I'm volunteering in my daughter's classroom today.
Surrounded by flowers, magnifying glasses, and scissors, I'm told I should let the children observe, draw, and then tear the flowers apart for scientific purposes.
"There's juice in here!" One boy cries and squeezes out the insides of the flower's stem. "There's lots of juice in here, but it smells like asparagus." He passes the stem around to let the others share in his discovery.
"Did you know," another boy claims, "that if you cut a cactus in half, you could drink all the juice inside and live for days in the desert? Did you know that?"
"I'm so relieved!" I say. "We wouldn't die out there. We'd find a cactus and slurp all the juice."
"We'd be OK," the children say, comforted by the thought of it.
We would. I look at flowers and stems cut to pieces around me. At that point of destruction, water flows. We keep tearing, and I think, "Even in the desert, we'd survive."
We're all nodding together as water seeps onto our magnifying glasses, our fingers, and even our desks.
We will survive. No matter what the drought, we will. Torn apart, water flows.
___________________
Penn State needs continued prayer. Thank you.
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Friday, November 11, 2011
Sunday, November 6, 2011
There's a Child In There
My daughters help rake the leaves into huge piles on the lawn. They use the tree swing to launch up and across the yard, releasing themselves like summer swimmers into a lake of golden water.
If you want to experience the season, burrow into the leaves with the children.
They hide deep within the piles, and even though it's decades later, I still recall the burnt spiced smell of leaf piles. I feel their scratch and crinkle on my face.
I see the afternoon sun filtered through a million brown leaves. I hear that particular muffled silence that changes the whole world for a moment. I taste the leaves' earthen powder on my lips.
My daughter surfaces, smiling.
She's in there.
Living with flair means we burrow deep, experiencing it.
_________________________
Do you have leaf pile memories?
If you want to experience the season, burrow into the leaves with the children.
They hide deep within the piles, and even though it's decades later, I still recall the burnt spiced smell of leaf piles. I feel their scratch and crinkle on my face.
 |
| A Child Hides in the Leaf Pile |
My daughter surfaces, smiling.
Living with flair means we burrow deep, experiencing it.
_________________________
Do you have leaf pile memories?
Friday, September 16, 2011
First Grade, iPads, and the New Language of Six-Year-Olds
We're driving across town, and my six-year-old and I have the following conversation:
"Mom, I uploaded two new apps to the iPad they gave me in computer time today."
(Note: I don't have an iPad. I don't even have a phone that connects to the internet.)
"Really? What apps?"
"Well, one is for learning words, and the other is a game you play with another person. And the other person is really a computer program!"
"That sounds fun," I say, but I'm still wondering why my daughter uses an iPad and I don't. She's uploading apps, and I'm not sure I would know how.
I remember my first grade year. This language of apps and uploading didn't exist in my vocabulary. Many words my six-year-old knows didn't exist when I was a first grader: Google, Facebook, MP3's, DVR's, DVD's, Internet, and even words like microwave and cell phones never came out of my mouth. In fact, we didn't have a home computer until after I was in college. Even more shocking is that I dated my husband without the use of cell phones or texting. We didn't own mobile phones back then.
My college students always ask me how that worked. "How did you find each other during the day? How did anybody know where you were?" They stare at me, mouths agape, breathing rapidly in terror as they imagine a world without texting.
"Well, a person might leave a message on an answering machine on a ground line phone or write a note with an actual pencil and post it to the dorm room door."
It's inconceivable to them.
I wonder--in forty years--what someone might ask my daughter about life in 2011. You used iPads? How old-fashioned! How did you ever manage?
What words will a future generation speak that have not yet come into existence?
__________________________
Journal: Does it shock you that first-graders use iPads and upload apps as part of a school day?
"Mom, I uploaded two new apps to the iPad they gave me in computer time today."
(Note: I don't have an iPad. I don't even have a phone that connects to the internet.)
"Really? What apps?"
"Well, one is for learning words, and the other is a game you play with another person. And the other person is really a computer program!"
"That sounds fun," I say, but I'm still wondering why my daughter uses an iPad and I don't. She's uploading apps, and I'm not sure I would know how.
I remember my first grade year. This language of apps and uploading didn't exist in my vocabulary. Many words my six-year-old knows didn't exist when I was a first grader: Google, Facebook, MP3's, DVR's, DVD's, Internet, and even words like microwave and cell phones never came out of my mouth. In fact, we didn't have a home computer until after I was in college. Even more shocking is that I dated my husband without the use of cell phones or texting. We didn't own mobile phones back then.
My college students always ask me how that worked. "How did you find each other during the day? How did anybody know where you were?" They stare at me, mouths agape, breathing rapidly in terror as they imagine a world without texting.
