Schizophrenic Blogger

I can't quite seem to commit. I keep changing my mind about what I want to put on this blog. I originally created this blog because I was doing Bible Study and wanted to put my thoughts and any works I created online. I have since decided to put many other things on this blog. In part, I've thought, "Well, who's interested in what I write on the Bible? Maybe I should put personal things on this blog." And so I did. But then I thought that I should do some writing about homeschooling and I still was doing Bible Study writing. In short, I haven't been able to decide what to do.

I created another blog, about homeschooling. But I haven't put anything up yet because I thought maybe multiple blogs would be too much. Then, I thought putting everything on this one blog would be confusing. I mean, is this about Bible Study, homeschooling, or my own family life? I know, I know, this is crazy.

Well, I have some Bible Study thoughts that I want to put up... just to see what anyone thinks. So, here I go. I am dedicating this blog strictly to Bible Study... and will write on separate blogs for homeschooling and personal life. If it's too much to ask of my friends to try to keep up with... I'm sorry. But, really, I write primarily for myself anyway... to keep up the skill.

And... there's a part of me that really wants to communicate with the masses, you know.

So, here goes... I have decided... this blog is dedicated!

Men Like Darcy and Leopold

I have read the book, Pride and Prejudice, and watched the movies and TV miniseries an untold number of times. For some reason, the story never gets old for me. Jane Austen was a genius with words and Pride and Prejudice was her masterpiece. No other book of hers has been more filmed, nor spawned more "sequels." But though Elizabeth is the heroine of the book, my fascination and the fascination of numerous authors centers on another character: Darcy.

Elizabeth intrigues us with her wit and her thoughts as she wades through nineteenth century life. She is like a friend; the kind of friend we would like to have or the kind of woman we would like to be. But Darcy remains largely a mystery to us. Yet, what we do know of him makes us want to know him more.

What are these mysterious qualities? Darcy is dignified, protective, honorable and willing to improve. He possesses timeless qualities which are admirable even though they are not fashionable in our day. These traits come together in such a way in Darcy, that he draws even us, the readers of any time, to him.

What do I mean? Darcy's dignity allows us to respect him, even when we disagree with him. Darcy doesn't lose his temper or act like a fool. In his mind, Darcy doesn't lose his temper or act like a fool. In his mind, Darcy is always representing something greater than himself: his family. And he is careful to act in such a way that he doesn't dishonor his family in the public arena. Even when Darcy is wrong, he is doing what he believes to be right.

Jane Austen writes love into Darcy's otherwise cold dignity. We read about the love and care he provides for his sister. He treasures her, worries about her and generously gives to her. He has taken his dual role as brother and guardian seriously and we see that a gentler Darcy exists in private; in a place we rarely get to see in the book.

Darcy's desire to do the right thing extends even to admitting he is wrong and taking action to remedy the situation. In Pride and Prejudice, we meet a Darcy that is proud and mistaken in his appraisal of those around him. But we watch him sacrifice a false sense of being right to achieve the goal of making things right. Ultimately, Darcy is willing to change in order to become a better man.

Leopold, from the movie, Kate and Leopold, shares some of Darcy's traits. Though Leopold's situation in life differs somewhat from Darcy's they share some of the qualities I've listed above. What we learn from Leopold is how such a man would interact with a 21^st century woman.

Kate and Leopold shows us the story of how a 19^th century Leopold leaps into the 21^st century. Along with making humorous discoveries about modern American life, Leopold falls in love with a modern American woman. As the story unfolds, we learn that Leopold's sense of dignity and honor extends to Kate. Leopold treats Kate with a great deal of respect, and he wonders when she does not treat herself with the same level of respect. He even tries to protect Kate from her unscrupulous boss, who tries to use his power to seduce Kate.

And what about Darcy? How does Darcy respond to women? The answer is that he treats them with no loess respect than he does men. Both men and women are equally open to condemnation or respect from Darcy. He even defers to his aunt and allows her dignity rather than exposing her foolishness; a grace which he also extends to Elizabeth's own mother, a decidedly foolish woman.

Darcy and Leopold are figments of someone's imagination. Yet, how many women long for a man she can respect? Many of us do. And we long for men who will treat us with respect, not because they have simply granted us some measure of equality or superiority, but because they treasure us.

Darcy and Leopold are men who honor the women they love because honor is something they value and because they believe the women they value deserve honor, alongside dignity, virtue and protection.

