The Visual Part IV

“the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes,” KJV Genesis 3:6

I will attempt to close this series on the overwhelming “power of the visual” and try not to get too radical in my prescription. No promises, however. Up to now, I have attempted to convince the reader that we actually may have a problem that has real consequences for learning, for development, and for all that we know about us as our “humanness.” That is no small challenge. Many of us have drifted to where we are quite unaware or indifferent to the increasing power of the visual in our age. So what do we do about it?

As with any problem of abundance, whether it be food, wealth, time, or whatever, the answer is to find the joy and freedom of a disciplined lifestyle. Food is for the body. The body is not for food. Simple enough. Yet entering into a covenant with oneself to limit our intake to only what we need is such an ongoing problem for us all because of the smorgasbord of affordable possibilities that lie at every street corner. So, too, with the visual. It is everywhere and well within the reach of most every household. We can turn our living rooms into a totally captivating arcade at minimal cost. The question is, “Should we?” And if we do, how much of our weekly schedule should we allow it to consume? And at what age does it inhibit normal development?

The visual industry, when you reflect on it, is all about entertainment. Television, movies, games, and the internet are predominantly used to entertain. Yes, there are educational applications to all of the above, but that is not what draws teens and twenty-somethings into addiction. We need to ask ourselves just how much of our lives we will allow ourselves to be entertained. Have we set limits for ourselves and our families? To surfeit ourselves with entertainment is to stand with the ancient Romans crying out for more “bread and circus.” Creativity dies. Initiative dies. Any sense of mission dies.

Secondly, I believe we need to develop a keener sense of age appropriateness. A driver’s license is given into the hands of teens only upon a developed sense of maturity, an attained legal age, training and testing. I believe we need to start questioning the age at which we should entrust the powerful visual tools we have created. It wasn’t too long ago when parents debated the wisdom of allowing a telephone in the room of a teenager. We knew it was a gateway to private conversations into the nether world of the prevailing teen culture. And now we allow teens and pre-teens not only to have their own totally private cell phones but also unfettered access to the social websites. Social websites (and even email) are powerful tools. I question the maturity of teens and pre-teens to handle them responsibly without being drawn into a world of peer pressure, secret chatter, or mind numbing trivia. There is enough cruelty to be suffered at the hands of other teens without exposing them to on-line anonymity, taunts, and intimidation. If a child must be allowed to carry a cell phone, I would recommend the cheap and disposable types sold at drug and dollar stores with renewable minutes. It is all my wife has or needs. Picture phones are now being bent to the most abominable purposes in the hands of children. Time on video games needs to be carefully regulated and monitored. At any sign of flagging attention spans for the more mundane things of life (such as reading), I would recommend their removal altogether. Let’s stop using movies to babysit or pacify our children. It is the “soma”* of our age. Let them learn to entertain themselves. It is essential for creative development. Constant exposure to fast paced visual entertainment destroys attention spans in the youngest of children, much to the bane of teachers everywhere.

If you are uncertain as to how much the visual distractions of our age are affecting your home, I challenge you to go on a 30 day fast from all forms of electronic gadgets, games, and images. See and observe what happens in the life of your family. If you see little difference, all may be well and good. You are probably at a level that is appropriate and sustainable. But if you or your children experience the pains of withdrawal, not knowing what to do with yourselves, there is a problem you will need to address. A 30 day fast will, in and of itself, cause you to turn to one another for interaction, entertainment, and relationship building. Homework and chores may even take on new significance and meaning. And no telling what kind of hobbies may develop.

We may look at the Amish and laugh at their self-imposed exile from modern life, but secretly, we must all wonder if they don’t have something right. Indeed, they have had the courage to look modernity in the face and raise the question, “Just because we can, should we?”

* “soma” – a state supplied drug to pacify the general populace in Huxley's BRAVE NEW WORLD.

the visual part II

"the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes,” Genesis 3:6 KJV

It is easy, very easy, for my generation to fall asleep at the switch with regards to the dangers of digital addiction. First of all, many of us older fogeys have little interest in video gaming or social web sites as we either are content with our lives, busy as they are, or these things are past our comfort zone in this computer age (yet there is a spike among retired folk who have more time). Secondly, I see where many parents are enamored with anything involving computer skills, and the thought of their children and grandchildren learning how to navigate their way around the world of the web is a point of pride: “My child is learning the future!” Thirdly, we are only now becoming aware of the reality of digital addiction and the threat it has become.

In 1995, a New York psychiatrist, Dr. Ivan Goldberg invented the term, “Internet Addiction Disorder,” as a joke to parody an association manual just released cataloging all the known mental disorders. To his surprise, he received a rash of mail from people and colleagues confessing their “addiction.” It is no longer a joking matter. South Korea is the most wired country on earth with a 97% broadband penetration into homes versus only 67% in the U.S. The S. Korean government now estimates up to 30% of those under the age of 18 are at risk of internet addiction. Internet cafes have proliferated to the level of some 20,000 so-called “PC Bangs” where rows and rows of mainly young boys and men line up to play video games. The Korean government has now set up 200 counseling centers and has trained more that 1,000 internet addiction counselors. Two week camps are set up to treat young people in “p.c. free” zones where the aim is to restore a “lost childhood” with real time activities with real people. China has over 300 treatment centers and estimates about 10 million adolescents qualify as addicted. It has ordered online game operators to install “fatigue” systems that post warnings and diminish point rewards after three hours of play.

The next version of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual from the Psychiatric association, due out in 2012, very well could contain some form of disorder designation for digital addiction. If so, it would mean that treatment for internet addiction could be covered by your health insurance. This is the world we are now entering. I cite all these dismal statistics just to make the point that the power of the visual has assumed enormous proportions and poses a very real threat to normal, human health and development, especially among young people. We have created a powerful machine and now must learn how to control it.

How big is this business in the U.S.? Studies say 97% of American teens aged 12-17 play video games using a variety of devices and half of them do so every day. We know that boys are especially cued to the visual and, not surprisingly, 99% of them are players versus 94% of girls. 65% of males are daily gamers versus only 35% of females. 27% of teens play games with strangers on line. About one third of parents do not or only occasionally check the ratings before they allow their children to play a game. In 2008, World of Warcraft was the most played game in the U.S. at about 11 hours per week per gamer.

Houston, do we have a problem? Sorry if this is depressing. I wanted to get your attention.

(to be continued)

the visual part I

“the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes,” Genesis 3:6 KJV

Please forgive me for getting a little controversial here. I am thinking out loud and know that’s dangerous. This all started with a quote I just read from a Ravi Zacharias speech given at Amsterdam in 2000 in which he identified five major changes that have had significant impact on cultures around the world. Number three on that list was, “The controlling impact of the visual.” Since that speech, nine years of technology has perhaps doubled or tripled that impact. I am not a cell phone video junkie, nor do I play video games, nor do I own a high def. TV. Yet, I feel it stalking me.

I confess. I cannot carry on a decent conversation with even an old fashioned TV program going in a room at the same time. TVs mounted in restaurants regularly get me in trouble when having a quiet dinner with my wife. I am absolutely agog at the sight of college football in H.D. I get stuck in front of the new video monitors or TVs at department stores. And the Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, and The Passion movies were all visual overloads for me, totally transfixing in their power and intensity.

Let’s admit it. The state of perfection of the visual media today along with computerized animation is awesome. What I am wondering is if we need to slow down a bit and examine what role we as Christians allow this powerful media to have in our lives. I am not even going to begin to talk about the dark side of the internet. That is another story all in itself, and the carnage is incredible. Let’s just think about the “morally passive” stuff we have made so much a part of our lives. Here is where it gets controversial.

I guess I am thinking back to the days when I was in the thick of raising young children of my own. We had a love-hate relationship going on with television even then, as black and white as it may have been. Captain Kangaroo was a daily delight and captivating even for adults as I learned trying to walk through the room without stopping. Finding “Les Miserables,” the movie, on TV one night was a thrill, an absolute gem. But then there was the routine of it all that began to sap more and more family time, deadening us to violence, and assaulting us with subtle compromise. We tried owning just a small cheap one that didn’t work very well. No help. Finally, we just went cold turkey for 10 or more years while the kids were growing up. Family and friends didn’t understand and kept trying to give us TVs. No need to buy one in America, I learned. The whole world will feel so sorry for you that they will pile them up on your doorstep.
But we discovered reading novels around the dinner table, and our home became a haven for board games, conversation, company, crafts, a club house, and Sunday dinners for extended family. We have never looked back on that time with regret. Our girls did get to see every episode of “Little House” at Grandma’s. I got to see football with friends. But I think what happened was that we witnessed our “humanness” being amplified, that part of us that shows forth the creative image of God as it was meant to be.

