Remember your first day of school? Laying out your clothes before you went to bed? Waking up early for a special breakfast, then boarding the school bus all decked out in a new backpack full of paper and newly sharpened pencils? Remember the anticipation and the promise that that day held? A new year meant a new beginning, a world of possibility, and nine glorious months of transformative brain power at work to make you a lean, mean intelligent machine. Whatever happened to looking forward to going school?
For my kids (myself included), what happened was "school." Instead of an institution that promotes creativity and fosters imagination, my children sit in rows and learn how to be the best darn test takers the world has ever known. They answer A, B, C, or D to a variety of questions designed to assess what has been drilled into their brains all year. A few weeks later, we receive a report that hopefully proclaims our children "meet expectations." How my heart swells when it declares that they've "exceeded" them! But where did my children go? They are but hollow shells of those starry eyed beings who got on the bus that first day of school. If only they had space to create, time to dream, and opportunity to discover this big, wide, amazing planet, I can only imagine what progress might be realized.
With nearly three dozen students in some classes and teachers facing mandates to teach a standardized curriculum, no wonder we've created a society of robots programmed to receive, repeat, and regurgitate an onslaught of ever-challenging information.
Discipline, I like.
Structure, I embrace.
Training, I adore.
The public school, though necessary and arguably beneficial, can only serve the masses. And yet deep down we all know that every human child is a wellspring of opportunity--a brilliant little soul who is and who is yet to be only once in the whole history of the world. Like a blank canvas, they embody beauty, the quintessential masterpiece of creation. Art lives in the wandering. Creativity reigns in the freedom.
And so I think I've decided to home school my kids next year. And it's not because I want to insulate them from the world. On the contrary, I want to show them the world! I want to open up their future by reclaiming their present. I want to help them discover their unique gifts and abilities. Oh, we'll read and we'll write and we'll do math problems out the wazoo. We'll explore challenges from every angle, develop creative solutions, and above all else keep learning. Every teacher I've ever met is all about the learning!
As for expectations? Well, in taking this first step, in saying the words, "home school" out loud, I'm doing something I, for one, NEVER expected....Teachers of the world, I commend you. Your job is big, but mine is bigger. You taught them to read. You taught them to write. Now, let's teach them to think.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Friday, February 3, 2012
Bread of Life
A couple of weeks ago, Gavin and I celebrated 16 years of marriage. I was only 15 when we began dating, and I'm almost 38 now, so we've been together a pretty long time. We've had our share of ups and downs, and yet, the years have stretched out over a beautiful landscape made richer by the storms we've weathered and the opportunities that sometimes disguised themselves as obstacles. On our anniversary, we enjoy spending time reflecting on our time together.
"What was a highlight of this year?"
"What do you hope we can do differently next year?"
"How can I be a better husband/wife to you?"
There's a little bit of nostalgia mixed in with the promise of our future days together. Because we love each other so much, we have always worked very hard (even in our anger) to keep it together. Whenever we hastened to fix our problems on our own, solutions disintegrated, and the challenges overwhelmed us. But whenever we handed over what we had to God, he honored our gift and multiplied the blessings. Sometimes, we thought we were giving up when what we were really doing was giving what we had to the only One who actually had the capacity to do something with it.
One of the greatest miracles of the New Testament is Jesus's feeding of the 5,000. Found in Matthew 15, Mark 8, Luke 9, and John 6 , it chronicles what happens when one responsible little boy gives his meager lunch to Jesus. With just a couple of fish and a few handfuls of bread, Jesus satisfies the hunger of an enormous crowd of people. It's interesting to me that Jesus broke the bread, gave thanks, and then multiplied it. So often, we are the ones who are broken, and we've done it to ourselves. With so little to share, so little to give, God takes the broken pieces and multiplies them into something that's worthy of more than a story--a real life miracle. Most notably, he commands his disciples to: "Gather the pieces that are left over. Let nothing be wasted." Yes, even in our brokenness, nothing is wasted.