"Well, a person might leave a message on an answering machine on a ground line phone or write a note with an actual pencil and post it to the dorm room door."
It's inconceivable to them.
I wonder--in forty years--what someone might ask my daughter about life in 2011. You used iPads? How old-fashioned! How did you ever manage?
What words will a future generation speak that have not yet come into existence?
__________________________
Journal: Does it shock you that first-graders use iPads and upload apps as part of a school day?
Thursday, September 1, 2011
"The Higher You Go, The More Sap There Is"
My daughter climbs high into the pine trees and returns to me covered in tree sap. It's everywhere: hands, feet (she climbs barefoot!), arms, and all over her new white shorts. They're ruined.
The next day, she climbs again. More sap. More ruinous results. What can I do? Do I ban tree climbing? I imagine her high within those limbs, smelling the sweet pine oil, and enjoying the wind on her face. Once, I climbed so high into a pine tree that I could see the top of my own house. Something about that vantage point gave me confidence as a little girl. Marked by sap, I returned to the earth happier.
That horrible sap! But I know this: Just because there's sap doesn't mean she shouldn't climb. And the higher you want to go, she tells me, the more sap there is. Perhaps every truly great pleasure brings its own form of darkness--its own trouble and cost--and we learn to account for it and manage it. We learn to battle it because the higher we go, the more trouble comes. I find this true spiritually and emotionally especially. The more we embrace God, the more the enemy pursues. The more we love, the more we risk.
But we're ready. We are willing because the vantage point we gain delivers a certain joy. What's a little sap in light of this joy?
Besides, we discover that Pine Sol cleaner really does remove tree sap from white shorts.
_________________
Journal: Have you found that the higher you go, the more sap (trouble!) you experience?
The next day, she climbs again. More sap. More ruinous results. What can I do? Do I ban tree climbing? I imagine her high within those limbs, smelling the sweet pine oil, and enjoying the wind on her face. Once, I climbed so high into a pine tree that I could see the top of my own house. Something about that vantage point gave me confidence as a little girl. Marked by sap, I returned to the earth happier.
That horrible sap! But I know this: Just because there's sap doesn't mean she shouldn't climb. And the higher you want to go, she tells me, the more sap there is. Perhaps every truly great pleasure brings its own form of darkness--its own trouble and cost--and we learn to account for it and manage it. We learn to battle it because the higher we go, the more trouble comes. I find this true spiritually and emotionally especially. The more we embrace God, the more the enemy pursues. The more we love, the more we risk.
But we're ready. We are willing because the vantage point we gain delivers a certain joy. What's a little sap in light of this joy?
Besides, we discover that Pine Sol cleaner really does remove tree sap from white shorts.
_________________
Journal: Have you found that the higher you go, the more sap (trouble!) you experience?
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Why We Need a "Yes!" Day
It's only 7:30 PM, and I'm falling asleep. My oldest daughter climbs up beside me on the bed and says, "Mom, you really need a Yes! day. That's what you need! Remember the Yes! day?"
Oh, I remember.
A few years ago, I felt like every word out of my mouth was, "No." I'd scream that word about everything. No she couldn't eat this, touch that, go there. No she couldn't stay up late, sleep out in a tent, climb that tree, bake that thing, or visit that place.
I saw her little shoulders slump down further and further with every "No!"
So one day, I told her I was changing my ways. We were going to try out a Yes! day. For one entire day, I would say Yes! to every single thing she asked.
It was a very long and very strange day.
It involved brownies for breakfast, glitter, playgrounds, visiting neighborhood dogs, eating pizza, and watching movies. It involved baking, bubble baths, lip gloss, and dancing. It involved Polly Pockets somehow. I can't remember each event, but I remember I learned to say, "Yes!"
"Why do I need a Yes! day?" I ask her, rubbing my eyes and yawning.
"You need a break. You need to say Yes! to yourself."
(insert long pause as a mother sits up, tilts her head, and considers the wisdom of a child)
She's nodding with the words of an ancient soul. "You need to wake up and say Yes! to the stuff you want. You know, the things you love. Maybe just for a day, you could say Yes! to all the things you love and want." She furrows her eyebrows very seriously. "Like coffee. You could get the best coffee tomorrow."
I want to cry. Moms forget to say Yes! to themselves.
____________________
Journal: What am I saying Yes! to today?
Oh, I remember.
A few years ago, I felt like every word out of my mouth was, "No." I'd scream that word about everything. No she couldn't eat this, touch that, go there. No she couldn't stay up late, sleep out in a tent, climb that tree, bake that thing, or visit that place.
I saw her little shoulders slump down further and further with every "No!"
So one day, I told her I was changing my ways. We were going to try out a Yes! day. For one entire day, I would say Yes! to every single thing she asked.
