Counting One Thousand Gifts~#21-30}
  

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon, childhood, counting blessings, country life, One Thousand Gifts

• June 26, 2011
• 15:23

  Dear Mom, tonight we will go to Starbucks.

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  "I will pay, and you can bring a girlfriend." Love Jo (age 8). Photo reflections on my girls who bless me more than I can say.
• June 20, 2011
• 14:07

  Missing Front Teeth

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  ::missing front teeth::sisters::learning to ride::a horse to love::finding expression for your passion::sketching by the lake because your grandma sketches and you’ve inherited her gift::being six and finding a butter knife washed up on shore, treasuring it like you’re in Ancient Egypt and you discovered a king’s tomb::reflections in the water::learning to sense which way the wind’s blowing::cat and dog curled side by side::counting my blessings today.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  {Counting One Thousand Gifts~#11-20}
  

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon, childhood, counting blessings, country life, family life, One Thousand Gifts

• June 13, 2011
• 21:08

  Freckles and Big Ears

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  ::freckles and big ears on my boy, and his home-made fishing pole::strawberries growing plump in my garden::noses buried in books::fish taco night::surprise meeting with an old friend::wildflowers thrust through the window for me by her small hands::their joy at discovering a quail’s nest::the bright blue butterfly that followed me around::frogs that let small girls catch them::picnic on the front lawn with all their little book club friends:: counting my blessings today.

  
  
  
  

  {Counting One Thousand Gifts~#1-10}
  

  Technorati Tags: childhood, counting blessings, country life, family life, One Thousand Gifts

• June 12, 2011
• 16:23

  A Package from England!

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  I really was like a kid at Christmas yesterday! My friend Anita Mathias, a writer and blogger from Oxford, sent me the movie Être et Avoir, an award-winning French film that we’d discussed, and it being difficult to procure here in the states, she generously mailed me her very own copy.

  It was with huge surprise that I opened the mailbox yesterday, expecting some bills and ads perhaps, but not a package from England! I knew Anita was sending me the movie, but so quickly? She’s a professional!

  The movie intrigued me first of all because it’s a French film, a genre I love, and more importantly, because it’s on the subject of education – in particular a one-room schoolhouse in rural France in modern times, not some century-old school. I honestly didn’t know this institution existed in France, but apparently there are quite a number of such little village schools.

  Être et Avoir (2002) is a documentary by the celebrated French film-maker Nicolas Philibert that chronicles one full school year in the life of teacher Monsieur Lopez and his 12 students aged four to eleven in a French village in the Auvergne. It’s been called a movie that every teacher and parent should see, and it’s been said that M. Lopez has an extraordinary talent for teaching. For those of you (like me) who are engaged in multi-age teaching of small groups, I think Être et Avoir will be incredibly enlightening. My review will follow shortly.

  And Anita intrigues me just as much. Her background is colorful and varied–born and raised in India, she tells a fascinating story of her conversion and her work with Mother Teresa in Calcutta. Anita goes on to live in America for a season, teaching at the College of William and Mary in Virginia, and writing two books, Wandering Between Two Worlds and The Church That Had Too Much. She is happily now back in Oxford, raising two girls and a garden with her husband and business partner, Roy, oh, and running a publishing company. My kind of woman!

  You can visit Anita at her blog, Dreaming Beneath the Spires, where you will be inspired and educated at every turn. And maybe you’ll end up with a free movie, too, someday.

  {I’m saving my Royal Mail stamp, Anita.}

  Technorati Tags: Etre et Avoir, education, France, French films, Anita Mathias, multi-age teaching

• June 08, 2011
• 18:12

  Just a Wednesday in June

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  Just wanted to drop a pin on the map. I’m here.

  The kids are all finished with school tomorrow; three have been done for two weeks, and the fourth had the tough job of continuing on for those extra days whilst the siblings played.

  I’m regrouping my homeschool kids tomorrow for a play time and to give them their first summer book club book: The Penderwicks: A Summer Tale of Four Sisters, Two Rabbits, and a Very Interesting Boy by Jeanne Birdsall. It’s the first in a wonderful, witty, charming, sort of old-fashioned series of books, and we’ll read them all this summer. I have to say that I was completely inspired when I discovered that the author, Ms. Birdsall of Massachusetts, didn’t begin the book publishing business until age 41 or 42. See, life does begin at 40.

  It feels like change is in the air. All senses are alert; I’m listening hard, hoping to have keen ears and a wise heart, wide eyes, sensitive soul.

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon, family life, book club, homeschool ing, Jeanne Birdsall, The Penderwicks

• June 06, 2011
• 14:20

  D-Day in Color

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  D-Day in color.

  By the numbers:

  160,000 Allied troops, supported by more than 5,000 ships and 13,000 aircraft, landed along a 50-mile stretch of French coastline. While the Allies sustained major casualties–9,000 killed or wounded–more than 100,000 troops would go on to march across the Continent to defeat Hitler.

  Their finest hour, as Churchill said on June 18, 1940.

  But if we fail, then the whole world, including the United States, including all that we have known and cared for, will sink into the abyss of a new Dark Age made more sinister, and perhaps more protracted, by the lights of perverted science. Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, and so bear ourselves that, if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years, men will still say, “This was their finest hour.”

  Remembering Normandy.

• June 03, 2011
• 19:23

  Weekend Links

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  First week of June!

  1. This is nauseating. For real? I’ll have a Coke.
  2. Business 101 on ideas, money, greed, and enough.
  3. $500 million of YOUR money to get a 5 year old to sit still? I could do it for free with a good book.
  4. I am new.
  5. The food pyramid is out. Dairy is off the plate.

  Have a great weekend!

• May 30, 2011
• 12:22

  Happy Memorial Day

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  I suppose the only thing that puts the “happy” in Happy Memorial Day is the remembering. The importance of remembering is huge. So huge that if we forget, all really is lost. Remembrance leads to action. It is an act of truth and honor.

  Please pause from your BBQ, your boating, your biking or hiking and remember the fallen, the fighters, those who died in battle and those among us that are dead inside though they live.

  This short trailer for the documentary Honor Flight to be released in November 2011 is a kind way to remember the fallen, as told by their comrades who now have little time left to tell.

  In Flanders Fields
  
  By John McCrae 1872-1918

  In Flanders fields the poppies blow
  Between the crosses, row on row,
  That mark our place; and in the sky
  The larks, still bravely singing, fly
  Scarce heard amid the guns below.
  We are the Dead. Short days ago
  We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
  Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
  In Flanders fields.
  Take up our quarrel with the foe:
  To you from failing hands we throw
  The torch; be yours to hold it high.
  If ye break faith with us who die
  We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
  In Flanders fields.

  1915

  {photo: the shack at the end of my lane}
  

  Technorati Tags: Memorial Day

• May 20, 2011
• 9:34

  To Give a Gerbil a Bath

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  I didn’t know a wet gerbil would cause me to laugh hysterically. He looks so…cold. Or is he just shivering because he can’t remember his letters?

  Who does such a thing, bathing gerbils like babies? Was this really out of concern for gerbil hygiene, or a chance to play parent, or just something fun to pass the time? I do like to think the best, I’ll go for hygiene.

  

  In this boy’s defense, he was simply aiding his big sister, owner of the gerbil pair. It does take two or three extra hands to give a gerbil a proper bath, what with all the squeaking and squirming attempts at freedom. But of course, what little boy can resist a flurry of animal activity?

  I was actually shocked at how dirty the water was. Truth be told, this was the rodents’ first bath, so we witnessed about a year’s worth of dirt, oils, bedding, and WHO knows what being washed away.

  And another truth be told, I’m pretty sure I saw a smile flit across the whiskers of Mika and Merlin. These gerbils have a good life here in our schoolroom, sitting quietly (save for the incessant turning and grating of the wheel) while the kids learn sounds and signs and names and places. If a bit of freedom meant also getting soaked to the skin, what’s that to a desert rat? Especially considering the last time they roamed free, one skinny tail got stepped on and lost. Yes, this bath was a good thing.

  Technorati Tags: childhood, country life, gerbil raising

• May 05, 2011
• 18:20

  What makes a desert beautiful?

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  Life, death, and the breath of God — we were blessed to see all on a simple hike through our spring desert last weekend.

  {life}
  
  
  

  {death}
  

  

  {the breath of God}
  
  

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon, country life, nature hike, nature study, Oregon wildflowers

• May 03, 2011
• 14:01

  On an enchanted journey

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  ~scenes from a family hike at Sahalie Falls, Oregon~

  If God had wanted to be a big secret, He would not have created babbling brooks and whispering pines. ~Robert Brault

  
  
  
  
  

  Technorati Tags: childhood, family life, Sahalie Falls, McKenzie River, Oregon hikes, nature hike

• April 28, 2011
• 23:06

  My Reflection part 2

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  I had a dream a few weeks ago that I know was about this journey. I was back in my childhood home, and I struggle to recall the details, but this was the first time in years I’ve dreamed of the place and the first time in my dreams I was there as an adult and feeling in control.

  Standing in that room where I had longed for beauty, it was daylight and I looked about the mess and had ideas: I could conquer this! The rough wood I planned to paint a lovely blue, just like the French gate in Marseilles. And curtains! With lovely ruffles! Cupboards could neatly enclose the old open-faced shelves nailed to the wall and much could be done for beauty. I was not afraid.

  Then the most curious thing. I looked below me through an opening in the floor, and kneeling with utter surprise discovered another dwelling of such beauty and majesty–fine marbled floors, a stately curving staircase leading to greater rooms and even an indoor pool. (Or was it utter surprise? Dreams are so difficult to gauge, that realm where even the most bizarre is not astonishing.)

  Why was I living in this shack when under my very feet was a mansion?

  Nearly as soon as my eyes took in the beauty of those impressive quarters, I heard a wind gaining strength in the distance, knowing instinctively the gales were headed my way. Suddenly, the door to the mansion below flew open and I was filled with old terror. There at the doorstep lay a girl, a waif, as if blown in by the east wind. Was this a picture of myself, was I afraid of entering into the beauty? Fear and beauty cannot live together, just as disorder and beauty cannot.

  The girl stood up, revealing a pack on her back. The knap-sacked stray with long straight brown locks, unkempt with the wind, walked almost defiantly into the entry of the great mansion, and I was afraid, feeling that she did not belong here, threatened by her very presence. Was she a symbol of every fear that threatens to undo me, a whole suitcase full of anxiety?

  Just today I had another perspective. I may be living in a mansion but not really living. I may have at my disposal all the riches of Heaven and be ignoring them, or just peering at them through the cracks, perhaps relegating myself to a corner. Why, oh why, would a child of God behave this way?

  Such thoughts found home in me today as I walked into the guest room of my real-life house, now clean. But this room had sat a mess for months, a living specter of misorder within a mansion. Not until yesterday when the floors were cleared of shambles and every carpet tuft free of box and burden did I understand: if I exercise discipline and look closely at what I already have, I may discover that I am indeed equipped for every good work.

  And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work. 2 Corinithians 9:8

  I’m growing in strength and beauty, but still I journey, and have miles to go before I sleep.

  ********

  My Reflection in the Dirty Pane Glass, Part 1

  Technorati Tags: childhood, dreams, faith, family life, God

• April 25, 2011
• 10:51

  How to Draw a Self-Portrait (and some wisdom from the child)

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  I think my boy here could give some art lessons on self-portraiture {and life}.

  1. Know how many freckles adorn your face and love them all. {Or, love every unique mark the Lord has blessed upon your countenance, and love that you are wonderfully made.}

  2. Realize how far your ears really stick out. {Or, be aware of your faults, your weaknesses, your differences, and make them as darn cute as possible.}

  3. Make your eyes brighter than they really are. {Or, know that the eyes are the gate to the soul, and work to let all the love of God pour out through them and smile through them, too, and so bless those who look upon you.}

  4. Draw yourself happy. {Or, remember that a cheerful heart is good medicine, and the joy of the Lord is your strength, so do not grieve.}

  Thank you, Little L. for the art lesson.
  

  Technorati Tags: art, family life, self-portrait

• April 17, 2011
• 0:02

  My Reflection in the Dirty Pane Glass

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  When nightfall turned windows into mirrors, I used to look into one of the dusty old frames on the east wall and stare hard, willing the glass to produce a beautiful me, praying to God to let me see myself as I would someday be; beautiful.

  The night-darkened window cast back a grainy romantic picture, and waved by the layers of dirt and oil, I could imagine in the shadows. I imagined a beautiful, grown-up girl in a pretty house.

  I had to call my sister to ask her if we had a mirror. I remembered a small, round one that my dad used for shaving, but Heather would know the details. Yes, we had a mirror, she said. It was as I thought except I hadn’t considered that my chest would tighten and my breath catch as I tried to remember. The east wall, why was I standing there, what job was to be done along that wall? Nothing, Heather said, it was a tiny space between the front door and the refrigerator and I would have had to stand on my tiptoes to see myself in the window, but I must have done it many times, this I do remember. I did have a job in that cramped spot, that of baring my heart to God begging for beauty.

  The prayers to be beautiful were constant. Poverty can feel ugly, and I felt the depths of it. I remember the day in Sunday School when the teacher asked us children to raise a hand if we knew someone more poor than ourselves. Apparently we were to pray for that unfortunate soul. I knew no one with less than myself, but raised my hand anyway, thinking that maybe the Cartmells had it worse but knowing deep they really didn’t, not missing the furtive glances my way. Why would a teacher ask such a thing? And there was my teacher at the elementary school who went round the class after Christmas asking each child to share what he received. I lied and made up gifts and everyone knew I lied. I vowed to never ask a child that question.

  I could have been a child-leper, calling out ahead in a thin voice of shame, “Unclean, unclean.” Our shack made of corrugated iron and rough wood, dirt thick on the floor, a crude hole in the floor with a pipe for water serving as sink, and always undone~this, this was my shame and ugliness.

  Long I’ve considered my childhood but just now have discovered something. What frightful thing I couldn’t put my finger on I’ve now marked. It wasn’t just that we lived in extreme poverty, that my mom was unstable, that my dad was the town drunk, neglectful and abusive, though these are frightful things. It was the disorder and the chaos and the filth.

  Always dirty clothes, dirty dishes, junk strewn about, boxes stacked with items long-forgotten by all but the mice, piles of old construction materials in the side room anchored in the dirt, and how could I have ever expected to feel beautiful? Being raised in such a chaotic mess I wore it every day as my garment and I felt ugly.

  I was haunted for years after I left my home in Arizona, too afraid to look deeply for the reason, afraid my memory was hiding something sinister. I was terrorized at night in my dreams and it was always that place, the mess, the demons of disorder that thrashed to get me. The nightmares were me as child straining under shame to make order and quickly present an unsullied home to a soon approaching visitor. Never was that mission accomplished before I woke in a black panic.

  Beauty is ordered by God. I longed for it like the deer pants for water. It was not my vanity. God set the universe in order, and the stars that sailed bright by my window each night were exactly in their place, and the sun followed his path across the sky in a manifest pattern as if on some invisible line, and absolutely everything in all creation is meant to be ordered and this is beauty.

  Thus says the Lord, who gives the sun for light by day and the fixed order of the moon and the stars for light by night, who stirs up the sea so that its waves roar; the Lord of hosts is His name: “If this fixed order departs from before Me,” declares the Lord, “then the offspring of Israel also will cease from being a nation before Me forever.” Jeremiah 31:35-36

  I’ve heard several people throughout my life share of growing up in poverty but never quite knowing how poor they really were. The common thread was that without exception these people came from loving families where there was a rhythm to life that included breakfast, lunch, and dinner, evening family time, whatever kind of order that particular family possessed. Their clothes were clean even if threadbare and simple, their tummies were filled even if with rice and beans every day. And that is beautiful.

  I’m so grateful for the Arizona desert. Were it not for the mountains He called up, the stars He appointed to their place, the surety of the rising and the setting of the sun, the rhythm of seasons, I would have had no order and no beauty. I cannot express the comfort of seeing stars align into the Big and Little Dippers and Orion’s Belt, without fail. Though no trace of order could be found inside that rundown shack on Havasu Way in Cochise County, Arizona, all the beauty and sequence of the universe was beckoning me from outside–and so I lived outside as much as possible.

  God answered my prayer. He eventually took me out of that place, and through a journey too much to recount, I’m a beautiful, grown-up girl in a pretty house, more beautiful than I could have imagined in that darkened window. “For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.” These words from 1 Corinthians 13:12 are doubly meaningful.

  Though He is far from done with me, God is steadily teaching me how to carefully arrange my home and my family life, and I am called to teach my children so they too can find beauty in the order, and whether rich or poor in dollars, they will be rich in beauty.

  To appoint to them that mourn in Zion, to give to them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that he might be glorified. Isaiah 61:3

  
  [My new home full of light and love and laughter; and yes, that is my old home at the beginning of this post.]

  {to be continued…I will share a most curious dream I had after I began this post last week.}

  Technorati Tags: beauty, childhood, faith, family life, reflections

• April 08, 2011
• 16:55

  Hario, et cetera.

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  Ethiopia Sidamo prepared Hario style by Sisters Coffee Company made my morning, the best coffee I’ve had. Ever. I loved that Winfield (owner) made it special for me, and with each slow drip I loved seeing him greet everyone that walked in the door like the old friends they were. I loved chatting with my girlfriend in the corner, the Jesus Saves sticker on the fridge behind the counter, the wide wood floor planks and full stone fireplace; I would move to Sisters just for this.

  Slow, small, intimate.

  Julia spends the night tonight. Even grown-up girls need sleep-overs. Last time we stayed up late and cried together over Bonhoeffer. Tonight we’ll probably cry over Pride and Prejudice.

  Friendship is precious.

  I spent the better part of my day trying to find a mobile dog groomer for a photo-shoot I’m helping coordinate. Ten attempts and still no luck; all booked for weeks. If you are out of work, I have a serious suggestion for a niche market you should pursue.

  I hope to spend the next week contemplating several threads of grace: His Presence, my purpose; His gift, my gain; His reality, my redemption.

• April 03, 2011
• 16:12

  The Piper at the Gates of Dawn

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  Kenneth Grahame’s Piper at the Gates of Dawn chapter from The Wind in the Willows is just gorgeous, sheer magic. First published in England in 1908, this classic talking-animal book includes lovable characters like Mole, Rat, Mr. Toad, Mr. Badger, and right there in the middle, seemingly out of place, is the piper at the gates of dawn. While the piper appears as the ancient Greek god Pan, you dear reader have the prerogative to make him what you will. I make him Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

  The Piper at the Gates of Dawn opens with Rat and Mole setting off at night down river to search for Little Portly, the misadventurous and now missing young son of Otter. Presently, with dawn approaching, Rat becomes entranced by a distant, clear piping.

  

  O, Mole! the beauty of it! The merry bubble and joy, the thin, clear, happy call of the distant piping! Such music I never dreamed of, and the call in it is stronger even than the music is sweet! Row on Mole, row! For the music and call must be for us.

  The call? I bring to the reading of The Piper all that I believe, and while the god Pan is pure pagan myth, I extract the goodness, for every good thing comes from God. And so I hear the call as from Him who created all things, and even His creation calls out to us.

  You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands. Isaiah 55:12

  Rat and Mole continue on until they come to a small island fringed with willow and silver birch and alder, and it is here, whispers Rat, “in this holy place, here if anywhere, surely we shall find Him.” And find Him they do, and what a glorious picture of what it may be like to stand before God in all his holiness.

  

  Then suddenly the Mole felt a great Awe fall upon him, an awe that turned his muscles to water, bowed his head, and rooted his feet to the ground. It was no panic terror–indeed he felt wonderfully at peace and happy–but it was an awe that smote and held him and, without seeing, he knew it could only mean that some august Presence was very, very near. With difficulty he turned to look for his friend. and saw him at his side cowed, stricken, and trembling violently. And still there was utter silence in the populous bird-haunted branches around them; and still the light grew and grew.

  When finally the pair have the courage to raise their heads, they see a creature described clearly as that ancient demigod with the pipes, the legs and horns of a goat, that god of shepherds and flocks, of mountain wilds and music. And they call him Friend and Helper, and there sleeping beneath his watch is the round little otter. Then Mole and Rat, breathless and filled with love, “bowed their heads and did worship.”

  Did you see our Friend, Jesus?

  Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you. John 15:12

  Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. John 15:13

  Did you see our Helper?

  But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name, He will teach you all things, and bring to your remembrance all that I said to you. John 14:26

  The Vision vanished and then Mole and Rat and even Little Portly forget. The gift of forgetfulness was bestowed upon them, lest they dwell only on that most beautiful moment, the memory of it overshadowing all the rest of life and spoiling it. Even this was familiar to me, and I thought of Jesus transfigured.

  

  The account described in the gospels (Matthew 17:1-13, Luke 9:18-36) comes to mind, in which Christ reveals his glory to some of his disciples, and Moses and Elijah appear. Peter reminds me here of Grahame’s Rat in his request that Jesus allow him to put up shelters there on the mountain for them–he clearly never wants this out-of-the-world experience to end! But it must. It’s not an earthly possibility to live as if in Heaven. We must wait, lest our world lose all color and purpose.

  There are times for not forgetting, to be sure. Israel is warned again and again to not forget the goodness of the Lord (Deuteronomy 8:11, Psalm 78:11). But the point I draw here in The Piper at the Gates of Dawn is that it’s impossible to look upon the full glory of the Lord and remain there until we ourselves are glorified in that eternal state. (Romans 8:17-19). Paul says that God “dwells in unapproachable light, whom no man has seen or can see.” (I Timothy 6:16.)

  Have you ever woken from a beautiful dream only to forget it? Have you grasped a deepest truth only to lose it? The Piper at the Gates of Dawn ends this way. Rat has finally understood it all and is about to share it with the wondering Mole.

  Ah! now they return again, and this time full and clear! This time, at last, it is the real, the unmistakable thing, simple–passionate–perfect—-’

  `Well, let’s have it, then,’ said the Mole, after he had waited patiently for a few minutes, half-dozing in the hot sun.

  But no answer came. He looked, and understood the silence. With a smile of much happiness on his face, and something of a listening look still lingering there, the weary Rat was fast asleep.

  

  After I read the chapter to the children, I asked them about the piping creature. “He’s like God,” and “He’s like Aslan,” were some responses. Though C.S. Lewis’ Aslan is so much more developed and clearly a Christ-type, Graham’s piper is still so revealing of the character of God, and, to borrow Rat’s words, it was very surprising and splendid and beautiful.

  Technorati Tags: The Piper at the Gates of Dawn, The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame

• March 30, 2011
• 0:00

  Sandwiched

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  82 it was this year. The six-year-old had to help her blow out the candles. She ate four pieces of cake, only because each time I offered a new piece she had forgotten already about the previous piece and her stomach hadn’t yet caught up. S’pose that wasn’t nice of me. (It really wasn’t out of spite, she just awfully seemed to want more cake).

  Sometimes I’m angry. Uncle Doug wrote her a letter which she received yesterday. It was a birthday card that he’d misaddressed so it came late. She was already confused about that when her eye fell upon the sticker. For his return address Uncle Doug used one of those free labels that Some Charity sent in hopes of procuring a donation. It had his legal first name Basil on the label because who knows from what list direct mail marketers got his name.

  So my mom says, Oh, I see that Doug is now going by the name Basil. I wonder what he’d like me to call him. Jenny, should I start calling him Basil? No attention paid to his personal signature of Doug on the birthday card, or perchance to the fact that he has always and only in his whole 84 years gone by Doug or Douglas.

  Despite numerous, dreadfully numerous, attempts to explain that Some Charity doesn’t really know Uncle Doug and he just uses the free address labels because he’s frugal and that obviously he would have let her know if he changed his name, my mom insisted that he must have, for there it was on the sticker. And *I* was the one who was crazy for not thinking so, too. Yes, I lowered myself in my frustration to saying, You Are Crazy to think that.

  I maintain a multi-generational family and do struggle along with millions of other “sandwich generation” folks in the raising of my own young children while caring for an aging parent. I just read a statistic from Pew Research Center that 1 in every 8 Americans aged 40 to 60 is doing this. This is what happens when people live longer and start families later.

  Sometimes I feel every warning sign they tell caregivers about: burnout, anxiety, anger, fatigue, depression. Sometimes I laugh and feel doubly blessed. It depends on the day. I thank God for my husband who has the most amazing sense of humor about it all, and willingly shares his castle.

  Because my mom has lived with us since our oldest (11) was an infant, this lifestyle is all my children know. I’m glad for that. Nothing was disrupted in their life by suddenly having Grandma move in. It was always this way and this is just what you do. My kids had a conversation in the back seat of the car one day about who would take care of mom when she was old. I was so stinking proud of them for coming up with a plan for my old age that included each one of them hosting me in a rotating fashion. Of course we all know it will be JoJo who takes care of me. She decided that when she was six.

  Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.

