Now My Heart Rests on Roses

A little over two months ago we said goodbye to our former congregation. At that time we also said goodbye to our former choir. At our farewell reception, one of the choir members presented us with a gift that literally took our breath away. As soon as I saw it the tears came.

 

 

Our dear friend Judy made this for us. It is, of course, Luther's Seal. She picked the colors without even knowing that I painted our dining room blue last year. Isn't it gorgeous?

 

There's more to the story. Embroidered at the bottom of the tapestry are the words, "Now my heart rests on roses." These words are included in the text of a choral piece my husband composed about nine years ago. It is entitled "I Will Speak" and was published in 2004 by Concordia Publishing House. The words, by Phillip, are paraphrased from Psalms 119 and 145:

 

I will speak of your statutes before kings, O Lord,

And will not be put to shame.

I will sing and proclaim your truths, my God,

For you have anointed me with grace.

Blessed is he whose help is in God,

Whose help is the God of Jacob.

Blessed is the man who trusts in you!

Your strong word I confess;

I believe and am saved.

Princely powers I fear not,

For your truth is my faith.

Now my heart rests on roses.

 

"I Will Speak" was a staple of our former choir's repertoire. How fitting that the name of the choir is "Proclaim"! They sang it many times while we were with them but unfortunately I never got a recording. I was always playing the piano and my older children were always singing. If you are interested, though, you can hear the piece here. I like the way Proclaim sang it better.

 

Here's a detail of the bottom of the tapestry. We love you and miss you, Proclaim. Our hearts rest on roses when we think of you.

 

 



Spider Wisdom

"What do people catch in the Queensborough Bridge--bugs?" asked Wilbur.

"No," said Charlotte. "They don't catch anything. They just keep trotting back and forth across the bridge thinking there is something better on the other side. If they'd hang head-down at the top of the thing and wait quietly, maybe something good would come along. But no--with men it's rush, rush, rush, every minute. I'm glad I'm a sedentary spider."

"What does sedentary mean?" asked Wilbur.

"Means I sit still a good part of the time and don't go wandering all over creation. I know a good thing when I see it, and my web is a good thing. I stay put and wait for what comes. Gives me a chance to think."

--Charlotte's Web, Chapter 9

Out of the Mouths of Eight-Year-Olds

Today as we were driving home from church Evan asked, "Mom, why do we have toll roads?" I explained that often city and/or state governments will build a new road to make automobile travel easier but will then install toll booths so as to collect fees to pay for the new road. I further explained that while those tolls are often represented as temporary measures, lasting for a set period of time until the road is paid for, they typically become permanent fixtures that ultimately extend in perpetuity, collecting money indefinitely. "Governments like to take as much money from the people as they can, and once they start taking it, they don't like to stop," I said.

My eight-year-old briefly pondered this statement, and then disdainfully responded:

"Government brutality."

An October Surprise

I have been out of town the last few days, visiting my son in Nebraska. Yesterday he competed in the MTNA Young Artist Competition, playing a 30-minute program that included works by Bach, Brahms, and 20th-century composer Lowell Liebermann. The video below is of Trevor's performance of the Liebermann piece, entitled "Gargoyles." I love this work because although it is modern in style and harmonic vocabulary, it is highly melodic and therefore quite accessible, not to mention haunting and exciting. It is a four-movement work; included here are the first, third, and fourth movements.


"Gargoyles" - Op. 29 by Lowell Liebermann from Cheryl on Vimeo.

Trevor received Honorable Mention for this performance; the previous night, in Lincoln, he won the University of Nebraska's undergraduate concerto competition! In February he will be performing the first movement of Rachmaninoff's Second Piano Concerto with the University of Nebraska Symphony Orchestra.    If you had asked Trevor a few days ago which of the two competitions he thought he had the best chance of winning, he would have said MTNA, not the concerto competition. Such is live music: one never knows when all the elements are going to come together in just the right way to create a truly memorable performance. Sometimes it happens when you least expect it (and conversely doesn't happen when you thought it would).

It has been a long three days of driving--about nine hours on the road both Wednesday and today and five hours yesterday as Trevor and I drove from Lincoln to Kearney and back again. I am tired but so thankful I was able to go and see my son perform and to spend some time with him. It was my first time to see him since he left for the fall term over two months ago. I didn't go along on that trip so had not even seen his room yet this year. Can you believe he was able to get moved in without his mother directing him every step of the way?

Time to start counting the days until Thanksgiving.

Enough

From Today's Treasury of Daily Prayer, the words of Dietrich Bonhoeffer:

It is not we who build. [Christ] builds the church. No man builds the church but Christ alone. Whoever is minded to build the church is surely well on the way to destroying it; for he will build a temple to idols without wishing or knowing it. We must confess--he builds. We must proclaim--he builds. We must pray to him--that he may build.

We do not know his plan. We cannot see whether he is building or pulling down. It may be that the times which by human standards are times of collapse are for him the great times of construction. It may be that the times which from a human point of view are great times for the church are times when it is pulled down.

It is a great comfort which Christ gives to his church: you confess, preach, bear witness to me and I alone will build where it pleases me. Do not meddle in what is my province. Do what is given to you to do well and you have done enough. But do it well. Pay no heed to views and opinions. Don't ask for judgments. Don't always be calculating what will happen. Don't always be on the lookout for another refuge! Church, stay a church! But church, confess, confess, confess! Christ alone is your Lord; from his grace alone can you live as you are. Christ builds.

I know these words are concerned with building the church. And indeed, they are a good reminder to those who look to the visible and tangible aspects of a church--the fancy building or top notch staff or great programs or perfect practice--as evidence of the church's health and strength. But I think these words about the church can be applied equally to the individual in his everyday life. If you are anything like me, you could benefit from reading this passage on a daily basis. For if you are anything like me, you love nothing better than to think you are in control. You spend endless hours calculating, planning, and trying to ensure things work out as you think they ought. Yet what so often happens is that the thing you have worked so hard to build crumbles before your eyes, and all those opinions and judgments and calculations come to naught. The comforting reminder here is that even when that happens, God is in charge. He is always building. When we think things are at their most hopeless, that is when He is hardest at work, drawing up the blueprint for His next work of art. And conversely, when we think we have produced something that is untouchable, we find that its shiny exterior belies the rot within. My prayer for myself this day, and for you, dear reader, is that even in the face of the constant and unrelenting setbacks of this life, we might take encouragement from the blessing of vocation: "Do what is given to you to do well and you have done enough." I am enough and you are enough because we are in Christ, and Christ is always enough. So take heart and rest, and let Him build.

