I'm blogging in metered verse over at I Think, Therefore Iambic Pentameter.
First up, I've got a metaphysical sonnet about teabags, with sweetly innocent children's poetry, ruminations on fear of death, and even a little bit of cynical politics coming soon.
I'm also writing nonsense rhymes to supplement the wuggies' phonics lessons, and I may post some of that, too.
I hope you drop by soon.
3.23.2010
3.10.2010
Remember the Alamo!
We just got back from a little jaunt to San Antonio.
It's an inspiring bit of history, and we like being part of a state with an identity like that.
Along the way to the Alamo, we ended up traipsing through the backroads, and meandering through an old cemetery.
We like walking through graveyards, the skeletal outlines of lives long ago, a set of dates held together by a few lines of poetry. It is good to stand at a distance, to see what really matters after time has smoothed away most of the details, while magnifying others, as an ancient winding stream carves out the riverbed.
Remember the Alamo!
It's strange to think that after all these years, it really doesn't matter whether they won or lost, but it matters tremendously that they died and died valiantly.
We remember that they lost the battle, and we remember that their defeat was part of how the revolution was won.
But sooner or later, I'm sure it all would have turned out this way in the end, and it doesn't really matter how we got here.
But it matters that these brave men fought to the death against hopeless odds, and it matters that their comrades let them die alone and unsupported, and waited to bravely fight the battles that were theirs to fight and win.
All these years later, what matters is not how long their lives were, or even whether in the dying they accomplished their goals. What matters is that they chose wisesly, fought bravely, and died well.
The vic'try or defeat is but a token
of the glory spilled from lives valiantly broken.
It's an inspiring bit of history, and we like being part of a state with an identity like that.
Along the way to the Alamo, we ended up traipsing through the backroads, and meandering through an old cemetery.
We like walking through graveyards, the skeletal outlines of lives long ago, a set of dates held together by a few lines of poetry. It is good to stand at a distance, to see what really matters after time has smoothed away most of the details, while magnifying others, as an ancient winding stream carves out the riverbed.
Remember the Alamo!
It's strange to think that after all these years, it really doesn't matter whether they won or lost, but it matters tremendously that they died and died valiantly.
We remember that they lost the battle, and we remember that their defeat was part of how the revolution was won.
But sooner or later, I'm sure it all would have turned out this way in the end, and it doesn't really matter how we got here.
But it matters that these brave men fought to the death against hopeless odds, and it matters that their comrades let them die alone and unsupported, and waited to bravely fight the battles that were theirs to fight and win.
All these years later, what matters is not how long their lives were, or even whether in the dying they accomplished their goals. What matters is that they chose wisesly, fought bravely, and died well.
The vic'try or defeat is but a token
of the glory spilled from lives valiantly broken.
2.11.2010
Complicated Passages
I was reading a bit of Galatians to the wuggies this morning, simply because that's what I was reading to myself before they got up. Of course, this required a bit of context-building before we launched into the text. We looked up Galatia first on the map in the back of the Bible, then found the corresponding area on the globe, and discovered that it corresponds to modern-day Turkey.
After I explained to them how the people of Galatia had been led astray by bad teachers, September wondered if the Insulations ever got things straight again.
I didn't know the answer to that one.
Nathan, on the other hand, really just wanted to know why the area had changed names.
Another stumper.
But then, all on his own, he figured it out.
The land must have been invaded by chickens.
And there you have it.
After I explained to them how the people of Galatia had been led astray by bad teachers, September wondered if the Insulations ever got things straight again.
I didn't know the answer to that one.
Nathan, on the other hand, really just wanted to know why the area had changed names.
Another stumper.
But then, all on his own, he figured it out.
The land must have been invaded by chickens.
And there you have it.
2.02.2010
Oot!
Paggles is talking! Vague-sounding complete sentences have been emerging for some time--it always sounds just like he must be saying something that makes perfect sense--but now his conversation is peppered with distinctly intelligible words. Like Mama, Da-ee, Timmo, Na-tin, Iyaya, and eat. Eat! Eat! That boy sure loves to eat, and to talk about eating whenever there's food in sight. But if there's one thing that he likes more than eating, it's goofing. There never was such a boy for goofing. And so his very favorite word of all--except maybe for "Mama," which to my great chagrin, is his word for any and all beverages... well, anyway, his second-favorite word of all is "Oot!" Which simply means that it is time to burst out into gales of laughter, because that's an awfully funny sound to make.
