Showing posts with label Restoring Wonder. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Restoring Wonder. Show all posts

Friday, June 13, 2008

All Decked Out

verses from Psalm 5, a morning Psalm....


"Listen, Yahweh! Pay attention!
Can you make sense of these ramblings,
my thunder-clap cries?
King-god, I need your help.

Every morning
you'll hear me at it again.

Every morning
I lay out the pieces of my life
on your altar
and watch for fire to descend....

I, your invited guest,
am full of awe.
I enter your house, here I am
prostrate in your inner sanctum,
Waiting for directions
to get me safely through enemy ranks....

Will you welcome us with open arms
when we run for cover to you?...

You are famous, Yahweh, for taking in God-seekers,

for decking us out in delight."


Lord, I come this morning, laying down before You. Today, clothe me with Joy.

Saturday, May 24, 2008

If the Heavens Declare....

Let's get out there....

It's Saturday... There's time.



Shadows and light play outside our door, sun pulling at cloud drapes.

We pull up a chair and watch this scene.


For every day He writes wonder,

beckoning us to enter it all, to come smell, dig,

see,



the light and shadow falling,

nature a trinity of petals, leaves, brilliance,

all applause.

From front row seats, faces up to window, watching,

a child whispers in the midst,

"I think Grosbeak wears the gospel:

black sin, washed red in blood, making him snow white.

See?"

The heavens declare.

We have time.

May and June's Nature Calendar...(Click to enlarge for your own calendar of glorying in the Creator...Calendar from: Natural Science Through the Seasons: 100 Teaching Units)

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Sunday Worship

Just Stop and Think with Francis Chan

We can never hear the story too often...

Let it awe us all over again.

Fifteen minutes to fall in love all over again...

We say, "Yes, God. YES!"


(My apologies... you may want to scroll again to bottom of screen and pause music.)

Saturday, May 17, 2008

Bow Low

It's Saturday. Preparation Day.
Do I prepare to worship?

The Heavens declare His glory.
Do I?

I still, see, marvel.

Hushed and quiet...
Bowed low...

You are Holy, God. Holy, Holy, Holy.




(In this snip of video, Francis Chan urges us to have a high view of God, and he takes us through space to awe us at God's handiwork...You may choose to scroll to bottom of screen and pause music.)

Monday, May 12, 2008

Gestation Days

I don't remember how many times stainless needles poked about her blue veins in attempt to drain in another IV bag. You lose count in a storm of hyperemesis gravidarum that pounds relentlessly, leaving one limp and hanging over a toilet bowl. The days, weeks, months of wooziness, churning smells, swirling green nausea, it all eroded away at joy.

But when a whisper of fingers wrapped close yesterday....




"Wasn't that worth every single day of it?" The words are soft. No one speaks loud on holy ground. I search my sister's eyes.

She smiles, looks down into those gleaming black jewels just opening.

"Entirely." She strokes that heaven-fresh cheek. "If you only knew... had a window ahead to see... then you'd know for all those days where you just want to give up. It is more than worth it."

A stretching yawn captivates. Smitten, we laugh.

"It's like heaven, isn't it?" I watch Little Ana sigh, purse her lip, bubble. "If we just had a window ahead... We'd know these hard days are worth it."

Quiet settles and we let it, eyes only for this miracle bundled. I smell her whisp of black hair, kiss her forehead.

And then... after a bit, the realization comes slowly.

"You know....," my eyes don't leave that flawless face. "We did know. We had a window ahead of why it was worth it: her three sisters."

My sister sadly nods. "True."

And through the twilight home, I can only speculate about all the windows ahead He opens, faintest glimpses of heaven's glory, that I miss, ignore.

Today I pray to wake. To wake to this endless stream of assurances He gives.

For all around He writes that heaven's coming wonder will be worth these long gestation days.



Lord, wake me to the windows of the soon-to-be that open into now. Let us bask in the rays of light, warmth to carry us through the weariness of gestation. Oh, the delivery coming!


Photo: Ana and I meeting

Wednesday, April 09, 2008

Of Poets & Saints & All Waking to Glory

Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it—every, every moment?”