  James 1:27 says this, and yes, I comfort in these words not because I feel so self-righteous, believe me, I don’t, but because I need to know that we care for those in need because we are commanded to do so, it’s biblical. On hard days, it really helps to have that to lean into, lest I be tempted to fold. Speaking of fold, my mom is really good at folding laundry. Of course there is absolutely no guarantee about in which drawer clothing will end up, and I just realized that explains my son wearing my husband’s running underwear as shorts. It’s all part of the sandwich and sometimes the lettuce is wilted but you eat it anyway and it still nourishes you.

  ~~~~~~~~

  
  She Speaks Conference, July 22-24: women connecting the hearts of women to our Father. If, like me, you feel called to serve the Lord through ministry to other women, whether it’s speaking, writing, or mentoring, please check out this.

  A Holy Experience is offering a scholarship to the She Speaks conference, a Proverbs 31 Ministries event, held in Concord, North Carolina on July 22-24, 2011. Click here for instructions on how to apply.
  

  Technorati Tags: alzheimers, dementia, elder care, sandwich generation

• March 25, 2011
• 18:34

  Three little kittens have lost their mittens…

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  …and I began to cry.

  Our lovely trio of orange tabbies has dwindled to two. Chubsters, on the far left in this photo, disappeared four days ago. We hope and pray for his safe return, but this is the third cat we’ve lost out here.

  The neighbors down the lane warned us when we moved here to not have outdoor cats. Their 30 years of experience in this wild desert place taught them that if the coyotes don’t get the cats, the owls will, and they even spoke with fear of the occasional cougar.

  I have unfortunate dander allergies and keeping an indoor cat is a bad option for us. And we need help keeping the rodents down outside the place. We took our chances. These fastidious felines who so generously groom one another also leave us mousy gifts at the doorstep most days.

  We took chances on the wild, but made sure the boys were fixed to prevent wandering and also made sure the cats had lots of good food and love–an easy task with four doting children who are forever kissing, carrying, stroking their softness– and even a cozy cat house, and as much indoor time as my sinuses would allow.

  Chubsters had a glorious life here. I’ve been out looking for him everyday, the children call him at all hours, but nothing. We miss him.

  The dog misses him.
  

  The night before he went missing, my husband heard the howling in the fog of his dreams. Coyotes close, too close, and he wondered why the dog didn’t bark. Could it be? A broad owl swooped out of a tree just ahead of him on his run that day. Was it?

  We like to think he’s just out visiting new sights and will be home any time. We see him in every bunch of golden waving grass and coppery downed log. We hear mewling in the wind and in the creak of the door.

  Return to us dear one; and if you can’t, may you rest in peace.

  Technorati Tags: country life, Central Oregon, outdoor cats, kittens

• March 23, 2011
• 23:48

  How to Return to Your First Love

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  But I have this against you, that you have left your first love. Revelation 2:4

  Start there.

  *UPDATE*
  Dear readers, I apologize for the lack of body here! I meant to post something with depth but coming off strep throat/exhaustion, that’s about all I could say for today.

  But I do believe the best place to begin on this issue of reconnecting to your lost loves is to recognize that you left or wandered, and to confess that to the Lord and let His spirit bring you back.

  This verse in Revelations is from a letter written to a church that had done many things right and well, but they had also done this one grievous thing: left their first love, that first passionate love of a new believer in Christ.

  How to get back there, whether it’s to the love of God, spouse, or a leisure pursuit, involves taking inventory, like those letters in Revelations do so well, acknowledging the successes as well as the failures, and developing an intentional plan to get back on track.

  Journal your plan and find a way to have accountability. Let a trusted friend in on your desire to return to your first love and say, “hey, hold me responsible!” If we are talking about your relationship with God or your spouse, returning to your first love is beyond critical, so take every last measure conceivable to rekindle the romance.

  This process will involve much grace, a lot of humility, learning to forgive both yourself and others, and perhaps more effort than you think is humanly possible. And speaking of humanly possible, this isn’t. The only being that can bring something dead back to life is God himself. Call upon Him, and He will answer.

• March 19, 2011
• 14:29

  Strep-induced quiet

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  I’ve allowed myself to rest in bed for several days because I’m sick with this fiery, swollen throat that makes swallowing feel like giving birth.

  From my horizontal position, I turned to watching clouds, my way of childhood, though nothing can ever compare to my sapphire Arizona skies with her swirling, captivating cumuli, so full and ripe for imagining. Sister and I staring into sky, taking turns for hours as familiar shapes emerged and troubles retreated.
  

  Here from my window, decades on and short on fancy, I see a slow train coming, her engines gathering girth as she chugs forward. Following the iron horse is a charging elephant with turned up trunk, and I expected the rest of the herd, but there in his wake is the great Arizona horned toad. Toad gives way to the wispy puffs of an old man’s pipe.

  Then all is clear and my cloud game is done. I declare, I do feel better.

  ********************

  [weekend links]
  Carnival of Homeschooling
  More Homeschooling articles
  And another Homeschool post
  Christian Carnival

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon, cloud shapes, family life, strep throat

• March 17, 2011
• 12:10

  Giving to Japan: Please consider my friends the Millards

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  Do you wonder how to give responsibly and directly to the Japanese relief effort in the wake of the March 10, 2011 earthquake, tsunami, and nuclear disaster?

  I remember after Katrina, Haiti, and other colossal calamities, there was much waste and fraud, and little accountability concerning the donations that were made.

  So, I want to introduce you to friends of mine who have been serving as Christian missionaries in Japan for over 20 years.

  Jim & Masako Millard of Sunrise International Ministries

  They were sent out as missionaries from my home church in Eugene. Jim grew up in the Eugene area and met his future Japanese wife, Masako, while attending the University of Oregon. The rest is history, as they say.

  My husband and I have been supporting them for at least a decade, and know without a doubt that monies given directly to their ministry is literally saving people as I write, as their family is busy with buying food and supplies in Tokyo and trucking them into Sendai province.

  Sunrise International Ministries is a nonprofit Christian mission organization founded by Jim & Masako Millard. Jim and Masako have been serving in Japan for more than twenty years. Their sons Joey, Noah, and Davy, along with Joey’s wife, Ai, and Davy’s wife Yumiko, all work with them in Japan as missionary interns.

  This website allows you to make debit or credit card donations on a one-time or recurring basis to Sunrise. These donations are tax-deductible and a tax receipt will be issued each January for the preceding year’s contributions. [info from the Sunrise website]

  I’ve been receiving the Millards’ monthly newsletter for many years, and can attest to the incredible passion and often crippling perseverance this family has lived out on behalf of the Japanese people whom they love with all their hearts. I find it compelling that all of their children are serving the Lord, and with the exception of their daughter Anna who is currently attending the University of Oregon, their grown kids are also working as missionaries in Japan.

  If you have the resources to give financially to Japanese relief or missions, please consider donating to Sunrise International Ministries for relief work in Sendai province. I truly believe they have been placed there for such a time as this. And please continue to pray for Japan!

  Technorati Tags: Japan earthquake, Japan missions, Japan relief, Japan tsunami, Jim & Masako Millard, Sunrise International Ministries

• March 13, 2011
• 23:10

  In the Garden with Children

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  {Parts of this post were previously published here at Diary of 1 on April 6, 2008.}

  Planning, planting, nurturing, enjoying the beauty and the bounty~there are so many facets to a child’s gardening experience that makes planting a garden one of the most treasured gifts you can give your child.

  You should have no trouble in getting a child to garden with you. No surprise, children are drawn to dirt like nothing else! You mean you want me to dig holes? I’m allowed to get filthy and mucky? To direct that childish energy and wonder into a productive endeavor like a garden is not only wise on the part of the parent, it’s a lifelong blessing to both of you.

  JoJo spent several hours some time ago with her pint-sized rake and shovel. I was working on the main garden area while she staked out a spot of her own. The other children were doing likewise. I hesitated a moment when suddenly all the kids wanted their own garden space in addition to the main garden. Was this okay? Would I be teaching them to be selfish and look out only for themselves?

  I ended up deciding that the sense of community and family in the main garden would not at all be diminished by each child’s ownership in their own scratch of earth. In fact, it would probably deepen their respect for the family garden, knowing the responsibility and effort their own gardens required.

  I found a wonderful book to guide me through some activities to do in the garden with children. It’s called Roots, Shoots, Buckets & Boots: gardening together with children, by Sharon Lovejoy. The book covers not only the basics of how to plan, plant, and care for your garden, but the top 20 plants for kids, theme garden ideas, and many little bits of garden wisdom.

  I would say that my first tip for gardening with children is to involve them in every decision. Where should we put the garden? Is this spot too shady or too sunny? This area is nice and level, but we’ll have to dig up some rocks, is that okay? What shape do we want the garden to be? What should we plant that will thrive in our region? Let’s test the soil and decide what supplements we may need. All of the issues that arise in the planning of the garden are incredible teaching tools, and there’s no better way for your kids to really understand the complexity – and joy – of it all than to walk through it with you step by step. And the sense of ownership will be there from the start – the greatest motivator I know. I never have to twist their arms to go work on the garden.

  

  Here are the top 20 plants for children to grow. This list comes from Roots, Shoots, Buckets & Boots, based on the fact they are proven winners:

  They have personality, fragrance, texture, and color — vibrant color. They grow quickly — something kids need in response to their work. And they’re versatile; they can be used as jewelry, toys, clothes, musical instruments, and household utensils.

  1. Pumpkins
  2. Sunflowers
  3. Gourds
  4. Corn
  5. Berries
  6. Hollyhocks
  7. Carrots
  8. Mimosa
  9. Poppies
  10. Tomatoes
  11. Trees
  12. Alliums
  13. Potatoes
  14. Woolly Lamb’s Ear
  15. Four-O’Clocks
  16. Evening Primroses
  17. Radishes
  18. Nasturtium
  19. Moon Plant
  20. Lemon Verbena

  Do keep in mind your climate – some of these will fare better than others depending on where you live. In Central Oregon, for example, root crops like potatoes and carrots grow well with our short growing season and cool nights; but for some vegetables like corn or tomatoes, a short-season variety is a must for your plant to mature.

  

  Theme gardens can be a joy for children, and I’ll highlight just one of the themes from Roots, Shoots, Buckets & Boots: the pizza patch.

  The Pizza Patch: gardening in the round is sure to delight children who are used to seeing a straight-row vegetable garden. This pizza patch garden is a giant sized six-foot-wide wheel shaped plot, divided into seven great wedges and edged with a thick rock crust. Ms. Lovejoy suggests the following ingredients for your pizza patch garden, but you can add other favorites as well:

  3 seedlings plum tomatoes
  6 seedlings cherry tomatoes
  3 seedlings small eggplants
  3 seedlings bell peppers
  1 seedling zucchini
  1 seedling rosemary
  3 seedlings oregano
  3 seedlings basil
  3 seedlings onions
  3 seedlings garlic
  6 seedlings “Lemon Gem” marigolds
  6 seedlings “Kablouna” Calendulas
  Aged, bagged manure

  To begin this project, select a flat 10×10 foot plot of ground that gets at least 6 hours of sun a day. Place a stake in the center of the area, and tie a 3-foot string to it. Your child can take hold of the very end of the string and walk in a circle, while another child walks behind with a hoe to mark what will be the outer boundary of the garden bed.

  Divide the garden into slices: mark spots at 32 inch intervals along the outer edge. Draw a line with a stick from each of the seven marks to the center stake, to denote the seven slices. Then place rocks along those lines for a permanent boundary, and you can remove the center stake.

  Place the five tall vegetables in each of the five slices on the northern side of the wheel – the plum tomatoes, cherry tomatoes, eggplants, bell peppers, and zucchini. In a slice on the south side, plant the herbs, onions, and garlic. Set aside one slice to be the pathway for the little feet tending the garden. The bright gold marigolds and Calendulas can be filled in around the vegetables and herbs, the “cheese” of the pizza.

  To plant each slice, start from the center and work your way out. Plant tomatoes, eggplants, bell peppers, and zucchini 12-18 inches apart. In the small herb slice, space them 6 inches apart from the onions and garlic. The flowers are scattered throughout each slice, but allow 3 inches between them and other plants.

  When harvest time comes, you can throw a big pizza party with toppings straight from the garden!

  You can find more fabulous garden ideas and activities to do with children, such as a sunflower house, container gardens, and a moon garden, in Roots, Shoots, Buckets & Boots.

  Don’t forget to teach your children about the use and care of gardening equipment, about watering requirements for various plants, and about safe weed/pest control. You can also measure plants, make growth predictions, learn about pollination, visit with a master gardener…the opportunities in a garden are endless. Mostly, just have fun!

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon, family life, gardening with children, high desert, outdoor education, planting

• March 09, 2011
• 13:55

  Homeschool Recess

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  Recess on the ranch is more fun than I remember from my childhood schoolyard. My school playground wasn’t nearly as bad as some (at least I had one), and I loved swinging the tetherball and merry-go-rounding, but I still have shadowy memories of pulled hair, pavement, and skipped turns.

  Over here, though, our homeschool co-op kids get to build forts, dig holes while belting out “From the Halls of Montezuma” and run wild with all God’s creation for their recess. In my yard yesterday, toes curled around shovel heads, small hands arranged sticks, muscles flexed under loads of dirt. Real play in a real place.

  And I breathed slow, inhaling the moment, that springtime of life that was all exhilaration and wonder. We are blessed.

  What do you remember most about your school days? I’ll bet recess is among the top memories, whether good or bad.

  *****
  Links for your week:
  Christian Carnival
  Homeschool Carnival
  

  Technorati Tags: education, homeschool recess, recess

• March 03, 2011
• 22:06

  The Human Condition

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  A friend loses her job, a mother loses her mind. A child falls and scrapes her knee, a man falls off the wagon. I witnessed such struggles this week, and paused to note the challenge of being human.

  In this world you will have trouble, declares the gospel of John. Do you sometimes get dragged down by what seems to be the inhumanity of our world? I had to stop taking the paper years ago because of the endless stream of black-hearted news that just wasn’t outweighed by the good. But burying my head in the sand isn’t that useful, because the black is there, too.

  How do we function as humans, who have souls and eternity in our hearts, in this universe, that while oftentimes enjoyable, also harbors terror, grave injustice, fear, hatred, betrayal, and depression? With resignation? Fatalism? “That’s life.”

  But wait, there’s a dawn rising, and I heard that joy comes in the morning.

  You can get a new job, restore your mind, heal the wound, and climb back aboard. Really? There’s hope? Always. Can I share the remainder of the verse in John about trouble?

  I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world. John 16:33

  Like water to a parched tongue are these words to my soul. I forget. I am Israel, and I forget. Jesus has overcome! There is an offering of peace and a call to courage in these parting words. The same power that raised Jesus from the dead IS at work in me. Beauty DOES rise from ashes. Trials DO produce perseverance, which in turn gives wisdom.

  I am willing to be human.

  Technorati Tags: faith, God, overcoming, peace

• February 27, 2011
• 18:12

  A Peek into a Homeschool Co-op

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  Back in August, four families decided to do school together in a co-op style of educating, with moms each assigned to a class and kids grouped by ability. On the first day of school at the start of September, nine children arrived at my doorstep at 7:30 a.m., ready to hit the books and expand their brains, pushing hard until noon when our official school day was done.

  {If you read to the end of this very long post, you’ll see our daily schedule, and that despite the seemingly rigorous routine, we have a ton of fun!}

  Monday through Thursday we follow a very structured program, with every half-hour increment planned carefully and little time wasted. Friday is a no-school day, reserved for field trips, outings, family time. This type of co-op is not for everyone, but I’d love to share how we do it, because depending on your goals for educating, it just might work for you.

  

  A homeschool cooperative is a group of families who choose to work together on a consistent basis in the educating of their children, a “mini-school” of sorts. Some co-ops meet once a week, some once a month, and in my case, every day, with each child having one or two others working at their same level.

  But first, why co-op? I’ll give you my goals, though there are many more out there that are equally valid. I’ve homeschooled solo in the past, just me and my kids. That was a great season, and rather laid-back without the intense structure under which I currently operate. But my needs have changed and this season calls for
  1) efficiency, 2) accountability, and 3) positive social pressure.

  Regarding efficiency, I had to be honest about my many obligations. I have another job that consumes quite a bit of time, and streamlining is critical for me. Afternoons require a free block of time to work on the business I run with my husband, and though I work from home, I can’t, in fairness to my kids, have my work constantly interrupting their education. Those dedicated blocks of time are vital to our overall family productivity.

  Why couldn’t I just be efficient on my own? First, more teacher-parents means the same number of teaching hours yields a multiplied teaching time with the other teachers than on my own. The first grader learns to read during the same period the second grader is taught to write, impossible on my own (at the same time) with the level of care I want. Co-oping lets me leverage time. Second, there is the matter of accountability, addressed below–would I be efficient without a structure forced upon me?

  

  Accountability was an issue I had to candidly face. I’m prone to procrastination and distraction, and without those little hands knocking on my door by 7:20 a.m., I can assure you I wouldn’t always be dressed and ready to tackle all that a day holds in the life of a busy homeschooling/business-woman mother and wife. I’m willing to share my house, give up some privacy, and add to the wear and tear around here, to ensure that rain or shine, we do school.

  I believe in the discipline the children are presented with, the order that follows, the resulting self-regulation that begins to take hold. I lose some flexibility, a Holy Grail to many homeschool parents. If I don’t feel like doing school, or my kids want a day off, or there’s an enticing rabbit trail to follow, it’s too bad, the others are showing up. But really, when you look at how much free time we have compared to regular-school counterparts, it’s a small sacrifice.

  

  Positive social pressure is the last goal I’ll discuss. I wanted an education model that included daily work with peers. Not a once-a-week or monthly interaction, but day-in, day-out. I’m not wanting public school, but I am wanting to meet my kids’ spoken wishes for friends to work with and my own desires for them to experience a healthy social pressure.

  Friendly competition is a marvelous thing for pushing a child to their best limits. Iron sharpens iron, and for our little co-op, the small sparks that fly tell me that we are helping to work out each other’s character, we are showing the other a different way to think, we are growing together more than we would alone.

  

  What does my schedule look like? It’s changed throughout the year slightly, as one of the moms had a baby and is now homeschooling at home, so we currently have six kids here each day instead of nine. But, here is what we started with, four families hoping for the best education for their children. You’ll see that the students range from K/1st to 4th grade, we cover all the core subjects, and each mom has the opportunity to teach her own child throughout the sessions. (The moms are called “J,” “K,” and “L,” since that’s what each of our names begins with.)

  Our Homeschool Co-Op Schedule

  7:30-8:00

  J teaches Abeka 1st grade phonics lessons to the K/1st kids
  K teaches Abeka 2nd gr. phonics lessons to 2nd level kids
  L teaches First Language Lessons to the 2nd/3rd level kids
  Independent: 4th grade does independent reading of chapter books

  8:00-8:30

  J teaches Five in Row and First Language Lessons to K/1st
  Independent: 2nd level kids do Abeka 2nd grade cursive handwriting practice
  K teaches Writing with Ease Level 3 to the 2nd/3rd level kids
  L teaches Writing with Ease Level 4 to the 4th graders

  8:30-9:00

  J gets K/1 started with Abeka 1st grade cursive handwriting
  L teaches literature to 2nd grade with various chapter books
  K teaches Writing with Ease Level 3 to 2nd/3rd level kids
  J moves from K/1 to begin teaching First Language Lessons Level 4 to 4th graders
  [note--on Mondays, this time slot is devoted to a Baking Class run by K]

  9:00-9:15

  Kids take a snack break– our early start gives us very hungry kids by 9 a.m.

  9:15-9:45

  K teaches Abeka 1st grade Spelling to the K/1st kids
  J teaches Abeka 2nd grade Spelling to the 2nd and the 2nd/3rd level kids
  L teaches Abeka 4th grade Spelling to the 4th graders

  9:45-10:45

  L teaches Singapore Math 1A to the K/1st kids (they go til 10:15 only, as they need an extra break)
  J teaches dual classes of Singapore Math 2A to the 2nd level kids, and Singapore Math 2B to the 2nd/3rd level kids; a lot of back and forth between groups.
  K teaches Singapore Math 4A to the 4th grade kids

  10:45-11:00

  Kids take an outside break–riding bikes, digging in the dirt, playing with the kittens, etc.

  11:00-12:00

  J teaches History to all kids: Story of the World, vol. 2, Middle Ages on Monday/Wednesday
  K teaches Science to all kids: Apologia, Exploring Creation with Botany on Tuesday/Thursday
  [note--an art teacher comes every other Monday during this time slot]

  

  And that’s the end of our school day! We do assign homework every day. Always reading, and a small amount of spelling and math. One of the moms has been good about helping us schedule field trips with other homeschool families. We’re planning a trip to the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry in Portland in March. And the final quarter of school will see us taking a break from Story of the World to do an Oregon Trail unit, culminating with an overnight trip to Baker City, Oregon to visit the Oregon Trail Museum and surrounding area.

  We took time off from Botany during the cold winter months to do a human body study, and built our very own bodies as we studied each organ!
  

  Links to the curriculum I use:

  Abeka phonics, spelling, handwriting
  Five in a Row
  First Language Lessons
  Writing with Ease
  Singapore Math
  Apologia Science
  Story of the World History

  Lists of chapter books each level has read so far this school year (and wrote reports, created posters or other visuals for, and presented before all the students):

  2nd grade
  Frog and Toad are Friends by Arnold Lobel
  Frog and Toad Together by Arnold Lobel
  Frog and Toad All Year by Arnold Lobel
  Owl at Home by Arnold Lobel
  Sarah Plain and Tall by Patricia MacLachlan
  Minstrel in the Tower by Gloria Skurzynski
  The Courage of Sarah Noble by Alice Dalgliesh
  Little House in the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder
  The Moffats by Eleanor Estes
  

  2nd/3rd level
  They read some of the above and also:
  Ramona’s Father by Beverly Cleary
  Misty of Chincoteague by Marguerite Henry
  Heart of a Shepherd by Roseann Parry

  4th grade
  Old Yeller by Fred Gipson
  Freedom Train: The Story of Harriet Tubman by Dorothy Sterling
  Turn Homeward Hannalee by Patricia Beatty
  My Side of the Mountain by Jean Craighead George
  The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis
  The Perilous Road by William O. Steele
  The Witch of Blackbird Pond by Elizabeth George Speare
  The Swiss Family Robinson (unabridged) by Johann Wyss
  

  Yes, that is a lot of reading! These particular kids are generally great readers, and we do expect a lot in the way of good literature. This heavy of a reading schedule may not work for every child, but if it does, don’t miss the window of opportunity! A few of the kids got through books they were struggling with by having a parent co-read with them or listening to parts of the book on audio CD.

  A P.S. on pitfalls–True, a lot can go wrong with a homeschool co-op. I’m sure some of you have horror stories. Here’s a short list of some red flags to watch for as you consider whether you’d want to commit to something like this.

  Having different goals.
  Not being willing to compromise on curriculum, schedules, discipline, or pace.
  Having differing student or teacher expectations.
  Disagreements over the role of faith/biblical teaching in education.

  P.S.S.–I don’t have time in this post to cover the many other benefits of a homeschool co-op, but want to quickly acknowledge that I love for my kids to learn from other teachers, to experience varying teaching styles and other parents’ areas of expertise. I so appreciate the daily fellowship with other moms, and I really adore all those kids!

  How do you homeschool? Do you work with other families? Share your journey in the comments box!

  Technorati Tags: education, homeschool co-op, homeschool curriculum, homeschool goals, homeschool schedule

• February 22, 2011
• 14:59

  Conversations with a little boy.

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  I love him, I love his ideas, and gosh, I wish I could just jump in there sometimes and see it in full color. This must be how it is with children; they slow down enough once in a while to share a piece of the rolling film, but it’s only a shadow of the lively non-stop, action-packed thriller that is the mind of a six-year-old boy.

  Mom, are there really angels guarding the Garden of Eden? Are treasures buried there? Would I be able to see the angels if I found the garden? I hope so, and I hope they would tell me where the treasures are buried.

  

  Mom, am I a Jew? Because Jews are God’s people, and I’m God’s people.

  

  A few days ago, he sat on the floor playing with an airplane “slingshot” toy as Grandma sang an old song that I remember her singing to me as a child. Well, she doesn’t really sing it to anyone, just an unconscious singing. Sitting small in the cushioned chair with pillow tucked behind her gray and her songs, she stared into yesterday:

  Off we go into the wild blue yonder, climbing high into the sun. Here they come zooming to meet our thunder, at ‘em boys, give ‘er the gun! Nothing can stop the Army Air Corps!

  “I CAN!” shouted my little boy, aiming his airplane for a sure fire into the chair. And he was off, in the heat of battle, just him and Grandma’s song, conquering the skies.

  **********
  A few links for your week:
  Christian Carnival
  Carnival of Homeschooling

  Technorati Tags: Garden of Eden, family life, Army Air Corps, Jewish roots

• February 14, 2011
• 17:36

  Thankful in this place…

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  …for child-made Valentines, especially the glittery heart one that sparkled today in the sun, each of the thousand squares of tiny glitter unable to outshine the joy of the son in the giving.

  …for chocolate truffles and coffee, dark as midnight and as smooth and strong as David’s stones, and particularly for the thoughtful hand that delivered the gift.

  …for rib eye steak and a night in, and mostly for the request from him to cook a special gourmet dinner together in the kitchen. Who is this sophisticated man and where is the uncultured one I married? (wink)

  …for a new refrigerator that doesn’t leak, doesn’t freeze the lettuce within two hours, doesn’t belong to another century, doesn’t open the wrong way, but does come with a message from above that says “I love you and I will bless you when you least expect it.”

  …for my grandmother’s watch, newly discovered last week in a box of junk jewelry left to me twenty years ago, and for the ultimate surprise that it indeed works and is a beautiful piece of antique art, running a bit fast just like she used to.

  …for gratitude, a gift in itself.

• February 08, 2011
• 20:52

  One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp: A Review

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  One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are by Ann Voskamp

  A book review by Jen

  One Thousand Gifts is the beginning, a game of sorts, to list one thousand things in life for which to be grateful. Ann Voskamp discovers that with each listing, her joy enlarges and she is soon addicted to the joy, in the very best of ways. It’s easy to dismiss this itemizing as an amusement for the immature, but as I began my own list, I chanced upon a switch.

  • motherhood
  • that breathtaking moment when I first saw Lake Huron, horizon melting into sky
  • that perfect Labor Day at South Jetty in Florence, the warm sand, collection of seashells, children digging, laughing, running from waves
  • encouragers
  • dried desert mud that crackles under your bare child feet
  • the park bench across from the White House in D.C. that supported my lonely, peaceful lunch breaks in ’93.
  • music

  The ticking of the thanks triggered something. It’s like when a circuit breaker trips in the house leaving you powerless and dark, only you don’t know where to find the electrical panel to reset it. This is it, my friends! It is the giving of thanks that corrects the problem that caused the breaker to trip in the first place. A ground fault is one reason why the power can go off, and Ann Voskamp identified the root cause of this fault: ingratitude. Breaker! Breaker! Let’s give thanks!

  Ann scatters herself, her humanity, just right throughout this book, and I am left knowing that she is an authentic woman who has deep places of pain just like the rest of us. We learn of the death of her little sister, her mother’s mental illness, her own dark interior struggles. And so I connect, I engage, I truly learn.

  I had shadows of doubt about Ann Voskamp at various points in OneThousand Gifts, but Ann is like that children’s word game where Grandma loves poundcake but hates chocolate cake, she loves Pringles but hates chips, and you have to know that Grandma’s secret is that she only loves things that begin with “P.”

  So it is with Ann. She loves the Christian mystics but hates the idea of wisdom found outside of Christ; she loves to run with the moon and lie prostrate in fields but hates nature worship; she digs deep into her soul to share it raw with the world but hates narcissism. You have to know that Ann’s secret is that she is indeed a woman after God’s own heart.

  I did come to a certain point in the book where I thought I couldn’t go on. Voskamp spends an entire chapter describing a bubble of soap, its shape, its color, its chemical composition, more of its color. It was the night I had hit the wall of exhaustion and emotional overload and my husband had to tuck my crying eyes into bed, pulling the patched quilt up over the worry, hurry, fear, condemnation, the crush of life that threatened to undo me, then he finished the dinner I had abruptly left and tended to the four children’s bedtime. And I’m supposed to draw comfort and wisdom from the sudsy bubbles?

  I still don’t completely get it, but I understand that a writer has a certain style, and Ann Voskamp is a poet and I love words like she does, though we may play with them differently. So I will let her talk about suds in the sink all day long if she wants because in the end, I rose large the next morning, new grace upon me, and I remembered how much I loved bubbles as a child, the endless joy in swooshing the wand to create the perfect sphere to run after and chase with the wind, and the sheer delight in catching it before it burst into another dimension.

  Here’s the thing. I am working really hard at this thing she calls eucharisteo–what Christians know as the Eucharist, or communion, the taking of the bread and wine. This charis grace, chara joy, eucharisteo thanksgiving. I’m working harder than I have in a very long time, because I have to or I will shrivel. There are some tools in this book to help this jumble of myself to begin to conquer life-smothering fear, to reach for a firm grip on His everlasting love for me, to give thanks in all things in such an unceasing way that the power is restored in this short-circuited woman.

  A thousand thanks to Ann Voskamp for writing this book.

  P.S. I want to know why the sows were losing their litters. A small complaint, but she never tells us.

  P.S.S. Thank you, Ann, for ending in Paris, the place where God says, “Enjoy Me.”

  Technorati Tags: Ann Voskamp, eucharisteo, faith, gratitude, One Thousand Gifts, thanksgiving

• January 31, 2011
• 19:11

  Hurray for boring!

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  I saw the word written plainly this morning atop his new spelling list. The list of small words for a small six year old boy. I would not have noticed the message had he not pointed it out.

  “Do you know what this says, Mom?” he asks with a cheeky grin. It was his own newly minted penmanship, each letter carefully proclaiming his fledgling independence.

  BORING

  Asking him to read the word to me, I worked hard to conceal my heart. Surely it was a bit naughty to write such a word on one’s work…but he wrote it all by himself, oh, the joy of a mother-teacher!

• January 19, 2011
• 18:00

  Spaghetti Squash to Iron Man

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  Spaghetti squash, baked with butter and brown sugar, is quickly eaten by my girls. I had a heck of a time getting it to the oven, what with my dull knife and its tough skin. What an amazing creation, this squash, right up there with the pomegranate in its ability to make your mouth water and your fingers cramp as you ready it for consumption.

  Someone we know is training for a triathlon, and upon reading the nutrition section of Joe Friel’s Triathlete’s Training Bible, he’s been requesting unusual amounts of brightly colored fruits and vegetables. What happened to my meat and potatoes man, his wife wondered? He’s still there, but make it lean, if you please.

  Please enjoy this picture of me risking my digits to cut a fresh pineapple in honor of the health conscious athletes in my own family. And do look closely at the bowl, for each and every pomegranate aril was hard fought and I even had to do some research to learn how to de-seed this ancient fruit without ending up in an awful pulpy mess.

  

  I’m actually having fun with with exotic fruits lately, and may have to expand beyond my small town grocer in search of things stranger and wilder. I have the idea that the more bizarre the fruit, the healthier it must be.

  Here is my little boy’s idea of an Iron Man, versus that world famous triathlon called the Ironman. I do believe I would sooner suit up like him and be Iron Man versus do Ironman. But either way, it’s all good! And fruity. I’ll write to you from Kona someday.

  Technorati Tags: Iron Man, pomegranate, spaghetti squash, triathlon training

• January 04, 2011
• 21:47

  Happy New You!

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  Happy New Year and Happy New You! What a great time for reflection and renewal. I love the beginning of January for this reason–the turning of the year is so symbolic for me of the burying of the old man and the raising up of the new, revived and purified man.

  On a totally superficial level, I love this time of year as well for the lingering effects of the Christmas gifts. I’m wearing the super cute handmade apron my husband gave me (Becky, you are amazing, it’s perfect!), feeling all officially housewife now. And I was under the influence of Rouge-Bleu for several days, amazed that my husband again surprised me by finding the one and only wine import I’ve ever asked for, made by my friends in the south of France. (Again, Becky, you came through on this as well–thanks to you and Brian for finding that wine shop). If you have never tried a really great French wine…the search ends here.

  Back to my reflection and renewal, I just started a new Bible study by Nancy Leigh DeMoss called Seeking Him. It covers topics such as revival, humility, repentance, obedience, and grace. I’m looking forward to seeking Him this year.

  Here’s wishing a Happy New Year to you! A toast for my friends:

  Ring out the old, ring in the new,
  Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
  The year is going, let him go;
  Ring out the false, ring in the true.
  ~ Lord Alfred Tennyson

• December 18, 2010
• 22:28

  Corncob Dolls and Christmas Coming

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  It wasn’t Susan’s fault that she was only a corncob. Sometimes Mary let Laura hold Nettie, but she did it only when Susan couldn’t see. Laura Ingalls Wilder, Little House in the Big Woods

  I caught my breath on these words, picturing Mary and Laura playing for hours in the dusty-spicy attic with nothing but a rag doll and a corncob. Life was very hard, I know, and sometimes the romanticized view of pioneer life does it such injustice…but still. Still.

  Having no flat, dimensionless drivel flashing before them incessantly such as modern children are subject to, these girls had the freedom to develop the creative power of a brilliant sunrise. That Laura’s corncob doll was given such power of feelings, and never a second’s thought as to her stature, speaks volumes for the strength of simplicity.

  I told my children to guess what Pa did with the pig’s bladder. First, they had to be informed what a bladder was, for they didn’t know. In 1870, a four year old knew what a pig’s bladder was, and what fun it could be! Pa blew it up into a little white balloon, which the girls batted about and bounced along with endless joy. Who needs a bounce house? Oh, and the pig’s tail was even more fun!

  I’m sort of old fashioned and nostalgic, so I need to not get carried away with sentimentality. I know that about myself. I live in the 21st century and I’m glad I do, but still. Good literature always demands a response from me. I can’t read something meaningful and not come away with an action, however small.

  With Christmas just days away, and since tomorrow’s reading with the kids is the Little House chapter entitled “Christmas,” I have a reply. If you know Little House, you know that simple is not dull. Ma loved beautiful things, and I’m amazed at how she used so very little and so common a thing to make her home charming. I hope to create beauty with simple things.

  Laura loved to look at the lamp, with its glass chimney so clean and sparkling, its yellow flame burning so steadily, and its bowl of clear kerosene colored red by the bits of flannel. She loved to look at the fire in the fireplace, flickering and changing all the time, burning yellow and red and sometimes green above the logs, and hovering blue over the golden and ruby coals.

  Maybe I’ll make pancake men for breakfast for the kids on Christmas morning, like Ma. We’ll bake together, sing carols, make pictures in the snow, sit and look at the fire, read stories, and of course talk about the birth of Jesus.

  Anyone have a pig’s bladder to lend me?

• December 14, 2010
• 23:03

  Gingerbread…hut?

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  Why I thought I could begin baking all the gingerbread pieces I would need for the nine children in our homeschool co-op at ten-o’clock…p.m., not a.m., the eve before hosting a gingerbread house-making party, is because I’m crazy and need to be committed to the Hansel and Gretel asylum. Once upon a time there lived a very silly mother in a house in the juniper forest with her four children…who deserves to be shoved into an oven.

  I hunted down gingerbread templates for very petite, wee little houses, perhaps a lean-to, that would not require me to produce 50 pounds of flour to make enough dough for nine houses, plus extra for the small child who would surely squeeze his house too hard and cry and want another one. I printed some templates, then began to fret over the gingerbread house “glue.” Do I use the recipe with raw eggs, surely it would hold better, and chance that no one would be poisoned a week later as she snacked on her house, or go for the no-egg less-hold version?

  If not sleeping at all tonight is an option, I should definitely make 10 separate batches of gingerbread house dough, so these precious kids can each have their own Queen Anne Victorian scale model reproduction gingerbread house complete with turrets and spindles. I’m sure the other moms are doing this.

  Lucky for me and my sanity, I came across a website from a mom who has been hosting gingerbread house parties for children for 15 years running. Mass quantities of children, at that. Not just one spoiled child who gets the Queen Anne, but up to 20 children who all make a blessed mess and have the time of their lives with…graham crackers!

  Oh yes, I will! I don’t know where that article went, but I believe this woman made up the houses ahead of time, so as to be sure of the structural integrity of the (fake) gingerbread houses. Using about six to eight crackers per house, never mind they are small huts, it’s about a five minute per-house job to make up beforehand. All the less candy to get fattened up on, my dear.

  In fact, I will not even make the cracker houses ahead of time. As it is now well past 10 p.m., snowing and pitch black, I shall go to the store tomorrow before our afternoon party to buy graham crackers, for who has four boxes of these on hand? Certainly not the woman who is even contemplating this endeavor at 10 p.m. the night before the party. Besides, the children don’t even know this is a gingerbread house-making party. It’s just a regular old Christmas party as far as they know, with perhaps eggnog and checkers. So they will have no idea they’ve been downgraded from the castle to the hut, from the homemade gingerbread to the cracker.

  And this mom will keep her sanity. And they all lived happily together ever after.

• December 12, 2010
• 17:12

  Prayers for Dana

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  Please pray for Dana who lost her little boy, 22 months old, today. One of my very first and beloved bloggy friends, she has inspired me, made me laugh and made me think for several years now, and desperately needs your loving prayers. You can visit her here and bless her and her family with whatever words the Lord puts on your heart. It feels like there are no words to say, but I believe she will be held up by your very prayers, thoughts, and words from the heart of God to her.

• December 04, 2010
• 21:25

  I shined my sinks, and other news.

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  I finally took the Flylady’s advice and did something about my grimy sinks. They are so sparkling at the moment! No one dare set a dish in there, please. My husband actually noticed on his own, first thing upon entering the kitchen. I was feeling pretty good until he saw my cheat sheet on the counter–the organizing lady’s directions, everything from getting dressed to the shoes to how to do crisis cleaning (like, someone’s coming to stay with us for Christmas vacation!).

  Dinner tonight was rice and beans; a tip from another helper I like, Dave Ramsey. It’s a lovely meal, really; there’s a lot you can do with simple grains and legumes. I just heard of someone making fantastic East Indian recipes nearly every day with rice and beans that are gourmet meals. Mr. Ramsey’s basic advice is to try to live on very little as you are working your way out of debt or as you are trying to save.

  In other mundane news, as if the condition of my sinks or beans didn’t bore you enough, I’m nearly caught up on laundry. Due to a certain child throwing 1/3 of his clothing down the chute in lieu of putting said clean clothes in the drawers, I had to rewash everything, not knowing what was soiled and what was fresh. We had a meeting, it won’t happen again.

  Is it truly just about 20 day until Christmas? Everything just seems faster and earlier this year. We did some decorating (and cleaning) today with the Christmas tunes floating throughout the house. The stockings are hung and tomorrow we go to the Ochocos to cut down a tree. Those of you who don’t live in Oregon may be envious to know that for only a $5 permit you can cut down up to a 12 foot Christmas tree from the forest.

  If I don’t make it back to this spot before Christmas, please slow down with me and enjoy the season. Celebrate the birth of Jesus in a new way this year. Begin a new tradition. Do something magical with your children. Play in the snow. Give from your heart. May the peace of Christ be with you.

• November 22, 2010
• 22:48

  Thank You for my dishes.

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  Another piece of Dansk Concerto Allegro Blue went down tonight. My husband and I have wagered that perhaps not one piece will be left by the time the kids are grown. It was a wedding gift, nearly all of which was given to us by the late, great John E. Jaqua. So, it’s doubly sentimental.

  Will my grown-up children catch a glimpse somewhere of our special Dansk and remember a warm, full table of family and love? I have no memories of a special tableware, because we had none that I recall, just a bit of this and that. I want my kids to have memories. They already know how I feel about our dishes, given my constant, “be careful, it was a wedding gift!” But I believe the less I say, the better. Just serve up good meals on the Allegro Blue, that’s all I need to do.

• October 22, 2010
• 21:09

  A Different Harvest

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  I was to be writing about the harvest this month. I was lulled out of vigilant garden care by a late warm spell, and then, bam, it froze and died. All lost.

  There are harvests of others kinds to ease the pain. I’m busy reaping the fruit of childhood. Raising kids is a continual and concurrent sowing and harvesting. Today I both collect the joy of children who know how to be silly, innocent little ones who at nearly ‘tweenhood still bless me with sweet simplicity, and also sow the seeds of self-control. Someone else will reap that one some day. I harvested a budding intellect in one child today, a seed which was sown beginning at birth in the countless hours of reading, playing, exploring with. Sowing and reaping, like my garden that I’ll soon start again, is a forever process.

• September 28, 2010
• 23:00

  It flew by.

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  Wow, the end of September and not a single post. This photo from our last hurrah before school started sums it up:

  

  This is us traveling at high speed up an Oregon sand dune and screaming with…something like a thrill.

  So, the past month has seen the end of a season and the beginning of another–a normal part of life but somehow something I’ll never be totally comfortable with. The wonderful lazy days of summer have been replaced with the fine pace of fall. Back when I lived in Michigan, at least I had the change of color, the spectacular foliage that compels thousands to take long Sunday drives just to take it in, breathe it in. Here in Central Oregon, what do I have to make fall really worth it all? The same green/gray junipers looking at me with their blue-berried eyes and unchanging scraggly limbs, no apple orchards to make an Autumn tradition, no piles of leaves to jump in. But, as a friend told me, look on the bright side–no change to cause a stress in emotions, no apples to dig worms out of, no leaves to endlessly rake into heaps. The grass is always greener!

  One month of school under their little belts, and the kids are stretching into more of who they were created to be. So am I. In spite of and because of various trials and new situations we are facing, we are growing, growth pains and all, and it fits the season.

  Though fall in Central Oregon doesn’t look like much, there is grand activity going on under the surface. The nights slowly get colder, and the garden gives us its last. Even with an Indian summer enticing us at the moment, I am not fooled. The purpose and function of fall can be missed, but it’s essential. The cold, shorter days play with our chemistry, but somehow prepare us for an eventual spring. Upheaval, activity, schedules, insanity…then a long, cold winter that relies on that burst of fall activity to carry you through safely til spring.

  We won’t visit the sand dunes again until next Labor Day weekend. Until then, I’ll cherish the memories of sand-angels. Happy Fall, y’all!

  

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon, Oregon Coast, autumn, fall

• August 22, 2010
• 23:17

  Preparing for the next time

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  Got oil in your lamp? Did you learn from the last fall? There is purpose and intention in our trouble, and it's to grow us and help us grow others, so take notes this time.
• August 15, 2010
• 9:00

  Peace Defined

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  Practice what you preach, sister. Just when I thought perhaps I was far enough removed from a particularly difficult time to write with clarity, BAM, I’m back, feet tripping and mind swaying, in the midst of trial.

  It seems I have to write honestly and come with words that aren’t backed with the full confidence and assurance I thought I had. I had wanted to share some secrets to peace, secrets like these:

  You keep him in perfect peace
whose mind is stayed on you,
because he trusts in you.
  —Isaiah 26:3

  Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
  —Philippians 4:6-7

  So, the secrets say Keep your mind on God and you’ll have peace. Go to God with your anxieties and He will give you the peace that dissolves all confusion. These are the words of my source of help and strength — I’m not mocking them, I’m just saying that there is clearly much more to these “secrets” than meets the eye.

  Maybe my definition of peace is incorrect. I’d like to think that when a bump in the road comes along, I’ve equipped myself with big, fat tires and a great suspension system that diminishes the jolt and it feels more like a sway to the music than a bump in the road. But somehow, I still feel the rise and fall of every trial, despite my human attempts to reach the mind of God and that elusive “peace.”

  If I readjust what I call “peace,” I might find some understanding. I’ve imagined peace to be a thing that eliminates the pain of life. I’ve imagined myself Dorothy in the center of a tornado being swept into the throes of a violent wind, feeling nothing but tranquility.

  Ah, Dorothy. I’m learning that peace may not be the drifting on a cloud of calm that I had hoped for. It may be a certain grit and courage I have to bring to the situation to navigate the delusions and anxiety of the trial.

  Behind the grit and courage is a word I missed in the verse I quoted above from Isaiah: trust. There is a steady faith and understanding that has to be clearly intact for peace to prevail. If I am shaken in my knowledge of the fact that God loves me and wants the best for me, if I am shaken in my belief in myself and my destiny, there will be no peace.

  I may still have to feel the jolt of a speed bump, I may still feel the aches and discomforts of this life. I will surely be swept into tornadoes now and again. I can expect to feel some pain, but I pray that as I trust in the truth of who God is and who I am, I can find the peace that paves the way for me to bravely steady on.

  Technorati Tags: Christianity, faith, God, peace

• August 04, 2010
• 16:07

  Car trouble

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  It went like this:

  Car Guy: Your van is done.
  Me: (slow to get the point) What do you mean?
  Car Guy: Rods are knocking, it’s about to blow up…
  Me: What are my options?
  Car Guy: Nothing — or get a new motor.

  ******

  This, after breaking down on top of the mountain with my four kids, 81 year old mother, and a foreign exchange student, having our family van towed into town, waiting almost 2 weeks for an answer…Nothing to do but smile. At least it didn’t blow up with us in it. And my girl from Poland got to experience the generosity of American strangers and friends who helped this stranded family off a mountain pass.

• July 21, 2010
• 11:09

  When your daughter finds a baby jackrabbit

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  The dog brought a baby jackrabbit to our lawn. Miraculously unharmed, the small gray creature with eyes wide open was a gift to my 9 year old animal loving daughter. She has wanted to raise a baby rabbit for years, and this appeared to be the genie in the magic bottle that answered her deepest wish. Appearances can be deceiving and wishes can be answered in other ways.

  

  I learned several years ago when same dog unearthed a wild jackrabbit nest that it’s never recommended and nearly impossible to raise wild rabbits on your own, not to mention that it’s illegal to possess Oregon wildlife without the proper state and federal permits. The survival rate is miniscule. I had foolishly and greenhornedly gathered up two of the babies and brought them home, only to have them cry all night, and then I wanted to cry when I researched online and discovered that I was now party to the likely demise of the sweet bunnies. I got up before dawn the next morning and returned the babies to the very spot beneath the junipers where I found them, following the instructions I had read, and believing that, as stated, the momma would find them even though she had obviously moved her nest elsewhere by this time.

  Having learned this lesson, I knew JJ couldn’t keep the baby jackrabbit that our dog was so pleased to deliver. I let her hold the baby, and little sister JoJo gave it some love too, as I reminded them of the literature that clearly counseled the return of the jackrabbit to its nest. The problem was, we had no way of knowing where in the midst of the hundred acre wood the nest could be.

  

  These are the beautiful moments of our lives. There is something precious and priceless about loving a wild thing that must be let go, and making that decision on your own.

  The children decided upon a location for the return, an area of junipers where the dog had been recently spotted. JJ and JoJo prepared a safehouse for the newly orphaned bunny who would hopefully soon have a reunion with a mother who would be calling her baby for a midnight feeding. A careful hole lined with soft grasses, some twigs meticulously set across the top of the child-made nest, and some tender goodbyes and goodlucks were the scene.

  

  

  Goodbye, wild bunny who brought a thrill of delight and a living nature lesson to my children.

  Technorati Tags: baby jackrabbit, Central Oregon, family life

• July 11, 2010
• 12:54

  Newborn kittens over here!

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  There is nothing better! Newborn kittens, and children who got to watch the miracle happen! Five sweet little noses at mama’s belly, the awesomeness of new life.

  

  Technorati Tags: newborn kittens

• July 06, 2010
• 11:13

  Skunk Cabbage at Clear Lake

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  Our family had a great trip to Cold Water Cove, a beautiful, quiet area around Clear Lake, the headwaters of the McKenzie River. We had driven from Central Oregon over the Cascade Mountains to get to this scenic getaway in the Willamette National Forest.