And since we're talking about Paggles and the meaning of nonsense words, I suppose I'd better explain how he came to be called Paggles.
It's really quite simple and rational. It should be fairly obvious why we took to calling him snufflupagus. But then we would jokingly shift around the emPHASes of the sylLAbles, and have protracted discussions as to whether he was really a snufflUPagus, or maybe actually a snuffloPAgus. In the end we concluded that he was definitely a snuffloPAgus, which slowly morphed into Pagus... Pags...
And that is how it came about that he is Paggles, and he says "Oot!"
And since we're talking about Paggles and the meaning of nonsense words, I suppose I'd better explain how he came to be called Paggles.
It's really quite simple and rational. It should be fairly obvious why we took to calling him snufflupagus. But then we would jokingly shift around the emPHASes of the sylLAbles, and have protracted discussions as to whether he was really a snufflUPagus, or maybe actually a snuffloPAgus. In the end we concluded that he was definitely a snuffloPAgus, which slowly morphed into Pagus... Pags...
And that is how it came about that he is Paggles, and he says "Oot!"
1.29.2010
I just realized...
...that I spent most of my writing time this evening trying to find somebody (anybody!) who had already said what I had to say, so maybe I wouldn't have to write it.
It was during the chunk of time when I was looking for a potential publisher for this half-written article, that I realized why nobody is saying it.
So for now, I'll just have to say it here, on my unfunded little blog.
Every word in the mainstream media is funded by big corporations.
Not something that mainstream media is likely to point out, and not something that you can really do much about, without making matters worse. It's simply a fact of modern life--our society has an awful lot of mighty effective megaphones available for purchase, and most of that purchasing happens in ways that are utterly untouchable by campaign finance laws.
Thank God that ordinary citizens are now permitted to pool their resources, and make their voices heard too.
Even if they aren't quite rich enough to buy the whole television network.
It was during the chunk of time when I was looking for a potential publisher for this half-written article, that I realized why nobody is saying it.
So for now, I'll just have to say it here, on my unfunded little blog.
Every word in the mainstream media is funded by big corporations.
Not something that mainstream media is likely to point out, and not something that you can really do much about, without making matters worse. It's simply a fact of modern life--our society has an awful lot of mighty effective megaphones available for purchase, and most of that purchasing happens in ways that are utterly untouchable by campaign finance laws.
Thank God that ordinary citizens are now permitted to pool their resources, and make their voices heard too.
Even if they aren't quite rich enough to buy the whole television network.
1.21.2010
1.16.2010
I remember...
...that little gold typewriter.
It was so very beautiful.
And I would sit there in my little yellow director's chair, at my little white desk, and while Daddy and Mommy clacked away, I'd do my "exegesis on Luke."
And now my very own little girl sits next to me at Starbucks, with her little purple notebook and her little blue pen. We like to go write together, her and me.
And it is very sweet indeed.
It was so very beautiful.
And I would sit there in my little yellow director's chair, at my little white desk, and while Daddy and Mommy clacked away, I'd do my "exegesis on Luke."
And now my very own little girl sits next to me at Starbucks, with her little purple notebook and her little blue pen. We like to go write together, her and me.
And it is very sweet indeed.
1.08.2010
How We Homeschool
Emily wonders how we're going about the business of homeschooling.
The short answer would be: mostly incidentally.
See, school is about 90% socialization, 10% academics. I'm pretty sure I'm not saying anything controversial there. Most advocates of public school (or private school, for that matter) that I've talked to readily agree that most students can get through all the necessary academic coursework at home in anywhere from 30 minutes to 2 hours. But school isn't just about academics; in fact, socialization--learning how to live well in community--is a much bigger, and much more important part of the education of a virtuous soul.