It’s a haunting, probing question, one asked in Thornton Wilder’s play, “Our Town.”

And so comes the incisive answer offered by one of the characters, “No.... the saints and poets, maybe. They do, some.”

No, no one ever realizes life while they live it. Except, maybe, the poets and saints.




Poets and Saints. Don’t we rather dismiss both? Roll our eyes. Poets and Saints. The flighty ones, with their saccharine rose-colored glasses. Out of touch with the grit that chafes hard between the toes of those who walk this orbiting clump of sod. Poets and Saints. As if there are many of either, most being relegated to dissection on austere chalkboards, or musty manuscripts of the uneducated and superstitious.

And then I wonder even if they, those poets and saints, if they ever realize life while living it—every, every moment? Or is life something that can only be realized when you are losing it, it slipping through fingers like water. Can life only be realized for what it is—its glory and grandeur and unspeakable beauty—only when it is gone, a memory, like catching a glimpse of earth’s magnificence only from a rocket’s portal, the perspective of distance.

Perhaps mothers, those women related to poets and saints, grasp the import of breathing and living, for they look intimately into the faces of babies, new life losing life endlessly, shedding now and seeking larger and larger skins. Does watching this daily death of who once was, this quotidian emerging of children into someone who just now is, does this enlighten mothers? Aren’t the faces of our children, ever changing, mirrors of our own mortality? Yes, maybe, in that way, mothers realize the wondrous stuff of life. And, there are days, not so much.

Why only the poets and saints who realize the amazement of life? (And why don’t the rest of us want to? That is, why don’t we all want to be poets or saints, if that is what it takes to comprehend the daily miracle we inhale?) I wonder if it is because poets and saints attend. That they live awake. And not only to what they can physically touch and inventory, but they live conscious of that which transcends, the invisible threads that connect and web the worlds seen and unseen.

Maybe the rest of us don’t want to realize the immensity of this extraordinary common thing called life because it is hard to keep alert, to live with our eyes always wide open, our ears attentive. Drowsing is more natural, common sleepwalking through our days more comfortable. Realizing takes effort, proactive intent. Poets and saints live thinking, live praying, live engaged. The work of really seeing, really hearing, really feeling, it seems more demanding than the pseudo- work we deem vital, that of amassing, consuming, attaining. And yet, though arguably more challenging, isn’t the work of waking worth it?

Yes, Poets and Saints, maybe--they do some. The Psalmist David was both. His words, millennia later, resonate with the tenor of a soul deeply attuned to the spectacle of life.




“The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hand. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they display knowledge.

There is no speech of language where their voice is not heard. Their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world…

The voice of the Lord is over the waters; the God of glory thunders, the Lord thunders over the might waters…the voice of the Lord twists the oaks and strips the forests bare.

And in his temple all cry, “Glory.”
(Ps. 19:1-4,29:2-5,9)

All cry, “Glory.” Poets and saints… and all of us too? Do we hear it reverberating throughout the heights, the voice of God over the waters, pouring forth from the heavens that surround us? And so our response spills voluntary, spontaneously, echoing through the temple of earth, all crying, “Glory, Glory, Glory.”

And then I think: does it sound trite? True, some rather disdain any talk of wonder and beauty, regard such domains as not as edgy, as provocative, as stimulating as the echelons of politics, the tangle of global economics, the finer, critical aspects of theological debate. But, I wonder, is the mocking dismissal just semantics to mask the truth: that we begrudge those poets and saints living awake to something, SomeOne, to Whom we are frustratingly oblivious?

Perhaps, I wonder, instead of scorning the poets and saints, we should forsake this maniacal race we call normalcy and wake up to the richness of real living. Maybe I could try thinking on a different plane… the reality of the transcendental.

The poets have invited us to, with this month of April christened National Poetry Month. They call us to carry a poem a day around in the pocket, sharing it, thinking on it, letting it rub off and penetrate skin and soul.

Maybe for this month of April, I’ll rouse, startled by life, like not only the poets, but, ultimately the saints. So not merely a poem a day, but a psalm a day, not in the pocket, but etched on the heart.

Such do us lay poets and saints realize life every, every moment, all crying: “Glory, glory, glory.”


