We like our astronomy textbook. I'm reading it aloud to Addie and Stuart in short bits about three times a week. Daphne hangs around waiting for us to mention Jupiter, which she's developed a crush on.
The book is a little more heavily Creationist than we are. That's a debate I don't feel like getting into; suffice it to say that we believe God created the world and that nobody -- nobody -- was around to see how He did it or how long it took. The end. Moving on.
So anyway, in discussing how Mercury was named, the book said that "unfortunately, the Romans named it after one of their gods." I skipped the adverb. What else would they have named it after?
Then I wondered, what would the planets have been named in a Christian tradition? The fruits of the Spirit come to mind -- Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness, and Self-Control (all those from memory thankyouverymuch). That makes Earth "Peace," which just drips with irony. But imagine the sermon illustration possibilities! Also, notice that there are nine fruits of the Spirit. Scripture would clearly indicate that God intended there to be nine planets. Take that, Pluto-haters. (Or I should say, Self-Control haters.) (Sermon illustration! Sermon illustration!)
At any rate, we at least we ended up with cool names for planets. (Except Uranus. History should have been kinder and named it Oranos, seriously.)
Stuart volunteered today that if he discovers another planet, he's going to give it "a God-honoring name." His suggestion was Archangel.
I don't know about you, but I'd be the first to vote for a Planet Archangel.
-- SJ
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Parenting Unburdened
Your children's future happiness and success in life depends heavily on how well you parent them now.
Or maybe not so heavily?
Maybe if we don't do everything right, they'll still be okay?
Maybe if we do everything right, they'll still go off the rails?
We as parents are so swamped with advice, tips, Biblical principles, and downright fearmongering that we no longer question the assumption that there is a right way to parent, and we have to do it or our children will suffer.
But Darren found this article and brought it home to read to me. It's refreshing, and rings true. You can't predict how a child will "turn out" based on his family. Wonderful families turn out complete losers. Dysfunctional families produce winners. And often we can't really tell the difference between a loser and a winner for many, many years.
After years of hearing the Voices in my head condemn my parenting skills, I'm rethinking my assumptions. Maybe Darren and I will do the best we can, lavish them with love and correction -- but more the first than the second -- and leave the rest up to God.
That's parenting I can live with.
-- SJ
Or maybe not so heavily?
Maybe if we don't do everything right, they'll still be okay?
Maybe if we do everything right, they'll still go off the rails?
We as parents are so swamped with advice, tips, Biblical principles, and downright fearmongering that we no longer question the assumption that there is a right way to parent, and we have to do it or our children will suffer.
But Darren found this article and brought it home to read to me. It's refreshing, and rings true. You can't predict how a child will "turn out" based on his family. Wonderful families turn out complete losers. Dysfunctional families produce winners. And often we can't really tell the difference between a loser and a winner for many, many years.
After years of hearing the Voices in my head condemn my parenting skills, I'm rethinking my assumptions. Maybe Darren and I will do the best we can, lavish them with love and correction -- but more the first than the second -- and leave the rest up to God.
That's parenting I can live with.
-- SJ
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Living Listfully
Lent is a time for confession, but this is ridiculous.
It's one thing to confess actual sins and be assured of forgiveness. You get no such consolation when you confess that you've spent the past month eating your own words.
I've never liked lists or schedules. In fact, I've been pretty emphatic about it. In writing, no less. So I've been understandably reluctant to admit how I've kept things running smoothly these past three weeks or so. Reluctant to admit how much I've enjoyed doing it.
Reluctantly, I admit I've been using a daily to-do list.
It all started at the end of last month. I was talking to my good friend Debra (a diagnosed List Person) about how I had a class to plan for co-op, and no large chunks of time to do it. I honestly didn't know how I was going to get it done. In the course of the conversation, I realized that life probably wasn't going to conform to my needs. I'd have to find a way to plan for the class in bits and pieces.
So every day I wrote out a few small things to work on for the class. The bigger projects I saved for evenings when Darren was home. Within a week, I had it all done. Accomplished. I was ready for my first class without breaking into a panicky sweat even once.
I was hooked. Secretly, sneakily, I began writing out a daily list of what had to be done. I just hated how well it worked, but finally let myself have pleasure in crossing off items. I'm not one to put something on the list just to cross it off. Instead, I include things that I know I'll do anyway, like: Breakfast. School. Quiet Play. Check, check, check!
