Wisdom

"Give us wisdom."

Recently, as our family prayed around the dinner table, three of the kids made this request of God. My heart flooded with love for these precious gems of mine who felt prompted to pray for wisdom before digging into dinner. I don't think they prayed for wisdom because school was a little hard that day, or because they wanted to impress Mom and Dad with grown-up sounding prayers.

They prayed sweetly and earnestly. And God spoke to me through their prayers. At once He reminded me of this precious promise found in James 1:5:

"If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him."

I lack wisdom. I surely do. And I need to be like my kids, and remember to ask for it before the crisis hits, throughout the common parts of the day--like dinnertime.

Lord, I lack wisdom, and because I know that you are generous, I ask for You to bless me with wisdom. I also ask for godly wisdom for every precious soul reading this today. Give us the knowledge of God in Christ and protect us from depravity of mind. Amen.

The Back-to-School Post, And It's as Wordy as the School Day is Long

School's been going on strong from my four little scholars for the past three weeks.

This is the first year in six years of homeschooling that we "officially" started school before Labor Day. What was the difference this year? I don't know. Often the seat of my pants flies before me, and I just follow along.

Actually, the local public schools started on the 23rd, two of our close homeschooling family friends decided to start up, and it's just too bloomin' hot here right now to do much else.

I don't have any cute pictures of them climbing on the bus or dressed up with their oversized backpacks and squeaky new shoes.

But perhaps a few candids from inside our classroom might stir-up some nostalgic back-to-school feelings.

So this is what it looked like in front of my chair for the three weeks prior to school:

Every year our school changes flavor a little bit to match our family. Or because something we did last year didn't quite work, or because one kid has this weakness, or because another kid as that strength. Or because our family has this schedule. Homeschool brings new, glorious meaning to the Individualized Education that public school routinely fails to deliver. It's hard enough in my class with one teacher and four kids, absolutely impossible with one teacher and 30 kids. This is not to say that every family should homeschool their kids. This is what God has asked us to do at this time, and we humbly and prayerfully accept the monumental task of laying a rock solid spiritual and academic foundation for our precious kids so that they can be the best at who God created them to be. I am NOT critical of those families who choose to the public education system for their families. My husband and I are both products of the public school system, and we're okay...sometimes!

This is the first year that all four kids are doing school together at the same time, Seth in Kindergarten, Lily in first grade, Gabe in fourth and Caleb in fifth. In case you're wondering, we use the classical approach, with a large smattering of Charlotte Mason thrown in for fun. (Well, I think it's fun anyway.)

And back to the tour. Here's our main classroom, with students:

I would LOVE to have a school room, but for now, the dining room table is it. I do love seeing all four kids hard at work, together. Our dining room has ditched the normal dining-roomness, and has become the backdrop for this:

and this:

and this:

and this:

(which is our verictal timeline of the Medieval Age using the AMAZING resources found on the yahoo group Hannah's Homeschool Helps . Love her stuff, which correlates perfectly with the history component we are using.)

And in our classroom, you will see a whole lotta this:

Who knew our dining room could hold so much stuff? There is a downside to this arrangement. Do I have any volunteers to be my classroom aid who cleans up the dining room each afternoon so that we can use it for dinner? Anyone? Anyone?

Seth's very first day of Kindergarten:

What a cute little student he is! And I couldn't resist one picture of his busy feet, momentarily stilled in study:

Let the awwwwwww's commence.

And because our week is filled with appointments for speech therapy and doctor's visits...mostly for Lily, we're gettin' pretty good at schoolin' on the go.

In the car:

and various waiting rooms:

This is only a sampling of our school, and a small one, though if you've made it this far in today's post, you may be shaking your head in disagreement.

But really, my favorite classroom exists outside these four walls.