But there's some pretty intense disagreement among parents about how exactly they would like their children socialized, and thank God, America allows us the freedom to agree to disagree, and socialize our own children according to our own beliefs.
So, even in the states with the very strictest requirements for homeschoolers, the law only addresses the academic 10%.
There are a lot of great curricula out there that would enable us to give the kids the academic portion of a public school education, with a pretty minimal time investment, and others that would let us give them a much more intensive education with a bit more thought and work. I can respect either approach.
But for us, academics is just a way of life. We talk about number theory while setting the table, Plutarch and philosophy of history over the dinner. We listen to Cry the Beloved Country while we wash the dishes, and then we sit around the fire and read the Odyssey. I'm planning on periodically assessing, and making sure that we really are covering all the bases... but I'm not too worried about it. This is one of the perks of living in Texas; as long as I'm using some sort of written materials to teach my children the three R's, good citizenship, and Texas history, I can be as loosey-goosey about it as I please.
The kids really do have to learn to read, though. HAVE to. For my sake as much as theirs... I want them to start looking up their own history questions. (And mine, too!) I've found that they just aren't mature enough to pay attention to words when there are any pictures whatsoever on the page, so I'm just using the primer in the back of Why Johnny Can't Read. It's a bare-bones set of word lists, and we're grinding through, just a little bit of sounding-out and a little bit of dictation every day. It's amazing how important the dictation is--it turns out that spelling comes easier than reading, and it's through learning to spell that they're learning to read. Anyway, it's slow slogging, but there's a whole library full of history books at the end of the tunnel, and I read them fun books as a more immediate reward.
As for the 90%, I'm of the opinion that participation in a vibrant, healthy family (and church!) is the best socialization. Learning to navigate friendships with kids their own age, and also spending time with older kids, and godly grownups. And learning how to pull their own weight around the house. And camping, and spouting poetry, and building stuff--from tiny wooden boxes to grandiose universes, worlds in which Jim the Warrior was there to stop Alegdander of Jalon from stealing the whole world, and in which the Titanic was truly indestructible, but had enough lifeboats anyway.
The short answer would be: mostly incidentally.
See, school is about 90% socialization, 10% academics. I'm pretty sure I'm not saying anything controversial there. Most advocates of public school (or private school, for that matter) that I've talked to readily agree that most students can get through all the necessary academic coursework at home in anywhere from 30 minutes to 2 hours. But school isn't just about academics; in fact, socialization--learning how to live well in community--is a much bigger, and much more important part of the education of a virtuous soul.
But there's some pretty intense disagreement among parents about how exactly they would like their children socialized, and thank God, America allows us the freedom to agree to disagree, and socialize our own children according to our own beliefs.
So, even in the states with the very strictest requirements for homeschoolers, the law only addresses the academic 10%.
There are a lot of great curricula out there that would enable us to give the kids the academic portion of a public school education, with a pretty minimal time investment, and others that would let us give them a much more intensive education with a bit more thought and work. I can respect either approach.
But for us, academics is just a way of life. We talk about number theory while setting the table, Plutarch and philosophy of history over the dinner. We listen to Cry the Beloved Country while we wash the dishes, and then we sit around the fire and read the Odyssey. I'm planning on periodically assessing, and making sure that we really are covering all the bases... but I'm not too worried about it. This is one of the perks of living in Texas; as long as I'm using some sort of written materials to teach my children the three R's, good citizenship, and Texas history, I can be as loosey-goosey about it as I please.
The kids really do have to learn to read, though. HAVE to. For my sake as much as theirs... I want them to start looking up their own history questions. (And mine, too!) I've found that they just aren't mature enough to pay attention to words when there are any pictures whatsoever on the page, so I'm just using the primer in the back of Why Johnny Can't Read. It's a bare-bones set of word lists, and we're grinding through, just a little bit of sounding-out and a little bit of dictation every day. It's amazing how important the dictation is--it turns out that spelling comes easier than reading, and it's through learning to spell that they're learning to read. Anyway, it's slow slogging, but there's a whole library full of history books at the end of the tunnel, and I read them fun books as a more immediate reward.
