buds

Never again.

We are in the midst of Holocaust Remembrance Week.

I've always been fascinated by the stories of World War II.  It all sounds so surreal, like something out of a nightmare.  The stories that have come out of that time are mind-blowing.  Hatred and betrayal, sacrifice and heroism.  The best and worst of the human condition.

In college I took a course called "The Literature of the Holocaust."  It was a painful, eye-opening class.  I still have many of the books from it, and plan to use them when my children study WWII sometime in the future. I'm sure it will be a difficult unit for us all, but I believe it is important.

As I thought over this observance, this Remembrance Week, I wondered what I might have to say about the Holocaust that would matter.  How could I even scratch the surface of the atrocities which occurred, the unfathomable loss to humanity?  There were such unspeakable crimes against God and mankind.  What could I say that would make any difference at all?

And then I realized this: I can remember.  That is one thing I can do.  I can honor those who suffered during that time by this one simple act:  I can remember.

“To forget the dead would be akin to killing them a second time.” ― Elie Wiesel, Night

My husband is a man.

Lately I've  noticed something.  Often we hear men referred to as...boys.   Sometimes in an affectionate manner, like her husband and son being a woman's "boys."  Often, though, it's a bit more snide than that.

"You have two sons?  I guess you're raising three boys!"
"Those guys are such boys.  Of course they're slobs, what else could you expect?"

Our culture seems to believe that adult males are stuck in a perpetual juvenile phase, doomed to make immature decisions and chose selfishness above all else.   One has only to watch a few television commercials to see evidence of this.  Guys are portrayed as just plain dumb.  There are precious few programs or films which depict fathers as deserving of respect.   They are clueless, helpless, and...well, immature.

As the mother of four males, this really bothers me.  Kids seem to rise to the expectations we've set for them.  What happens when they see others of their gender in this manner?  Not growing in character, not becoming wise and discerning, strong and gentle, but as perpetual goof-offs?

I know there are real-life males who fit that description.  But I'm thinking maybe they became that way (or never matured beyond it) because they were allowed to.  Expected to, even.

Parenting is hard.  Most of us are doing the very best we can, desperately hoping it's enough.  Praying for help, relying on God's guidance is invaluable in this.  I personally struggle to find the balance of "encouraging" my boys to do their best (which hopefully doesn't turn into criticism!), and accepting that they are kids: learning as they go along.

But I think that our attitudes toward our own husbands is connected to all this.  In fact, I believe that it is vitally important.   I want to show my boys that I believe their dad takes care of his family, leads us with wisdom, is both strong and gentle.  I want them to see that I respect him - so much!  I want them to see their father and think "I want to be like him someday."

And here's the main thing I wanted to say.  Ladies, let's treat our husbands like men.

Let's show them, our children, and the world around us that we know these guys work hard, love their families, and are doing the best they know.   Let's bite our tongues when we're tempted to nag - er, remind...and instead let's praise them for what they're doing well.    For the ways they've stepped up to responsibility and done right.

Are you in a situation where it feels to hard?  Where you're struggling to respect your spouse?  I'm aware that you're out there.  I'm sorry.  Know that I'm praying for you today.   I would like to humbly suggest that you pray for a place to start, however basic.  What's one thing you respect about your husband?  Just fine one, and start from there.

I don't think we should call our husbands our "boys."  Let's honor them.  Let's call them what they are. Not our boys.  Not our burdens.  Not something to check off our task list.

But...our men.

homeschooling: taking the plunge, again.

I bought a few books last week.  Homeschooling books - for the 2013-14 school year.  I guess we're in!

The fact is, although we take it a year at a time, we still feel called to this homeschooling thing.  I feel that it's where God has us right now, so that's what we're doing.  All the same, when I start making curriculum purchases...that's when I sort of pause and say "Alright...another year."

And it's good.   I feel that although this past school year (not that we're finished with it yet) has been challenging, the slight changes we made at the beginning have worked well.   This year has been busy but filled with togetherness (usually good togetherness!) and a lot of reading.  We've learned about the Civil War and the Middle Ages.  We're exploring the solar system, fractions and decimals.  And we have mixed in a lot of play dates for the younger crowd as well; I'm learning that assigning my older kids a whole morning's worth of individual work can be excellent for everyone's morale.

I never thought I would be in this place: a homeschooling mother of five.  Never, ever ever.  The Lord certainly does have some surprises up His sleeve.  And you know what?  I think it's a testament to what He can do through a very, very weak- but willing - vessel.

I've seen progress this past year, and while we all have a lot of room to grow, I am greatly encouraged.

That being said, we're working our tails off to try to finish everything within the next few months.  I am not sure yet, but I think we might actually take an extended summer break this year - a first!  My kids aren't the only ones who like the sound of that...

my blessings on Resurrection Sunday

Spring, springing

The first signs of spring in our yard: daffodils!

I adore hyacinths.

 Children always look beautiful when the sun is shining on their hair.

Studying worms in our square foot garden!

Pea shoots.

Enjoying the sunshine - it was nearly too warm out for jackets!

the day after Easter

We had a beautiful day yesterday.  Resurrection Sunday dawned clear and beautiful.  We had blue skies and warm temperatures.  The morning began with joy, and a wild pulsing happiness that made my heart sing.

The day found us raising our voices with other believers.  Gathering with family and soaking in the wonder of the day.    Listening to Handel's Messiah at full blast, swept up in the victory.  "I Know That My Redeemer Liveth."  "Hallelujah Chorus."  "Worthy is the Lamb."  Yes.  Yes!

And then Monday morning dawns.  It starts too early.  The sky is filled with clouds.  Our toddler is fussy.  Correction - our toddler is an absolute bear.  Breakfast is rushed, we're running late and the kitchen is a mess when we leave for Monday School.

The day feels harried and chaotic.  This Monday...the day after Easter.

Where is the wild happiness of yesterday?  Where are the ready smiles, the joyful thought of those sunbeams falling on an empty tomb on a morning so long ago?

The fact is that it's not about a day.  It's not about the sunshine or the songs, the new dresses or even the time with family.  It's about a risen Savior.  About truth, a truth that overcomes clouds and crankiness...sin and death.

Every day I have the knowledge of that truth.  Regardless of the minutiae of my day, truth remains.   The joy is there.  I have only to make the choice.

I want to keep my eyes on Him.   If I focus on the stuff around me, I will surely sink.   It's so good to know that the truth is not dependent on how my day is going, or how I'm feeling.  The truth is, He rose and He reigns.

It's not about a day.  It's not about a feeling.  It's about Jesus.

And so I choose joy.  I choose Him.