He bites. His brother pushes, hits. He screams and cries. What is it with fighting? Why does it sometimes seem people never outgrow it? I know my kids are prone to fight. I often just separate them as this solution seems the most effective (at least short-term). When you come across adults who are prone to fighting, arguing, tearing others down, they tend to major in dishonesty, unwillingness to explore both sides of a story, to acknowledge the position with the most proof may be the better one even if it's not their position. At its core, with my kids it seems clear they fight largely because they feel threatened or want to establish dominance. Big people seem to have the same motives. Again, it seems like the most effective short-term solution (maybe only solution) is just to stay away from these types. In the long run teaching peace and thoughtfulness by example and word may be effective. Fighting doesn`t make anyone happy. No one.
Though it sounds flippant, too simple perhaps, the Bible says Love is the most excellent way. This love is not without discernment as such is not real love. But it`s thoughtful, Word-saturated, truthful, beautiful, growing.

I really struggle with worrying. I worry about what will happen next to me, to my husband, to our kids. I'm concerned the kids will mess up their lives or that we will be floundering around trying to find a  job situation (again) or that I'm wasting my life, not really doing anything worthwhile, missing out on something, I guess. There are so many ideas of what we should be doing---
One thing Scripture does clearly say, in connection with the issue of worrying, no less, is that we're not to be anxious but to give thanks in everything. Making a point of recognizing God's gifts is what we're to exchange worry for. I appreciated this emphasis in Ann Voskamp's book 1000 Gifts.
I don't think this gratitude means that we fail to acknowledge that life is difficult, that it is meaningless without God, that that hole, that lack of satisfaction drives us to long for Him and for heaven. But God has been so good to us and we do have so much to be grateful for. Those who belong to Him have found joy in the worst of circumstances and we, who for the most part, have relatively easy, even mundane lives by contrast, can see Him at work as well. He gives to us so many evidences of Himself. As Herbert indicates in his poem "The Pulley," either the gifts or the lack of perfection (the restlessness) should drive us to His feet.

Cyberspace is a black hole I sometimes get lost in trying to find something substantive and failing. Its a rash of opinions, most of which have some good points and some not-so. At the end of the day, we have to apply truth to our own situations and no one else can do it for us. I know it's staggering but popularity isn't equivalent to value.
It is comforting to know that others have similar struggles to ours but all that really does is let us know that we're not alone in our difficulties without showing us a way out. Even if someone has found a way out, her solution may or may not work for me.
So I guess sooner or later I'm convicted that I must seek the Word, seek the face of God because only the One who is higher and greater than I am can offer me more than comfort and camaraderie. He offers me Himself, the Solution, the Meaning, the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

I've been a single mom the past few days as my husband's been gone on a church retreat. I'm so glad he's finally coming home tonight. While there is something so sweet about having someone to share your life, yourself with, there is no way that person can be your all in all. Only God can fill in all the spaces and only through the pain of letting Him do so, stopping the search for that satisfaction elsewhere and settling down into Him. I'm not there. I still keep searching. Every day is a challenge to quit it. To really accept that I cannot make myself happy. No pursuit but the pursuit of Him is ultimately fulfilling. Teach me, Jesus, and please, for once help me retain this knowledge. So much book knowledge just keeps slipping out of my head that I guess I should not be surprised that I cannot seem to hold onto this either. But others can aid us in the holding on. They can hold us accountable. They can attest to their also recognizing what we painfully discover, whether they precede or follow us. They can follow with us. We can be knit by the same purpose though we cannot be that purpose for one another. Tonight when my husband comes home to me, we may hold each other but we will be held by the One who sustains.

There's nothing quite as embarrassing as kids making a scene in public. Today Lukas knocked over a grocery cart with the other three in it. He was trying to be helpful, I think, but they were overloaded on one end. The whole thing toppled over. No one was hurt but sales clerks came running and kept saying, "If you need any help--"  "If there's anything we can do--" Like call social services because you're an unfit mother, I hoped they weren't thinking but was afraid they were.
I was very glad we were on the way out.
Grace reveals itself most in the way we handle imperfections, big ones and small ones. I'm glad for and dependent on that grace that helps us keep going and not give up, or at least not give up for too long :)
I'm still very much a work in progress and so are my kids.
I like that kids' song, "He's still working on me to make me what I ought to be. It took Him just a week to make the moon and stars, the sun and the earth and Jupiter and Mars. How loving and patient He must be. He's still working on me."