What turned me into an openly-practicing list person, however, was when I brought my dana out again. A word about my dana: I love it deeply and passionately. It's been on a shelf collecting dust because I haven't had any large chunks of time to take it out and write, but my love for it is unchanged. And now I can appreciate the fact that it has a calendar and to-do list built in. Perfection plus!
Now I plunk down my dana on my kitchen counter every morning. It sits there, waiting patiently, as I refer to it throughout the day. I check my list, make notes, or work on emails and blog posts in short bursts. My dana reminds me (in gentle, dulcet tones) to make that phone call or look up the title of that book. With its help, I've carved out "Fifteen Minute Fun" several times a week, when I devote fifteen minutes of entertainment to only one child at a time.
So, anyway. I confess. Daily to-do lists have improved my household life. I guess you could call me a List Person. But maybe (she says, hugging her shredded dignity to her hurting heart) maybe it's just the season of life that makes lists necessary.
That sounds plausible. Yes. When I marry off my last child, I'm totally tearing up the lists and dancing on the remains.
-- SJ
* write blog post about to-do lists: check*
It's one thing to confess actual sins and be assured of forgiveness. You get no such consolation when you confess that you've spent the past month eating your own words.
I've never liked lists or schedules. In fact, I've been pretty emphatic about it. In writing, no less. So I've been understandably reluctant to admit how I've kept things running smoothly these past three weeks or so. Reluctant to admit how much I've enjoyed doing it.
Reluctantly, I admit I've been using a daily to-do list.
It all started at the end of last month. I was talking to my good friend Debra (a diagnosed List Person) about how I had a class to plan for co-op, and no large chunks of time to do it. I honestly didn't know how I was going to get it done. In the course of the conversation, I realized that life probably wasn't going to conform to my needs. I'd have to find a way to plan for the class in bits and pieces.
So every day I wrote out a few small things to work on for the class. The bigger projects I saved for evenings when Darren was home. Within a week, I had it all done. Accomplished. I was ready for my first class without breaking into a panicky sweat even once.
I was hooked. Secretly, sneakily, I began writing out a daily list of what had to be done. I just hated how well it worked, but finally let myself have pleasure in crossing off items. I'm not one to put something on the list just to cross it off. Instead, I include things that I know I'll do anyway, like: Breakfast. School. Quiet Play. Check, check, check!
What turned me into an openly-practicing list person, however, was when I brought my dana out again. A word about my dana: I love it deeply and passionately. It's been on a shelf collecting dust because I haven't had any large chunks of time to take it out and write, but my love for it is unchanged. And now I can appreciate the fact that it has a calendar and to-do list built in. Perfection plus!
Now I plunk down my dana on my kitchen counter every morning. It sits there, waiting patiently, as I refer to it throughout the day. I check my list, make notes, or work on emails and blog posts in short bursts. My dana reminds me (in gentle, dulcet tones) to make that phone call or look up the title of that book. With its help, I've carved out "Fifteen Minute Fun" several times a week, when I devote fifteen minutes of entertainment to only one child at a time.
So, anyway. I confess. Daily to-do lists have improved my household life. I guess you could call me a List Person. But maybe (she says, hugging her shredded dignity to her hurting heart) maybe it's just the season of life that makes lists necessary.
That sounds plausible. Yes. When I marry off my last child, I'm totally tearing up the lists and dancing on the remains.
-- SJ
* write blog post about to-do lists: check*
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Lent
Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday. Lent begins.
Last year I offered to take prayer requests and pray for you, if you wanted, for the forty days of Lent. And I did it, too. If you were one of the people who emailed a request to me, please know that I prayed for you every day.
In general, I find prayer as invigorating and refreshing as a bike ride through sand. And the bike's tires need airing up, too. Even the shortest prayer is an effort. It doesn't help that I rarely see bright and sparkling answers to my prayers. So, naturally, I don't want to pray at all.
But Lent is about giving up our wants and trusting that God is bigger than our weaknesses. So again this year I'd like to take requests and dedicate this Lent to praying for you. Leave a comment (anonymous is okay), email me at the comcast address to the left, or email me at my penandgavel account. This year I'll do better about checking in and letting you know I haven't forgotten to pray.
As for the rest of my Lenten journey, I'm giving up sweets (as usual). I'm also giving up social sweets: no Facebooking till Easter. I'll still be in the blogworld, though.