It was a very long and very strange day.
It involved brownies for breakfast, glitter, playgrounds, visiting neighborhood dogs, eating pizza, and watching movies. It involved baking, bubble baths, lip gloss, and dancing. It involved Polly Pockets somehow. I can't remember each event, but I remember I learned to say, "Yes!"
"Why do I need a Yes! day?" I ask her, rubbing my eyes and yawning.
"You need a break. You need to say Yes! to yourself."
(insert long pause as a mother sits up, tilts her head, and considers the wisdom of a child)
She's nodding with the words of an ancient soul. "You need to wake up and say Yes! to the stuff you want. You know, the things you love. Maybe just for a day, you could say Yes! to all the things you love and want." She furrows her eyebrows very seriously. "Like coffee. You could get the best coffee tomorrow."
I want to cry. Moms forget to say Yes! to themselves.
____________________
Journal: What am I saying Yes! to today?
Friday, August 5, 2011
Seaweed and My Back-to-School Plan
I'm learning that children eat anything if you wrap it in seaweed.
I make a pot of rice and then mix in some rice vinegar.
I spread the sticky rice over the seaweed, and then I arrange some cream cheese, scrambled eggs, and spinach on top.
I roll it up.
I slice and serve it.
The sushi disappears.
Who knew that my daughters and their friends would eat whatever I roll into the rice and seaweed? I experiment with fish, nectarines, various vegetables, and even more cream cheese. Gone.
I'm packing sushi for lunch when school starts with lots and lots of spinach. Living with flair means you wrap things in seaweed sometimes because children (and adults) love novelty and food art.
Maybe we can endure anything if we just clothe it and present it correctly.
___________________
Journal: What can you arrange in a different way to make more appealing?
I make a pot of rice and then mix in some rice vinegar.
I spread the sticky rice over the seaweed, and then I arrange some cream cheese, scrambled eggs, and spinach on top.
I roll it up.
I slice and serve it.
The sushi disappears.
Who knew that my daughters and their friends would eat whatever I roll into the rice and seaweed? I experiment with fish, nectarines, various vegetables, and even more cream cheese. Gone.
I'm packing sushi for lunch when school starts with lots and lots of spinach. Living with flair means you wrap things in seaweed sometimes because children (and adults) love novelty and food art.
Maybe we can endure anything if we just clothe it and present it correctly.
___________________
Journal: What can you arrange in a different way to make more appealing?
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Someone is Looking for You
Last night, my youngest asks me to tell her stories of when I was a little girl.
"What kind of stories?" I ask.
"The ones when you get lost and someone has to find you," she says.
I've never told her a story like this. But that's the story she wants to hear: a little girl lost and then found.
Sometimes I think we can tap into the one great True Narrative just by asking children the kinds of stories they want to hear. The story I tell her is the greatest story I know. A girl was lost--desperately and hopelessly so--but a great God was looking for her and wouldn't let her go. He searched long and far and wide. And he left clues and messages and little gifts along the trail to remind her of the way home.
I was lost but Someone was looking for me.
______________
Journal: Children love stories of lost and found, and they love hide-n-seek. What other stories do children love that reflect the great story of God seeking after us?
"What kind of stories?" I ask.
"The ones when you get lost and someone has to find you," she says.
I've never told her a story like this. But that's the story she wants to hear: a little girl lost and then found.
Sometimes I think we can tap into the one great True Narrative just by asking children the kinds of stories they want to hear. The story I tell her is the greatest story I know. A girl was lost--desperately and hopelessly so--but a great God was looking for her and wouldn't let her go. He searched long and far and wide. And he left clues and messages and little gifts along the trail to remind her of the way home.
I was lost but Someone was looking for me.
______________
Journal: Children love stories of lost and found, and they love hide-n-seek. What other stories do children love that reflect the great story of God seeking after us?
Thursday, June 23, 2011
What You Monitor
Today my youngest cries out, "Mom, please tell me that you have not written your blog for today!"
"I haven't written my blog for today," I tell her. "Why?"
"Well, I found the thing you are supposed to write about!"
"You did?" I ask.
"Yes! Come with me! There's a little twig hanging from our balcony, and I just know it's a bird's nest."
I go out onto the balcony, and there I see all sorts of tiny bird nests tucked into the gutters, the light posts, and even in the railings. I hadn't noticed them before, but now, they were everywhere. The one by the neighbor's light post has two blue eggs in it.
"What should I write in the blog?" I ask her.
"Tell everybody this: I traveled a very long way to Colorado. I found a bird's nest, and now I have things to check on every morning like I did back in Pennsylvania."
I realize how important--how wonderful--it is for children to observe something growing. A vegetable garden, a bird's nest, their own bodies. . .