  One fun discovery was skunk cabbage, which we found growing in swampy areas near Clear Lake, the “lake born of fire.” I don’t know if the volcanic rock sediment makes it grow so huge and odorous…there is a reason it’s called skunk cabbage. Don’t eat it. It won’t kill you, but you’ll be sorry.

  

  To give you some proportion, here are the kids with their cabbage leaves. Can you believe I let them take these home with us IN THE VAN as we traveled for several hours? What a migraine.

  

  The leaves are now shriveled up on the front porch, but it was fun while it lasted!
  

  Technorati Tags: McKenzie River, Clear Lake, Cold Water Cove, Cascade Mountains

• June 06, 2010
• 12:26

  My High Desert Wildflower Tour

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  Spring in Central Oregon has been wet and wonderful! Yes, I felt like I was back in Eugene, but for desert dwellers, we can’t complain about the rain. It’s produced some lovely wildflowers on my property, some of which I’ve never seen before.

  Here is a photo tour, and I hope to update this post with all the names of all these specimens, but for now, please enjoy the beauty. Over the next week, I’ll be working with the kids on creating a nature journal with the proper designations for each flower. I don’t have in hand a Central Oregon Wildflower book, but I’ll pick one up tomorrow.

  First up, this pretty long-stemmed flower was discovered by my daughter growing amongst the sage.

  

  This gorgeous lavender colored wildflower appeared in a few different locations, and has a short blooming season. I believe it’s called a “phacelia,” and it almost seems to glow.

  

  Next, I almost stepped on this miniature deep purple-petaled beauty. It’s called a monkeyflower. It was all by itself, I believe the only one I saw. Barely a stem, it seemed to have sprouted straight from the grains of sand.
  

  Another low-growing flower called Bitter-Root was discovered near some volcanic rock. This specimen was confined to a small area, and only grew next to the moss-covered stones. It’s the closest thing to a desert rose on my property. There were both white and pinkish varieties. Traditionally the roots were peeled, then cooked and eaten, or dried for future use by the natives.
  

  This was an interesting white daisy, with only three distinct petals at this point. Isn’t it pretty? It might be a blackfoot daisy. I wish there were enough to pick a bouquet and place on my kitchen table, but as with all the wildflowers here in my desert, they show up as a rarity with a bountiful rain, so I leave them where I find them. We go out for hikes nearly every day, so I do get to enjoy them while they last!
  

  I almost missed this next bunch of pink blooms with yellow centers, but luckily I had my children’s eyes. Lower to the ground – perhaps this is why they seem to uncover more than I do? These are Mohave Asters.
  

  Ah, I loved this next one before I found out what it was, the first wildflower I saw this spring! The tall blades it grows within, the puffy oblong yellow cluster of blooms, reminds me of a tiny version of the yuccas I grew up with in Arizona. But it’s HIGHLY POISONOUS! Yes, it’s called Death Camas, and for good reason. Beautiful to behold, deadly to ingest.
  

  The final bunch of wildflowers I discovered were the brightest yellow delicate tassels near the edge of the cliff. These are called “Oregon sunshine” and it’s a terrifically happy flower! Each petal was like a spike, each flower beginning with arms reaching straight to heaven, then slowly opening as the day unfolds.
  

  I hope you enjoyed my Central Oregon wildflower tour. We are blessed with such beauty in our backyard.

  “…Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow.” Mt. 6:28.

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon, high desert, wildflowers

• May 29, 2010
• 11:49

  Happy Memorial Day Weekend!

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  Have a great weekend, friends. Honor your country, hug your kids, and enjoy life.

• May 16, 2010
• 19:57

  Ein Deutsches Requiem!

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  Today was full of beautiful things, the highlight being attending the Central Oregon Symphony’s presentation of Brahms’ German Requiem, joined by the Cascade Chorale and Central Oregon Mastersingers.

  My dear friends Jane and Julia were my company, along with the heavenly music, from cellos and violins to the lone harp that Julia was so happy to be just five rows away from. My mom was supposed to go with Jane and me, but wasn’t feeling well, so I called Julia at the last minute, and she was able to meet us there in a moment’s notice!

  She was really meant to be there, I told her. She has a thing for the harp, and had the best seat in the house for harp viewing! Due to our late arrival, we were instructed to go down to the front left, directly in front of the lovely lady plucking the long strings. And I learned that Julia hadn’t been to the symphony since she was a child, so this was a treasured time. I totally owed her for taking my kids for me when Luke had his surgery last month, so the requiem was my requital.

  The Requiem begins: “Selig sind, die da Leid tragen, denn sie sollen getrostet werden,” or “Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.” I do wish that I’d had the program to follow along with (being late the ushers had left their places), as I don’t understand German, but I’m sitting here tonight going over the text and translation, hoping to someday hear this again with more understanding. But music does transcend translation, and it all still spoke to me.

  So seid nun geduldig, lieben Brüder, bis auf die Zukunft des Herrn. Siehe, ein Ackermann wartet auf die kostliche Frucht der Erde und ist geduldig darüber, bis er empfahe den Morgenregen und Abendregen. Jakobus 5:7

  Be patient therefore, brethren, unto the coming of the Lord. See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth, and how patient he is for the morning and evening rain. James 5:7

  I had worked in my garden for several hours just before heading out for the concert, and returned home to a refreshing spring rain. I had been fretting about not watering my little seedlings prior to leaving. Oh, for patience.

  Michael Gesme is the music director and conducter of the Central Oregon Symphony, and if you ever have the opportunity to see him, it’s an entertaining treat. He is an active conductor, so energetic and lively, and I did see him jump fully several inches at least once!

  Thank you, Johannes Brahms, for a lovely afternoon.

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon Symphony, Michael Gesme, Johannes Brahms, Ein deutsches Requiem, A German Requiem

• May 07, 2010
• 17:08

  The Pixie Chicks and other signs of spring

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  I call these these the Pixie Chicks:

  
  This photo is from a few weeks ago when we stopped at my neighbor Pixie’s house and the kids enjoyed her chickens. We are loving that spring is hopefully here to stay. It IS May, after all. But spring in Central Oregon is 70 degrees one day, hailing one inch stones the next.

  

  Here are some more harbingers of spring around our place:

  
  The snakes are coming out from hiding, and my daughter is there to catch them.

  
  The grass is getting green and the long shadows of the afternoon are pleasant.

  How is spring turning in your part of the world?

  Technorati Tags: catching snakes, chickens, spring

• April 30, 2010
• 8:12

  I did something dangerous.

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  I let my kids visit the neighbor’s little farm.

  
  
  Now guess what they want?
  

  Technorati Tags: family life, ranch, baby goat, new chick

• April 24, 2010
• 14:25

  Pogo: Toxic to the Tongue! A Tragic Tale of Little L

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  Do you remember pogo sticks? As a little girl in the ’70s, this was one of my favorite past-times, jumping and balancing like a happy kangaroo. Besides my stilts, another old-school toy, the pogo stick was IT.

  One of these spring-loaded poles showed up at my school, and the children lined up for their turn to bounce their way to a new school record. My five year old son was hopping like Tigger with the rest of them, until Wednesday.

  I was in the gym when I heard the scream, not unusual for Little L who is dramatic and feisty. But the blood that ensued and the look of fright in his eyes told me this was tragic, not trivial. By the time I got his mouth rinsed enough to see the damage, I discovered he bit clear through his tongue and his bottom lip, in a sort of double-whammy collision, and jarred several teeth out of place in the process. The laceration in his tongue was about an inch across, which is nearly the whole width of a child’s tongue. Seeing through someone’s tongue is very alarming.

  The hurry to gather him and my other three children to race off to the doctor was a flurry of emotions, yet in those times of crisis, a mother is somehow able to hold it together. I had no thoughts other than keeping him from choking on the blood that kept coming, and trusted that he was in God’s hands.

  Because when it rains it pours, of course my husband was out of town for this entire ordeal, and I also put the truck in a small ravine in my haste to get to the hospital in the neighboring city where surgery had been scheduled. Because I live in a rural area, the surgeon actually personally called to find out where I was. “I’ll be there as soon as I get out of the ditch,” I responded calmly.

  As I was waiting for my neighbor to arrive with his John Deere to pull me out, I placed Little L on a nearby rock and comforted him with hugs and my coat wrapped about him to fight off the chilly spring wind. His jacket had, as might be expected, been left at school in the swirl of events.

  In these times of calamity, however, as in most watershed moments, there are diamonds in the rough. The staff at St. Charles in Bend were amazing. The ENT surgeon was a father of four children, like me, and he and the nursing and anesthesiology folks just fell in love with Little L and made him feel so special that he said, despite his great pain, “I like it here.” In his new tongue-mangled lisp, he was so charming as he explained that he got hurt when he “wath pogo-ing.”

  My dear friend Julia showed up to take my other three children to dinner and then home to tuck them into bed. Since Little L couldn’t eat or drink a drop as he waited for general anesthesia and surgery, I couldn’t very well eat or feed my kids in front of the ravenous little soul. She saved the day, and I must say, I had a few other friends call and offer to do the same. We are very blessed.

  One of the most trying moments was an unexpected one, and the Lord sent me another friend to navigate this part. Have you ever witnessed a child coming out of anesthesia? Howling, bellowing, thrashing, wild-eyed — these descriptions barely do justice to the occasion. So, having Courtenay show up unexpectedly at the hospital was a Godsend. She brought me coffee, gathered popsicles and Children’s Motrin for Little L to aid in his recovery, and offered just the right conversation diversion I needed to not be overly consumed with worry over my baby boy.

  All stitched up and wranglers back on, Little L was ready to go home. I had promised, however, to take him “somewhere special” and he was holding me to this pledge. Aaaah, it was nearly midnight and after a grueling day like this, I couldn’t, I just couldn’t do anything else. He wanted pancakes, his favorite comfort food.

  He drifted off as we headed home, and finally, I was carrying him in the house in what seemed like a dream. I relieved Julia who had taken such good care of my other kids, and set about to get Little L ready for bed. I opened the refrigerator and discovered that God takes care of the most minute details. There were the leftovers of my older son’s dinner that Julia had treated them to. Pancakes. Hallelujah, Little L could have his comfort. Not that he could eat much with his tongue in such a shape, but a few tiny bits of soggy pancake were all he needed to feel satisfied.

  The next morning was met with more moments of being cared for in crisis. The Country Wife took Little L for the day, my fellow teacher picked up the other three kids for school, classroom aides handled the morning classes, and I set about living “the day after.”

  There is the pogo stick story and why they are toxic to the tongue. Truly, I still think pogo sticks are a classic toy, but we’ll be avoiding them for a long time. It’s been three days, and just so you know, Little L is out happily playing, though he talks really funny for now.

  Technorati Tags: childhood memories, faith, pogo stick, tongue surgery

• April 18, 2010
• 23:04

  Women of The French Resistance

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  Ooops, sorry for those of you who came to this post yesterday or today and found it empty. It was set to auto-post and my whole family was down with the stomach flu. Not much computer time happened in the wake of one kid after another (and then mom) dropping with this horrible vomiting, diarrhea mess.

  So, I will repost the article I wrote last year on the subject of the French Resistance. You may have noticed that I am fascinated with France, I am gripped by the Holocaust, and captivated by WWII heroes. Thus, the subject of the French Resistance is of great intrigue to me, especially the women who gave their lives in this effort.

  Please read this post on Berthe Fraser, a brave housewife who contributed to the salvation of her country from her simple domestic position. You will learn about what exactly the French Resistance was, as well as the trials and triumphs of such persons. The subtitle of April’s blog is “What you do matters,” and Berthe truly exemplifies this saying. You do not need to have a position of power or wealth to make a difference, you just need a willing heart of courage and valor.

• April 12, 2010
• 20:56

  Behind Enemy Lines

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  I can’t do justice to a complete review on this book at the moment; however, I’d rather give a quick word than to delete this scheduled post. I wish my week wasn’t as full as it is right now, or I’d have so much to tell you!

  History is simply the story of people, and I’m so curious about people. Behind Enemy Lines: The True Story of a French Jewish Spy in Nazi Germany by Marthe Cohn with Wendy Holden is an autobiographical book about a woman of the French Resistance – those mostly underground forces in France fighting Hitler and the Nazis in World War II.

  I first mentioned this book on my blog last year in this post on Berthe Fraser, as part of a series I wrote on the women of the French Resistance. At the end of the post on Ms. Fraser, I recommended several books to those interested in other accounts of these brave women of the Resistance. One of these books was Behind Enemy Lines.

  A few times in the life of my blog I’ve reviewed books and been contacted by the author to thank me. But nothing prepared me for receiving an email from the author of Behind Enemy Lines, Marthe Cohn, grateful that I’d included her book in my follow-up list of recommended reads. Folks, the woman is 90 years old and still living! And she knows how to send an email! Hallelujah!

  We exchanged an email or two, and she agreed to do an author Q & A for me on this marvelous book of hers. Well, I’m here to tell you that I’ve not yet put that together, and shame on me for that! Which is why I simply cannot do a complete review yet on this book. However, this being Holocaust Remembrance Week, I had to bring this to the table and let you know it’s on my mind, and I’ll be following up, because as we know time is of the essence.

  One question that I know I have for Marthe Cohn concerns the aftermath of the liberation. There’s a part in her book where she talks about seeing groups of ragged, skeletal, filthy, unrecognizable people with big, empty eyes roaming the streets begging for help. They were ignored. No one believed them. These were the remnant left of the Jews, hanging on by a thread, slowing making their way out of the liberated concentration camps. By this point, didn’t people know about the Holocaust? This was a gut-wrenching and scary moment for me, realizing that still, after all that, people could still turn their backs on humanity.

  There will be more to come on this story, but I must sign off for now. God bless your week.

  Technorati Tags: France, French Resistance, Holocaust, Behind Enemy Lines, Marthe Cohn, World War II

• April 11, 2010
• 23:56

  Behind Enemy Lines

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  A review of Marthe Cohn's compelling memoir of life as a young French Jew and nurse/spy with the Free French forces.
• April 10, 2010
• 15:00

  Grieving with Poland

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  I’ve been emailing back and forth today with a friend in Poland. I’m hosting a young Polish girl this summer, the student of my friend who teaches English there. We went over the details of Julia’s itinerary and plans for her stay in the U.S.

  Of course, we talked about the tragic plane crash today that killed the President of Poland, along with 96 other Polish political leaders and citizens. My friend emailed me:

  “The plane crash is tragic for Poland–so many ‘officials’ lost at one time. Politically, it will have an impact because the presidential election is this year and some of the main opponents to the prime minister’s party were on board the plane–it looks like the party has lost any chance of competing in the election now–what a shame so many people were killed in the same place where 20,000 Polish soldiers were murdered 70 years ago.”

  Please offer some prayers for our brothers and sisters in Poland. I was reminded this morning of reason #99 to host a foreign exchange student: as we connect with people around the globe, our capacity for understanding and love expands. I was riveted by the news of the devastating loss even more so because I feel a personal connection to at least two people in Poland.

  God’s blessings on Poland. It is a very special place. The reform movement that began the dismantling of communism in east central Europe began in Poland. We have the Poles to thank in large part for the fall of the Berlin Wall. I pray that the new leaders of this significant nation will be bold freedom seekers and lovers of liberty.

  Technorati Tags: Poland, Lech Kaczynski, Polish President, plane crash, foreign exchange student

• April 04, 2010
• 22:30

  Suite Française and Irene’s Story

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  Suite Française has three parts: the two main novellas, “Storm in June” and “Dolce,” and the Appendices that provide essential details about author Irène Némirovsky’s plans for the book as well as gripping correspondence that highlights the tragic story unfolding in her own family.

  Suite Française portrays life in France from June, 1940 to July 1, 1941. The early German occupation of France and its impact on the daily lives of those involved is told with clarity and deep understanding of a depraved humanity and human conduct under significant pressure.

  The story opens with residents realizing the Germans are at the gates of Paris. The narratives of a few people are followed as chaos ensues. The reader gets a sense of both the individual and the collective panic, with banks failing, railroads being bombed, houses being overtaken by Nazi soldiers.

  The mass exodus from Paris is described in “Storm in June” with a beautiful, expressive tone, as the author relates a scene from a boulevard where families are moving with a dizzying agitation to pack up their families and belongings:

  In the darkness the danger seemed to grow. You could smell the suffering in the air, in the silence. Even people who were normally calm and controlled were overwhelmed by anxiety and fear. … Panic obliterated everything that wasn’t animal instinct, involuntary physical reaction. Grab the most valuable things you own in the world and then . . . ! And, on that night, only people – the living and the breathing, the crying and the loving – were precious. Rare was the person who cared about their possessions; everyone wrapped their arms tightly round their wife or child and nothing else mattered; the rest could go up in flames.

  The second novella, “Dolce,” describes a subdued and defeated French people in the village of Bussy who must live with an incoming garrison of Wehrmacht troops. We see a settling, an adapting to the new reality of an occupied country. There are collaborators and resisters, and all the characters in between.

  Suite Française ends with the German regiment leaving the village of Bussy to continue their fighting in Moscow. The final scene describes the village onlookers watching the enemy pull out.

  They had become accustomed to them, had looked at them indifferently, without being afraid. But now the sight of it all made them shudder. The truck, full to bursting with big loaves of black bread, freshly baked and sweet-smelling, the Red Cross vans, with no passengers – for now . . . the field kitchen, bumping along at the end of the procession like a saucepan tied to a dog’s tail. The men began singing, a grave, slow song that drifted away into the night.

  About the Author:

  Irène Némirovsky, a Jew from Ukraine, was born into a wealthy family that eventually fled the country during the Russian Revolution. The family ended up in Paris, and Irène quickly became a celebrated author in France.

  Irène was not what one would consider an observant Jew. In fact, some have called her a self-hating Jew. Her willingness to convert to Catholicism for protection, her unsuccessful attempt to become a French citizen, her usage of anti-Semitic publishers to promote her books — all reveal a woman who was trusting in France and not Yahweh to save her.

  But no matter, none of this diminishes the important place in Holocaust literature of Suite Française. You won’t find the spiritual Jewish perspective of an Anne Frank or Elie Wiesel in Irène’s writings, but this just highlights Hitler’s insanity. He didn’t care if you loved or hated being a Jew. The Nazis dealt the same hand of death to both.

  Married to Jewish banker Michel Epstein, Irène had two daughters, Denise and Élisabeth. It was these two daughters we have to thank for the survival of the manuscript Suite Française.

  By 1940, Jews all over Europe were deeply persecuted, and so it was with Irène’s family. She could no longer get her books published, and her husband could no longer work at the bank because of their Jewish ancestry. Despite having converted to Catholicism and being a popular literary figure in France, Irène was arrested in July 1942 as a “stateless person of Jewish descent” and sent to Auschwitz, where she died on August 17, 1942. Her husband shared the same fate a few months later in the gas chambers.

  And what of the children and this book, Suite Française? Denise and Élisabeth were hidden in schools and convents until the war’s end. Their father, before he was taken away, had given them one possession to guard with their lives: a little suitcase which contained a special notebook. Can you imagine these two little orphan girls, about 13 and 5 years old, in hiding and in possession of this one family memento, too afraid to leave it, too afraid to examine its contents?

  In fact, for over 50 years, the leatherbound notebook which contained Irène’s two novellas which comprise Suite Française, written in microscopic print to save precious paper, remained unopened inside of this suitcase. Irène’s daughters thought it was their mother’s journal, and knew that reading it would be too painful to bear.

  Upon preparing to give her mother’s papers to a French archive in the late 1990′s, Denise finally had the courage to open the notebook. She discovered this extraordinary work, incomplete yet whole, written under the most formidable circumstances. The two novellas were intended to be the beginning of a series of five stories which would encompass the whole of the war, to its end. Irène wrote that the rest of the oeuvre was “in limbo, and what limbo! It’s really in the lap of the gods since it depends on what happens.”

  Irène’s writing in Suite Française is remarkable not just for its brilliant composition but its perspective. Irène did not begin writing this book until 1941, literally as these events were unfolding before her. However, Suite Française reads not like the diary of one writing contemporaneously with the historical events, lacking a certain coherence, but it presents a viewpoint usually reserved for one who is a generation removed from the time in question who has had time to reflect.

  I wonder if Irène’s placement in the timeline of human history prepared her for such a task? She had already lived as a persecuted Jew through a major war, and experienced firsthand the full circle of events. After the 1918 Russian Revolution, the Bolsheviks seized her father’s bank and the Nemirovsky family had to disguise themselves as peasants and flee to Finland.

  Denise reported after publication of Suite Française, “For me, the greatest joy is knowing that the book is being read. It is an extraordinary feeling to have brought my mother back to life. It shows that the Nazis did not truly succeed in killing her. It is not vengeance, but it is a victory.”

  Universal Pictures has acquired screen rights to Suite Française. I think a better choice might be to make a movie about Irène Némirovsky herself, whose real life story is much more moving than the fiction she wrote.

  sources:
  NY Times article: As France Burned by Paul Gray
  suitefrancaisefamily.com
  Museum of Jewish Heritage: Woman of Letters

  In other blogs:
  dovegreyreader
  the coffee spoon

  Technorati Tags: France, Irene Nemirovsky, Nazi Germany, Suite Française, World War II

• March 10, 2010
• 20:57

  When Ginger Came Flying My Way

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  It was one of those days when I’m glad to live in a small town; and believe me, there are days when I wish I didn’t. I was shopping at my local grocery store this evening when a friend approached as I lingered over the apples, and with a quick word she tossed a mesh sack of ginger across the produce aisle. In a big city, a lady tossing food at you in the grocery store might cause a riot, but here in my cow-town, it means you’re loved.

  I barely caught it, but firmly caught the advice she gave me on how to make ginger tea. “Just grate some up in pan of water, heat and simmer it for a bit,” she suggested. She claimed it was great for arthritis, and I wondered if I possibly looked arthritic at the moment. Perhaps frenetic, as my four kids were scattered hither and there, grabbing goat cheese off the shelves and bumping into strangers’ carts. I do remember being told when I was pregnant and facing morning sickness that chewing on a bit of ginger would do a world of good for nausea.

  I’ve drank plenty of ginger tea, usually a ginger-lemon or ginger-honey variety, but always brewed from a bag. I looked forward to this homemade brew from a rhizome that my little boy thought was a bag of doggie treats. Okay, I confess I was going to say ginger root, but upon further research, I discovered that only “common” people call it a ginger root, as it is botanically not so – it’s a rhizome because whole new ginger plants can self-generate from budded sections, whereas a root will die if split into sections.

  I had a flashback to that time in my childhood when I went through a phase of wishing I had a different name – the name I had inexplicably chosen was Ginger, and my dear Mom humored me and called me Ginger until I grew tired of it.

  At any rate, I promptly grated up a pile of ginger (way too much) and threw it in a pan of water and made some tea. With neither lemon or honey on hand, I added molasses to to my brew. Voila, Ginger Molasses Tea, the finest, spiciest, and most aromatic tea I’ve had in a long time! I prepared a cup for my mom, telling her how good it is for her, especially if she has arthritis. She looked at me askance, but with her memory, she doesn’t know if she has arthritis or not. What she does have, however, is apparently much benefited by ginger – poor circulation, migraines, chills, and more. After looking up the health benefits, I realized how grateful I am that my friend send ginger flying my way tonight.

  Here are some of the benefits of ginger:

  Ginger can block the effects of prostaglandin, a substance that causes inflammation of blood vessels in the brain that leads to migraines.

  Ginger relieves nausea.

  Ginger can help ease menstrual and stomach cramps.

  Ginger has anti-inflammatory properties that reduces the pain of rheumatoid arthritis.

  Ginger warms the upper respiratory tract, and is effective against colds and flu and even allergies.

  Ginger stimulates digestion and relieves stomach gas.

  Ginger has a positive effect on the circulatory system as it causes the platelets to be less sticky.

  Ginger is a mood enhancer and stress reliever, due to its cineole content.

  Ginger is a great mouth freshener.

  Ginger has anti-fungal properties.

  Cheers, have a cup of ginger tea!

• March 01, 2010
• 7:07

  Dear March - Come in!

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  How are things in your part of the world? It may not feel like spring, but I know it’s coming, the calendar tells me so. And also the sky, the birds, the tiny signs of life I see poking through the ground.

  Are you still covered with snow? Is the wind chilling you to the core? Take heart, it’s March! That means April and May are just around the corner. Are you thinking about what you’ll plant in your garden this year? I am, and I hope to add a few things to the mix this year. We started some vegetables last week, but here in Central Oregon, the rule of thumb on when to plant outdoors is “when the snow is gone from Black Butte,” which tends to be about June 1st!

  Here is a lovely poem by Emily Dickinson, one of the greatest poets to ever write about nature, next to David. Enjoy these lines, and enjoy your March.

  Dear March, Come in!
  by Emily Dickinson (1830-86)

  Dear March, Come in!

  How glad I am!

  I looked for you before.
  Put down your hat —

  You must have walked —

  How out of breath you are!
  Dear March, how are you?
  And the rest?
  Did you leave Nature well?
  Oh, March, come right upstairs with me,
  I have so much to tell!

  I got your letter, and the bird’s;

  The maples never knew
  That you were coming, — I declare,

  How red their faces grew!

  But March, forgive me —

  And all those hills
  You left for me to hue;

  There was no purple suitable,

  You took it all with you.

  Who knocks?
  That April!

  Lock the door!

  I will not be pursued!

  He stayed away a year, to call

  When I am occupied.
  But trifles look so trivial

  As soon as you have come,
  That blame is just as dear as praise

  And praise as mere as blame.
  

  Technorati Tags: nature, March, Emily Dickinson, outdoors, poetry

• February 13, 2010
• 16:35

  I Am From

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  I AM FROM
  By Jennifer @ Diary of 1

  I am from dusty country roads,
  From Vick’s Vapor Rub
  And handmade clothes.
  I am from the dirt floors of a house built from corrugated iron and boards,
  With unshaded lightbulbs dangling from cords.
  I am from the mint patch, Arizona honeysuckle, and big blue sky,
  The black walnut grove, blooming yucca, and tumbleweeds piled high.

  I am from clothes on the line and Kick the Can,
  From Andy and Nelda,
  The Appalachian and the artisan.
  I am from Heather and Nancy and Becky,
  From pride and poverty and poetry.
  I’m from you’ll catch a cold and don’t hold open the refrigerator door,
  Revival meetings, The Old Rugged Cross, and stories of the saints of yore.

  I am from Tucson and Scots-Irish and English blood,
  From clans and crests
  And ‘Touch not the cat but a glove.’
  I’m from fresh peaches and blackberries picked by my hand,
  Fried okra and black coffee cooked in a pan.
  I’m from Great Uncle Fran who could stand on his head,
  And Great Granddad who carved the presidents now dead.
  I’m from the hillbilly, Confederate, Merchant Marine,
  The carpenter, the teacher, and ghosts that are seen.

  I am from Mama’s stitched up album,
  Careful labels on each photo
  Tell where I’m from.
  Old black and whites with yellowed corner tape
  Reveal my photographer mother with an eye for landscape.
  I am from the snapshot of a small girl by the mailbox and mesquite,
  A lovely memory from a lonely street.
  I am from books and words and walks,
  From designs in the clouds and the circling of hawks.
  Where are you from?

  I wrote this poem in response to the meme over at Chrysalis. Tonight is the last night to enter her contest, but I hope you’ll write your own and share it with me. The template for this poem is here, and the original poem of this style by George Ella Lyon is here.

  Technorati Tags: family life, I Am From, poetry

• February 10, 2010
• 20:48

  Hello, not much to say

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  What can I write about? I’m feeling very much like I have nothing to say, so here is my meager offering to my diary.

  I did a load of dishes and a load of laundry, swept the kitchen and the mud room, and that’s all I can muster. It’s about 8:30 p.m. and I’m ready for bed. I’ll get up early. I talk myself into going to bed early with “Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.” I hope it works. It’s not usually my nature to get to bed early, but I am unusually tired.

  I need to rise early to make a batch of sugar cookies for the kids at school. We’re celebrating Valentine’s Day tomorrow. I’m realizing at the moment that I have nothing with which to decorate the cookies, so they will be plain Jane. At least I have a heart-shaped cookie cutter. The cookies will be all the healthier, I’m telling myself. Will the kids buy it? Uh-oh, I also just realized I’m not supposed to take home-baked goodies to school. Store-bought only. Great, let’s deprive kids of healthier options, it’s the law. Bring on the artificial colors, flavors, preservatives, and plastic wrapping.

  I’ve been having many days in a row of putting my foot in my mouth. I did it again today. What’s with me? Do you have weeks like this? Do you ever ask the good Lord WHY can’t I learn my lesson about [fill in the blank]? Why am I so dull-headed? Geez.

  I digress, from nothing, so it’s okay.

  I’m emptied of all my not-very-deep thoughts, so now I’ll head to bed. Tomorrow is a new day, which I’m grateful for. I have an evening coffee date with two amazing ladies, one a dear friend, and the other the friend of the dear friend. God bless my sweet husband for getting the kids to bed, all tucked in with a kiss and a prayer.
  

  Technorati Tags: family life

• January 20, 2010
• 21:24

  Sleepy Goodnight

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  Goodnight, that’s all. I’m tired, so I’ll go to bed. I’ve lived most of my adult life not following that simple reasoning, and instead have pushed myself to the very limits of physical and mental endurance. For something or another. A final exam, a work project, a busy season, there is always a pressing reason (in my mind) to not listen to my body say, “I’m fatigued.”

  I’m finally learning that there are consequences to this behavior! I’m nearly 40 – yikes, in July. After my last unexpected visit to the doctor, when I recently felt faint and dizzy at work for no reason at all (just sitting helping a student with math), I was roused from my blasé attitude that my body can handle anything. My doctor, who delivered my last baby and knows me fairly well, had looked at me with her eyes tearing over and said, “I need to write a note to your boss to tell him/her that you can’t work so much.” I laughed self-consciously and told her she’d be writing a note to myself, at which point she promptly scheduled me a counseling appointment to deal with my seeming inability to not work so much!

  I didn’t go to the appointment, but the incident did serve as a needed wake-up call, and I’ve made some changes in my schedule. Which begins with, goodnight, I’m tired.

• January 10, 2010
• 1:01

  The holocaust of time

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  Note: this blog post turned into an essay. If you don’t have TIME to read it, then don’t. But it just might save you some time.
  
  There is a war on time. As I resolved to waste less time this year, I had the chilling thought that modern life is fracturing our souls with its pulls and lures in every direction, so much so that we are barely left human. It’s the holocaust of time.

  What a harsh word to use – holocaust. I think about my comfortable, wise viewpoint of 2010 as I look back upon the Holocaust of the 1930s – 1945 in Europe. HOW could the bystanders and the apathetic and the scared and the collaborators have EVER let it happen?

  And then I thought about what evil forces are at work at this moment in history, a very different holocaust, the annihilation of well-spent time, and I believe that my descendants will have the same judgement: HOW could the bystanders and the apathetic and the scared and the collaborators have EVER let it happen?

  Time is…what? Even the greatest physicists don’t understand the nature of time. Time is clearly more than a hand on a clock. It is motion, logic, and life. Time is perhaps a dimension, an eternal state. Whatever it is, in our daily life we understand that we are limited in our access to time, and if more time is consumed than we have accounted for, we are left motionless, logic-less, and lifeless.

  Oh, how often people say “I don’t have enough time” or “I ran out of time.” Time is a commodity that is essential to life itself, and so I’m not surprised that the Enemy of our soul would like to destroy our time. Since there is nothing new under the sun, I suspect that the modern version of time-wasters have some kind of past counterpart.

  I’d like to try to identify some of the biggest modern time-wasters, then discern what it is that makes us human, and next, distill some basics of life that must be done before all else. I think this progression of thought will be helpful in eliminating those elements that steal time, and hope that we can make some radical changes to avoid a time-crisis of holocaust proportions. Finally, I’ll look at the elements of a holocaust.

  First, what are some of the biggest time wasters? Here’s a short list I came up with, and by the way these are all probably addictions:

  TV. There is an overarching theme of voyeurism and vicarious living in how 21st century people watch TV. That there was an uproar over Lost being scheduled opposite the State of the Union is pathetic.

  Internet. Clicking with the theme of too much information. Both China and South Korea have pronounced internet addiction their number one public health issue.

  Gaming.There’s the 23 year old I know who flunked out of college and lost several jobs over this online computer games addiction.

  Junk. There’s the news junkies, the junk reading (ie People Magazine and all the junk novels masquerading as literature), junk talking (gossip is a huge time-sucker), junk shopping, junk managing.

  A friend recently sent me an email ending with this pronouncement that says it best: So when you want to talk in real time, using real voice and ears, please feel free to dial us up. E-mail is OK, but you won’t find us on Facebook, tweet, twitter, or twerp; nor on YouTube, the boobtube, or at Jiffylube.
  
  Next, identify what makes you human. This is really important because if we don’t understand how we are created to truly be fulfilled, we’ll keep squandering our time on unprofitable things.

  Relationships, not reality-TV. Why do we care more about what celebrity couple has tied the knot than we do about the ties that bind?

  Connecting with God’s Creation, not a Wii or a PC. What ever happened to the very dirt beneath our feet, the growing things, the natural sun, the natural?

  Connecting with God, through the simplicity of personally reading the Bible and prayer. How much time, relative to this, do we spend pursuing the latest spiritual fad or trendy Christian author instead?

  Finally, recognize the basics of life that must be done before all else. See, because time is in fact limited by the nature of our finite lives, it would be wise to do the things that have to be done first, those things essential to being human, then, whatever time is left, tend to the non-essentials. You may discover there actually is no time for the non-essentials. Sadly, we’ve reversed this precept, and are left with the essentials hanging out to dry. So, earn a living, take care of your family and home, and get enough rest, good nutrition, and exercise. That’s about all you’ll really have time for.

  If there is a holocaust of time, who or what is the perpetrator? In the midst of a holocaust, it seems there are four main groups of people: the strong minority perpetrators, the weak majority victims, the mass of unassisting spectators, and the few and brave of the resistance.

  My mind screams, “Hollywood!” “Consumerism!” “Gluttony!” But who can I point a finger at, where is the evil Hitler who is the diabolical villain behind the extermination of quiet evenings at home reading to your children and the massacre of talking to your neighbors after work instead of garage door up, garage door down?

  Is it just modernity? Declining morality? Certainly there is a particular greed surrounding the monetizing of time that can be found in Hollywood and the corporate gadgeteers. There’s money to be made off of people wasting their time on your latest fad, gadget, game, icon, celebrity, or cereal.

  The weak majority of Americans who fall for these artifices are suffering intensely. We have anxiety over the stress we feel on our time, so we’re perhaps on some kind of medication, we fail at family life, maybe turn to drugs or alcohol. It takes time to be healthy mentally, spiritually, and physically!

  What about that mass of spectators that is typically found in a holocaust? I would describe the unassisting spectators as those whose heads are buried in the sand and think nothing is wrong. They love their sitcoms and sit idly by while their kids play violent games on the X-Box and become entrenched in a depraved culture with little likelihood of finding their way out.

  And the resistance. I’m a big fan of the heroes of the French Resistance, the Dutch Resistance, and others who bravely fought to defeat the Nazis. They worked underground, through stealth and reconnaissance, and turned the tide. True, they were also betrayed, tortured, and killed. So, to complete the holocaust analogy, this is where it happens.

  It’s the Resistance who need to be courageous in this battle for our time. Resist the time-wasters and for heaven’s save, do not allow your children to succumb to them. Get rid of your TV if you have to. Unplug. Kids do not have to join organized sports at age three. They don’t need to check Facebook and text their friends twenty times a day, nor do you.

  Blessings upon your time, my friends.

  Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of. – Benjamin Franklin

  Technorati Tags: faith, family life, God, time, time management

• December 29, 2009
• 21:20

  Keepin’ it Real in 2010

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  The New Year’s Resolutions are a’comin’, by the thousands, around the globe. Many lofty, admirable, and noteworthy goals will soon be flowing from pens near and far.

  As for me, I’m keeping it real, attainable, and utterly basic, so as to actually realize a few goals. Gone are the “read 30 classic novels in one year,” “become fluent in French” and “learn to play Bach.”

  Here’s my top ten New Year’s Resolutions for 2010, unsophisticated and no-frills:

  1. Limit frozen pizza to just one dinner a week.

  2. Change my sheets at least once a month, vacuum, ditto.

  3. Never go to bed with dirty dishes in the sink…at least 5 out of 7 nights.

  4. Never go to bed with my day clothes on; same for the kids – pajamas every night!

  5. For goodness sake, always have toilet paper and milk stocked.

  6. Stretch every morning with the goal of touching my toes (without bending my legs!) by mid-year.

  7. Write at least one paper and pen and stamp letter each month to someone I love.

  8. I will be a paper-attacker – no stacks of letters will accumulate on my kitchen counter.

  9. I won’t waste time surfing the web, and especially won’t click on the latest scandalmongering from Hollywood.

  10. Return every library book on time. And pay all the old fines.

  How about you? What are your hopes for keeping it real in 2010?

  Happy New Year!
  

  Technorati Tags: New Year’s Resolutions, family life, 2010

• December 24, 2009
• 11:21

  Merry Christmas from Diary of 1

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  Christmas Eve day. What a day of bustling, cheery, frantic activity for us. We’ve been sweeping the dropped needles, clearing out every dust bunny we can unearth, fine-tuning the best pie crust recipe ever, and generally preparing for this most special of times.

  The last of the Christmas cards went out yesterday; mine via email due to lack of time or resources – I do apologize if this is too tacky for your taste, I don’t particularly like it either; and my mother’s via post.

  My mother. Four Christmas cards were prepared for Uncle Doug, three for Aunt Pat, and duplicates for several others. It’s her mind. I usually run interference and rescue the bonus cards (and their accompanying stamps), but this time, I sent them all. They need to know, right? Oh, a terrible thought, what if they think they’re the ones going crazy? :-)

  Jane is coming for dinner tonight. I ran into her at the grocery store last week. She was in the baking aisle, putting along in her electric chair with oxygen tubes giving her breath. She wept tears of joy upon seeing us, me and JoJo who loves her like a Grandma. It’s not like it used to be when we lived half a block away from her sunshine yellow house and visited several times a week.

  “Can I bake you some cookies?” she wanted to know. Of course I replied. I missed her 85th birthday and feel terrible about that. It’s a few days from Thanksgiving, and what a time to try to remember a birthday. Her mind is yet sharper than my mother’s, so I know she noticed. We’ll make it up to her. I’m just wondering how I’ll get her into my van and how I’ll keep my five year old from tripping over the miles of oxygen tubing.

  My two girls are scrubbing toilets as I write, and the older sister, just eight, asked if this can now be her job. “Since we haven’t been composting as much (her other main job), can I be the toilet scrubber?” Who knew it was such fun. Note to self: meaningful jobs make kids feel a mile tall.

  Well, Merry Christmas to all! Hold your dear ones tight, reach out to a soul in need, and love, as we have been loved by our Creator.

  Technorati Tags: Christmas, elder care, seniors and aging

• December 22, 2009
• 18:14

  Scene and Herd

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  Concerns About the Creche

  J: No, no, the angels are looking at nothing!

  L: Well, let’s move the shepherd back here, he’s a lesser one anyway.

  J: The Wise Man can’t be giving his gift to the cow, move him!

  L: Oh, here’s the little lamb that broke last year. Oh well. It’s just one.

  J: How cute, the camel is peering through the gate!

  L: If only the angel could sit on top of the stable, there’d be more room and she’d be looking right down at Jesus. But she’d fall.

  J: Everyone has to be looking at the baby Jesus!

  (after many minutes of shuffling, conversing, and pondering the cramped quarters, the children reach an agreement)

  L & J: It’s perfect!
  

  Technorati Tags: Christmas, creche, manger scene

• December 09, 2009
• 22:25

  Revisiting the Magic Window

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  I wrote about my Magic Window last December, and guess what? I found it!

  
  Actually, one of my kids found it in a box of my scant childhood mementos.

  I wrote last December:

  What was so magical about this double-paned case of shifting sand? For a little girl in a rather impoverished and remote desert region of the southwest, I could dream, carried away to nowhere in particular but someplace beautiful on every twist and flow of those magical grains. I longed to touch the sand that surely was silky smooth and would flow through my fingers like fairy dust.

  Here it sits, right at home in my bedroom window, a magical melding of past and present. This was the first day of snow in Central Oregon, several weeks ago now.

  Gazing out my windows at the crystalline air and bustling winterish activity, I had an epiphany. Something I can’t put into words, but a full circle was realized on this day.

  My littlest made the first cheery snowball of the season.
  

  His big brother followed suit in a grand way with his own ambitious snowball.
  

  Who knew my little Magic Window circa 1975 would be a foreshadowing of such delightful affairs? I thought of a passage from Paul’s writings in the New Testament:

  For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. 1 Corinthians 13:12.

  Here’s to a continued revealing and clarifying of the “magic window” of our lives. May unspoken dreams come true. May dark days get brighter. May we soon be face to face.
  

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon, childhood memories, Christmas, Magic Window

• November 20, 2009
• 12:39

  When you feel like giving up

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  Storm on Sea by Ivan Constantinovich Aivazovsky, 1899

  Remember Winston Churchill’s words to Harrow School on a visit in October of 1941:

  Never give in. Never give in. Never, never, never, never–in nothing, great or small, large or petty–never give in, except to convictions of honor and good sense. Never yield to force. Never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy.

  He could not have known fully what was to come. It was only 1941, and several years of terrible, unspeakable war were ahead. Churchill did also say in that same speech something that does, however, lead me to believe he had an inkling:

  But we must learn to be equally good at what is short and sharp and what is long and tough. It is generally said that the British are often better at the last. They do not expect to move from crisis to crisis; they do not always expect that each day will bring up some noble chance of war; but when they very slowly make up their minds that the thing has to be done and the job put through and finished, then, even if it takes months – if it takes years – they do it.

  Another lesson I think we may take, just throwing our minds back to our meeting here ten months ago and now, is that appearances are often very deceptive, and as Kipling well says, we must “…meet with Triumph and Disaster. And treat those two impostors just the same.”

  You cannot tell from appearances how things will go. Sometimes imagination makes things out far worse than they are; yet without imagination not much can be done. Those people who are imaginative see many more dangers than perhaps exist; certainly many more than will happen; but then they must also pray to be given that extra courage to carry this far-reaching imagination.

  I feel like giving up almost daily.

  I stop and pray. Sometimes there is a breakthrough and the clouds powerfully part and the sun shines through. Sometimes there is no breakthrough, only new struggles. I was struck in Churchill’s speech by the quote from Kipling to treat Triumph and Disaster just the same (from the classic poem “If” by Rudyard Kipling). Which is with courage and humility. As the Bible says, give thanks in all things.

  Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus. 1 Thessalonians 5:18

  Be strong today.

  Technorati Tags: faith, “If” by Rudyard Kipling, don’t give up, Winston Churchill

• November 14, 2009
• 10:02

  Our Oregon Ducks

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  My class at our small country school hatched out the cutest little baby ducks a few weeks ago. After 20 some days of the children carefully turning the eggs twice daily, checking the temperature and humidity, and barely checking their excitement, the eggs cracked. Several of them hatched right before their eyes, and can you even imagine the squeals I heard?!

  
  Out of a dozen eggs, six produced these chirping beauties, and six were inactive. The eggs came from a local farmer, and these are not your run-of-the-mill ducks. Apparently the farmer had the male shipped from back East just to breed with a duck she had on the farm. I need to find out the name of the breed, and I’ll share that when I know. So, here are our classroom exotic Oregon Ducks! Go Ducks!

  They have now returned to the farm. After two weeks and ducks that tripled in size and smell, their time had come. But not before many little children drew pictures of them, wrote stories about them, and even dreamed about them. Next up, a visit to the farm to visit Chloe, Blackjack, Stripe, and the others.
  

  Technorati Tags: classroom projects, Central Oregon, Oregon Ducks, hatching ducks, education

• November 09, 2009
• 4:53

  The Advent of Freedom: celebrating 20 years of the fall of the Berlin Wall

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  Today marks the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall. In this Thanksgiving month, what a reminder to give thanks to God for freedom, wherever it exists, both on the face of the earth and in our spirits. Where there is no freedom, there is death in every sense.

  You can click here to view President Reagan’s “Tear Down this Wall” speech at the Brandenburg Gate in West Berlin.

  “General Secretary Gorbachev, if you seek peace, if you seek prosperity for the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, if you seek liberalization: Come here to this gate! Mr. Gorbachev, open this gate! Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!”

  Where were you in 1989? I was a freshman/sophomore in college and remember the winds of freedom and the breath of the Spirit of God sweeping across Eastern Europe. The topic was on the lips of everyone I knew, yet I was too young to realize what a momentous and once-in-a-lifetime event this was. I heard about miraculous events in Poland, not understanding exactly what “solidarity” meant, but loving the word.

  The collapse of communism, as it unfolded before this young woman, was like a great revival movement, the product of much suffering, much prayer, much sacrifice, and great boldness. I wish I could go back to that scene for a moment and feel again what it felt like, this time with more wisdom and experience.

  Celebrate freedom today!

  Technorati Tags: Berlin Wall, collapse of communism, Ronald Reagan

• October 25, 2009
• 19:04

  Dang, the kid can color!

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  I’m not one to pay much attention to developmental milestones in my children. But my five year old boy gives new meaning to “color inside the lines.” Here is what he accomplished last week, all in one sitting.

  

  I thought it was pretty cool, my husband thought it was pretty freaky. “Did you notice how he colored every shape the same color?” he asked incredulously. While father was proud of his son, he wondered at the sophisticated color patterns and the precision of his little strokes. Talk about fine motor skills.

  Had I not observed him complete this entire masterpiece, I wouldn’t have believed it. I remembered being annoyed with him for stomping around the room in frustration because he couldn’t find yellow. Apparently, he had run out, and no other color would do. He found what he wanted, and continued.

  So, could you do as well? Not me!
  

  Technorati Tags: art, art for children, coloring, developmental milestones

• October 14, 2009
• 21:39

  Mint tea and me

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  I grew mint in my garden this year, mostly because of the treasured childhood memories I have of the mint growing in our Arizona garden. I loved this mint as a little girl, and when I would get sent out to pick it for my mother’s tea, I would usually eat my way through the mint patch as I plucked some leaves for her. I must have had the freshest breath in Cochise County.

  Last week, I made the first pot of my very own mint tea. I boiled some water for my mother and me. I lingered over the stove, breathing in the tingly aroma as the minty vapors cleansed the air. Later, as we snuggled down into our chairs with cups of mint tea, I asked my mom if she remembered our mint patch. Vaguely, she said. I never thought I’d see the day when the bed of mint was a “vague” memory of hers. Still, it was a wonderful, savored moment.

  I have friends who are also caretakers of an aging parent. The wife’s father is the live-in parent, and in my case, it’s my mother. A few weeks ago, my friend’s father had a stroke, and now he needs assistance with feeding, toileting, bathing, everything, and he no longer speaks intelligibly. The fact that I could sit with my mother and enjoy a cup of mint tea and simple conversation is a great joy.

  One of my sisters grows mint. It turns out my grandmother from Michigan grew mint, which led to my mother’s love of mint. This sister took some of Grandma’s mint and transplanted it into her own garden, and has moved it from house to house, wherever she goes. She lives in Ohio now. I’m wondering if there’s a way for her to ship some of her mint to me in Oregon? My mother’s Arizona mint patch is long gone, and Grandma’s is too (she’s been in Heaven for almost 20 years now). Am I crazy? Good grief, mint is mint. Oh well, perhaps I’ll be checking on getting me some of that old family mint.

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon, elder care, family life, mint tea, gardening

• October 02, 2009
• 11:18

  October’s Party

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  This painting Autumn Leaves by John Everett Millais (1856) fits the following poem so well. I can just imagine that these are my own four children gathering leaves and admiring their beauty. These girls in the long velvet dresses may not be thinking of jumping in the pile of leaves, but that would be the first thing my own kids would do.