Fish Fail

Back in July we purchased a 20-gallon aquarium for my mother. She lives with us, but although she is ambulatory and in generally good health, she does not get out of the house much and no longer reads or pursues any hobbies. My husband thought the fish tank might provide a pleasing alternative to television as well as turn into something that my youngest child would be able to share with his grandma. I remember our having an aquarium when I was growing up and don't recall its being that complicated. So when my husband suggested one for my mom's birthday I agreed. How hard could it be?

A lot harder, it turns out, than I ever imagined. I have lost track of the number of times I have carried water samples to the pet store. When we first set up the tank, we followed the instructions perfectly. We added all the recommended water treatments and let the filter work for a week before we took in the first water sample. That sample tested too high on the pH scale. We added "pH down," waited a few days, and tested again. Still too high. After several more trips on the pH merry-go-round, we finally achieved safe range and got the green light to buy our first fish. We took home three of the red wag platy specimen, a hardy, tropical fish marketed as an excellent choice for beginners like us. We were excited to finally have fish and thought we were on our way! The salesgirl cautioned us about overfeeding, a common newbie mistake. Instead of feeding the fish twice per day, as the fish food container suggested, we limited feedings to one pinch of fish food per day. Our platies (platys?) seemed to be happy.

Within a week, however, we could tell something was wrong. Our fish were not as active as they had been. We noticed what looked like tiny white specks on several of them. Back to the pet store we went. It turned out our fish had Ichthyopthirius multifiliis, a parasite more commonly known as "Ick." Not to worry--there is a treatment for that. We bought a bottle of "Super Ick Cure" and added as directed. But within a week all the fish were dead. We returned them to the pet store to collect on our two-week money-back guarantee and also took back another water sample. Upon dipping the test strip into our baggie of water, the salesgirl's mouth fell open: "That is the highest ammonia level I have ever seen." (For the record, a few years ago the city of Chicago became our water source, so if it's the tap water we are not alone in our toxicity.) We went back home armed with ammonia remover and did several rounds of treatment over the course of a week before retesting. The ammonia was still incredibly high. This time it was suggested that we replace most but not all the water. I purchased a tank vacuum and suctioned out about 2/3 of the water, cleaning the gravel at the same time. I replaced the water I had removed, starting from scratch with a new filter cartridge and the usual additives. I have been back to the pet store several more times, and while the pH level is fine, the ammonia level is still unacceptably high. The last time I went, the salesgirl (there are actually at least three, and they all recognize me now) looked at me with an expression of puzzled pity and suggested we totally empty the the tank and start from scratch.

We are three months into our fish odyssey and I am tired. I have run out of both money and motivation. I don't want to carry the plastic bag of shame to the pet store anymore only to have a pretty, young salesgirl sadly shake her head at me. I don't want to continue sneaking into my mother's room when she is not there in order to steal water samples from the tank without having to endure her knowing looks. "It will be easy," I told her all those months ago. "You don't have to do anything. I'll take care of it." Three months later her tank sits, pretty and gurgling, but devoid of life. Maybe I need to buy some of these. Do you think she would notice?

In other news, I am happy to report our puppy is still alive.

Undecided Voters

I am sorry if this post offends anyone. But I just have to say that I find this animal known as the "undecided voter" to be a bit confusing, particularly when one is talking about the two major party candidates at this point in the presidential election. Those two candidates are as different as they can be, in style as well as in substance, and they have offered two highly contrasting visions for this country's next four years. One of them has a four-year record that indicates exactly what his approach will be if he gets four more years to act. I know there are those who in general dismiss politicians, particularly major party ones, professing the belief that "they are all alike" and that none of them can be trusted. I don't subscribe to that view, but if I did, I would probably find myself not undecided but apathetic, deciding to eschew the voting booth, period, or like some of my friends, vote third-party. But if one has not given up completely on the two major parties, one cannot look at the two current candidates without seeing a clear demarcation between them. They are very, very different in their backgrounds, philosophies, and values. They have been promoting their agendas for years. There is a wealth of information readily available for anyone who wants to learn more about them. They have now participated in two debates. How can one still be undecided?

I heard an undecided voter on television yesterday morning explaining that he remains undecided because according to him both major candidates speak only in generalities, offering no specifics about what they want to do and how they would do it. I don't understand how anyone who has been paying the slightest attention could come to this conclusion. It strikes me that the aforementioned undecided voter is doing the very same thing he accuses the candidates of doing; speaking in cliches and generalities as he comes up with rationalizations for why he does not see the difference between these two. He based that assessment on the most recent debate. I would suggest to that voter that a debate is not the ideal format for a candidate to get into the nuts and bolts of how he is going to execute his broader vision. Not only does the time limit prevent such detail, but any candidate who started engaging in that kind of minutiae would be derided as boring and tedious, or more kindly, "wonky," the morning after the debate. These candidates really can't win for losing. We tell them we want them to tell the truth but the truth is we don't want to hear it. 

To that voter on the morning talk show who complained that he can't make up his mind yet because the candidates aren't offering enough specifics about what they would do, I commend several documents for his perusal. First, Mitt Romney's 5-point plan, available in a one-page summary or a more detailed eight-page version. It is available here

Second, a fuller fleshing out of Romney's economic plan, available here. It is 160 pages long and includes discussion of 59 specific points.

And anyone who is still unclear about what Obama would do might consider taking a few days off and reading the entirety of the Affordable Care Act, which, depending on which version you read, runs anywhere from 900-something pages to well over two thousand. That act has not yet been fully implemented. If Obama wins a second term it will be.

And dear, undecided voters, those are just for starters. The information you seek is out there if you really want to avail yourself of it. The question is, do you? Or do you just want to continue complaining while clinging to your ignorance?

The Writer

This beautiful young woman is 17 years old today. She was a little reluctant to make her entrance into the world, so at almost two weeks overdue she was induced. To make it convenient for the delivering doctor we checked into the hospital at about 7:00 p.m. Caitlin kept me up all night and is a night owl to this day. She was born at about 6:00 in the morning, my biggest baby at 9 pounds, 12 ounces. She had a head full of black hair and I wondered if she was mine. Indeed she was, and for that I will be ever thankful. What a blessing is a daughter who loves, cares, and thinks as deeply as this one does and who lives in a way that honors both her parents and her God. One of my birdies has already left the nest and this one is not far behind. I will miss her so.

I wish I could write a poem for my daughter, the writer. Maybe some day I will. For now, I will borrow the words of another. For you, Caitlin. Happy birthday with love.

