“And the streets of the city shall be full of boys and girls playing in the streets thereof.” –Zech. 8:5
My parents and teachers were all guilty of gross child abuse when I was growing up. How could any self-respecting parent open the front door in the morning and tell a 1st grader, “School is that way. Get going.” Yet they did. Every day. It was a one mile walk along a busy, 4-lane thoroughfare. The school did throw us one plum in giving us four crossing guards and some nifty stop signs that lowered into the street when we had to cross over. They were manned by the big kids, probably 6th graders, and all us younger boys could only dream of one day getting that prestigious job. Mid-morning and mid-afternoon we were turned out on a large, fenceless playground of asphalt and dirt to make our own way in the world for a 15 minute recess. It was totally unsupervised to my best recollection. If there was a teacher out there with us 200+ kids, it was an ineffectual token force. We were left to the mercy of bullies, steel monkey bars, brain-banging teeter totters, avaricious marble players, and overly mature girls. Still, we looked forward to it and discovered nooks and crannies around the school house where we could run, hide, roll, and tussle to our heart’s content.
At noon, they made us go home for lunch. Another mile walk and then return. We all beat it back as soon as we could so we could continue any game left over from recess before our hour was up. The walk home after school was the best as we could go in twos or threes with our best buds and maybe stop off at the corner store for some gum if anybody had some pennies.
Summertime was a blur of backyard romps with our dog, hours of sandbox excavations, and days of wandering the neighborhood. By fourth grade, it had to be raining to keep me inside. I would leave the house in the morning and be gone for hours just wandering the neighborhood. I had a totally irresponsible mother who trusted I knew where my food bowl was and would come home when hungry. We had a small pack of boys who claimed the vacant lot out back as our own. We climbed trees, dug holes, built forts, rode bikes, and periodically tormented one another when we weren’t the best of friends. Some days would find us walking downtown Rockford, some 3-4 miles away, just to check out the department stores, pet shops, and to ride the one and only escalator in town. Occasionally we wandered through the local railroad yard dodging trains while hunting souvenirs.
In fifth grade, we moved to the country where my dad tried his hand at farming. Instead of wandering the city, I learned to wander the woods, discover a river, hunt pheasants, and shoot tin cans at the farm dump. It was heaven. By means of contrast, Jeremy Lloyd wrote a piece in Sunday’s paper saying that outdoor play for American children has declined by 50% in the last two decades. Air conditioning is much to blame along with a plethora of electronic entertainment. Yes, it is risky sending kids outside where bees and ticks lurk and predatory strangers hide behind every bush. Yet, not letting kids get out is risky as well. Lack of physical activity can lead to a hideous list of afflictions from obesity and its related diseases to asthma, osteoporosis, stress, depression, and ADHD to name just a few. Many positive correlations exist between healthy children and outdoor exercise, and these have been substantiated in study after study. Lloyd cites better concentration, better grades, healthy brains, normal weight, and better sleep. “The key is to get outside in nature and engage in more unstructured playtime.”
So maybe my parents weren’t so abusive after all. Thanks, Mom, Dad. By the way, the up-coming campout is guaranteed to wear your kids out with a total overload of chasing, tree-climbing, scootering, bike-riding, and critter hunting, all in the grand outdoors. Their sleep will never be sweeter. Promise.
Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Friday, August 24, 2012
“And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.” Gal. 6:9
Day one consisted of a rather brutal dose of reality as we began our trek into the Shenandoah National Park. From lives of ease and comfort, we were suddenly thrown into a demanding hike with packs bursting with everything we would possibly need and then some for our 100 mile, ten day hike. The plan was to reach Calf Mountain shelter that afternoon, 7.5 miles into the park. That would be a short day, but with a late start at 2:00 PM in the afternoon and our packs as heavy as they would ever be, it was still a significant challenge for our first day. We gained and lost some 2000 feet in the process plus encountered a dozen or more fallen trees that had yet to be cleared from the trail. It was enough to make our green legs sore and stiff by morning. Day two brought the first real test as we stretched our aim in order to reach our next ready water source, Blackrock Hut. It turned out to have the most delightfully cold and clear running spring of our whole trip, but it came at the expense of 13 hard-won miles of steady hiking and another 3000 feet gained and lost. Our young hikers were pushed to their limit. We adults were straining to keep pace as well; especially with our over-sized and over-weight packs.
Everyone experienced some aches and pains that night and into the next day. I kept asking each one for a twice daily report of all their assorted sore places and none were exempt. But I kept promising that it would be better tomorrow. Some looked at me with doubt written all over their face. I kept telling myself that it would be better the next day and drew some comfort from that as I nursed my own hopes and doubts. I had remembered that on previous trips that it always seemed to take a couple of days before I gained what I called “my trail legs.” Somehow, I had still not obtained them, and I began to question.
Day three was shorter; only eight miles with 2000 ft. of up and down. Spirits began to pick up and complaints lessened. But day four made up for the easy one with 14 miles of more ups and downs than we cared to remember. By then, however, our legs had adjusted, our harnesses had become familiar, and the pace became steadier. Finally, our team was admitting that, “Yes, the first three days were the worst.” We had hiked through the pain of this new means of existence and our bodies had acclimated to the stresses and strains. It was reassuring to realize that we now could actually do this without experiencing constant pain. Our strength grew and the endurance levels increased.