  As I’ve been searching for some enjoyable fall activities for the kids, I came across the poem “October’s Party” by George Cooper. It’s a great one to have children memorize, especially if there is a fall festival where they can recite it for a group. Here is the poem, full of delightful personification and imagery.

  October’s Party
  by George Cooper

  October gave a party;
  The leaves by hundreds came—
  The Chestnuts, Oaks, and Maples,
  And leaves of every name.
  The Sunshine spread a carpet,
  And everything was grand,
  Miss Weather led the dancing,
  Professor Wind the band.

  The Chestnuts came in yellow,
  The Oaks in crimson dressed;
  The lovely Misses Maple
  In scarlet looked their best;
  All balanced to their partners,
  And gaily fluttered by;
  The sight was like a rainbow
  New fallen from the sky.

  Then, in the rustic hollow,
  At hide-and-seek they played,
  The party closed at sundown,
  And everybody stayed.
  Professor Wind played louder;
  They flew along the ground;
  And then the party ended
  In jolly “hands around.”

  Isn’t that just entertaining to read aloud? I love it!

• September 27, 2009
• 14:11

  My Garden: A Short Photo Essay

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  Our garden brought a smile to my face all summer long.

  
  Funny carrot shapes.

  
  Edible toys (a pea pod turned helicopter).

  
  A great job for a child.

  
  The joy of finding the first fruit.

  
  Best of all, food for the table.

  You may also enjoy these past posts from Diary of 1:
  Gardening With Children
  Fun With Seeds and Seedlings

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon, gardening, gardening with children, nature study, outdoor activities

• September 25, 2009
• 18:36

  It’s been a long month

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  I see it’s been exactly a month since I posted here. I look forward to October and a time when September will be but a memory. This past month has been long and arduous, painful and exhausting. Sleepless nights, numbing days, and the kind of stress that makes one physically ill.

  It’s been a month of classic “what not to do” trials as I have undertaken starting a new Christian school. I will not post any advice here except to say that you should begin with a rock-solid vision that you don’t compromise on. There are lots of great visions out there, but you have one unique to what it is that you want to accomplish, so stick with it.

  It would also be a great benefit to have a mentor who has gone before you to help in navigating the known and unknown. How I wish I had had this person at the beginning of this venture. I have her now, and she has been incredibly valuable. A former administrator with a great deal of experience and expertise in education, she brings a lot to the table.

  Imagine that the tablecloth had just been jerked out from under an apparently lovely meal, and food went flying and every dish was broken. This mentor came and swept up the mess, repaired the dishes as best she could, pointed out that the food wasn’t that great to begin with and not really food I even liked, and set about restoring order to the kitchen. I was handed a classic cookbook and began, with her practiced oversight, to prepare a simple meal of all my favorites. I learned, among other things, to not order caviar when what you can afford is rice and beans. Like I said, she brings a lot to the table.

  Above all, God has been meeting me in this place. A dear friend sent me the following passages from 1st and 2nd Corinthians to encourage me in the midst of my trials:

  1 Corinthians 4:11-14 (New American Standard Bible)

  11To this present hour we are both hungry and thirsty, and are poorly clothed, and are roughly treated, and are homeless;

  12and we toil, working with our own hands; when we are reviled, we bless; when we are persecuted, we endure;

  13when we are slandered, we try to conciliate; we have become as the scum of the world, the dregs of all things, even until now.

  2 Corinthians 4:7-12

  7But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, so that the surpassing greatness of the power will be of God and not from ourselves;

  8we are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not despairing;

  9persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed;

  10always carrying about in the body the dying of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our body.

  11For we who live are constantly being delivered over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh.

  12So death works in us, but life in you.

  I am so grateful for my friends who have called and said, “For some reason, you’ve been on my mind and I’ve been praying for you,” and for those who have helped out in some other very tangible ways. I am walking in that perplexing truth that when we are weak, He is strong.

• August 25, 2009
• 21:48

  Boy’s eye view of science

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  My favorite photo from last week is my 10 year old son putting together his “Snap Circuit Set.” He needs a more advanced electricity kit because he does this one by heart and so fast it would make Franklin and Faraday spin.

  But he still loves it. What is it about boys and energy/power? Not that girls aren’t into this, I do have a daughter who loves to dabble with this electricity kit as well. But notice I said “dabble.” I certainly give my girls every opportunity I give my boys, and my 8 year old daughter rides a motorcycle right there with her big brother. But still.

  Anyway, just look at his intensity and concentrated tongue as he eyes the invisible current; curious, so curious.

  My blog theme this month was supposed to be something about mothers being present with their children. I haven’t written much, I’ve been busy. But a good sort of busy and doing what I can with the kiddos in the midst of busy-ness. I suppose I would just recommend to moms out there to include your children in whatever it is you are doing, and include yourself in whatever it is they are doing.

  The jobs I give my children I do with them as much as I can. The girls are responsible for the kitchen. Since they can’t reach the cupboards, it means I have to be in there as the hand-to person, grabbing each plate and bowl as fast as they pass them up. As my boys tend the garden, watering and weeding, I will sit with my coffee and marvel with them at how tall the sunflowers have grown, and rejoice with them over the size of the squash.

  I was careful to let my son know that I would love to take a picture of him as he constructed a current. This meant a lot to him. My daughter wanted to know that I took a picture of her, too, which I did. This wasn’t about them being proud of being in the spotlight, it was about Mom caring and noticing that they did something noteworthy.

• August 16, 2009
• 12:30

  When I’m Five

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  When I’m five, I can fly a kite,

  

  ride a bike,

  

  shoot an arrow,

  

  frost a cake (and eat it, too),

  

  make a wish and blow out the candles.

  

  Happy Birthday, Little L!! You can do so many things when you are five!
  

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon, childhood memories, outdoor play, Happy Birthday

• August 13, 2009
• 9:22

  Faith Like Potatoes

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  “The condition for a miracle is difficulty, however the condition for a great miracle is not difficulty, but impossibility.”

  

  My husband and I watched the movie Faith Like Potatoes last night. Great movie for this season of our life especially. It’s the real-life story of South African farmer Angus Buchan who, in faith, plants potatoes in the dust in the midst of a severe drought. You can guess what happens.

  Are you facing difficulty or impossibility? Then you are ripe for miracles, if you would just have “faith like potatoes,” or “like a mustard seed,” as we have more commonly heard from Scripture.

  The photo I posted here was from our recent outing to Lake Billy Chinook. This log captured my attention and mesmerized me for quite some time. The old timber would float to and fro with the waves, smoothed to nearly silk from the endless action of the waves. It provided hours of glee for my son who would sit on it, and hours of contemplation for me as I thought about the ups and downs and yet constancies of life.
  

  Technorati Tags: faith, Faith Like Potatoes, Lake Billy Chinook, God

• July 31, 2009
• 19:27

  Corazon Aquino, former Philippines president, has died

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  I just read on the AP news:

  MANILA, Philippines – Former President Corazon Aquino, who swept away a dictator with a “people power” revolt and then sustained democracy by fighting off seven coup attempts in six years, died on Saturday, her son said. She was 76.

  The uprising she led in 1986 ended the repressive 20-year regime of Ferdinand Marcos and inspired nonviolent protests across the globe, including those that ended Communist rule in eastern Europe.

  Most of you have probably shed tears over the death of someone you never knew, and this was the case for me as I read the news of this amazing woman and one of my heroes of democracy.

  Cory (as she was called) Aquino was a Christian and a deeply devout woman of prayer. I do not pass lightly over that fact. She trusted in the mighty God of all nations to end the repressive dictatorship in her beloved Philippines. Cory had to trust God through many trials. She had been a homemaker, raising four daughters and a son. Her husband was imprisoned by President Ferdinand Marcos because of his outspoken criticism of the regime, for the long years of 1972-1980. She was then widowed, with her husband Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino Jr., the opposition leader, being assassinated as he stepped off a plane in 1983. She was suddenly thrust into a very different role.

  Her presidency was not perfect, but what she did was to bring a gift to the table that echoed around the world. Freedom is like that. What happened in eastern Europe in the late 1980s is one of her legacies. The relatively non-violent overthrow of Soviet-style communism (and the ending of the Cold War), beginning in Poland, moving on to Hungary, East Germany, Czechoslovakia, Bulgaria and Romania, can be traced to the inspiration of Corazon Aquino, and what she called “Prayer Power.”

  Here is a short excerpt from a 1995 University of Oregon Commencement Address given by Corazon Aquino:

  I found in public service qualities I did not think I had, and because of Prayer Power, reserves and strength and faith I never suspected. Perhaps, not all of us can do it all the time. And I am greatly relieved to be able to live my own life again. But I believe we must all serve others some time. Service to others, service to our communities, and to our brothers and sisters throughout the world can be fulfilling and addictive. The next time your neighbor, your community or someone somewhere in a country less fortunate than your own calls for help and tempts you again to serve – take my advice – just say yes and find yourself.

  Technorati Tags: Corazon Aquino, Philippines, Ferdinand Marcos, democracy

• July 30, 2009
• 9:38

  Boy and a River

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  We enjoyed the most wonderful morning at Smith Rock State Park a few days ago. There by 7:30 a.m. to avoid the scorching afternoon sun, we hiked, played, and splashed our way around to the backside of the mountain.

  My children all had a fun time, especially the youngest. Big-eyed and four years old, Little L looked right out of Norman Rockwell’s sweet scenes of idyllic American childhood.

  Balancing on a rock, he peers into the shimmering Crooked River, on the verge of discovering his own reflection. He eventually collected a shell, a feather, and a crawdad leg.

  Will he remember this moment? Perhaps when he’s a young man passing a river he will have a sense of joy that can’t be explained, and when he’s an old man he will recall this experience in nature with clarity, unable to resist the urge to skip a stone across the water.

  

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon, nature study, Smith Rock

• July 20, 2009
• 7:50

  Get out while you still can!

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  Note to rootbound plants: Get out while you still can!

  I planted dozens of seeds in little plastic containers, wanting a head start on the short growing season in my region.

  The weather warmed up but I got busy. The seedlings outgrew their tiny containers and were silently begging to be placed in the spacious garden where their roots could dig down deep. Instead, the roots grew the only way they could in their rigid pots – in circles.

  The day finally came when I had time to transplant these precious seedlings into the garden. They had already looked wan and peaked, but surely, I thought, they would be fine in the garden. I had so much hope, but to my sorrow, every one of them died within days. I remembered how lively and promising they had looked those first days of breaking through the soil.

  With no way for the circular roots to quickly retrain and move into the surrounding dirt of the garden bed, my plants gave up and faded away. Had I been an experienced gardener, perhaps I could have worked with the root ball, done some corrective root pruning, and sent them on their healthy way. Alas.

  I made a mental note to myself. If ever the circumstance is such that I am like a vigorous new plant trapped in a too-small and unyielding pot, running in circles for lack of latitude and destined for stunted growth, I need to make immediate exit plans if I want to survive.

• July 13, 2009
• 23:58

  The French Revolution and the Marquis de Lafayette

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  Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité. July 14, 2009 marks the 320th anniversary of the beginning of the French Revolution in 1789. The French Revolution lasted about six to ten years, depending on who you ask. And the Marquis de Lafayette is involved in another revolution, having returned from a successful round in the American Revolution.

  I wrote about Lafayette’s triumph in the American Revolution, and while he returned to France a hero in 1792, the embodiment of hope for France and a French Revolution, he did not live to see France become an independent republic.

  Lafayette had seen what revolution could accomplish. He had witnessed the freedoms enjoyed by the new America. His legacy could be that he brought this light to France, but he ended up losing the public’s confidence and becoming an ineffective revolutionary.

  In the years leading up to 1789, Lafayette became a leader in the campaign against the monarch. But here is what I think went wrong. First, the French had been too horribly oppressed for too long. The revolutionary movement became extremely radical and vengeful, and Lafayette didn’t know how to turn this raw, bitter force into something controllable and beneficial. He went for a more moderate course, and this ended up killing his popularity and driving him into exile. I think an extraordinary person was required for this job, one who could move beyond the compromise of a constitutional monarchy into true democracy. Someone with preeminent diplomatic skills who could harness lightning like Benjamin Franklin.

  Second, when Lafayette became a member of the French legislature, he wrote the Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen (similar to the Declaration of Independence), and I believe he made a grave error. While the declaration stands as monumental in terms of setting forth fundamental human rights for all men, a first for France, it makes no mention of God as the source of human rights. The U.S. Declaration of Independence asserts that human rights are derived from the “Creator” and the duty of government is to protect these God-given rights.

  The problem I see with not being specific about the source of human rights is that it de facto becomes the realm of the state. France struggled in emerging from the French Revolution with a democratic republic firmly in hand in part because France, while willing to completely turn its back on the Ancien Régime, the old order, it held onto bits that denied true God-given human rights. The country suffered through the bloody Reign of Terror, in which the guillotine was used for mass execution of “enemies of the revolution,” then France allowed herself to be swept under the dictatorship of Napoléon for a time, and then a constitutional monarchy under Louis Philippe (unfortunately and regretfully with the help of the Marquis de Lafayette).

  The first stable republican government wouldn’t happen in France until almost a hundred years after the French Revolution began, the Third Republic, and even this was wrought with crises and controversies. France is now in the Fifth Republic.

  The Marquis de Lafayette did continue to fight for democracy for France and his dying desire was for a pure republic in France. No two revolutions are the same and Lafayette is blessed among men in history to have lived through the many uprisings and changes in paradigms.

  Technorati Tags: Bastille Day, France, French Revolution, Marquis de Lafayette

• July 09, 2009
• 11:07

  She’s a Biologist

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  “Mommy, can I cut the lizard open?” JJ questioned very matter-of-factly. She had just come in from checking on her latest lizard, a big fat one she was sure was pregnant with dozens of eggs. She had felt little bumps inside the bulging belly of the western fence lizard, and this eight-year-old child with a bent for biology made the expectant diagnosis.

  Sadly, she discovered this morning that her lizard was dead. She was curious. And maybe she could save the eggs. Frankly, I know nothing about lizard anatomy and may not know a lizard egg if I saw one. But I’m sure this girl would know. She has an instinctive nature when it comes to the study of living things. She loves animals, and her desire to cut open the lizard is inquisitive not cruel.

  “That’s a-skusting!” cried the little brother. “Not while we’re making muffins!” asserted the little sister.

  JJ brought me a paring knife. She’s a persistent girl, a trait that alternately drives us crazy and makes us proud. Am I ready for a dissection? Do I let her explore?

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon, children’s biology, creation, lizards, nature study

• July 07, 2009
• 13:54

  Baseball Giveaway

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  The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It’s been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But, baseball has marked the time. This field, this game, is a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good, and could be again. ~Terence Mann (James Earl Jones) in Field of Dreams

  It’s time for another sports giveaway. I haven’t done one in a long time, but judging from the hundreds of hits I still get on my old sports contests, folks like them. And baseball is the theme, given the season is well underway and what is summer without baseball? What is America without baseball?

  Today in baseball history, Satchel Paige was born in Mobile, Alabama in 1906. On his 42nd birthday, July 7, 1948, he was signed by the Cleveland Indians, a historic first for this amazing veteran Negro League pitcher. What a birthday gift. In honor of this great moment from the archives of baseball, TeamMASCOT.com is giving away a baseball.

  Visit the TeamMASCOT baseball page to pick your team, and leave a comment right here on this post by Saturday, June 11, including your team choice. Two winners will be randomly chosen. Be sure to leave an email for me to contact you. Your information is secure and is never shared.

• July 05, 2009
• 15:10

  The American Revolution and the Marquis de Lafayette

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  They say that truth is stranger than fiction, and the story of the Marquis de Lafayette fits this expression well. His is the tale of a teenage orphan who travels to a foreign land to offer his services in a David versus Goliath type battle. Winning that battle, he returns to his homeland where he is a key player in the French Revolution.

  Historians all agree on the fact that without the significant economic and military aid of the French government, the fledgling United States of America would have likely lost the Revolutionary War against the British. And this particular Frenchman, the Marquis de Lafayette, was perhaps the most crucial piece of French support.

  Born in 1757 as Marie Joseph Paul Yves Roche Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, he suffered the death of his father before he was two years old and the death of his mother at age 12. His family belonged to the French nobility, so he was left with quite a fortune. In addition, at the age of sixteen, he married into the very wealthy de Noailles family. There was no need to seek fame and fortune in a faraway land on a dangerous mission, so why on earth would this young man, only 19 years old, be so resolved to volunteer for the colonies in the American cause of freedom, a land he had never seen, a people he did not know?

  I’m sure the reasons for Lafayette’s service in the American Revolutionary War are complex, and I’ve tried to search out some of his motives. The first thing that comes to mind is his youth. While at first glance it’s his age that strikes me as so uncommon for such a glorious cause, there is also a freshness and vigor and sense of invincibility that comes with youth. However, he did have a wife and young son he left behind when he first landed near Charleston, South Carolina in June of 1777. Being orphaned at a young age and married with child certainly matures one beyond his years. There must be more.

  I turned to the issue of revenge. I considered the tragedy of his father’s death–his father was killed by a British cannonball during the Seven Years’ War. For a young man who likely longed to know his father and who he must have revered as a hero, I wondered if Lafayette had found vengeance for his father’s death. To support the American cause of liberty was to defy and destroy British domination. Revenge can only carry one so far, however, and reflecting on how Lafayette put his very life on the line, as well as spending his personal fortune to buttress the American forces, I searched still deeper.

  When considering the whole of Lafayette’s life, well beyond the American Revolution, I found in him a profound and immense freedom-fighting spirit that must have propelled him even from youth. Were the American Revolution just about personal glory or youthful fantasy, Lafayette’s quest would have likely ended there. However, as we see him fight for representative government in the French Revolution, it’s clear that Lafayette was one of those unique persons in human history who was born to fulfill an instinctive yearning for freedom, no matter the time or place.

  Independence and self-government are ideals that simply resonated with Lafayette. As he served under General George Washington, these two men developed a life-long friendship and considered one another as father and son. Great people like these do find each other, invisibly drawn together by the same passion and intellect.

  Lafayette participated in key battles of the Revolution, including those at Brandywine and Yorktown. In addition to military expertise, he exercised great diplomacy in convincing the king of France to increase his support in substantial excess of his original intent.

  As Americans celebrate their Independence, I do hope they remember France and one particular Marquis de Lafayette.

  sources:
  Lafayette, Hero of the American Revolution
  Who Served Here? The Marquis de Lafayette

  Technorati Tags: American Revolution, Fourth of July, France, French Revolution, Independence, Marquis de Lafayette

• July 02, 2009
• 12:38

  Hello Summer

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  Hello Summer! We’re done being sick and we are ready to enjoy this beautiful world. I’m listening to Little L read a book to himself, I’m feeling anticipation about the days ahead, I’m smelling the fresh garden dirt, and I’m seeing a clear blue sky out the window.

  

  Today, I need to accomplish: cleaning all the bathrooms, vacuuming the upstairs hall and guest room, washing about five loads of laundry, and supervising the kids’ chores. I have a visit from Elisabeth today, the gal who arranges the French Exchange Program. I’m also expecting a friend from out of town to stop by on her way through to Idaho.

  What’s on your plate today? Many blessings to you as we head into a celebration of Independence this weekend!

• June 27, 2009
• 12:22

  Stomach Flu tonic?

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  My family has been hit hard by a stomach flu virus. First, it was my oldest son on Monday night. Then the youngest son on Wednesday night–throwing up every 20 minutes for four hours. Myself on Thursday night. Hubby Saturday morning. We’re dropping like flies. It’s a horrible, stomach churning, vomiting, exhausting kind of thing.

  On Friday afternoon, when I finally felt like I could ingest something, I really wanted Gingerale or 7-Up, but there was none around. I found a liter of Club Soda in the pantry and decided to experiment. First, I made a vanilla soda for myself, and my stomach was pleased. Here’s what I did:

  Jen’s Vanilla Soda
  1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
  3 teaspoons sugar
  1 cup club soda

  This morning, my stomach still not normal, I tried another recipe and liked this even better:

  Jen’s Lemon Soda
  1/3 cup concentrated lemon juice
  3 Tablespoons sugar
  2 cups club soda

  There’s my stomach flu tonic for you–both of these calmed down my seething tummy and tasted fabulous, too. If you’re healthy and don’t need a flu tonic, just spoon a few scoops of ice-cream on top and have a delicious dessert drink.

  Do you have any family recipes for easing the pain of the stomach flu? Please share, I have at least one more person to nurse through this.

• June 21, 2009
• 13:25

  Little of This and That: Train, Garden, France.

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  Happy Father’s Day to all the amazing dads out there! I have a little of this and that to write about today.

  TRAIN.
  First, here’s one of my favorite pictures from my photofiles:

  

  A little train depot we pass nearly every day had a surprise for us one fall afternoon last season. The regular train was on vacation, and this beautiful steam powered locomotive, called the Mount Emily Shay #1, was there to greet us. Built in 1923, she worked for 30 years on a logging railroad in southern Oregon, then spent some time in West Virginia running tourists on the Cass Scenic Railroad. The “lockie” has since been retired to the Oregon Historical Society, which leases #1 to the City of Prineville Railway to occasionally pull its Crooked River Dinner Train.

  There’s the facts, and for you train lovers, you will appreciate the history. My kids appreciated the power and beauty up close.

  

  GARDEN.
  I spent yesterday in the garden with the kids at my side. It was a treasured time. After moving my plants in and out of the house for weeks, and waiting for the last frost to come and go, I decided the time was perfect for their new home. Turned out it was a day late. The night before, I left the plants in the garage. There was a mouse. It ate the tops off the cucumbers. The peas were munched. The pumpkins were stubs.

  I transplanted what I could into the garden, and reseeded almost everything. I may not have enough days to make it to harvest before a fall frost, but I’m taking my chances. No matter the outcome, I love working with my kids in the garden.

  My husband shared my pain over those lost seedling leaves. He found a Maine Coon Cat on Craigslist. Apparently this enormous (seriously, it’s like a dog) feline mouser is the thing to have, and there’s a free one in Springfield, Oregon. To further protect against critters, he’s out right now putting boards around the bottoms of the garden, and I’ll be joining him shortly to help place rocks around the garden base.

  FRANCE.
  I’m so excited to be hosting another French Exchange Student. Helen comes in July. Do you remember when we hosted Elise? My kids still talk about our time with her, and it’s an enriching experience that I highly recommend for every family. So, as we prepared for Elise, we are now preparing for Helen.

  Getting her room cleared out is the number one priority. It currently holds several dozen boxes of …. stuff. I love having a pressing reason to get things cleaned up! I mean it.

  After having Elise as our guest, I also realized that the French have a certain expectation about food. Like, it should be prepared at home, not acquired at the drive-up window or in a frozen cardboard box. So, I need to get my menu in order.

  Finally, language lessons are always fun for me, so the kids and I will spend some more time with French lessons. But that’s not a huge concern, since I already figured out with Elise that these Europeans nearly always speak English better than we will ever speak their language.

  As far as activities, we just plan on living our normal life. The expectation of this particular exchange group is to just have an immersion experience with an American family as they go about their day. I will certainly show her some highlights of Central Oregon, but I have no plans beyond that.

  Do you want to host a French exchange student? If you live in Central Oregon, get ahold of me right away, because there are still a few students needing to be placed here immediately.

  Technorati Tags: family, France, gardening, ranch, seedlings, French exchange student, steam engines, trains

• June 12, 2009
• 7:23

  Just in from the Great Lakes

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  I so wish I could sit down and write all the wonderful details of my trip to Port Huron, Michigan, but I have too many pressing duties at the moment. But, so I don’t forget, I’m making myself a short list of a few of the highlights.

  1. Continental Airlines still serves meals.
  2. I saw my great-great grandpa’s wood carvings of all the presidents (through Hoover) and they belong in a museum.
  3. The St. Clair River is still brilliant blue.
  4. I collected seashells and rocks along Lake Huron.
  6. I remembered why I love the Great Lakes–just a feeling I get at the shore.
  5. Six of us cousins stayed up talking ’til 3 a.m. one night. Who knew they were all terrified of my mom’s painting of a ragdoll, so much so that one cousin once slept in the bathtub at Grandma’s to avoid walking back up the stairs and passing the horrid thing.
  7. Listening to my cousins speak at my Aunt Beth’s memorial was incredible.
  8. My cousin Amy playing the bagpipes at the memorial was a tender moment.
  9. My Uncle Marshall’s ham radio–an 83 year old trying to call Australia, but unable to remember how to make the connection; it was a mixture of hilarity and sadness.
  10. Meeting the captain/builder of the Earth Voyager, the fastest sailboat on the Great Lakes, was a spontaneous moment. He’s getting the rig ready for the Port Huron to Mackinaw Island sailboat race.
  11. I felt instantly at home when I was driving down I-94 out of Detroit and saw the giant tire.
  12. I slept in a room full of ten thousand books–all murder mysteries. How I slept so soundly is the mystery. My Aunt Pat is a collector. She wants to add another room on their house just for her books.
  13. Lunch at the River Crab in St. Clair was a treat, eating Atlantic Salmon while watching the freighters and sailboats pass by our window.
  14. I wished a hundred times that my kids were with me so they could have met all their cousins.

  That’s all I have time for–blessings on your weekend!

• June 03, 2009
• 3:58

  PAX

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  I fly out of PDX (Portland International Airport) soon, not to be confused with PAX (Latin for peace). It’s PAX that’s on my mind, even as I prepare to board that flight out of PDX to attend a memorial service for my aunt.

  As I listened to a friend of mine speak this morning about attaining peace, I closed my eyes and imagined myself approaching the throne of God with every care in the world bulging in my arms. With each step, I laid something down. First, my big box of “school stuff” I bring home every night, from papers that need grading to literature books waiting for lesson plans to emerge. I took another step toward the throne and cast aside my cell phone with all its distractions and bad news. My house was dumped, my laundry, the future of my children, my finances, every anxious thought.

  There are so many thoughts and fears that can crowd my mind. I have to be conscious of these words:

  Peace I leave with you; My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Do not let your heart be troubled, nor let it be fearful. John 14:27

  Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body; and be thankful. Colossians 3:15

  Peace of Christ to you.

• May 31, 2009
• 23:36

  Are you listening?

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  A lesson from the Epistle of James on being quick to listen and slow to speak, and how to retune our ears to listen to God.
• May 25, 2009
• 12:47

  Memorial Day: taking a minute to write

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  Life has been incredibly busy, but I wanted to take a minute and record the days.

  Memorial Day weekend has been wonderful. Family came to visit from the valley, and my kids enjoyed some precious times with their cousins and grandma and uncle. Lots of dirt and many baths later, we said our goodbyes.

  Today, I took the kids for a bike ride down the gravel drive and onto an old BLM road. We stopped to pick cattails and JJ found a 1966 quarter half-hidden on the dusty trail. Further down, we came upon an old campsite of some former cowboys or pioneers - actually, that is the children’s hope, because it was likely just a place where many decades ago, people dumped their trash.

  Here are a few photos I’d like to share:

  
  Our dog, Riley, is turning out to be an extraordinary guard. He finally found the job he needed, being a cattle dog with no cattle to herd. The jackrabbits and the deer keep him busy. And the four children. Except for his dangerous habits of chasing cars, biting tires, and jumping on people, he’s mellowing out nicely and we look forward to many years with him at the ranch.

  
  This view out the kitchen to the east is lovely, especially with the late afternoon long shadows. You can see Riley on the move here, enjoying some playtime.

  
  I mentioned my husband building a garden structure a few weeks ago. I found this photo of him and Big L working together to string the wire around the juniper trunks he used for posts. We are getting a vision for this place and look forward to a good harvest. I spent much of yesterday preparing my garden beds for the vegetable starts that are still in my mud room. According to the OSU gardening calendar, I can plant outdoors this week or next. Finally!

  
  Like all my children, JoJo and Little L love to explore. This rock down the cliff at the end of our property provides a scenic lookout. I remember climbing in the mountains near my own home as a child, and those are probably my fondest childhood memories. There were legends abounding about the grave of Chief Cochise being somewhere in these Apache mountains where I grew up, and that just added to the excitement of every childhood hike and mountain climbing excursion.

  Cochise died after a long illness on June 8, 1874. Tom Jeffords was at his side near the end, and witnessed his interment in a crevice in the rocks of the Dragoon Mountains, near Cochise Stronghold, Arizona. Only his band and Tom Jeffords knew the site. They took this knowledge to their own graves, telling no one of the place where Cochise had been buried. (from findagrave.com)

  I think my children will have their own fanciful notions about this land where we now live, and I hope they share these impressions with me as they grow up.

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon, childhood memories, Cochise Stronghold, gardening

• May 24, 2009
• 23:36

  Are you listening?

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  A lesson from the Epistle of James on being quick to listen and slow to speak, and how to retune our ears to listen to God.
• May 21, 2009
• 20:30

  A bowling lesson

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  I took my sixth graders bowling several weeks ago and was reminded of something about the Lord. One of my students said, “Mrs. T., do you want to bowl with me?” I wasn’t officially bowling because I wanted to be available to float around and watch over all the kids. But this child let me in on his game, and even though I threw a few gutter balls on him, he invited me back!

  God spoke to me about my position with Him. How gracious and merciful of the Lord to keep inviting us back into His “game” and His calling and kingdom work, even though we throw gutter balls now and again.

  [He adopted us] to the praise of the glory of His grace, which He freely bestowed on us in the Beloved. Ephesians 1:6

  It’s by His grace. Not by any merit of our own that we receive God’s favor. I am not invited to partner with the Lord because I have a perfect game–whether I bowl a 300 or a 30, I have still been “chosen in Him, before the foundation of the world” and I am loved no more or no less for the game (Eph. 1:4). This is truly glorious, as many versions put it, “glorious grace.”

  I love Ephesians chapter 1. It’s a passage that I read to my firstborn nearly every night while he was still in the womb–it’s a passage you would truly want someone to speak over you, believe me. If you or someone you care about struggles with feeling a condition on the love granted to him/her, Ephesians 1 is a great place to begin correcting that. These are such soul affirming words, and my bowling lesson the other day reminded me of this.

  I don’t want you to have to look too far for these life-giving, power-filled, blessing-bestowing words, so here is Ephesians Chapter One in its entirety:

  Ephesians 1
  
  1Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God,
  To the saints in Ephesus, the faithful in Christ Jesus:

  2Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

  Spiritual Blessings in Christ

  3Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. 4For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love 5he predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will— 6to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves. 7In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace 8that he lavished on us with all wisdom and understanding. 9And he made known to us the mystery of his will according to his good pleasure, which he purposed in Christ, 10to be put into effect when the times will have reached their fulfillment—to bring all things in heaven and on earth together under one head, even Christ.
  11In him we were also chosen, having been predestined according to the plan of him who works out everything in conformity with the purpose of his will, 12in order that we, who were the first to hope in Christ, might be for the praise of his glory. 13And you also were included in Christ when you heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation. Having believed, you were marked in him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit, 14who is a deposit guaranteeing our inheritance until the redemption of those who are God’s possession—to the praise of his glory.

  Thanksgiving and Prayer

  15For this reason, ever since I heard about your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love for all the saints, 16I have not stopped giving thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers. 17I keep asking that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the glorious Father, may give you the Spirit of wisdom and revelation, so that you may know him better. 18I pray also that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, 19and his incomparably great power for us who believe. That power is like the working of his mighty strength, 20which he exerted in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly realms, 21far above all rule and authority, power and dominion, and every title that can be given, not only in the present age but also in the one to come. 22And God placed all things under his feet and appointed him to be head over everything for the church, 23which is his body, the fullness of him who fills everything in every way.

  Technorati Tags: Bible, bowling, devotions, Ephesians 1

• May 20, 2009
• 21:30

  A bowling lesson

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  How gracious of the Lord to keep inviting us back into His "game" and His calling and kingdom work, even though we throw gutter balls now and again.
• May 17, 2009
• 18:30

  A bowling lesson

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  How gracious of the Lord to keep inviting us back into His "game" and His calling and kingdom work, even though we throw gutter balls now and again.
• May 10, 2009
• 15:24

  Be blessed as you serve

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  God is meeting you and has some things to teach you even as you are ministering to others. It’s not just about teaching the kids. Be open to and be prepared for the Lord’s ministering over you.

  When I was with the doctor a few weeks ago, as he was fixing up JoJo (who needed a tick removed, eeewww), he still turned to me and said, “How about YOU? Any questions, anything for you, how are you?” So the doctor turned his attention to me and set me up with a regimen for some physical things I’m dealing with…”You need magnesium, Vitamin D, Potassium!” God was meeting me right in the midst of my ministry to others (which in fact has exhausted me).

  Galations 5:13 says through love serve one another. This is a command from the Lord, but there is a blessing attached to our service. The servant will be first in Heaven, and it’s important in this life to set our eyes on Eternity. Mathew 20:16 states that “the last shall be first, and the first shall be last.” Even Jesus did not come to be served, but to serve (Matt. 20:28).

  What are some spiritual blessings that you would like, if you could pick? I think I would like the blessings of wisdom and faith, which are connected in a way: “But if any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all men generously and without reproach, and it will be given to him. But let him ask in faith without any doubting, for the one who doubts is like the surf of the sea driven and tossed by the wind. For let not that man expect that he will receive anything from the Lord, being a double-minded man, unstable in all he does.” (James 1:5-8)

  Wisdom comes through experience, and often through serving and enduring difficulty. Knowing this should increase your joy as you serve, knowing that the blessing is great! James goes on to say that “Blessed is a man who perseveres under trial; for once he has been approved, he will receive the crown of life, which the Lord has promised to those who love Him.”

  Be blessed today.

  Technorati Tags: Bible, devotions, God

• May 03, 2009
• 17:01

  I organized my silverware drawer.

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  Yes, this seemingly insignificant task has been a grand fait accompli for me. It really does deserve a blog post. The pantry was neatly arranged as well. People, it’s been two years of utensil chaos glaring up at me each time I pulled open the kitchen drawers. Tongs and blades entangled, threatening to wage war against my tender fingers, retribution for my failure to make a place and mark a separate territory for these unique instruments–now, here is fork, over there is knife, and yet another compartment for spoon.

  I even called my husband to tell him the news. “Honey, I picked up a stainless steel silverware tray at Goodwill for two dollars, and some pantry shelves at the neighbor’s garage sale.” He shared in the joy, and if you’ve lived with disheveled drawers yourself, you’ll know the thrill. The whole kitchen makeover took all of an hour, but it felt like a million bucks. I never realized I had five can openers.

  So, if you need a wave of inspiration in your day, you know what to do.

• April 25, 2009
• 13:41

  Fun with Seeds and Seedlings

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  We are watching the vegetable starts every day, the children with intense wonder at the new growth, me with a mix of hope and apprehension– will we succeed in this gardening adventure? The sunflower in this photo has been the subject of the greatest amazement, as my son was standing right in front of it when the shell of the seed popped right off the plant as the seedling stretched its tender leaflets in a show of force.

  All of these cups of seed and soil are sitting in our sunny mud room, busily sprouting in preparation for the big move to the outdoor garden after the last frost. Whether we will time the transition correctly, have the proper soil amendments, possess a well fortified fence to keep out the ever encroaching deer and jackrabbits, and be left with sufficient growing time for full maturation of the vegetables, all remains to be seen. Central Oregon is not a gardening paradise and there are odds to overcome, but it’s not impossible (even though my neighbor says it is). This is our beginning.

  
  My husband recently built me a garden area. Can you make it out in this picture? I came home from a weekend away, and he and the kids made me close my eyes and led me out the back door to this sight that thrilled me. He had limbed up enough Juniper trees that were laying around the property, set them in post holes with cement left over from our building project, and only had to buy the wire fencing.

  He still needs to build the gate, secure the bottom with boards, and string some baling wire at the top to deter the deer which can easily jump a 6 foot fence. We also have to bring in a ton of compost and nutrient rich soil, but I can see the finished product, and it’s beautiful. I’m sure you are getting the picture that gardening can be a lot of hard work, but it’s best to know the challenges before you begin. For a no-nonsense look at this from someone who has years more experience than I, read The Joys and Trials of Caring for your Seedlings.

  Here are some tips on gardening in Central Oregon from the Oregon State Extension Service:

  Although it may not be a gardening paradise, central and eastern Oregon is more than a wide expanse of high desert. Successful vegetable and fruit gardening is possible east of the Cascades if you take into account the area’s special and widely varying climate and soil characteristics.

  The growing season may be as short as 80 to 90 days in central Oregon at elevations above 3,500 feet. In some of the lower elevations and river valleys, growing seasons may exceed 130 days.

  Also, large fluctuations in daytime and nighttime temperatures, often as much as 40-45°F, affect vegetable and fruit production. Cool nights reduce the chances of successfully growing vegetables that like warm nights, such as lima beans and eggplants. (See story on growing warm-season crops in cool-season area.)

  Soil types

  Soil types in central and eastern Oregon vary widely. Light-textured soils, low in organic matter, nutrient content, and water-holding capacity, are found in parts of central Oregon and the eastern Columbia Basin area. These soils may require frequent applications of fertilizer and water. At the other extreme are the heavy soils high in soluble salts (which can create an alkalinity problem) found in many eastern Oregon areas.

  Added organic matter such as manure or compost generally is beneficial for most central and eastern Oregon soils. (See story on improving soil.) Specific information for each area is available from county offices of the OSU Extension Service or from local garden centers.

  Choosing crops

  Concentrate on those vegetables adapted to your particular area. Avoid planting vegetables that require special, intense, or improved growing conditions. Root crops (e.g., potatoes, carrots, and beets) and cold-tolerant crops (e.g., cabbage, chard, leaf lettuce, and kohlrabi) do well in high-elevation gardens.

  Short-season vegetable varieties offer the best chance of success. For example, cool nights during the growing season may cause a 65-day tomato to require 75 to 80 days or more to mature.

  Planting dates

  Planting dates for high-elevation, short-season areas generally lag behind those in other parts of the state. In high areas, gardens usually are planted from mid-May, for cold-tolerant plants, to mid-June. Later plantings often fail to mature before fall frosts. See the story on planting guidelines for suggested planting dates.

  Use plant protection devices, such as row covers, hotcaps, and Walls-o-Water, to extend the growing season for vegetables requiring longer periods to mature.

  Now, on to some fun seed activities to do with children. These three ideas are from The Family Game Book (1967, Doubleday-out of print). I think these are appropriate projects for all elementary grades. I just planted vegetable starters with my sixth graders (as well as my own children), and from ages 4 through 12, they all were totally engaged. One of my sixth grade students called me at home a few nights ago just to tell me how beautiful her new plants were!

  1. See how seeds actually grow.

  When a seed is buried in the ground, you can’t see exactly what is happening to it. Here is a simple experiment you can perform to watch the seed develop into a little plant.

  Get a sheet of clean blotting paper or a small sponge. Put the paper or sponge in a drinking glass so that it is pressing against one side of the glass. Fill the other side of the glass with gravel or sand. This should press the blotting paper or sponge tightly against the glass.

  Now get some fast-growing seeds like lima beans. Force them between the blotting paper and the glass. They should be pressing tightly against the glass so that you can see them through the glass. If the seeds don’t stay in place, you do not have enough sand or gravel in your glass, as its purpose is to keep the seeds in place.

  Keep the blotting paper or sponge moist. In a few days you will see the seeds sprout roots. These are called root hairs. They help absorb food for the plant. After the roots become longer, carefully transfer your seeds to a dirt-filled flowerpot or even the garden–if it is warm enough. You will have a little bean plant. Just think how much you will know about this particular little plant!

  2. How strong are seeds?

  A rock is broken in two, and a healthy tree is growing in the split. Have you ever seen such a sight–a tree growing in a rock?

  Perhaps you have seen a sidewalk with a crack in it, and a plant growing through it. Chances are that the seed of the plant split the sidewalk. It’s hard to believe, but here’s an experiment to prove that seeds can really exert great force.

  Get a small flat bottle. An empty medicine bottle will do. Pack the bottle right up to the very top with dried beans, for beans are really seeds. Get a piece of cloth and tie it over the top of the bottle in place of the cap. Stand the bottle upside down in a glass partly filled with water.

  Watch your bean bottle from time to time, and in a day or so you will discover that the bottle has burst. The beans soak up all the water and become swollen. As they swell they push against the walls of the bottle, and when they push hard enough the bottle bursts.

  That is what happened to the rock and the sidewalk. Do you believe it now?

  3. How important are the plant’s first leaves?

  By now you have had some experience with plants. Have you noticed that all the different kinds of seeds you planted (flower and vegetable) start growing with the same kind of leaves? They all have what look like two thick leaves that dry up and fall off when the seedling develops other leaves. Have you ever wondered what these first leaves do?

  A little experiment will answer this question. Plant three quick-growing seeds, such as bean or cucumber seeds, in a flowerpot. Water them and one day you will notice you have three little plants, all with the same two first leaves, which are called cotyledons.

  Now, leave one seedling exactly as it is. From the second seedling, cut off one leaf. From the third, cut off both leaves. Continue to take care of your plants and you will discover something interesting. The seedling from which you cut off both leaves will be very small. The seedling with one leaf cut off will be a little larger. The seedling you did not touch will be the largest and healthiest.

  From this experiment you can gather that the cotyledons are storehouses for the young plant and should fall off only when the plant is strong enough to get nourishment by itself. Losing first leaves too soon hampers a plant’s growth.

  I hope you enjoy your seeds and seedlings this spring! Do your homework on best growing practices for your region, and don’t forget to have fun with the kids along the way. There are so many life lessons and spiritual truths to be learned from planting a garden.

  Related post: Gardening With Children

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon, education, family, gardening, outdoor activities, planting, plants, plant experiments, seedlings, vegetable garden, science

• April 19, 2009
• 23:20

  Fun with Seeds and Seedlings

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  Kids will love these hands-on activities relating to how seeds grow, how strong seeds really are, and the importance of the plant's first leaves.
• April 15, 2009
• 17:39

  But God Is

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  Hello, friends. I’ve been learning lately about this mysterious property of the God-human relationship: in our weakness, He is strong. I think this concept must be outside of the laws of physics. Shouldn’t a weak link break the chain? Here are my thoughts as I sit after a long and taxing day (oh, it’s tax day!):

  My little boy’s babysitter quit today because he’s too difficult. But God is the shepherd of our hearts and His Spirit brings correction.

  I’m overwhelmed with caring for my family while my husband is away working. But God is my husband and strong tower.

  I have financial concerns pressing in. But He owns the cattle on a thousand hills, and my inheritance is rich as a child of the King.

  I was invited to the Democratic Republic of Congo for a missions outreach and the very thought scares me. But He is Lord of the Nations.

  I feel unorganized, unproductive, and unable. But He set the order of the universe and made something out of nothing.

  I am tired and discouraged and ready to fall. But He gives rest to the weary and hope to the hopeless; He holds my foot so it doesn’t slip.

  I am not smart enough, brave enough, or bold enough to do the tasks before me. But He is all-wise, and the wind and waves obey His commands as He valiantly walks on water.

  I am weak. But He is strong.
  

  Technorati Tags: Christianity, faith, God, God’s provision, devotions

• April 10, 2009
• 19:13

  Reflections on the Resurrection

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  I helped my 9 year old son plant part of his garden today (indoors in little planters until the last frost). He carefully dropped seeds into the fresh, rich soil– carrots, lettuce, cucumbers, watermelon, radishes, pumpkin, sunflowers, corn, peas, and a few others. Wow, we’ll see how it all does in this tough growing climate.

  But, I was thinking about that little seed the whole time. AMAZING, that tiny seed that is SO powerful that it can be life giving and fruit producing. What a fantastic representation of the RESURRECTION power of Jesus Christ. It looks like this dead, dry little ball, and yet with the aid of some water, sunshine, and good earth, has the force to manufacture this product which can sustain a human being with its harvest! I just can’t get over how mind-blowing that is! How can something bigger than itself be brought forth out of dirt? How can something come from nothing?

  When this son of mine was in-utero, God led me to a certain passage which I read over him almost daily. It was Ephesians Chapter 1. Recently, I heard a sermon on this scripture, and as I realized that I knew it so well that I could almost predict what the pastor would say next, I recalled this season of prayer and intercession over my firstborn.

  I pray also that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and his incomparably great power for us who believe. That power is like the working of his mighty strength, which he exerted in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly realms, far above all rule and authority, power and dominion, and every title that can be given, not only in the present age but also in the one to come. And God placed all things under his feet and appointed him to be head over everything for the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills everything in every way. Ephesians 1: 18-23

  I’m sitting here marveling at how God in His wisdom and foresight brings all things together in His time. I have this swirl of thoughts and memories…visiting OMSI at ten weeks into my pregnancy and seeing the developing baby exhibit, realizing for the first time the fullness of life that was inside me. Attending an outdoor sunrise Easter service when I was about 10 years old, shivering on a hard chair with childlike wonder at the thought of the risen Christ, somehow symbolized in the sun rising over the Arizona mountains in all its brilliant colors. Wondering at how little seedlings poking up through a sidewalk could have had enough power to crack the concrete. All of these reflections are tied to the power, the potency of the resurrection of Jesus Christ.

  Did you catch the promise in Ephesians chapter 1? The Resurrection power of Jesus Christ is available for those who believe!! Do you understand the kind of power it takes to raise someone from the dead?? It is power over sin and death. Power over every fear, sickness, unbelief, bad habit, and inherited disease. This assurance brings hope beyond belief.

  I hope you have a transforming Resurrection Sunday~many blessings to you!

  Jen @ diaryof1.com
  

  Technorati Tags: Christianity, faith, family, God, Ephesians 1, Easter, Resurrection Sunday, planting, gardening