 "The Writer"

In her room at the prow of the house

Where light breaks, and the windows are tossed with linden,
My daughter is writing a story.

I pause in the stairwell, hearing
From her shut door a commotion of typewriter-keys
Like a chain hauled over a gunwale.

Young as she is, the stuff
Of her life is a great cargo, and some of it heavy:
I wish her a lucky passage.

But now it is she who pauses,
As if to reject my thought and its easy figure.
A stillness greatens, in which

The whole house seems to be thinking,
And then she is at it again with a bunched clamor
Of strokes, and again is silent.

I remember the dazed starling
Which was trapped in that very room, two years ago;
How we stole in, lifted a sash

And retreated, not to affright it;
And how for a helpless hour, through the crack of the door,
We watched the sleek, wild, dark

And iridescent creature
Batter against the brilliance, drop like a glove
To the hard floor, or the desk-top,

And wait then, humped and bloody,
For the wits to try it again; and how our spirits
Rose when, suddenly sure,

It lifted off from a chair-back, 
Beating a smooth course for the right window
And clearing the sill of the world.

It is always a matter, my darling,
Of life or death, as I had forgotten.  I wish
What I wished you before, but harder.

--Richard Wilbur

Anyway

One of my Facebook friends recently posted a slightly different version of this poem on her wall. The words are often attributed to Mother Theresa, but according to this source they are probably based on something by another writer called "The Paradoxical Commandments."

People are often unreasonable, irrational and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and sincere, people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway.

What you spend years creating others could destroy overnight. Create anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway.

The good you do today will often be forgotten. Do good anyway.

Give the best you have, and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway.

In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.

 

When I first read this post on Facebook I found myself cheering. It sounds so simple. And I have so often seen what is described here: kindness and generosity perceived as selfish self-promoting; a person's honesty used against him; selfless acts quickly forgotten; someone's best effort pronounced as still not enough; the product of many years of work and sweat torn down, ignored or summarily set aside. The problem is that as beautiful as the poem's sentiment is, I can't follow it. I find it very difficult to forgive those who have hurt me or to not be discouraged when something I have worked hard to build or accomplish is disregarded or unappreciated. I want to be thanked when I have helped someone. I want to be appreciated when I have given my best. As I read these words, I again and again come face to face with my sinful condition. I find it impossible to do all the things the poem says I should do. And the reason is that I am not just the victim of the behaviors described in the poem; I am the perpetrator. I am not just the one of whom others are jealous; I am the jealous one. I am not just the one whose good deeds go unnoticed; I am the one who fails to notice the sacrifices of others. I am not only the builder; I am also the destroyer.

Thank goodness for the final line of the poem, which reminds us that while our relationships with others are dependent on sinful human beings, our relationship with God is dependent only on Him. While others let us down, He never does. He looks at us in all our unreasonable, self-centered, deceitful, destructive selfishness and He does what we are unable to do: He loves and forgives us anyway. And ultimately that is the only "anyway" that matters and the one to which we should all desperately cling.

Wordless Wednesday

Eye Crossing 101

Scene: Today while driving home from church.

Caitlin: "I'm getting better at crossing my eyes, Dad. I can do it with my eyelids shut now."

Phillip: "You're making progress! Good work, sweetie!"

That's how we roll here at Philipp Nicolai Lutheran Academy.

"The readiness is all"

We are not a big swimming family. My husband likes water; I don't. I took enough swimming lessons as a child to be able to keep myself from drowning if I fall in, but I would not mind if I never had to go to the beach or pool again. (My husband and I are well matched in many ways, but this is not one of them--he adores the beach.)

Anyway, due to my lack of interest and my husband's sensitivity to chlorine, we don't go to the pool much, and since we don't live by the seashore, it has always taken some effort to turn our children into swimmers. We believe everyone should know how to swim, though, so we have made sure they had lessons to attain some measure of competence. Neither of our older children is an extremely good swimmer, but they manage. Three years ago, when he was five, we enrolled our youngest in swimming class. The first day started out relatively well, but from that point everything went down hill. He liked the teacher that he had that first day, but on the second day the teaching assignments were shuffled, and he got a different teacher. He adjusted, but his sense of safety and security with the undertaking was gone. Then, on the third day there was a further different teacher (sigh). This one had a crew cut, multiple facial piercings, and tattoos (she was female but Evan kept calling her "him"). The child whom I have since come to understand as highly sensitive did not respond well, refusing to even get in the water. We tried for a few more days but ultimately gave up. It wasn't worth the grief.

Since then we have continued going to the pool or beach when the opportunity arises, but as of a few weeks ago Evan had still not  learned to swim. We decided this year it was time to try again. Here he is last week after only three lessons (I found out yesterday that at the first lesson he told his teacher he hated it and never wanted to swim again,):


video-2012-09-28-15-36-07 from Cheryl on Vimeo.


Here he is yesterday, after only the fourth lesson:


video-2012-10-05-15-35-30 from Cheryl on Vimeo.

The video doesn't show it, but yesterday he was also swimming (not just floating) on his back, after only the first try.

So much of learning, whether it's swimming, music, math, or reading, has to do with readiness. People are different. They aren't all ready to do or learn the same things at the same time. It is one of the things I love about homeschooling--it allows my child the freedom to develop at his own pace without pressure from those in "authority" to meet the determined objectives on a preset schedule. Evan was reading when he was five. He was not ready to learn to swim until he was almost nine. There are other ways that he is right now both "ahead" of and "behind" what would be considered typical or average for his age. We could have spent the last three years going to swimming lessons every week and still be where we are right now. Maybe he was ready last year and we just didn't seize the opportunity. But he was not ready three years ago. We would have wasted several years worth of time and money if we had pressed the issue. I see the same thing in music lessons. Some children are ready when they are five, some not until they're eight or nine. If we wait until that magical moment when they are truly ready, they will make such swift progress that very often they will catch up and surpass their peers who started learning the same thing three years before.

I am not saying that parents should give up at the slightest hint of difficulty or challenge. But parents know their children best. They are best equipped to judge whether a child is truly struggling or just being resistant. Even for parents it can sometimes be hard to tell. So as parents we weigh all the variables--the traits of the child we know and the particulars of the situation at hand--and we make our best call. Sometimes we get it right, and sometimes we don't. And sometimes we don't know whether we got it right or not, and you know what? That's okay, too.