It is a valuable lesson to learn with any new activity in life. In the beginning, there will be times of discomfort, stress, and even pain until either/both our bodies and/or spirits become adjusted to the distress placed upon them. We have to learn to “hike through the pain.” It is essential for any athlete to transcend initial resistance in order to gain a higher level of strength and endurance. So it is also essential in a marriage to “hike through the pain” of those initial months and years of adjustment. Students who have had to struggle through a tough class, nearing despair at times, and who emerge successful on the other side are much more assured of success in graduating from any and all schools they attend; more so than those for whom everything comes easy. Resistance overcome through persistence creates strength whether it be sports, relationships, or academics.
By now, some of you are already encountering hardship in this new year whether as a student, parent, or teacher. I am already hearing of some aches and pains associated with the hills we are now climbing. It is time for us to reassure one another that it will get easier. Our part for now is to “hike through the pain.” Stay the course. Better days are ahead. Be encouraged. You will soon get your “trail legs.”
Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe
Day one consisted of a rather brutal dose of reality as we began our trek into the Shenandoah National Park. From lives of ease and comfort, we were suddenly thrown into a demanding hike with packs bursting with everything we would possibly need and then some for our 100 mile, ten day hike. The plan was to reach Calf Mountain shelter that afternoon, 7.5 miles into the park. That would be a short day, but with a late start at 2:00 PM in the afternoon and our packs as heavy as they would ever be, it was still a significant challenge for our first day. We gained and lost some 2000 feet in the process plus encountered a dozen or more fallen trees that had yet to be cleared from the trail. It was enough to make our green legs sore and stiff by morning. Day two brought the first real test as we stretched our aim in order to reach our next ready water source, Blackrock Hut. It turned out to have the most delightfully cold and clear running spring of our whole trip, but it came at the expense of 13 hard-won miles of steady hiking and another 3000 feet gained and lost. Our young hikers were pushed to their limit. We adults were straining to keep pace as well; especially with our over-sized and over-weight packs.
Everyone experienced some aches and pains that night and into the next day. I kept asking each one for a twice daily report of all their assorted sore places and none were exempt. But I kept promising that it would be better tomorrow. Some looked at me with doubt written all over their face. I kept telling myself that it would be better the next day and drew some comfort from that as I nursed my own hopes and doubts. I had remembered that on previous trips that it always seemed to take a couple of days before I gained what I called “my trail legs.” Somehow, I had still not obtained them, and I began to question.
Day three was shorter; only eight miles with 2000 ft. of up and down. Spirits began to pick up and complaints lessened. But day four made up for the easy one with 14 miles of more ups and downs than we cared to remember. By then, however, our legs had adjusted, our harnesses had become familiar, and the pace became steadier. Finally, our team was admitting that, “Yes, the first three days were the worst.” We had hiked through the pain of this new means of existence and our bodies had acclimated to the stresses and strains. It was reassuring to realize that we now could actually do this without experiencing constant pain. Our strength grew and the endurance levels increased.
It is a valuable lesson to learn with any new activity in life. In the beginning, there will be times of discomfort, stress, and even pain until either/both our bodies and/or spirits become adjusted to the distress placed upon them. We have to learn to “hike through the pain.” It is essential for any athlete to transcend initial resistance in order to gain a higher level of strength and endurance. So it is also essential in a marriage to “hike through the pain” of those initial months and years of adjustment. Students who have had to struggle through a tough class, nearing despair at times, and who emerge successful on the other side are much more assured of success in graduating from any and all schools they attend; more so than those for whom everything comes easy. Resistance overcome through persistence creates strength whether it be sports, relationships, or academics.
By now, some of you are already encountering hardship in this new year whether as a student, parent, or teacher. I am already hearing of some aches and pains associated with the hills we are now climbing. It is time for us to reassure one another that it will get easier. Our part for now is to “hike through the pain.” Stay the course. Better days are ahead. Be encouraged. You will soon get your “trail legs.”
Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe
“Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it?” –Isa. 43:19
Lots of excitement this week in Lake Woebegone. School has started. There were loads of new pencils, backpacks, water bottles, erasers, books, notepads, and calculators making their debut. New outfits were laid out by moms and worn with pride by freshly scrubbed students with new haircuts. New teachers were waiting to greet them in new and different classrooms. Newness was everywhere. For some, the thought of actually changing classrooms for every subject was a totally new and welcomed concept. What an adventure!
It takes a very strong spirit or a totally low-key personality to not experience some sort of first day jitters or an early morning visit by the ghost of premonition. One of our students awoke early and insisted on calling Mrs. Garzony, his new first grade teacher, to confess that he had forgotten everything he had learned in kindergarten. One mom had to deal with a profound theological question as her son asked if Adam and Eve had never sinned would there still be school? Another 6 yr. old student spent much of that first morning in the bathroom in an attempt to calm all the butterflies he was experiencing.