Oh, that parents would teach their sons about dignity, virtue honor and responsibility and that sons would embrace and adopt these traits as their own.

Abba’s Daughter

I just finished reading a book called The Chosen by Chaim Potok. The oddest thing happened to me over and over again while I read this book. Each time the Jewish boy Reuven, the main character in the book, spoke to his father, I choked up and fought back tears. Why did this happen to me? It happened because each time Reuven had a conversation with his dad, he called him "Abba." No, I'm wrong. He called his father "abba." There was no capital letter. For Reuven, "abba" wasn't a special title; it was a common word for a special relationship.

For years, I have struggled to understand what it meant that Jesus called God "Abba" in the following verse: "Abba, Father, all things are possible for You. Take this cup away from Me; nevertheless, not what I will, but what You will."

My own dad was in and out of my life. A distance exists between him and myself that time cannot close, because the time to build that relationship has passed. Even if we were to become very close in the future, the relationship will still be an adult one. I have never had to depend on him for my well-being and, while we have a very good relationship, it will never be what it might have been.

I learned years ago that "Abba" means something like "Daddy." But I've never felt what it feels like to call someone Daddy. My own father was always "Dad" to me. As far back as I can remember, I maintained a slight distance between him and myself and chose to refer to him by the more formal name, "Dad," out of a lack of trust. Since I have become a mother, I look to my own children to observe what it might be like. My firstborn son sometimes gives me a glimpse into that feeling. When he wants to discuss something meaningful with me, my oldest will address me as "Mommy." His voice even gets softer and he makes it evident that he's looking to me as an authority. It is a sweet moment when he calls me "Mommy." I treasure these moments. But I don't really know what it feels like myself.

So, I was reading The Chosen, which is a book about two Jewish boys and their different families. The first time Reuven called his father "abba," I was shocked. I didn't know that the word was still in common use (the book was set during World War II and the creation of the state of Israel). He said it during a common conversation and it came out of his mouth casually. As the book went on, Reuven used the word over and over again: in conversation after conversation. Reuven called his father "abba" casually and easily. And each time, he said it, I understood more clearly what it meant for him, and what it meant for Jesus, and what it means for me.

For Reuven, calling his father "abba" was natural and right. It wasn't a word to be used only at a special time or at a time of deep distress, as Jesus was in the garden of Gethsemane. No, "abba" was for anytime, any place and any conversation: during peace and during stress. This must have been the case for Jesus, as well. How many times on how many mountains on how many solitary occasions did Jesus talk to his father in conversations calling him, "abba"? We don't know how Jesus addressed his father when he went off by himself all those times. Those prayers, those conversations, were not recorded. And yet, he must have said it then and many times. Reuven sat down at the table to discuss spiritual matters with his father on a regular basis, and called him "abba" at that very table. Can't we safely assume that Jesus, as he sat down to discuss spiritual matters with His Father, also called Him "Abba?"

But why did I cry? What difference does it make to me what name Jesus called God? It matters to me because I am an adopted child of God. I care because Paul tells me in the book of Romans, chapter 8, verse 15 that I "received the spirit of adoption by whom we cry out , 'Abba, Father.'" I have been given the right to call God, "Abba." I am allowed to call him, "Daddy." He wants me to; and I haven't been able to understand what that means. I haven't known that kind of relationship before. I cried because the Jewish boy Reuven, Chaim Potok's creation, was teaching me what it means to be the daughter of a Father: my own "Abba's" daughter.

How Deceitful is the Human Heart

How do we teach our kids to overcome when we feel so defeated ourselves? My son has talents that he has developed through hard work, but his current situation makes him feel like a failure. I know the truth. I understand that he is interpreting the situation wrong. He cannot see the truth through what he feels. And this hurts me in a particular way because I see parallels between him and myself.

I also have been caught in a situation which makes me feel like a failure. Relief has not come and may not for a while. Consequently, like my son, I am convinced that I am less than what I ought to be. It saddens me to see that he has inherited this trait from me. Like myself, he is driven to succeed; and equally like myself, he is overly hard on himself. I suppose they go hand in hand.

And yet, I work hard to convince him that he is wrong. I do it because he is wrong, and because his negative thoughts prevent him from being better. He believes he cannot do well, and so he drags his feet. He doesn't try because he doesn't see the point. He does what he has to when he has to, but he doesn't take joy in it. If he had confidence in his abilities, he would perform like a champ because he is fully capable of doing so. But now, he just goes through the motions because his heart tells him otherwise.