*The quote is from Hamlet, Act 5, scene ii: “If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all.” Of course, this post is about swimming lessons, not dying, although at one time Evan didn't see much difference. :-)

He's Twenty

Twenty years ago today I was experiencing some discomfort but didn't know if it was time to go to the hospital yet. You see, I had never had a baby before and I didn't want to be one of those pregnant ladies who goes to the hospital only to be sent back home. Was this labor? I wasn't sure. So I waited until finally my husband would let me wait no more. We headed to St. John's in Nassau Bay, Texas, but on the way we stopped for frozen yogurt at TCBY. Isn't that what everyone does on the way to have a baby? Whatever. By the time we arrived I was dilated to 5 cm. Trevor was born at 10:43 p.m. and weighed in at 9 pounds, 7 ounces (must have been all that brain matter). We celebrated by ordering pizza.

This is the second year in a row we won't be able to be with Trevor on his birthday. Thank God for Skype. Tonight after he gets back to his dorm room following piano lit class he will video call us and open the package that (I hope) will arrive in his mailbox today.

Where have the years gone?

It's Time

For the last few weeks we have had a cat showing up in our back yard on a regular basis. (Sorry, cat people, but we don't consider this to be a positive thing.) Sunday my friend Melody was here with her husband and daughter and I mentioned this new development, expressing my puzzlement as to why it was suddenly occurring. Melody, wise farm woman that she is, quickly responded, "You don't have a dog anymore."

Duh. Of course. The absence of a dog equates not only to a lonely 8-year-old and dirtier floors but also to more strays and wild animals on the property. We decided this morning as a family that the waiting period is over. We are officially in the market for a puppy. In morning prayers we asked God to lead us to the right one. Let the search begin!

New Church, Same Cantor

On August 19 my husband was installed as Minister of Music and Worship at a new church. We have been welcomed more warmly than we could have ever anticipated and are seeing with greater clarity each week why God has called him to this place at this time in his professional life. Still, it has been hard to say goodbye to our former church home. We were there for almost thirteen years. During that time we made many dear friends and my husband did much to develop a rich, liturgical, singing piety. In the wake of our departure we have had countless people from our former church reach out to say how much they are going to miss having us in their midst. I have been most touched upon hearing from both young people and their parents about how much my husband's teaching has meant to them in the recent and more distant past. Just a few days ago Phillip received a note from one of his singers in last year's junior high choir. The note read simply, "Alleluia! I'm still in choir. For you, Cantor." When you read something like that you grieve anew for those you have had to leave behind.

But then you see something like this. Another group of children in another place who, just like those we left behind, have a song to sing and need someone to help them sing it. The video below was taken during warm-up for church this morning. It is typical of my husband's approach to working with children: demanding, accepting only the best, but always doing so with a sense of joy and fun. (Former choir members, young and old, will recognize Phillip's "Russian piano teacher" persona.) I told Phillip a few weeks ago that I know that he will be a blessing to all the children with whom he is currently working but that I believe that somewhere among them is a child, maybe more than one, who particularly needs a teacher like him right now, and that is in part why the Lord as called him here.

These children are fourth, fifth, and sixth graders. They have been singing for their new choir director for about a month now. Aren't they sounding beautiful?




"Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" - J. S. Bach from Cheryl on Vimeo.

And Then Again, Some Are

A few days ago I posted about friendship. It's a topic I have written about before that for various reasons has lately come back into focus. One of those reasons is something that happened last weekend. One of my oldest friends, a best friend from my junior high days, found me on Facebook. We only went to the same school for three years--sixth, seventh, and eighth grades--before I moved again. But when we met we immediately connected and even though we lost touch somewhere along the way I have never forgotten her. I have looked for her over the years on Facebook but couldn't find her under her maiden name. I am so glad she was able to find me!

We have spent the last week catching up on each other's lives and recalling the past. I don't know why, but I have never seemed to have a very good memory when it comes to past events, even extremely significant ones. Some months ago my husband showed me on Facebook a photograph of a church sanctuary. He smiled broadly, waiting for my reaction. He didn't get the one he was anticipating. "Nice church," I said. It turned out it was the church we got married in. Sigh. I felt so bad (but in my defense, we moved shortly after marriage and have not been back to that church since then).

Anyway, my long lost junior high friend--her name is Kathy--has blessed me with so many memories this week. A few I don't personally recall, but others I do now that she has prodded them loose. We have had fun remembering . . . .

Having a fan club devoted to filling scrapbooks with pictures and clippings about our favorite stars (mine was Barbra Streisand).

Going camping with my parents.

Signing up to play doubles tennis and losing horribly in the first round of the tournament (we were so very bad and the "coach" offered us no instruction at all but focused entirely on those who already knew how to play).

Performing in the school talent show. Kathy sang with several of our other friends and I played piano. What song did we do? "Sing" by The Carpenters.

Visiting our English teacher's home on the spur of the moment and having her invite us in and cook for us. Something that could have only happened in the 1970's in a small Texas town.

A few days ago I got this note from Kathy:

We will keep in touch. You were my very first friend growing up. You never judged me because we were so poor. So many happy childhood memories because of you and your family. I still remember the first time I invited you over to spend the night. We cooked steak and became best friends. I still have a recipe you wrote out for strawberry shortcake on a recipe card. I don't think we made it, though. I remember all your Archie comics we would read at your house and we would write short stories and we loved English and our English teacher Mrs. Powell and we even ate at her house once . . . . Life sure was a lot simpler back then. . . . I sure did enjoy listening to you play the piano and your concerts we would go to in Austin. I remember my favorite was at your house and I would bug you to play "The Sting" . . . . When I come for a visit I will bring that recipe!

I wrote back to Kathy that the not judging works both ways. My father was a good man but he was an alcoholic and when he drank, his behavior and language were very harsh. I remember frequently feeling embarrassed when my friends were around to see it. Kathy told me she remembered that but also remembered all the things my dad did for us and the places he took us. 