For many, there was lots of joy bouncing around the halls as old friends came into view. It was a lot of fun simply to observe these reunions and the renewal of common bonds. Others were plainly eager to delve into the whole new River’s Edge experience leaving behind memories of bullying or public school worldliness. Some were looking forward to making new friendships after some years of relative, home-school solitude but yet a little scared at the prospect of bridging the gap to the unknown.
I, too, was faced with many unknowns as new classes began in new places on new schedules with many new teachers. And it is always a source of fascination as this complicated apparatus called River’s Edge stirs back to life after a summer of quiet. Would it cough, chug, or even misfire as it stirred itself into motion? Fortunately, I was able to marvel at how all the planning and preparation had paid off as it sprang into action like a well oiled machine, humming with strength and speed. The sight and sound of it is infectious.
New beginnings are exciting. And our God is the God of new beginnings. At the core of this is a very liberating thought and message that stirs us toward the future and frees us from the past. Indeed, if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away…. For those of us raised in the Christian West, it is not a terribly new idea. But for those mired in the swamp of Eastern religion, it can be revolutionary. Hindu teaching binds all present beings to the deeds of previous generations. The suffering we encounter in this life is simply a result of bad karma from a former life. If we fall victim to a crippling disease, it is our just fate and punishment for previous sins. And to help someone under the bondage of such affliction would be to interfere with cosmic justice. Roman stoicism was just as crippling in teaching that one was obliged to suffer whatever nature and fate sent his way. Whole civilizations were hindered in the process.
The message of the gospel is that one can be born anew and start over regardless of the sins of the past; both ours and those of our parents. In fact, each day our God promises that we can be washed anew from the stains of yesterday however serious those stains may be. It should be a cause for great rejoicing and bring hope for our future both short term and long. No one need remain captive to the chains of sin and guilt. We only err when we undervalue the importance and power of this liberation of all liberations or when we presume upon it thereby trampling it underfoot as something terribly common; something that is owed to us. May we not lean to either of the two extremes of either forgetfulness or presumption. And may you find your new beginning this year as intoxicating as ever. Rejoice! His mercies are indeed new every morning!
Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe
Lots of excitement this week in Lake Woebegone. School has started. There were loads of new pencils, backpacks, water bottles, erasers, books, notepads, and calculators making their debut. New outfits were laid out by moms and worn with pride by freshly scrubbed students with new haircuts. New teachers were waiting to greet them in new and different classrooms. Newness was everywhere. For some, the thought of actually changing classrooms for every subject was a totally new and welcomed concept. What an adventure!
It takes a very strong spirit or a totally low-key personality to not experience some sort of first day jitters or an early morning visit by the ghost of premonition. One of our students awoke early and insisted on calling Mrs. Garzony, his new first grade teacher, to confess that he had forgotten everything he had learned in kindergarten. One mom had to deal with a profound theological question as her son asked if Adam and Eve had never sinned would there still be school? Another 6 yr. old student spent much of that first morning in the bathroom in an attempt to calm all the butterflies he was experiencing.
For many, there was lots of joy bouncing around the halls as old friends came into view. It was a lot of fun simply to observe these reunions and the renewal of common bonds. Others were plainly eager to delve into the whole new River’s Edge experience leaving behind memories of bullying or public school worldliness. Some were looking forward to making new friendships after some years of relative, home-school solitude but yet a little scared at the prospect of bridging the gap to the unknown.
I, too, was faced with many unknowns as new classes began in new places on new schedules with many new teachers. And it is always a source of fascination as this complicated apparatus called River’s Edge stirs back to life after a summer of quiet. Would it cough, chug, or even misfire as it stirred itself into motion? Fortunately, I was able to marvel at how all the planning and preparation had paid off as it sprang into action like a well oiled machine, humming with strength and speed. The sight and sound of it is infectious.
New beginnings are exciting. And our God is the God of new beginnings. At the core of this is a very liberating thought and message that stirs us toward the future and frees us from the past. Indeed, if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away…. For those of us raised in the Christian West, it is not a terribly new idea. But for those mired in the swamp of Eastern religion, it can be revolutionary. Hindu teaching binds all present beings to the deeds of previous generations. The suffering we encounter in this life is simply a result of bad karma from a former life. If we fall victim to a crippling disease, it is our just fate and punishment for previous sins. And to help someone under the bondage of such affliction would be to interfere with cosmic justice. Roman stoicism was just as crippling in teaching that one was obliged to suffer whatever nature and fate sent his way. Whole civilizations were hindered in the process.
The message of the gospel is that one can be born anew and start over regardless of the sins of the past; both ours and those of our parents. In fact, each day our God promises that we can be washed anew from the stains of yesterday however serious those stains may be. It should be a cause for great rejoicing and bring hope for our future both short term and long. No one need remain captive to the chains of sin and guilt. We only err when we undervalue the importance and power of this liberation of all liberations or when we presume upon it thereby trampling it underfoot as something terribly common; something that is owed to us. May we not lean to either of the two extremes of either forgetfulness or presumption. And may you find your new beginning this year as intoxicating as ever. Rejoice! His mercies are indeed new every morning!
Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe
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