I could be describing myself. I have been around long enough to know where my talents and abilities lie, and yet I feel heartsick. I don't start what I know I should be doing because I feel like I'll fail before I even begin.

Like my son, what great things could I be doing if I could only see more clearly? No, not simply see, but believe more clearly. We tell him what we see, but he doesn't believe us, and continues in his disappointment. I tell myself what I know, but I don't believe it, and I continue in my disappointment.

And yet, I know, for both of us this is only temporary. It just hurts a little more to see my reflection in him. I hurt for him and for myself. And I realize just how much we both need to believe more Truth.

"The heart is deceitful above all things…"

And I wonder… how long will we believe our own illusions? …And what could we both be accomplishing if we would both cast our feelings aside?

One Man's Trash is Another Man's Treasure

Giving truth the old adage "one man's trash is another man's treasure," Steve turned trash into treasure today. Last summer, our clothes dryer caught on fire. It was a fairly exciting night; the kids got to sit in a fire truck and a giant, powerful fan sucked the smoke out of our house. But the fire left us with a big question. What were we going to do with a broken (burned) clothes dryer.

Well, if you're Steve, you take it apart for parts. The removable top of the dryer became a target for bb and pellet gun shooting kids. The various inner workings were sorted into useable pieces and trash. And the drum became a container for burning important papers and any other thing we felt should be burned instead of thrown away.

As a fire pit, it had two major faults. First, it put out tremendous heat. My poor little citrus tree unluckily stationed about 7 feet away from it got burned one evening. Second, it was unsightly. Not at first, of course. When we first took out the drum, it was nice, pretty and shiny. But over time, it became marred, dull and ugly.

Then, Steve had an opportunity to pick up another man's trash... his dad's. Steve woke up at 5:00AM this morning, woke Richard up early (ruining another sleep-late Easter vacation day), and headed to his dad's house to take apart the no-longer wanted back-yard garden.

At about 9:30AM, I started out for a beautiful morning jog/walk (mostly walk), and before I got very far, there was Steve's truck heading towards me on our street. By the time I got back home, Richard was hauling wheel-barrows of bricks to Steve, who had decided to fix our fire pit. One by one, his dad's unwanted bricks were placed around our reassigned clothes-dryer drum, and before long he was done.

Ta Da!!! Our New Treasure!



Now, it's time to burn something.

Something New

I haven't been terribly inspired to write lately, but yet I want to keep writing. In fact, I would really like to write on a regular basis. When I write, I get a feeling of accomplishment, like I'm doing something. Now, to anyone who has been in my household, that would be a really funny statement. Why? Because with five boys, three of them being homeschooled, one too young, and one in public high school... I am always doing something. Yet, for some reason, writing seems to capture something for me that my other work does not. My other work comes and goes. Workbooks get filled out and put in boxes (as a record that my kids have actually done something for the year). Books get read and put back on the shelf or sent to the library. Experiments and projects are done and slowly disappear. But my writing, that stays. Months, or years, later, I can look back and see what I was thinking, what I was learning, what I was doing.

Being so busy makes this record more meaningful to me. I am not rewarded in money. I am rewarded in happiness and knowledge. My accomplishments are not material. I can't easily show anyone what I've spent my days and nights doing. Days come and go so quickly that sometimes I can't even remember what I've done, only that I've been busy. In a sense, I guess, my writing is a record of the timeline of my life. For this reason, I think, it has value to me. And maybe it can have value for someone else, as well.

I think I'm going to start writing about my daily adventures. I sometimes get the feeling that no one would be interested in my daily life. And I still feel that is true. But remembering that the writing is mostly for me anyway, I think I will begin to try making this blog more of a JOURnal... a daily writing, covering the events and thoughts of the day.

Maybe.

Today, we were supposed to go the the zoo. Our membership is set to expire soon, with no money to renew it. So, we rearranged our school schedule to have two days off this week. Amazingly, we accomplished (almost) five days worth of work in three days. When the kids are truly motivated, we can do such a thing.

I normally schedule Fridays as light days anyway, so that we can go do things we want to do or just have a light day if we're tired. This week, the kids wanted Wednesday off, as well, so they could go skating... which we did. They really had fun. In the past, they haven't wanted to skate as much, but I find quite a few things are changing this year. They are beginning to take much more interest in physical activity. Not that they haven't been running all through the house or in the front yard for most of their young lives, but this year they are taking a greater interest in a greater variety of sports activities.