Kathy, I can't possibly express what a blessing you have been to me this week. The title of my last post was "Friends are Friends Forever . . . Not." But this week I was reminded again that some friends are indeed  forever. They may fade for a time, but when you least expect it, they come back and bless you all over again! More and more I am understanding that God gives us the friends we need when we need them. Our calling is to be thankful in this as in all things. "The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord." (Job 1:21) 

Friends are Friends Forever . . . Not

Online friendship sometimes gets a bad rap. People have legitimate concerns about it. It's harder to maintain a friendship when you don't see the other person for long periods of time. You sometimes wonder if you really know that other person as well as you think you do. Would you like each other as much if you saw one another on a daily basis? And yet one thing about online friendship is that if someone continues hanging around, reading your emails, responding back, interacting with you on social media, occasionally even making an effort to get together in person, you kind of start to think that maybe he or she really does care about you. Because if he doesn't, dropping you is a mere click of the mouse away. Flesh and blood people, on the other hand, are kind of stuck with you. If you work with a person, live in the same neighborhood, go to church together, etc., you don't have much choice but to put up with him or her. So you learn to get along. Sometimes you even get along really well. But when contact is required rather than optional you don't really ever know what the other person thinks of you. You may think you do, but you don't--not until such time as that person has a choice of whether to continue the relationship or not. And I suppose that's a good thing. We all do what we must to get along, and we can't be bosom buddies with everyone we come into contact with on a daily basis. Some relationships are for a lifetime; others are only for a season. But sometimes there are people in your life that you come to think of as friends who, it turns out, were just being polite, putting up with you until they didn't have to anymore. And that is disappointing to learn.

We Love Fred

Have you ever met Fred? In case the answer is no, here he is. Reader, Fred. Fred, Reader.

Fred is the star of the Life of Fred math series, created by Stanley Schmidt, Ph.D. We just started Life of Fred elementary math this year. Even though Evan has already had some math study, knows much of his times tables and would be ready to take on a traditional third grade math book, we are following the recommendation to start at the beginning of Life of Fred. We would not want to miss a single page of either Fred's story or the rich cultural associations that are included at every turn. In just the first book (LOF elementary math is a 10-book program), in addition to adding numbers up to 7, telling time on the hour, counting by fives and hundreds, and learning about degrees Fahrenheit, circles, ellipses, squares, rectangles, triangles, basic algebra and set theory, we have learned about--

The days of the week
Alphabetical order
How to spell February
Deciduous v. evergreen trees
Archimedes
The painter Domenico Fetti
The meaning of a.m. (ante meridiem)
The fact that the reindeer names "Donner and Blitzen" mean "thunder and lightning" in German
The Greek alphabet
The phrase "Noli turbare circulos meos" (Latin for "Don't mess with my circles").
Good manners
United States geography, including Kansas, the Pacific Ocean, and the Atlantic Ocean
The Titanic
Herbivores, carnivores, and omnivores
Whales
How some chess pieces move
What a Table of Contents is
The Wizard of Oz

This math curriculum is an English teacher's dream. It doesn't get much better. The math is there, sprinkled throughout the story, but it doesn't feel like math. At the end of each chapter is a "Your turn to play" box where the child/teacher review what has been presented. But it really does feel like play, not work. And the cultural literacy and life instruction are invaluable.

We are almost done with "Apples" and ready to start "Butterflies" (the names of the first ten books proceed alphabetically from "A" to "J"). The pace is about one book per month. By the end of the tenth book we will be doing decimals, exponents, fractions and prime numbers. I'm actually looking forward to it!

Wordless Wednesday

I Do Not Think That Means What You Think It Means

Have you ever noticed that there are certain phrases that have a completely different meaning from what they claim to be communicating? A few examples: 

"Not to change the subject . . . ." I'm about to change the subject.

"I hate to tell you this . . . ." I can't wait to tell you this.

"I promise I won't judge you." You are about to be judged.

"Nothing wrong with that." Here's what's wrong with that.

"No offense . . . ." Get ready to be offended.

"It's not personal." I don't like you.

"I have nothing against him." I don't like him.

"It's your call." You're about to make the wrong decision.

"I was only kidding." You are hypersensitive.

"We wish you the best in your future endeavors." Good riddance.

Can you think of any more?

A Regular Guy?

I have been pondering this for a while. In my life I have known quite a few men "of the cloth" (pastors, priests, preachers, etc.). With many of them I have observed a certain quality that I find it difficult to put my finger on.  I have seen it in both priests (I used to be Roman Catholic) and Lutheran pastors as well as ministers from other denominations. For lack of a better word, they are "pastoral." There is something that is just a little different about them, something that sets them apart from the rest of us. Again, it is hard to define and describe, but some of the qualities that come to mind are thoughtfulness, quietness, dignity, caring, kindness, peacefulness, gentleness, serenity, self-control and calm. In short, they are Christ-like. I am probably going to get raked over the coals for saying this, but I also appreciate pastors/priests who in their own demonstration of propriety and decorum make  "regular" people want to behave better than they otherwise might. In the same way that I as a parent try not to let my children see me sin (even though I do sin) because I don't want my sin to lead them astray, I appreciate pastors who set a good example with regard to their use of language and their choices in entertainment, dress, behavior, etc. I think men who are charged with standing in for Christ in the worship service often carry some of that aura of holiness into their everyday lives, and I think that is a good thing.

At the same time, I understand that pastors are sinners like the rest of us. Believe me, I understand. But it seems that there are some pastors who, in their effort to warn us about the worthlessness of our own good deeds, go out of their way to put the baser aspects of their humanity on display. Similarly, there are some lay people who go out of their way to encourage pastors in this anti-pietism crusade. This doesn't make sense to me. Does not Paul himself call the overseer to a higher standard of behavior than those he oversees?

The saying is trustworthy: If anyone aspires to the office of overseer, he desires a noble task. Therefore an overseer must be above reproach, the husband of one wife, sober-minded, self-controlled, respectable, hospitable,able to teach, not a drunkard, not violent but gentle, not quarrelsome, not a lover of money. He must manage his own household well, with all dignity keeping his children submissive, for if someone does not know how to manage his own household, how will he care for God's church? He must not be a recent convert, or he may become puffed up with conceit and fall into the condemnation of the devil. Moreover, he must be well thought of by outsiders, so that he may not fall into disgrace, into a snare of the devil. (1 Timothy 3:1-7)

I take the statements that the overseer should be "respectable" and "well thought of by outsiders" to be a call for him to adhere to a high enough standard of speech and behavior that he will not confuse, offend, or lead astray one of his sheep or miss the opportunity to minister to someone in need. In my opinion, then, a pastor should not use foul language. He should not tell dirty jokes or use racial slurs. He should use good manners and exhibit modesty in his behavior and moderation in his lifestyle. He should be humble and act like a gentleman, not drawing excessive attention to himself. These are all things I try to do in my own life so as to set a good example for my children; I think my pastor, and pastors in general, should make the same effort for us their sheep. I realize that pastors fail as we all do. But we will all fail less often if we make the effort to begin with.