The comic strip Doonesbury this week (not my favorite), showed a young 20-something character being contacted by a former employer. “Stop right there,” he protested. “No way I’m getting sucked back in! I’ve got a life now!” The other party responded, “No, you don’t. The most important thing in your life is an X-box.” A pungent moment of silence was followed by, “Okay, so you’re creeping me out.” How much of life is being “twittered” away with games and texting, the endless trivia of ‘Facebook,’ or 200 channels of digital HD? I saw what my generation did when they discovered the toy of amplification: sound taken to deafening levels. What will this generation do with their new toys of the visual, and where will it take them?

(to be continued)

professional hazards II

“The mouth of a righteous man is a well of life:” Proverbs 10:11 KJV

Last week I talked about the perils of communication. Pro. 10 tells us, “In the multitude of words there wanteth not transgression,but he that refraineth his lips is wise.” This we know quite well from experience. We all remember, with embarrassment and pain, times when we have hurt or been hurt through well meaning exchanges with even good friends. The lesson that echoes through our hearts is to “keep our peace,” to just not say what comes to mind even when we know that someone ought to say something. True enough, Scripture abounds in advice in matters of the tongue and reminds us that “the heart of the righteous studies how to answer.” But that is far, so very far, from calling us to a vow of silence in a world full of troubles.

In the very same chapter where we are told that in the multitude of words there is peril, we are also told that wisdom is found in the lips of him that has understanding, that the tongue of the just is as choice silver, that the lips of the righteous feed many, that the mouth of the just brings forth wisdom, that the lips of the righteous know what is acceptable, and that the mouth of the righteous is a well of life. Much of Scripture contains paradoxical truth. A paradox is troubling in that it calls us to think and weigh out opposing elements with a judicial eye. It is also comforting in that truth is seldom simple, a reassurance to us that the Word of God is a real-world testament and contains deep wisdom.

How interesting that in a single chapter there are six verses that praise a right word fitly spoken and only one that calls for caution yet we remember the one most clearly. ‘Tis a mark of our humanity that we are forever conscious of our own frailty and remain to our core a bundle of fears. We fear others, and failure, yet we are called to be instruments of God’s truth in a world of confusion and falsity. But we would be like Jonah, preferring flight to a storm tossed sea rather than be a truth bearer and confront a world gone wrong. How much safer it is to avoid the battle altogether than speak a word for righteousness sake into the lives of a neighbor, a co-worker, or even our own children.

While there is much to learn about being the wise one who speaks with grace, making knowledge acceptable, being a truth speaker is the ultimate in risky behavior. Jesus did it as well as anyone ever could, but we all know where it got him. What makes the difference between the eventual success of a Jonah-message and the martyrdom of Stephen, both of whom spoke the truth in love? No one knows for sure, but I read a lot about the prophets being stoned in Scripture. Yet we know that God’s truth brings life. The word of correction is the sure evidence of a father’s love. And whoever would name the name of Christ is now the bearer of good news into all the world, let the chips fall where they may. We must also stand, at times, in the footsteps of Martin Luther, defying the known world, and declare with him, “Here I stand. I can do no other. God help me. Amen.”

For all of our truth witnessing into the lives of our own children, for all those dangerous ventures we made into the confines of their young souls, molding, prodding, praising, and rebuking, we were still very conscious of the possibility of error and injury to these tender shoots. At some point near young adulthood, we approached them in fear and trembling and asked them if there were any instances where we had left a seed of bitterness in their hearts at all the correction we had poured into their lives. We awaited fearfully as each of them scanned the horizon of their years, just sure there would be a list of grievances, small or large. To our relief, there were none. We slept better that night. But we also slept well knowing we had been faithful to uphold God’s standard of Truth as best we knew how. It is a delicate balance, but one every faithful watchman knows full well.

professional hazards

“In the multitude of words there wanteth not transgression;” Proverbs 10:19 ASV

Lawyers live in fear of that lapsed word, that oversight of precise language that could cost someone his fortune, his home, or his reputation. No matter how much good they may have done on behalf of a multitude of clients, tomorrow could reveal a calamitous error. Doctors, too, go home each day and pray they have made the right call as they prescribe small portions of healing drugs from closets full to overflowing with deadly toxins of every kind. Preachers step down from pulpits and immediately are plagued with doubts about the “rightness” of their pronouncements that hang somewhere between heaven and earth. And each must mount that cockpit again and again daring to speak for God to the world all the while secretly wondering how preposterous a task that must be for any of Adam’s race.

Preachers, teachers, and writers, all who live by the words of their mouths, whose stock and trade is an endless stream of pungent vocabulary formulated into wishful sense and meaning, are condemned to co-exist with the constant dread of error and offense. Facts come out incomplete, judgments are ill-conceived, and words trip up even the most astute and knowledgeable. We who speak daily, write weekly, or lead constantly are conscious of the two-edged sword that hangs over their heads. At any moment our words can fall upon us and cut in deadly fashion. If any are not duly humbled by that daily possibility, there is truly something very deeply wrong and dangerous about them, and they should be barred from all of the above.

Just last week I stumbled badly in my use of language that gave offense where none was intended. A friend also was reeling as his efforts at leadership were constantly being sidetracked by a whole series of misunderstandings, words run off the rails by unseen and undetected sensitivities. I watched two other highly trained and capable individuals labor and strain to understand one another. This all was happening around me in the span of one short week. It is enough to make one despair at the prospect of ever constructing accurate and effective communication. Oh, to be an artist painting in a solitary studio whose only dialogue is with pigment and palette. Oh, to have the simple life of an assembly line worker who can look with satisfaction at a thousand widgets well made at the end of a day.

But where would we be without lawyers fearlessly exercising their craft to create a world of law and order? How well would we live without doctors who dare to cut through flesh and bone or deal in life saving medicines? And where would we be without preachers and teachers who go where angels fear to tread, laying down the unseen measuring lines whereupon we build our lives?

Lest you pity too much these professions and the daily perils they face, remember that we as parents have equal hazards to our trade. We, too, pour out a torrent of words upon our children every day, their meaning loaded with the freight of tone and grimace. We correct, admonish, train, reinforce, encourage, and address them powerfully in our many different roles. So, too, the potential for catastrophe is there with words said in ignorance or haste resulting in wounded spirits, or at a minimum, have the potential to stir up strident responses. No wonder some parents would rather retreat to a world of passive permissiveness than dare to conduct those daily interdictions that call for incisive language in an effort to bend young lives to receive and shoulder the yoke of responsibility.

To speak words of truth is to claim a moral high ground, one fraught with risk. May we be courageous enough to try when the time comes to defend our corner of the wall; and humble enough to admit the possibility of error so endemic to us all.

(to be continued)

reflections

“Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: Fear God, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole duty of man.” Ecc. 12:13

Last week was a cascade of reflections as I retraced some very old steps, revisiting friends and places from my childhood. The home where I learned how to ride a bike, discovered the magic of the Lone Ranger on radio, spent enchanting rainy afternoons rummaging in the attic, and was first set free to roam the neighborhood is now a slum. No self-respecting family would want to live there amidst unkempt yards, peeling paint, and “beware of dog” signs everywhere. The corner grocery store where we traded five empty pop bottles for a full one is boarded up, just one more dead building among many. I retraced my steps to school that had to have been a mile or two and found they were only 4 city blocks.

I visited my old one-room country school house where now lived Tim Fitch and his wife. He invited me in where I saw those same old floor boards where once I trembled as a fledgling 5th grader coming as a city boy into this strange new world. Outside, the boys’ and girls’ outhouses still stood, and I saw many of the same old trees, now ancient with age, under whose branches we played countless softball games. Memories returned of a red plastic lunch box and after-lunch story times as we listened to the old WLS radio station out of Chicago where dads could hear all the latest hog and cattle prices that so affected their lives.