Lord, maybe the poets and saints live alive because they are doing what we were made for: Worship. Today, cause me to.


(HT: Amy)

Friday, April 04, 2008

Slowing to See


Going on a God hunt....


little feet looking for big puddles,


and pools of spring,


down in the woods, where winter keeps hanging onto her skirts.


Going to catch a big one... boy and dog and swamp melting into life


with eyes wide open.



Found! Come sit in this patch of sun with me, and puddle splash?

And see! Spring friends are coming to join us too!



If the heavens declare.... let's get out there!

Take time. Only a few minutes a day. Look. Pause. Breathe Deep.

Slow to See.

Step outside. Go for a walk.

Give glory.

Grace. Gratitude. Joy.

April's Nature Calendar...(Click to enlarge for your own calendar of glorying in the Creator...
Calendar from:
Natural Science Through the Seasons: 100 Teaching Units)

Saturday, March 29, 2008

Visual Homemaking Journal

A place to scratch it all down... menus, tasks, funny children remarks, things to remember... and the place where I keep a running list of daily gifts from His hand, that for which to notice and give thanks...








“Nothing has really happened unless its been described [in words].

Keep a diary.

Don’t let a day pass without recording it,
whether something interesting happens or not.

Something interesting happens every day.”
~Nigel Nicolson (Vita Sackville-West's son) quoting Virginia Woolf

Be inspired:

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Falling In love with God



"With our losses of the sense of majesty
has come the further loss of religious awe
and consciousness of the divine Presence."

~A. Tozer


No words today... These words say it all. (Pastor: Chris Williams of India)

Do the laundry. And listen. Life-transforming.
Grateful HT: Karlyn

Recommended Online Resource: Knowledge of the Holy

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Spilling God


In the beginning God ordered…. Or is it: In the beginning God judged? Demanded? Exacted?

In the beginning, God created. God spoke words drenched with beauty, rained down poetry, and the world, fresh with dew and wet colors, sprung up. In the beginning, God was an artist, captivated with color and textures, patterns and light. He streaked the black with silver brilliance, fringed iridescence, lacy and shimmering, on wings of lighting butterflies, bejeweled darting humingbird with ruby necklace. He splashed hues, composed symphonic sounds, wove daringly, boldly. In the beginning there was wonder. Where did it go?

When did we, God’s children, become afraid, insulated, scared to move? When did we stop running to meet the sunrise, hands outstretched, gently fingering the magentas and violets flung across the sky? When did we grow dull and forget how to dance? How did we start to shrink God down to stingy, stark, stiff? I wonder: isn’t the God of Scripture, the God of this day that I live in, the abundantly full God, the joyously, wildly, creative God, the pouring out, fountainous God who is without beginning or end. The spilling God.

Sometimes I think, that somewhere along the way, my head and heart began to droop, fixated with the trudging of my feet, plodding along carefully: do this, don’t do that—instead of looking up too, around, into His beauty. Where along the path did I look down and joy fall off?

If I shift eyes up, about, to take Him, His handiwork all in, love overwhelms. Wondrous fear. Awe. They say that those gazing up at the Sistine Chapel whisper in stunned adoration. Michelangelo revered. The day I walked through the red Sequoias, where seeds fall down to the earth and grow endlessly up into the heavens, I never heard a loud voice. We only whispered in the groves, words struggling to express marvel. God worshipped.

Today, here, is no less, a gallery of His spectacular creativity.

I whisper.

Words of radical, hushed, gratitude.

When the Artist captivates, beauty rousing us from lumbering, slumbering ways, we spontaneously desire to emulate His brushstrokes—to walk and create and live like He does. We kindle, wanting to be like the Artist. To co-create beauty and holiness with Him. When the love that exudes, drips, floods from all His work wakes us up, we too fill with a love that is His. What law cannot wring out, gazing at Creator's beauty ignites. Esteeming God as Creator, knowing Him as Painter, Weaver, Poet, the Color-Saturated, Singing, Dancing, Joy-Soaked One transforms us in the ways we yearn for.

We spill too.

Father, You spill love, creativity, joy, beauty all over this orb. Spill Your wet colors over me, and wake me up. Spill over me and fill me. Then I can spill with You too.