One final thought. I find it puzzling that sometimes the same people who promote the "Pastors are sinners like the rest of us so don't expect them to behave any better or differently" mantra are the very same people who will blindly follow a pastor simply because he is the pastor and he cannot possibly be at fault. This seems to me a disconnect. If the pastor is a sinner like the next guy, isn't it possible that he has actually somewhere along the way made a mistake or committed a sin? And if so, shouldn't he have that sin pointed out so that he can be brought to repentance and forgiveness like anyone else? And isn't doing so actually a good and positive thing for him (and his sheep) if it leads to a recognition of sin and a change in behavior going forward?

I guess what I am trying to say is that while I realize the man in the clerical suit is a sinful human being, I also look to him as a father figure and teacher, one who has been called to high and holy purpose, and as a result I hope and expect of him certain attributes and behaviors that I don't necessarily expect of the person sitting next to me in the pew. I also hope and expect that when he sins, which he surely does, he does not hide behind his office but readily acknowledges his failings and in so doing models the humility with which we should each approach the cross of our crucified Christ.

Only in Our Family

Lunch today. True story.

"Caitlin, wouldn't it be cool to have a tongue that glowed in the dark?"

Teenage girl considers. Then . . .

"Would I be able to turn it on and off?"

Eight-year-old considers. Then . . .

"Yes."

Teenage girl considers again, then nods.

"Yeah, pretty cool."

But for the Grace

Yesterday Evan and I had our community children's choir rehearsal (he is one of the singers; I am the piano accompanist). I had some concern about how Evan would handle this experience (he himself expressed great trepidation about it), but he is doing great! Go figure--I guess maturity really does increase with years. ;-) It helps that the choir director is a highly experienced elementary music teacher who obviously loves children and who is a pro at planning a rehearsal that is varied and engaging. It also helps that my 8-year-old is an extrovert who craves the emotional energy of interacting with other children, so choir is a huge dose of his recommended weekly allowance of humanity.

A couple of things happened yesterday that reminded me anew of how blessed we are to live the life we are living and to be able to homeschool our children. This was only the second rehearsal of the year. Before it even got started, the choir director and I both noticed that the little boy sitting next to Evan was crying. Big crocodile tears, sniffles, red eyes, the whole bit. My colleague went to the child and talked with him and tried to comfort him. It seemed she made a little progress but a short time later I looked back at the child and he was crying as hard as before. I went over to him and suggested that he take a break, go to the back of the room, sit by the parent attendant for a little while and maybe get a drink of water or go to the bathroom, coming back to rehearsal when he felt better. He looked at me with big, sad eyes and said, "I miss my mom." :-( I told him his mom would be back for him soon. He did take me up on my suggestion and after a little break came back to rehearsal, but the tears continued off and on for the rest of the hour-long practice. I felt so sorry for that little boy who had probably been at school all day long and was already exhausted and wanted nothing more than the comfort of home and family for the rest of the day.

Later, after rehearsal, I chatted outside with the choir director and traffic parent for a few minutes. As I watched Evan run around on the grass with other children waiting for their parents, I joked about how much my isolated, homeschooled child enjoyed this weekly social time. The traffic mom suddenly perked up.

"You homeschool?" Yes, we do. "How long have you done that?" Since my oldest, a college sophomore, was in second grade. "And you did it all along?" Why, yes, we did. The woman's face expressed deep longing. "I wish we could homeschool. We had [her son] in private school for a while but now that we have two more children we can't afford it anymore. I work from home during the day and have another job a few nights a week and I just feel like I don't have enough time with my children, you know?" Yes, I said. I know. Being with our kids is probably the number one reason we homeschool. "I would really love to do it," she said. "I just don't know if I can." I told her she could certainly do as good a job as any school--that schools don't have it figured out any more than we as parents do. And most important, she would be able to spend more time with her children.

About that time some child somewhere needed to be told to not do whatever stupid, life-threatening thing he was doing. Our conversation ended, but I told her to let me know if she had any more questions about homeschooling.

I thank God that as I write this blog post my youngest child is in the same room with me, giggling about the Calvin & Hobbes strip that he read last night. There, but for the grace of God, goes a sad, little boy with tear-stained cheeks, surrounded by strangers, longing for his mommy to put her arms around him. And here by the grace of God sits a mommy who can give those hugs whenever they're needed, and who, truth be told, needs them herself as much as or more than he does. 

"Never Gonna Stop Till Everybody's Groovin'"

One of the things I want to do with Evan in our home school this year is to help him learn and appreciate the documents, symbols, and songs that are an important part of being an American citizen. Today before devotion we spent some time discussing the Pledge of Allegiance, going through it line by line and analyzing the meaning. When we got to the last line, "With liberty and justice for all," I asked Evan what "liberty" is. He wasn't sure but wanted to try to come up with the answer, so Caitlin and I offered some clues. I told him that there is a synonym for liberty that starts with the letter "f." Then Caitlin said that it is the state of being able to do what you want to do without having limitations put on you (I am paraphrasing--she said it in slightly different words). Evan immediately lit up with what he thought had to be the right answer: "FUN!"

You have to admit, he does have a point. :-)

Proud But Sad Moment

My daughter sings in a community youth choir. It is a top flight group directed by an internationally acclaimed children's choir conductor. She had her first rehearsal this week and was pleased to see that one of the pieces the choir will be singing is a setting of the Magnificat. When the piece was passed out Caitlin immediately knew from the title what the text would be because she knows what the Magnificat is, having sung it for years in church. As the choir perused the text the director asked if anyone knew who sang the words in the Bible. Caitlin was apparently alone in raising her hand. I'm glad she knew the answer, but so sad hardly anyone else did. This choir is a secular group so obviously I would not expect everyone to know about the Magnificat. But I am surprised that in a 60-voice children's choir there were not a few more. Maybe they did know and were just too shy to raise their hands. Still, I am sad for what has obviously been lost, is continuing to be lost, as our culture becomes less Christian and our churches less liturgical.

Wordless Wednesday

Obligatory Political Post

If you go to my sidebar you will see labels for "Campaign 2008" and "Campaign 2012." The first of those has 98 corresponding posts, the second only seven.

In the past year I have found myself reading, thinking and writing much less about the political realm. I'm not sure why that is. Dejection? Discouragement? Resignation? Or maybe it's something more positive, such as a growing embracing of the knowledge and understanding that my God's kingdom is not of this world and as His child neither is mine.

Or maybe there have just been too many other things on my mind.

Whatever the reason, I am still not feeling the tug to write on things political, in spite of the fact that I think this is probably one of the most important elections of my lifetime. But I would like to state for the record that I am voting for the Romney/Ryan ticket, I am proud to do so, and I think you should do the same.

