A prosem (prose-ish poem?) from the archives.

Dedicated to all my jelly-donut eating friends:

there is magic i cannot muster
i see it in your eyes
yet you have no face
i taste it on your lips
though mine are parched

you tempt then delude
as if nothing is amiss
as if this longing is sweeter
than what i already have
what He already gave me

depart dark-winged angel
your deception is unveiled
the sugar you proffer is tainted
the vision you paint has dried up

your lies are scattered
in the hot wind of blackened flames
disintegrating in the white hot light
of Christ in me
praise Him!
and Him alone!

I finished three books this week.  Francine Rivers’ Atonement Child was the only one I hadn’t started weeks or months ago. I read it, and it alone, to its satisfying end.  It’s about a college girl who goes through a horrendous experience (I won’t go into the details here since I do write a mostly PG blog) and comes out the other side having followed her very strong Christian beliefs and rescuing no small handful of people in the process.  The book is a well-written attempt to reach out to women who have been in “less-than-PG” circumstances.  From my view, it succeeds quite stunningly. 

I started Augusten Burroughs’ Possible Side Effects a few weeks ago, upon the recommendation of a friend.  This book is not specifically written to reach out and help others, nor is it written from a Christian perspective.  It is a wide open and starkly honest look at a large handful of the author’s experiences, with dry, wry, self-effacing humor tossed in alongside large handfuls of “take-it-or-leave-it-this-is-my-book-and-I-needed-to-write-it”.  This is a great read—unless you require prim, proper, or the religiously-correct.  I liked that Mr. Burroughs does not apologize for the fact that he is not prim, proper, or religiously-correct.  He just is…who he is.  Refreshing.

Finally, I finished Julie Powell’s Julie and Julia.  This is another irreverent read (she cusses well and unapologetically) that I thoroughly enjoyed.  Since I find putting dinner on the table a great challenge, Julie’s endeavor to complete (in one year) all 524 of the recipes included in Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking, has my vote for top 100 bravest undertakings of all time.  That said, this is not the cookbook I would have chosen.  I’m not all that into beef marrow, kidneys, brains and deboning ducks without breaking the skin…but the feat itself…come on!  I find it particularly inspiring that she cooked each day whether or not she felt like it…and regardless of how late it became.  She didn’t give up.  Also, her husband, Eric, is a gem of a man, just like my husband, and inspired my favorite line from the book, which says (I’m completely paraphrasing here) that her husband catches the umpteen balls she juggles out of range of her waiting hands and somehow keeps them in the air so that she can continue along in her crazed journey without failure.

A final note:  I am a reader who has many books going at once (think ten), and so finishing three of them this week has given me great satisfaction, as well as a good dose of inspiration: from book one that no situation is too big for God, from book two that someone-else’s straight-forward honesty encourages the open-mindedness in me, and from book three that I have an incredible husband who will one day revel in the fact that he has dinner waiting for him when he arrives home from a long day at work.

Fewer rules

Fewer expectations

More reverence

Less “I'”

More “they”

Less efficiency

Less judgment

Less analysis

More acceptance

More tolerance

More humanity

More silence

More peace

More joy

More faith

More hope

More love

More Him

I am always struck by how complicated we like to make faith.  We like to surround it with stifling rules that don’t apply to everyone.  We like to judge others but then say that we don’t do that because we are Christians and, well…Christians don’t do that…but if we do we are “only basing it on the Word of God”.  We are godly after all, made in His image, following His decrees.  But are we?  When I read and absorb simple faith, it is then that I hear the hypocrisy inside myself--inside the constructs of Americanized Christianity.  It is in finding a personal relationship with God that I can understand what it is He wants of me.  Only in this place can I operate without an agenda I find suspect…

photo courtesy of Klaus Graefensteiner/www.tellingmachine.com

Think “O” is for Ocean, several kids, and lots of birds at the sea frolicking, scavenging, feeding…

These were the words to a song I was listening to today on my Pandora station (Nichole Nordeman).

This life.  The one I’ve been given.  Despite what I do and do not believe.  Despite how it happened.  Despite WHY it happened.  THIS is the life I have been given…to do with what I please, what I will, what I won’t, what I shall and shan’t. 