Adults take great delight in monitoring growth, but I think we forget the pleasure in it. Maybe that's why I love listening to a professor teach me the book of Romans and help me look back over my own spiritual growth. Maybe that's why I blog every single day. I'm monitoring my own ability to find the one good thing each day, no matter what.
__________________
Journal: What growing thing are you monitoring today?
"I haven't written my blog for today," I tell her. "Why?"
"Well, I found the thing you are supposed to write about!"
"You did?" I ask.
"Yes! Come with me! There's a little twig hanging from our balcony, and I just know it's a bird's nest."
I go out onto the balcony, and there I see all sorts of tiny bird nests tucked into the gutters, the light posts, and even in the railings. I hadn't noticed them before, but now, they were everywhere. The one by the neighbor's light post has two blue eggs in it.
"What should I write in the blog?" I ask her.
"Tell everybody this: I traveled a very long way to Colorado. I found a bird's nest, and now I have things to check on every morning like I did back in Pennsylvania."
I realize how important--how wonderful--it is for children to observe something growing. A vegetable garden, a bird's nest, their own bodies. . .
Adults take great delight in monitoring growth, but I think we forget the pleasure in it. Maybe that's why I love listening to a professor teach me the book of Romans and help me look back over my own spiritual growth. Maybe that's why I blog every single day. I'm monitoring my own ability to find the one good thing each day, no matter what.
__________________
Journal: What growing thing are you monitoring today?
Monday, May 30, 2011
We Could Hardly Wait for This!
We could hardly wait.
No, it wasn't anything electronic, expensive, or fashionable. It wasn't anything involving travel, tickets, or long lines for amusements.
It was a single red strawberry (our first one) in the strawberry patch.
The squeals of laughter! The bare feet running across the morning grass! Living with flair has taught me that the whole family can take great delight in the profoundly simple. This strawberry represents nearly two years of waiting. Last year, we couldn't let the plant produce in order to let the roots go deep. Then, with the help of compost and netting to keep the birds and chipmunks away, we observed those green strawberries growing.
Every single morning we went out to check on the patch.
My youngest daughter just said, "This is the most awesomest day! I can't believe I picked a strawberry!"
It was delicious. All of us had a bite in the kitchen.
Living with flair means simple, patient, ordinary living. You don't need any other life.
And today especially, I'm so thankful for the men and women who fought and died to make these ordinary days possible.
________________________
Journal: Tell us all something about your ordinary life. What beautiful thing happens in your ordinary day?
No, it wasn't anything electronic, expensive, or fashionable. It wasn't anything involving travel, tickets, or long lines for amusements.
It was a single red strawberry (our first one) in the strawberry patch.
 |
| First Ripe Strawberry |
The squeals of laughter! The bare feet running across the morning grass! Living with flair has taught me that the whole family can take great delight in the profoundly simple. This strawberry represents nearly two years of waiting. Last year, we couldn't let the plant produce in order to let the roots go deep. Then, with the help of compost and netting to keep the birds and chipmunks away, we observed those green strawberries growing.
Every single morning we went out to check on the patch.
My youngest daughter just said, "This is the most awesomest day! I can't believe I picked a strawberry!"
It was delicious. All of us had a bite in the kitchen.
Living with flair means simple, patient, ordinary living. You don't need any other life.
And today especially, I'm so thankful for the men and women who fought and died to make these ordinary days possible.
________________________
Journal: Tell us all something about your ordinary life. What beautiful thing happens in your ordinary day?
Monday, April 4, 2011
You Can't Touch This
It's finally warm enough to visit the vernal ponds in the woods behind our house.
Last week, I didn't know what a vernal pond was.
It's a temporary pool of water, normally full of rain or melted snow, that lasts through the spring. What makes a vernal pond so special is the absence of predator fish.
Without fish, a vernal pond allows all the toads, frogs, turtles, salamanders, and newts to develop and thrive without being devoured. You can go to the vernal pond, examine all the eggs, spy on tadpoles and baby turtles, and pick up salamanders.
I learn that in Pennsylvania, nobody knows how many vernal ponds exist or where they are. These secret ponds evaporate and hide. The PA Department of Conservation and Natural Resources sends researchers deep into the woods to locate, certify, and protect these wondrous locations.
What child (and her mother) can resist the mission to discover a secret habitat?
And how can I not relish the symbolism of such a beautiful concept? Just as the forest depends upon that temporary safe haven that cultivates what cannot develop elsewhere, I might form my own vernal ponds--deep within my soul, secret and safe from predators--where the things of God breed and develop.