There.

Wise Words, Part 2

More aphorisms from Andree Seu:

"Marry a man who loves God more than he loves you."

"Living in regret of the past, or fear of the future, are two ways of not living at all."

"Thinking a lot is not the same as praying a lot."

"Your child is never angry for no reason."

"Break a fear-of-man problem by aggressively loving people."

"If you wait for better times to 'Rejoice in the Lord' you will never do it."

"Let your words be few."

"A phone call to say 'I'm thinking of you' yields benefits all out of proportion to the time investment."

"Be known as faithful. If you say, 'Let's do lunch' do lunch."

"An idol forfeits your life. You look back and say you never lived."

"God is the better chess player. Just obey."

"You're one prayerless day away from being capable of any sin."

"Pray on the spot for the person who comes to mind. It's either pray or sin."

"The longer I live the truer the Bible gets."

Trust

It's such an elusive thing, trust. What is it, exactly? A feeling? Or a decision? Whatever it is, one can't get through life without it. Simply crossing the street requires a goodly measure of it. But then comes that day when you trust that the oncoming car is going to stop for the red light and you step out in front of it, but guess what? The car doesn't stop. And you get mowed down. And for a long time after you are afraid to step into traffic again. But you realize you have no choice. You have to get to the other side of the street. You have to cross it. And so you put yourself out there again and hope with all your being that that car in the distance sees you and realizes you are not trying to get in its way--you are just trying to cross the street like the pedestrian you are.

Green light . . . . Go!

The Blink of an Eye

Yesterday my eldest child went back to college. He is a sophomore now! He came home in May and was here for three months and now summer is over. Where did it go?

The day before yesterday that eldest child's dog died. We got her for his 11th birthday. She was here, a part of our family, for 9 years, and now she isn't anymore and never will be again.

I remember a day when my oldest was only 9 and our previous dog died. She had been part of our family for 15 years and my husband's life for 2 years before that. It seems like yesterday that he got her. It has been 11 years since we touched her.

This past Sunday my husband played his last services at our former church. He began as Cantor there in January of 2000, almost 13 years ago, and now that time is done.

My youngest child is about to turn 9. He is the age my oldest was when our first dog died. I know there is going to come a day when I wake up to kiss him goodbye for his first day of college and return to an empty house (or maybe a house with another 9-year-old dog). I know it's going to come in the blink of an eye and so I try to cherish this time. And yet I don't know how. What does it mean to "cherish" one's days? It seems the best I can manage is to live them.

Besides, "cherishing time"--whatever that means--doesn't make it stop. I could wrap each day in a velvet-covered box and tie it with a satin bow and yet time would still do what time does, munching my row of pretty gift boxes like so many dots in a Pac-Man game. And once they're munched, they're munched, and before you know it, the game is over.

Wise Words

For many years now we have subscribed to World magazine. It is a news magazine in the tradition of Time or Newsweek but with a Biblical, Christian world view. One of the best things about World is the writer Andree Seu. Her column is the first thing I read whenever a new issue of World arrives. She writes not about politics or current events but about the day-to-day struggles and joys of life under the cross, and she does so  from the perspective of someone who sounds a lot like me: a mom, an English teacher, a wife, and a redeemed sinner. She came later in life to the vocation of published writer, making me think there might still be hope for me!

A few days ago my husband brought home an old issue of World, dated Nov. 19, 2005, that he came across while cleaning out his office. I can see why we saved it. Seu's column in this issue was called "Andree's Aphorisms" and consisted of a catalogue of short observations taken, I assume, from her other writings. Or perhaps they were just things she had often thought or said and only compiled for this column.  Whatever the case, her observations are pure gold, so I thought I would share a few of them here.

People laugh at your unwholesome talk at the moment but think less of you afterwards.

A lot of what I thought was my personality was just sin.

I started out wanting to be my children's savior, and ended up pleading for forgiveness.

Your friend's casual joke about her husband is a deep well. Probe and you will find pain.

Whole lifetimes are wasted worrying about the opinions of people who aren't even on the right wavelength.

Better to let your child make an imperfect bed than to have a perfect bed that you make yourself.

An inferiority complex is a desire to be better than other people.

The more you see how wretched and needy you are, the less the question "How much should I pray?" is an issue for serious debate.

The best teaching moments are never at convenient times.

Sit on a sensitive letter for three days before sending it.

When I have no intention of obeying a Bible command, I say it's not meant to be taken literally.

My kids have a foggy recollection of things I tried to teach them, and total recall of my phone conversations they overheard from the next room.

Tell your child what delights you about him. He doesn't know unless you tell him.

Now and then skip the dishes and run out to the park. In 20 years your kid will remember the park and you will not remember the dishes.

Praising and thanking God all day long are the only cure I've found for depression.

Drop the dust rag and look at your child when he's telling you a story.

And, my favorite, :

While inside an idolatry you love your idolatry. When you are set free you see what bondage it was.

Seu's World columns can be read here and her World magazine blog is found here.

A Bigger Sinner, Who Can Find?

Some time ago my buddy Rebekah suggested that I read Native Son by Richard Wright. (At least I think it was Rebekah. She can correct me if I'm wrong.) This week I finally took her advice and picked it up. I did not realize what I was getting myself into. It is an incredibly difficult, emotionally totalizing read. I don't mean difficult in the sense of difficult to comprehend but in the sense of disturbing. I have made the mistake several times of reading it before bed, not a good strategy for someone who grapples with insomnia under the best of circumstances. But I can't help it. I have heard of people not being able to put down The Hunger Games trilogy. After the first book, I had no trouble doing just that; I went on to read the other two mostly so as to be able to talk about the books with my teenagers. Native Son is far more compelling and far more troubling than anything I have read in a while.

I have not finished the book yet. I am about to start the third and last part. I am hoping for some sort of redemption or possibility of redemption for the main character but I don't know whether it's coming. I don't want to spoil the story for anyone who may wish to read it, but I don't think it will do so to say that Bigger Thomas, the main character, is a complete sociopath. He has no sense of right and wrong and he lacks any measure of empathy for his fellow human beings. His actions in the novel are shocking and sickening; equally so is his thought process as he reflects on those actions:

"Now that the ice was broken, could he not do other things? What was there to stop him? While sitting there at the table waiting for his breakfast, he felt that he was arriving at something which had long eluded him. Things were becoming clear; he would know how to act from now on. The thing to do was to act just like others acted, live like they lived, and while they were not looking, do what you wanted. They would never know. He felt in the quiet presence of his mother, brother, and sister a force, inarticulate and unconscious, making for living without thinking, making for peace and habit, making for a hope that blinded. He felt that they wanted and yearned to see life in a certain way; they needed a certain picture of the world; there was one way of living they preferred above all others; and they were blind to what did not fit. They did not want to see what others were doing if that doing did not feed their own desires. All one had to do was be bold, do something nobody thought of. The whole thing came to him in the form of a powerful and simple feeling; there was in everyone a great hunger to believe that made him blind, and if he could see while others were blind, then he could get what he wanted and never be caught at it."