By gracious chance, I met some of those old classmates from that humble school and was staggered at the deep pools of experience, life stories, joy, and calamity that stood before me in comparison to the easy, uncomplicated, exuberant lives I had left behind so many unscarred years before. The tall, strong boisterous one I so remembered was now disabled, struggling to deal with a number of near-crippling injuries. Another was caught in a mystery of pain, frailty, and estrangement from job and family yet the spirit that drew us together as friends was the same. He called me his “best friend,” which left me reeling as I reflected back on the 50 years of silence that had passed between us.

And then there were the high school classmates who had reached out to me, people I had really never known who now made a deep impression with their gracious hospitality towards me as a fellow survivor of that class of ’62. One spoke from his wheelchair, a man disabled in an accident in middle age who still worked, traveled, and created marvelous woodturnings. We talked eagerly of life and woodworking and jobs and children with him and his ever faithful wife as if none of his personal tragedy had ever happened.

I could not visit the grave of my longest boyhood friend for his ashes were scattered on some lake in Canada, but visited instead the resting place of his son who represented all that was good in my friend’s life. I met the son’s widow for the first time, and we filled in the pieces of our ragged accounts of years gone by and retraced the journey of faith that now bound us together; new family ties. Tears and prayers became cords of hope and love as we drew close together, a down payment on better days to come.

I spent time with old church friends, my now semi-retired “youth group,” as we reconnected the dots of our lives. The old church building itself was alive with a thousand memories as I went from room to room recounting the aches of adolescence. We talked of lives now ended, marriages dissolved, wayward children, and other tales of woe. Yet there were victories, too, as we witnessed those still smiling faces that bore testimony of a well worn and tested faith.

So many old faces speaking out with still familiar voices, so many stories, from classmates to cousins, lifetimes now ripe to the full, all spilling out, calling for some way to make sense of it all, while I stood there with my puny collection of years. I somehow am drawn to the words of another old man who looking back could only conclude, “Fear God, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole duty of man.” Rather anti-climactic, I know, but it’s the only memorial that seems fit to raise.

Pain

“… every branch that beareth fruit, he purgeth it, that it may bring forth more fruit.” John 15:2 KJV

While wading through the fever-ridden swamps of educational philosophy these days in our public school system, you will encounter some curious sign posts. One of them points to “rigor.” It is a cry for coursework that means something, for grades that count, and for a diploma that represents hard-earned accomplishment. Its supporters call for tougher standards, greater accountability, and an end to watered down subjects. This is reflected in the increasingly more difficult academic path that has come down by legislative fiat from our state legislatures which is just now poised to take effect at the high school level.

The other curious sign post you will find directs us to discover “student centered” education. It promotes an intimate and personal identification with the student, their particular needs, their feelings, and their points of view. With it goes the hope and desire that by learning about the student and this particular generation, we can discover how to motivate and inspire them to achieve, and lo, even to graduate. It is a touchy-feely approach that seeks to cater to individual needs, to find out how and when we can create some kind of educational experience that will enable them to flourish and succeed. Students fail and drop out because we fail to care or listen or relate or use the latest teen-popular technology.

Like most great conundrums, there is some element of truth in both positions. What is especially curious is how both of these currents of thought are alive and well at the same time in this present chaotic morass that exists in our schools today. I don’t fault them for trying. Something is dreadfully wrong in our society and the public school system has the unenviable mission of trying to fix it. But these opposing visions are on a direct collision course with one another.

We at CFC are not totally immune from these conflicting feelings. We all like the idea of “rigor” until junior brings home a failing grade in tears. Then we question the sensitivity of the teacher who seemingly rides roughshod over tender feelings and threatens to quash a young spirit with their unreasonable demands. Which leads me to the following.

I received this e-mail the other day from a friend living and working as a teacher in Nicaragua. He writes:

I just got back from the gym, and, after 5 days in a row, I am sore. I have pain. Now, it is a good kind of pain. It signals that I have done something. I increased weight beyond what I could do without pain. No, I did not overdo, but my muscles are going through the cycle of pain and rebuilding they must go through for strength to increase. This morning, while conferencing with my student teacher, she told me she felt God had specifically given me to her as a mentor. Why? Because I do not rush in to tell her exactly what to do in every situation. I have sat back and watched her go through the pain of lessons that did not go right, discipline plans that needed to be adjusted, and the frustration of having to work through that. She says this has made her a better teacher. Before this she was not sure she wanted to teach. Now she will be back next year as the science teacher on our team. As a somewhat charismaniac I have lived through the era when we felt Christians should not have to deal with pain. Many of us were surprised when it came our way, frankly. This, however, is false thinking. Rocky would not have been the hero to all he was without his black eye, and bleeding face. There can be no victory without a battle. There can be no growth, it seems, without pain at some level. So, I am thankful for the pain I have lived through. Each major battle in my life has been used to make me the person I am today. That is not to say I came through it all with a smile. Quite the contrary, I have often railed and screamed in private. Sometimes I have done so in the not so private. Yet, I am still here. As Lawrence Chewning wrote, "The anchor holds, in spite of the storm." There are no major storms in my life right now. I am in a time of calm. I pray that I will face the next battle with these thoughts in mind. Be blessed today. Life is good. God is better. -Dan

Pain and rigor. May we allow it to do its perfect work, lowering anchors that hold in spite of the storm.

encouraging word

“Heaviness in the heart of man maketh it stoop: but a good word maketh it glad.” -Pro.12:25 KJV

It started out as a rather routine Sunday school exercise. Attempting to illustrate the importance of words and the meanings they bear, we went around the circle each sharing an instance when someone had spoken a word of encouragement into our lives at some point along the way that had a particular impact on us. The average age in the room was near fifty which was illuminating as these secure, well-grounded Christian people began recounting episodes in their lives which, more times than not, had happened decades ago. The stories started spilling out of various circumstances and times when someone had affirmed them and brought hope to their roomful of doubts.

One mature lady reached back to her high school days when in a conference with a couple of teachers, one of them remarked how, in her opinion, this young student could do anything she wished and affirmed her abilities. It was a thought that had never struck into her young and immature mind. A lawyer in the room told of another high school teacher who had singled her out with a compliment and a challenge. “You can write,” she told her, “and I want you to take this college level test.” As a result, she did and scored exceedingly well. But after earning an exemption from English coursework at college and completing an undergraduate program in finance, she found herself in law school once again having to write. Her first paper came back with a big fat “C” on it, and she thought her world was crumbling around her. As she sat crying in the student center, a professor came along who reassured her that one bad grade does not doom a career. “I know you and have studied your admission papers. You have what it takes.” And that began a long and fruitful mentoring relationship that brought her to where she is today.

A pre-school teacher recalled how an otherwise uncommunicative parent had written a note at the end of a term thanking her and the other teachers for all they had meant to her child and their family. It was a huge encouragement in an otherwise thankless environment. A retired teacher related how a student had returned to affirm that she had made a difference in a young life. It was a huge comfort that she had not labored in vain. Another teacher had recalled a truculent band student who had dropped out much to his relief and was surprised to hear positive and grateful words from this student some years later in spite of his self-confessed immaturity at the time.

Another woman related the intense emotional and legal struggles surrounding the settling of an estate in her dealings with a not-so-lovable real estate agent. After much travail of spirit and urges to kill, she decided to give grace and allow time for the agent to do the right thing. After all the legal wrangling and matters were settled, that agent returned to offer words of thanks for her acts of deliberate graciousness. It was a confirmation that God’s ways are higher and better than our ways. A middle aged gentleman shared how he had known he had great potential as a young student but had fought with feelings of failure all his life. His wife, one day, affirmed that he was actually ideally suited for a life as a purchasing agent, and it had made a huge difference in his life.