Take the ocean. We are blessed to be live ten minutes from the Gulf of Mexico. You can read stories and poems and articles about the ocean. You can watch documentaries about it on the Discovery Channel. But a week of reading and watching will not give you nearly as many clear lessons as standing on the sandy shore and feeling the cool water lap your ankles and the waves steal away the sand right from beneath your feet. And in what book can you taste the salt from the water and hear the rhythm of the waves as they stir up wonder and awe along with sand and hermit crabs. Can you imagine Jesus walking right on top of those waves? And then commanding them to be still...and they obeyed? God is...BIG. And He cares for you and me. And he has orchestrated the details of history and created order and beauty. That's worth spending a lifetime studying.

And I hope to plant those seeds of wonder and love of learning in my kids hearts that they can take with them far into childhood and adulthood so that they will never stop learning and loving the God who created it all.

So that's our school. For now. Time to prepare lessons for tomorrow...

Waving 'Bye to Summer

I took a bit of a bloggy break, but I'm back. I think. I'm sure all three of my readers (I'm counting my mom twice) will appreciate that.

Well, Labor Day has come. Labor Day has gone. Gabe woke up yesterday morning and chirped, "Happy Labor Day, Mom! And I'm the only one who remembered." Meaning, no one else in the family burst forth with the greeting. I'm sure he hoped there would be some kind of gift exchange, but he contented himself with enjoying a day without formal schooling. (In a house of learning, I hesitate to say we had no school, because I firmly believe that much meaningful learning happens way outside the confines of curricula and lesson plans. But that is another blog for another day.)

The kids have been memorizing a Bible verse each week, a verse to correspond with each of our 26 alphabet bits. Maybe the ABC mnemonic will help us to keep those precious jewels from God's Word hidden in our hearts for good.

This week, C is for: "Come to me, you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28." What a perfect, wonderful promise for the week of Labor Day.

So Happy Labor Day! And God's promise of rest is His Labor Day gift to you.

Onto our summer farewell.

We've summered til we just can't summer no mo'.

Except that summer just won't go away here in South Texas.

At least not when I think I need it to.

Don't get me wrong.

We summered good.

And hard.

But all good summering...

...must come to an end.

Bon voyage, Texas Summertime. You were a hottie. I've said my good-byes. I'm going to ignore you now and pretend you're not still here overstaying your welcome.

But I do like that you rub shoulders with winter on your way out of town and tame his blustery heart with your Texan warmth and charm. You can keep on doing that.

Cloudy Day

I'm not usually one to dwell on challenges and depressions, especially ones that are spiritual or personal. I don't like to air dirty laundry. Writing that sentence on this spring day in South Texas does make me desperately miss my clothesline in Michigan and the fragrance of freshly laundered and country-air-dried sheets. Ahh.

Oh, back to what I was talking about. Dirty laundry. Physical evidence of the day's/week's/month's toil. Oh, look, she had pasta again, I can see the marinara spot on her white shirt. Hasn't she had enough pasta? I mean, does she know how many carbs are in a plate of penne? This is all figurative of course. (And I did make a YUMMY whole wheat baked penne this week, with chicken, zucchini, red pepper, onions and garlic, but that's clearly an aside.) Oh, she's been grumpy with her kids? Feels distant from her husband? Lacking in her prayer life? Trouble sticking to her Lent fast? The chaplain's wife?! Dirty laundry indeed.

I don't like to only write about lollipop and cotton-candy kind of days. It may seem that way, because, when the days are hard and my heart is heavier than usual, I tend to slip away into an introspective grey cloud and try to figure out how to get that spot of marinara out by myself.

I don't often call friends when I'm having a rough day. I don't usually want to talk about it. I withdraw. I hope it doesn't come off as snobbery and snootery. I just want to wait until the sun comes back out and I'm feeling better, and then maybe I'll talk about it in past tense. "Oh, man, last week was rough. But I'm doing great now!" It's a character flaw, perhaps, that I close up and slip away into my own cloudy corner during the stormy times. Oh, if you've got a problem or need something, I'm there, baby. I'm really good at avoiding the conversation about me.