As for the 90%, I'm of the opinion that participation in a vibrant, healthy family (and church!) is the best socialization. Learning to navigate friendships with kids their own age, and also spending time with older kids, and godly grownups. And learning how to pull their own weight around the house. And camping, and spouting poetry, and building stuff--from tiny wooden boxes to grandiose universes, worlds in which Jim the Warrior was there to stop Alegdander of Jalon from stealing the whole world, and in which the Titanic was truly indestructible, but had enough lifeboats anyway.
1.07.2010
All Done Being Angry
The Common Room is always a great place to go for fantastic discussions of philosophy of education.
The Deputy Headmistress is mad, mad, mad about Berkeley High School's proposal to try to address the racial achievement gap by cutting science labs.
I can see how one might be angry about this. Why, yes... it's quite maddening, isn't it? I can also see how the school might want to do this, though. Not because science is too "white," but because other resources might be more immediately beneficial to students who can't even read. First things first. Who shall we throw under the bus first? The struggling students or the students who are starting to get somewhere?
Round and round and round it goes, and never any answers, never any answers. And I'm tired of it. Tired of it being that way, but also just plain too tired to keep caring about it.
The post delves into lots of great discussion of Hirsch and Mason and Russeau.... good stuff, excellent stuff, marvelous food for thought. But round and round and round it goes, round and round some more. Shall we teach kids things, or shall we teach them how to learn? Hirsch is absolutely right--kids can never learn how to learn without things on which to learn. Children need the core knowledge which is the basis of cultural literacy.
So he went on to carefully devise a curriculum on that basis.
I have no doubt that it's a very fine curriculum indeed. (Really. I've heard fantastic things about it.)
But, oh, the years of high quality work put into adapting the great works of western civilization, making their important ideas compatible with the school setting.
Round and round and round it goes.
These questions and dilemmas are fascinating, and I'm sure I'll revisit them over and over again, like crosswords and sudoku puzzles, and probably I'll also revisit them to slightly more purpose as thinker, as a writer, as helpmate to a professional educator. But in my capacity as a mom... there's only one way out of this Gordian knot. I'm done with the endless puzzles, the endless dilemmas, round and round and round.
And I'm going downstairs, to read to my kids. Real books, books that matter, books that haven't been edited down to their level... or mine, for that matter. Books that challenge and change me, even as they challenge and change my little ones. Funny books, too, that delight and entertain me, even as they delight and entertain my little ones. And yes, the dull grunt-work of endless word-lists and dictation. But even that, we're doing straight-up, unadorned but for the promise that at the library downtown, they have more history books than would fit in our whole house, and if you'll just get through these few dull lessons, my child, you can read them all.
The Deputy Headmistress is mad, mad, mad about Berkeley High School's proposal to try to address the racial achievement gap by cutting science labs.
I can see how one might be angry about this. Why, yes... it's quite maddening, isn't it? I can also see how the school might want to do this, though. Not because science is too "white," but because other resources might be more immediately beneficial to students who can't even read. First things first. Who shall we throw under the bus first? The struggling students or the students who are starting to get somewhere?
Round and round and round it goes, and never any answers, never any answers. And I'm tired of it. Tired of it being that way, but also just plain too tired to keep caring about it.
The post delves into lots of great discussion of Hirsch and Mason and Russeau.... good stuff, excellent stuff, marvelous food for thought. But round and round and round it goes, round and round some more. Shall we teach kids things, or shall we teach them how to learn? Hirsch is absolutely right--kids can never learn how to learn without things on which to learn. Children need the core knowledge which is the basis of cultural literacy.
So he went on to carefully devise a curriculum on that basis.
I have no doubt that it's a very fine curriculum indeed. (Really. I've heard fantastic things about it.)
But, oh, the years of high quality work put into adapting the great works of western civilization, making their important ideas compatible with the school setting.
Round and round and round it goes.
These questions and dilemmas are fascinating, and I'm sure I'll revisit them over and over again, like crosswords and sudoku puzzles, and probably I'll also revisit them to slightly more purpose as thinker, as a writer, as helpmate to a professional educator. But in my capacity as a mom... there's only one way out of this Gordian knot. I'm done with the endless puzzles, the endless dilemmas, round and round and round.