Love three-way or more hugs, the kids throwing their arms around each other; toothless grins; long, lanky limbs, round cheeks, soft hair. Love husband's strong, broad shoulders; big hands; warm, blue eyes.
Don't like the squabbles, repetitive tasks, hollow feelings, sugared-over dreams.
So grateful for new days, second chances, mercies anew.

Yesterday, I told a friend at church that I don't really struggle w/ moodiness. Then today I was truly in a funk and only slightly able to appreciate the irony of it. Visiting in-laws and a late night doubtless contributed, but still, I simply inexplicably couldn't seem to shake the cloud I was under, like an erstwhile (not being exactly certain what that word means and not bothering to look it up but liking the sound of it) cartoon character.
So I yelled at my kids quite a bit and treated my husband like a psychiatrist. I'm so grateful he listens to me and nods and grunts at appropriate times. Sometimes he also gives great feedback. The sweetest is when it comes a while after the fact and I know he's been thinking about what I said and how to respond to it. I cried a little too, self-pity, exhaustion, or something.
When it feels like life is hopeless and you're beating your head against the wall and disappearing into a funnel cloud (sometimes mixed metaphors just are), you can hold on tight until it's over, pray for a way out, just quit and find something useful to do? I really don't know. I'm from a family history of highs and lows, borderline or full-on mental imbalances. Equilibrium isn't easy for anyone to maintain but is harder for some than others.
I do know that pain can be powerful in producing fruit, bitter or sweet. Aren't we all familiar with the phrase, "Use the pain"? But doing so, letting it make something beautiful out of you, is divine work.
And I long after the Divine, the Lover of my soul, to do something with it and with all that comes to it, to finish the work He's begun, that even this might be to His glory.

Today was a more typical homeschool day, I guess. We began with Horizons math after breakfast. I explained the concepts on their worksheets and then my first and second graders finished their lessons. Next I had them do a section in Spelling Workout B. Then I talked over some grammar concepts from Abeka Language 3. I only have them complete some on their own and we do some together. Also, the kids share the book.
I read and we talked about Ecclesiastes 3. They copied verse 11 in cursive. We found the location on the globe of the events we'd just read about in Story of the World 4.   The kids wrote summaries (mostly copied the summaries I helped them put together) of the events.  After lunch, I read from Sign of the Beaver. They read (their choice) about farm machinery and big trucks (Lukas) and a Canadian girl story (Lici). They wrote part of a Stevenson poem I dictated.

Our days aren't always the same and often do emphasize one subject over the others and can sometimes really jump around, as you probably noticed. Today I think we did more writing. Yesterday it was science.
In my mix, I also have a just-turned five-year-old and a just-turned-three-year-old. I have Liam do some simple math and writing/ copywork and we're slowly working through The Ordinary Parents Guide to Teaching Reading. I'm just trying to get Lethei to count objects up to five and recognize a few letter sounds, maybe try to trace some. She loves to make circles.

They bicker. They get distracted easily. I sometimes wonder if they're really making much progress at all. I spend a lot of time trying to come up with better curriculum, better ideas or approaches. I pray--occasionally out loud--for help.
Without a doubt, this endeavor has made me recognize anew my need for God's strengthening, guiding hand.
I've many limitations and a short memory. I have trouble sticking with anything. We've tried some Sonlight, Abeka, Well Trained Mind, and Charlotte Mason materials. The options out there can drive you crazy if you keep second-guessing yourself, as I have.
 I'm trying
to take one day at a time
to make the most of it
for Him.

homeschool adventures

Lukas pushed Ernie crazily down the winding hallways in the hospital yesterday after his surgical procedure, before and after which Ern watched a movie on his phone--something I thought a funny thing to do under the circumstances. But we all do funny things.
So we're careening around corners, almost hit the wall several times, and then get into the elevator. A lady gets on after us and asks one of the kids if there was no school today. He says no, because I hardly ever let them out of school work. She looks puzzled and like she wants more info since they're obviously not in a schoolroom at the moment. She says she's taking her son back to school (it's approximately lunch time).
Today we went to the science center in Calgary and listened to a Spanish cd, a read along Treasure Island cd and my reading from the fourth book in the Story of the World series while we drove. Cross off language and history. I had quizzed the kids w/ math cards at breakfast before we left the house and called that math for the day.
Our science museum, hands-on earth, energy, creativity counted for that subject as far as I was concerned, not to mention the Magic School Bus video we watched on the road on the way back home. There were all body physical activities at the museum too that seemed to me to work for phys. ed. and recess.
Most times our days are rather more structured, more at- the- desk- or- table type of school (at least part of the day), but these flexible days seem to me to be memorable learning too.
Homeschool's a huge commitment and not for everyone, but it does help to foster a the- world- is- our- classroom perspective that I hope our whole family keeps up w/ even if we don't continue to homeschool. (Yes, I know the tense changes and hyphenated modifiers are weird but knowing is at least half the battle, right?:)