What struck me most was the depth of doubt that each of us wake up to and walk with each day. We manage to function quite well anyway but desperately need to hear those words of affirmation and encouragement spoken into our lives by those we respect. How quickly these folks recalled instances that had happened often years and years before with such clarity amplifies for me the importance of these words of vision, affirmation, and encouragement spoken into one another’s hearts. There is no call for flattery here or for ignoring the chasm of original sin that rips through all our lives. But the power of a healing word is as strong a medicine as any. We walk among and pass by those who lie by the sides of the road having been assaulted by the thieves of insult, weariness, discouragement, or injustice. May we have the eyes to see the broken in spirit and the wisdom to minister the healing balm of a life-giving word.

the easy road

“In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

It has been a rough week in Lake Woebegone. First it warms up enough to give one sweet dreams of daffodils and forsythia in bloom while robins bounce about in full play. Then it snows and drives us indoors where we gather around the wood stove to radiate in its warmth. The Democrats are rejoicing in the great stimulus package while Republicans continue to forecast impending doom. Hollywood’s millionaires convened and celebrated a movie about the slums of India, all at a very safe distance. A good friend pulled from out of nowhere the news he was fighting cancer but with such grace and quietude that it left me rejoicing in the peace that comes only from above. I watched with intense interest a student whose anxious anticipation betrayed a hard fought fight for an “all A’s” report card only to learn later that she missed it by one point. I listened with uncomfortable anguish as a parent poured out the pain of a heart broken at the moral failings of her child while I could only offer a lame, “We can work through this” in return. I read my first-ever poll of teacher feelings (everybody gets to evaluate them yet they never get a voice) and learned with shock and awe that I had feet of clay (surprise, surprise) as well as a collection of halos.

The sweet and sour forever follow us in a dance that always seems to leave the two closely entangled or never out of short reach of one another. Even one day can bring forth laughter and tears, joy and sorrow, ease and pain in mixed procession that can leave us, at times, gasping for breath at the roller coaster effect emanating from the highs and lows. I have often said that being administrator of CFC is the best job I have ever had. After this week, I still readily confess that to be true even though I might add that it is also the toughest. But I still remember very keenly the years I spent in relative ease making far too much money for what was demanded. I would not go back for anything. The dullness of that unchallenged life was stultifying beyond measure: a slow death that drains the heart from a man one day at a time.

How is it then that we find ease and luxury repellent and on the other hand, we can find in hard experiences like the Peace Corps, “the toughest job we will ever love?” Strange, but true. It is in the striving that we find the sweet solace of accomplishment, it is in the strain of the harness that we find fulfillment, and it is in the uphill climb we find the satisfaction of lofty views. The heat of battle is what calls forth the best of us and bids us offer that heroic last measure. But the pain of truths we find hard to face, the grind of long days that tire both flesh and spirit, the sting of rebuke from friend or foe, and the disappointment of efforts fallen short are hard to bear. Yet in the reaching we are stretched. In the storm, we are pruned. And in straining against the rock-face of resistance, we grow strong.

I hear quite often the groans of parents as they pour forth effort after effort to bend young lives towards a fruitful and productive future. I hear the frustrations of teachers who struggle against the fallen nature of man and child and suffer the slings and arrows of adolescent thoughtlessness. I see struggling students who cannot hide the tears when faced with demands that seem oh, so impossible. It is all part of the work of redemption, taking that which is broken and making it whole. We shun the broad road for the narrow path. We die daily as we pick up our cross; pilgrims searching for the Promised Land. It is only our enemy who offers us beds of selfish ease; a deadly snare for the unwary. Resistance is our reassurance we are on the right path. Faint not, for in due season we shall reap.

Young Love

“A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.” Proverbs 17:17 KJV

Valentine’s Day is upon us men once again. I took some boys aside the other day and tried to warn them about this nefarious minefield that is a hazard to all men, both young and old, single or married. Valentine’s Day is officially banned and illegal in some or most Muslim countries, a fact that affords in my more cynical moments my first twinge of empathy with Islamic culture. It seems they cannot abide any demonstration of romantic interest and or even the public intermingling of the sexes. Muslim men are thereby released by rule of law from all the inherent dangers of not bringing home the right combination of flowers, cards, and candy to their wives or girlfriends (or both). Hmmm!

Valentine’s Day just seems to get us men in trouble no matter what we do. If we spend too little, we are cheapskates. If we spend too much, we are profligate. If we ignore it altogether, we are toast. But for our young and single colleagues, the stakes are even higher. There is this insufferable madness that comes over young males at this time of year that says if we will just make our secret love known, it will be requited. Somehow all those heart shaped candies and little red bears, bouquets of roses and unabashed balloons, all speak to us in a moment of weakness and say, “I dare you to send me to your covert crush.” And we, like sheep to the slaughter, line up at drugstores and mega-marts to purchase these far from manly items and send them off with Marine like bravery seen only in times of war when soldiers storm ashore in reckless abandon for life or limb. The end result is a mixed bag of success and disaster with crushed and bleeding egos strewn about as hearts and affections are as often rebuffed as not.

The fever strikes at an early age. Cupids arrow starts its work for sure by 5th grade as some of our boys all of a sudden wake up to the fact that not all girls have cooties. And we just happen to have a fine collection of young ladies at hand to stand for that. So what advice do you give to your young man who finds himself smitten for the first time? First of all, I will if at all possible congratulate him for his good taste. It is never too early to affirm the Godly values you wish to see in a future mate. Secondly, my advice to our young men was that the worst thing in the world for you to do would be to tell this certain young lady that you were in love with them or single them out for an ostentatious show of valentine foo-fraw. I got a few ‘amens’ on this and could see that some had been primed already. I assured the boys that young ladies who receive such misguided attention will usually run in the opposite direction. Those whose heads are easily turned by such a display will usually end up getting a talk from mom.

At this young age, it is enough of a challenge to be able to talk with the opposite sex in a way that is non-threatening. Having friends that are girls is an art for any boy (and vice versa) and one that requires all the years of middle school and high school to perfect. For Eros to truly bloom, the other person must feel comfortable and safe in the presence of any admirer. And the safest place to learn this skill is in a group situation. Pairing off at an early age is like a two person ocean crossing: fraught with all sorts of danger. My advice for boys on Valentine’s Day is to make all the young ladies in their class feel special. They will end up looking like heroes.

My most serious word to young romantics is that they will very likely retain and treasure the same-sex friendships they make through the grammar school years, but only in the most rare cases will they marry a childhood sweetheart. It seems logical then as to where to put one’s most serious efforts.

Becky Ashe still does not ‘get it’

Becky Ashe still does not ‘get it’ (Evolving debate, Feb. 3, Knoxville News Sentinel). Her blind and unswerving devotion to evolutionary theory is obvious and laced with the kind of one-sided arrogance we have grown to expect. She wants to ‘keep the lines of communication open’ yet implies that if only public school teachers had only done a better job of educating people about the scientific process, the debate would be over. (Read: “All who disagree with me are uneducated about the scientific process.”) Her claim that Knox schools do not teach human evolution is insipid deception that only the most naïve would swallow. Either humans are part of the evolutionary chain or not a part of “all life.” She claims to stick with only what science is able to show us but in so doing reveals a prejudice so deeply ingrained that requires one to ignore the most startling discoveries of the past 50 years. Micro evolution, the kind that animal breeders regularly exploit, is a given. The spontaneous generation of life and macro evolution still require great leaps of faith and are coming under increasing skepticism in the scientific community. The true scientist finds himself truly humbled at the staggering complexity of even the most simple cell, a fact not known or even vaguely anticipated in Darwin’s time. I find Ms. Ashe and Prof. Wellman the ones who are woefully lacking in the information needed to have an intelligent discussion. Check out Ben Stein’s movie “Expelled” to get a good look at what a closed mind looks like. This is not the spirit of modern science. It is knee jerk subservience to what some have called “a fairy tale for adults so that they can determine their own sexual mores.” Knox Co. is behind the curve in merely “teaching the assigned curriculum” while castigating opposing viewpoints as adherents of “mythologies.” And then they wonder why so many families jump ship from this lumbering ark of educational intolerance.

Allan Bloom

“I have more understanding than all my teachers: for thy testimonies are my meditation. I understand more than the ancients, because I keep thy precepts.” Ps. 119:99-100

Before writing about the Declaration of Independence last week, I pulled down a few old works to refresh myself, among them being my well underlined copy of The Closing of the American Mind by Allan Bloom*. It should be required reading for every college or pre-college student or for those who hope to be parents of college students someday. Before investing $80,000 or more and four years of blood, sweat, and tears into a college degree, this book will help parent and student alike distinguish between chaff and solid food. Navigating the educational channels in a way that is actually profitable has never been more challenging than it is today. Bloom described the educational system in 1987 as “a technical smorgasbord” that is characterized by a “…utter inability to distinguish between important and unimportant in any way other than by the demands of the market.” Little has changed.