And I'm going downstairs, to read to my kids. Real books, books that matter, books that haven't been edited down to their level... or mine, for that matter. Books that challenge and change me, even as they challenge and change my little ones. Funny books, too, that delight and entertain me, even as they delight and entertain my little ones. And yes, the dull grunt-work of endless word-lists and dictation. But even that, we're doing straight-up, unadorned but for the promise that at the library downtown, they have more history books than would fit in our whole house, and if you'll just get through these few dull lessons, my child, you can read them all.
1.01.2010
New Day, New Year, New Post
I write from Starbucks--our computer sort of died, and so that made for a nice opportunity for an internet fast.
I miss being able to instantly dash upstairs and get a kazillion answers to sift through, whenever I have the slightest question about anything.
The fruit of the tree of knowledge is intoxicating and addictive, but it's been good to stop the information flow for a while, and just figure out how to live according to the knowledge that I do have. To seek wisdom as hidden treasure.
But I do terribly miss writing.
My parents came for Christmas, and among the lovely and generous, carefully selected gifts they placed beneath our tree, was a bound copy of The Wuggy Chronicles. A touching gift, a valuable archive... and above all, a not-so-subtle hint.
And I came to the conclusion that I'm am in the wrong career.
As Aristotle would say, my proper function is my unique function. Nobody else can mother my children quite like I can, or educate them like I can. All this is most definitely my proper function.
But as for housekeeping,... well, actually, there are quite a few people who could do that part of my job considerably better than I can. And so, even though I have no intention of pursuing a career that will let me outsource my mothering responsibilities, I see no reason why I shouldn't work toward levering my strengths so I can hire somebody to clean my house for me.
And you know what? Proverbs 31 doesn't say a single thing about cleaning. The excellent wife is good with textiles, and she uses the profits from those skills to dabble in real estate, and she takes good care of her maids, and makes sure that they take good care of her house. I owe my husband a well-kept home... but maybe I don't have to be the one running the vacuum cleaner.
Of course it takes time to convert words into supplemental income, and I'm not quite sure how I will go about it. But I do know of at least one way that I can. I have a lovely plan for teaching flute lessons during naptime to leverage myself into some serious writing time--the time the housekeeper is cleaning the house would be sacred to the non-creative gruntwork of cover letters and queries and such. On the other hand, as I was flipping through my old (very out-of-date) Christian Writer's Market Guide, I realized that the whole process is much, much less intimidating than I had imagined it to be. I've never really worked up the nerve to seriously pursue publication, because I'd heard that it was impossible for the unpublished to get published... But while that is true for the big publications, there are plenty of small publications that really do read unsolicited manuscripts. There's a finite number of steps to take, and it's really not so complicated after all. No guaranteed outcome, of course... but no reason I can't give it a try. And if the family suffers from the time investment it requires, I'll go the flute-lessons-for-now route.
I'm excited. =)
And now, if you'll excuse me, a have a touchingly humorous grandparent/grandchild story to write for some small Christian seniors' magazine.
I miss being able to instantly dash upstairs and get a kazillion answers to sift through, whenever I have the slightest question about anything.
The fruit of the tree of knowledge is intoxicating and addictive, but it's been good to stop the information flow for a while, and just figure out how to live according to the knowledge that I do have. To seek wisdom as hidden treasure.
But I do terribly miss writing.
My parents came for Christmas, and among the lovely and generous, carefully selected gifts they placed beneath our tree, was a bound copy of The Wuggy Chronicles. A touching gift, a valuable archive... and above all, a not-so-subtle hint.
And I came to the conclusion that I'm am in the wrong career.
As Aristotle would say, my proper function is my unique function. Nobody else can mother my children quite like I can, or educate them like I can. All this is most definitely my proper function.
But as for housekeeping,... well, actually, there are quite a few people who could do that part of my job considerably better than I can. And so, even though I have no intention of pursuing a career that will let me outsource my mothering responsibilities, I see no reason why I shouldn't work toward levering my strengths so I can hire somebody to clean my house for me.