May this season leading up to Easter be one of forgiveness and blessing!
-- SJ
Last year I offered to take prayer requests and pray for you, if you wanted, for the forty days of Lent. And I did it, too. If you were one of the people who emailed a request to me, please know that I prayed for you every day.
In general, I find prayer as invigorating and refreshing as a bike ride through sand. And the bike's tires need airing up, too. Even the shortest prayer is an effort. It doesn't help that I rarely see bright and sparkling answers to my prayers. So, naturally, I don't want to pray at all.
But Lent is about giving up our wants and trusting that God is bigger than our weaknesses. So again this year I'd like to take requests and dedicate this Lent to praying for you. Leave a comment (anonymous is okay), email me at the comcast address to the left, or email me at my penandgavel account. This year I'll do better about checking in and letting you know I haven't forgotten to pray.
As for the rest of my Lenten journey, I'm giving up sweets (as usual). I'm also giving up social sweets: no Facebooking till Easter. I'll still be in the blogworld, though.
May this season leading up to Easter be one of forgiveness and blessing!
-- SJ
Monday, February 15, 2010
Her Eyes Said Yes
Here is Daphne demonstrating how she says "yes" with her eyes. She learns early, doesn't she, Lindsay?
Saturday, February 13, 2010
As It Was Written
Addie and Stuart dragged down a box of my old journals this week. "No, please don't read those," I requested as I threw my body between them and the books. It's not that I had such a salacious and scandalous younger life that I can't let them read about it. It's that I'd rather they know me now, not as I was fourteen, sixteen, twenty years ago.
Still, I couldn't resist reliving the past a little myself. I picked up a journal from 1996, when I was nineteen. The first thing I noticed was that I had overdosed on Jane Austen. My whole journal was written in Austenese. For instance, when writing about how my family rearranged major appliances in the house, did I write, "And then we put the big freezer where the old fridge had been."? No. I wrote, "And then the freezer took the spot recently vacated by the other appliances." The whole darn journal reads like that.
Also, I didn't use words like "darn." Even in my journal, I was insufferably moralistic. At one point, I wrote about how my two sisters and I walked through the woods pretending to be three kids in a horror movie talking about "Crazy Joe" who had a bloody shovel. (Acting out spontaneous scenes was an everyday pastime for us. We called ourselves the Three Weird Sisters.) I ended the description with an apology that "Admittedly, this little game was hardly edifying; but we like to be clever, and don't always choose our subjects well." Doesn't that make you want to beat your head against a wall? Or beat my head against a wall?
There are some fun parts, though. Like the afternoon of a birthday party when I realized I didn't have a gift. I thought a journal-book would be a perfect gift, and it so happened that my sister, Rose, had a blank one. So she sold it to me. Yes, that's right -- she made me PAY her for it. But she did give me a discount because I'd bought her ice cream earlier that day.
Here's an actual excerpt from the journal:
April 10, 1996
After a lapse of three complete days, one might expect that I have much to write. One would be mistaken Uneventful and very quiet, I haven't even any tales about the friends we paid a visit to yesterday. So I say; but let me begin writing down the days' events, and it all shall flood back. I will stem the tide, though: it is 9:30 and I am sleepy, since I actually got up on time."
Please note that this is just the introduction to the day's entry. I wrote like that every day. There are six books for this year, all written in the same style. My 33-year-old self is fantasizing about traveling back in time and attacking my 19-year-old self with a red pen.
The most exciting event, journalwise, was when my sister-in-law, Jessica, called to say a youth leader at their church was interested in getting to know me. (I hadn't met him: Jessica was playing matchmaker.) My family abided by the rules of Courtship as laid down by Bill Gothard, which said that such a request had to be taken really seriously. The only way a guy could "get to know me" was if he had marriage as his intention. Furthermore, I wasn't the one to tell him this: it was my stepfather's job.
Of course, Guy went with what I wanted to do. While I wouldn't have minded writing to a young man, I certainly didn't want to court him, and there was no middle ground. So Guy said no, and that was the end of it. Obviously not much happened, but I certainly got mileage out of it in my journal. (In retrospect, it was the right decision; but the poor guy must have been very confused by the whole rigamarole.)