While he is best remembered for his scathing indictment of the impoverished world of academia, he does not spare the family for its failure to instill “a basic element of fundamental primary learning: religion.” It is not the unhappy broken homes he takes to task. It is the failure of relatively happy ones where parents are devoted to their family but have “…nothing to give their children in the way of a vision of the world, of high models of action or profound sense of connection with others.” By religion, he speaks openly of the influence of the Bible which transmitted “the wonder of the moral law” and made it possible to “raise” children, not merely “educate” them. He laments how people “sup together, play together, travel together, but they do not think together.” In this setting, “educational TV marks the high tide for family intellectual life.”

It is the Bible that used to furnish our culture with a uniting sense of common belief for rich and poor, young and old, simple and educated. It was “the very model of model for a vision of the order of the whole of things” and a key to all of Western culture, art, and literature. Without knowledge of that book, Bloom pictures a world where the very idea or hope of truly integrated knowledge and order is lost. Without the Scripture, parents lose “the idea that the highest aspiration they might have for their children is for them to be wise – as priest, prophets or philosophers are wise. Specialized competence and success are all that they can imagine.”

He blames the invasive and overwhelming influence of media that comes to control the atmosphere of the home, wresting it away from parents who have even “lost the will” to control it. Instead, we desperately need lives based on “the Book” that will provide us with access to the real nature of things, great revelations, a sense of the epic, and the human condition. Without a firm and real moral education that imparts a “vision of the moral cosmos and of the rewards and punishments of good and evil,” education otherwise “becomes the vain attempt to give children ‘values’.” Bloom characterizes the “values-clarification” classes springing up as little more than propaganda pushing values that will inevitably change as public opinion changes. As a college professor, he seems to weep over the ensuing result that “there is less soil in which university teaching can take root….” Far less, indeed.

It is interesting reading that gives a whole world of meaning to what most of you are presently doing. It will make you feel the earth move beneath your feet the next time you do family devotions.

*Alan Bloom, The Closing of the American Mind, Simon & Schuster, 1987

Declaration of Independence

I handed out some free copies of The Declaration of Independence and the Constitution this week to 4th grade and up. To teachers, I stressed the importance of the Declaration as something we need to hold onto and cherish. With reflection and further study, I now lean towards characterizing the Declaration of Independence as at once the most precious and most dangerous of documents in our American heritage.

No doubt that the Declaration has suffered seriously from attacks of all kinds from many sources over the years. The whole idea of ‘natural rights’ and the relevance or existence of a creator have either been seriously questioned or totally debunked. While I am uncomfortable with defining just what are the “laws of nature,” certainly our society is treading on thin ice in trying to posit any secure grounds for the dignity and freedom of man other than our Western tradition of European Christianity. Evolution tells us we are a freak accident of nature and a predatory menace threatening the whole world’s ecosystem. That is hardly a comforting starting point in arguing for the inalienable rights of men to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. One of nature’s laws is the principal of survival of the fittest. That is a totally abhorrent basis for founding a social system that protects the weak and insures their survival. It is only our Christian tradition that tells us that man is the crown jewel of creation, made in the very image of God, and standing apart from all the rest of creation.

The basis of our Constitutional law is the Declaration of Independence. The hinge pin of the Declaration is that our dignity and rights come from our Creator who sits above governments and kings. Government then must be subservient to greater truths and not the source of truth. Our Protestant tradition of the priesthood of the believer is the pure gold standard in enunciating the value and dignity of each human individual as they stand equal before God. To try to build a base for either liberty or equality apart from this is an exercise of the most arduous and difficult kind. We, as Christians, stand firmly in the tradition of these bridge builders to the American concepts of liberty and equality. No other philosophy or methodology has been to this point able to bear that weight.

Yet these unquestioned values of liberty and equality are also very dangerous concepts that, if allowed to run unchecked, will feed upon themselves until they descend into total chaos and destruction. These high flown words served well in inspiring a revolution but were ill defined and vague at best. Jefferson, himself, was a slave owner and could not see the implications of his own writing. Our idea of liberty finally evolved to the point of ridding us of slavery, but it continues to morph into further and further notions of radical individualism free of all social, moral, and religious constraints. Unchecked, liberty seeks to knock down all the walls of restraint upon personal freedom until society’s ceiling finally crashes down around it in swirling winds of chaos. Egalitarianism, likewise, is an animal that will grow and grow if left unchecked until it eats us out of house and home. Economic disparity is now characterized as inherently unfair and unjust pushing us towards socialism. Hierarchies are ridiculed. Age is grounds for suspicion. Representation must be engineered to insure ‘fairness.’ The only power capable of insuring this is that of government which must become more and more intrusive at the behest of elites who understand correctly the goals of a “just” society.

The Declaration of Independence: a dangerous and precious document. Handle with care.

CFC anew

I was just recently asked why someone would choose CFC as their schooling choice. Nearly four years now as your administrator have given me some perspective on how to answer this. I know I am preaching to the choir here, but please allow me to refresh your memory and strengthen your prejudices. I am not listing these in any particular order of importance as they are different for each family. But taken together, I just want to restate our reason for existence as a school.

As an alternative to pure home schooling, CFC removes much of the tribulation that accompanies the go-it-alone option. We offer a proven track record of curriculum selection that cuts through the hundreds of choices that can easily overwhelm any new home school family. Plus, we lead the teaching parent step by step in gradual immersion into the home school concept with lesson plans and a lead teacher who carries much of the burden. We also offer an instant network of parents along with trained teachers who are experienced both with the program and the materials. CFC, therefore, holds the hand of parents who would like to have something of the home school experience but who would otherwise be overwhelmed by the demands or decisions of pure home schooling.

We give the home school parent three mornings a week where they are free to devote some time to younger siblings or to run those many errands necessary to keep a home operating. The CFC option also affords three days a week for your children to socialize with peers which is a critical and very real need for some students. Not every child is content to spend each school day at home with mom. Through this socialization, mutually beneficial friendships develop that can span many years. We like to think that these are the friends that will prove to be encouraging to your student’s development both academically and spiritually. CFC has proved also to be a haven for many from the bullying that goes on in 5 day schools, both public and private. Such behavior is unacceptable at CFC, and I believe we have made remarkable progress in reducing conflict and ridicule to an absolute minimum over these past few years.

CFC also provides a platform for educational activities that are difficult to realize on one’s own. Daily P.E. games, field trips, spelling bees, art fairs, science and history fairs, talent shows: these are all great educational experiences that are difficult or near impossible to simulate apart from a school environment.

We offer a Christian education that says that all our subject matter should be infused with a different perspective because it begins with a distinctly different starting point. We do not define ourselves as a Christian school simply because we share a statement of faith or have devotions and chapel at regular intervals. All of our core curriculum originates from a Christian world view and therefore should have a different motivation, look, and feel than a curriculum beginning from a secular basis. We teach reading so that our students can read the Word of God for themselves along with other uplifting literature. We read for a purpose and that is to magnify everything that is pure, good, gracious, noble, and true into our souls and leave that same legacy to others through our writing.

CFC offers much greater involvement with your child’s education that the traditional day school. Students learn to depend upon their parents as they learn together. I believe that parents who are involved will communicate a whole different attitude towards learning. When children see that their parents get excited about learning, it can impart values that will serve a lifetime. I see also children bonding more closely with their parents through this shared experience. Instead of coming to see their parents as a public embarrassment, they have learned to see them as valuable coaches and mentors who are genuinely on their side.

I hope this confirms your commitment to CFC and gives you a clear focus for our raison d’etre, our reason for being.

CFC is a good deal.

Childhood Revived

It is the glory of God to conceal a thing: but the honour of kings is to search out a matter. Proverbs 25:2 KJV

I promised last week that I would review a book that I awarded my “Stocking Stuffer of the Year Award” as my pick for “best gift of Christmas, 2008.” It is The Daring Book for Girls by Andrea J. Buchanan and Miriam Peskowitz.* It is an all encompassing book of everything you ever wanted to know about as a pre-teen girl but didn’t know how to ask. In one volume, your young ladies can find out about pressing flowers, how to whistle with two fingers, double Dutch jump rope (complete with rhymes), how to negotiate a salary, bird watching, how to make a stink bomb, reading tide charts, snowballs, and Abigail Adams’ letters to John Adams. I was fascinated with the wealth of eye-opening information it contained about both the off-beat and the profound.

It took me back to my childhood when, as a boy of 8 & 9, my family lived in one of those old two-story, four bedroom homes that, to my delight, had a full basement and a full standup, walk-in attic. It was the basement and attic that drew me like a magnet on Saturdays and summer days as I indulged a strong sense of curiosity. The basement contained my brother’s hamster cages and my dad’s workshop where I made my first woodworking project, a small boat modeled after the large iron ore cruisers on the Great Lakes. I still have it.