In hindsight, I am grateful for the times when I went all to pieces. Now, when I look forward, I expect a miracle. If I ever believe the lie that I have nothing to give, all I have to do is read the account outlined in all four gospels. God does way more with the broken pieces than I could ever do with a basket of hoarded morsels. Maybe nothing would ever "go to Hell in a handbasket" if we were all willing to take what we have, break it open, bare our soul, admit our deficiencies, and put it all in the basket that Jesus is holding.
Two thousand years ago, more than five thousand people got to participate in a miracle, and all because one little boy was brave enough to give those pieces to Jesus. The people went away satisfied, and not just because their bellies were full. Their hearts were, too.
"What was a highlight of this year?"
"What do you hope we can do differently next year?"
"How can I be a better husband/wife to you?"
There's a little bit of nostalgia mixed in with the promise of our future days together. Because we love each other so much, we have always worked very hard (even in our anger) to keep it together. Whenever we hastened to fix our problems on our own, solutions disintegrated, and the challenges overwhelmed us. But whenever we handed over what we had to God, he honored our gift and multiplied the blessings. Sometimes, we thought we were giving up when what we were really doing was giving what we had to the only One who actually had the capacity to do something with it.
One of the greatest miracles of the New Testament is Jesus's feeding of the 5,000. Found in Matthew 15, Mark 8, Luke 9, and John 6 , it chronicles what happens when one responsible little boy gives his meager lunch to Jesus. With just a couple of fish and a few handfuls of bread, Jesus satisfies the hunger of an enormous crowd of people. It's interesting to me that Jesus broke the bread, gave thanks, and then multiplied it. So often, we are the ones who are broken, and we've done it to ourselves. With so little to share, so little to give, God takes the broken pieces and multiplies them into something that's worthy of more than a story--a real life miracle. Most notably, he commands his disciples to: "Gather the pieces that are left over. Let nothing be wasted." Yes, even in our brokenness, nothing is wasted.
In hindsight, I am grateful for the times when I went all to pieces. Now, when I look forward, I expect a miracle. If I ever believe the lie that I have nothing to give, all I have to do is read the account outlined in all four gospels. God does way more with the broken pieces than I could ever do with a basket of hoarded morsels. Maybe nothing would ever "go to Hell in a handbasket" if we were all willing to take what we have, break it open, bare our soul, admit our deficiencies, and put it all in the basket that Jesus is holding.
Two thousand years ago, more than five thousand people got to participate in a miracle, and all because one little boy was brave enough to give those pieces to Jesus. The people went away satisfied, and not just because their bellies were full. Their hearts were, too.
Female by Design
Priscilla Shirer's challenging Resolution for Women is inspiring, to say the least. This week's resolution, "Purposefully Feminine", proved especially insightful. Every other time I've studied God's view of women, it has been in the context of the much beloved woman found in Proverbs 31: "A wife of noble character, who can find?" After reading verses 10-31 to myself, I always sarcastically answered "Exactly. Who CAN find?"
Priscilla Shirer conspicuously leaves out this citation altogether, and I don't think it's because she doesn't agree with it's implications. She's a resourceful author and references feminine virtues that point to Jesus rather than another woman. Maybe she's protecting us from the jealousy we inevitably feel whenever we're compared to that great woman.
Whenever we're compared to any other woman.
Erroneously, we believe that we can't measure up. God's word affirms that our unique gifts make us special, useful, and worthy. Whether feminine or masculine, our purpose is the same: to point others to Christ. How do we do that? I apologize in advance, but I'll have to use that culturally taboo word: SUBMISSION. All it really means is that I'm willing to put you before me. Your deal before my deal.
The Proverbs 31 Woman shows herself in eleven primary characteristics. She's
Priscilla Shirer conspicuously leaves out this citation altogether, and I don't think it's because she doesn't agree with it's implications. She's a resourceful author and references feminine virtues that point to Jesus rather than another woman. Maybe she's protecting us from the jealousy we inevitably feel whenever we're compared to that great woman.
Whenever we're compared to any other woman.
Erroneously, we believe that we can't measure up. God's word affirms that our unique gifts make us special, useful, and worthy. Whether feminine or masculine, our purpose is the same: to point others to Christ. How do we do that? I apologize in advance, but I'll have to use that culturally taboo word: SUBMISSION. All it really means is that I'm willing to put you before me. Your deal before my deal.