Hide and seek behind the shed, behind the van, behind the tree. What is it keeping you from being seen, from seeing yourself?
Here's my poem.
The way out is the way in.
Doing what you love is loving what you do, being all in.
Find a way to trust in the dark, in the shadows, in the cold. Be lit by a light that doesn't come from you.

The way out is the way in.

We're a bit of a wreck, more than a bit of one. My sink's full of dirty dishes, shoes and coats lie in piles by the door, dirty clothes spill over the floor of the laundry room.
My kids fight with sticks in the backyard and wrestle on the couch, jump over the banisters, wear   shoes without socks.
We all have trouble standing still.
But sometimes we catch a glimpse of glory in the middle of it all.

And what do we really have to do and what do we not have to?
Whose rules do we, should we, follow?
Becoming isn't an easy thing.

Only what He has for
me and mine is what I want.

Today Lukas cut Lethei's hair and threw stones in the puddles. Liam refused to eat chocolate because it would be bad for his cold. Lici fell asleep on the couch and spoke to someone? in her unconscious state. Lethei danced. Ern watched Planet of the Apes before and after an outpatient surgical procedure.

I write to you or to no one but God. Something like that sing/dance/ be like nobody's watching.

Live fully now. In today's mercies new.

My kids don't like waiting in lines. I don't either. It's hard with a whiny toddler in need of a nap, not to mention three other squirrely ones, to exercise such patience and self-control and encourage them to do the same. Sometimes, it just doesn't seem like whatever it is is even worth the wait.
But if I make the decision to leave or exchange a long line for a shorter option, I pray I will do it graciously, without conveying frustration, without losing my testimony.
When we took a walk the other day, a lady walking her dog mentioned she thought she'd seen me and the kids at Safeway the other day. I didn't remember her, but immediately found myself hoping we'd been better behaved than usual. Sometimes I really wonder if we're much of a light at all.
But then this morning I read a letter Lici wrote to a little friend. "Are you a Christian? Do you know Jesus as your Savior? Do you like math? Do you like books a lot? I do. I love you, Lici." Of course her spelling wasn't perfect, but I was touched with her heart, first and foremost concern for her playmate's soul.
May God keep working on us until He comes or takes us home.
I pray that through our cracks, His light will shine.

Here's more of the story of yesterday. My not being able to sleep because of thinking of everything I had to do is followed by frustration at not being able to find the cheese grater. I need to bake two quiche but I need the cheese grater to prepare them. So I stick in the oven some sort of root vegetable pie Ern picked up on sale. Then I find the cheese grater.
I pray for grace, that I'll keep my focus on what's truly important, this day of all days. But I've got small children to help get ready for church. I've still got turkey salad sandwiches to put together. I've got oranges to slice. There may be visitors who don't bring food and I should bring extra for them.

The quiche turns out beautifully.

At the breakfast, I run around, trying to keep track of all my chicks and being a bit of a mother hen to all present, though not really accomplishing much, as I'm trying to make sure to greet visitors, compliment special dishes, get everybody upstairs in time for the morning service.

Lethei, Lici, and Liam all fight with each other during the song service and I belt out "He Lives," a little louder, hoping they'll be convicted of not thinking about Jesus's resurrection when we're all singing about it.
In junior church, a boy narrows his eyes at me. The curriculum does seem somewhat trivial. A TV show format?
So I open the very old children's Bible story book and we look at the beautiful illlustrations and read the Easter story. I relate the sacrifice, the miracle. They are riveted, vying for a closer spot. Some how the meaning of the this day is not lost after all. God is in it. He is alive.

Friday night, we sat on the floor in our windowless bathroom in the dark, holding fat birthday candles, four of them. Lethei didn't have one, as she's only two. Ernie read the Bible, so he didn't have one either.
He read of the first Fall in the garden that we would all repeat as we each fall as well, whether or not there's light on our paths. He read prophecy of the coming Messiah, and he read of the Crucifixion.
As he read, wax dripped on our fingers and on the floor--hot, searing.
As he read, we blew out our lights.
We left a completely dark room.