The attic was where I discovered a fully illustrated, hard-bound edition of Gulliver’s Travels, a ready adventure for any slow afternoon. There was also a box of old National Geographics that took me around the world. But ever fascinating was the old, stand-up radio that stood facing the top of the stairs. It had a large, green eye at the top of the circular dial which lit up whenever the set was turned on. There, at the turn of a knob, were various wavelengths that advertised such exotic locations as Moscow, London, and Tokyo. I would spend hours scanning the airwaves and reading into even the most obscure static evidence of life on other continents. Those were magical days spent in stuffy attics or cruising the neighborhood on a beat up wagon, conquering the kingdoms of vacant lots, building clubhouses, or taking off on 2-3 mile walks downtown with my buddies to cruise the pet shop, model store, and ride the elevator at the five & dime.

I identify completely with the following introduction to the Daring book:

We were girls in the days before the Web, cell phones, or even voicemail. Telephones had cords and were dialed by, well, actually dialing. We listened to
records and cassette tapes—we were practically grown-ups before CDs came to pass—and more often than not, we did daring things like walk to school by ourselves. Ride our banana-seat bikes to the local store. Babysit when we were still young enough to be babysat ourselves. Spent hours on our own, playing hopscotch or tetherball, building a fort in our rooms, or turning our suburban neighborhood into the perfect setting for covert ops, impromptu ball games, and imaginary medieval kingdoms.

Girls today are girls of the twenty-first century, with email accounts, digital cable, iPods, and complex video games. Their childhood is in many ways much cooler than ours—what we would have given for a remote control, a rock-climbing wall, or video chatting! In other ways, though, girlhood today has become high-pressured and competitive, and girls are inducted into grownup-hood sooner, becoming tweens and teens and adult women before their time.

In the face of all this pressure, we present stories and projects galore, drawn from the vastness of history, the wealth of girl knowledge, the breadth of sport, and the great outdoors. Consider the Daring Book for Girls a book of possibilities and ideas for filling a day with adventure, imagination—and fun. The world is bigger than you can imagine, and its yours for the exploring—if you dare. Bon voyage.

Yes, thankfully, there is The Dangerous Book for Boys which is the male equivalent. I have not seen it, but the introduction promises much the same from authors Conn and Hal Iggulden:

Boyhood is all about curiosity, and men and boys can enjoy stories of Scott of the Antarctic and Joe Simpson in “Touching the Void” as much as they can raid a shed for the bits to make an electromagnet, or grow a crystal, build a go-cart, and learn how to find north in the dark. You'll find famous battles in these pages, insects and dinosaurs—as well as essential Shakespeare quotes, how to cut flint heads for a bow and arrow, and instructions on making the best paper airplane in the world. How do latitude and longitude work? How do you make secret ink, or send the cipher that Julius Caesar used with his generals?

You'll find the answers inside. It was written by two men who would have given away the cat to get this book when they were young. It wasn't a particularly nice cat. Why did we write it now? Because these things are important still and we wished we knew them better. There are few things as satisfying as tying a decent bowline knot when someone needs a loop, or simply knowing what happened at Gettysburg and the Aamo. The tales must be told and retold, or the memories slowly die.

There are a couple of pages you will probably wish to excise with a razor blade before giving them into the hands of your children. Palm reading and Yoga are not something we wish to perpetuate, but the overwhelming majority is wholesome and exciting. You will need to read through yourself to check for content, but that will not be a hard job as you will find it telling all the stuff you wish you had known in 3rd grade. You can learn more about these books at http://www.daringbookforgirls.com/ and http://www.dangerousbookforboys.com/. The Walters family already has both books and Vashti adds:

"The Daring Book will make you long for rainy days! It was a birthday gift to our third grade daughter, Amelia, last year, and it instantly became a treasured resource. Together we've learned how to make the 'Coolest Paper Airplane Ever,' tried one of 'Three Silly Pranks,' and are longing to soon put the chapter on 'Snowballs' to good use! When asked what her favorite part of the book was, Amelia told me about a 'very pretty poem' and showed me the page. I read with new eyes, 'A Bird Came Down the Walk' by Emily Dickinson. It is such an unusual wealth of information all in one very nice hard-bound book. We gave our son the companion book for boys this Christmas and although we have not finished reading the entire book, it promises to be just as wholesome and enjoyable."

*Harper Collins, 2007, sell for @ $18.00 each on Amazon.com

Christmas Past

Blow the trumpet at the new moon, At the full moon, on our feast-day. For it is a statute for Israel, An ordinance of the God of Jacob. - Psalms 81:3-4 ASV

And the days of feasting were accomplished, that many were delivered unto much food and merriment and found themselves wrapped in self-satisfaction and lying upon the sofas. Now that the holidays are over, here is some reflection upon our Christmas past from my sofa.

Feasting is Biblical. We regularly remind ourselves of this in the Nordmoe household at such times as Christmas when we sit before a rich and sumptuous table lest we be accosted with guilt by our enemy. In Exodus 23, the children of Israel were commanded to keep a feast unto the Lord three times a year: the feast of unleavened bread, the feast of the harvest, and the Passover supper. What a God we serve that calls us to enjoy times of feasting before Him as well as times of fasting and penance. He is the Lord of the banquet and His table must be filled. What better way to celebrate the birth of Jesus than with gift giving and feasting. It is entirely appropriate.

The giving of gifts is always a challenge for me personally as I am rather feckless at finding some imaginative gift, especially for those closest to me. I have a bent for the unconventional, but that demands creative thinking. Work! Shopping would be far easier if I could just conform and bring home the usual perfume and slippers. But gift giving in general is a challenge for us simply because we are Americans. We are awash in stuff as it is and have need of little. But we nevertheless manage to find something to buy and lavish on one another in ever-increasing quantities. The monkish, spoil-sport part of me wants to say, “Enough! We are surfeited to the point of bloat.” But the party-side of me wants to say, “Let there be joy, blessing, and even excess if it celebrates the greatest gift of all.” God was lavish beyond measure and to nit-pick puts me squarely with those naysayers who pointed out with scorn the woman pouring the expensive ointment on the head of the prophet from Nazareth.

All that said, I noted a few gifts this season that I thought were special. One was a card telling me that a gift had been given to a worthy charity in my honor. That is a blessing we could all celebrate. I could have had a gift card to Starbucks or something, but instead I had the knowledge that my name followed a gift to someone truly in need. That may not work for everyone on your list, but I liked it.

Another family I heard about was very creative even though they were very affluent. Every Christmas, the family adopted a particular goal that emphasized individual originality for parent and child alike. One Christmas, each person had to give one gift that was hand-made. Another year, each person had to put on a performance of some sort. This, to me, was a tremendous example of de-emphasizing the material and emphasizing the personal. I only wish we had done more of that when my children were small.

I had hoped to next review a book given to my grand-daughter, Taylor, this Christmas. I want to give it my Stocking Stuffer of the Year Award, but to try to do so here would not do it justice. You will just have to tune in next week. I am a hopeless romantic when it comes to childhood play, and this particular book awakened in me a desire to be a child all over again. It takes a lot to do that when I think of all the teen-age trauma I had to endure, but I was almost ready to endure it again just to transport back to age 8. To be continued.

Christmas

And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn. Luke 2:7 KJV

Weddings and Christmas have a lot in common. There is all this anticipation and excitement over a 2-3 hour event that takes weeks and weeks of preparation. All the while, there is a picture perfect image that drives us with an idealized vision of how it should happen. Both are multi-faceted events where one has to worry and plan for guests, location, decoration, gifts, ritual, and, of course, food. Ordinary hot dogs and beans will not do. There has to be coordinated menu with some unique features that give the aura of individual creativity. Where most men would be happy with a pork chop and gravy, women fuss over what kind of sprinkly spices to drop in the egg nog or the punch. Ordinary china will not suffice either. We have a complete different set just for Christmas. Better Homes and Gardens would be pleased.

In all the planning, we also create in our minds the ideal words, looks, and excited thanksgiving that we would like to see come forth from all our loving family. We dream of that land where never is heard a discouraging word, and the skies are not cloudy all day; or so we would wish for at least one evening. The children will all be grateful and, oh, so helpful. Husbands will be sensitive, thoughtful, and read the minds of their wives. The in-laws will not be rude and will walk into your house with pure and overflowing admiration for all you have done. Even the dog will cooperate and not spill his water dish or worse (much worse).