The Proverbs 31 Woman shows herself in eleven primary characteristics. She's
- Virtuous
- Trustworthy
- Energetic
- Physically Fit
- Economical
- Unselfish
- Prepared
- Honorable
- Prudent
- Loving
- God-Fearing
Good Writing: It's All in the Recipe
I've spent the better part of my married life learning how to cook. Those early months were not pretty. Though I enjoyed eating, I lacked the capacity to simmer, steam, and stew the raw ingredients. Dinner often consisted of Tuna Helper or fried ham steak. Eventually, we progressed to something more "gourmet." Gavin took chicken breast, seasoned it with whatever we had on hand, and then sauteed it in a mixture of liquid flavorings--worcestershire, soy sauce, or lemon juice. We tossed the result with buttered rice or noodles. Bon Appetit!
When I brought my firstborn daughter home, I found myself with large chunks of time on my hands. Since newborns do just three things--sleep, cry, and nurse-- I found myself rocking the baby and watching endless hours of programming on the Food Network. And thus, I learned to cook. I began to understand the value in marinating meat, being careful to use just the right pots and utensils. When marinating with something acidic like lemon, you couldn't leave it on the meat too long or it would actually "cook" it. You couldn't use a metal pan. To make spaghetti sauce taste like it had been simmering all day, add a little beef stock. Don't over-mix the bread dough or your pastry would be tough. I watched, and I remembered, and I experimented.
Little by little, our limited menu expanded. I tackled stuffed pork tenderloin and grilled salmon. I began to add my own twists to some of the dishes--a pinch of cinnamon here or a touch of tabasco there. I printed out our favorites, refining them until at last I had my own cookbook of sorts--family favorites I could make again and again. I declared each dish delicious because I had studied the technique, then perfected it myself.
Oh, I made mistakes in the process. Once I tried to heat the ceramic insert of my crock pot directly on the burner of my stove. After a series of puzzling pops, all six quarts of a very chunky vegetable soup exploded in my kitchen. Another time, I drizzled hot chocolate over inflated balloons in an effort to make these darling little chocolate nest bowls I had seen one beloved pastry chef demonstrate. The hot chocolate caused the balloons to burst, and I ended up scraping the cocoa confection from every surface and crevice in my entire kitchen. Two years later, I was still finding chocolate on isolated door hinges and light fixtures. And yet from both of those experiences, I learned some important lessons.
1. Having the right parts on hand make a big difference.
2. Process matters.
3. Patience prevents disaster.
4. Persistence pays off.
So writing is a lot like cooking. I have all these ideas just jiggling around in my head like the ingredients for a gourmet souffle. I want to get them all down as fast as I possibly can. That souffle is going to be really good when it's done, but I don't want the whole thing to collapse. The perfect combination of plot, characters, conflict, and climax can be pretty fragile. I don't want to get ahead of myself. I'm spending some time studying the masters and learning the craft, practicing with proven exercises, then beginning at the beginning and proceeding step by step. Good art is rarely accidental just as a good dish is rarely the result of unguided happenstance. In the creative recesses of my imagination, something delicious is percolating.
As Julia Child noted most sagaciously, "No one is born a great cook. One learns by doing". Hunched over my keyboard as I am right now, I can eat that up and taste the satisfaction of having done all I could to perfect the technique that makes for a great dish...or a great script.
When I brought my firstborn daughter home, I found myself with large chunks of time on my hands. Since newborns do just three things--sleep, cry, and nurse-- I found myself rocking the baby and watching endless hours of programming on the Food Network. And thus, I learned to cook. I began to understand the value in marinating meat, being careful to use just the right pots and utensils. When marinating with something acidic like lemon, you couldn't leave it on the meat too long or it would actually "cook" it. You couldn't use a metal pan. To make spaghetti sauce taste like it had been simmering all day, add a little beef stock. Don't over-mix the bread dough or your pastry would be tough. I watched, and I remembered, and I experimented.