The passage is terrifying in its depiction of a sociopath's discovery of his own sociopathy and his realization that if he hides it from the world, he can use it against the world. To this point in his life he has not worried about trying to fit in or play the game or seem normal but has flaunted his antisocial behavior for all to see. Now, suddenly, he realizes that it is much more useful to play along with society, at least externally. Bigger has also figured out a basic truth about human beings that he can use to his advantage: namely, that they tend to see the world as they want and to deny those things that don't fit their predetermined conclusion of reality. It is the amazing human capacity for self-deception, and we all have it. Unfortunately, we all also have a great capacity for deceiving others. And that is probably what is most disturbing about this book. While neither I nor you, dear reader, would ever in a million years be able to commit the kinds of acts that Bigger commits in this book, we all have in our hearts the same sickness that makes it possible for us to rationalize all kinds of lies and delusional thinking. We may not be sociopaths, but we are most definitely sinners. And like Bigger, we deceive ourselves into thinking we can keep up the facade and not get caught. I guess that's why even as I am literally kept awake at night by visions of Bigger's atrocities, I also find myself feeling sorry for him and desiring for him some ray of hope--some indication that his mind and heart might be changed. I have met some Bigger Thomases in my day, albeit on a much smaller scale. And if I am honest with myself, there is a tiny little Bigger Thomas inside of me. May God have mercy on us all, for in truth, without Him, we are all equally lost.

Wordless Wednesday

Third Grade!

At the Philipp Nicolai Lutheran Academy the most important advancement is not academic but spiritual. Evan, our 8-year-old, learned the Ten Commandments last year in first grade. This year for second grade he has been working on the Apostles' Creed and its meaning from Luther's Small Catechism. Evan's father told him that when he could say the complete meaning of the Creed he would earn the title of third grader. Here is Evan doing just that this morning. The whole family was present for this occasion and we are all so very proud of him!

 
The Apostles' Creed with Meaning, from Luther's Small Catechism from Cheryl on Vimeo.

A Goodbye Song

Yesterday my husband accompanied a voice recital. The singers were two high school graduates who are voice students of a friend of ours but who will soon be leaving home to pursue vocal study at the college level. This song in particular touched our hearts. It is the opening number of the musical Parade and is sung by a young Confederate soldier who is leaving his sweetheart to fight in the Civil War. We may live in Illinois now but both my husband and I were born and reared in the South and still consider it home. So the love for home and pride in one's roots that is so amazingly evoked here touches something very deep in our hearts. 


Second, this is a song about saying goodbye. We will be saying some of our own goodbyes in the next few weeks as we leave the church we have called home now for almost 13 years. But there are names we have carved in our hearts and memories that we will always cherish. So to our own "Lila" we say farewell. We miss you already.


Farewell, my Lila
I'll write every evening
I've carved our names
In the trunk of this tree
Farewell, my Lila
I miss you already
And dream of the day
When I'll hold you again
In a home safe from fear
When the Southland is free

I go to fight for these old hills behind me
These Old Red Hills of Home
I go to fight, for these old hills remind me
Of a way of life that's pure
Of the truth that must endure
In a town called Marietta
In the Old Red Hills of Home

Pray on this day as I journey beyond them
These Old Red Hills of Home
Let all the blood of the North spill upon them
'Til they've paid for what they've wrought
Taken back the lies they've taught
And there's peace in Marietta
And we're safe again in Georgia
In the land where honor lives and breathes
The Old Red Hills of Home

Farewell, my Lila
Farewell

 
"The Old Red Hills of Home" from Cheryl on Vimeo.

Homeschooling Planning

For my homeschooling readers, I thought I would take just a few minutes and share what we are planning to do with Evan for "school" this year.

History - The Story of the World, Volume 2 (Medieval/Renaissance) - We are almost through Volume 1!

Language Arts - Learning Language Arts Through Literature, Level 3 (Yellow) - I have used this book before, for several of the elementary years. I particularly like the Yellow book. It introduces cursive writing as well as some core spelling rules and language concepts. And I like the format: an integrated approach to language arts with assignments broken down into very manageable daily lessons (five per week). It's an excellent basic language arts text that isn't too time-consuming or heavy on the busy work.

Math - We are trying Life of Fred this year. I am intrigued by the story-based approach, one that incorporates all kinds of non-math knowledge. Here, too, I appreciate the lack of busy work. I will, however, supplement with additional drill whenever I perceive a need.

Foreign Language - We have not done any with Evan so far. This year we are going to dip our toes into some Latin study with Power Glide's elementary curriculum. It is a story-based introduction to the language. Can you tell I like stories?

Science - I don't think science at this level is all that necessary. On the other hand, it is fun! We will use Janice Van Cleve's Science Around the Year as a spine and will supplement with many easy reader books already on our shelves (children's encyclopedias, Magic School Bus, Scholastic Question-and-Answer, etc.)

In addition to these core books, we will have our normal catechism study and do a lot of reading, both independent and readaloud. I don't really have a plan for the reading--it will be whatever I feel like pulling off the shelf. I have not done any Laura Ingalls Wilder or E. B. White with Evan yet so those are top of the list. We will also, of course, continue piano lessons, and Evan will be taking a pottery class at the homeschool co-op as well as singing with a community children's choir that I accompany. Finally, we plan to sign up for swimming lessons--we have dropped the ball on that and Evan still does not know how--as well as community youth basketball. We have had trouble in the past with group sports. My HSC does not handle the drama of competition all that well. But he has also matured a great deal this past year. So we are going to give it another try!

Wow. It doesn't seem like a lot, but then again, it does. I am looking forward to our year! There is something special about third grade. So much growing up happens this year. My best memories of elementary school are of third grade and a teacher named Mrs. Snyder. She was so pretty and even then I could tell that she had a unique sense of style. She was young and dressed like none of the other teachers. We loved her clothes and hair and would draw pictures of her all the time. I know Evan loves me more than I loved Mrs. Snyder. :-) I hope I can provide him some of the same great third grade memories she gave me.