The tension builds because we do not live in a perfect world. Dogs eat ornaments, children pout or get pukingly sick, husbands totally misread telepathic communication, in-laws say the darndest things, and mom discovers she is not Wonder Woman. Weddings are likewise remembered for the things that go wrong instead of all the things that go right. Candles go out, cakes tip over, attendants faint, and wardrobes fail all to the chagrin of mothers from the beginning of time.

Living with imperfection is a daily challenge for any family. We would like to have everything in its proper place and our children all tidy models of circumspection and genteel deportment. Alas, it doesn’t always happen. Over all, I am very impressed with your children arriving every day, freshly scrubbed, bright eyed, and for the most part, on time. I brag on you regularly. On the other hand, I know you are quite human simply by the things that fall out of your cars along with your children. There are shoes and rubber snakes, McDonald’s cups and crayons, beanie babies and old socks, and even groceries. I mistakenly opened the wrong door a few weeks ago and out poured the contents of two or three grocery bags. You would have enjoyed the sight of your administrator chasing cans of beans rolling down the driveway. I never know what I will encounter as you drive up. There are friendly dogs, occasionally a yipping dog, and once I found a complete plastic leg in the back floorboard. Then there are the days of sick kids with feverish looks wrapped in blankets. Today, one drove up holding a cup having just lost her breakfast.

It may be a wonderful life, but it is not easy, clean, convenient, ordered, and certainly not perfect. It never was. When we compare our discomforts and disappointments with those of Mary and Joseph, our complaints must be seen as so trivial. I take great comfort in the Christmas story, a tale totally immersed in imperfections and riddled with pain and conflict as well as glory. God works in the detritus and anguish of everyday life His wonders to perform. Struggle defines the Christmas story. He not only can use it to amplify His message, He came to share this messy existence with us and to share our discomfort and pain. May we not let our less-than-perfect cloud or obscure the glory that is Christmas.

Thanksgiving

“In everything give thanks; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus” 1 Thessalonians 5:18

In a recent issue of Christianity Today, Cornelius Plantinga Jr. made a chilling observation by commenting, “It must be an odd feeling to be thankful to nobody in particular.”[1] We have all just witnessed plenty of that, I am sure, with last week’s national Thanksgiving holiday celebrated by Christians and atheists alike. Any tally of the mention of “God” verses the mention of “turkey” in our daily media would have shown a great imbalance in favor of the bird. Plantinga pointed out, however, that being thankful “in general” is very odd. “It’s a little like being married in general.”

Before dismissing for the holidays last week, my Spanish teaching wife brought out in her class that Thanksgiving is a truly unique American holiday. No other country has anything quite like it. With that said, she ventured out onto thin ice and asked her class who the first celebrants were thankful to. There was much awkward silence followed by timid expressions of pilgrims being thankful to the Indians for bringing food. Yes. That was it. The pilgrims were thankful to the Indians for bringing food. This was the sage consensus of high school sophomores and juniors from a rural area of Knox County in the heart of the Bible Belt. It was enough to make a grown teacher cry. She went on to remind them of the Jamestown and Roanoke colonies, two failed experiments with which they were at least familiar. Can anyone say, “survival?” The survivors of Plymouth Rock had a lot more on their minds than a mere harvest feast and Indian game. They were thankful to an almighty God for their basic existence after their first devastating winter of this new land was behind them.

One of the first declarations regarding the day of Thanksgiving comes from the State of New Hampshire in 1782 and reads, “The United States in Congress assembled, taking into their consideration the many instances of divine goodness to these States:[...] Do hereby recommend to the inhabitants of these States in general, the observation of THURSDAY the twenty-eight day of NOVEMBER next, as a day of solemn THANKSGIVING to GOD for all his mercies: and they do further recommend to all ranks, to testify to their gratitude to GOD for his goodness, by a cheerful obedience of his laws, and by promoting, each in his station, and by his influence, the practice of true and undefiled religion, which is the great foundation of public prosperity and national happiness.”[2]

No ambiguity there. Clearly, such a clear-cut and stark statement of religious faith today would send deep shivers across our sophisticated sensibilities that have demonstrated here-to-fore impossible capacities of tolerance for the bizarre and profane but not, indeed, for “the practice of true and undefiled religion.” We have the zealous promoters of a “secular” and “inclusive” society to thank for that. They have waged a carefully articulated war against the mixing of the sacred and the secular seeking libertine license for themselves while denying that morality has anything to do with “the foundation of public prosperity and national happiness.” Not content with their victory in judicial and political precedents, they have moved to expunge even the memory of our religious heritage as a nation. How do you do that? History is subverted to tell us that Pilgrims were thankful to Indians for bringing food. Evidently they have done their job well.

The telling of our nation’s history is critical to our sense of identity and the continuance of our values. It is the front line of our culture wars. Don’t assume anything. Question everything. Beware of strangers bearing texts published after 1970. Don’t drink the cultural water. We are in a fight, and the enemy takes no prisoners.


[1]Cornelius Plantinga, Jr., “Assurances of the Heart” Christianity Today, Vol. 39, no. 13.
[2]Thanksgiving Proclamation State of New-Hampshire. In Committee of Safety, Exeter, November 1, 1782

Mom

“When your children shall ask their fathers in time to come, saying, What mean these stones? Then ye shall let your children know, saying, Israel came over this Jordan on dry land.” - Joshua 4:21-22

I have heard them and so have you. They are those stock-in-trade, generic, one-size-fits-all, funeral sermons that abound in clichés and clichéd scripture passages that tired pastors pull out of file cabinets. There is little or nothing said of the deceased, but instead, flowery phrases fill up the time and space as the clergyman attempts to perfume the air with feel-good nothingness. In many cases, such perfunctory phraseology is the only alternative because there is nothing much to say about some non-descript lives that have floundered halfway between here and nowhere, registering not even a blip on God’s kingdom view screen. Pity the poor pastor who has to stand and officiate over such a one when to tell the truth would be in plain bad taste or uncomfortable to say the least. But many times, pastors fumble to find concrete terms with which to describe the lives of even good people because there is no hard evidence to tap into. Nothing frustrates a biographer more than to attempt to tell the story of someone who leaves no written record.

I had feared that in the rush to generate a funeral message for my mother that the pastor, who had not known her long, would pull out one of his stock sermons and give it his best generic shot. To try and head it off, I placed in his hands a journal that my mother had written in her latter days. It was really just a daily planner, and her entries were without form and scattered throughout the book in no particular order. Most of her entries were comprised of quotes from other people from books and sermons and wherever. But she had copied them laboriously by hand in her faltering style, and they instantly betrayed her heart and deeply held values. There were quotes from Max Lucado and C.S. Lewis, Charles Swindoll and Billy Graham, plus others not acknowledged. They covered topics such as the role of the Holy Spirit, how to study the Bible, and the amazing story of the change wrought in the HMS Bounty survivors of Pitcairn Island through the discovery of a Bible.

I was pleasantly surprised the evening of the funeral to discover that the pastor had found the journal entries compelling reading. He basically used little but these various entries to paint a picture of my mother’s life for they revealed the things she held most dearly. There were not that many pages of writing in this simple book, but it offered ample evidence with which to obtain a verdict and a conviction. Her’s was a life centered on the things of God. Little else needed saying. In death, we look for the essence of a person’s life, what interested them, what drove them, what made them who they were. I was amazed how little it took to accurately, I thought, reveal the simple and all-consuming direction of her life. For those who looked at her to admire certain character qualities and traits, here was explanation enough for everything found admirable within.

It need not be long, it need not be eloquent, it need not be profound, and it need not even be original. I left there that night wanting to tell everyone to be sure to leave something behind that will reveal to all who pause and wonder just who you are and why you lived the life you did. Leave tracks, so that others may follow. It may be margin notes in a Bible, a simple journal, a life story, or heartfelt poetry. Whatever the means, make it clear and make it loud if you want folks to know that God’s love compelled you to follow Him and that He did, indeed, change your life.

“If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world.” -C.S. Lewis (found in mom’s journal)

Mercy! Mercy! Mercy!