Today we greeted each other with "He is risen!"
"He is risen indeed!"
And Lici hid plastic eggs for the boys to find all over the house. The prized ones were the empty one and the one with a nail inside. The cross and the empty tomb.

We sang of a risen Savior with church family. We spoke of new life. We wore new clothes and ate breakfast together and were joyful because He knew agony for us.

We have hope for life now and to come. He is our hope. Because He died and because He lives.

You know how teenagers often look like they're under a dark cloud, sullen, shadowed, untouchable? Then there are those few exceptions, those who are lit up up from within. These really stand out because they are unusual and because they are as bright as the others are dark.

In two different youth groups I've seen this phenomenon, a teenager who doesn't care what anyone else thinks but is as secure as the rest are not, more content than even many adults dream of being.
It is possible for a teen to actually listen, to hear and hold on to truth and purpose.
Finding worth in God is beautiful beyond description.

It exudes from the inner being in an uncanny way.
It's a glow no beauty product can produce and that can be seen in a very old wrinkled face as well as a young one. It really is mesmerizingly attractive.

Today we remember Jesus's death, the beauty of his sinless suffering bitterness and pain that we might know sweet mercy. Perhaps we go to a service. Perhaps we spend time with family. We may read the story alone or with others. There may be traditions we enjoy. But however we keep Him central, remembering the hope and the light He is, He is truly the source of the glow.

Last night in kids' club we read Jonah. I explained how the three nights in the whale was referred to as a sign by Jesus. Kids' eyes lit up. "I get it! He was three days in the fish like Jesus was three days in the grave."
"Yes, Jonah because of his sin, Jesus because of ours. Then Jonah got a second chance, and so did we."
"God is powerful."
"God is merciful."
"Jonah seems like a jerk."
"But who wrote the book that describes him that way?"
"He did."
"Think he figured it out? Finally realized he was wrong?"
Hesitation, then slow nods, and a smile. "Yea, I think so."

Out of the chaos, out of the clanging, out of the cacophony, could you, Lord, pull out the melody? Right it? Turn the ugliness into dissonance that resolves? Make something beautiful?
I've not taken enough theory, haven't enough of an ear, to get anywhere with this endeavor.
My fingers as awkward as Liam's, too big, too stiff. I'm like him unable to read the music, translate it to the keys without pushing notes I'd not intended to, sliding off the ones I wanted.
Sometimes I guide his hands.
Would you guide mine?
Sometimes I play with him.
Will you play along with me?
What's that you say? You're interceding, working, more than I can comprehend. Master composer, master musician, master conductor, master instrumentalist, direct and play me.
Something harmonious.
Something pleasing.
A new song.

The Jews accused Jesus of stirring up the people.
He impacts people of every nationality and age.
He moves them.
Some respond in ridicule, some wish to hide from Him, some see His righteousness, recognize their need for it as well.
He is not a respecter of persons.
If anything, it seems it's the unlikely, the weak, the downtrodden, who find special refuge in Him.
His way is to have those who would lead follow and serve,  those who are weak find strength in Him, the first be last, the last first.
In C.S. Lewis's Till We Have Faces, Psyche does menial tasks until she's reunited with the god. So our lives are often filled with menial, lowly tasks.
In whatever we do, we're to do as to Him, for Him, through Him, because of Him, for His glory.
Being unnoticed by any but Him can be a great blessing.
That He only may praise us, that He alone be seen, in many sometimes seemingly very small, insignificant, different people, treasured by Him, stirred up by Him.

Peace-craving

The kids fight. They don't listen. They complain.
Crashing, crying, screeching. So much Noise.

I want them to love each other, to enjoy each other's company. I want them to learn, to grow, to find joy, to know contentment not because life is easy but because God is faithful.

Lici's jealousy is so like my feeling that God does more for others, their lives are more noteworthy, more fulfilled than mine. How ugly that it lashes out in trying to take or manipulate or rationalize or resent! Would I could take joy in others' victories, without feeling threatened or belittled, without comparing myself with them!

I thrash about instead of being quiet, heading His voice.
I whine.

But He is good.
He is here.
How can I be more grateful? More growing?

He died for me.
Before the nails, Mary poured perfume on his feet. A years wages. And the disciples mocked.
Then the crowds cheered for the King whom they would turn against so soon.

Just like me.
I hold Him high and then I turn against Him.
Is it any wonder that my children follow my example?
I need the Crucified One to cleanse me and the Spirit to work in me to change me today and every day.
May they see God in me. His peace. Not my noise.