Little by little, our limited menu expanded. I tackled stuffed pork tenderloin and grilled salmon. I began to add my own twists to some of the dishes--a pinch of cinnamon here or a touch of tabasco there. I printed out our favorites, refining them until at last I had my own cookbook of sorts--family favorites I could make again and again. I declared each dish delicious because I had studied the technique, then perfected it myself.
Oh, I made mistakes in the process. Once I tried to heat the ceramic insert of my crock pot directly on the burner of my stove. After a series of puzzling pops, all six quarts of a very chunky vegetable soup exploded in my kitchen. Another time, I drizzled hot chocolate over inflated balloons in an effort to make these darling little chocolate nest bowls I had seen one beloved pastry chef demonstrate. The hot chocolate caused the balloons to burst, and I ended up scraping the cocoa confection from every surface and crevice in my entire kitchen. Two years later, I was still finding chocolate on isolated door hinges and light fixtures. And yet from both of those experiences, I learned some important lessons.
1. Having the right parts on hand make a big difference.
2. Process matters.
3. Patience prevents disaster.
4. Persistence pays off.
So writing is a lot like cooking. I have all these ideas just jiggling around in my head like the ingredients for a gourmet souffle. I want to get them all down as fast as I possibly can. That souffle is going to be really good when it's done, but I don't want the whole thing to collapse. The perfect combination of plot, characters, conflict, and climax can be pretty fragile. I don't want to get ahead of myself. I'm spending some time studying the masters and learning the craft, practicing with proven exercises, then beginning at the beginning and proceeding step by step. Good art is rarely accidental just as a good dish is rarely the result of unguided happenstance. In the creative recesses of my imagination, something delicious is percolating.
As Julia Child noted most sagaciously, "No one is born a great cook. One learns by doing". Hunched over my keyboard as I am right now, I can eat that up and taste the satisfaction of having done all I could to perfect the technique that makes for a great dish...or a great script.
Friday, January 20, 2012
How Hard Can It Be?
"It's not that hard."
It's a mantra I say over and over again, mostly to convince myself that the majority of life's trials just aren't that difficult. Yes, I've had hard days. For any of you who read my post on the woes of homework, you know I don't have it all together.
"How do you do it?" I'm often asked. I don't know why people ask me that. I'm a stay-at-home mom with four kids. Just one is still at home with me during the day, and even then just two days a week. I don't home-school. I don't have a full-time job. I have a housekeeper who comes once a week. I'm a little obsessive-compulsive, and I'm never bored. I stay busy. All the time. But really. Compared to many moms I know, truly what I have going on here is not that hard. To those that work long hours, come home to a messy house, care for their children and husband and drop into bed empty and exhausted, I commend you. Yes, your life is hard. My hope for you, though, is that your life is also full of joy.
But here's the kicker. Don't be fooled by the lie that says that contentment is contingent on balance. Not true, my friends. The real secret to keeping things on the right track isn't balance; it's prioritizing. Specifically, it's about prioritizing gratitude. When you plan ahead, when you make a conscious, intentional decision to give thanks even BEFORE the consequences of your choices become manifest, you say to God, "Thank you for these kids. Thank you for the laundry. Thank you for the homework." Truthfully, I'm not necessarily saying thank you for it. I'm saying thank you that I'm in it. For now, this is the place God has me.
"Thank you because you're God (priority one), and you gave me (these kids, homework, house, etc.) for a purpose (gratitude)."
Balance says it's okay to eat ice cream and cookies. In moderation. Balance says it's okay to work long hours as long as your time at home is quality time. Balance says I deserve this dress. I've been good with my bank account all month. In moderation, people.
And all those things are okay, but balance is tricky. It doesn't take much to upset it. A little too much, and the waistline stretches. Reality is blurred. Money is tight. And you have to start all over again. What if, instead, you said, "I'm prioritizing my body. I'll treat myself on Saturday night?" How would your life be different if you said, "God, thank you for this family. I understand that the time I spend with them has an eternal impact. I'm drawing the line at 45 hours/week?" What if you got to that spiritual place where you could say, "God thank you for clothing me. I'm not going to spend money on myself until I've given what I have to others?"