• April 06, 2009
• 21:09

  Finding My Inner Amish

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  This was a scheduled post to fit into my April theme~a magical, simple, and refreshing time of renewal. The dream began a few weeks ago with the gift of an Amish friendship bread starter. You take care of the dough starter for about ten days, then split it into four new starters (three to give away, one to keep) and bake a batch of the sweet bread for yourself.

  This enchanting, pastoral scene led to an all day baking session with a friend to stock up on meals and fill our freezers for those days when company is coming or time is scarce. We even wore cute aprons. I became delusional that I was born for baking and meal planning and living, well, sort of like the Amish. Simple, slow, homemaking and picking daisies.

  (Excuse me while I go pull a frozen pizza out of the oven.) However, at this moment, I’m finding that I have no inner Amish and it would be all but deceitful to write such a post. I’ve had a rough few days and maybe rougher ones ahead. My house is a disaster with clothes, toys, and random items strewn helter-skelter like a really bad hair day. I feel far from the peaceful Amish that I picture in my mind’s eye.

  I passionately miss my husband, who’s working out of town, my live-in mother is convinced the house will burn down just because a bad battery sent every alarm screaming through the night, and the dog has worms (the cat is suspect as well). I have parent-teacher conferences in two and a half days and a performance evaluation in one. And I can’t even come up with three more friends to give the next batches of Amish friendship bread starters to.

  If you find my inner Amish, you can send it packing to Pennsylvania, because it would not be at home here.

  I’m so glad that next week I get to celebrate the Resurrection, and, as you can see in my sidebar excerpt, I’m hoping for the power of the living Christ to be at work in me. I NEED it to be, and I hope (I know) that the resurrected Christ is more meaningful than my Amish fantasy.

  Technorati Tags: Amish friendship bread, simplicity

• April 05, 2009
• 17:18

  Swimming in April?

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  I thought I was celebrating spring, not summer. But I have brave kids.

  

  Central Oregon, April 5, 4:00 p.m., 66 degrees. I’m wearing a sweater. But blue sky, bright sun, and no wind all make for swimming in April, at least for these country kids.
  It innocently began with chasing jackrabbits, then some water-play, soon followed by a child streaking in to ask for a cork to plug the pool and fill it. Being busy with paperwork, and seeing no harm, I acquiesced. I figured they’d be far too cold once the water started flowing and it would come to an abrupt end, but no, the splashing and shrieks of delight went on for at least an hour.

  I love my daring young girls and boys!

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon, childhood memories, family, swimming, outdoor activities

• April 03, 2009
• 19:54

  Hark, I hear a robin calling!

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  Hark, I hear a robin calling!
  List, the wind is from the south!
  And the orchard-bloom is falling
  Sweet as kisses on the mouth.

  In the dreamy vale of beeches
  Fair and faint is woven mist,
  And the river’s orient reaches
  Are the palest amethyst.

  Every limpid brook is singing
  Of the lure of April days;
  Every piney glen is ringing
  With the maddest roundelays.

  Come and let us seek together
  Springtime lore of daffodils,
  Giving to the golden weather
  Greeting on the sun-warm hills.

  -   Lucy Maud Montgomery, Spring Song
  

  The painting above is called Le Poème de l’âme - Le Printemps (The Poem of the Soul - Spring) by Anne-François-Louise Janmot (1814-1892), and can be found at the Musée des Beaux-Arts, Lyon, France.

  Are you hearing robins in your part of the world? I think Montgomery’s poem pairs perfectly with this painting, don’t you? I love Lucy Maud Montgomery, and in fact, just today, my daughter watched the Anne of Green Gables movie. Anyway, spring is in the air, and I do believe I have spring fever. Mark Twain describes it best:

  It’s spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you’ve got it, you want - oh, you don’t quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!

  


• April 01, 2009
• 16:56

  Excuse the mess

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  This blog is not an April Fool’s joke. Sorry about the mess up there on my header. I need my husband to fix it and he’s committed to other more critical programming projects for a few weeks, so we may have to live with it for a while.  

  If you came expecting to see my new April theme, and could hardly stand the anticipation, I apologize for the let-down! I probably won’t write much until it’s fixed, for the same reason I don’t invite people over when the house is a disaster; it’s hard to see past the dirty dishes and appreciate the good conversation. Unless you’re a really good friend.   

  Enjoy a lovely April! I plan on learning how to plant a vegetable garden that will succeed in Central Oregon, cleaning out my guest room, writing letters to my cousins, catching up on some French, and celebrating the risen Lord. What about you?

• March 27, 2009
• 23:05

  It is for freedom we’ve been set free

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  It was for freedom that Christ set us free; therefore keep standing firm and do not be subject again to a yoke of slavery. Galations 5:1

  This is a verse that came my way today from two different sources. I don’t know what it means to you, but I wanted to share it with you. Part of it for me means being FREE and available for all God has for me. No eye has seen or mind can comprehend what God has prepared for those who love Him. And none of it is fully available when we are not free. So, I’ll be meditating on what this means for me and how I can obtain further freedom…from fear, exhaustion, unbelief, and anything else that I struggle with.

  That’s my little JoJo in the photo exercising her freedom! Without a care and full of the joy of living, she pedals into the wind like a newly released balloon reaching for the skies.
  

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon, Christianity, God, freedom in Christ, Galations, Bible

• March 25, 2009
• 22:03

  Expressive Social Studies

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  Oh boy, I’ll have to make this a quick post, but I hope to come back to this subject another time when I can deal with it more in depth. For now, here’s a short list of some methods I’ve had great success with in regards to bringing some life to the history and social studies lessons. I vary the method I use to add interest, and only do one of these at a time.

  1. Act it out. As I read aloud the lesson from our textbook, I have my students stand at their desk and create motions to go along with the words. If we are studying about Alexander the Great crossing a vast desert on his way to conquer another nation, I’ve seen students galloping on their horses, brandishing swords, or taking a victory stance.

  A word of caution–if you don’t want this to get too out of hand, let your students know ahead of time what the boundaries are. After dealing with kids racing around the room, falling to the floor with gasps and spasms as they “die,” and engaging in hand-to-hand combat, I had to make some rules! Extra points went to groups who acted silently (so as to hear the teacher), stayed behind their desks, and if they must die, they do so with a minimum of fanfare. Just sayin’.

  2. Group skits. This is a modification of number 1 above. Instead of each student acting individually, I assign sections of the text to groups of 3-4 students (about 1-2 pages per group) and give them 15-20 minutes to come up with a skit to represent their section. This is not meant to be an extended project, and must be accomplished within that timeframe.

  Each group has up to five minutes to present their skit, so with about five groups of students, this fills the social studies period. Twenty minutes to read their section and prepare the skit, plus 25 minutes of group presentations - 45 minutes. Much more fun than just reading and filling out a worksheet. And truly, the retention is miles beyond the traditional approach.

  A note on the skits–visit with each group as they are preparing, and point out the main ideas that should make it into their skit. They will need some guidance o this, especially if they are new to this activity. Names of characters should be stated, location and date should be made known. As your students become familiar with what you require, the quality of their skits really improves.

  3. Poetry. From prose to poetry is the goal here. When we go the poetry route, we read the chapter aloud, then I offer a poem starter to get the kids in the right frame of mind. I’ve been requiring just six lines of poetry for now, because this is a more difficult one for my kids. As they become more comfortable with this method, I would expect my students to write eight lines for every page of the lesson.

  Let’s try a quick lesson here. Go the the Alexander the Great wikipedia page and read the intro. Write six lines of poetry. Here’s my poem, done in less than five minutes.

  Alexander conquered the world
  In his statue his hair looks curled

  A Macedonian king of Greece
  Skilled in war, elusive with peace

  He spread Greek culture far and wide
  The Hellenistic period was his pride

  It’s amazing how much you have to examine the words and think about synonyms to turn prose into poetry. I think this is a method I will continue to explore!

  4. Jeopardy! Who doesn’t love a good game? We read the lesson aloud to get the big picture. Then break into groups of three or four students each. Each student must write at least three Jeopardy questions, which are then submitted to me to choose from. Sometimes, to get good coverage, I will assign groups the pages their questions must come from. I also typically have them label their questions Easy, Medium, or Difficult.

  On the whiteboard, I draw a modified Jeopardy game board, with group names and points. We play a simplified version of the TV game show.

  Some other ideas for teachers to explore…reader’s theatre, songs, puppet shows. The bottom line for me is this: how can I engage my students in a subject that is typically called “boring” by a huge number of young people? I know how critical it is to know our history - how else can we know ourselves? History is anything but boring!

  If you have some great ideas for spicing up the social studies, let me know. And do you have an Alexander the Great poem for me?
  

  Technorati Tags: education, history lesson ideas, creative social studies, teaching

• March 23, 2009
• 14:36

  boy and shovel

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  A little boy must have a shovel or two to be truly happy, I think! What is it about digging that brings such satisfaction and sense of adventure?

  Will I find a buried treasure? A forgotten city?
  I must dig and dig, and when I’m done at the very least I’ll have a hideaway.

  Have you noticed a fascination with upturning the earth in your own children? When you were a child, did you love to dig? Is it a child’s version of going out west or shooting to the moon, or any other unknown horizon to be explored?
  

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon, childhood memories, family, children’s shovels

• March 17, 2009
• 19:20

  Inspired Book Reports: Lapbooking Where the Red Fern Grows

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  A fun, creative way to do book reports–it’s called a lapbook, or a folder full of mini-books to organize the main ideas and story elements of literature. The lapbook can be the whole book report for younger to middle ages, or a tool for gathering information as the student reads before he writes a formal report for upper grades.

  I’d like to show you an example of a lapbook for Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls. I created this for my 6th grade students, and they are loving it. What I like most about the lapbook is the myriad of options available–all sizes, colors, shapes, and topics, all to be worked out according to the book and limited only by your imagination.

  As a logistical note, I chose to make the entire lapbook right upfront, rather than make one mini book at a time, because with the way I set this up, the students are adding a bit to almost every mini book each day. You’ll need to gather two manila folders per child as well as the pre-printed templates which I’ll reference below (just follow the links). I would set aside two class sessions of 30-45 minutes each to set up the entire lapbook.

  Start with a letter size manila folder. Open it up, and fold each flap into the middle and crease. And because I wanted an extra pocket in the back, I taped up the sides of a second manila folder and glued it to the back of the first folder. Here is what the lapbook looks like from the front:

  As you can see, your child or student can decorate the front cover and also include some mini-books. I chose to affix three pockets for what I call “character cards.”

  I picked three main characters from Where the Red Fern Grows - Billy, Old Dan, and Little Ann, and as we read the book together in class, I prompt the students to stop and make notes on 3×5 notecards when they learn something new or important about each character. The 3×5 notecard must be folded in half or cut to fit into this pocket. Here are examples of student entries on their character cards:

  Billy: (from Chapter 2) When he is ten years old, he gets infected with the “dog-wanting disease.” He is a real country boy, he knows every game trail and animal track, and is an excellent hunter.

  Old Dan: (from Ch. 5) Larger than the girl dog and deeper red in color, and Billy notices right away that Old Dan is bold and aggressive.

  Little Ann (from Ch. 5) Smaller and more timid, but Billy sees that she is very smart and sure of herself.

  Here is the link to the template for the pockets.

  Open up the lapbook and you’ll discover a treasure of little books:

  

  I’ll start on the left inside flap. There is an Author mini-book, called a rectangle petal book. On the four outside flaps I wrote the words birth, early childhood, writing, and my one regret. Under each of these flaps, the students are to write a sentence or two about Wilson Rawls on that subject. I handed out this study guide for Where the Red Fern Grows which includes information for several of the mini-books, including this author mini-book. By the way, Wilson Rawls’ one regret was that his father died before Wilson could show him a copy of his book.

  Under the author book is “the Ozarks” mini-book (the hexagon mini simple fold book), which in a traditional book report would be the setting. In this little space, the students will share details such as how the Ozarks are a highland region, and in Where the Red Fern Grows, the part of the Ozarks described is in the northeastern section of Oklahoma. Thick forests of oak, hickory, pine, and maple, caves, mountain streams, and abundant wildlife should all be mentioned.

  The wheel book under the Ozarks book is for Sequence of Events. It is divided into eight sections, and meant for students to think hard about boiling down the main events of the book into just a few steps. For example, the first event listed could be The adult Billy has a flashback to his childhood after rescuing a redbone hound. The second event could be Billy works hard for two years and earns money to buy his hounds.

  Right away you probably noticed the bright, multi-colored layered book called Chapter Summaries. We made these out of colored construction paper following these easy instructions. This is where the students record a few concise sentences about each chapter as they go, touching on the main action, thus creating an entire summary of the book by the time they have completed the last chapter.

  I cut off a smaller section of the original layered book and used it for the skinnier multi-colored layered book to the right called Fave Quotes and Phrases. I encouraged my students to be on the lookout for figurative, expressive language, for which Wilson Rawls is famous, fun plays on words, or thought-provoking quotes. Examples that made it into some student’s lapbook are:

  (p.21) I felt as big as the tallest mountain in the Ozarks.
  (p.40) …croaking like a bullfrog that had been caught by a water moccasin…
  (p. 88) …I wouldn’t blame the coon if he stayed in the tree until Gabriel blew his horn.

  Under the chapter summaries is a Daily Journal, made using the same method as the chapter summary mini-book, except with plain paper. I typically give a writing prompt for this exercise, and here is an example of the prompt I wrote for Ch. 9:

  Grandpa says, “I think it would be a good thing if all young boys had to cut down a big tree like that once in their life. It does something for them.” Do you agree with Grandpa, and why? Has there been something difficult you’ve had to accomplish that ended up increasing your courage?

  The Book Report mini-book in the center of the lapbook is the most simple of them all. It’s a basic flap-book, and here is what’s under the cover - a place to record the nuts and bolts of the book: title, author, illustrator, publication date, setting, main character, and what I thought of the book.

  Directly under the Book Report mini-book are two index card accordion books (very easy!). It’s hard to make out the writing, but they say Vocabulary Words. Listed here are words from each chapter the students may not be familiar with and should know. As you pull open the index card, there is a place for the student to write the words I’ve assigned, as well as their own personal list. Here is the word list from chapters 1-7 as an example:

  allot v. to parcel out
  cur n. inferior or undesirable dog; mongrel
  fester v. to cause increasing poisoning or irritation
  grit n. unconquerable spirit
  mull v. to think over at length
  muster v. to assemble; to gather
  wily adj. full of cunning

  A lapbook on Where the Red Fern Grows would not be complete without a mini-book on the coon! At the top right of the inside of the lapbook folder you’ll see the Raccoon flip-flap book. As you lift the cover of this mini-book, you’ll find three flaps to label, and under each flap the kids will write a description. For the coon book, the three labels I chose were Description, Behavior, and Eating Habits.

  Another pocket is under the Raccoon book, labeled Spiritual Truths. Where the Red Fern Grows is chock full of biblical and moral truths and opportunities for spiritual growth. For example, after reading chapter 3 and learning how persistently Billy works for two years to earn the money for his hounds, students could write Proverbs 14:23 on an index card: In hard work there is always something gained, but idle talk leads only to poverty.

  The final mini-book I’ve included in the lapbook for Where the Red Fern Grows is a must–a redbone coon hound book, and I chose the template of a T-book. Inside the flaps of this book are a square in the center for a picture of a redbone coon hound, and three other flaps for information about the breed. The study guide I mentioned earlier has a nice section on the redbone hound.

  A word on attaching the mini-books to the base folder: Students either glued them down or stapled them. What happens if a student fills her journal and needs more room? She would pull off the mini-book, place it in the folder which is glued to the back of the lapbook, and make a new journal to affix into the lapbook. If you think you have wordy kids on your hands who will fill up their little books, think about attaching the mini-books with velcro for easy removal. The folder is also the depository where the student will empty out her pockets when they are full (the character cards and spiritual truth cards) to make room for more.

  How does the teacher grade a lapbook? I periodically check on each student, walking about the room and inspecting a bit of each student’s book every day we use it, to ensure they are keeping on top of it. I also invite volunteers to share what they have written, which they enjoy tremendously. When we are finished with Where the Red Fern Grows, I will collect each student’s lapbook and grade each mini-book on a simple scale, giving an overall grade of up to 100%. The breakdown of points is as follows: All mini-books except the Chapter Summaries and Daily Journal receive up to 5 points each, and the Chapter Summaries and Daily Journal receive up to 20 points each.

  That’s about it! I hope you were able to follow this lengthy description of a lapbook, and if you have any questions or ideas for improvements, please let me know. Where the Red Fern Grows is a fabulous book for a project like this, and is a book that should not be missed, whether you lapbook it or not.

  Technorati Tags: book reports, education, lapbooks, literary log, mini books, Where the Red Fern Grows

• March 15, 2009
• 8:43

  Happy 80th, Mom

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  My mother is now officially an octogenarian. I pray the 80s will bring her peace, grace, beauty, and good health.

  Here she is making her way down our driveway with a few of the kids this week, who love to go for walks with Grandma. Or be walked, as you can see a blue leash dangling by LIttle L’s legs, which he had attached to his belt loop for Grandma to “walk him.” She now limits herself to the long driveway for fear of getting lost in the forest. I must say, I do feel quite proud that our sometimes scraggly junipers qualify as a forest.

  This poem she wrote over 50 years ago fits this scene and the future in heaven she looks forward to:

  AN OLD FAMILIAR STREET

  Will I suddenly find myself walking
  Down an old familiar street,
  That once had something lacking
  But now is quite complete?

  Will heaven be the earth again,
  But me a different man–
  With eyes to see things hidden now,
  With wings to carry out a plan?

  Will flowers be even sweeter then?
  The wind at my command?
  Will secrets fill me full of glee
  That now I could not stand?

  Will that day surely come
  With its enchanting feat
  When I’ll walk with distant friends
  Down an old familiar street?

  I don’t have any profound thoughts to write this morning in honor of my mother’s 80th birthday, just a few random memories from childhood:

  She read to us often, and not the usual children’s stories, just whatever she happened to be reading. She loved books about the saints, Christian missionaries, animal stories, the Bible, biographies…

  She planted a mint patch and would send us kids to pick mint for her tea. We’d eat some leaves along the way.

  The Arbor was a special place to be. She built, along with my dad, a little arbor with a table and benches inside. Crawling up every side of the arbor were climbing vines of her favorite kind, of which I cannot remember the names but were special to her.

  I remember discovering a nest of baby birds in the arbor - they loved it there, too.

  For a year or two, my mom hosted a small poetry club in the arbor for my sister and me and our neighbor friends (mostly 6-10 year olds), and called it the Little Rhymers. I still have the poetry book she made for our club with its hand-stitched cover, filled with the endearing poetry of our little hands.

  Her Boston Baked Bread was one of my favorites, as well as her homemade ice cream.

  She was a most creative soul and I never realized the blessing of this until much later in life.

  Happy Birthday, Mom!

• March 08, 2009
• 15:58

  The Masters and the Classics

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  “Get your journals ready,” I tell my 6th grade students every morning. From 8:00 to 8:10 a.m. most school days, I have a short piece of classical music on queue in the CD player, along with a work of art from one of the masters displayed on the music stand at the front on the classroom.

  I feel that this beginning part of our day is perhaps the most important thing I do. I had to work hard to squeeze it in, because if you work for a school, you know that your schedule is very tight with all the other subject requirements and content you are obliged to cover in a given year. But the beauty this brings to my classroom is worth every bit of effort. Music feeds the soul, and art, well, a good long look at a masterpiece could be the equivalent of reading a 300 page classic novel.

  I have to make clear that this 10-15 minute art/music journal time is meant to be a broad overview to simply expose kids to the greatest works of art and music of all time. I figure that by the end of the school year, they will have been introduced to more masterpieces than most adults ever will be familiar with.

  On the whiteboard, there is a section on the left side reserved for the daily journal questions. In bold letters I write “Look” with little eyeballs in the o’s, followed by the title of the painting and the journal question. Below this I draw an ear icon next to the word “Listen,” along with the title of the musical piece and a query. Writing prompts help them to get started and stir up ideas. Here are a few examples of how it works:

  Day 1:

  LOOK: The Dancing Couple, by Jan Steen, 1663.

  Journal Question: Jan Steen loved to paint life “as it is,” and used painting as storytelling. What details of this painting tell you that Steen captured daily life with all its messiness?
  

  (My students noticed broken eggshells strewn on the floor, a stray spoon, turned over containers, and a general chaotic, merry feeling.)

  LISTEN: Art of the Fugue, BWV 1080, by Johann Sebastian Bach (1685–1750), from Classical Kids, Mr. Bach Comes to Call.

  Journal Question: A fugue is when you have have more than one musical line going on at once, and they all use the same theme. It’s called imitative counterpoint. Bach is the prime example of the fugue. Can you hear the themes?

  (I will generally have the kids write in their own words what a fugue is for this journal entry, otherwise it would simply be a yes or no answer.)

  *****

  Notice that the above painter and musician come from generally the same time period. I like pairing them like this. Even better is pairing the artist and the musician from the same country and time period, and aligning this with your history curriculum.

  Day 2:

  LOOK: Red Boats in Argenteuil, by Claude Monet, 1875

  Journal Question: Pure black is rarely used by the impressionist painters. Monet would instead combine several colors to achieve the appearance of black: blues, greens and reds. What color are the shadows in this painting?

  
  LISTEN: Peter and the Wolf by Sergei Prokofiev, Introduction.

  Journal Question: Write down each character and the musical instrument that corresponds to it. Which is your favorite?

  *****

  One of my proudest moments came earlier this year, just after the Super Bowl, actually. During the Super Bowl, a cute Coke commercial was aired, the one with the insects in a meadow who steal away with the sleeping guy’s Coca Cola. The entire commercial is set to just one sound, with no voices: the music from Peter and the Wolf. It was Peter’s theme, the most recognized piece of the composition.

  That Monday, I asked my kids if any of them watched the Super Bowl and noticed the Coke commercial. A few of them made me jump for joy - Yes! they chimed in–it was Peter and the Wolf! A few parents even noted to me how surprised they were when their children recognized the tune. This small incident highlighted for me why I do what I do.

  Now, I’d like to share some resources that make this art/music series possible and mostly FREE. I don’t have a written program I follow at this point, but I hope to develop one to make this much easier for teachers to replicate, along with journal questions for each piece. For now, I gather materials as I go, and decide about a week ahead of time what to present, trying to align this with our history/social studies units. Here’s a short list to get you started.

  1. National Gallery of Art. Most folks are unaware that the National Gallery of Art has a free lending program. This has been invaluable to me! So far, almost all of my art, with the exception of some books I own, has come from this fabulous program. Most teaching packets come with a teachers guide, a CD of images, slides, and large color study prints. I sign up online for the programs I want, NGA ships them right to me at no cost, and I’m responsible only for the cost of returning them media mail. Can’t beat this.

  If you don’t have a slide projector, look for one. Or just use the large prints. If you are fortunate enough to have a projector for your computer, you certainly have an easy job! Some of my favorite teaching packets so far have been:

  Painting in the Dutch Golden Age
  Picturing France (1830-1900)

  2. Your local public library. This has been the source of nearly all my classical music for kids. If you have a collection built up already, you’re in luck. The most difficult part of the music for me was coming up with journal questions. I loved the classical kids CDs that incorporated a story with the music, because this made the journaling so much easier for the kids. This way, my questions can also be about details from the composer’s life, which are typically included in these CDs, or questions about the storyline if it’s an opera or ballet. Here are my favorites:

  Famous Composers, written by Darren Henley, read by Marin Alsop.

  Vivaldi, Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Dvorak, and Shostakovich make up this delightful introduction to FAMOUS COMPOSERS, an Audie-nominated production filled with re-enactments, musical excerpts, and facts on the six composers. (from AudioFile)

  More Famous Composers, written by Darren Henley, read by Marin Alsop.

  This delightful production focuses on portraits of Handel, Haydn, Mendelssohn, Chopin, Rachmaninov, and contemporary artist Paul Williams. (from AudioFile)

  Peter and the Wolf by Sergei Prokofiev, by Stephen Simon and narrated by Yadu.

  Narrator Yadu sets up the classic story by introducing the characters and the individual musical themes that represent each one. His voice has an appealing storytelling quality but is not intrusive. The rich music itself, played by the London Philharmonic, directed by Stephen Simon, takes center stage. (from AudioFile)

  The Story of Swan Lake, by Tchaikovsky, from Maestro Classics.

  Featuring the London Philharmonic Orchestra with music conducted by Stephen Simon, and narrated by Yadu. Also includes a biography of Pyotr Tchaikovsky and a lesson about the music.

  Classics for Kids

  A fabulous website that you shouldn’t miss!! Podcasts, a musical dictionary for kids, pieces from all the famous composers at the click of a button, and online musical games are just a few of the outstanding features of this award-winning site.

  I hope you’ve been encouraged today to devote some teaching time to the classics of art and music. Just a few minutes a day, with consistency, will achieve more than you can imagine. Some of you may have some other great resources to add to my short list - if so, let me know about them!

  Music is a more potent instrument than any other for education. Plato

  The aim of art is to represent not the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance. Aristotle

  Technorati Tags: art education, music education, classical music, the master painters, journaling

• March 07, 2009
• 12:10

  Parakeet Morality

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  How parakeet breeding led me to thoughts on a great moral issue:

  I stopped in the pet store yesterday to get some grit for the birds, to aid their digestion. While there, the kids reminded me of one of their pressing concerns. We have a boy and girl parakeet, and the kids keep wondering if they will have babies.

  My son begged for a nest to place in the bird cage, just in case. My daughter’s mind was filled with the wonder of baby keets.

  The store clerk discouraged all of this. She and I had just finished a discussion about how to work with our birds to turn them into friendly, tame, sit-on-your-finger kind of birds. She pointed out that once parakeets have babies, they will not be tame pets. They will be extremely protective of their brood and you can forget about a sweet housebroken budgie.

  I was fuzzy on some issues. What if they mate without all the nice trappings of a brooding box and comfy nest, and the girl lays her eggs on the bottom of the cage? Just throw them out, said the clerk. Take the eggs away, she’ll forget all about them, and she won’t lay any more eggs after a while. Do not encourage breeding, she said, by not putting a nesting area in the cage. Then you’ll get to keep the birds as pets to pamper and cuddle and train.

  I couldn’t help thinking about how to dispose of those eggs without the children having a meltdown. Would I flush them down the toilet? Would I toss them out the window? Offer them to someone with a pet snake? Ah, well, they are just parakeet eggs, and the snakes need to eat.

  Okay, so the only way for the parakeets to care enough about human companionship instead of protecting their clutch is to prevent them from breeding, and take away their eggs when they do happen to lay them.

  For some reason, my mind made a leap this morning, a shocking leap to connect with a great moral issue that I think of often. Abortion. Here is the connection I made.

  I wondered if the taking away of a human mother’s baby-in-utero, abortion, has the same effect (the “taming” of humans), and if there is perhaps an underlying societal motivation (from the left) for wanting women and couples to not “breed.” A motivation similar to the parakeet issue: are women and families more easily manipulated and pliable when they don’t have the “mother bear” syndrome, the innate and fierce drive a mother has to look out for the best interest of her baby?

  A new mother, of course, will be less interested in say, political issues of whether murderous criminals should be spared the death penalty or whether women should have the “right to choose,” than she will be in the immediate care of her newborn, how to feed and nurture him, and don’t you dare harm my baby.

  Does it seems plausible that childless people will be more loyal to the state than to the family? I’m making a leap here, but there is some shifting of interests that occurs when your eggs are stolen away and you’re encouraged to forget about them, be you parakeet or person.

  Technorati Tags: abortion, parakeet breeding

• March 03, 2009
• 21:04

  Aunt Beth~in spring

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  My Aunt Beth died yesterday. There is something about death that leaves one so introspective. I wanted to immediately fly back to Michigan and be with family, but Aunt Beth had requested a spring memorial. She apparently didn’t want people flying in from all over the country in the midst of a frigid Michigan winter. Early March in Michigan is not always nice.

  Everyone told me, no, don’t come now, wait ’til spring, it’s what she wanted. I had to set aside this immediacy I felt and go with reason. She wanted us to gather in the cemetery in late spring, with green grass and lovely blooms. As I thought about Aunt Beth, it made such sense. She was the essence of spring. I don’t know why exactly I feel that way, but maybe it was her smile, her warmth, her innocence, her youthful spirit.

  Aunt Beth was my mom’s oldest sister, and at age 84, it seems a natural time to die. She held onto life until the 23rd Psalm was read to her, then she passed into glory. My cousin who gave me the details of the moment said to make sure my mom knew that Beth was not in pain and was surrounded by loved ones. And she said, “Jenny, be danged sure that when that time comes for your mom, you have her favorite scripture on hand!”

  Tonight I made my mom her favorite meal - bean burritos - and stopped at the library for some good books for her. I had been so worried about how she would handle this. She’s surprised me. Very calm, taking everything in stride. I asked her last night to tell me about a fond memory she had of her sister Beth.

  She spoke of the joy of riding her bike, with her brother Doug, over to Beth’s house. Aunt Beth was five years older than my mom, and married young, maybe 18 or 19 years old. My mom would have been 13 or 14 at the time, and I thought how sweet of her big sister, with a new home and new husband, to be welcoming to her young siblings, so much so that her little sister still remembers that bit of hospitality about 67 years later.

  At the library tonight, I picked out a book for myself as well. I chose A Year in Provence, a chronicle of an English couple that escape the rat race of life and head to the south of France. I guess it’s no surprise that I was drawn to this story just now. I was reading this last year, and only got as far as August (each chapter is a month of the year), and have been wanting to finish it. As I said, death leaves one introspective, and I’m thinking about life and love and meaning. I suppose Provence symbolizes those things for me. Plus I remembered that this book made me laugh until I cried more than once.

  Until spring and until Provence…
  

  Technorati Tags: death, family, France, A Year in Provence

• March 01, 2009
• 16:56

  Richard Wurmbrand Movie

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  I saw this over at Challies, and love this kind of feature. It’s the story of Richard Wurmbrand, and is the latest in the Torchlighters Heroes of the Faith series (perfect for ages 8-12).

  Torchlighters are action-packed, award-winning animated videos, featuring real-life faith heroes that kids can depend on. Each DVD features a full-length documentary; complete, reproducible study materials; English and Spanish tracks, and more.

  Richard Wurmbrand spent 14 years in Communist imprisonment in his homeland of Romania, suffering horrific torture for his Christian faith. Wurmbrand later became the founder of the The Voice of the Martyrs. He tells his shocking story in his book Tortured for Christ. This DVD from Torchlighters also includes a one-hour documentary that Challies liked even better than the animated feature.

  His wife Sabina also has an amazing story, told in her autobiography, The Pastor’s Wife.

  Technorati Tags: Christianity, Voice of the Martyrs, communism, Richard Wurmbrand, Romania

• February 24, 2009
• 19:40

  John Sanford: retired Cornell professor shows up Darwinism

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  Dr. John Sanford, retired professor from Cornell University, has done brilliant work in the field of genetics. His research and studies have led him to refute “The Primary Axiom” upon which modern Darwinism is built. The Primary Axiom is that man is just the result of random mutations and natural selection.

  Basically, by demonstrating that the human genome is deteriorating, and always has been since its origin, the theory of human life arising from random, beneficial, and increasingly complex mutations simply can’t be true. If we take an honest look at the human genome research, we will discover profound implications about our views of life, and we must conclude that The Primary Axiom is false.
  A most enlightening and readable book on this subject is Dr. Sanford’s book Genetic Entropy & The Mystery of the Genome. If you have some basic knowledge of biology and genetics, you can glean everything you need from this book to formulate a solid reasoning for Creation or Intelligent Design.

  Dr. Sanford begins his book with this Prologue:

  In retrospect, I realize I have wasted much of my life arguing about things that don’t really matter. It is my sincere hope that this book can actually address something that really does matter. The issues of who we are, where we come from, and where we are going seem to me to be of enormous importance. This is the real subject of this book.

  Modern thinking centers around the premise that man is just the product of a pointless natural process (undirected evolution). This widely-taught doctrine, when taken to its logical conclusion, leads us to believe that we are just meaningless bags of molecules, and in the final analysis, nothing matters. If false, this doctrine has been the most insidious and destructive thought system ever devised by man. Yet, if true, it is at best meaningless, like everything else. The whole thought system which prevails within today’s intelligentsia is built upon the ideological foundation of undirected and pointless Darwinian evolution.

  This reminds me of the battle of wits about the poison in The Princess Bride. If Darwinian evolution is true, life is meaningless and therefore the doctrine itself is meaningless. If it’s false, it’s more than meaningless, it’s been a catastrophic blow to the sanctity of human life.

  Man in Black: All right. Where is the poison? The battle of wits has begun. It ends when you decide and we both drink, and find out who is right… and who is dead.

  Vizzini: But it’s so simple. All I have to do is divine from what I know of you: are you the sort of man who would put the poison into his own goblet or his enemy’s? Now, a clever man would put the poison into his own goblet, because he would know that only a great fool would reach for what he was given. I am not a great fool, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you. But you must have known I was not a great fool, you would have counted on it, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.

  Man in Black: You’ve made your decision then?

  Vizzini: Not remotely. Because iocane comes from Australia, as everyone knows, and Australia is entirely peopled with criminals, and criminals are used to having people not trust them, as you are not trusted by me, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you.

  Man in Black: Truly, you have a dizzying intellect.

  Vizzini: Wait til I get going! Now, where was I?

  Man in Black: Australia.

  Vizzini: Yes, Australia. And you must have suspected I would have known the powder’s origin, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.

  Man in Black: You’re just stalling now.

  Vizzini: You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you? You’ve beaten my giant, which means you’re exceptionally strong, so you could’ve put the poison in your own goblet, trusting on your strength to save you, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you. But, you’ve also bested my Spaniard, which means you must have studied, and in studying you must have learned that man is mortal, so you would have put the poison as far from yourself as possible, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.

  Sanford ends the Prologue with a grave remark about the consequences of our thinking.

  If the Primary Axiom is wrong, then there is a surprising and very practical consequence. When subjected only to natural forces, the human genome must irrevocably degenerate over time. Such a sober realization should have more than just intellectual or historical significance. It should rightfully cause us to personally reconsider where we should rationally be placing our hope for the future.

  Exactly how Dr. Sanford unravels the mystery of the human genome, the “book of life,” I will leave for the author to reveal to you. As I said, the book is readable for a lay person, but the complexity of biological and genetic information that is built up chapter upon chapter is too much for this space.

  Sanford covers topics such as how mutations consistently destroy information, how selection capabilities are very limited, and how mutation/selection cannot realistically create a single gene. There is a helpful glossary of terms in the back of the book. And most importantly, Dr. Sanford ends with a personal postlude giving an answer to replace a false axiom - Jesus Christ, our only hope.
  

  Technorati Tags: Intelligent Design, creation, evolution, faith, Genetic Entropy, John Sanford, human genome, The Princess Bride

• February 21, 2009
• 16:32

  Poet’s Cat

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  A Poet’s Cat, sedate and grave
  As poet well could wish to have,
  Was much addicted to inquire
  For nooks to which she might retire,
  And where, secure as mouse in chink,
  She might repose, or sit and think.
  - - - William Cowper

  Our cat, Tawny is fond of napping, as most cats are. He’s dozing in what I like to call the townhouse - his place on top, the dog in the bottom apartment. My husband and son built this cozy accommodation just before winter, and it was uncanny how each animal instinctively knew where his place was.

  I tried to shoo Riley into his house so I could have the perfect picture, but he would have none of it. It’s usually the cat who won’t cooperate with the camera, but today Tawny was quite obliging.

  By the way, that is bits of a foam pad in the back of the dog house, not “doo doo” as my 5 year old said when she saw this picture. Riley tears out anything of comfort we try to place on the floor, whether it’s a blanket, a heated pad, or foam.

  Where do your animals like to sleep or sit?
  

  Technorati Tags: cat quotes, cat house, William Cowper

• February 16, 2009
• 11:13

  When Kids Explore: The Black Feather

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  Little L was so delighted to find a feather during our last hike about the property. Never mind we find them all the time, each new discovery still holds a bit of magic.

  Here’s a little poem I wrote for him:

  The Black Feather
  Today I went out to explore
  I found a feather on the forest floor
  I had the urge to search for more
  Creation has unlocked a door. 

  Enjoy your day exploring and investigating your world! We’re off for another hike…

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon, childhood memories, family, bird feather, nature, outdoors

• February 08, 2009
• 11:40

  Benjamin Carson: star neurosurgeon sees God in science

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  The story and person of Benjamin Carson makes me so happy because he is just one more amazingly brilliant and talented individual in the field of science and medicine to blow a hole in the tired argument that Christians who believe in God the Creator and not evolution are just uneducated, fundamentalist religious whack-jobs who don’t know what they’re talking about.

  Dr. Benjamin Carson is one of the world’s best neurosurgeons. He made history in 1987 when he accomplished what every neurosurgeon before him had failed to do: he successfully separated Siamese twins who were joined at the back of the head. Many other “firsts” followed this, and Dr. Carson continues to blaze a trail in the field of pediatric neurosurgery. He is currently a professor of neurosurgery, oncology, plastic surgery, and pediatrics at the Johns Hopkins School of Medicine, and he has been chief of pediatric neurosurgery at the Johns Hopkins Children’s Center for nearly a quarter of a century.
  His outstanding achievements speak for themselves:

  In 2001, Dr. Carson was named by CNN and TIME Magazine as one of the nation’s 20 foremost physicians and scientists. That same year, he was selected by the Library of Congress as one of 89 “Living Legends” on the occasion of its 200th anniversary. He is also the recipient of the 2006 Spingarn Medal which is the highest honor bestowed by the NAACP. In February, 2008, Dr. Carson was presented with the Ford’s Theatre Lincoln Medal by President Bush at the White House. In June, 2008, he was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom by the President, which is the highest civilian honor in the land. He has literally received hundreds of other awards during his distinguished career.

  Dr. Carson has been a leader in scientific research his entire career. He has over 120 major scientific publications in peer reviewed journals, almost 40 books and book chapters, and grant awards of about one million dollars. With his clear intelligence in the fields of medicine and science, I think his opinion on the origin of life deserves to be heard.

  Does evolutionary theory have any direct bearing on his daily work as a neurosurgeon? Only philosophically, I would say, but can you tell me one field of science where evolutionary theory actually makes a tangible, measurable difference in how that scientist works and contributes to society? It merely plays out in a theoretical or metaphysical or political way.

  A lot of people believe in evolution because most scientists do (or at least it’s the common perception that most scientists do). I don’t know the statistics, but I suspect the number of scientists who do not believe in evolution is large and growing. I am not speaking of microevolution, but the general theory of Darwin that all life originated and evolved by gradual and chance advantageous mutations - which is entirely void of factual support.

  Back to Benjamin Carson–I’m more than pleased to know that this distinguished man speaks openly and honestly about his faith in God and belief in a Creator and Designer. He looks to the facts and wonders at Darwin’s own assertion that within fifty to 100 years of his lifetime fossil remains would be found of the entire evolutionary tree, displaying an indisputable step-by-step evolution of life from amoeba to human. As Carson points out, this does not exist:

  It’s just not there. But when you bring that up to the proponents of Darwinism, the best explanation they can come up with is “Well…uh…it’s lost!”…I find it requires too much faith for me to believe that explanation given all the fossils we have found without any fossilized evidence of the direct, step-by-step evolutionary progression from simple to complex organisms or from one species to another species. Shrugging and saying, “Well, it was mysteriously lost, and we’ll probably never find it,” doesn’t seem like a particularly satisfying, objective, or scientific response.

  Dr. Carson is certainly a risk-taker in more ways than one. In fact, his latest best-selling book is called Take the Risk. In his surgical field, he continually pushes forward with innovation and new techniques. For example, with hemispherectomies (removal of half of the brain to prevent untreatable severe seizures), he significantly increased the safety of the procedure by coming up with better ways of controlling bleeding and infection, as well as developing a system of incrementally removing specific brain parts.

  In his willingness to explain his creation views, he is also a risk taker. He addressed the National Science Teachers convention in Philadelphia and the very prestigious Academy of Achievement, which includes many Nobel scientists. Dr. Carson’s basic message was that “evolution and creationism both require faith. It’s just a matter of where you choose to place that faith.”

  If you’d like to find out more about Benjamin Carson, there are some fantastic resources available. Just this past Saturday, Feb. 7, 2009, TNT aired Gifted Hands: The Ben Carson Story. Superbly played by Cuba Gooding, you will be inspired to learn of Carson’s upbringing in extreme poverty in Detroit, raised by a single mother with a third grade education. Ben Carson’s story is also told in his autobiography, Gifted Hands: The Ben Carson Story. Visit the Carson Scholars Fund for information on Benjamin Carson’s education initiatives and scholarships.

  Resources:
  Carson Scholars Fund
  Benjamin Carson: The Pediatric Neurosurgeon with Gifted Hands
  Ben Carson: The Faith of a Surgeon

  Technorati Tags: Benjamin Carson, Christianity, creation, evolution, faith, neurosurgeon, science

• February 05, 2009
• 21:27

  Today at the salon…

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  A salon is a gathering of stimulating people of quality under the roof of an inspiring hostess or host, partly to amuse one another and partly to refine their taste and increase their knowledge through conversation and readings, often consciously following Horace’s definition of the aims of poetry, “to please and educate” (”aut delectare aut prodesse est“).

  From Wikipedia. Most notable in the 17th and 18th centuries in France, the salon was an important place for the exchange of ideas.

  This painting is called In the Salon of Madame Geoffrin in 1755, by Anicet-Charles-Gabriel Lemmonier:

  

  Blogs are a bit of a modern salon, I think. So, I wonder, if you were to attend the salon, what would you care to discuss? What books or ideas would you want to explore?

• January 31, 2009
• 12:39

  A favorite place

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  Big L found a favorite perch. From here, he had a bird’s eye view of the valley and the horizon beyond. Upon his rocky seat, with his hand steadied by the old weathered fence post, my son felt like king of the hill.

  I wondered what tales the worn, lichen and moss covered fence could tell. Who owned the cattle it once held in? What hands pounded the stakes? Why did these people move on? Where did they go from here?

  Do you have a favorite place to retreat to when you need to clear your mind or when you long for solitude?

• January 25, 2009
• 14:59

  Zakaria Botros, unafraid to defy Islam

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  He has been named Islam’s “Public Enemy #1″ by al-Insan al-Jadid, an Arabic newspaper, and by merely looking at this elderly Coptic priest, one would fail to see why.

  However, mass conversions to Christianity as a result of his ministry are the reason for the label. About six million Muslims convert to Christianity annually, and an Islamic cleric admitted on al-Jazeera TV not too long ago that many of these conversions are attributed to Botros’ public ministry.

  What is his secret, and how has he survived? I believe his greatest asset is his command of classic Arabic and his TV show broadcast in Arabic into the heart of Muslim territory. Born in Egypt, Botros has been hosting Truth Talk since 2003, a weekly 90 minute show where he expertly exposes the inherent contradictions of Islam.

  Because Zakaria Botros knows Arabic and has read all of the teachings of Muhammed, the Quran, and countless other Muslim books, he is in an unusually strategic position to counter the inconsistencies of Islam with Islam itself, not just the Bible or Christian teaching. Botros is ultimately interested in saving souls, but is aware that a traditional evangelical approach will not work. He explained this recently:

  I am not against Muslims although I am against Islam as a false religion. I don’t want to disgrace Muslims but to expose Islam. My ultimate intention is to glorify God and to save people, especially Muslims. Muslims are victims. Muhammad deceived them as he himself was deceived by Satan. Muslims believe that Muhammad is the best prophet, that the Quran is the only proper book from God, and Islam is the only religion from God. Muslims are in bad need to be saved from these false beliefs.

  One example of how Botros will expose Islam with his polemic, debating style, was his lengthy exposure of a certain embarrassing aspect of Islamic law, which Islamic authorities are unable to rebut:

  Botros spent three years bringing to broad public attention a scandalous — and authentic — hadith stating that women should “breastfeed” strange men with whom they must spend any amount of time. A leading hadith scholar, Abd al-Muhdi, was confronted with this issue on the live talk show of popular Arabic host Hala Sirhan. Opting to be truthful, al-Muhdi confirmed that going through the motions of breastfeeding adult males is, according to sharia, a legitimate way of making married women “forbidden” to the men with whom they are forced into contact — the logic being that, by being “breastfed,” the men become like “sons” to the women and therefore can no longer have sexual designs on them.

  To make matters worse, Ezzat Atiyya, head of the Hadith department at al-Azhar University — Sunni Islam’s most authoritative institution — went so far as to issue a fatwa legitimatizing “Rida’ al-Kibir” (sharia’s term for “breastfeeding the adult”), which prompted such outrage in the Islamic world that it was subsequently recanted.

  Another telling illustration of how Zakaria Botros forces Muslims to examine the roots of their faith is this:

  One recent episode of Truth Talk, aired Nov. 21, cut to 20 separate clips, most of Cairo’s respected Al-Azhar University Sheikh Khaled El-Gendy, to debate the age of Aisha when she became Muhammad’s second wife. Islamic hadiths (the sayings and actions of Muhammad) say she was 6 years old when married and 9 when the marriage was consummated (and reportedly returned to play with her toys afterward). Yet many scholars—and a controversial new novel about Aisha, The Jewel of Medina by Sherry Jones that was dropped from Random House’s list because of Muslim threats—have tried to paper over the obvious morality issue of child marriage with assertions that Aisha was 14 or even 18. What’s at stake, it becomes clear as the episode unfolds, is whether the Quran and the hadiths can be both true and exemplary.

  Whether Zakaria Botros is confronting universal jihad or the inferiority of women, he is always careful to painstakingly cover all the sources, quoting the original Islamic texts and inviting a response from the ulema, the expert Muslim theologians who articulate sharia law. Al-dalil we al-burhan, evidence and proof, is what he demands.

  You may wonder how Zakaria Botros is still alive. You must know that any one of his statements would bring death if he were to be roaming the streets preaching in any Islamic town. He’s been jailed twice for preaching the gospel to Muslims, and was sentenced to life in prison. Miraculously, the judge instead released him on the condition that he be forced into exile - Botros had to leave Egypt for good.

  After having ministered in Cairo for over 30 years, Botros moved to England. Since then, he “retired” into his airwave ministry. It seems the threats are just beginning. Botros is sure he’d be dead were it not for broadcasting from an undisclosed location. Jihadist groups have posted death threats worth up to a reported $60 million for his head. Zakaria Botros knows the seriousness of this. Growing up as a child in Alexandria, Egypt, Muslim attackers killed his young teenage brother. His response:

  Instead of anger against Muslims, the Lord saved me from that. I had pity on them.