This new season of birth and growth in nature reminds me to protect my own inner habitat from things that devour my hope and energy. And I want to be the kind of wife, mother, and friend that protects the places deep within the heart where others are growing and changing. I ask myself and others what we need to thrive. I live with flair by developing habitats where what needs to grow in us can and will. Untouched by predators, not threatened by what devours, we have a season to thrive.
(photo from Wikimedia Commons, Werewombat)
_________________________
Journal: What do I need to do to create a thriving habitat both internally and externally in myself and others?
 |
| A Vernal Pond |
Last week, I didn't know what a vernal pond was.
It's a temporary pool of water, normally full of rain or melted snow, that lasts through the spring. What makes a vernal pond so special is the absence of predator fish.
Without fish, a vernal pond allows all the toads, frogs, turtles, salamanders, and newts to develop and thrive without being devoured. You can go to the vernal pond, examine all the eggs, spy on tadpoles and baby turtles, and pick up salamanders.
I learn that in Pennsylvania, nobody knows how many vernal ponds exist or where they are. These secret ponds evaporate and hide. The PA Department of Conservation and Natural Resources sends researchers deep into the woods to locate, certify, and protect these wondrous locations.
What child (and her mother) can resist the mission to discover a secret habitat?
And how can I not relish the symbolism of such a beautiful concept? Just as the forest depends upon that temporary safe haven that cultivates what cannot develop elsewhere, I might form my own vernal ponds--deep within my soul, secret and safe from predators--where the things of God breed and develop.
This new season of birth and growth in nature reminds me to protect my own inner habitat from things that devour my hope and energy. And I want to be the kind of wife, mother, and friend that protects the places deep within the heart where others are growing and changing. I ask myself and others what we need to thrive. I live with flair by developing habitats where what needs to grow in us can and will. Untouched by predators, not threatened by what devours, we have a season to thrive.
(photo from Wikimedia Commons, Werewombat)
_________________________
Journal: What do I need to do to create a thriving habitat both internally and externally in myself and others?
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Screaming "Base!"
Today I chase my daughter around the living room to tickle her. At one point, she defiantly stops in her tracks, places one hand on the couch and screams, "Base!"
"I'm safe! I'm safe on base! You can't touch me!" she insists, nodding her head and putting one hand up as a stop sign.
I wait patiently for her to move from "base" only to find that as soon as she's nearly in my grip, she just touches the wall and screams, "Base!" again.
For little ones, the concept of a "moving base" saves them every time. They just have to touch something--anything--claim it as their safe haven, and stop the attacker (in this case, the Tickle Monster).
She's onto something.
I imagine enemy attacks against us in various spiritual forms. I reach out my hand, wherever I am, cling to God and scream "Base!" You can't touch us here. We are safe.
Living with flair means I realize I'm on base.
_____________________
Journal: What do I need to scream "Base!" to as I claim my safety and protection in God?
"I'm safe! I'm safe on base! You can't touch me!" she insists, nodding her head and putting one hand up as a stop sign.
I wait patiently for her to move from "base" only to find that as soon as she's nearly in my grip, she just touches the wall and screams, "Base!" again.
For little ones, the concept of a "moving base" saves them every time. They just have to touch something--anything--claim it as their safe haven, and stop the attacker (in this case, the Tickle Monster).
She's onto something.
I imagine enemy attacks against us in various spiritual forms. I reach out my hand, wherever I am, cling to God and scream "Base!" You can't touch us here. We are safe.
Living with flair means I realize I'm on base.
_____________________
Journal: What do I need to scream "Base!" to as I claim my safety and protection in God?
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Some Pictures of Hope
The landscape in Pennsylvania, for the most part, still frowns with the weight of winter.
Trees raise their arms in surrender to a blank sky.
After church this morning, my youngest daughter pulls on a double layer of pants and says, "Mom, let's go on a hunt for daffodils." (How can I not follow her outside? I'm struck by how I need to listen to and follow children more often.)
The hunt! I put on my winter coat, and my old camera dangles from the strap around my wrist.
We journey to the side of the house, the hidden territory in front of the gate. With frozen fingers and faces, we hunt.
We hunt, and we find.
Lilies burst forth; daffodils announce victory over winter.
To hunt means to chase relentlessly.
Lord, let me be relentless in my hunt for hope.
__________________
Journal: What gives me hope today?
The hunt! I put on my winter coat, and my old camera dangles from the strap around my wrist.
We journey to the side of the house, the hidden territory in front of the gate. With frozen fingers and faces, we hunt.
We hunt, and we find.
Lilies burst forth; daffodils announce victory over winter.
__________________
Journal: What gives me hope today?
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Little Girl, Big Puddle
 |
| The First Spring Melt |
 |
| Can I Do This? |
 |
| Yes, I Can |
 |
| Free to Play |
________________
Journal: Can I see my fear as a puddle? I won't sink; I'll play.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Keeping Hope Alive
Noted.