“It is of the Lord's mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not.They are new every morning” - Lamentations 3:22-23

(The following is a reflection penned the night my mother died after I found out how a nurse’s aide had stayed by her bedside in the final hour or so of her life. This unsung stranger talked calm words and read the Scripture to my mom who could neither hear nor respond except in some unknown way. And so I paused to think of how our lives are marked by mercy from beginning to end, how we are defined and molded by mercy, and how it flows from a thousand unacknowledged sources to fill the hours of our days. May we marvel at its mighty and majestic work and be the willing agents of its spread.)

Mercy! Mercy! Mercy!
How vital to each individual human soul,
God’s rain to quench the drought,
That stretches back to Adam’s folly,
Falling patchwork style,
Upon garden hearts that look to unseen skies,
And wait precariously on mystic clouds,
Grown dark with promises of grace,
While mercy drops kick up the dust of our loose-lived lives,
With the portent of showers and floods to come.

Mercy! Mercy! Mercy!
How vital to each human heart,
From birth’s first cry for human touch,
To childhood needs too plentiful to count,
Where mother’s love and father’s care,
Sustain the fine thin line between,
The fruitful life or blasted barrenness,
And even in the grown-up land,
Grace must do its daily work,
Pulling sap to dizzying heights,
To keep the hillsides green and winter in its place.

Mercy! Mercy! Mercy!
How vital to each human end,
When houses, lands lie fallen by the way,
And life is narrowed to a single bed,
One closet with a week’s apparel,
And one small board stuck with colored pins,
That hold some frames of a life gone by;
Grace descends three times a day,
Where crusts of bread become as prized,
As bags of gold or grandpa’s watch,
And a dear one’s voice is gift enough,To keep alive the will to live, if only one more day

Mercy! Mercy! Mercy!
How vital to all human-kind,
Where total strangers mingle in,
And leave their mark in gentle ways,
They stop by bedsides, filling gaps,
In final vigils, or with simple acts,
They guide the floating bark as it departs;
One wipes a brow, one changes sheets,
One for pay, another just because,
Grace compels which no logic can explain,
To speak soft words, to read the Book of Books,
And thereby spend, the final hour in dark of night, alone,To keep an appointment set 93 years before.

orthodoxy

“But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves.” – James 1:22

If you like scary things this time of year, I’ve got a good one for you. It is a hobgoblin of a most frightening kind that none of us like to talk about or admit that it keeps company far too close to home. It is the foreboding specter, the ghoulish ghost, of “consistency.” Let me explain.

This past week, I, too, went afield and traveled up to Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, into the heart of Amish Country. The horse drawn buggies were in generous profusion, and it was interesting to watch the world’s buffet of general tourists who are drawn with a certain amount of fascination to all things Amish, me being one of them. If it truly is a gift to be simple as goes the song, the Amish abound in many ways. They certainly have no electric bills to worry about, nor car insurance or TV’s that break down, and the problems of Vista are far from their minds. We loved the clothes lines on pulleys that lifted the family laundry proudly up in the air for all to see, flags of defiance to Maytag and all their kin. They marked the Amish farms in clear distinction to any other well kept farm of the community. There is an enforced simplicity here that makes us all pause and wonder if we are truly better off with all our modern claptrap.

Being a woodworker, I snooped around the tourist shops hawking “Amish made” furniture - peeking at the joinery and noting designs. It led me to inquire and follow a trail that led me to an off-road farm a good way from town to Mr. Stoltzfuss’s chair shop. The family dog tried to announce my presence but no one came out. I followed my ears to the sound of a motor running in a back building. What I discovered was a fairly large woodworking shop humming with business. Mr. Stoltzfuss graciously welcomed me and showed me his upstairs showroom and all around his mini-chair factory. It was a family business that involved grandpa and the whole family as they turned out about 3,000 chairs a year. There were no light bulbs in the shop, no electricity of any kind, but I discovered some of the most sophisticated and up-to-date woodworking machinery available today. These machines were driven by either hydraulic fluid or compressed air supplied by a large diesel engine running continuously in an adjoining room. Preformed wood came by way of shipment from commercial suppliers, and these folks were shaping, sanding, and finishing these parts together in a model of home-industry efficiency.

I couldn’t help but let my mind pitch wildly back and forth from the diesel engine and hydraulic motors to the theology of it all that prohibits one form of modern convenience but allows another. I tried to picture a meeting of the Amish elders sitting around and deliberating the worthiness or unworthiness of power driven machinery, which kinds, and how much. To further the picture of seemingly conflicting systems of thought, I stopped by a roadside scene and took a picture of a team of six horses pulling a single row corn picker as it made its way slowly through the field. As it approached me, I suddenly recognized that a gasoline engine was mounted on the corn picker driving the whirring mechanics of that machine. Evidently it is permissible to mount an engine on your corn picker but not on your buggy.

Being careful not to mock this, to us, a glaring inconsistency, both my wife and I confessed that being consistent is, indeed, a difficult thing for us all. It is the hobgoblin of all Christians who profess a high and holy standard and yet struggle each day to live it out. We say that church is important and then skip at will. We would shun worldliness and then let ourselves and our children watch the unthinkable. We say it is better to give than to receive and then consume untold wealth on ourselves. We hold up the great commission but then flee to the safety of the suburbs and our Christian subculture. Scary, isn’t it, how we can so easily hitch gasoline engines to our horse drawn corn pickers and still feel so orthodox?

Education Ends

Esteem her (wisdom), and she will exalt you; embrace her, and she will honor you. - Proverbs 4:8 NIV

So where are we going with our educational treadmill? That has been somewhat the focus of our past few issues. It is a question we need to keep in mind as we direct and encourage our children to put forth the effort every day to keep up their rigorous pace. How we answer it will in large part determine their future and the extent and direction to which we pour our time and treasure, college or no.

It is becoming increasingly clear that the realm of public education is rapidly losing its way. The threat of an a-moral, secular, Darwinian education is now being surpassed by the corrosive effects of the no-child-left-behind mentality which is spawning a wasteland of mediocrity and intolerance of standards of any kind. (Ask your friends in the public schools about the new minimum grade of “60” for all student work.)

But where are we going and what do we want to maintain as the ballast in the bottom of our educational boats? If you want to tie your thoughts in endless knots of increasing complexity and confusion, there is no quicker way than to pick up some books on education. Just thinking about all the curriculum options available to Christian homeschoolers now is enough to give one a headache. Go to your university library and the volumes of opinions on education rendered over time require a whole wing. In light of that, I have come to appreciate the utter beauty of Proverbs 4:7 which so quickly reduces so many of our endless, human dialogues and all of our continual striving with its one, easily grasped truth: “The principal thing is wisdom; therefore get wisdom.” You have heard me beat this drum before. And you will again. It is our north star guiding us from infancy to adulthood. It influences our K5 curriculum choices and the “if” and “where” of sending our children off to college.

As such, we teach literacy because it is the key to reading the Book of Ages, the fountain of all wisdom. The wisdom of Scripture, in turn, tells us to subdue the earth and so we teach mathematics and science to restore, in part, the damage caused by the fall. As a dividend, Math gives us the discipline and exercise of logical reasoning and thinking. Science causes us to sit and ponder the majesty and mystery of creation and our creator. Scripture leads us also to examine History for it compels us to examine our ways and what we have done with our knowledge of good and evil which we so dubiously chose in the garden. Will all this show up on a SAT test? Only in small parts and pieces.

But regardless of test results, our goal is to bring our children to the point of being able to think clearly and rationally developing a passion for God’s Word as a touchstone of basic truth for all of life. We want them to be more than Bible ‘spouters,’ however, for God’s wisdom should propel us to be not only morally redemptive agents in this world but to be redemptive agents of change for all aspects of this world’s fallen-ness. We fight disease because it is an unintended but natural result of sin. We fight hunger, pollution, political deadlock, corruption, animal cruelty, poverty, crime, and urban blight because God’s wisdom compels us to, out of His love for all men. We are our brother’s keeper. In this, we are tested everyday.

Whether we learn this in our Sunday school classes or the second grade classroom or at our mother’s knee or as David did, out in the sheep pasture, it is of little consequence. The big picture is that we develop a passion for God’s wisdom and play it out to its logical end in the thousands of our daily choices, our places of service, our priorities, and our stewardship of time and treasure. God’s truth, taken to its logical conclusion, is the stuff of what great families, churches, cities, and nations are made of.