Scripture JOY:

God made the heavens—
Royal splendor radiates from him,
A powerful beauty sets him apart. ~Ps. 96:6


Photo: from a recent trip to the Falls... He spills thunderously, arching color across it all

Wednesday, February 06, 2008

If the Heaven's Declare

Let's get out there....

Take time.
Only a few minutes a day.
Look. Pause. Breathe Deep. See. Step outside.
Go for a walk.
Give glory.




February's Nature Calendar...(Click to enlarge for your own calendar of glorying in the Creator... Calendar from: Natural Science Through the Seasons: 100 Teaching Units)

Monday, January 21, 2008

Luxury

As I think about my word for 2008, "eucharisteo":





Day delivers wonders early.

Petals of ice crystals bejewel stems, beauty blooming in January freeze.

I touch, and they flake, and something moves inside of me. Is this thing, joy, so fragile too?

Some say joy is not a luxury, but a duty, an owed act. Not a frill sewed onto the Christ-life, but the required fabric.

Ice tinkles, scatters. And I think: yes, it is that. God has bestowed, given. And I owe Him delight. Wouldn't anything else be robbery? Stealing away without so much as a word of gratitude for this show of daily wonders, this next breath, this.

I gather crystals, delicate and disappearing, and know that joy is the only reasonable response, yes, the duty of a human being who can produce nothing, but only receive. All I can give, really, is joy. It's what I owe.

Joy is to be the very garment, the weave, of the Christ-follower.

But sitting here, if I am honest, joy feels nothing like a duty, an obligatory uniform. It surges, warm, an elixir of life.

The ice gems melt into me.

Joy is a duty... and a luxury. Not either/or, but both/and.

Joy is what I owe the God who gives endlessly, a spring that fountains over me endlessly. But these grace waters are luxury, extravagance, to a dusty, parched traveler.

My thumb palms the wet that has soaked in, drops still glistening. Isn't this luxury?

For the word luxury stems from the Latin, luxo, to loosen. I am loosened from the dark, released, freed. This Light is luxury. Defined as "a free or extravagant indulgence in the pleasures of the table," I could, if I chose, know quotidian luxury. For haven't I've been invited to feast at His Banqueting table? I wonder, what would it be like to daily sup in the pleasures of His table?

Luxury is "anything delightful to the senses." When I wake up to it, isn't the whole world a luxury, delighting?

Joy is duty... and, if I'd like, my daily luxury.

I pluck the ice flower and take it home.


Drinking today:
"Even though you do not see Him now,
you believe in Him and are
filled
with an inexpressible and glorious joy."



Related reading from Mozart and Mudpies: Cheerful Souls

Wednesday, January 09, 2008

If the Heaven's Declare....

Let's get out there....

Take time.
Only a few minutes a day.
Look. Pause. Breathe Deep. See. Step outside. Go for a walk.
Give glory.







January's Nature Calendar...(Click to enlarge for your own calendar of glorying in the Creator... Calendar from: Natural Science Through the Seasons: 100 Teaching Units)

Monday, November 26, 2007

Hearing

Today, snuggled with fevered, sick little one under love-blanket from dear friend, toy basket close at hand, we looked up and just quietly watched the snow fall...and fall... and fall... I whispered into the curl of Shalom's ear:




God shakes
Falling flakes
Confetti of the angels

And if we listen, I think we can hear the party:


Let it snow, snow, snow.



Father, let us still today, long enough to really hear the refrain of all the universe: Father loves you, Father loves you, Father loves you...

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Glimpses of Stored Treasure

:::
Leaves rustle across the path. Boards creek.
The way is worn by those who have gone before us.
Time wears, rounds, these stones.
We give thanks for the time of now, that we've been allowed two.
And more.

:::

The milkweed has ripened, swelled.
Seeds, feathery, delicate, have taken to the winds.
Though the plant dies, she soars. And bears more.
So we too give thanks for our aging, our daily dying.
In this, through Him, comes new life.
Fall is about the rising to come.

:::
Soundlessly, a solitary leaf skates across thin panes of ice, tracing frost's tracks.
I too, finger time's veins.
I remember.
God, too, walks this way. Today, close.
Bow low, bow low.