The problem with "moderation" is that it's subjective, and the boundary lines are varied. For me, having ice cream once a month might define moderation, but you might enjoy the cool treat once a week, and my friend down the street might think once a day is okay. Where do we draw the line? By focusing on priorities and gratitude, we acknowledge God first and his role in taking care of us.
Does that mean I'm complacent? Absolutely not! But I am content, and here's why:
Matthew 6: 31-33. "So do not worry, saying 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?' For the pagans run after all these things and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. "
So I say it's not that hard. But I also want to be a person who "does hard things." There's a big difference between complacency and contentment. By analyzing the opposite, we can define both. Discontent says "My life lacks joy" while a person who is not complacent says, "There's surely more to life." God gives us what we need. That's why I'm content. He promises us what we desire. That's why I'm not complacent. Real joy is found when my desires fall in line with what God desires for me.
I remain content because God is in control of the minutiae and the mundane as well as the magnificent and miraculous. I get to participate in both . Jeremiah 29:11-14: "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you and hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you," declares the Lord, "and will bring you back from captivity." While I might once have felt that I was being held captive by my situation, the reality is that my negative thoughts and attitude kept me from the freedom and fulfillment I desired.
So, while I'm joyful, I will never be happy with the way things are. Why? Because God has a plan for my life. The only way to get there, though, is to DO HARD THINGS. I have those words emblazoned on my keychain. God created me for a purpose, for something holy and beautiful, and I don't want to waste a single day being complacent about the way things are, not when what could be is beyond my wildest imagination. The freedom of fulfillment in a life of a contentedness is attainable.
Ephesians 5:16--Be careful, then, how you live--not as unwise, but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil. How do you do this? It's not that hard. You can choose to make excuses, or you can choose to make a difference.
Contentment is accepting the blessing of today. Priscilla Shirer, author of the Bible Study, Resolution for Women, puts it this way: " It's a holy equilibrium. A genuine gratitude for what the day brings, all the while maintaining a controlled anticipation for what tomorrow may offer." And so I wait...patiently, expectantly, prayerfully.
Lord, I pray that you will lead me to discover the opportunities that today brings. And in the meantime, I will give you thanks for giving me this day, no matter what it brings.
Now, that's hard.
It's a mantra I say over and over again, mostly to convince myself that the majority of life's trials just aren't that difficult. Yes, I've had hard days. For any of you who read my post on the woes of homework, you know I don't have it all together.
"How do you do it?" I'm often asked. I don't know why people ask me that. I'm a stay-at-home mom with four kids. Just one is still at home with me during the day, and even then just two days a week. I don't home-school. I don't have a full-time job. I have a housekeeper who comes once a week. I'm a little obsessive-compulsive, and I'm never bored. I stay busy. All the time. But really. Compared to many moms I know, truly what I have going on here is not that hard. To those that work long hours, come home to a messy house, care for their children and husband and drop into bed empty and exhausted, I commend you. Yes, your life is hard. My hope for you, though, is that your life is also full of joy.
But here's the kicker. Don't be fooled by the lie that says that contentment is contingent on balance. Not true, my friends. The real secret to keeping things on the right track isn't balance; it's prioritizing. Specifically, it's about prioritizing gratitude. When you plan ahead, when you make a conscious, intentional decision to give thanks even BEFORE the consequences of your choices become manifest, you say to God, "Thank you for these kids. Thank you for the laundry. Thank you for the homework." Truthfully, I'm not necessarily saying thank you for it. I'm saying thank you that I'm in it. For now, this is the place God has me.
"Thank you because you're God (priority one), and you gave me (these kids, homework, house, etc.) for a purpose (gratitude)."
Balance says it's okay to eat ice cream and cookies. In moderation. Balance says it's okay to work long hours as long as your time at home is quality time. Balance says I deserve this dress. I've been good with my bank account all month. In moderation, people.