Reading through the journal now, the parts that stand out to me are the few sentences where I mentioned applying for an internship at HSLDA. Back then I was more interested in the two-week desktop publishing course I took at ATI's Indianapolis Training Center. I thought my future was in ATI. I didn't realize that the internship was actually the gateway to the rest of my life. The internship was when I began to change the way I thought, the way I saw God, and of course when I met my future husband. While I had a grand time at the publishing course and actually did use the skills I learned, it was one of the last ATI events I attended.
My journals at this time included almost no reference to my own romantic feelings. Romance wasn't an approved activity in ATI, and therefore not in my journals. In the hundreds of words I wrote about my desktop publishing class, I completely neglected to mention I developed a crush on one of my classmates.
I still remember him, though: he was calm, a little shy, but when he did speak it was something interesting or funny. I met someone a lot like him a few months later at HSLDA. And I married that one. Now that's worth writing about.
-- SJ
Still, I couldn't resist reliving the past a little myself. I picked up a journal from 1996, when I was nineteen. The first thing I noticed was that I had overdosed on Jane Austen. My whole journal was written in Austenese. For instance, when writing about how my family rearranged major appliances in the house, did I write, "And then we put the big freezer where the old fridge had been."? No. I wrote, "And then the freezer took the spot recently vacated by the other appliances." The whole darn journal reads like that.
Also, I didn't use words like "darn." Even in my journal, I was insufferably moralistic. At one point, I wrote about how my two sisters and I walked through the woods pretending to be three kids in a horror movie talking about "Crazy Joe" who had a bloody shovel. (Acting out spontaneous scenes was an everyday pastime for us. We called ourselves the Three Weird Sisters.) I ended the description with an apology that "Admittedly, this little game was hardly edifying; but we like to be clever, and don't always choose our subjects well." Doesn't that make you want to beat your head against a wall? Or beat my head against a wall?
There are some fun parts, though. Like the afternoon of a birthday party when I realized I didn't have a gift. I thought a journal-book would be a perfect gift, and it so happened that my sister, Rose, had a blank one. So she sold it to me. Yes, that's right -- she made me PAY her for it. But she did give me a discount because I'd bought her ice cream earlier that day.
Here's an actual excerpt from the journal:
April 10, 1996
After a lapse of three complete days, one might expect that I have much to write. One would be mistaken Uneventful and very quiet, I haven't even any tales about the friends we paid a visit to yesterday. So I say; but let me begin writing down the days' events, and it all shall flood back. I will stem the tide, though: it is 9:30 and I am sleepy, since I actually got up on time."
Please note that this is just the introduction to the day's entry. I wrote like that every day. There are six books for this year, all written in the same style. My 33-year-old self is fantasizing about traveling back in time and attacking my 19-year-old self with a red pen.
The most exciting event, journalwise, was when my sister-in-law, Jessica, called to say a youth leader at their church was interested in getting to know me. (I hadn't met him: Jessica was playing matchmaker.) My family abided by the rules of Courtship as laid down by Bill Gothard, which said that such a request had to be taken really seriously. The only way a guy could "get to know me" was if he had marriage as his intention. Furthermore, I wasn't the one to tell him this: it was my stepfather's job.
Of course, Guy went with what I wanted to do. While I wouldn't have minded writing to a young man, I certainly didn't want to court him, and there was no middle ground. So Guy said no, and that was the end of it. Obviously not much happened, but I certainly got mileage out of it in my journal. (In retrospect, it was the right decision; but the poor guy must have been very confused by the whole rigamarole.)
Reading through the journal now, the parts that stand out to me are the few sentences where I mentioned applying for an internship at HSLDA. Back then I was more interested in the two-week desktop publishing course I took at ATI's Indianapolis Training Center. I thought my future was in ATI. I didn't realize that the internship was actually the gateway to the rest of my life. The internship was when I began to change the way I thought, the way I saw God, and of course when I met my future husband. While I had a grand time at the publishing course and actually did use the skills I learned, it was one of the last ATI events I attended.
My journals at this time included almost no reference to my own romantic feelings. Romance wasn't an approved activity in ATI, and therefore not in my journals. In the hundreds of words I wrote about my desktop publishing class, I completely neglected to mention I developed a crush on one of my classmates.
I still remember him, though: he was calm, a little shy, but when he did speak it was something interesting or funny. I met someone a lot like him a few months later at HSLDA. And I married that one. Now that's worth writing about.
-- SJ
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Motherhood, Take Four
When I was pregnant with Addie, this is what I heard:
* It's the most incredible emotional experience when they first place that baby in your arms!