:::
Poetry of John Donne:


"O eternal and most gracious God,
you have reserved your perfect joy and perfect glory
for the future when we will possess, forever,
all that can in any way conduce to our happiness.

Yet here also in this world,
you grant us earnests full of payment,
glimpses of that stored treasure.

Nature reaches out her hand and offers corn, and wine, and oil, and milk;
but it was you who filled the hand of nature with such bounty."

Photos from an early morning walk through autumn in all His glory...

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Oh YES! My Favorite!

Part of this week's prayerful focus on LIVE! :

If you turn off the fourth line, just after you slip over the lazy Maitland River meandering down through the cedars and Brosse’s herd of Herefords, and take that gravel road north, up past the silver pond sleeping under a ring of mesmerized willows, you’ll find us there, first farm to your right. He’ll be there to meet you at lane’s end.

He’ll be the one bounding beside your vehicle, leaping and dashing for a coveted glimpse of your pined-for face. Park by the garden’s picket fence, next to the cast iron windmill with its windchimes tinkling drowsily in the afternoon’s warmth. Careful how you crack your door open: he’ll inundate you with his wild, ardent greetings, dancing friskily about with feverish, uncontainable rapture. It’s you, it’s this afternoon, it’s this moment. It’s simply how he lives, this bursting sense of bliss at whatever life brings. The UPS deliveryman making his way up the cobblestone walk, sparrows wheeling about the red maples, the clank of his dish on the back stone steps.

Apathy is inconceivable to Boaz, our golden Labrador retriever. He lives in an endless state of sheer euphoria. His wildly wagging tail cheers: “Oh YES! My favorite!” His slobbering thick tongue smacks: “Oh YES! My favorite!” His vaulting, springing step sings, “Oh YES! My favorite!”

We have no cats. They wouldn’t understand. The enraptured life isn’t for everybody.

But Darryl, an unbashed dog-lover, has decided it's for him. And it’s catching. I lean out the back door to ring the dinner bell, beckoning hungry tummies in for noon meal and heaping plates of steaming goodness. Up the back walk I hear him coming, “Dinner’s on! My favorite!” Shalom bounces from the sandbox with her singsong, “My favorite toooooo!”

Shadows are stretching across dim rooms and the day’s light ebbing away when I call, “May we gather it all up, folks, before snuggling in for reading time?” Levi and Kai chime in with Darryl, “Clean up! My favorite!” Big boys smirk, I chuckle… but I shyly try it on too: “My favorite!”

And again, when snapping up the sheets and quilts in the early morning sunlight: “My favorite!” When brushing my teeth, and feeling that clean, when the warm maple oatmeal fills me, when stringing out a load of fresh denims, and the wind catching the cuffs. “My favorite.”

You know,” Darryl grins, “you’ve actually been saying ‘my favorite’ since I met you—long before I met you.”

My eyebrows arch, confused.

Really. You do it all the time, all day long. That winsome little way you rub your hands together, like you’re kindling something inside.”

I blush.

Yes, embarrassingly, it’s true. Like starting a fire, I unconsciously, like blinking, light myself throughout the day with these heat-rubbing sparks of delight. It’s a habit I caught from my Uncle Paul, short and wiry Uncle Paul, who gleefully rubbed his hands together as he talked, as he worked, as he walked. Wasn’t life brimming with irresistible possibilities? Hand-rubbing Uncle Paul was my hands-down favorite Uncle, the one who chased us around the house when we were all far too big for such games. So my father said.

That Paul, he’s just a big kid who never grew up.”

And perhaps that is the point?

"Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these."
Dogs trust. Children trust. So they can plunge into the goodness of this moment, resting in the knowing the next moment too is fully taken care of.

Maybe growing up—growing up into respectable restraint, into mature staidness, into average adult apathy, into the uncertainty of this moment and the next—isn’t desirable.

Maybe radical, childlike wonder and faith is wildly preferable.
Yes, I think I’d rather be like a child twirling and romping and somersaulting with “Oh yes! My favorite!”

And unwrapping the day with hand-rubbing glee.