And all those things are okay, but balance is tricky. It doesn't take much to upset it. A little too much, and the waistline stretches. Reality is blurred. Money is tight. And you have to start all over again. What if, instead, you said, "I'm prioritizing my body. I'll treat myself on Saturday night?" How would your life be different if you said, "God, thank you for this family. I understand that the time I spend with them has an eternal impact. I'm drawing the line at 45 hours/week?" What if you got to that spiritual place where you could say, "God thank you for clothing me. I'm not going to spend money on myself until I've given what I have to others?"
The problem with "moderation" is that it's subjective, and the boundary lines are varied. For me, having ice cream once a month might define moderation, but you might enjoy the cool treat once a week, and my friend down the street might think once a day is okay. Where do we draw the line? By focusing on priorities and gratitude, we acknowledge God first and his role in taking care of us.
Does that mean I'm complacent? Absolutely not! But I am content, and here's why:
Matthew 6: 31-33. "So do not worry, saying 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?' For the pagans run after all these things and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. "
So I say it's not that hard. But I also want to be a person who "does hard things." There's a big difference between complacency and contentment. By analyzing the opposite, we can define both. Discontent says "My life lacks joy" while a person who is not complacent says, "There's surely more to life." God gives us what we need. That's why I'm content. He promises us what we desire. That's why I'm not complacent. Real joy is found when my desires fall in line with what God desires for me.
I remain content because God is in control of the minutiae and the mundane as well as the magnificent and miraculous. I get to participate in both . Jeremiah 29:11-14: "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you and hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you," declares the Lord, "and will bring you back from captivity." While I might once have felt that I was being held captive by my situation, the reality is that my negative thoughts and attitude kept me from the freedom and fulfillment I desired.
So, while I'm joyful, I will never be happy with the way things are. Why? Because God has a plan for my life. The only way to get there, though, is to DO HARD THINGS. I have those words emblazoned on my keychain. God created me for a purpose, for something holy and beautiful, and I don't want to waste a single day being complacent about the way things are, not when what could be is beyond my wildest imagination. The freedom of fulfillment in a life of a contentedness is attainable.
Ephesians 5:16--Be careful, then, how you live--not as unwise, but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil. How do you do this? It's not that hard. You can choose to make excuses, or you can choose to make a difference.
Contentment is accepting the blessing of today. Priscilla Shirer, author of the Bible Study, Resolution for Women, puts it this way: " It's a holy equilibrium. A genuine gratitude for what the day brings, all the while maintaining a controlled anticipation for what tomorrow may offer." And so I wait...patiently, expectantly, prayerfully.
Lord, I pray that you will lead me to discover the opportunities that today brings. And in the meantime, I will give you thanks for giving me this day, no matter what it brings.
Now, that's hard.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Harry Potter and..the Pursuit of God
Even Atheists long for God. No, they won't admit that's what they're searching for, but since God made everyone, I think there's something in all of us that seeks to draw us to him.
In an article I read in the January 8th issue of Parade Magazine, Daniel Radcliffe (a.k.a. Harry Potter) responds to a question about religion. "I have a problem with religion or anything that says, "We have all the answers," because there's no such thing as 'the answers.' We're complex. We change our minds on issues all the time. Religion leaves no room for human complexity."
Ahhh, young Harry, but it does. You are right. People are complex. And life is hard. As Christians, though, we have a direct line to the big man upstairs. Jesus loves me, and that's enough.
And so says Radcliffe, "I started to see the potential for acting as storytelling, as being part of something fundamental to human existence."
You are right again. We are all characters in the greatest story ever told, the one where God shows us again and again that he loves us and longs for a relationship with us. Over and over, we turn our backs on him. Yet, he continued to pursue us, ultimately sending Jesus here to live and die and save us from our sin so we could live forever. You, Daniel Radcliffe, have a place in that story, too.
"What I learned is that acting is to a large extent about trying to stave off self-doubt long enough to be natural and real onstage. I have quite a rich inner life, and I'm constantly looking for a way to express that. I haven't found it yet in acting. Self-expression is something that I love and yearn for. "
You haven't found it in acting because the expression of your soul can only be found in the one who created it: God.
I love the poetry of the words of Jeremiah 17:7. In these words, we find no room for self doubt.