And I don't know how to change that. There's the dirty laundry for today.

I'm sure there'll be more tomorrow, but maybe I'll secretly tuck it into the hamper.

So today I'm waiting for the wind to blow away these clouds. God has lessons for me in the series of disappointments and mini-rejections that have piled up and made a nuisance of themselves.

I'm reminded of God's constant love and acceptance and pursuit of me. I'm so glad He knows I need those things from Him. And He never fails to deliver. He doesn't wait for me to come through the cloud, though; He won't let me slip into aloneness for even one minute.

Today, we celebrate Palm Sunday, the triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem, the "city of peace." In Sunday School, the kids and I read aloud Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem from each of the Gospel accounts. Luke's account in chapter 19 included a few details left out of the other three. When the people began shouting, "Hosanna! Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!" the grumpy ol' Pharisees commanded Jesus to rebuke them. Jesus said, "I tell you the truth, if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out." He is the true King, and he WILL be praised. I remember one song from church camp...I think I learned it as a counselor, not a camper:

"Ain't no rock

Gonna sing in my place.

As long I'm alive

I'll glorify

His holy name. "

That song is running on repeat through my head now.

Another detail that Luke captures for us:

As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it and said, "If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace--but now it is hidden from your eyes. The days will come upon you when your enemies will build an embankment against you and encircle you and hem you in on every side. They will dash you to the ground, you and the children within your walls. They will not leave one stone on another, because you did not recognize the time of the God's coming to you."

I don't know about you, but I want to know now what will bring me peace. I don't want to know later, after the time for finding peace has already passed, ya know? This prophecy from Jesus was fulfilled in A.D 70 when Rome besieged Jerusalem, using the layout of the land against it, but I also know that for us TODAY is the day of Salvation.

This isn't the first time Jesus was heart-broken over the lost city of Jerusalem. A few chapters earlier in 13:

O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing!"

So tender and beautiful is Jesus love for this people who would shortly after torture and kill him and refuse to accept His gift of salvation.

So tender and beautiful now is his love for you and for me.

That alone is enough to make these peevish clouds small and manageable.

Hosanna in the highest!

Beauty

"Beauty is visual but also exists in sounds, scents, tastes and touch." (Etched on a wooden sign at the South Texas Botanical Gardens.)

We journeyed in search of beauty,

vibrant color,

signs of spring

and new life.

We found it, God's gentle breath of life in the wonder of His creation

as we gazed and marveled at colors found only in flowers and dreams

and touched baby soft petals

and inhaled crisp air dampened by rain and made rich by earthy spring.

If this is only a shadow of the beauty found in Heaven, what glorious treasures await us there!

Tallies

Number of years we enjoyed our minivan: 4

Number of times I thanked God for a reliable vehicle: countless

Number of months it's been paid off: 10

Number of carseats/booster seats it has carried simultaneously: 4 (down to 2 as of last month)

Number of miles we drove the green machine in the four years we owned it: 80,000+

Number of songs sung, giggles laughed, tears cried, reprimands given, naps taken: untallied

Today:

Number of hours spent scrubbing and sweeping interior of van: 2

Number of minutes spent writing description on Craigslist (including everything I could think of that was wrong with it, in detail) and posting pictures: 30

Number of inquiries I received in the first fifteen minutes of posting: 2

Number of minutes later that prospective buyer was test-driving the van: 35

Number of miles I walked home vanless, with cash in pocket and license plate in hand: 1

Could that be a record? My head was spinning.

Goodbye little green minivan. May you press on for thousands more miles and keep all the babies who ride in your seats safe and sound.

Hello, big white Expedition. It's all you now.

I can't tell you how glad I am that the car searching, car buying and car selling drama are over.

Number of times I've thanked God for a reliable vehicle: I've lost count again.