My oldest two played basketball this summer and my oldest is playing Upward Basketball right now. He is loving it (and I think my second son is regretting that he chose not to sign up himself). They are playing baseball this spring and have expressed interest in playing football this fall. All of this is good for me. I love watching them play sports. It's the most fun we have as a family, and playing on teams is a great learning experience for them. Besides, I love throwing balls with them and encouraging them to push themselves to perform better, then watching them get better and experience a sense of accomplishment in the improvement they make.

Truly, I feel sorry for the kids who play sports and have to go to school. When my boys have late games, I let them sleep in and we start school when they have enough rest. I can only imagine bunches of little boys struggling to stay awake in elementary school the morning after their late night game. This week, we had games every day except Wednesday and tonight. Next week, we'll have games every single night. By the end of the week, we're tired. I'm tired now. But I wouldn't trade it. There are times of the year when we're bored with plenty of free time and there are times of the year like this. Both have their benefits.

And I must be getting better at homeschooling, because we're not behind. Of course, now that I've said that...

Last year, we worked into the summer, but I'm trying really hard not to do that again this year. Of course, last year, we had just gotten Richard and were going through a big adjustment, with plenty of fireworks. This year is (so far) much more stable. And with Richard back in school, I have more free time to focus on the younger students. Next year will be another transition year as my youngest will be old enough to start pre-school. I expect he'll enjoy it, but everything with a little one is one on one. And sometimes, older brothers get jealous; especially when they see how little work the new student has.

Well, I think that just about wraps up what I have to say tonight. Of course, there is so much more I could say, but this is a blog not a book. And there will be many, many more days...

Better Things to Come

Very early in my college career, I decided to let loose. I had no real reason not to just do whatever I wanted, and so I did just that. One Mardi Gras, perhaps my first as a college student, we went to the French Quarter. In my mind, I made a game of kissing whomever I wanted. I know that I kissed a number of people, but I only remember kissing one person. In fact, I'll probably never forget him or that kiss.

I didn't ask him for his name nor did he ask me for mine. In fact, we may not have said much more than "hello." All I remember about him was that he was good-looking with dark hair and he wore a black leather jacket in the cold night air. But when he kissed me something happened to me that I had never felt before nor have ever felt since. A hot flash went through my body, as though I had been hit by lightning and I think I went weak. I definitely walked away from him shaking and shocked that something as blind as a kiss from a stranger could have that effect on my body. But I definitely walked away, still not asking him his name, not ever intending to see him again.

Why, you might ask, did I walk away? That answer is summed up in one very simple and incredibly complicated word: fear. Oh, how I could have lost myself to him. In an instant, I knew that I could easily become a slave to a man who could do that to me with one kiss. My gut feeling told me to run away and not look back. I never, ever, wanted to give anyone that much power over me.

But the bigger question for the moment is why am I writing this now, in a forum where everyone can see, when I haven't thought about this for a long time? What made me think of the kiss isn't nearly as important as what the kiss made me think of. It is little short of amazing the kind of power that desire can wield over us. I've given up several forms of pleasure in my choice to live a life pleasing to God. I believe with all my heart that I've made the right choice. I don't want to go back to chasing those temporary pleasures that only leave me with cravings for more, once the short time of satisfaction vaporizes. I choose to live with the satisfaction God gives me and deal with the temporary cravings, than live with craving and enjoy temporary satisfaction.

But it's encouraging to remember that there IS something more to look forward to. My Bible tells me that the things on earth are but a shadow of the things to come. If another human being, a created thing, can have that kind of effect on me, what effect will I experience in the very presence of my God? God shielded Moses when He passed in front of him because one sight of God would have killed Moses. If a human man could make me weak, what will not a glimpse, not just the sight, but the full Presence and nearness of my LORD do to me? What will I feel when "I shall know just as I am also known." When I no longer "see in a mirror, dimly," but see "face to face."

There are so many things about my past that I wish I could change. Were I asked, I would counsel someone NOT to do the things I did. My experiences have brought me more long-term grief than they brought me short-term pleasure. But I am who I am today because I was there then. Yet, I need to share these thoughts, to show just how much God has shown me a better way. To use the things I intended for bad, for the Glory of God. Maybe no one will read this, which is better for me. But if you are reading this, may you receive the message I intend to send and seek the Lord while He may be found.