"But blessed is the man who
trusts in the Lord,
whose confidence is in him. He will be like a tree planted
by the water that sends out its roots by
the stream. It does not fear when heat
comes;
its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of
drought
and never fails to bear fruit."
Radcliffe ends by saying, "I still see something very romantic in the world that perhaps isn't there." He's sees God, but he doesn't recognize him.
In an article I read in the January 8th issue of Parade Magazine, Daniel Radcliffe (a.k.a. Harry Potter) responds to a question about religion. "I have a problem with religion or anything that says, "We have all the answers," because there's no such thing as 'the answers.' We're complex. We change our minds on issues all the time. Religion leaves no room for human complexity."
Ahhh, young Harry, but it does. You are right. People are complex. And life is hard. As Christians, though, we have a direct line to the big man upstairs. Jesus loves me, and that's enough.
And so says Radcliffe, "I started to see the potential for acting as storytelling, as being part of something fundamental to human existence."
You are right again. We are all characters in the greatest story ever told, the one where God shows us again and again that he loves us and longs for a relationship with us. Over and over, we turn our backs on him. Yet, he continued to pursue us, ultimately sending Jesus here to live and die and save us from our sin so we could live forever. You, Daniel Radcliffe, have a place in that story, too.
"What I learned is that acting is to a large extent about trying to stave off self-doubt long enough to be natural and real onstage. I have quite a rich inner life, and I'm constantly looking for a way to express that. I haven't found it yet in acting. Self-expression is something that I love and yearn for. "
You haven't found it in acting because the expression of your soul can only be found in the one who created it: God.
I love the poetry of the words of Jeremiah 17:7. In these words, we find no room for self doubt.
"But blessed is the man who
trusts in the Lord,
whose confidence is in him. He will be like a tree planted
by the water that sends out its roots by
the stream. It does not fear when heat
comes;
its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of
drought
and never fails to bear fruit."
Radcliffe ends by saying, "I still see something very romantic in the world that perhaps isn't there." He's sees God, but he doesn't recognize him.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Are You There, Mom?
As my kids get older, I find myself pushing them farther and farther towards the edge of the nest. Eventually, I'll touch them with my finger, and off they'll go...not to tumble downward, flapping their wings helplessly for me to pick them up again, but instead to soar to amazing heights. I often ask myself, "For what other purpose do I feed and clothe them, teach them and train them?" Surely, it's not simply to keep them alive. No, it's to send them on their way! Of course, that's my hope.
Even at the ages they are now, they crave the independence. "Mommy, let me do it!" my four year old cries as she brushes her teeth and clips a bow into her waves of curly hair.
"I want to stay home by myself!", my 10-year remarks as I pack everyone in the car for the dreaded weekly trip to the grocery store.
"Don't walk me to the bus stop!", my middle schooler laments. Never mind that it's raining, and that I was going to hold the umbrella for her until she got on the bus.
I've come to realize that I may not have to push them out of the nest at all. They are the ones giving me the boot!
And yet as much as they want to hold me at arms-length, there is something in them that also wants to make sure I'm still there.
I'm reminded of this inner turmoil when we are at the park.
"Watch me, Mommy!", Cari Jill says as she runs to the tallest slide.
"Did you see that pass?", Aaron asks as he tumbles to the ground with his football.
"I'll be climbing that tree over there. Where are you going to be?", Gavin mumbles as he runs away with a pack of friends.
I'm not going anywhere.
A month ago, I chaperoned the Middle School holiday dance. Of course, I was spying, but I tried to be respectful of my 12-year old. I acted as cool and aloof as humanly possible, talking only to my friends and just barely peeking at Christiana over my own half-full glass of punch. In fact, I had no intention of speaking to her at all. Yet, every half hour or so, there she was, making her way over to where I was standing.
"Did you see that dress, Mom?"
"Are you having fun, Mom?"
Really? She wanted to know if I was having fun?
My children want to know that I'm paying attention, that I've got their back, that I'll protect them, cheer for them, and congratulate them. They may say they want to do it "all by themselves," as well as assert their independence in other not so subtle ways. But they'll always be back. Drawn to me like a magnet to metal, they're always close.