  Botros does more than defy Islam. He offers an alternative, the truth of Christianity, and he consistently opens and closes his show with an invitation to his viewers to come to Christ. With the growing worldwide hostility to anyone who speaks out against Islam (for example, the Dutch lawmaker currently facing prosecution for anti-Islamic statements), Botros is truly fearless.

  “Fear? I fear nothing,” says Botros. “My dictionary does not contain the word fear. I believe in God and I believe that the epistle of Ephesians says we are created in Jesus Christ for a plan, which was engaged from the early beginning. No one can cut it, and when it is completed no one can continue it.”

  photo: World Magazine
  sources: World Magazine, National Review Online,

  Technorati Tags: Christianity, Islam, Zakaria Botros, Muslim, evangelizing Muslims

• January 22, 2009
• 4:45

  Overlooking the Valley

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  Out hiking a few weeks ago. Near the east edge of our property is a stunning view of the valley below.

  For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes, His eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly seen, being understood through what has been made, so that they are without excuse. (Romans 1:20)

  What element of God’s creation speaks to you today?

  Technorati Tags: family, creation, landscape

• January 18, 2009
• 19:53

  Berthe Fraser, from Housewife to French Resistance Hero

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  In Nazi occupied France during the dark days of WWII, there was a group of valiant and daring individuals known as the French Resistance. They dared to defy the vice-grip of Nazi Germany (as well as the French collaborators) using stealth, reconnaissance, infiltration, and whatever means necessary to save their beloved country and fellow man from destruction. Most of these brave souls were subject to betrayal, unspeakable torture, or death. One of these members of the French Resistance appeared to be an ordinary housewife, but Berthe Fraser was anything but ordinary.

  Berthe Fraser was among hundreds of people who rose to the treacherous task of defending France. Be they a housewife, a mother, a Catholic, a Jew, a communist, an artist, or a politician, these resistance fighters came from all layers of society, both male and female, young and old, and without their heroic acts, Hitler’s march through France may not have been halted.

  The French Resistance took many forms, from groups of armed guerilla bands who escaped to the mountains, known as the Maquis, to organizers of escape networks for Jews and other targets of the Nazis, to publishers of underground newspapers, to those who carried out sabotage operations, to couriers who carried coded messages back and forth between Allied members.

  Mrs. Fraser’s story begins with her birth in 1894 as Berthe Emilie Vicogne. She married an Englishman and thus became a British subject. When the rumblings of WWII hit France, Berthe Fraser was going about her domestic life in her hometown of Arras, France, all the while organizing an underground network that saved the lives of countless English agents and pilots. Her husband reported later to an English newspaper:

  My wife was the head of a great movement, which worried the Germans stupid. She was the hub of this big wheel. Her first work was in 1940 when there were hundreds of British soldiers roaming around France. My wife started a movement which grew until it was a sort of underground channel. She sent dozens of British soldiers by devious means to the coast where they were smuggled to England.

  Twice betrayed but never broken, Berthe Fraser was an unshakable woman for whom I have the utmost awe and respect. I can relate to where she was in life; a woman in her 40s, tending to her home. I don’t know if she had any children, but as a woman, I feel the risks of undertaking the work of the Resistance were doubly perilous.

  I wish there was more information available about this woman. I know she suffered extreme torture during her second capture, and this trauma surely accounts for the lack of details. Who wants to recall the horror? I can find no record of a public interview. I discovered in the back matter of the book SOE in France by M.R.D. Foot, that Berthe Fraser died in 1956, her health never restored.

  In 1941, someone betrayed Berthe, and she was arrested by the Gestapo. She spent 15 months in a Belgian prison, and was released in December 1942. Did this imprisonment deter her? No. Berthe immediately jumped back into the work of fighting Hitler’s campaign of death and terror.

  No sooner had she got out than Berthe immediately contacted the officers sent into France from England, and embarked on a new phase of anti–Nazi activity, helping the Allies by supplying English agents with a complete support network of Resistance fighters. She looked after the foreigners, providing them with shelter, transport, and safe hiding places where they could engage in their clandestine missions. She arranged liaisons, transmitted vital messages, and took on the very dangerous role of courier, travelling far and wide by car, sometimes on foot, laden with documents, arms, and occasionally the dynamite required for sabotage operations.

  Somehow she managed to evade discovery, collecting the supplies of weapons that were dropped by night at secret locations by British planes, hiding the vital goods in safe houses where they could only be released on presenting her signature.

  Berthe had to go to great lengths to protect her English charges. Once, entrusted with the care of the well–known English agent Wing Commander Yeo–Thomas, known as “The White Rabbit,” she arranged a funeral cortege to transport the senior officer, hidden inside the hearse. He says she was “one of the great Resistance heroines…. She worked impartially for any French or British organisation that needed her.”

  From the Charlotte Gray website, an excellent Warner Bros. movie about a Scottish woman living in England, parachuted into France by the British Government (SOE) to support the French Resistance.

  Berthe was betrayed again in 1944, unbelievably by one of the very English agents whose life she saved. She spent six months in solitary confinement at Loos where she was tortured every day. She was stripped and flogged in front of Nazi troops and condemned to death. Never did she betray her friends in the Resistance or the English army. How many lives she saved through her own afflictions will never be known.

  When the Allies stormed the prison on September 1, 1944, Berthe Fraser was just hanging onto life, and she is reported to have said, “Thank you boys, you are just in time.”

  
  The story of Berthe Fraser stands as just one of the many heroines of WWII. If you’re interested in further accounts of the women of the French Resistance, I highly recommend the following resources:

  Sisters in Resistance, a documentary film by Independent Lens.

  SISTERS IN RESISTANCE tells the story of four young women who risked their lives to fight Nazi oppression and brutality in occupied France, not because they themselves were Jewish or in danger of being arrested, but because it was the right thing to do. Within two years of the start of the Occupation, they had all been arrested by the Gestapo and were deported as political prisoners to Ravensbruck concentration camp.

  The documentary follows the paths of the four women — Geneviève de Gaulle Anthonioz, Jacqueline Pery d’Alincourt, Anise Postel-Vinay and Germaine Tillion — from before the war to the present. The women speak about what compelled them to resist, their roles in the Resistance, their arrests, deportation and liberation. They talk about the struggle to rebuild their lives after the war, their desire for children and their continued battles in the name of justice.

  Charlotte Gray, a Warner Bros. film.

  Set in Nazi–occupied France at the height of World War II, Charlotte Gray tells the compelling story of a young Scottish woman working with the French Resistance in the hope of rescuing her lover, a missing RAF pilot.

  Based on the best–selling novel by Sebastian Faulks, the film stars Cate Blanchett, Billy Crudup, Michael Gambon and Rupert Penry-Jones. Charlotte Gray is directed by Gillian Armstrong and produced by Sarah Curtis and Douglas Rae.

  For Freedom, a novel by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley. An excellent young adult book for grades 6-12.

  Life for Suzanne David, a 13-year-old French schoolgirl and music apprentice, dramatically changes in May, 1940, when she and her best friend witness the brutal death of a neighbor when a bomb drops directly in front of them. Soon the Germans take over Cherbourg, and the Davids are forced from their home into poverty. Then Suzanne is given the opportunity to help the Allies. Bravely, she risks her life, family, and singing career in order to spy for the Resistance. The pace of this suspenseful novel, told in first person and based on a true story, moves swiftly into action within the first chapter, showing the young heroine as strong, courageous, and clever. Filled, but not laden, with the events of the war, and peppered with French language and the culture of music, this novel will appeal to readers who enjoy history and espionage.

  Outwitting the Gestapo, a memoir by Lucie Aubrac.

  A suspenseful rendering of Aubrac’s experiences as a French Resistance fighter during WWII. This memoir owes its existence to the 1983 extradition to France of Klaus Barbie, the “Butcher of Lyon.” In order to refute Barbie’s defenders and former collaborators, Aubrac told her story publicly for the first time- -and it became a bestseller in France. Focusing on a nine-month period that begins with the conception of her second child, Aubrac looks back 40 years at experiences of enduring intensity. During the war, the author, her Jewish husband Raymond, and other “resistants” published and distributed underground newspapers, found new identities and homes for fugitives, forged permits, stole guns, and blew up roads and bridges–all routine Resistance activities.

  What makes this account special, however, is Aubrac’s irrepressible energy and resourcefulness, and the graceful way in which she interweaves her separate but parallel lives. As a mother and wife struggling in a wartime economy, she bartered for hard-to-find items; as a devoted schoolteacher, she applied the lessons of history to current events; as a secret member of the Resistance, she couldn’t disclose her true identity even to her most trusted colleagues, switching names and identities like a quick-change artist. Three times, she helped free her husband from prison. The last incarceration was the most harrowing: Walking into a trap, Raymond was arrested, tortured, and sentenced to die by Barbie himself. Despite her anguish, Aubrac tricked her husband’s captors into meetings and masterminded an intricate rescue. The Aubracs’ escape by airlift to London, where their baby was born, is tremendously exciting. A breathtaking account that feeds the soul as much as it satisfies the appetite for vicarious danger.

  Sisters in the Resistance by Margaret Collins Weitz.

  Weitz makes an important and unique contribution to the literature of the French Resistance and the history of World War II. Although countless studies have documented the heroic exploits of Resistance leaders during the course of World War II, few have focused on the pivotal role women played in the various underground organizations. Based on interviews with surviving resistants, this oral history contains the harrowing and often previously unrecorded testimony of a remarkable set of women. The author’s sensitive narrative places these riveting anecdotes and reminiscences into proper historical and sociological context as she examines and analyzes the ever expanding duties and assignments undertaken by women as France’s war-within-a-war continued to rage. An absolutely stunning and compelling chronicle of dauntless courage and unflagging patriotism.

  Code Name Christiane Clouet: A Woman in the French Resistance by Claire Chevrillon.

  A witness to the bleak fate of French Jewry in Nazi-dominated France, this remarkable author recounts her experiences from 1939 to 1945 in a personal though emotionally reserved way that makes her family’s tragedies particularly poignant. Her parents were upper-class, assimilated Jews; her father, Andre Chevrillon, was a member of the French Academy, a man Edith Wharton called “the first literary critic in France.” An English teacher in Paris when war broke out, Claire gives abundant details about the first days of the occupation, when France became a nation divided between the Petainists and those less willing to accommodate Hitler’s designs. In 1942, as repressive laws limited Jewish freedom (Claire’s mother was effectively imprisoned by her fear of leaving home wearing the yellow star), as her brother-in-law languished in a POW camp and her cousins were persecuted and eventually deported, Chevrillon joined the resistance, first in air operations and then in the code service, where she encoded and decoded messages between the free French government in London and de Gaulle’s Paris delegation. Chevrillon, who had contact with some of the most prominent members of the resistance, was betrayed in 1943 and spent four harrowing months in prison. The author’s goal was “to set forward the facts… not to analyze myself or my characters.” But her story, told without elaboration, is as dramatic and compelling as any fiction.

  An American Heroine in the French Resistance: The Diary and Memoir of Virginia D’Albert-Lake by Virginia D’Albert-Lake.

  In 1937, Virginia Roush, a strong-minded young woman from St. Petersburg, Florida, married a Frenchman, becoming Virginia d’Albert-Lake, and moved to Paris. During the war, she kept a diary, including almost larkish reports of her Resistance work. Part of an escape line that smuggled downed Allied airmen out of the country, she took them on secret sightseeing tours of Paris. In June, 1944, she was arrested by the Germans and sent to a sequence of concentration camps that included three spells in Ravensbrück. (The third time she was transferred from Ravensbrück, she weighed seventy-six pounds.) This book, comprising a diary written before her capture and a memoir written after her liberation, is an indelible portrait of extraordinary strength of character. In the diary she seems naïve and spirited; in the memoir she is sombre, reflective, and attentive to every detail.

  Behind Enemy Lines: The True Story of a French Jewish Spy in Nazi Germany by Marthe Cohn.

  This compelling memoir is testament to how extraordinary circumstances can transform a life-and how an extraordinary person reacts to difficult circumstances. Cohn was a typical French-Jewish teenager when WWII broke out, but as it did for millions of others, the war transformed her life in unimaginable ways. “There was no time to be frightened,” she and Holden, a veteran journalist, write. The first part of the book chronicles her family and friends’ response to the war. That countless other books have described the effects of the Nazi onslaught - the life-and-death consequences of the unthinkable decisions many were forced to make - makes her descriptions no less powerful and tragic. The narrative turns into a quasi thriller in its second half, depicting how the death of Cohn’s fiance led her, now a nurse, to join the Free French forces in the fight to defeat the Nazis. A blonde, fluent German speaker who never mentioned to her superiors that she was a Jew, she went on several life-threatening missions into German territory, earning France’s highest military honors. But she describes her actions without self-aggrandizement. What comes through is the importance of courageous individual action in the most dire situations. This is the amazing story of a woman who lived through one of the worst times in human history, losing family members to the Nazis but surviving with her spirit and integrity intact. Cohn now lives in California.

  Carve Her Name With Pride by RJ Minney. Also on film.

  Carve Her Name With Pride is the inspiring story of the half-French Violette Szabo who was born in Paris in 1921 to an English motor-car dealer, and a French mother. She met and married Etienne Szabo, a Captain in the French Foreign Legion in 1940. Shortly after the birth of her daughter, Tania, her husband died at El Alamein. She became a FANY (First Aid Nursing Yeomanry) and was recruited into the SOE and underwent secret agent training. Her first trip to France was completed successfully even though she was arrested and then released by the French Police.

  On June 7th, 1944, Szabo was parachuted into Limoges. Her task was to coordinate the work of the French Resistance in the area in the first days after D-Day. She was captured by the SS ‘Das Reich’ Panzer Division and handed over to the Gestapo in Paris for interrogation. From Paris, Violette Szabo was sent to Ravensbruck concentration camp where she was executed in January 1945. She was only 23 and for her courage was posthumously awarded The George Cross and the Croix de Guerre.

  A Life in Secrets: Vera Atkins and the Missing Agents of WWII by Sarah Helm.

  Vera Atkins, a legendary figure of British wartime intelligence, died in 2000 at the age of 92, but her secrets did not die with her, thanks to the brilliant investigative reporting of Sarah Helm, a noted British journalist and editor. Her book, A Life in Secrets, combines the history of a pivotal era with the nail-biting drama of the heroic operatives who were dropped into Nazi-occupied territories to contact and help form a resistance army.

  Atkins worked for the Special Operations Executive (SOE), which was formed in the dark days of 1940 after the British retreat at Dunkirk. Its mission was to wage a secret war until regular forces could be amassed to retake the continent. Her responsibilities were to recruit and train agents for SOE’s French section. Some 400 men and women were dispatched, and of these about 100 ended up “missing presumed dead.” Of special concern to Atkins were 12 female agents whom she could not account for after the war. Much of the book details her dogged pursuit of clues to their fates, leading to revelations of their incredible bravery when they were captured, sent to concentration camps and put to death.

  Flames in the Field: The Story of Four SOE Agents in Occupied France by Rita Kramer.

  The true story of women agents of the secret World War II Special Operations Executive, mandated by Winston Churchill to “set Europe ablaze” by organizing resistance in occupied Europe during the prelude to D Day. Intrigue and heroism, adventure and betrayal figure in this account of British-led efforts to defeat the Nazis in wartime France, based on extensive research in records, documents, letters and memoirs, and the author’s interviews with surviving agents and officials. Despite sporadic defeat and betrayal, SOE leaders managed to delay the arrival of German reinforcements to the Normandy beachhead, contributing to the eventual Allied victory. Details of the operations of SOE recounted here remained secret for decades after the war, finally revealing the human cost of the reconnaissance and sabotage efforts that helped to shorten the conflict.

  Technorati Tags: Berthe Fraser, French Resistance, France, Nazi Germany, Hitler, women in history

• January 13, 2009
• 1:10

  Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn: literary giant, light of truth

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  Just over five months ago, the Russian novelist and historian, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn (December 11, 1918 – August 3, 2008), died in his homeland. What a loss to the world, this giant of the twentieth century who wrote from a Christian worldview to change the world.

  Through the writings of Solzhenitsyn, the West became acquainted with the Gulag, the forced labor camps of the Soviet Union, in which he served an eight-year term for criticizing Joseph Stalin in a private letter to a friend. Solzhenitsyn’s experiences in the labor camps formed the basis of his groundbreaking novel One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. His masterpiece, The Gulag Archipelago, came about a decade later, a scorching detail of four decades of Soviet terror and oppression. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1970.

  At the end of Solzhenitsyn’s term in the labor camps, he was sent to internal exile in Kazakhstan, a common fate of political prisoners. During his imprisonment and exile, Solzhenitsyn turned deeply philosophical and spiritual and threw off the Marxism of his former days as a Red Army captain. His story sort of parallels that of Dostoevsky, who also spent time in exile in Siberia and had a quest for faith a hundred years before Solzhenitsyn.

  Solzhenitsyn was finally freed from exile in 1956 under the Khrushchev regime, and spent his time teaching and writing. However, after the ousting of Khrushchev in 1964, things took a turn for the worse once again. The KGB began seizing his manuscripts, and by 1974, Solzhenitsyn lived in exile once again. Once the KGB found the manuscripts for the first part of The Gulag Archipelago, Solzhenitsyn was arrested, deported, and stripped of his Soviet citizenship.

  He found refuge in Germany, then Switzerland, and finally, the United States, where he ended up spending almost two decades.
  In June of 1978, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn was invited to speak at Harvard University, and began by addressing the graduates with a reminder that Harvard’s motto is “Veritas.”

  Many of you have already found out and others will find out in the course of their lives that truth eludes us if we do not concentrate with total attention on its pursuit. And even while it eludes us, the illusion still lingers of knowing it and leads to many misunderstandings. Also, truth is seldom pleasant; it is almost invariably bitter. There is some bitterness in my speech today, too. But I want to stress that it comes not from an adversary but from a friend.

  The entire text of this speech is brilliant and prophetic for 2009, and I do hope you take the time to read it. This portion of that Harvard address, in which Solzhenitsyn speaks of courage, or the lack thereof, is especially insightful:

  A decline in courage may be the most striking feature which an outside observer notices in the West in our days. The Western world has lost its civil courage, both as a whole and separately, in each country, each government, each political party and of course in the United Nations. Such a decline in courage is particularly noticeable among the ruling groups and the intellectual elite, causing an impression of loss of courage by the entire society. Of course there are many courageous individuals but they have no determining influence on public life. Political and intellectual bureaucrats show depression, passivity and perplexity in their actions and in their statements and even more so in theoretical reflections to explain how realistic, reasonable as well as intellectually and even morally warranted it is to base state policies on weakness and cowardice. And decline in courage is ironically emphasized by occasional explosions of anger and inflexibility on the part of the same bureaucrats when dealing with weak governments and weak countries, not supported by anyone, or with currents which cannot offer any resistance. But they get tongue-tied and paralyzed when they deal with powerful governments and threatening forces, with aggressors and international terrorists.

  Should one point out that from ancient times decline in courage has been considered the beginning of the end?

  One who has seen the depths of evil and is a person of any courage must tell the truth of the matter, as Solzhenitsyn has done time after time. From various writings and interviews I’ve come across, Solzhenitsyn is best characterized by Truth–he is compelled to reveal it. Being the remarkable, profound writer that he was, his words cannot be paraphrased by anything I could attempt to cobble together, so here are some more choice morsels from his pen:

  Untouched by the breath of God, unrestricted by human conscience, both capitalism and socialism are repulsive. Source

  Everything you add to the truth subtracts from the truth.

  Even if we are spared destruction by war, our lives will have to change if we want to save life from self-destruction. We cannot avoid revising the fundamental definitions of human life and human society. Is it true that man is above everything? Is there no Superior Spirit above him? Is it right that man’s life and society’s activities have to be determined by material expansion in the first place? Is it permissible to promote such expansion to the detriment of our spiritual integrity? Source.

  Issues in Solzhenitsyn’s writings revolve around matters of conscience. He writes of God, justice, how people should live rightly in a corrupt nation, how the state has taken the place of the church, and always, truth.
  

  Technorati Tags: Russia, Christianity, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, Truth, Stalin, The Gulag, faith, Soviet Union

• January 11, 2009
• 2:13

  I support Israel.

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  Just wanted to say that. Because I am SICK of the thousands of protesters from D.C. to Denmark who scream Free Palestine, and whine and curse about the cruelty and “holocaust” that Israel is perpetrating against Gaza. How DARE they even use the term holocaust, that is completely revolting to me. Israel must defend herself.

  Where were all the shrieking protesters for the past two or three years as Hamas has been fiercely pursuing the total annihilation of Israel, raining rockets into Israel, intentionally killing civilians, while Israel has always bent over backwards to avoid civilian casualties? Oh, I forgot, they were busy actively promoting the destruction of American civilization on every front, the very civilization that’s given them the freedom to be such double-standard double-speakers. And in Europe, where the bulk of the protests have been taking place, they were too busy enacting Sharia law.

  How can civilized people who truly care about human life be supporting these terrorists who purposely use human shields, carry out military operations from schools and hospitals, and proudly train up their children to be suicide bombers? Because if you’re not supporting Israel in this issue, you are certainly supporting Hamas terrorists and radical Islamic anti-semitic jihadists who fund them. There is no other choice no matter how one tries to frame it in the current wishy-washy-it’s-cool-and-intellectual-to-be-anti-American-pro-Palestinian cultural trend.

  I support Israel.

• January 07, 2009
• 20:49

  A funny thing happened on the way to the office…

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  I guess it was my turn to have a harried day. I was running late, and felt a tightening in my stomach and race in my heart when JoJo, who was supposed to be buckled in the van, appeared in the doorway to declare that “I hate to tell you, but there is a little problem.” 7:05 a.m. read the clock, taunting me that I should be halfway to my destination by now.

  I advised the little one to get Daddy, as I was still scrambling to pack one more lunch and grab my coffee. And scoop the pan of hot oatmeal into bowls for the kids to eat in the van, clearly a decision of a raving mad mother. Imagine four children eating full bowls of hot oatmeal on a bumpy road with lots of curves.

  Ah, the problem the little one spoke of. I found my husband outside in the morning frost, attempting his manly best in his bedroom slippers to reattach the van sliding door which had come unhinged. It appeared to be hanging by a thread, but with some skillful maneuvering, he worked some magic and jockeyed the door back into proper position. 7:10 a.m., I gulped back the anxiety of being late yet again, trying to give due thanks that I don’t have to drive ten miles with no door.

  Back to the oatmeal. Three of the children are adept enough to handle their bowls, but LIttle L, at age four, just can’t manage. I placed his bowl as I did before on the dash (how humiliating to admit I’ve done this before) to eat once I drop him off with the babysitter. The three older ones gobbled down their breakfast, miraculously without so much as an oat overboard, and I made it within three blocks of Little L’s stopping place.

  I rounded the corner and my eye was on my coffee, which I was also guarding in the cup-holder, as it was not a sturdy lidded mug (another unfortunate decision), but a lovely tall ceramic mug. So far so good. Some left over oomph from the turn caught up with the bowl, however, and I watched helplessly as it slid forward into the windshield, splashing milk and oats which dribbled down into the vents.

  Drats, I say (really I said something worse) clenching my teeth, but I had to straighten wheel from my turn, and I must have inadvertently hit the gas, because now the bowl came flying back toward me. Before I could blink, the bowl hurtled over the dash like it was in the Indy 500 and crashed in about five pieces on the floor between the driver and passenger seats. Oats, milk, and Dansk Concerto Allegro Blue dinnerware were in a shocking muddle.

  “Mommy!” cried Big L, who is extremely sentimental for a nine year old, “your wedding bowl!”

  “Mommy!” cried Little L, who was extremely hungry, “my oatmeal!”

  “My mug!” I cried, as I noticed that as the bowl went down it took out the handle of the charming ceramic mug. My dear friend had given me this mug just a few weeks earlier, and I loved the sweet saying on the side of it:

  Cherish yesterday, live today, dream tomorrow.

  Well, I got the mess sort of cleaned up as best I could, promised Little L that the babysitter would feed him, and assured Big L that I could always buy another bowl.

  When I finally arrived at work (7:30 a.m. and missed my morning meeting), I saw my friend who had gifted me with the treasured mug. I told her the hapless tale of my morning, and she said, “Jennifer, this story should be written!” because she is a nostalgic, romantic type who sees the tenderness of it all and is wise enough to know that simple events like these, in all their comedy of errors, can become priceless family memories.

  So, Julia, this is for you, and that handle-less mug sits on my kitchen windowsill tonight reminding me that I did, indeed, live today.

• January 04, 2009
• 16:00

  Helen Suzman, voice of freedom for South Africa

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  Helen Suzman lived long enough to greet 2009, by one day. This extraordinary anti-apartheid activist from South Africa, whose name is as great as that of Nelson Mandela in the fight for true freedom for black South Africans, died on January 1, 2009.

  Suzman served in the South African parliament from 1953 to 1989, and fought a long, brave battle against government oppression of the country’s black majority. She was twice nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize, and was one of the few white lawmakers to fight against the injustices of racially discriminatory regulations and ways of life.

  For 13 of her years in parliament, Helen Suzman was the only lawmaker opposing the endless racist legislation introduced by the National Party government. She was called a “vicious little cat” by former South African President P.W. Botha and “An enemy of the state” by Zimbabwe’s President Mugabe - titles she wore a bit proudly in her maverick way.

  Her story reminds me of another member of parliament in another country in another era. Just last week I watched the moving Amazing Grace, the story of William Wilberforce (1759-1833), an evangelical Christian who was a member of the English Parliament. For 18 years, Wilberforce regularly introduced anti-slavery motions in parliament, and was also a lonely voice who fought on despite enormous odds. Wilberforce eventually passed a motion to end the slave trade in Britain, and in due course, an end to slavery itself in the British empire.
  A century later, another battle was to be fought, and a daughter was born to Lithuanian-Jewish parents who had fled to a mining town near Johannesburg, South Africa, from their home country’s anti-Semitism. This child, Helen, grew up, and despite her white, sheltered, and privileged upbringing, came to see the tribulations of the black population and the evils of South Africa’s racial laws.

  I first learned of South Africa’s practice of apartheid (social and political policy of racial segregation enforced by law) during high school. I read Alan Paton’s deeply moving novel Cry the Beloved Country for an AP English class, the greatest piece of literature to emerge out of South Africa. As a teenager, this was the most profound book I had ever read, and even now, over 20 years later, I still have not read a more penetrating, insightful, or beautiful novel.

  Paton tells the story of a Zulu pastor searching a corrupt city for his son Absalom, and their lives intersect with a white landowner and his own son in a most tragic way, highlighting the racial divide of South Africa. The movie version of Cry the Beloved Country is also outstanding, with a brilliant performance by James Earl Jones as Rev. Kumalo.

  What Alan Paton did for raising popular awareness of the plight of black South Africans through poetic prose, Helen Suzman did through tireless work in parliament. Back in 1967, Suzman visited Nelson Mandela in prison on Robben Island, where he served 18 of his 27 years in prison for anti-apartheid activity. Nelson later recalled of Helen Suzman:

  It was an odd and wonderful sight to see this courageous woman peering into our cells and strolling around our courtyard. She was the first and only woman ever to grace our cells.

  Mrs. Suzman was one of the few, if not the only, member of Parliament who took an interest in the plight of political prisoners.

  Helen Suzman’s tireless crusading for the cause of the repressed black South Africans paid off, and apartheid began to be dismantled from 1990-1993, and Nelson Mandela was elected as South Africa’s first black president in 1994. Suzman was at Nelson Mandela’s side in 1996 when he signed South Africa’s new constitution. Mandela later awarded her with his country’s highest public honor in recognition of her years of campaigning on behalf of freedom for all South Africans.

  Sunday, January 4, 2009 was the funeral for Helen Suzman in Johannesburg’s West Park cemetery’s Jewish section. Hundreds of mourners gathered to honor this courageous woman who fearlessly battled against apartheid.

  I hope you have been encouraged by the story of Helen Suzman, and inspired to be a courageous truth-seeker in your own world.

• January 02, 2009
• 9:42

  Under the weather beneath a blue sky.

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  I rang in the New Year with a dreadful sinus infection, the kind that aches and stabs from your temples down into your teeth. I hope it gets better from here.

  New Year’s Day was slow and steady, doing nothing much of anything, which is an unnerving feeling when there is so much to be done. Today, I’ll have to call my doctor and get started on some antibiotics. The last sinus infection brought me to a feverish, near collapsing state because I held off on the medicine, but I think I learned my lesson. I’m open to advice on comforting this dull head.

  May the New Year find sinus infections far from you, my friends.

• December 30, 2008
• 16:11

  Call to Prayer for the DRC

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  A map of the northeastern DR Congo, Uganda and Sudan, showing attacks attributed to the rebel Lord’s Resistance Army. Ugandan Lord’s Resistance Army rebels killed more than 400 people in Christmas massacres in northeastern Democratic Republic of Congo, the Caritas aid charity said Tuesday. (from Yahoo News).

  The archbishop of Dungu-Doruma, Monsignor Richard Domba, told AFP that at least 150 people had been killed at a Christmas Day service at Faradje and later, 80 at Duru and at least 200 others at Doruma and in the surrounding villages.

  “It is a dramatic situation that we are living through here,” he said. The rebels “are indescribably barbarous and savage.

  “They kill with machetes, axes and clubs. They burn people alive with their property in their homes.”

  The LRA also “captured young boys and girls whom they will conscript and force to work in their fields,” he said.

  The history of the unrest in the Democratic Republic of Congo (formerly Zaire) is long and complex, involving notable European powers, especially Belgium. Below is a Timeline of the Democratic Republic of Congo from the BBC (note the Sept. 2005 entry, in which the Lord’s Resistance Army rebels of Uganda infiltrate the DR Congo via Sudan).

  There has been a heavy involvement of the UN in the Congo conflicts, dating back to about 1960, and I’m not so sure how much good they’ve done, considering things like the allegations of gold and arms trafficking by UN peacekeepers in Ituri region (May 2007).

  At any rate, as Christians whose brothers and sisters in Christ are being massacred, raped, displaced by the tens of thousands, and grievously injured in so many ways in the DRC, we must pray. If you want a place to give, World Relief, a Christian Relief Organization, has been delivering food and aid to local churches caught in the middle of the violence and terror of the civil war in the DRC that has claimed the lives of over 5 million people in the past 12 years.

  I met a local woman last month who runs a branch of World Relief here in Central Oregon. Until I met her, I really wasn’t aware of this crisis. Through her passion and outreach to the Congolese, I’ve suddenly noticed the DRC in the news–you know how that is, it’s been there all along.

  Timeline: Democratic Republic of Congo

  A chronology of key events:

  1200s - Rise of Kongo empire, centred in modern northern Angola and including extreme western Congo and territories round lakes Kisale and Upemba in central Katanga (now Shaba).

  1482 - Portuguese navigator Diogo Cao becomes the first European to visit the Congo; Portuguese set up ties with the king of Kongo.

  16th-17th centuries - British, Dutch, Portuguese and French merchants engage in slave trade through Kongo intermediaries.

  1870s - Belgian King Leopold II sets up a private venture to colonise Kongo.

  1874-77 - British explorer Henry Stanley navigates Congo river to the Atlantic Ocean.

  Belgian colonisation

  1879-87 - Leopold commissions Stanley to establish the king’s authority in the Congo basin.

  1884-85 - European powers at the Conference of Berlin recognise Leopold’s claim to the Congo basin.

  1885 - Leopold announces the establishment of the Congo Free State, headed by himself.

  1891-92 - Belgians conquer Katanga.

  1892-94 - Eastern Congo wrested from the control of East African Arab and Swahili-speaking traders.

  1908 - Belgian state annexes Congo amid protests over killings and atrocities carried out on a mass scale by Leopold’s agents. Millions of Congolese are said to have been killed or worked to death during Leopold’s control of the territory.

  1955 - Belgian Professor Antoin van Bilsen publishes a “30-Year Plan” for granting the Congo increased self-government.

  1959 - Belgium begins to lose control over events in the Congo following serious nationalist riots in Leopoldville (now Kinshasa).

  Post-independence turmoil

  1960 June - Congo becomes independent with Patrice Lumumba as prime minister and Joseph Kasavubu as president.

  1960 July - Congolese army mutinies; Moise Tshombe declares Katanga independent; Belgian troops sent in ostensibly to protect Belgian citizens and mining interests; UN Security Council votes to send in troops to help establish order, but the troops are not allowed to intervene in internal affairs.

  1960 September - Kasavubu dismisses Lumumba as prime minister.

  1960 December - Lumumba arrested.

  1961 February - Lumumba murdered, reportedly with US and Belgian complicity.

  1961 August - UN troops begin disarming Katangese soldiers.

  1963 - Tshombe agrees to end Katanga’s secession.

  1964 - President Kasavubu appoints Tshombe prime minister.

  Mobutu years

  1965 - Kasavubu and Tshombe ousted in a coup led by Joseph Mobutu.

  1971 - Joseph Mobutu renames the country Zaire and himself Mobutu Sese Seko; also Katanga becomes Shaba and the river Congo becomes the river Zaire.

  1973-74 - Mobutu nationalises many foreign-owned firms and forces European investors out of the country.

  1977 - Mobutu invites foreign investors back, without much success; French, Belgian and Moroccan troops help repulse attack on Katanga by Angolan-based rebels.

  1989 - Zaire defaults on loans from Belgium, resulting in a cancellation of development programmes and increased deterioration of the economy.

  1990 - Mobutu agrees to end the ban on multiparty politics and appoints a transitional government, but retains substantial powers.

  1991 - Following riots in Kinshasa by unpaid soldiers, Mobutu agrees to a coalition government with opposition leaders, but retains control of the security apparatus and important ministries.

  1993 - Rival pro- and anti-Mobutu governments created.

  1994 - Mobutu agrees to the appointment of Kengo Wa Dondo, an advocate of austerity and free-market reforms, as prime minister.

  1996-97 - Tutsi rebels capture much of eastern Zaire while Mobutu is abroad for medical treatment.

  Aftermath of Mobutu

  1997 May - Tutsi and other anti-Mobutu rebels, aided principally by Rwanda, capture the capital, Kinshasa; Zaire is renamed the Democratic Republic of Congo; Laurent-Desire Kabila installed as president.

  1998 August - Rebels backed by Rwanda and Uganda rise up against Kabila and advance on Kinshasa. Zimbabwe, Namibia send troops to repel them. Angolan troops also side with Kabila. The rebels take control of much of the east of DR Congo.

  1999 - Rifts emerge between Congolese Liberation Movement (MLC) rebels supported by Uganda and Rally for Congolese Democracy (RCD) rebels backed by Rwanda.

  Lusaka peace accord signed

  1999 July - The six African countries involved in the war sign a ceasefire accord in Lusaka. The following month the MLC and RCD rebel groups sign the accord.

  2000 - UN Security Council authorises a 5,500-strong UN force to monitor the ceasefire but fighting continues between rebels and government forces, and between Rwandan and Ugandan forces.

  2001 January - President Laurent Kabila is shot dead by a bodyguard. Joseph Kabila succeeds his father.

  2001 February - Kabila meets Rwandan President Paul Kagame in Washington. Rwanda, Uganda and the rebels agree to a UN pull-out plan. Uganda, Rwanda begin pulling troops back from the frontline.

  2001 May - US refugee agency says the war has killed 2.5 million people, directly or indirectly, since August 1998. Later, a UN panel says the warring parties are deliberately prolonging the conflict to plunder gold, diamonds, timber and coltan, used in the making of mobile phones.

  2002 January - Eruption of Mount Nyiragongo devastates much of the city of Goma.

  Search for peace

  2002 April - Peace talks in South Africa: Kinshasa signs a power-sharing deal with Ugandan-backed rebels, under which the MLC leader would be premier. Rwandan-backed RCD rebels reject the deal.

  2002 July - Presidents of DR Congo and Rwanda sign a peace deal under which Rwanda will withdraw troops from the east and DR Congo will disarm and arrest Rwandan Hutu gunmen blamed for the killing of the Tutsi minority in Rwanda’s 1994 genocide.

  2002 September - Presidents of DR Congo and Uganda sign peace accord under which Ugandan troops will leave DR Congo.

  2002 September/October - Uganda, Rwanda say they have withdrawn most of their forces from the east. UN-sponsored power-sharing talks begin in South Africa.

  2002 December - Peace deal signed in South Africa between Kinshasa government and main rebel groups. Under the deal rebels and opposition members are to be given portfolios in an interim government.

  Interim government

  2003 April - President Kabila signs a transitional constitution, under which an interim government will rule pending elections.

  2003 May - Last Ugandan troops leave eastern DR Congo.

  2003 June - French soldiers arrive in Bunia, spearheading a UN-mandated rapid-reaction force.

  President Kabila names a transitional government to lead until elections in two years time. Leaders of main former rebel groups are sworn in as vice-presidents in July.

  2003 August - Interim parliament inaugurated.

  2004 March - Gunmen attack military bases in Kinshasa in an apparent coup attempt.

  2004 June - Reported coup attempt by rebel guards is said to have been neutralised.

  2004 December - Fighting in the east between the Congolese army and renegade soldiers from a former pro-Rwanda rebel group. Rwanda denies being behind the mutiny.

  2005 March - UN peacekeepers say they have killed more then 50 militia members in an offensive, days after nine Bangladeshi soldiers serving with the UN are killed in the north-east.

  New constitution

  2005 May - New constitution, with text agreed by former warring factions, is adopted by parliament.

  2005 September - Uganda warns that its troops may re-enter DR Congo after a group of Ugandan Lord’s Resistance Army rebels enter via Sudan.

  2005 November - A first wave of soldiers from the former Zairean army returns after almost eight years of exile in the neighbouring Republic of Congo.

  2005 December - Voters back a new constitution, already approved by parliament, paving the way for elections in 2006.

  International Court of Justice rules that Uganda must compensate DR Congo for rights abuses and the plundering of resources in the five years up to 2003.

  2006 February - New constitution comes into force; new national flag is adopted.

  2006 March - Warlord Thomas Lubanga becomes first war crimes suspect to face charges at the International Criminal Court in The Hague. He is accused of forcing children into active combat.

  2006 May - Thousands are displaced in the north-east as the army and UN peacekeepers step up their drive to disarm irregular forces ahead of the elections.

  Free elections

  2006 July - Presidential and parliamentary polls are held - the first free elections in four decades. With no clear winner in the presidential vote, incumbent leader Joseph Kabila and opposition candidate Jean-Pierre Bemba prepare to contest a run-off poll on 29 October. Forces loyal to the two candidates clash in the capital.

  2006 November - Joseph Kabila is declared winner of October’s run-off presidential election. The poll has the general approval of international monitors.

  2006 December - Forces of renegade General Laurent Nkunda and the UN-backed army clash in North Kivu province, prompting some 50,000 people to flee. The UN Security Council expresses concern about the fighting.

  2007 March - Government troops and forces loyal to opposition leader Jean-Pierre Bemba clash in Kinshasa.

  2007 April - DRCongo, Rwanda and Burundi relaunch the regional economic bloc Great lakes Countries Economic Community, known under its French acronym CEPGL.

  2007 April - Jean-Pierre Bemba leaves for Portugal, ending a three-week political stalemate in Kinshasa, during which he sheltered in the South African embassy.

  2007 May - The UN investigates allegations of gold and arms trafficking by UN peacekeepers in Ituri region.

  2007 June - War could break out again in the east, warns the Archbishop of Bukavu, Monsignor Francois-Xavier Maroy.

  2007 June - Radio Okapi broadcaster Serge Maheshe is shot dead in Bukavu, the third journalist killed in the country since 2005.

  2007 August - Uganda and DRCongo agree to try defuse a border dispute.

  Aid agencies report a big increase in refugees fleeing instability in North Kivu which is blamed on dissident general Nkunda.

  2007 September - Major outbreak of the deadly Ebola virus.

  2008 January - The government and rebel militia, including renegade Gen Nkunda, sign a peace pact aimed at ending years of conflict in the east.

  Renewed clashes

  2008 April - Army troops clash with Rwandan Hutu militias with whom they were formerly allied in eastern Congo, leaving thousands of people displaced.

  2008 August - Heavy clashes erupt in the east of the country between army troops and fighters loyal to rebel leader Laurent Nkunda.

  2008 October - Rebel forces capture major army base of Rumangabo; the Congolese government accuses Rwanda of backing General Nkunda, a claim Rwanda denies.

  Thousands of people, including Congolese troops, flee as clashes in eastern DR Congo intensify. Chaos grips the provincial capital Goma as rebel forces advance. UN peacekeepers engage the rebels in an attempt to support Congolese troops.

  2008 November - General Dieudonne Kayembe dismissed as armed forces chief over war in east. Replaced by navy chief General Didier Etumba Longomba.
  ******

  The BBC timeline ends there, but I’m sure will soon be updated with the Christmas 2008 massacres. What will 2009 hold for the Democratic Republic of Congo? If all God’s people will get on their knees and pray and intercede for persecutions going on worldwide (this is just one of many), maybe we will see a radical change…

  Technorati Tags: Lord’s Resistance Army, Uganda, Democratic Republic of Congo, Congo, DRC, persecuted church

• December 28, 2008
• 14:56

  The Thaw

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  The air warms, the snow melts, and the animals rediscover the earth. The thaw is a messy thing, leaving puddles of mud outside our door, and as icicles drop with a crack, it creates a long row of untidy divots in the ground along the roof line.

  But in the mess of the thaw, the cat prepares to pounce as he hasn’t since the thick blanket of snow gave him nothing to leap for, and the dog perks his ears and sniffs the wind as fresh scents are unearthed. And my own heart and senses are renewed after the thaw. What hope!

  This I recall to my mind,
  Therefore I have hope.
  Through the LORD’s mercies we are not consumed,
  Because His compassions fail not.
  They are new every morning;
  Great is Your faithfulness.
  “The LORD is my portion,” says my soul,
  “Therefore I hope in Him!”
  The LORD is good to those who wait for Him,
  To the soul who seeks Him.
  It is good that one should hope and wait quietly
  For the salvation of the LORD.
  Lamentations 3:21-26

• December 24, 2008
• 10:55

  Cole Family Christmas: A Treasured Tale

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  “Do the flying Hilda!” JJ shrieked in delight to her brother as he hung over the balcony, swinging a little plush goat. With four young children in the house, nothing surprises me anymore, not even a goat madly flapping through the air, puppeteered from above whilst a child below scrambles to grab it.

  This newest plaything came with a book, Cole Family Christmas, which I read to the children a few nights ago. As the fire crackled before us and little ones snuggled in my lap, this heart-warming story of an Appalachian family struggling in a 1920s coal mining town became an instant family classic.

  Cole Family Christmas is based on the true story of the Cole Family - Mama and Papa and their nine children, set in the small company town of Benham, Kentucky. Co-written by the youngest and only surviving Cole child, 88-year-old Hazel Cole Kendle, along with her granddaughter-in-law, Jennifer Liu Bryan, this is the tale of one special Christmas in the heart of the Appalachian coalfields.

  Of course, there is a special personality in this mountain memoir called Hilda the goat. Despite the wonderful character development and authentic dialogue of every member of the cast, my children latched onto Hilda. They loved it when little Ruble was awakened one morning with a rough push from Hilda, sending her tumbling out of bed. All of Hilda’s minor appearances were relished.

  The rest of the afternoon was occupied with the children’s play, which they performed for their delighted parents. Ruble’s goat provided much comic relief by alternately trying to eat parts of the Christmas tree and Mary and Joseph’s robes. “Another reason not to have goats in the house,” Mama said in a mock stage whisper.

  The deep significance of the story goes beyond the antics of a goat, however, and is found in the beauty and simplicity of these family memories, which culminate in the Christmas morning giving of gifts that speaks a tender message about sacrificial giving and cheerful receiving.

  Illustrations in Cole Family Christmas are done by Jenniffer Julich, who skillfully depicts Appalachian life with just the right mix of family love and tough times. The pages are bordered with six different vintage Christmas-themed fabric designs, based on Mama Cole’s quilt. Great care was taken by Julich to accurately portray the essence of family life in Benham, including visits to the Kentucky Coal Mining Museum and with residents of Benham, Kentucky.

  As a read-aloud book, Cole Family Christmas is a hit. Its 74 pages were a bit lengthy for one sitting for my youngest, so I split it into two sessions. The book includes a nice mix of activity including both boys and girls, so it appealed to my family of two boys and two girls. The girls were absorbed in Ruble’s yellow ribbons and Mama’s glass bowls; the boys were intent on Dock’s work at the railroad, collecting iron scraps and fallen lumps of coal.

  If you have an Appalachian heritage, this book is a must for your collection. This is my dad’s heritage, so Cole Family Christmas belongs in my library. If Appalachia is not a part of your personal history, I would still suggest discovering this rich culture that has a special place in the fabric of American life.

  The publisher, Next Chapter Press, is contributing a percentage of the net proceeds of sales of Cole Family Christmas to the Berea College Appalachian Fund.

  The Berea College Appalachian Fund supports organizations working to improve the health, education and general welfare of people living in the Appalachian Mountains and surrounding areas.

  By the way, Hilda is the official spokesgoat for ReadAloud.org, an organization supporting family literacy and urging families to read aloud to their children every day.

  Do you have a favorite Christmas story, either old or new? My encouragement to you today: record your family Christmas memories–you just may have a story someday!

  Technorati Tags: Appalachia, book review, Christmas story, children’s books, Cole Family Christmas, Hilda the goat

• December 19, 2008
• 13:18

  December View

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  Big L out front today, with the dog joining in the fun.

  At this moment, there is nothing quite so lovely as living trees flocked with fresh snow, a child building a snow fort among them, and a blue sky above to offer winter cheer to the scene below.

• December 15, 2008
• 20:29

  The Magic Window

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  The blacktop road swirled in wisps of powdery snow as I drove home this mid-December evening. The biting chill of the arctic wind was numbing, but not piercing enough to cut off the beauty of the glacial billows hovering above the road, suspended for a moment in a wintry waltz.

  I was immediately transported back to a long-ago Christmas, the Christmas of the Magic Window. It’s one of just a few childhood gifts I remember. This simple, hard plastic paned oval window encased blue and white sands that would swirl in amazing designs with just a turn of the hand, the colors never mixing, an ever-changing landscape of ocean waves, sand dunes, mountains, clouds.

  

  The Magic Window is now considered a “vintage 70s toy” and I pondered how the simplicity of this object kept me mesmerized for hours in childhood wonder, and how the Magic Window earned such an esteemed place in my memory.

  What was so magical about this double-paned case of shifting sand? For a little girl in a rather impoverished and remote desert region of the southwest, I could dream, carried away to nowhere in particular but someplace beautiful on every twist and flow of those magical grains. I longed to touch the sand that surely was silky smooth and would flow through my fingers like fairy dust.

  Thirty years later, as I drove home enshrouded in the real-life Magic Window that was the road before me, I realized I was in someplace beautiful, the ever-changing landscape of my life cresting in new loveliness upon loveliness. Here a drop, there a rise, but always an intelligent design.

  I wonder, do you hold a special Christmas gift or childhood toy in your memory?
  

  Technorati Tags: Magic Window, childhood memories, Christmas gift, Christmas

• December 11, 2008
• 6:18

  I think he’s in love with me!

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  I sat holding my four year old son last night, cherishing the moments that are so fleeting. He began a long and lovely conversation with me that went something like this:

  Mommy, you are beautiful! Your hair is beautiful, your skin is beautiful, your “these” (pointing to my eyebrows) are beautiful, your arms are beautiful, your fingers are beautiful, this thing on your finger (my ring) is beautiful.

  He went on. And on. We all need to hear that sometimes!! It was a long and exhausting day and I sat rather crumpled in a chair, and when he came to climb in my lap, I wasn’t so sure I had the energy for this. But I was wrong. I always have the energy to listen to how beautiful I am. :-)

  Our Father in Heaven thinks we are all beautiful, and I believe He chose to tell me that last night through my precious little boy.

• December 06, 2008
• 11:49

  Christmas Music: Annie Moses Band!

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  Do you have a favorite Christmas song or album? I discovered my latest rave last Christmas, as I heard a completely unique rendition of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” come over the airwaves. See what I mean? I’m talking an amazing mix of contemporary Christian with classical strings that is now called “chamber pop,” delivered up with the voice of an angel, and to top it off, this is a family band. I love family bands, and this one, the Annie Moses Band, goes well beyond what you might see at the county fair.

  About the Annie Moses Band:
  