* After the first few days, you won't even be able to imagine life without her!
* Enjoy that baby stage! It goes by so quickly!
(Not all remarks were positive, of course. There's always the obnoxious slap-on-the-back "haha call me in eighteen years when you get some sleep again!" one. People who say this to a pregnant woman have a specially reserved room in purgatory.)
In the fullness of time, Adelaide was born. They placed her in my arms. I waited for the incredible rush of joy and emotion. Mostly I just felt awkward. Who is this baby and why is everybody calling me her mom? She was darn cute, that was for sure, but I felt like her aunt, not her mother.
Of course it didn't take long for me to fall in love with little Addie. But not imagining life without her? Well, actually, Darren and I clearly remembered life without her and we missed aspects of it.
At least I could enjoy the baby stage. Except that, um, I don't much like babies. While I loved the person Addie was becoming, she really wasn't a very exciting companion.
Was I a complete wash as a mother?
Then I had Stuart. It was a long labor that ended up being a section, and I felt miserable and battered afterward. But when Darren brought over that wrapped-up bundle and held him so I, flat on the operating table, could see him, joy and love welled up in me. Later, after I could sit up and hold him, I simply couldn't get over what a wonderful child -- my child -- he was. This was the rush I'd heard about. In my case, I just had to learn what a baby was before I could appreciate it.
With Daphne, my highest-maintenance, non-sleeping child, I enjoyed the baby stage thoroughly. I knew what to do with her, and I knew it would all pass -- the good as well as the inconvenient.
And Phillip? Phillip slipped so seamlessly into our lives and into my heart that when I was mentally reviewing 2009, I at first couldn't think of anything particularly amazing that happened. Eventually I remembered: I'd given birth to another son. But I honestly forgot he hadn't been with us forever. I couldn't imagine life without him.
As it turned out, all those things people said were true. It just took me four babies to get to them all.
* It's the most incredible emotional experience when they first place that baby in your arms!
* After the first few days, you won't even be able to imagine life without her!
* Enjoy that baby stage! It goes by so quickly!
(Not all remarks were positive, of course. There's always the obnoxious slap-on-the-back "haha call me in eighteen years when you get some sleep again!" one. People who say this to a pregnant woman have a specially reserved room in purgatory.)
In the fullness of time, Adelaide was born. They placed her in my arms. I waited for the incredible rush of joy and emotion. Mostly I just felt awkward. Who is this baby and why is everybody calling me her mom? She was darn cute, that was for sure, but I felt like her aunt, not her mother.
Of course it didn't take long for me to fall in love with little Addie. But not imagining life without her? Well, actually, Darren and I clearly remembered life without her and we missed aspects of it.
At least I could enjoy the baby stage. Except that, um, I don't much like babies. While I loved the person Addie was becoming, she really wasn't a very exciting companion.
Was I a complete wash as a mother?
Then I had Stuart. It was a long labor that ended up being a section, and I felt miserable and battered afterward. But when Darren brought over that wrapped-up bundle and held him so I, flat on the operating table, could see him, joy and love welled up in me. Later, after I could sit up and hold him, I simply couldn't get over what a wonderful child -- my child -- he was. This was the rush I'd heard about. In my case, I just had to learn what a baby was before I could appreciate it.
With Daphne, my highest-maintenance, non-sleeping child, I enjoyed the baby stage thoroughly. I knew what to do with her, and I knew it would all pass -- the good as well as the inconvenient.
And Phillip? Phillip slipped so seamlessly into our lives and into my heart that when I was mentally reviewing 2009, I at first couldn't think of anything particularly amazing that happened. Eventually I remembered: I'd given birth to another son. But I honestly forgot he hadn't been with us forever. I couldn't imagine life without him.
As it turned out, all those things people said were true. It just took me four babies to get to them all.
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
This Year's Favorite
My and Darren's favorite Super Bowl commercial doesn't use any images whatsoever. I love how it tells a very sweet story in only one minute, using only words, music, and sound.
-- SJ
-- SJ
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Saturday, February 06, 2010
Saturday Evening Blog Post, January 10
Time again for the Saturday Evening Blog Post. This month's lineup was hard to pick a favorite, but I chose Customized Praise Songs because, as usual, I think I'm pretty funny. For all of us around here who are currently snowbound, the SEBP can give up some new blogworlds to discover while we wait to be dug out again.
-- SJ
-- SJ
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