So what DO I believe?  Some days I am sure of this.  Other days not so much.  I read a lot and keep myself open to the opinions and beliefs of others.  I am frequently touched and intrigued by all things spiritual.

I am not offended by much (obvious things aside…like child abuse, vulgarities, general meanness, etc.), and I am open to possibilities of body, mind and spirit.  I am intrigued by the pilgrimages of others, and fascinated by all that we are learning and all that we refuse to acknowledge (I like to honor Galileo by entertaining beliefs about things that have yet to be fully embraced or proven). 

Some people, upon reading of my thoughts might say, “Uh-oh, she is leaving herself open for attack, not being faithful to God’s Word, not protecting herself as she should.” Others might offer a tongue-in-cheek, “Amen sister!”  Still others may roll their eyes and think, “Jibberish!” Thank goodness my beliefs don’t have to please anyone but me and my Maker.

Which brings me to my POINT: I believe I have a maker…an omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient being (for lack of a better word) who created me for a reason.  Try as I might not to (I could adopt a strictly scientific viewpoint), I still believe.  Ignorance?  Perhaps.  Wishful thinking?  Perhaps.  Doesn’t matter.  The CRUX is that I believe.  There is of course evidence (scientific as well) that supports my view , but I am not versed in it yet.

How the details flush out are not important here.  What IS important is the offering…the way the words struck me to the core: “I can only give you what you’ve given me…this life.”  And so, this is my offering as well.  Take my life and use it.  Hone my gifts for Your purpose.  Silence my doubts with Your earsplitting truth and protect me as my inquisitive mind travels boldly.  I can serve You without naming what I am doing, right?  I can partake in your gifts (peace, grace, love, hope, faith) without being perfect, and even without standing on a mountain top and professing my faith, right? 

Each morning when I greet You, You answer.  How can this be?  I have flaws; I resist labeling my faith; I am unwilling or unable to proselytize on Your behalf; I refuse to believe that believers in other faiths, gays, lesbians, non-believers, or the unrepentant are excluded from Your mysteries and miracles. 

Perhaps you should deny me the chance to speak with you.  You don’t.  And because of this, and this alone…the fact that you speak to and with the likes of me, I believe. And I’d like to give You that which You have given me:  this life.

Today was turn-in…that other “time of the month” when I can become stressed for no reason apparent to anyone but me.  This time was different.  I started earlier—preparing that is.  And for the first time, I actually understood what was expected of me (because I finally listened…ferreted better…got it).  And so, when I arrived to meet with T’s teacher, I felt good—unflustered, prepared.  I had worked hard for this lack of stress…for this easy turn-in.  Funny, though, for as much as I worry about getting the papers right, our teacher is concerned more with how we are doing…and infinitely more interested in giving us her warm attention and then her praise.  This is a homeschool mom’s dream…to get there with all you’ve done and haven’t done and realize that not only is it “good enough”—it’s great! 

Fourteen months in (despite any doubts I harbored about being able to do this) and my son is reading, writing, exploring, growing, pushing back (of course), yet thriving in ways I would never have known had we not taken this path—the path that seems, after all, what is best for him…and certainly, for me as well. 

I am learning how to focus and finish, despite what the house looks like.

I am learning how to re-adjust, despite what perfect plans I had for our day.

I am learning how to persevere, even when things look bleak or bleary.

I am learning how to relax instead of stress.

I am learning that all good things take time

that I can’t do everything

and that today, like every other day, is good and perfect just as it is…

gotta run…someone’s having a tantrum…breathe…just breathe…

She wants to paint 

She wants to eat red onion 

One does not preclude the other

The onion burns her eyes

This won’t stop her

She dons her goggles

She has many layers, this one…

Love is…the heart-shaped rubber band my son found and gave to me recently.

Love is…my daughter bringing the cat in out of the rain so “she won’t get sick.”

Love is…my husband making the daily decaf and leaving a small thermos of it for me.

Love is…the story I heard yesterday about a woman who, after five decades of being raised by, then married to psychopathic narcissists, is remaking her soul and her life—without venom.

Love is…picking the tiny “treasures” out of the dustpan instead of swooping them into the trash can.

Love is…holding my tongue instead of spewing angry or ridiculous words at my children.

Love is…not holding my tongue and spewing angry or ridiculous words at my children, then being, without hesitation, forgiven by them.