"This is God's work. We rub our eyes—we can hardly believe it! This is the very day God acted— let's celebrate and be festive! Salvation now, God. Salvation now! Oh yes, God—a free and full life!" (Ps. 118:24 Msg)


Lord, this is the day! We throw back our heads and squeal, "Oh YES! Our favorite!" This living business--this staggering gift of today--we can't wait to tear into what You give! For You are dizzingly good.


Sunday, July 29, 2007

So Excited to be Here

Part of this week's series on LIVE!





It’s a muggy afternoon in the city, heat waving up from black asphalt only to hang like a smothering wet blanket. We’re on a quest for a suit jacket. This farmer has jeans, plaid shirts, and the odd pair of creased cotton pants hanging in his closet. But no suit jackets. And pallbearers require a jacket and tie, regardless of stifling heat.

Darryl solemnly molts out of jackets, those lanky Dutch arms hanging too long, just like his mother’s, an inch of thick wrist exposed like a showing slip. I keep checking tags for sizes, sleeves for length. We say little; it’s the heat and the reality of his mother’s funeral.

And then I jolt. It's just a teen wandering by. Rather non-descript: shaggy hair hanging over his eyes, running shoes squeaking. But it’s his shirt: In a moment, those words printed across his chest grab me by the shoulders and shake me awake.

“I am so excited to be here.”

It’s a scorching afternoon in July in a city’s backstreet, breathless thrift shop.

“I am so excited to be here.”

We’re pulling suit jackets off hangers as tomorrow he grabs the gold-plated handle of the an casket and carries the body-tent of his mother from a black hearst to a hole slashed in the ground.

“I am so excited to be here.”

It’s not Jeopardy, or a beauty pageant, or an introduction at Buckingham Palace.

“I am so excited to be here.”

It's right here, right now.
We’re breathing.
We’re alive.
We are.

What an outrageous gift to get giddy over!

I go home and jump on the trampoline with the kids, laughter shaking our bellies, wind flying our hair. I string up the hammock and sun away the afternoon with a book and the baby curled close. I call my Dad, make bread for the neighbors, write a thank-you card, volunteer for a church ministry, read more stories to the children before they grow up.

“I am so excited to be here.”

The shirt, my life, needs one more line:

“Thank you, Lord, for the opportunity.”

Lord, today is the day of salvation, of breath, of hope, of surprising life! I am so excited to be here. Give me the exuberant wisdom to "make the most of every opportunity..."


*Photo: Our four boys, sporting fresh hair cuts (the six week ritual of pulling up a stool on the front porch and Mama trimming the future men...then watching the birds carry away locks of time to line nests for another generation of fledglings)--- each one so excited to be here. Bring on Life!

Monday, May 21, 2007

A Way to Holistically Homeschool: Seven Daily Rungs


Our choices add up.

Habits into hours, decisions into days, lists into a life.

The way in which we live our moments, our choices for the gift of the next 24 hours, are rungs on a ladder. The rungs take us somewhere. These moments are rungs scaling each and everyday… making a life.

How do we know everyday what is a worthwhile investment of our time and what will burn up, straw at the end of time? How do we cultivate not simply well-trained minds, but nurture holisitic, well-lived lives? How do we work everyday towards raising up children, who are not merely academic automatons, but exuberant, soul-healthy, worshipers of God, committed to meaningful, eternal Kingdom work? How do we set our ladders against the right wall, and make the opportunity of today count for eternity?

Simply put, how do we make our way through a day?

Everyday, we endeavor to scale seven rungs. These seven rungs are our scaffolding for each day, “scaffolding on which a worker can stand and labor with both hands at sections of time” (Annie Dillard). Scaffolding to work on sections of time… and portions of hearts. Everyday, we wake, grab the first rung, and begin our way through the day.