We hang the bird feeder on the winterberry bush. And we wait.
And we wait. We wait, wait, and wait some more.
I read somewhere that it takes backyard birds a few days to find a new feeder.
All day today, we stop every few minutes and glance out the kitchen window just in case a bird has arrived. We talk about who might be the first to catch sight of that first little bird. No birds yet. But the desiring of them, the wait, delights us.
We remember another wait, last April, for a hibernating turtle to emerge from underneath our deck. It feels just like that, this waiting, and we love it.
It feels like the wait for a first loose tooth.
I want to construct more apparatuses designed to teach me the beauty of hope. A backyard bird feeder reminds me to hope today. I wait patiently with my daughters, peer into the landscape ahead, and keep our longing alive. Tomorrow might be the day!
___________________
Journal: What am I hoping for, and how do I keep my hope alive?
Monday, February 21, 2011
Licking the Blender Whisk
It's a snow day in our county, and the children and I make cookies to frost. The girls crowd around me and eagerly reach for the blender whisks after I've made the vanilla frosting. I hand the whisks down, and I purposefully arrange some extra frosting on each one.
A child licking the blender whisks reminds me of Henry David Thoreau's famous quote about sucking the marrow out of life. Back in July, I wrote about how the "Live with Flair" blog was my way to "live deep and suck all the marrow out of life."
When my daughter licks the blender whisk, I see her searching out every last drop. When she hands it back, it's as if it's been cleaned in the dishwasher.
I want to search out the beauty in this day, relishing every part. God hands me the whisk, and I sit back and enjoy it.
__________________
Journal: What good thing has come my way today?
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Walking on Water
When I walk, I sink. I'm just too heavy.
All day, I think of those weightless little children and the joy they exude as they twirl and slide to school.
I pray that I learn to travel light, as they do, to cast my heavy burdens on the Lord, and to shed the worry and stress from my heart.
Without fear, weightless, I walk on water.
___________________
Journal: What weight might I cast off and onto the Lord?
Friday, January 28, 2011
If You Were an Explorer. . .
This morning I learn about the exploration goals of the 3rd and 4th graders. If they could be explorers--anywhere--where would they go and why?
My daughter says, "I would explore the ocean depths to find sea glass, coral, and dolphins." Her friend agrees, but he suggests that they explore the Bermuda Triangle for these things because you can always discover the lost city of Atlantis along the way.
I follow along, hands in my pockets, listening as the children describe, in specific detail, this exploratory trip. They will need underwater cameras and a submarine obviously. I hear the children talk about sea glass and how you never know what kind of object that glass came from. "It could have been on the Titanic, you know!"
Anything is possible.
Everyone walks much faster when we have these conversations. Nobody notices the freezing cold, and nobody complains about the slippery trek uphill. When we access the explorer in us, something changes.
The world, vast and unexplored, lies before me. I transform myself into an explorer: one who travels into unknown or less understood regions--physical, emotional, or spiritual regions.
I learn to inquire, take notes, preserve artifacts. Like a child dreaming of the depths of the sea, I experience the thrill of discovery. Anything is possible today.
____________________________
Journal: Children are natural explorers. When I was a 3rd grader, I went on a field trip to Puget Sound in Washington. That day, I discovered a baby octopus. The teacher brought the entire class over to where I stood by the water, and I had the thrill of sharing my discovery. I love that explorer memory; it's one of a dozen of special experiences of discovery. If I approach my day as child-like explorer, will that change my attitude regarding my tasks?
My daughter says, "I would explore the ocean depths to find sea glass, coral, and dolphins." Her friend agrees, but he suggests that they explore the Bermuda Triangle for these things because you can always discover the lost city of Atlantis along the way.
I follow along, hands in my pockets, listening as the children describe, in specific detail, this exploratory trip. They will need underwater cameras and a submarine obviously. I hear the children talk about sea glass and how you never know what kind of object that glass came from. "It could have been on the Titanic, you know!"
Anything is possible.
Everyone walks much faster when we have these conversations. Nobody notices the freezing cold, and nobody complains about the slippery trek uphill. When we access the explorer in us, something changes.
The world, vast and unexplored, lies before me. I transform myself into an explorer: one who travels into unknown or less understood regions--physical, emotional, or spiritual regions.
I learn to inquire, take notes, preserve artifacts. Like a child dreaming of the depths of the sea, I experience the thrill of discovery. Anything is possible today.
____________________________
Journal: Children are natural explorers. When I was a 3rd grader, I went on a field trip to Puget Sound in Washington. That day, I discovered a baby octopus. The teacher brought the entire class over to where I stood by the water, and I had the thrill of sharing my discovery. I love that explorer memory; it's one of a dozen of special experiences of discovery. If I approach my day as child-like explorer, will that change my attitude regarding my tasks?