Love is…taking a scheduled holiday off from school even when I could get away with cramming some more learning in to catch up for what we missed over the holidays.

Love is…each and every precious moment I choose to live and frolic in.

Carpe Diem!—which actually means “seize the moment” versus “the day”.  Carpe Diem!

That if you plant tomatoes, despite a lack of knowledge about gardening, they will grow—particularly if you do the basics (water them, fertilize them, love them).  I would have done this sooner? Perhaps not…had I known it was so easy, I might not have done it at all for the perceived lack of a challenge (which I love)…

That if you teach the D’Nealian style of handwriting, it is not only easier to form each letter, but also it transitions so nicely into cursive. As it turns out, my son loves this new style, and I am seeing how self-motivated he is when HE has a challenge…

That if you spend a little bit of time on a regular basis working towards goals and dreams you will get there much faster than by adopting an all-or-nothing attitude that sometimes means “nothing” and at its worst means that we become beasts of burden without the ability to appreciate the moment at hand…

That each day’s challenge provides an opportunity to travel in a new direction, react differently, adjust ever-so-slightly or perhaps even hugely.  That each time I attempt to scale something that seems insurmountable I am facing an opportunity to expand my capacity, to grow…stronger, more agile, more loving, more living, more…

That if you smile for the camera from the bottom of a heart full of joy, or gratitude or even whimsy, you will look beautiful no matter what.  But had I known that when I was a self-conscious ninny, I might not have discovered my own love of photography…borne of a love of people, their emotions, their expressions…and eventually my own.

That I have the opportunity to be happy any time I choose to be.  No really…ANY time…in ANY circumstance.  Nothing says that I have to be unhappy…even when bad things happen.  It’s a subtle shift when I make it, but a profound one.  Yes…this one I wish I would have known…but my guide for this (The Guru Next Door-by Wendy Dolber) wasn’t written until recently, and somehow I connect to the best ideas for me via the written word.

That I never have to walk alone.  Wait a minute…this one I have always known. 

Tobi, Ty, Grant, Lawson, Andrew, Alex, Luke, Matthew, Maxim (just to name a few) are all names of amazing boys I know.  They are energetic, intelligent, creative, clever and funny.  To the common eye, they are perhaps schoolboys no different from the next—goofing around and playing with their friends.  Settle in to casually watch their interactions and you will see the typical teasing you would expect…boys will be boys, right?  Wrong.  At least in the classic sense of that phrase—which has come to be known as the catch-all, don’t-blame-them-they’re-just-boys phrase used to excuse bad behavior.  These boys have all the classic traits of boys (I need not explain myself, right?).  However, they don’t seem to  engage in bullying and heartless teasing.  They don’t take joy in excluding the “odd man out”, or the one who seems a bit “different”—rather I have watched them easily include and invite a new kid into their playing, as if he (or she for that matter) has always been part of the group. 

How can this be?  Who is responsible for this unique dynamic between otherwise “typical” boys?  It’s not a “who” exactly, it’s a “what”—a perk of homeschooling outside of the machine that public school has become.  Homeschooled boys I have observed exhibit a distinct lack of knowledge about intentionally treating their friends badly.   And they also exhibit a few other great qualities:  generosity, a sincere interest in their friends (even when their interests differ from their own), the ability to hug their moms for a few more years <big smile>, the freedom to be themselves (without feeling weird, excluded or teased if this doesn’t jive with some seemingly universal definition of “normal”), and a kind-hearted-sweet-innocence that usually wouldn’t be cool – but is…truly, truly is.

These are just some of the gifts the oft-misunderstood and sometimes difficult-to-pull-off world of homeschooling provides.  Before you begin to be offended by my comparison to public schooled versus home schooled boys, please know that I’ve had boys in both systems since the 1980’s.  These are differences I’ve observed, not created in my mind.  Additionally, I know scads of public schooled boys who do not participate in the atrocious behaviors I’ve witnessed through the years—this post is not meant to plunk them into some hopeless group of hapless boys. 

My purpose in writing this is to highlight a beautiful perk…the fact that most of the homeschool moms I talk to do not have to deal with scads of teasing and confidence-blasting behaviors—simply put, it’s not a topic that comes up.  We have other issues…believe me—LOL!