First Rung ~ Listening: a way of the Spirit (Scripture reading, prayer and memorization)

We awake. And listen. Days well lived have a time of listening to Him who spoke the Universe and all there is into being. “Oh, that my people would listen to me” (Psalm 81:13). Soulful days of good things are days attuned to hearing Him, for “whoever listens to me will dwell secure and will be at ease, without dread of disaster” (Proverbs 1:33). Everyday, we gather around the farm table to listen, opening our day with individual, quiet Scripture reading, and then closing each meal with the reading of His Word. We commit the Lover of our soul’s Words to heart through daily memorization of Scripture together as a family. And we listen and dialogue with Him through rhythmic and endless prayer. To know our way through a day, one begins by listening: “And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, "This is the way, walk in it" (Isaiah 30:21).

Second Rung ~Love: a way of sacrificing (that which is at the the heart of everything we do)

Without love, there is, simply and wholly, nothing. Without love, the ladder is on the wrong wall. Thus, love is the greatest rung of all, the foundation of everyday and of a life well lived…and only possible after we have listened to the Spirit, and the story of Christ.

This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for one another” (1 Jn. 3:16). This love rung is about laying down our lives, our agendas, our egos, and offering ourselves up “as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship” (Ro. 12:1).

If we, with our children, only grab hold of this rung daily, laying down time for Jesus and for others, we’ve scaled the one rung that ultimately matters. Love for Jesus and for those made by His hand is the one needful thing of each day.

Third Rung ~ Labor: a way of serving (farm work, household chores, creativity, ministries, volunteer work)

For our days to add up to something of merit, for our lives to be truly great, the third rung is non-negotiable: we simply must be a servant. The labor rung is about true greatness: we must teach our children every day how to be a servant. Everyday we must live servant lives. “The greatest among you shall be your servant” (Mt. 23:11).

Thus, each day embraces labor. Work unto others. Work onto the Kingdom. Work unto God. We do not shirk dirt and filth and sweat, for Jesus didn’t when He came to serve humanity. An everyday education means days of dirty fingernails, stench in nostrils, sore backs: we endeavor to go the extra mile. And, as God’s act of creation was his work, so our creations—stitches, brushstrokes, kneading, ink scratchings—are also our labor to serve others. Everyday education, holistic, well-lived days, include labor and creative acts, a way of serving.

Fourth Rung ~ Loveliness: a way of seeing (Poetry, Nature, Music and Art)

The essence of our days and our children’s education is about how we see, think and perceive the world around us. “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely… think about these things” (Philippians 4:8). In a world of hurt, we want eyes to see what is lovely…so that our awe of God’s breathtaking handiwork might be a medicine to the broken around us. So our way through a day includes setting chords of the classics in the stereo each morning to accompany the day’s dance, then morning moments spent reading lyrical lines of poetry, and appreciating the rich hues of brushstrokes and imagination. Afternoons include time in the orchard climbing trees, walks down to the woods to pick spring flowers. Thinking on the lovely is a way to give us eyes to see beauty…and to catch a glimpse of the face of God Himself, Beauty embodied.

Fifth Rung ~ Literature: a way of seeking (discovery through great books)

As Roland Barthes suggests, “Literature is the question minus the answer,” so we read and question and seek answers. “Reading maketh a man full," as Francis Bacon surmised: one full of rich words and questions.

John Wesley implores, “Read the most useful books, and that regularly and constantly. Steadily spend all the morning in this employ, or, at least, five hours in four-and-twenty… If you need no book but the Bible, you are got above St. Paul. He wanted others too. ‘Bring the books,” says he, “but especially the parchments.’ ”

Like the Apostle Paul, we too bring out the books daily, not “twaddle” but full-bodied books of satisfying, filling words. As Wesley appeals, we steadily spend our morning in this employ. And yet in our seeking and reading, we also take heed: “My son, beware… Of making many books there is no end, and much study is a weariness of the flesh” (Ecclesiastes 12:12). We daily seek and discover and fill through great literature…and yet, we remind ourselves that there is more to a well-lived day than solely parchment and ink.

Sixth Rung ~ Language: a way of speaking (narrations, Latin/Greek, grammar, writing)

The words we read percolate down. So we steep in thought…and then we pour out, speaking our own word thoughts. As Samuel Johnson expressed, “Language is the dress of thought.” Daily rungs include a way of speaking our thoughts, through verbal or written narrations, compositions, or in the words of a second language. Literature may be about pouring questions into young minds. Language is about young minds exploring and speaking answers.