I, too, want to be assured that someone cares for me, is watching out for me, and loves me unconditionally.
Are you there, God? It's me...Chantel.
"Hey, God, I'm going to do this thing my way...but I hope you're there; I hope you're watching. I hope you'll save me if I fall down. And God, I really hope you'll bless me even if I do the wrong thing."
Like the Psalmist (like our children), we say, "O Lord, I call to you; come quickly to me. Hear my voice when I call to you" (Psalm 141:1).
I want to do it all by myself, and I also want the strength of God. I want both. I need both.
Psalm 139:7-10
Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
Thank God.
Thank God for those verses as well as the promise of Psalm 73:23-24: Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand. You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will take me into glory.
Thank God, that even though one day my children may leave my home for good, they won't be far from God. So now, when I clasp their tiny hands and look into their eyes, I hope they see God's reflection in mine. I hope that even though they push me away, I'll take advantage of all those little moments that I unexpectedly get back--moments when they come running into my arms--happy or hurt or excited or angry--I want them to see God in me and know that like him, yes, I'm still here. As he guides me with his counsel, so as their parent, I am instructed to do the same for them.
I'm still here.
Even at the ages they are now, they crave the independence. "Mommy, let me do it!" my four year old cries as she brushes her teeth and clips a bow into her waves of curly hair.
"I want to stay home by myself!", my 10-year remarks as I pack everyone in the car for the dreaded weekly trip to the grocery store.
"Don't walk me to the bus stop!", my middle schooler laments. Never mind that it's raining, and that I was going to hold the umbrella for her until she got on the bus.
I've come to realize that I may not have to push them out of the nest at all. They are the ones giving me the boot!
And yet as much as they want to hold me at arms-length, there is something in them that also wants to make sure I'm still there.
I'm reminded of this inner turmoil when we are at the park.
"Watch me, Mommy!", Cari Jill says as she runs to the tallest slide.
"Did you see that pass?", Aaron asks as he tumbles to the ground with his football.
"I'll be climbing that tree over there. Where are you going to be?", Gavin mumbles as he runs away with a pack of friends.
I'm not going anywhere.
A month ago, I chaperoned the Middle School holiday dance. Of course, I was spying, but I tried to be respectful of my 12-year old. I acted as cool and aloof as humanly possible, talking only to my friends and just barely peeking at Christiana over my own half-full glass of punch. In fact, I had no intention of speaking to her at all. Yet, every half hour or so, there she was, making her way over to where I was standing.
"Did you see that dress, Mom?"
"Are you having fun, Mom?"
Really? She wanted to know if I was having fun?
My children want to know that I'm paying attention, that I've got their back, that I'll protect them, cheer for them, and congratulate them. They may say they want to do it "all by themselves," as well as assert their independence in other not so subtle ways. But they'll always be back. Drawn to me like a magnet to metal, they're always close.
I, too, want to be assured that someone cares for me, is watching out for me, and loves me unconditionally.
Are you there, God? It's me...Chantel.
"Hey, God, I'm going to do this thing my way...but I hope you're there; I hope you're watching. I hope you'll save me if I fall down. And God, I really hope you'll bless me even if I do the wrong thing."
Like the Psalmist (like our children), we say, "O Lord, I call to you; come quickly to me. Hear my voice when I call to you" (Psalm 141:1).
I want to do it all by myself, and I also want the strength of God. I want both. I need both.
Psalm 139:7-10
Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
Thank God.
Thank God for those verses as well as the promise of Psalm 73:23-24: Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand. You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will take me into glory.
Thank God, that even though one day my children may leave my home for good, they won't be far from God. So now, when I clasp their tiny hands and look into their eyes, I hope they see God's reflection in mine. I hope that even though they push me away, I'll take advantage of all those little moments that I unexpectedly get back--moments when they come running into my arms--happy or hurt or excited or angry--I want them to see God in me and know that like him, yes, I'm still here. As he guides me with his counsel, so as their parent, I am instructed to do the same for them.
I'm still here.
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