  First, this is a family outfit, whose members include parents Bill (composer/arranger/pianist) and Robin (lyricist/vocalist) Wolaver and their children: Annie, Alex, Benjamin, Gretchen, Camille, and Jeremiah, in ages ranging from twenty-four down to ten.

  Second, their background is in classical music. The older siblings trained in the Pre-College Program at the renowned Juilliard School of Music; the youngest are well on their way to similar distinction. All have studied with renowned instructors; most have earned performance awards that testify to the depth of their artistry.

  Together, as the Annie Moses Band, they combine all their attributes: love for one another, prodigious talent, as well as a creative curiosity that goes beyond the classics, beyond even music, and into the great questions of life.

  

  Their music is fused with jazz, bluegrass, classical, celtic, country, and pop sounds, and is hard to define, but overall, there is a message of hope and love through Jesus Christ. Their latest Christmas album, This Glorious Christmas, was just released in October, and includes God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen and other classics, as well as another of my new favorites, the soulful Bethlehem House of Bread.

  The lead singer, Annie Wolaver, is named after her great-grandmother, Annie Moses. Annie shared about her namesake:

  Annie Moses was the eldest of 10 children. She married young and worked the whole course of her life as a hired field hand picking cotton. Despite the difficulties of an impoverished life, she was a tenacious and faithful woman who invested all she had in her daughter, Jane - who would grow up to be my grandmother. Jane was very musically gifted and she passed her passion for music on to my mother, who passed it on to me. Unfortunately Annie Moses died in her mid-40s of cancer, so I never knew her. But we wanted to remember and honour the legacy Annie Moses passed down to us.

  What an inspiring story! I am addicted to their sound, stirred by their spirit. The Annie Moses Band cares deeply about the next generation, and hosts a Fine Arts Summer Academy where students can play with the band and other teachers and mentors.

  The Annie Moses Band is dedicated to the spiritual and artistic development of young people. We have made it our goal to ignite a passion for excellence in the arena of the arts and to inspire obedience to the scriptural mandate to “Make His Praise Glorious” and to “Play Skillfully.”

  The Fine Arts Summer Academy is our flagship showcase for this calling. Students are beckoned to come play along with the Annie Moses Band members and other FASA teachers and mentors, all ages and skill levels uniting in a marathon of outlandish music-making and skill-revving, culminating in three performances of a broadway-style musical extravaganza.

  The Fine Arts Summer Academy counters current cultural trends of low expectations and inferior accomplishment by offering students an opportunity to hone their craft. It is an artistic workout that leaves even the most inexperienced participant with a life-changing revelation of their own potential.

  If you’re in the Nashville, Tennessee area, and would like some fun, challenging music training for your young one, ages 4 through college-age, don’t miss this! Mark your calendars for July 10-25, 2009.

  I’m on the other side of the country in Oregon, and this isn’t an option for me. However, I have friends here in Central Oregon who attend a similar, smaller-scale, music camp with another amazingly talented local family, so check out the Booher Family Music Camp held in Sisters, Oregon.

  So, tell me, what music is awakening your soul this Christmas season? Had you ever heard of the Annie Moses Band before?

  Technorati Tags: Booher Family Music Camp, Bethehem House of Bread, God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, Christmas music, music, music education, Annie Moses Band

• December 02, 2008
• 6:52

  My Star of Bethlehem

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  I felt like a modern-day shepherd, or maybe a wiseman, as I drove home last night, the brilliance of the convergence of Venus and Jupiter juxtaposed next to the crescent moon causing me to breathe deeply at the magnificent sight. What a perfect and fitting way to herald in the holy season as we celebrate the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ.

  My children noticed, I noticed, people around the world noticed this awesome spectacle in the night sky. Did you see it? Look tonight…it won’t be nearly as perfect as last night, but it will be there.

• November 24, 2008
• 6:57

  Simple Woman: November 24

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  For Today...Monday, November 24, 2008

  Outside my window…the dark of early morning, but day will break within the hour. I see the bold outline of Juniper trees against the rising sky which now displays several horizontal streaks of the palest pink clouds, changing every second, it seems.

  I am thinking…why can’t I get more done? I really, really need to prioritize my time and focus.

  From the learning rooms…Big L wants to be a candle-maker. Ever since Friday, when the kids made candles at school, he goes around in the evening turning off lights and walking around with his small lit candle.

  I am thankful for…very naturally, my children and husband and home and land. A new friend, good coffee, a surprise thank-you letter and chocolate from my students at school.

  From the kitchen…my husband making coffee and getting breakfast for the kids.

  I am wearing…a long sleeved white shirt, brown vest, jeans, socks.

  I am reading…The book of Mark. The Call of the Wild and The Egypt Game with my students.

  I am hoping…for a safe and pleasant trip on Thanksgiving as we visit family.

  I am creating…(trying my best to create) a peaceful and happy home full of the joy of the Lord.

  I am hearing…JoJo singing to herself/talking to herself as she sits at my feet in her fuzzy robe, flipping through a coloring book.

  Around the house…the one room full of boxes from our move–I must tackle this!! I need to return a movie to a friend and can’t find it! It’s in there somewhere.

  One of my favorite things…Sunday mornings talking about the Lord with my family. Teaching our children. Walking about our property searching for any interesting thing–bones, feathers, rocks, nests.

  A few plans for the rest of the week…getting caught up with our business and ordering the product we need for Christmas sales.

  Here is a picture thought I am sharing with you…(me at the ranch…my daughter took the picture, she’s still learning…)

  

  Hosted by the Simple Woman.
  

  Technorati Tags: family life

• November 22, 2008
• 15:21

  Text Messaging: Concerns for the Adolescent

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  I’ve been thinking about text messaging and whether parents are concerned about their child’s use of this social media. My own children are too young for this and don’t have cell phones; however, as a middle school teacher, I’ve been seeing how widespread texting has become, and I have concerns.

  A parent of one of my students was recently telling me about her 12 year old son receiving “interesting” text messages from a female classmate; another friend related how her 7th grader regularly receives dozens of texts a day up to 11 p.m. from classmates and friends of both sexes.

  Is texting just akin to the talking on the phone that we parents engaged in as young adolescents? Some things to consider:

  Texting gives your child a privacy in conversation that he or she may not be ready for, and may be inappropriate.

  Texting allows for an immediacy in written conversation that opens the door to impulsive, potentially hurtful words.

  Texting removes the inhibitions of face-to-face or even over the phone conversations, and may result in inappropriate messages.

  Text messaging is a simple idea, but despite its extreme brevity is really a complex form of communication, simply for the lack of context (i.e., emotion, expression, descriptive words) it provides for any texting conversation.

  Some suggestions for adolescents regarding text-messaging:
  

  1. Consider the worst possible interpretation your words could have, or the worst possible situation that could result from them. Know that text messages, especially abbreviations, can be unclear or ambiguous, and not read how you intended.  

  2. Don’t have extended conversations via text messaging. This opens the door for every sort of problem, like miscommunication, misunderstanding, and hurt feelings.

  3. Don’t be impulsive. Be mindful of your words. (This is a great rule of thumb for any kind of communication.) Text-messaging has a great potential to be a cyber-bullying tool. Or gossip tool. Or flirtation device. Or (fill in the blank).

  4. Use texts to communicate information or facts, not feelings. If it’s getting too personal or intimate, stop. Personalize it with a phone call or in person, and if that thought makes you uncomfortable, you shouldn’t be texting this message.

  Parents, consider putting strict time/place/person limitations on your child’s text-messaging, such as “no texting after 7 p.m,” “no texting in your bedroom,” or “no texting with members of the opposite sex.” Or simply, “no texting.”

  Dear reader, what do you think of text-messaging among young adolescents? Are you a parent with experience in this area? Do you feel helpless at the hands of modern social media? What rules have you instituted in your household?

  Technorati Tags: cell phone, youth culture, cyber bullying, social media, text messaging

• November 19, 2008
• 6:35

  When Trials Come

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  When Trials Come, sung by Margaret Becker (a long time favorite artist of mine), words and music by Keith Getty. You’ll love this Celtic-style song and the images of Ireland on this video. The album it’s from is full of Irish hymns and it’s on my wish list!

  Stand fast in the trials, dear ones.

• November 15, 2008
• 17:54

  Sleepover with an 84 year old friend

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  “Jane is spending the night,” I announced to my kids yesterday. From the wild whoops of joy that followed and the “happy dance” of my five year old, no one would guess that Jane was not a favorite classmate, but an octogenarian.

  Part I of the story of Jane is here, and now I’ll give you a bit of Part II.

  

  This lovely sun-drenched November morning found Jane and Little L in their jammies at the breakfast table. “Gram- I mean, Jane,” began Little L, in the usual way of my children, who, as many young children, mistake any dear older person in their life for a grandparent, “do you want to play a game?”

  It’s been over four years since we met Jane, and as I told you in Part I, she was the neighbor whom I sought out as a friend for my mom. It turns out that Jane is a friend to our whole family, and especially to me. I began writing Part I when Jane was beginning chemotherapy for her breast cancer. I had no sense of whether she’d make it or not, and wanted some kind of record of her place in our lives.

  Over the course of the year of her cancer, I drove Jane to countless doctor visits and treatment sessions. Thankfully, she had a cheerful-spirited oncologist who didn’t mind my four young children in tow, and a time or two he even proudly held my baby (Little L). It was a year of vacuuming her floor, bringing her groceries, and hopefully modeling for my children how (and why) to care for our elders.

  At many points, I was sure Jane would die, and dreaded having to call her only son in Canada. What would I say to him? The chemotherapy made her so sick she was unable to even walk. Jane is a feisty old lady, however, and quit her chemotherapy treatments halfway through, refused radiation, and took her chances. Her doctor was baffled and a bit angry with her - someone with cancer in her lymph nodes shouldn’t take chances.

  By the grace of the Almighty God, Jane survived, and as we enjoyed our coffee this morning, I pondered how she has developed a relationship with all the generations in my household - from my children, to my husband and me, to my mother. We moved to the country and don’t get to see her as much as we did when she was a few houses away, but I believe we’ve managed to cement a lifelong connection.

  Jane will be 84 in a few weeks, and we were having an early celebration. What an amazing, divine appointment for us to have met, to help her on this journey. And the blessing on my children I consider to be immense. How many four, five, or nine year-olds cherish an “old lady” the way they do? I know I didn’t when I was young. The kids suckered Jane into games of Sorry, Hi-Ho Cheerio, and Monopoly by the time she left.

  And Jane is still my mom’s only friend here. I tenderly watched them chatting on the couch last night. “When I was in Niagara Falls,” Jane began, relating a story from her childhood. “My dad was from Buffalo,” my mom interjected, “I don’t think that’s too far from there.” “Thirty-five miles,” Jane replied.

  It was a slumber party that didn’t include staying up late or pillow fights. Our twice-widowed guest needed help walking up the stairs and a gentle reminder of where the bathroom was. But I will tell you that a sleep-over with an 84 year old is a marvelous thing, a mix of fading memory and wisdom woven into meaningless details.
  

  Technorati Tags: Alzheimer’s, cancer, breast cancer, elder care

• November 14, 2008
• 6:36

  Cheers! A random note.

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  Enjoy your Friday, friends! I’m grabbing my coffee and kids and rushing off to another day of school.

  The kids want to take the mice to school for show-n-tell, and I also need them in my classroom for my students’ science experiments (nothing harmful, I promise). Oh boy. My room seems to be the favorite hangout for all the kids - not because I’m so cool, but I have birds in my room, and now I’ll have mice. I’ll need to hide them!

  Oh, I just realized the kids aren’t even out of bed yet. See ya!

• November 11, 2008
• 11:27

  Before You Go

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  Before You Go, a Tribute to our aging veterans.

  For my Grandpa T., who served in WWI, and Uncle Doug who served in the Korean War.

  Do you have friends or family members who have served in wars to protect our country and our national and individual freedoms? If so, be sure to thank them today. Perhaps a phone call, a letter, a small gift to convey your gratitude.

  From our local Veteran’s Day Parade:

  

  From my blog post from Veterans Day last year:

  I remembered an old poem my mom wrote, and rummaged around this morning and thankfully found it. Her father was a WWI veteran. He spent the last decade of his life confined to a wheelchair, the result of mustard gas from the war. My grandpa died before I had the chance to meet him. But, thanks, Grandpa.

  ODE TO VETERANS
  by my mother

  Have you survived the overflowing banks
  of spring?
  Tramped the long road of summer to the end?
  Withstood the heartbreak and chill all
  autumns bring?
  Seen winter come, and still have breath to
  spend?

  Then I salute you, veteran of earth’s day.
  You who have flown from dawn to set of sun.
  Soon you will rise beyond the Milky Way
  The toast of all in heaven, the long race won.

  Also, you may want to look at my post on the Veterans History Project; here is an excerpt:

  Would you like to participate in the Veterans History Project? The Library of Congress is collecting oral histories of veterans or civilians involved in war efforts. You can help by contributing a story or conducting an interview! With over 1,000 war veterans dying each day, the time is now to capture their stories and the valuable lessons to be learned from their personal accounts of their war experiences.

  America, please honor your veterans. Remember. Give thanks. Understand that the freedoms we hold dear were paid for, and the price was very high.

• November 01, 2008
• 9:38

  Oops, sorry about the mess up there!

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  Give me a few days and I’ll have the mess up there on my header fixed. I just need my tech guy (husband) to finish the hunting season and then we’ll clean it up.

  I’m looking forward to a Saturday of catching up around the house. It’s as bad as my header at the moment. Boxes from our move fill one room and are scattered throughout the house and garage as well. I took one van full of “stuff” to Goodwill yesterday, and I hope to gather another van load today. I’m setting aside nicer things for our school’s rummage sale, but other than that, I don’t like to take the time to put on a garage sale, so typically, the bulk of things I give away.

  My husband has been listening to Dave Ramsey lately, and keeps telling me, “rice and beans, beans and rice!” Basically, pare down, live simply and frugally, and within our means. Part of the issue in our family is time, which translates into an economic product if you really think about it. An enormous amount of time (and thus money) is wasted in organizing our “stuff,” finding it, putting it away neatly again. A move is a fabulous time to get rid of the non-essentials, as your possessions are being eyed in their entirety, perhaps for the first time in five or ten years.

  My sister visited last week, and I was able to finally begin to purge my linens of my endless collection of baby blankets. She has a young one, and just as the little girl happily took my pile of pint-sized blankets, I was lighthearted to be free of the emotional attachment. At one point, though, I did snatch back one of my first child’s blankets, saying, “Wait! This was Little L’s crib blanket, I can’t get rid of it!” However, the thought of perpetually carting this baggage through life for no good reason won out, and the girl took home the blanket. (Don’t worry, all you memory-lovers, I’m keeping one special hand-made baby blanket per child!)

  Will you leave me a comment and share with me what five non-essential items you can get rid of today? I’ll leave notes in my comment box for you, and tell you about some of my belongings that I clear out today…

• October 22, 2008
• 23:14

  The Anniversary

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  Two days after our wedding anniversary this year, my husband says to me, “Honey!! We forgot it! Again.” An even dozen deserves to be remembered. But we both are wise enough to know that the act of timely recalling a significant date is not nearly as important as what’s in our hearts on a daily basis.

  Which is why he didn’t watch my face with apprehension as he broke the news, but burst into a sheepish, roll-your-eyes kind of laugh, knowing I would join him in making fun of ourselves — what! we’re not even 50! At least we remembered in the same month. For all the special people whose birthdays we forget, you can see that we are no respecter of persons (um, that doesn’t mean we don’t respect people…it’s a phrase that means we don’t discriminate!).

  Again. My husband added that word to his announcement because, yes, indeed, we’ve done this before. Most memorably, it was our 7th anniversary. We were about to sell our first house. It was a small 1970s home with low popcorn ceilings and dreary, dark cabinets–at least that’s what it looked like before my husband went on a remodel craze. He completely updated the place, tackling everything from that horrible ceiling texture to the trim to the windows, and even added on another bedroom, bathroom, and family room.

  At the very last minute, I, who had offered nothing to the entire project (except birthing babies and changing diapers, which, as all mothers know, is essential to any long-term home enterprise), decided that the 1970s brick fireplace MUST go. I recommended retiling it with slate. Fine, except we had the house on the market and a couple traveling from another state to look at the residence in two days.

  Women can be impulsive like that. Especially nursing mothers whose hormones are still totally out of whack. Miraculously, my extremely fussy artistic (and surely sick of remodeling) husband agreed and even trusted me to pick out the slate myself at Home Depot. People, I can’t even hang my own pictures in the house! But it was clear that this last remaining vestige of the 1970s was an eyesore amongst the otherwise upgraded design.

  This is how we found ourselves on that August night five years ago, him mixing mortar and laying stone, me cutting (yes, running a motorized, acutely sharp object in my hormonal state!) squares of slate as he marked them. We worked at a frantic pace, with me occasionally having to stop to nurse the baby and check on the toddlers. I pondered our sanity. Our buyers would arrive the next day.

  Sometime about 4 a.m., as I joined him at the fireplace in laying slate over dated brick, desperately wondering if we’d make it, he looked at me with bleary eyes and mortar-smeared hands and face. With a bit of a startle he announced, “Honey, it’s our anniversary!” We were utterly exhausted and filthy dirty, but working side by side and enjoying our combined efforts–not a bad place to be. We laughed and wished each other a most sincere “Happy Anniversary.”

  I’m just glad it was him that remembered first.

  We’ve promised each other that next year we’ll remember. We have the best of intentions, but it’s safer for us to treat each day as a special one, cherishing every moment of our crazy life, not saving our best attention for one certain day.

• October 19, 2008
• 22:36

  68th Carnival of Homesteading - the putting up wood edition

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  Welcome to the 68th Carnival of Homesteading. It’s that time of year…fall is here with a chill in the air, and winter stands at the door. We’ve been putting up wood. There is a comforting warmth of a wood fire that can’t be matched, and I’m so pleased we have this opportunity in our home. Dad and the kids have been busy.

  First, there are the logs:
  

  The axe…
  

  And the beautiful pile, a nice beginning, stacked by my nine-year-old son…
  

  Here are the wonderful entries for this week:
  From the Sojourner, My Kids thought I was crazy…a dog food bag made into a tote bag. How fun and cool…but will all the neighborhood dogs be following her around?

  Fowl Visions brings us Backyard Plans for Wild Bird Feeding and Bird Watching…welcome to some great bird watching in Clay County, Florida!

  Hobby Lawn Care tells us Why Is Proper Lawn Clipping Height So Important? Hint - it’s not “as short as possible.”

  Make it From Scratch prepares Pumpkin Pie - my absolute favorite! It’s the homemade crust that makes it extra special.

  Stop the Ride has some Soil Surprises…thankfully, this post has nothing to do with diapers or laundry.

  Little House in the Suburbs teaches us about Clipping Chicken Wings…for chicks who escape.

  From the lighter side, we have German Fresh Apple Bread - mmmm, apple bread from any country is delicious.

  A Pondering Heart says I Nominate…it’s time for the homeschool blog awards.

  It’s a Learning Experience asks What’s On the Menu? This is for a family of eleven, for a whole week…wow.

  From Vermont’s Northland Journal, I found this lovely little story about the warmth of a woodstove. Here is an excerpt I enjoyed:

  Townsfolk and neighbors not only judged a man by the color of his chimney smoke, the shape and size of his woodpile were also scrutinized. A woodpile, besides being straight and sturdy, needed to be piled so the wood would cure and keep, while at the same time look like a picture. There was an art to putting up a good woodpile.

  Next week’s Carnival of Homesteading will be hosted by Oak Hill Homestead. You can submit your homesteading blog posts here by next Sunday, 9 p.m. EST.

• October 18, 2008
• 16:08

  Cat up a Tree

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  A few weeks ago, I found Tawny high up in a tree, meowing rather pleadingly. After spending an hour finding a ladder tall enough to reach the cat, coaxing him with soothing kitty calls and finally food, I rescued the feline. The cat could starve or freeze to death, trapped up here indefinitely, I had thought.

  Later that evening, when my husband returned from errands with the kids and I related to them the cat story, my 9-year-old son laughed, “Mom, Tawny always climbs up there and gets back down by himself!” Oh.

  *****

  Recent blog carnivals:
  Carnival of Education
  Carnival of Family Life
  Christian Carnival
  Carnival of Homesteading

  Up next: Carnival of Homesteading, here at Diary of 1, on Monday, Oct. 20. Submit HERE by Sunday, 9 p.m. EST.

• October 12, 2008
• 9:10

  The Child’s Inventor’s Box

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  An “inventor’s box” full of odds and ends that has a permanent place in your home play area or in your classroom–this is the child’s invention kit, the perfect tool for science exploration and innovation. The idea is to create the atmosphere of an inventor’s workshop, where there is no fixed set of materials and no particular goal established in advance; rather, the bountiful collection of materials is there for the child to explore, experiment, and give creative expression to his ideas. And voila, an enthusiastic and independent science mind is being created in the process.

  I. For the frugal and simple approach, here is a list (in no particular order) to get you started. These materials can be gathered over time from a craft store, RadioShack, around your house and garage, thrift stores, garage sales, lumber yards, and more. Let me know what else I should add to my list, and some simple experiments to go with this list!

  • mirrors
  • magnets
  • metal rods
  • weights
  • small motors
  • coils of insulated wire
  • mounting base and mounting bracket
  • insulated tubing
  • D-cell battery
  • balloons
  • paper clips
  • string
  • rope
  • tape-duct tape, scotch tape, two sided tape
  • tacks
  • rubber bands
  • washers, nuts, bolts, screws, nails
  • pvc pipes with connector corners
  • wire
  • springs, hinges, clothes pins
  • pulleys
  • pipe cleaners
  • casters
  • straws
  • pins
  • scissors, exacto knife (be careful, adult supervision!)
  • cloth patches, scrap material
  • cotton balls
  • bottle caps, wine corks
  • markers
  • pencil
  • ruler
  • drawing paper, notebooks
  • paint
  • paint brushes
  • felt
  • poster board
  • popsicle sticks, toothpicks, craft wood, dowels
  • connector ties, zip ties
  • clamps and glue
  • knobs, dials
  • cardboard–toilet paper rolls, paper towel rolls, empty cereal boxes
  • 1-quart milk cartons
  • tinker toy pieces
  • styrofoam pieces
  • propellers
  • tuning fork
  • plastic soda bottles
  • pH test strips
  • hammer and small saw
  • cheesecloth
  • droppers
  • filter paper
  • forceps
  • funnel
  • litmus papers
  • magnifiers
  • fluorescent light

  Now, what can you do with all these materials? Here are some ideas cards to keep handy, if your child/student wants a specific activity:

  1. Human conductor of electricity

  Supplies:
  one ballon, one flourescent light.

  Directions:

  • Darken the room. Hold the fluorescent bulb in one hand and the balloon in the other. Rub the balloon vigorously on your hair.
  • Bring the balloon near the bulb and watch what happens. Was that a flicker of light? Did the bulb really light up?
  • Move the balloon up and down the bulb without touching the bulb. The light should sort of follow the balloon.
  • Touch the balloon to the glass and see if you can get a spark to jump.
  • You can’t believe your eyes… so, go back to step 1 and do it again.

  2. Periscope-mirrored tube that lets you see over walls and around corners:

  Supplies:
  Two 1-quart milk cartons
  Two small pocket mirrors (flat, square ones work best)
  Utility knife or X-Acto knife
  Ruler
  Pencil or pen
  Masking tape

  Directions:

  • Use the knife to cut around the top of each milk carton, removing the peaked “roof.”
  • Cut a hole at the bottom of the front of one milk carton. Leave about 1/4 inch of carton on each side of the hole.
  • Put the carton on its side and turn it so the hole you just cut is facing to your right. On the side that’s facing up, measure 2 3/4 inches up the left edge of the carton, and use the pencil to make a mark there. Now, use your ruler to draw a diagonal line from the bottom right corner to the mark you made.
  • Starting at the bottom right corner, cut on that line. Don’t cut all the way to the left edge of the carton-just make the cut as long as one side of your mirror. If your mirror is thick, widen the cut to fit.
  • Slide the mirror through the slot so the reflecting side faces the hole in the front of the carton. Tape the mirror loosely in place.
  • Hold the carton up to your eye and look through the hole that you cut. You should see your ceiling through the top of the carton. If what you see looks tilted, adjust the mirror and tape it again.
  • Repeat steps 2 through 6 with the second milk carton.
  • Stand one carton up on a table, with the hole facing you. Place the other carton upside-down, with the mirror on the top and the hole facing away from you.
  • Use your hand to pinch the open end of the upside-down carton just enough for it to slide into the other carton. Tape the two cartons together.

  For more amazing science activities for the home or classroom, visit The Exploratorium.

  II. A more high-tech and a bit more costly approach, but nonetheless an excellent option, is the PicoCricket Kit. This is an invention kit that integrates art, music, and technology, and is especially attractive to girls as well as boys.

  The PicoCricket Kit uses a tiny computer which allows the student to make things spin, light up, and play music; you basically make your creations come to life with simple robotics. The price tag is $250 for the complete kit, which includes the following: motor and motor board, display, beamer (send programs from your computer to your PicoCricket), resistance sensor, sound sensor, colored lights, sound box, PicoCricket programmer (to control your creations), touch sensor, and light sensor.

  Also included in the kit is easy-to-use software for programming the Cricket (PC and Mac compatible), USB cable, a collection of craft materials and lego bricks to create motion modules, and ten project placemats with sample Cricket activities.

  This is a reusable kit–only the craft materials are consumable, but are inexpensive to replace.

  Mitchel Resnick, an MIT professor who worked on the project, made an important point about the accessibility of the PicoCricket kit:
  

  We knew that lots of kids are interested in art and music, so we wanted to make sure that there were lots of ways for them to be able to use art and music as an entry point to explore math, science and engineering.   

  Wow~whether your budget is small or large, there are options. The basic inventor’s box is more time consuming to put together, but cheaper; and the pre-packaged kits offer efficiency but at a cost. I hope you’ve been inspired to provide some creative science outlets for your child or classroom!

• October 05, 2008
• 17:58

  October Exploring

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  Our first October hike around the property began with a surprise greeting from this rust-colored fast-crawling spider. If the image is fuzzy, it’s because my hand was shaking a bit as I took the photograph. I’m not a big arachnid fan, however, I’m always fascinated with a new species, especially if it’s going to be my neighbor, and especially if it’s a potentially venomous creature.

  Can anybody make this out? No further pictures available, as the elder daughter poked it with a stick, immediately followed by the dog having it for snack.

  JJ discovered a new juniper, we think. You need to look closely, as the earthy colors blend into the ground. Seeing that the sapling is right next to a mature juniper, and seeing that junipers are the only naturally occurring tree on the entire property, it’s safe to say the kids made a good assessment.

  An interesting tidbit on juniper berries:

  Juniper berries have long been used as medicine by many cultures. Juniper berries act as a strong urinary tract disinfectant if consumed and were used by American Indians as a herbal remedy for urinary tract infections. Western tribes combined the berries of juniperus communis with Berberis root bark in a herbal tea to treat diabetes. Clinical studies have verified the effectiveness of this treatment in insulin-dependent diabetes. Compounds in these plants when combined and ingested have been shown to trigger insulin production in the body’s fat cells, as well as stabilize blood sugar levels. Native Americans also used juniper berries as a female contraceptive.

  I love this lone juniper tree inclining over the cliff at the east end of our property. It seems to grow straight out of the rocks, showing the strength and hardiness of this ancient evergreen.
  

  Just beside this last juniper, I discovered a moss covered rock, its variegated colors indicating countless seasons of moss-growing, which I hadn’t observed before–not that unusual being that there’s thousands of rocks on this land. But I never noticed the handy little hole, and the smaller rock sitting in there, just ideal for pounding corn or something. We know the Northern Paiute Indians inhabited this land before us, and I I can’t help but wonder, has this been there since then?

  

  Tawny was out for his first explore to the edge of the cliff, and left the children screeching in terror and delight with his kittenish antics of racing up trees and scampering down rock crevices. Just when they were certain he was down to eight lives and lost over the precipice, he would meow his way calmly back to the family.

  A fresh rain left this exhilarating scent in the air, and the cat and dog both seemed to understand that this was the perfect October day. Other than an occasional stray onto a neighboring property, the animals were fabulous scouting companions.

  These three explorers likewise recognized an ideal day, and with Mom armed with bags for the hunt, we gathered moss, owl pellets, bones, feathers, and chips of obsidian (more Paiute relics) unearthed by the recent downpour. Analyzing the artifacts later will add to the experience. Little L would squeal with glee whenever he found a complete little rodent skull–”Look, Mama, it’s got teeth!” And a particularly large chunk of obsidian found by JJ was met with “it looks just like a canoe!”

  One of my young adventurers sums up our October Exploring perfectly:
  

  Pure fun. What do you or your children enjoy doing this time of year? And tell me, what do you think of that hole in the boulder and the small rock sitting in there?

• October 02, 2008
• 15:32

  Looking up the Exhaust Pipe

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  What does one do when her life feels like she’s looking right into the exhaust pipe, ingesting toxic fumes? When I took this cute picture of our cat a few days ago, these reflections were far from my mind. I just thought, “isn’t that a sweet little photograph - Tawny has his special spot under the van.”

  The metaphor hit me later, as I struggled to wade my way through a myriad of chores, overwhelming undertakings, serious concerns. I wanted to curl up like my cat and lie down (but not under a tire!). I know without a doubt there are many brothers and sisters facing life in front of the exhaust pipe of toxic trials, because I’ve talked to several of them this past week - it’s a grim diagnosis, a financial predicament, family chaos.

  As Christians, we can flounder about trying to find God in the midst of these stresses and strains and stretchings. We can sink into depression, question our faith, fail to see His bigger plan, and even ditch Him altogether.

  BBC2 last month began airing God on Trial, a film written by Frank Cottrell Boyce. In it, a group of Auschwitz prisoners decide to put God on trial. They summoned a rabbinical court, put God himself on trial - and declared him guilty. (God on Trial will be shown in the United States on PBS stations on November 9, 2008, on the new anthology series Masterpiece Contemporary).

  In The Guardian (UK), Cottrell Boyce wrote a very interesting article, and I particularly found this bit revealing:

  It’s a fact that, although many people lost their faith in the camps, just as many had it renewed. As French philosopher La Rochefoucauld says: “A great storm puts out a little fire, but it feeds a strong one.” Reading the Bible in the light of the Holocaust was a bit of a storm for me. It came close to putting out my fire, but in the end it blew stronger.

  I didn’t tell you the end of the story. After they find God guilty, one of the rabbis says: “So what do we do now?” The reply is: “Let us pray.” Is this a wry story about Jewish stoicism? Is it about a failure of moral courage? Or what? For me, it’s about faith.

  When I was 21 years old, a fresh college graduate enjoying life and a new job in Washington, D.C., I felt compelled to memorize James Chapter 1. I worked on it each day as I walked from the Metro station in Silver Spring, Maryland, to my cousin’s house, where I was living for the year. The beginning of the chapter basically extols the benefits of tribulation, and though I had no outstanding troubles during this period of my life, it was God-ordained that I have this stored in my memory for the future.

  I was especially good at verses 2-4, coming at the start of the chapter:

  2Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various trials,

  3knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance.

  4And let endurance have its perfect result, so that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.

  By the time verse 27 came around, I was a bit fuzzy, but still, after 17 years, I basically have James Chapter 1 memorized. Good thing, because when I have those days when I feel like I’m under the van sucking exhaust or about to get run over by a tire, or when I want to put God on trial, it’s critical that I remember there is a purpose to our hardships. That purpose being a faith-producing experience, an endurance-strengthening exercise, and the goal of becoming more and more perfected in Christ Jesus.

  I wonder, have you been looking up the exhaust pipe lately? What has helped you the most through these times?

• September 24, 2008
• 23:14

  The Home Fire’s A-Going

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  “There is no place more delightful than one’s own fireplace.”
  Marcus Tullius Cicero, Ancient Roman Writer and Statesman, 106 BC - 43 BC.

  

  I’m totally delighting in this lovely fire my husband built tonight. The woodbox is full and the house is warm! We are halfway moved into our new house, and hope to have the move completed within a few weeks.

  It’s been a long time since I sat in front of a wood fire in my own home. The rented house we’ve been living in for the past two years didn’t have a fireplace; the house we owned for the two years before that had a “fake” natural gas fireplace; our home for the five years prior to that possessed a wood fireplace with a nasty habit of filling the house with smoke every time we dared use it.

  Downed juniper trees scatter the property, the victims of our building project. Don’t cry for them, they’re keeping my hearth warm. I love the smell of juniper; we just can’t invite Chuck and Connie over when we’re burning juniper, he’ll turn beet red and break out in hives or something. He’ll have to bring his own pine logs. The rest of you, come in and sit a spell and let us tell you a tale of God’s goodness and merciful provision.

  We are not finished, quite. Almost, but not quite. We are trusting God for the working out of some final important pieces, and wouldn’t you know, dear Christian, when that last lap of the marathon is about to kill you, that famous second wind can sustain you, the powerful wind of the comforting, helping Holy Spirit. Someday I’ll get to tell you the story of a little girl who grew up in a dirt-floored shack and now sits before the warm hearth of a mansion, the gift of her Father who loves her. Until then, keep the home fires burning. Blessings.

• September 18, 2008
• 19:59

  Don’t Get Mad!

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  Following up on my last post about teaching patience to children, here is another great resource I discovered on overcoming anger. I’ll be going through this short worksheet with my own children as well as my students. If you are battling with anger or have a child who does, I’d recommend reading the scriptures listed here and memorizing them with your children.

  Don’t Get Mad!

  Take Preventive Steps to Avoid Getting Angry(material gathered from Doug Britton, author of Victory Over Grumpiness, Irritation and Anger; permission granted to print for personal use)

  Man’s anger does not bring about the righteous life that God desires (James 1:20).

  There is such a thing as “righteous anger,” but most of our anger is not righteous. In fact, our anger usually is destructive.

  My greatest obstacle to overcoming anger is _________________________________________ .

  Compare your answer to:

  “Not recognizing I am sinning when I am angry.” It is rare that our anger is righteous anger. As James wrote: Man’s anger does not bring about the righteous life that God desires (James 1:20).

  I won’t have as much trouble getting angry if I am ___________________________________________. 

  Compare your answer to:
  • Loving. David had every right to be angry with his son Absalom. After all, Absalom wanted to kill David, yet David loved Absalom passionately, and grieved deeply when he learned of his death.
  • The king was shaken. He went up to the room over the gateway and wept. As he went, he said: “O my son Absalom! My son, my son Absalom! If only I had died instead of you—O Absalom, my son, my son” (2 Samuel18:33).

  • Patient. Look at God’s example in 2 Peter 3:9 and then read Proverbs 15:18.
  • The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance (2 Peter 3:9).
  • A hot-tempered man stirs up dissension, but a patient man calms a quarrel (Proverbs 15:18).

  • Eternally-minded. Look at Paul’s example in 2 Corinthians 4:16-18.
  • Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal (2 Corinthians 4:16-18).

  • Forbearing. Read Ephesians 4:2 and Colossians 3:13.
  • Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love (Ephesians 4:2).
  • Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you (Colossians 3:13).

  • Understanding of other people. Read about God’s understanding in Hebrews 4:15.
  • For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet was without sin (Hebrews 4:15).

  • Aware of anger’s destructiveness. Read about the results of anger in Psalm 37:8 and Proverbs 15:1.
  • Refrain from anger and turn from wrath; do not fret–it leads only to evil (Psalm 37:8).
  • A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger (Proverbs 15:1).

  • Secure in who I am in God. Read about Jesus’ silence before Pilate in Matthew 27:12-14. Note that Jesus didn’t “need” to defend himself.
  • When he was accused by the chief priests and the elders, he gave no answer. Then Pilate asked him, “Don’t you hear the testimony they are bringing against you?” But Jesus made no reply, not even to a single charge—to the great amazement of the governor (Matthew 27:12-14).

  Personal application

  I will pray to become more: ___________________________________________________.

  One practical step I will take to make this change is: ________________________________________________________________________________________.

  Key Bible verses on anger management: 
      

  A quick-tempered man does foolish things, and a crafty man is hated (Proverbs 14:17).     

  Better a patient man than a warrior, a man who controls his temper than one who takes a city (Proverbs 16:32).     

  It is to a man’s honor to avoid strife, but every fool is quick to quarrel (Proverbs 20:3).     

  A fool gives full vent to his anger, but a wise man keeps himself under control (Proverbs 29:11).     

  Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs (1 Corinthians 13:4-5).     

  “In your anger do not sin”: Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold (Ephesians 4:26-7).     

  Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you (Ephesians 4:31-32).     

  But now you must rid yourselves of all such things as these: anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language from your lips (Colossians 3:8).     

  My dear brothers, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, for man’s anger does not bring about the righteous life that God desires (James 1:19-20).

  Blessings to you, my friend, as you work toward victory over anger! I’m right there with you, and I’ll share some more later about how this process is going with my students and my family. Remember, HE IS ABLE, and our God has already won for us every victory, and I plan on not turning down my blue ribbon. :-)

• September 13, 2008
• 14:37

  Teaching Patience to Children

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  The information below comes from The Patient Parent. I’ve been praying for strategies to deal with a few (many, actually) of the students in my class who deal with anger management issues. What’s the best way to handle the child who breaks pencils, rips up papers, and bursts into angry tears, and you’re not even sure what caused this reaction? Does one use the kid gloves or a firm hand? I’m a teacher, not a counselor, I want to cry out. However, in today’s world, a teacher must be both. This was a helpful website I discovered, and I hope to incorporate some of these ideas into my interactions with these students.

  I don’t always like “strategies” or “techniques,” and prefer to rely on God’s wisdom and the Holy Spirit’s guidance to help me discern what is best for each individual. However, didn’t God gift this person with insight to help little ol’ me?! Thank you, Patient Parent, for the following:

  Below are three primary temperaments of children (remember that children can cross over into more than one, so get to know them all), their characteristics, and how to work with each on patience skills…You can begin to incorporate these ideas around age 3.

  1. FEISTY
  High Activity Level
  Irregular
  Slow to Adapt/Transition at times
  Approaches New Things with Vigor
  Intense, Sometimes Physical Reactions (Positive and Negative)
  Low Persistence
  Low Focus

  Teaching Patience to Feisty Kids:

  •Need Opportunity and Challenge
  •Leadership Options (”little helpers/little mommies or daddies”
  •Faster-Paced Activities & Games
  •Work on Cooperative Play (pass the blocks; roll the ball; clean up time)
  •Work on Etiquette (please and thank you)
  •Burn off the Energy!
  •Coping Strategies - breathing, touchstones like a smooth rock or soft toy, anger dance (silly physical dance to calm down), counting, self talk (”He didn’t mean to bump into me.”)

  THREE ELEMENTS OF PATIENCE

  Empathy –
  •Cooperative games (It’s okay to lose.)
  •Discussing feelings (After given some space to calm down)
  •Problem solving (giving three options and allowing them to choose)
  •Work on social cues…facial expressions, body language, hands to self, quiet voice, personal space
  •Recognize that they need to burn off energy for focus

  Mindfulness
  •They’re going to want to argue about what happened and why they are right. Instead…
  •Rather than focusing on the past, ask what can be done now to solve it.
  •Offer mindful coping for frustrations like breathing, counting, bringing them back into their bodies; touchstones; anger dance (shake it off physically and in a silly way; get them to lighten up)

  Self-Leadership
  •Getting control of selves will be very important (allow time for that)
  •Give space to cool off (so they don’t hurt themselves or anyone else)
  •Make lists to build a routine during play to reduce frustration with others (everyone gets to choose an activity to add)
  •Helping skills
  •Put them in charge of something each day (feeding pets, watering plants, bussing dishes, snack helper)
  •Talk about language of a leader, please and thank you, calm voices

  2. FEARFUL
  Slow to adapt in new situations
  Physically sensitive
  Withdrawal
  Distracted by other children; noise
  Crave routine
  Intense reactions if stressed or pushed

  Teaching Patience to Fearful Kids:

  •Need Time and Practice
  •Build in Time for Decisions/Transitions
  •Be Their Safe Harbor
  •Work on Repetitive Activities
  •Maintain Daily Routines; Prepare them if things are going to change.
  •Provide Coping Strategies/Touchpoints
  •Encourage Talking Out Problems

  Empathy
  •I feel…
  •Taking turns, respecting their personal space; practicing affection to gain a comfort level with others (shaking hands, high fives, holding hands to start)
  •Respect fears; take them seriously to teach them to trust themselves; talk through fears; explain differences between fantasy and reality; dreams and awake time

  Mindfulness
  Tend to think of what ifs…help them to focus on now and what’s happening now; are they safe now?

  Self-Leadership
  •Being in control of their emotional responses
  •Self-Talk
  •Relaxation exercises to calm anxieties (close eyes and think of a beautiful place or their favorite activity)
  •Practice helping others; can take away focus on self
  •Work with them on projects if they feel overwhelmed

  3. FLEXIBLE
  Sunny Disposition
  Regular Feeding, Napping
  Fairly Persistent
  Low Intensity/Low Sensitivity
  Highly Adaptable

  Teaching Patience to Flexible Kids:

  •Need Acknowledgement
  •Show Interest in Their Ideas/Play
  •Promote Natural Cooperativeness
  •Share Your Lap
  •Praise Skills Specifically

  Empathy
  •Naturally empathetic but can lose this if needs aren’t met
  •They tend to be popular, so praise them for including others in play
  •Watch for times when they hide emotions or use as attention devices; use as opportunity to talk through feelings and acknowledge them; explain why you have disciplined them

  Mindfulness
  •If they are being silly or acting out, ask how they’re feeling right in that moment…happy, sad, angry, alone, excited?
  •Working together; what can we do to make things better right now?
  •Give choices to work out feelings

  Self-Leadership
  •Encourage helpfulness and cooperation…tend to get along well with others; provide opportunities for group play as well as solo play
  •Like lots of people, so talk about the importance of including others who may feel left out
  •Ask for help in solving problems; they will enjoy being included
  •Work with them on projects to give them one-on-one time
  •Keep it fun; allow practice before criticizing

  I trust this was helpful to some of you! Blessings to you all as you raise your children, in your parenting and your teaching.

• September 06, 2008
• 13:41

  …that holds a mother to life…

   » ‎ Diary of 1

  Tags:    [edit]

  

  Just wanted to share this wall hanging sign my mother-in-law gave me for my birthday last month. I love it.

  Do you ever feel this way? After my first hectic week of teaching, I’m needing my children! I’ve been mostly away from them for seven hours a day, and what a joy to come home and be anchored again. I do see them throughout the day for bits here and there, since I teach at the same school they attend. For that I’m grateful.

  Many of you have asked me how that first week has been. In many respects, it was wonderful. God has given me a deep love for all my students and I want the best for them. We’re off to a good start and getting into a comfortable routine, and most of the kids are working very diligently. In other ways, it was very difficult, as I’m learning how to handle a few of the very challenging students in my class.

  This little saying on the sign, “Children are the anchor that holds a mother to Life” - it’s a sweet way of acknowledging that as a mother, my responsibility in caring for and raising my children, however rigorous it may be at times, actually offers me a lot of security! If I’ve had an exhausting, grueling day in the classroom, and a student says he hates school or maybe has a violent outburst in class, it’s nice to know that I’m still a mother with four lovely little children who adore their mommy and can’t wait for me to be home.

  Can you think of some ways that your children keep you anchored to life?

• September 01, 2008
• 12:55

  A Simple Woman - September 1

   » ‎ Diary of 1

  Tags:    [edit]

  
  Hosted by Peggy at The Simple Woman

  For Today…

  Outside my Window…is a pale blue September sky, a hint of chill in the air. The day is warming up after a *freeze* last night!

  I am thinking…about God, His plans for our future, how He will provide our needs, how we can be a blessing to others.

  From the learning rooms…The two older kids are playing Monopoly, a game continued from yesterday, which was continued from the previous day. The youngest arranges his blocks and works on a puzzle book.

  I am thankful for…my amazing husband, my healthy children, our home, the many opportunities before us. Thank you, Jesus.

  From the kitchen…dishes that need washing, bread that needs baking.

  I am wearing…a long sleeved blue t-shirt, gray exercise pants, socks.

  I am reading…The Hoosier School-Master by Edward Eggleston. An old, old book first published in 1871. An amazing piece of American regional writing and a stunning showcase of old Hoosier dialect - this is backwoods Indiana, the story of a young schoolteacher on the Indiana “frontier” before the Civil War. I love old books. The novel begins:

  Want to be a schoolmaster, do you? You? Well, what would you do in Flat Crick deestrick, I’d like to know? Why, the boys have driv off the last two, and licked the one afore them like blazes. You might teach a summer school, when nothin’ but children come. But I ‘low it takes a right smart man to be schoolmaster in Flat Crick in the winter. They’d pitch you out of doors, sonny, neck and heels, afore Christmas.

  I am hoping…to be ready to face my first day of school tomorrow (shaking in my boots a bit). I’m hoping for lessons to be planned, room organized, lunches packed, kids scrubbed and fresh.

  I am creating…grading charts, lesson plans, discipline procedures, and ideas are swirling in my head.

  I am hearing…Big L and JJ moving Monopoly pieces, adding numbers, “What do I owe you?” “$20!!”

  Around the house…clean laundry to put away, clothes to be sorted. Do the kids even have clothes to wear to school?? One of the greatest setbacks of moving from homeschool to private school is that now we can’t go around in rags all day! We have to actually dress nice every day. My budget is taking a big hit. A huge thank you to Grandma T. who bought each child a few outfits to start us out.

  One of my favorite things…is hunting for obsidian chips around the property, and once in a while even finding a near complete arrowhead. I love that my kids all delight in this activity as much as I do, and can spend patient hours in this simple pursuit.

  A Few Plans For The Rest Of The Week… get all the orders packed up for TeamMASCOT ahead of time; run to Lowe’s with hubby to get some last minute items for the house (electrical cords, bits of pipe, etc.); stop at my school and have the room totally ready; buy lunch boxes and ice packs for the kids; figure out my teaching plan for the adopted Social Studies/History text the school uses, and align it chronologically and with the correct timeline. Thankfully, I have Susan Wise Bauer’s The Story of the World to help me with this.

  Here is a picture thought I am sharing with you…

  
  Little L at the Crook County Fair.
  

  Technorati Tags: children, education, faith, God, s Daybook

• August 25, 2008
• 19:37

  Back to the Classroom

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  Hello friends,

  You can hold the Homeschool Blog Awards, I won’t be qualified. I’m headed back to the classroom and all my kids are going with me. I’ll be teaching at a private school somewhere in Oregon, and that’s all I’ll say because I’m a security freak. So if you know me personally, please keep your comments general!

  I labored a great deal about having to write this post, and the main reason I am is because I noticed that I’m on a lot of bloggers’ dedicated “homeschool blog rolls” and I can’t just be sneaky about it! And I suppose with this transition in our family life, I’m sure to want to write about teaching and school life occasionally.

  I love homeschooling and it’s been a great blessing in our family life. I will continue to support my homeschool friends and write about the homeschool issues I care so much about, like the situation in Germany and other freedom of education topics.

  Part of my hesitation to write about this change is very personal. I have friends who believe that homeschooling is THE only way to educate a child, so of course I have concerns about certain people feeling like I’ve betrayed the movement. On the other hand, certain folks are rejoicing that I’m no longer homeschooling because they’re of the opinion that it’s a bad choice for all children (you know, the socialization contention). When it comes down to it, my husband and I make our family decisions based on God’s call on our life, not anyone else’s opinion.

  I will have some questions to throw out for you as I’m attempting to integrate my educational philosophy with a more traditional school system. I’m not dealing with a public school, so at least I won’t have many of the obstacles I would otherwise face. I have the freedom (and responsibility) to teach a biblical worldview in this school–a duty I approach earnestly and prayerfully.

  But how do I maintain the individual child’s sense of unique identity and liberty in a classroom of 20+ kids? How do I avoid treating information/knowledge as a commodity to be dispensed by me, the teacher? School has the potential to be a huge waste of someone’s childhood if the teacher is not engaging her students in meaningful, purposeful and effective learning-related pursuits. How do I maintain a child’s sense of being in control of and responsible for his own learning?

  I have so many more questions. I’ve been a classroom teacher in the past, before I homeschooled, and I never truly dealt with these questions. Mostly because I hadn’t yet homeschooled nor had I fully developed my own personal philosophy of education. I was trained in public institutions and taught in public institutions–it was all I knew.