Lily's journal

Lily has been begging for a new journal since she filled her previous one several days ago. She writes some, she draws a lot. She scrutinizes and observes her world and the records it for her own reflection and inspiration. She is far more consistent with journaling than I have ever been. (This is a confession, ya'll. And a pledge to do better.)

My dear friend Shannon gave me a sweet little nature journal for Valentine's Day. It's cute, and I'm a sucker for all things paper, but Lily was completely enamored with it. So I gave it to her. She danced and cheered happily, hugging her new journal to her heart. (I hope Shannon doesn't mind my regifting her gift.)

As soon as she finished her happy dance, Lily took her journal, found a "perfect" pen--boy is she like her mother on that point!--and personalized it. What she wrote on it warmed my heart to its very core.

Nothing, and I do mean NOTHING, fills me with more joy than when my children spontaneously express their love for Jesus. And I love how she writes her love note directly TO him, not just ABOUT him. "I love you, Jesus." And she signs it, "Me." So tender and personal. She knows he knows her. She trusts him to accept her. I don't have to sign a note to Rob, "Sincerely, Jody Fasnacht." I can sign it, "Me" because he knows who "me" is.

How much more so does her Savior know her? I know it, but now I know that SHE knows it.

My heart is glowing with love for her and for the Jesus we both love.

The Under-Appreciated Carnation

You are delicate yet resilient.

You bend with the wind and the rain in silent submission yet raise your face to the morning sun with delight.

You take no notice of your under-appreciation. While lovers head straight for the regal rose, you wait contentedly for just the right person who needs the joy you bring.

You are beautiful, but simple and humble. You give full credit to your Creator for your beauty and trust Him to meet your needs without toil or worry.

Little carnation flower, I want to be just like you.

Fasnacht Day Revisited

It's true. An entire day of the year is named after our family. Or your family, too, if your last name is Shrove.

Last year I actually made Fasnachts, and I wrote a photo essay to document the event.

Step one: Find a couple of cute guys to be your sous-chefs.

Step two: Mash some 'taters. Lots and lots of 'taters.

Step three: After all the mixin' is done, think, "This is way too runny." Reread the recipe. Add another cup of flour.

Step four: Melt several galoops of lard. (That is an official culinary measurement.) Feel your arteries harden and your waist begin to bulge. This is the authentic frying agent of choice, for the whole point of fasnachts on Fasnacht Day is to rid your pantry of lard before Lent begins the following day. Of course this really is a moot point when you actually have to go out to the store to buy lard for the first time ever just for the sake of the donuts and never, ever keep it on hand.

Step five: Decide that you don't need to follow the recipe which says that you must roll out the gooey dough and cut it into squares or rectangles. Surely, you can just drop them into little dough puddles in the lard.

Step six: Realize when fasnachts come out raw in the middle that perhaps recipe writer knew what she was talking about after all and make the big, big mess needed to roll out gooey dough. Cut into squares (representing the four Gospels) or triangles (representing the Trinity). Holy mess.

Step seven: Sigh with relief when the next batch comes out golden brown and fully cooked.

Step eight: Sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar so that your blood sugar will rise and your heart will race, pumping your blood at a high pressure through the arteries, thereby counteracting the effects of the lard.

Step nine: Distribute four fasnachts to your Four Fasnachts.

Step ten: Fry up all your dough until your kitchen smells like a truck-stop and your shirt and floor are covered with flour and lard and you are left with a donut mountain.

Step eleven: Wonder where in the world the sous-chefs ran off to now that it's time to clean up.

So what to do this year? After revisiting my essay, I'm fairly certain that we're going to skip the authentic fasnachts this year. Are you disappointed?

It's all about pastry, right? Why limit yourself to just one kind?

This year's pastry of choice: cinnamon rolls for lunch. And then to complete the day in Fasnacht style, waffles and authentic maple syrup for dinner. And a trip to the gym tomorrow.

Hey, Fasnacht Day only comes once a year!