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Count Your Whorls
I learn this morning that you can tell the age of a pine tree by its number of "whorls." One child stops in the woods on the walk to school, and she counts the circles of branches that shoot out from a tiny pine tree. The top layer of branches is one whorl and represents one year of growth. The next layer represents another. This baby pine tree boasts seven whorls, so it's been growing for seven years. It stands as tall as my daughter.
"Next year, they'll be eight whorls!" The children, wide-eyed, pause and look down upon the tree.
I'm struck by the slow growth of this little pine that's witnessed our journey to school all these years. Now, we witness the pine tree, mark its age, and incorporate that growth into the whole system of things that grow and change about us.
These things matter so much to children. Just last night, at Neighborhood Fitness Group, the children always gather to record their growth on my kitchen wall. They inevitably check, every single week, if they've grown even a little bit.
They record each each others' heights, and they claim they've really grown each week. The wall, smeared and nearly illegible, tempts me every Saturday morning as I stand beside it with my cleaning bucket. I just can't clean the wall.
We have to count our whorls. And, even though I'm no longer getting taller, I want to count my own growth somehow--visibly, publicly. Am I growing kinder? More patient? More wise?
Let me retain that child-like quality of marking my own growth. There's something to celebrate; there's something to note here.
Living with flair means I count whorls. We're growing--changing--and we must witness it.
_____________________________
Journal: How do I measure my own growth? What tool might I use to track spiritual and emotional growth?
"Next year, they'll be eight whorls!" The children, wide-eyed, pause and look down upon the tree.
I'm struck by the slow growth of this little pine that's witnessed our journey to school all these years. Now, we witness the pine tree, mark its age, and incorporate that growth into the whole system of things that grow and change about us.
These things matter so much to children. Just last night, at Neighborhood Fitness Group, the children always gather to record their growth on my kitchen wall. They inevitably check, every single week, if they've grown even a little bit.
They record each each others' heights, and they claim they've really grown each week. The wall, smeared and nearly illegible, tempts me every Saturday morning as I stand beside it with my cleaning bucket. I just can't clean the wall.
We have to count our whorls. And, even though I'm no longer getting taller, I want to count my own growth somehow--visibly, publicly. Am I growing kinder? More patient? More wise?
Let me retain that child-like quality of marking my own growth. There's something to celebrate; there's something to note here.
Living with flair means I count whorls. We're growing--changing--and we must witness it.
_____________________________
Journal: How do I measure my own growth? What tool might I use to track spiritual and emotional growth?
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Beyond Math and Music: Encouraging Excellence in Friendship
Last night, a friend arrives for a sleepover. She has a green envelope that she presents to my daughter. It's a homemade "friendship award." She awards it to my daughter for "always understanding her."
I nearly burst into tears. I run and get the tape and slap that thing to the wall where we will all look at it for as long as the tape holds. Just last week, several girls at school received a friendship award as a trait of good citizenship. My daughter wasn't called up to receive that award, and she cried outside of the school.
The sleepover friend wanted to set the record straight.
As I watch the two little girls celebrate their true friendship, I realize what I so strongly react to in all the articles circulating about parenting and the need to force math drills, excellence in piano, and various other versions of academic success. The philosophy of parenting that prizes academic success above all else misses the one component of life that makes all that success worth it: friendship.
So I'll continue to host slumber parties, play dates, dance parties, and spontaneous trips to the movie theater. I'll continue to put the homework aside for an afternoon so my daughter and her friends can go sledding, play dolls, and paint their fingernails. I'll display cupcakes instead of math flashcards. I'll let her blast music in the bedroom instead of shaming her into another piano drill.
If I raise a daughter who wins every prize in school, it won't mean a thing without friends.
I'm so thankful for my friends. Happiness comes from sharing our lives with one another. The day I defended my dissertation to earn my Ph.D., I felt profoundly empty. I'll never forget leaving that exam room, after 5 years of work, and wondering what it was all for. What mattered so much more were the friends waiting with flowers down the hall.
I had a friend who received the highest promotion in her job track at an Ivy League school. She called me in tears because at the moment she received the news, she realized she had no one to tell.
I don't want my children to excel and have no one to tell. It won't be worth it. They might become math geniuses, but if they don't know the value of friendship and living in community, their intelligence might be directed towards selfish or even harmful ends. Without friends, we lose our way. Living with flair means I fill my wall with as many friendship awards as math scores.
___________________________________
Journal: How will I know I'm excelling in the art of friendship? What are the marks of friendship excellence?