  So, why, you may ask, if I have so many questions and doubts, am I teaching in a classroom and sending my kids there as well? I may discuss that another time, but I do feel called by God to this place for this time. I hope to honor God, my administration, my students, my students’ parents, and my own educational ideals all at the same time.

  I would really love to hear your thoughts on this big transition in our family life, and would appreciate your prayers for both me and my family.
  

  Technorati Tags: Christian education, education, family life, homeschool, teaching

• August 20, 2008
• 0:25

  Frugal Field Trips

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  Local field trips for children are lurking around every corner, even in some everyday places if you recognize the opportunity. Every town will have its own unique chances for family excursions, but here are a few around my Central Oregon town for the budget-minded.

  The Greenhouse
  I needed to buy some houseplants that would survive in very low light, so an outing to the greenhouse turned into a field trip. The owner happened to be there, and was gracious enough to lead my four children through the aisles of hanging ivy and water fountains, all the while instructing us on the names of the various plants and the best methods of transplanting and when to do so. Annuals, perennials, vegetable plants, hanging baskets, herbs…he noted everything as we passed. The kids caught maybe half of what he breezed through, but what they surely caught was his love of plants!

  Many greenhouses offer organized field trips for school groups, and this one was no exception. While my group (my family) just walked in as customers to make a purchase, they were still very accessible and education-minded. It’s important to note that this was a small, locally owned nursery, and these are the best ones, in my opinion, to approach for an educational tour.

  If, like me, you’re not looking to schedule a full-blown field trip, just try asking questions, and you’ll probably discover that the employees are fairly eager to pass on some knowledge, especially when you have children asking their own questions as well. You may want to take a few minutes before entering the greenhouse to prep your kids for the experience, and “plant” some questions in their heads to get them thinking, and encourage them to be inquisitive (but polite).

  The Ranch
  We happen to have some friends who raise Clydesdale horses, and this is where I would insert my recommendation to take advantage of friends like this! Not in a negative way, mind you, but if you have friends or family members who have a unique or unusual business, you don’t want to pass up that opportunity for your children to learn a thing or two.

  

  So, our friend Alisha invited my family and a few others out for a “horse lesson,” as my daughter said. This daughter is my equine lover and longs for her own trusty steed. My girl was counting down the days until this trip, dutifully marking her calendar. I only wish the cowboy boots from Grandma had arrived before this trip–but it’s okay, the boots have seen plenty of action since. Alisha did a fantastic job of walking the kids through her stables and introducing the children to the various horsey things that seem to enchant young ones.

  Before the kids left, they had all helped to groom several horses, feed them, pick their hooves, ride around the corral, and choose their own horseshoe to take home.

  I think this was the favorite field trip of the year. All the families involved were so thrilled to have this visit to the ranch. I know this isn’t a feasible option for many of you who don’t live in the country or know ranchers/farmers. But I’ll bet if you sat down and really thought hard, you’d come up with someone you know in an interesting field of work who just might welcome a few kids into their daily routine, and maybe even enjoy it as much as the kids.

  The State Park
  We live near a gorgeous state park, and it costs just $3.00 to park and hike for the day. This is a great option for a field trip that incorporates natural science, geology, and even art.

  If you go to this particular state park in the summer (Smith Rock in Terrebonne, Oregon), plan an early start to avoid heat stroke, and pack a picnic lunch and a sketch pad/pencil.

  There is a perfect covered overlook with several large picnic tables which looks down on this breathtaking view you see here. I love this spot for the chance to have the kids sit and sketch the scenery and really notice the amazing rock formations and the gentle curves of the river.

  Sometimes, I’ll have the kids stop and gather some leaves to look at later, but mostly it’s just a tremendous location that we never tire of.

  

  The kids will of course discover caves and rabbit trails and rocks to climb. There are several large boulders they routinely climb up, nearly giving me a heart attack, but I forget what I was like as a child. The older I get, the more cautious I become and the more afraid of heights I get!

  One nice feature about most state parks are the plaques of geologic or historic information planted along the way. Don’t rush past these if you want to get the most out of your field trip. I usually have a different opinion about some of the geologic timelines given in the typical state park plaque, but what a great learning opportunity to discuss these issues.

  My kids often ask as we drive by Smith Rock, “Mommy, how did that get there?” and I can remind them of the plaque we read, with the illustrations of the volcanic explosion, and it all comes back. My older son now stops to read the plaque aloud to the other children and plays tour guide.

  Oh my, there are so many other wonderful little trips we make around town. I may have to do another post to tell you about the museums, the free concerts, the goat farms, and even how to turn a trip to the grocery store into a field trip. I spend very little money on these outings, and I mostly stay local, but I’m discovering that what makes a valuable experience for one’s family is an eager attitude about learning. The ability to spot a teachable moment paired with an inquisitive spirit will bring many frugal field trips to your front door.

  What frugal field trips does your town offer?

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon, education, family life, Clydesdale horses, nursery, greenhouse, outdoors, field trips, frugal, plants, ranch, Smith Rock

• August 17, 2008
• 14:32

  Still here.

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  Hi, I’m still around, just crazy-August-busy like the rest of the world, I guess. I have some carnivals to catch you up on, family news, blogs to visit (my apologies for not returning visits lately!), a feature post to write, a house to clean, etc., etc. But I have to dash out right now, so I’ll try to get to those things later. Just wanted to post a quick hello and a few pictures.

  JJ and her teeny-tiny garden:
  

  Here in Central Oregon, the August night heavens have been proclaiming His majesty:
  
  

  It’s hot! I have to go water some plants now before they die. Blessings to you, and I hope to be back soon.
  

  Technorati Tags: Central Oregon, child’s garden, sunsets, night sky

• August 13, 2008
• 7:31

  Peace Like a River

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  Welcome to Word-Filled Wednesday - a place for sharing a photo and a Bible verse. Here are two of my children getting refreshed on a hot day last week. This is peace, two siblings drinking out of the same hose and not spraying each other up the nose!

  

  For this is what the Lord says: “I will extend peace to her like a river, and the wealth of nations like a flooding stream; you will nurse and be carried on her arm and dandled on her knees. As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you; and you will be comforted over Jerusalem.” Isaiah 66:12-13

  Technorati Tags: children, family life, outdoors, peace, Word Filled Wednesday

• August 11, 2008
• 13:24

  When sleeping on the living room floor felt like camping

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  The plan was to pitch the tent in the yard, gaze at the stars, enjoy a campfire, roast some hotdogs and marshmallows, and generally enjoy the great outdoors. We almost made it, and did everything but pitch the tent. I know, that’s probably the most important part, but we were tired.

  In our case, sleeping on the wood floor in the almost-done house, not yet hooked up to plumbing and just one or two electrical outlets functional, it was still quite an adventure. It helped the effect tremendously that this house is set among a twenty-acre juniper forest with regular visits from deer, jackrabbits, owls, and the howls of coyotes, kept at bay by our dog. We had to use the outhouse, eat over a fire, and brush our teeth out by the teeth-brushing-tree. We all felt like we were honest-to-goodness-camping.

  We reminisced around the campfire about the summer we lived on this property, just two years ago, in our travel trailer, parked right there by the teeth-brushing-tree. Back then, we were off the grid and had to haul in water, use the propane tank for heat and electricity, and make regular trips to dump the sewage. So, of course, we performed as many bodily necessities out-of-doors as we could, so as to cut down on the trips to the sewage dump place. Thus, the teeth-brushing-tree.

  “See there, kids, remember when there was no house here?” Dad asks the children. They have a hard time remembering.

  “Yes, there was just a pile of concrete,” JJ responds.

  “No,” Dad has to jog her memory. “It was just dirt and trees.”

  Good thing we have pictures to prove it.

  We did a lot of stargazing in the camp trailer days, and the kids talked about how they hope once we move into this house, we’ll still have campfires every night and look at the stars.

  “Mommy, did you know the Big Dipper isn’t actually a constellation?” JJ inquires, eager to display her knowledge of the night sky.

  “Well, tell me about it, honey!” I urge her on.

  “It’s really just a piece of the constellation called the Big Bear,” she proudly informs us. “And the handle of the dipper is the bear’s tail.”

  Big L can’t let a seven-year-old control the information, so he adds, “The Little Dipper is also not a constellation, it’s part of the Little Bear.”

  I need to teach them to say “Ursa Major” and “Ursa Minor” and maybe we can impress some friends.

  So, the sky darkened to black with just our fire and the stars to brighten the night, helped out by the moon now 3/4 full, and the children grew tired and all wanted to climb into Daddy’s lap. I had mopped the wood floor of the living room earlier, the one patch of the house not covered with a fine film of dust, the residue of new construction. I snuck into the house to lay out the sleeping bags as Little L cried, “Mommy, where’s the tent?”

  I had explained to the kids that we’d truly sleep in the tent soon, just not tonight.

  “But aren’t you so excited to be having a campfire and sleeping in our new house for the first time?” I chattered happily, hoping to draw attention away from the absent tent.

  “Yes!” the children all chorused.

  “Whew.” I breathed sigh of relief, meltdowns averted. My husband had already broken the news to me that indeed he would not reset the sprinklers which would have soaked us all in the wee hours of the morning, nor would he be breaking down a tent when he needed to be off to pick up his construction laborer early the next morning, not to mention he was dog-tired. This was the perfect opportunity to set aside my well-formed plans and realize the particular season we’re in, which I call the mad-dash-to-the-finish-line-please-don’t-give-up-now season. There will be plenty of other occasions to pitch a tent.

  In my incredible foresight, I had packed the laptop computer, and busily settled the children into their bedding to fall asleep to the original 101 Dalmations. I felt a small twinge of guilt as I recalled my idyllic vision of camping out in the tent, totally into nature. Jolted back to reality by the fact that now I could steal a quiet moment with my husband, I could avoid sibling rib-poking and other silliness, and for crying out loud, the kids spent the whole day outside already, I smiled a contented smile.

  Displaying even more incredible foresight, I had packed our coffee maker and some excellent fresh grounds. This first morning in our new home, I awoke to the opening rays of the sun, children still in dreamland, and using one of those available outlets, brewed a steaming pot of coffee for my husband and myself. We took simple pleasure in how the gurgle of the coffeepot echoed across the room, and basked in the morning sun, amazed at how the sunlight lit up the kitchen and living room, and how its beams played on the mountains in the most delightful way.

  My first thought was, “I’m so glad we didn’t sleep in the tent!” Even though my back was stiff from the hard floor, and it certainly wasn’t the best night’s sleep I’ve had, experiencing what it will be like to have morning in our new house was worth it. My husband and I chatted over coffee, walked the house and talked about the future. We watched a family of deer come to munch on the lawn, and a shy jackrabbit made his way forward as well. Just as I was about to snap a picture of three adorable young fawns in the side yard, the dog started them up.

  It did our hearts good to see the dog finally have a job. He’s a cattle dog with an undeniable instinct to herd and chase. His tongue hanging out and a spring in his step, he bounded back to the dining room door, checking to see that we were watching his prowess. The deer were not that intimidated, and returned in a short while. It was a lovely show.

  Somewhere in there, the kids awoke. They immediately asked if we could have a sleep-out again the next night. As I pulled a half-gallon of milk from the cooler I brought, stashed in the empty space soon to be occupied by the refrigerator, I said, “maybe.”

  I think it worked. I think they actually felt like they were camping. Once the new-house-feel wears off, we’ll get the tent out.

• August 08, 2008
• 9:49

  Olympics open, Russia invades Georgia, I get breakfast in bed.

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  Part I

  It’s a landmark day. Today marks the opening of the 2008 Olympic Games in Beijing, China. Unlike any opening ceremony in Olympic history, China has outdone itself, and the sleeping giant awakens.

  My niece, Karen, recently returned from China with her school band. The Catalina Foothills High School Marching Band (Tucson, Arizona) was chosen to perform in the 2008 pre-Olympic festivities in Beijing, and she was the most excited 16-year-old girl you could imagine. She plays clarinet and oboe, and did the U.S. proud.
  You can read about the adventures of the Catalina Foothills High School band on their blog, and see if you can spot my niece. Here she is in this photo from a Peking Duck dinner, on the far right.

  

  The band played atop the Great Wall of China, at the Juyong Pass, as well as a Forbidden City performance, along with tours of Tiananmen Square, the Summer Palace, the Peking Opera, the Temple of Heaven, the Beijing Zoo, and much more. I loved this photo of the driving hazards enroute to Beijing.

  

  All in all, still not sure why the Olympics are being held in a country that practices infanticide, extreme censorship, communism, and very limited religious, political, or social freedom.

  Part II

  Moving across the continent to Eastern Europe, the news is anything but festive. Russia has invaded Georgia.

  Reuters reports that Kakha Lamaia, a member of Georgia’s National Security Council, says that the two countries are “very close to war.” World powers around the globe are calling for an end to the violence, which is fierce and is escalating.

  “If it’s not war, then we are very close to it,” Lamaia said. “The Russians have invaded Georgia and we are under attack.”

  Immediately after President Bush and Russian Prime Minister Vladimir Putin enjoyed the opening ceremonies of the Beijing Olympics, mentioned above, these two world leaders met to discuss the situation between Russia and Georgia–more specifically, a separatist territory of Georgia known as South Ossetia. Most South Ossetians hold Russian citizenship and have close ties to Russia. Russia is claiming there is ethnic cleansing going on in South Ossetia, and thus they need to come in and save the day.

  My take is that Russia wants to take back part of its territory, once held for most of the two hundred years prior to the breakup of the Soviet Union. And they see an excuse to move in, with the unrest in South Ossetia. Russia is mad that Georgia has sought NATO membership–why should they care unless they feel that this move is in defiance of their rulership, and of course a threat to their security?

  Still not sure why President Bush is convening with a dictator-on-the-rise like Vladimir Putin.

  Part III

  Proceeding along to the North American continent, the biggest news comes right out of my cozy home. I was served breakfast in bed, for no apparent reason, by my seven-year-old daughter.

  I rolled over to a fried egg and a little voice that said, “Mommy, I made breakfast for you!” She served it up with a cup of coffee and a piece of toast, all to my utter surprise about where this flight of fancy originated. Never mind that the egg was over-easy and let me stress the “easy,” and the coffee was cold, its origins uncertain, the only option being the left-over coffee still in the pot from yesterday, which would explain the temperature. But the toast was excellent!

  Not to settle for anything minimal, my daughter continued her morning homemaking. “Mommy, put on your best dress and come downstairs,” she called through the door. Curious as the mother hen that I am, I quickly complied, and entered the kitchen-converted-to-a-ballroom.

  JJ had picked out some music, one of my old Amy Grant albums, and had created a festive atmosphere everywhere I turned. Surely this rivaled Beijing. Streamers were hanging from the ceiling, the table set with this unique combination of childhood and womanhood–fine wine glasses accompanied by paper plates and plastic silverware wrapped in crepe paper. I twirled and danced with my girls, and even my boys.

  Apparently, the egg and toast were not enough, so she proceeded to make French Toast for the whole family (minus Dad, who was already gone to work).

  
  I wrote out the instructions for her, and left to give her some space. I was called down in what seemed record time, and enjoyed a slightly soggy French Toast breakfast-after-breakfast. I silently noted the plastic bread bag melted to the side of the griddle, but she did turn it off when she was done. “Mommy,” she confidently declared, “I’m going to be a great cook when I grow up.” Yes, indeed, my dear.

  Still not sure why I got so lucky as to have breakfast in bed for no reason at all.

  photo credits: CFHS blog, FoxNews
  
  

  Technorati Tags: children, children cooking, Olympics, China, Georgia, family life, Russia, Vladimir Putin, Catalina Foothills High School

• August 04, 2008
• 8:10

  Summertime Recipes From the Family Cookbook

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  Two summers ago, my husband had a family reunion, and I received a cookbook compiled from that great gathering. My husband’s grandma, Donna Alice (pictured on the left there with my hubby), was the sixth out of twelve children of Frank and Hilda, and eleven of those twelve are still living and showed up with their sprawling clan at that reunion. They all cooked and brought their food, and it was mighty good.

  Frank, could you have known when you came over the Oregon Trail from Kansas in 1896, at the awkward age of 14, your family creaking along in a covered wagon and you riding alongside on a pony the whole way to Sweet Home, Oregon - a trip that makes a man out of a boy…could you have known your legacy?

  Here are Frank and Hilda with their first daughter, Mina, in 1917. Mina would be the first of 10 daughters. The couple had just two boys, one of whom died in 1991. Mina is 92 years old now and in a wheel chair, widowed for 11 years.

  Frank and Hilda owned a grocery/feed store in the 1930s, and Mina still reminisces about working there, packaging up 50 pound containers of lard and sugar for customers.

  I found the perfect summer dessert salad that Mina handed down to her family, a sure hit with the kids. Don’t worry, there’s no lard. Here is Mina’s Orange Jello Salad, submitted to the cookbook by her granddaughter Holly:

  Orange Jello Salad

  3 cups boiling water
  1 small package orange jello
  1 small package vanilla pudding (cook kind)
  1 small package tapioca pudding pudding (cook kind)
  2 cans mandarin oranges
  8 oz. Cool Whip

  Mix dry pudding and jello together, add to boiling water and boil 2 minutes. Put in a bowl and cool completely. Drain oranges and add oranges and Cool Whip to pudding mixture.

  

  Frank lived to be almost 93, but his beautiful bride Hilda, who was just 17 when they married, died at the age of 46 from a cerebral hemorrhage, her last child only a tender five year old. But Hilda clearly taught her children well, because they expertly took over the household after her death, the older girls caring for the younger ones.

  Here is one of Hilda’s simple recipes, passed down to her daughters and submitted to the cookbook by one of her youngest girls, Marian.

  Mom’s Coleslaw

  1/2 head cabbage chopped thin, very thin
  1 tsp salt
  1/4 tsp pepper
  1/2 cup sugar
  1 cup whipping cream
  1/4 cup vinegar

  In small, deep mixing bowl, add sugar and vinegar, whip, then start ading cream slowly, whipping all the time. Will thicken slightly. Pour over cabage, salt and pepper.

  If you have a garden full of tomatoes, then this next recipe will make a great summer dinner. It was submitted by Carla, the daughter of Norma, who was the second of Hilda’s children. Like her mother, Norma was blessed with an abundance of girls, having six daughters and just one son. Norma recalls needing money for college and occasionally receiving from father Frank a $100 bill rolled up in a walnut shell.

  Capellini with Burst Cherry Tomato Sauce

  1 lb very thin spaghetti or capellini
  1/4 cup olive oil
  3 pints cherry tomatoes
  2 cloves garlic
  1 tsp oregano
  1/2 cup sliced calamata olives
  1/2 cup grated parmesan cheese

  Boil pasta when sauce is in final stage. Heat olive oil in large skillet til very hot. Add tomatoes, cover with lid and cook 10-12 minutes. Shake or stir occasionally. Cherry tomatoes will burst, if they do not, press gently. Add garlic, oregano, olives and salt to taste. Lower heat and simmer another 7-10 minutes. Top pasta with sauce and cheese.

  If you have a summer pie-baking tradition, you need a good crust. My Grandma-in-law, Frank and Hilda’s sixth child as I showed you up there with my husband, has a Never Fail Pie Crust. I would have married into this family just for Donna’s pies. She brings them to every family holiday gathering–berry pies, apple pies, pecan pies, you name it–they are mouthwatering delights held together by this magical flaky crust. Here’s the recipe, but I doubt you can even come close to Donna Alice’s pies:

  Never Fail Pie Crust

  3 cups flour
  1/2 tsp baking powder
  1 tsp salt
  1 1/4 cups shortening
  5 Tbls water
  1 Tbls vinegar
  1 egg

  Mix egg, vinegar and water, add to dry ingredients and shortening (mixed). Take enough for one shell at a time and roll out. Makes 4 or 5 crusts.

  Donna’s great-grandkids love her pies, too.
  

  I suppose you need a pie to go in that pie crust! Donna’s Strawberry Pie made it into the family cookbook, submitted by her niece Lyn. Apparently this pie gets rave reviews at parties and potlucks.

  Donna’s Strawberry Pie

  Mix together:
  3 oz. Philadelphia cream cheese
  1/2 cup powdered sugar

  Fold in:
  1/2 cup whipped cream
  1/2 tsp. vanilla
  Put in cooked pie shell and chill.

  Cook: (until thick and clear)
  1 pint strawberries with juice
  1/2 cup sugar
  2 Tbls cornstarch

  Cool. Spread over cheese layer in pie shell. Chill. Garnish with whipped cream.

  In the beverage section of the family cookbook, I noticed Joe’s Home Brew. Joe would be Frank and Hilda’s grandson, and his mother Bonnie was girl number eight. Bonnie must share Frank’s spirit of the Oregon Trail, because she’s had some crazy adventures in her lifetime, including rafting down the Grand Canyon and working in remote Alaska.

  Joe’s recipe is for homemade root beer, and I’ll include his description and directions –it gets a bit lengthy but this is well worth it.

  Joe’s Home Brew

  When we were growing up, we made home made root beer in glass bottles with caps. It was so much fun, and tasted so good, that Laina and I have continued to make it the past 30 years! It’s a staple at our house! Great with popcorn or by itself on a hot summer day or add a scoop of vanilla ice cream for a fab float!!

  1 bottle of root beer extract (sorry he didn’t say what size bottle!)
  5 pounds of sugar
  1/2 tsp active yeast
  5 gallons lukewarm tap water
  Need 10 2-liter plastic pop bottles and caps

  Mix the water, sugar and extract in a 5 gallon plastic pail, stir thoroughly. Add yeast (best to dissolve this first in a cup of lukewarm water) and stir thoroughly. Pour root beer into pop bottles, leave about 1/2 inch air from the neck of the bottle. Screw caps on tightly. Store bottles on their sides for one week at room temperature. Then store them upright in a cool place. You can drink the brew after a week. The longer it sits, the fizzier and less sweet it gets. The plastic bottles get very hard as the yeast “eats” the sugar and produces carbonation. Refrigerate before opening! Warm brew may be explosive!! Enjoy!

  Have you had a family reunion this summer? Do you have a favorite family recipe? Enjoy these last days of summer with some good food and family fun!

  p.s. Don’t you think my daughter JJ looks just like her great-great-grandma Hilda?
  

  Technorati Tags: children cooking, family tree, family life, food, Oregon Trail, homemade root beer, recipes, pie crust recipe

• August 01, 2008
• 14:27

  Blog Perks

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  Thank you, Becky at Twisted Fencepost, for the cheerful and comfy oven mitts! I won Becky’s giveaway of her handmade oven mitts. These mitts have this wonderful little stretch to them that gently squeeze my hands as if to say, “You’re an awesome cook!” Oh, also, Becky included a lovely matching kitchen towel, which was unavailable for the photo shoot, as it was recently completely soiled and in need of laundering.

  I told Becky how badly I needed them, because I couldn’t find a single oven mitt in the house, and I was in danger of burning off my sweet fingers. I need my fingers. These arrived the day after my birthday - I love surprise birthday gifts! And the day after that, I found the one oven mitt I did own - in my 7 year old daughter’s underwear drawer.

  I had to explain the craziness to Becky, who may have wondered about my daughter’s stability - why was she stashing away an oven mitt with her underclothes?! An unknown fact was revealed: my mother, with Alzheimer’s or some mysterious mind-confusing disease that can afflict almost-80-year-olds, lives with my family. She loves to help put laundry away. You may find my t-shirts in my son’s dresser, dirty clothes mistakenly folded neatly into drawers, or oven mitts filed away with underwear. We work with it.

  Another blog perk came my way when Sheila at Meditations and Confessions of a Homemaker sent me this pack of handmade cards. Each card has an inspiring scripture, wise saying, or encouraging word for women. Sheila is truly gifted (in many ways), and you can find more of her cards for sale at her Etsy shop. She has a great big heart for hurting and broken people, she blogs for the persecuted church (don’t miss her post on China), and is simply refreshing.

  Sheila has also given me a few blog awards recently, which I’ll pass on soon. They are the Arte y Pico (best art) Award, and the Brillante Weblog Award. Thank you from the bottom of my heart! Coming up (or whenever I get around to it!) will be my awards reception in which I present these to some other excellent bloggers.

  Have you enjoyed any blog perks lately?
  

  Technorati Tags: Alzheimer’s, blog contest, blog awards, humor, oven mitts, persecuted church

• July 30, 2008
• 8:02

  WFW: He grants sleep to those he loves.

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  Welcome to Word-Filled Wednesday - a place for sharing a photo and a Bible verse. I’ll give you a peek at our new kitty today, who just perfectly exemplifies the verse I’m choosing to share with you.
  

  In vain you rise early and stay up late, toiling for food to eat–for he grants sleep to those he loves. Psalm 127:2

  Technorati Tags: Bible verse, Psalms, kitten, Christianity, Word Filled Wednesday

• July 28, 2008
• 9:20

  The Homesteading Carnival: The Tiny Edition (#59)

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  Welcome to The Homesteading Carnival: The Tiny Edition (#59). Somehow I forgot I was going to be out of town all weekend and I’m still not home. But, I have access to a computer, and just enough time for something “tiny!” The power of tiny things is an interesting thing to explore, so in addition to this tiny carnival, you may want to browse these fascinating looks at tiny chromosomes, energy, and nanotechnology. And don’t forget the Teeny Tiny Woman.

  Dora Renee’ Wilkerson presents Funny Clips posted at Y-2K Hippie.. That tiny piece of peanut butter fudge looks inviting.

  Patricia Twitchell presents The Adventures of Penny Pincher: Penny Pincher Goes To The Rodeo… Finally posted at Just Bears and Stuff. Tiny Penny Pincher at the rodeo…too cute.

  Chris presents 3 Steps to the Perfect Vegetable Garden (Part Two) posted at Smith Family Garden. The teeny tiny garden can produce giant vegetables.

  AdmirableIndia.com presents Trip to Ooty: Day 2: Part 1: Ooty Lake - Boat House and Thread garden, Ooty posted at AdmirableIndia.com. Check out the teeny tiny garden made of embroidery thread!

  HowToMe presents How To Make a Custom Area Rug From Carpet Remnants posted at HowToMe. What a fabulous idea - turning tiny carpet pieces into a beautiful rug!

  Alison presents Help! Tomato 911! posted at Green Me. This gal is going to have a teeny tiny tomato crop if she doesn’t get help fast!

  Miss Amanda presents My Learning Experience - Black Forest Cake from Scratch posted at My Learning Experience -. That tiny boy was clearly thrilled with his birthday cake.

  Miss Jocelyn presents Cowtown Boots posted at A Pondering Heart. There’s not much tiny about this huge store full of cowboy boots! Wait, there is tiny stitching on Jocelyn’s favorite boots!

  Jacque presents Healthy Snacks for the (Large) Homeschooling Family posted at Walking Therein. Also great for tiny families.

  Have a wonderful, teeny tiny day.

  *****
  Next week’s Homesteading Carnival will be hosted by The Sojourner. You may submit your post with this Blog Carnival Submission Form.

• July 26, 2008
• 8:22

  Parents Rights

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  The subject of parental rights can appear to be an unnecessary discussion, for of course, a parent has authority over her child. Or does she? I’d like to take a closer look at this. But not today.

  I apologize, but I’m going to have to work on updating this Parents Rights post next week. We have family things to attend to all weekend, and I won’t be back to blogging until Tuesday, July 29 or so. I think I’m supposed to host the Homesteading Carnival on Monday, so I have to see how I’ll manage that away from my home computer.

  At any rate, here are some of the issues I’d like to examine:

  1. Parental rights in education: What happens when a family’s firmly held religious beliefs conflict with State curriculum, and students are not permitted to be excused? Are parents allowed adequate input into their child’s curriculum/education, especially for special needs children? Is there reason for concern about encroaching government involvement in oversight of private schools or homeschools?

  2. Government intrusion as a threat to parental rights: the balance between government protection against child abuse and infringement on parental authority over child-raising. Also, a look at some egregious Child Protective Services cases of children injudiciously and erroneously removed from parents.

  3. Is a Parental Rights Amendment necessary? Can parents rest assured that their authority to control the education and upbringing of their children is covered under the “inalienable rights” mentioned in the Declaration of Independence? Or is an explicit Parental Rights Amendment vital, and what are the problems with the language of the current Parental Rights Amendment being attempted?

  4. International Law: Is the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child truly in the best interests of the child (not yet ratified by the U.S.)? Should the burden of proof be upon the parent to prove they are good parents, or upon the State to consider a parent fit unless proven otherwise?

  If you have any thoughts on these issues I’ll be covering, please let me know. If there’s a particular matter/case you’d like me to address, leave me a comment here. This post is going to take some thought and research, so please bear with me. We’ve had a week full of birthdays, and are heading over the mountain for more family time.

  Enjoy the last weekend of July!! I love July and I’m sad to see it go…
  

  Technorati Tags: Parental Rights Amendment, parental rights, UN Convention on the Rights of the Child, education, homeschool

• July 22, 2008
• 9:47

  Ms. Gilbert, 1975

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  The only thing I remember about Ms. Gilbert is her hair. I was just five, and she was my kindergarten teacher. She had amazing hair, shiny brown, straight as a pin, cascading in sheets down to her bottom. I sense kindness and sweet energy when I try to recall any details. No details come, just a knowledge that this was a lovely young woman, and then a flash of bright colors - either from her actual clothing or her warm personality. And again those long chestnut locks. Wait, I remember books. She read to us. While children played with her hair.

  That sums up 1975. Do you have a memory of a favorite teacher?

  

  Technorati Tags: childhood memories, favorite teacher, school

• July 20, 2008
• 13:00

  German Homeschooling Ban Comes to Blog Talk Radio Tomorrow!

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  If you’re following the crisis in Germany regarding that country’s ban on homeschooling, you may be interested in tuning in tomorrow to the new BlogTalkRadio Homeschool Show, live at 1 p.m. Central Time, Monday, July 21 (follow that link). You can listen to the archive after the show if you’re unavailable at that time.

  This new Home School Talk radio show is hosted by Dana of Principled Discovery, who has written extensively about the homeschooling situation in Germany. The guest tomorrow is Rina, an Irish woman who homeschooled her children in Germany for a period and faced constant harassment from German authorities. Rina kept a blog updated through Dec. ‘07 if you’d like to follow some of her saga there, as well as stories of many other German homeschoolers who dealt with similar harassment, fines, criminal penalties, loss of custody of children, and jail - just for homeschooling. Also a great source of updated information on German homeschooling is Kinderlehrer’s blog, Educating Germany, dedicated solely to this issue.

  Whether you’re a homeschooler or not, I’d encourage anyone who cares about basic human rights, parental rights, educational choice, and living in a free and democratic society, to tune in and educate yourself on this issue. If you’re not able to listen live, but have a question, comment, or encouragement for Rina, consider emailing Dana with your thoughts to pass on to her guest.

• July 18, 2008
• 9:16

  Free Speech

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  Some ramblings on free speech…pardon the lack of a cohesive statement. Today I’m thinking about the potency of the tongue, the desire of those who seek to censor it as a political power move, the double speak going on with regards to who should have free speech and who shouldn’t. This is not an academic piece of writing, so please, keep the lawyers away.

  

  Inspired by Franklin D. Roosevelt’s speech, The Four Freedoms, dated January 6, 1941, Norman Rockwell (who I wrote about here) painted a series of freedom paintings, the first of which was The Freedom of Speech. Here is that segment of FDR’s speech mentioning the four freedoms:

  In the future days, which we seek to make secure, we look forward to a world founded upon four essential human freedoms.

  The first is freedom of speech and expression — everywhere in the world.

  The second is freedom of every person to worship God in his own way — everywhere in the world.

  The third is freedom from want, which, translated into world terms, means economic understandings which will secure to every nation a healthy peacetime life for its inhabitants — everywhere in the world.

  The fourth is freedom from fear, which, translated into world terms, means a world-wide reduction of armaments to such a point and in such a thorough fashion that no nation will be in a position to commit an act of physical aggression against any neighbor — anywhere in the world.

  I think it no coincidence that freedom of speech and expression is at the top of his list. Certainly, with Hitler’s tyranny against the slightest criticism and silencing of all forms of expression but Naziism, and with WWII then raging, Roosevelt saw a need to aggressively defend this particular freedom.

  The Guardian UK published an interesting timeline of the history of free speech a few years ago. Here are a few dates that caught my eye:

  399BC Socrates speaks to jury at his trial: ‘If you offered to let me off this time on condition I am not any longer to speak my mind… I should say to you, “Men of Athens, I shall obey the Gods rather than you.”‘

  1516 The Education of a Christian Prince by Erasmus. ‘In a free state, tongues too should be free.’

  1770 Voltaire writes in a letter: ‘Monsieur l’abbé, I detest what you write, but I would give my life to make it possible for you to continue to write.’

  1859 ‘On Liberty’, an essay by the philosopher John Stuart Mill, argues for toleration and individuality. ‘If any opinion is compelled to silence, that opinion may, for aught we can certainly know, be true. To deny this is to assume our own infallibility.’

  1929 Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes, of the US Supreme Court, outlines his belief in free speech: ‘The principle of free thought is not free thought for those who agree with us but freedom for the thought we hate.’

  1989 Iranian leader Ayatollah Khomeini issues a fatwa against Salman Rushdie over the ‘blasphemous’ content of his novel, The Satanic Verses. The fatwa is lifted in 1998.

  1992 In Manufacturing Consent, Noam Chomsky points out: ‘Goebbels was in favour of free speech for views he liked. So was Stalin. If you’re in favour of free speech, then you’re in favour of freedom of speech precisely for views you despise.’

  Hate Crimes

  Hate crimes, also known as bias motivated crimes, occur when the victim is targeted because of his membership in a certain group - racial, religious, gender, age, etc. I’m thinking of the lynching of African-Americans, ethnic cleansing in Bosnia, the Holocaust.

  History of hate crimes legislation: The federal hate crimes statute (18 U.S.C. § 245) was originally created to protect civil rights workers in the 1960s. There were serious issues of violence regarding African-Americans enrolling in public schools, enjoying public establishments, travel issues, and more. This statute deals with racial, ethnic, national origin, and religious bias, and does not include sexual orientation. However, almost all states have much broader hate crimes legislation that does include sexual orientation.

  The hype today is hate crime legislation targeting anti-gay sentiment. As far as assaults on gay people or destruction of property, or other violence toward homosexuals, there are already laws in place to deal with these crimes. So why is legislation being considered that criminalizes one’s moral or religious opposition to homosexuality? This clearly conflicts with the First Amendment guarantee of freedom of speech. If someone is inciting others to violence with their speech, this is another issue, but anything less than that is simply criminalizing one’s thoughts. Is this America?

  The expression of moral judgment is the right of a free person in a free society, whether one agrees with it or not. There are community standards and a consensus that help guide social mores, and clearly, there is not consensus on the homosexual issue.

  In 2007 the House passed HR 1592 before it was put away by the Senate. This was an attempt at expanding federal hate crime legislation and will be back. I like what Congressman Ron Paul had to say about HR 1592 (emphasis mine):

  May 7, 2007

  Last week, the House of Representatives acted with disdain for the Constitution and individual liberty by passing HR 1592, a bill creating new federal programs to combat so-called “hate crimes.” The legislation defines a hate crime as an act of violence committed against an individual because of the victim’s race, religion, national origin, gender, sexual orientation, gender identity, or disability. Federal hate crime laws violate the Tenth Amendment’s limitations on federal power. Hate crime laws may also violate the First Amendment guaranteed freedom of speech and religion by criminalizing speech federal bureaucrats define as “hateful.”

  There is no evidence that local governments are failing to apprehend and prosecute criminals motivated by prejudice, in comparison to the apprehension and conviction rates of other crimes. Therefore, new hate crime laws will not significantly reduce crime. Instead of increasing the effectiveness of law enforcement, hate crime laws undermine equal justice under the law by requiring law enforcement and judicial system officers to give priority to investigating and prosecuting hate crimes. Of course, all decent people should condemn criminal acts motivated by prejudice. But why should an assault victim be treated by the legal system as a second-class citizen because his assailant was motivated by greed instead of hate?

  HR 1592, like all hate crime laws, imposes a longer sentence on a criminal motivated by hate than on someone who commits the same crime with a different motivation. Increasing sentences because of motivation goes beyond criminalizing acts; it makes it a crime to think certain thoughts. Criminalizing even the vilest hateful thoughts–as opposed to willful criminal acts–is inconsistent with a free society.

  HR 1592 could lead to federal censorship of religious or political speech on the grounds that the speech incites hate. Hate crime laws have been used to silence free speech and even the free exercise of religion. For example, a Pennsylvania hate crime law has been used to prosecute peaceful religious demonstrators on the grounds that their public Bible readings could incite violence. One of HR 1592’s supporters admitted that this legislation could allow the government to silence a preacher if one of the preacher’s parishioners commits a hate crime. More evidence that hate crime laws lead to censorship came recently when one member of Congress suggested that the Federal Communications Commission ban hate speech from the airwaves.

  Hate crime laws not only violate the First Amendment, they also violate the Tenth Amendment. Under the United States Constitution, there are only three federal crimes: piracy, treason, and counterfeiting. All other criminal matters are left to the individual states. Any federal legislation dealing with criminal matters not related to these three issues usurps state authority over criminal law and takes a step toward turning the states into mere administrative units of the federal government.

  Because federal hate crime laws criminalize thoughts, they are incompatible with a free society. Fortunately, President Bush has pledged to veto HR 1592. Of course, I would vote to uphold the president’s veto.

  McCain-Feingold

  Have you ever wondered recently why Dr. Dobson won’t support John McCain for President? It’s partly because of the federal legislation that John McCain (R-AZ) pushed through in 2002, the Bipartisan Campaign Reform Act, known as the McCain-Feingold Act. It basically restricted political free speech by placing new regulations on the financing of political campaigns - both in how much money can be raised and how and when groups can place political ads. For example, the Act requires advocacy groups to name their financial donors if they run ads within 60 days of a general election or within 30 days of a primary, if those ads were targeting candidates. In effect the McCain-Feingold Act limited the ability of groups like Focus on the Family to contact constituents about upcoming legislation.

  George Will commented on it last November:

  It was in 2002, when Congress was putting the final blemishes on the McCain-Feingold law that regulates and rations political speech by controlling the financing of it. The law’s ostensible purpose is to combat corruption or the appearance thereof. But by restricting the quantity and regulating the content and timing of political speech, the law serves incumbents, who are better known than most challengers, more able to raise money and uniquely able to use aspects of their offices — franked mail, legislative initiatives, C-SPAN, news conferences — for self-promotion.

  Has anyone noticed how left-wing political speech (especially if you’re a Muslim) is protected and conservative political speech (especially if you’re a Christian) puts you in jail?

  And did you notice how House Speaker Pelosi exercised her free speech to call President Bush a “total failure” yesterday (inciting and fueling hatred of America?), yet Pelosi referred to conservative talk-radio as “hate” radio and wants to bring back the Fairness Doctrine (effectively censors conservative opinion on TV and radio).

  It’s only “hateful” speech if it’s anything under the sun the liberals disagree with; otherwise it’s “fairness.” Apparently only liberals/Muslims/gays/anybody-but-conservative-Christians deserve free speech (and deserve to hate).

  Are you disturbed about infringements on free speech?

  Technorati Tags: faith, McCain-Feingold, Nancy Pelosi, free speech, First Amendment, Four Freedoms, Norman Rockwel, hate speech, hate crimes, Ron Paul, Dr. Dobson, Focus on the Family

• July 16, 2008
• 7:59

  Christian Carnival CCXXXIII: The Hilarious Edition

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  We don’t have to look far for bad news these days. I thought we could all use a dose of humor and fun, so welcome to the 233rd Christian Carnival: the Hilarious Edition! This is not to downplay the seriousness of world issues or the personal crises we find ourselves in, but a “joy break” to perhaps recharge your soul.

  Today’s blog posts will be salted with Christian humor, and I do pray you come away with a smile on your face. This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it!

  A little boy was sitting in church next to his mother one evening. In the middle of a song, the mother thought her son was singing the song a little differently. She leaned over and heard him sing, “We bring the sacks of rice and beans.” The song was “We bring the Sacrifice of Praise.”

  Keith Williams presents My NLT Odyssey: A Bible translation story posted at NLT Blog.

  FMF presents Robert Kiyosaki on Tithing posted at Free Money Finance.

  My daughter (now 19) was about 2 years old when we sat down at the dinner table to eat. When asked if she would like to say the blessing, she was excited to pray. With hands folded and heads bowed she began…God is great, God is good, let us thank Him for our food….. if he hollers, let him go…eeeenie……

  Robert Minto presents Living In Heaven Today: A Meeting of Newman and Kline on the Subject of Holiness posted at The Veil Away.

  Ali presents A sin with a lasting stain. posted at Kiwi and an Emu..

  A Sunday school teacher was discussing the Ten Commandments with her five and six year olds. After explaining the commandment to “honor thy father and thy mother,” she asked “Is there a commandment that teaches us how to treat our brothers and sisters?” Without missing a beat one little boy answered, “Thou shall not kill.”

  Tiffany Partin presents I Want It My Way posted at Fathom Deep: Sounding the Depths of God.

  Raffi Shahinian presents Incoherent Ramblings That Might or Might Not Have Something to Say About Jesus and Affirmative Action…You Decide posted at parables of a prodigal world.

  A kindergarten teacher gave her class a “show and tell” assignment. Each student was instructed to bring in an object to share with the class that represented their religion. The first student got up in front of the class and said, “My name is Benjamin and I am Jewish and this is a Star of David.” The second student got up in front of the class and said, “My name is Mary. I’m a Catholic and this is a Rosary.” The third student got in up front of the class and said, “My name is Tommy. I am Methodist, and this is a casserole.”

  simplyeddie presents Shadows of Christ~ The Death of Abel posted at Simple Life In Christ.

  Erich Bridges presents The stars in their courses posted at CounterCulture.

  The young couple invited their elderly preacher for Sunday dinner. While they were in the kitchen preparing the meal, the minister asked their son what they were having. “Goat,” the little boy replied. “Goat?” replied the startled man of the cloth, “Are you sure about that?” “Yep,” said the youngster. “I heard Dad say to Mom, ‘Today is just as good as any to have the old goat for dinner.’”

  Steve Mounts presents A Vision of God’s Power posted at Steve Mounts.

  Allen Scott presents Passports posted at A View from the Nest.

  Arris Charles presents Anyone Can Balance On Their Head posted at Spirited Ink.

  A Sunday school teacher was telling her class the story of the Good Samaritan, in which a man was beaten, robbed and left for dead. She described the situation in vivid detail so her students would catch the drama. Then she asked the class, “If you saw a person lying on the roadside all wounded and bleeding, what would you do?” A thoughtful little girl broke the hushed silence with……”I think I’d throw up!”

  Richard H. Anderson presents Priestly Blessing posted at dokeo kago grapho soi kratistos Theophilos.

  Michael presents Encouragement posted at Chasing the Wind.

  My son James is four. Whenever he hurts himself we lay hands on the injury and pray for healing. The other day he cut his left finger, took hold of it and prayed: “Jesus come out of my heart, go down my arm and fix my finger. Please Jesus, Amen.” Another time he said grace before our meal. “Dear God, bless our food and don’t let my sister’s head fall off”. His sister was 6 months old at the time; I couldn’t help wondering what James had planned to do with his sister.

  Diane R presents Postmodern Philosophy for the Rest of Us–Part 1 posted at Crossroads: Where Faith and Inquiry Meet.

  Fr. Joshua Wagner presents Miracle Grow! (Homily for the 15th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A) posted at Total Possibility.

  A Sunday School teacher asked her class, “what was Jesus’ mother’s name?“ A Child answered, “Mary.” The teacher then asked, “and what was her husband’s name?“ Another child answered, “The Verge.” Confused, the teacher asked, “where did you get that?“ The child replied: “You know, they are always talking about “the Verge ‘n Mary.“

  Mark Olson presents A Bone To Pick (with my brethren in Christ) posted at Pseudo-Polymath.

  e-Mom presents Bible Study: Jesus’ Use of Q & A posted at C h r y s a l i s.

  A little child was looking through his grandmother’s Bible and found a crushed flower that was quite wilted. As it fell from the Bible He called to his Mother, “Come quick Mom, I think I found Adam’s suit.”

  Drew Tatusko presents Making Pro-Life Plausible posted at Notes From Off Center.

  Angela Williams Duea presents Cleaning my spirit house posted at angelawd.

  My children began reciting the Lord’s Prayer at 2 1/2 years old and I remember my daughter very seriously praying, “Our father, whose art’s in Heaven, Howard is His name…”

  David Porter presents A Boomer in the Pew: “Children of the Living God” - Sinclair Ferguson (Chapter 1c) posted at A Boomer in the Pew.

  Ken Brown presents Islam, Christianity and the Freedom to Insult posted at C. Orthodoxy.

  Stephen Hawkins presents Did Christ establish two kinds of churches? posted at Waters to Swim In.

  A little boy got a new tie for his birthday. Sunday morning, he wore the new tie to church. He was so proud of his tie. He made sure everyone noticed it. Once the congregation settled down, the preacher approached the pulpit in preparation for the offering. The preacher said, “Now is the time we give back to the Lord. Please give your tithes(ties) and offerings to Christ.” The little boy looked at his father and said, “Daddy, he wants my tie!”

  William Meisheid presents Knowing God Study Guide Now Complete posted at Beyond The Rim….

  Weekend Fisher presents “Miracles violate the law of nature”–or do they? posted at Heart, Mind, Soul, and Strength.

  A father was reading Bible stories to his young son. He read, “The man named Lot was warned to take his wife and flee out of the city, but his wife looked back and was turned to salt.” His son asked, “What happened to the flea?”

  Jeremy Pierce presents Novel Interpretations and Confidence posted at Parableman.

  Elementaryhistoryteacher presents Reverend: False Elevation or Grammatical Error? posted at Got Bible?.

  An elderly woman had just returned to her home from an evening of church services when she was startled by an intruder. She caught the man in the act of robbing her home of its valuables and yelled, “Stop! Acts 2:38!”

  (Repent and be baptized, in the name of Jesus Christ so that your sins may be forgiven.)

  The burglar stopped in his tracks. The woman calmly called the police and explained what she had done. As the officer cuffed the man to take him in, he asked the burglar, “Why did you just stand there? All the old lady did was yell a scripture to you.” “Scripture?” replied the burglar. “She said she had an ax and two 38’s!”

  John presents How to Be a God-Focused Encourager posted at Light Along the Journey.

  Jot and Tittle presents Confessions of a techno geek… posted at Jot and Tittle.

  Billy Graham tells of a time, during the early years of his preaching ministry, when he was due to lead a crusade meeting in a town in South Carolina, and he needed to mail a letter. He asked a little boy in the main street how he could get to the post office. After the boy had given him directions, Billy said, “If you come to the central Baptist church tonight, I’ll tell you how to get to heaven.” The boy replied, “No thanks, you don’t even know how to get to the post office!”

  ChrisB presents The Bible and Capital Punishment posted at Homeward Bound.

  Heath Countryman presents How Big Is Your Satan? posted at Esprit d’escalier.

  Our little girl had just attended a baptismal service (by immersion). When she came home she ask her mother to fill the tub so she could baptize her dolls. Her mother listened carefully as she put them in the water…”I baptize you in the mane of the father, the son and in the hole you go!”

  Rodney Olsen presents Pushing against the wind posted at RodneyOlsen.net.

  Henry Michael Imler presents The Jobian Take on Righteousness posted at Theology for the Masses.

  After the Christmas pageant, I asked my 6-year-old son if he remembered the gifts that the Magi brought to Jesus. He thought for a minute then said “gold, frankincense, and humor.” We could all use that!

  Thank you for visiting this hilarious edition of the Christian Carnival! Next week it will be hosted by A True Believer’s Weblog. You may submit your blog post here by Tuesday, July 22, Midnight ET.
  

  Technorati Tags: Christian Carnival, humor

• July 15, 2008
• 9:07

  Squeeze that lemon!

   » ‎ Diary of 1

  Tags:    [edit]

  We’ve all heard the saying that if life hands you a lemon, you make lemonade. We literally put this into practice a few days ago.

  Little L neglected to wear his shoes while racing around on the wooden porch, and got a big sliver in his foot. I had to pull it out, and as a last minute thought, I grabbed a lemon off the counter. Honey, squeeze this lemon as hard as you can, I advised. It will help take the pain away.

  The sliver was deep and long, and I knew it hurt, but that distracted little boy squeezed his lemon so hard I could smell the citrus scent. What fun he had. I think I heard just one small peep about the sliver as I was drawing the last of it out. I made a mental note to always have lemons on hand.
  

  If you know kids, they didn’t want to stop there. All the lemons were cut and squeezed by several tiny hands. “I popped out a seed!” was heard several times. “I squeezed more than you!” of course was on the table as well. At this point, the kids realized they were thirsty from all this squeezing. The sliver that started it all was forgotten.

  The fresh squeezed lemon juice was poured with a sense of wonder. “We need water! We need sugar!” came the cries of industrious children. I tasted their creation, and it was good.

  The flurry of activity didn’t end there. Before I knew it, my daughter had prepared a “lemonade for sale” sign, which was changed to “free lemonade, tips okay.” (”I usually get more money that way,” confided my seven-year-old entrepreneur.) About $7.00 later, I had a passel of sticky, lemony, sliver-free children, and felt like I had witnessed the life cycle of a lemon.

  And it all started with a stubborn slice of wood stuck in my son’s foot. Truly, I don’t think I’ll forget this scenario the next time I hear the lemon cliché!

  *****

  Don’t forget that the Christian Carnival is here tomorrow at Diary of 1. You can still submit posts until midnight Eastern Time tonight, using this submission form.

  Technorati Tags: children, Christian Carnival, lemons, making lemonade, getting out slivers