We join the psalmist: “My heart overflows with a good theme; I address my verses to the King; My tongue is the pen of a ready writer” (Psalm 45:1). With tongue and pens, we daily attempt to speak and express good themes of learning and life to our King.

Seventh Rung ~ Logic: a way of scaffolding (ideas, reasoning, science, mathematics, discussing)

Our seventh rung is about building on what we already know, to go higher up and deeper in. We scaffold. Ideas, reasoning, discussions, mathematical equations, scientific experiments, extrapolations and analysis move us from what we know now, to new understandings. Each day includes logic: "Come now, let us reason together” (Isaiah 1:18).

As the sun sets in the west, we ring the farm table, and pause to reflect on the shadow of the seven daily rungs.

Hands to ears, we ask of the first rung: Did we listen to our Lord today? Hands over hearts, we question the second rung: Did we love Jesus by loving others?

Then, holding fingers high, we mark off the five remaining rungs:
Labor: Whom did we serve today?
Loveliness: What did we see today?
Literature: What did we seek and discover in good books today?
Language: How did use we speak, written and orally, today?
Logic: How did we scaffold into new ideas and understanding today?

Hands reach out to lace fingers together.

It is time, in the twilight, to enter into the day’s rest. From morning until evening we have worked (Ps. 104:22-23) and now it is time to sit, Sabbath moments after the seven daily rungs. A day well-lived has moments to simply linger, to be still and know that He is God.

In the quiet coming down, we crown the day with laughter, taking our daily heart medicine of joy. Chuckle-worthy incidents that sprinkled the day. Antics of high-spirited children. And then there are the days it’s best just to heave a sigh, give thanks, and laugh with relief. We may have slipped off a rung or two. The ladder may have wobbled, precariously at times, throughout the day. But from each of the seven daily rungs in a holistic homeschooling education--- listening, loving, laboring, looking on loveliness, learning literature, language and logic-- we’ve kept our eyes on our reward. The Lord Himself.

Who is the Way through everyday.


The compiling of our Seven Daily Rungs had its genesis in Real Learning Elizabeth Foss' post Revisiting the Rule of Six and Melissa Wiley's Rule of Six -- thank you, abundantly wise women, for encouraging intentional reflection on our everydays.



Friday, April 20, 2007

Parents: Inspirers Sowing Ideas

From the pen of Charlotte Mason:


"What do parents sow? Ideas.

We cannot too soon recognize what is the sole educational seed in our hands, or how this seed is to be distributed...Now that life, which we call education, receives only one kind of sustenance; it grows upon ideas. You may go through years of so-called 'education' without getting a single vital idea...

There is no way of escape for parents; they must needs be as 'inspirers' to their children, because about them hangs, as its atmosphere about a planet the thought-environment of the child, from which he derives those enduring ideas which express themselves as a life-long 'appetency' towards things sordid or things lovely, things earthly or divine."

Charlotte Mason Narrations --"the Key"

Creative Narrations

Iron Sharpening Iron: Why the Socratic Method Matters So Much

Teaching the Classics -- including "The Socratic List"

Apply Bloom's Taxonomy-- sample question stems

Monday, April 02, 2007

Restoring Wonder: Homeschool Conference


It's that time of year: stacks of new books line the exhibit hall, and parents with carefully written lists make their way through the maze of possibilities. Saturday found me in the exhibit hall at the KWCHEA conference, armed with my small yellow pad of paper, each child's name jotted down followed by potential resources for another year of learning, curiosity and wonder.

Attending a very informative afternoon seminar with Mrs. Bradley of The Edison Center encouraged to equip children with effective strategies for reading and memory retention while my last seminar of the day was with Anne White of the Ambleside Online Advisory who served up inspiration to create a curriculum with Thrift Store and yard sale finds...




It was a day to look into the ponds of education, and see if Christ was reflected in these pools of our learning days. It was a day to dream, to pray, to catch the vision of what God would have for us and our families.
It was a day to commit again: to this call, to this privilege, to this restoring wonder in the Maker of Heavens and Earth.
Lord, we are praying for our children. We are praying for this call. We are praying for this committment. We are praying for You to be the center.