I nearly burst into tears. I run and get the tape and slap that thing to the wall where we will all look at it for as long as the tape holds. Just last week, several girls at school received a friendship award as a trait of good citizenship. My daughter wasn't called up to receive that award, and she cried outside of the school.
The sleepover friend wanted to set the record straight.
As I watch the two little girls celebrate their true friendship, I realize what I so strongly react to in all the articles circulating about parenting and the need to force math drills, excellence in piano, and various other versions of academic success. The philosophy of parenting that prizes academic success above all else misses the one component of life that makes all that success worth it: friendship.
So I'll continue to host slumber parties, play dates, dance parties, and spontaneous trips to the movie theater. I'll continue to put the homework aside for an afternoon so my daughter and her friends can go sledding, play dolls, and paint their fingernails. I'll display cupcakes instead of math flashcards. I'll let her blast music in the bedroom instead of shaming her into another piano drill.
If I raise a daughter who wins every prize in school, it won't mean a thing without friends.
I'm so thankful for my friends. Happiness comes from sharing our lives with one another. The day I defended my dissertation to earn my Ph.D., I felt profoundly empty. I'll never forget leaving that exam room, after 5 years of work, and wondering what it was all for. What mattered so much more were the friends waiting with flowers down the hall.
I had a friend who received the highest promotion in her job track at an Ivy League school. She called me in tears because at the moment she received the news, she realized she had no one to tell.
I don't want my children to excel and have no one to tell. It won't be worth it. They might become math geniuses, but if they don't know the value of friendship and living in community, their intelligence might be directed towards selfish or even harmful ends. Without friends, we lose our way. Living with flair means I fill my wall with as many friendship awards as math scores.
___________________________________
Journal: How will I know I'm excelling in the art of friendship? What are the marks of friendship excellence?
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
A Great Cloud of Witnesses
This morning, my friends and I huddle by the school entrance, making conversation with other parents and school administrators. As we notice the line of cars pulling up to drop off children, I'm overcome with the desire to run up to the car doors, open them wide, and greet each child like he or she were a celebrity.
I imagine each car to be a long black limousine. I even include fashion commentary like we're on the Red Carpet for some premiere.
My friend and I laugh about making this our community job each morning. We wonder what it might feel like to arrive at school and have folks open your car door, celebrate your arrival, and compliment your outfit. What if we even brought paparazzi to our morning Red Carpet event? What if we really did announce a child's arrival? You've arrived! Welcome to school you beautiful, wonderful person! You are very important to us!
Walking home from the school, I feel like I've touched upon something eternal in that moment of opening a car door and celebrating a child's arrival. Something about that act seems to echo in eternity.
All of us parents, surrounding those youngest members of our community--celebrating them like that, protecting their journey from car to school entrance--represents a spiritual reality for me: I too am surrounded by that love and protection at all times. I have cheerleaders in the heavens.
Doesn't scripture teach in Hebrews 12 that we are "surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses" who cheer us on, helping us "run with perseverance the race marked out for us?" We cannot see the saints and angels, but aren't they surely there in some unseen realm about me?
Later, I ride in my minivan across town. As I unfasten my seat belt and turn to touch the door handle, I imagine them all there outside my van. My Red Carpet event unfolds as I walk into the cold, bright day, surrounded by my cloud of witnesses.
They cheer about me, celebrating and protecting.
(Photo, "Paparazzi at the ICA in London" by Justinc, courtesy of Creative Commons)
 |
| London Paparazzi |
My friend and I laugh about making this our community job each morning. We wonder what it might feel like to arrive at school and have folks open your car door, celebrate your arrival, and compliment your outfit. What if we even brought paparazzi to our morning Red Carpet event? What if we really did announce a child's arrival? You've arrived! Welcome to school you beautiful, wonderful person! You are very important to us!
Walking home from the school, I feel like I've touched upon something eternal in that moment of opening a car door and celebrating a child's arrival. Something about that act seems to echo in eternity.
All of us parents, surrounding those youngest members of our community--celebrating them like that, protecting their journey from car to school entrance--represents a spiritual reality for me: I too am surrounded by that love and protection at all times. I have cheerleaders in the heavens.
Doesn't scripture teach in Hebrews 12 that we are "surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses" who cheer us on, helping us "run with perseverance the race marked out for us?" We cannot see the saints and angels, but aren't they surely there in some unseen realm about me?
Later, I ride in my minivan across town. As I unfasten my seat belt and turn to touch the door handle, I imagine them all there outside my van. My Red Carpet event unfolds as I walk into the cold, bright day, surrounded by my cloud of witnesses.
They cheer about me, celebrating and protecting.
(Photo, "Paparazzi at the ICA in London" by Justinc, courtesy of Creative Commons)
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