And you know what? Proverbs 31 doesn't say a single thing about cleaning. The excellent wife is good with textiles, and she uses the profits from those skills to dabble in real estate, and she takes good care of her maids, and makes sure that they take good care of her house. I owe my husband a well-kept home... but maybe I don't have to be the one running the vacuum cleaner.
Of course it takes time to convert words into supplemental income, and I'm not quite sure how I will go about it. But I do know of at least one way that I can. I have a lovely plan for teaching flute lessons during naptime to leverage myself into some serious writing time--the time the housekeeper is cleaning the house would be sacred to the non-creative gruntwork of cover letters and queries and such. On the other hand, as I was flipping through my old (very out-of-date) Christian Writer's Market Guide, I realized that the whole process is much, much less intimidating than I had imagined it to be. I've never really worked up the nerve to seriously pursue publication, because I'd heard that it was impossible for the unpublished to get published... But while that is true for the big publications, there are plenty of small publications that really do read unsolicited manuscripts. There's a finite number of steps to take, and it's really not so complicated after all. No guaranteed outcome, of course... but no reason I can't give it a try. And if the family suffers from the time investment it requires, I'll go the flute-lessons-for-now route.
I'm excited. =)
And now, if you'll excuse me, a have a touchingly humorous grandparent/grandchild story to write for some small Christian seniors' magazine.
5.27.2009
Deliver My Life
I finally heard back from Crossway, and got permission to use the ESV for my Psalm settings and scripture songs.
So... if you happened to be looking for an arrangement of Psalm 6, for solist(s) and congregation, shoot me an email!
Psalm 6 is one of those crazy, shocking Psalms--I always wondered how David had the audacity to pray such a thing.
"Turn O Lord, deliver my life.
Save me for the sake of Your steadfast love,
for in death there is no remembrance of you,
in Sheol who will give you praise?"
It was only through song that I was able to make any sense out of those words, through the strange process of trying to find a tune to which David could have sung such a thing.
And now it is one of the very dearest of Scriptures to me, speaks to me with a deep assurance of the bedrock foundation of our salvation.
God doesn't save me for my sake, but for His own sake. I don't deserve it, but I can be absolutely certain that God will rescue me, preserve me, sustain me, and make me ever more like Christ. Because He wants my life to be a testimony to His glory. If it was all about me, I'm pretty sure God would have changed His mind a long time ago. But it's not about me. God will be glorified, and so I know that He will be faithful.
So... if you happened to be looking for an arrangement of Psalm 6, for solist(s) and congregation, shoot me an email!
Psalm 6 is one of those crazy, shocking Psalms--I always wondered how David had the audacity to pray such a thing.
"Turn O Lord, deliver my life.
Save me for the sake of Your steadfast love,
for in death there is no remembrance of you,
in Sheol who will give you praise?"
It was only through song that I was able to make any sense out of those words, through the strange process of trying to find a tune to which David could have sung such a thing.
And now it is one of the very dearest of Scriptures to me, speaks to me with a deep assurance of the bedrock foundation of our salvation.
God doesn't save me for my sake, but for His own sake. I don't deserve it, but I can be absolutely certain that God will rescue me, preserve me, sustain me, and make me ever more like Christ. Because He wants my life to be a testimony to His glory. If it was all about me, I'm pretty sure God would have changed His mind a long time ago. But it's not about me. God will be glorified, and so I know that He will be faithful.
5.01.2009
Even though it's April
Sing a song of September,
of the richly red-gold ember
of the summer's blazing heat.
Of the velvet crinch-crunch soft beneath your feet
of the leaves all spent and tender,
but mostly, darling sweet,
of you.
of the richly red-gold ember
of the summer's blazing heat.
Of the velvet crinch-crunch soft beneath your feet
of the leaves all spent and tender,
but mostly, darling sweet,
of you.
4.21.2009
Another collaboration between September and myself,
being about a rather poorly illustrated biography of Leonardo da Vinci. Perhaps there is a time and a place for crudely cartoonish illustrations, but at any rate, its proper place is certainly not in a biography of Leonardo. But of course, I didn't notice just how silly it was until September pointed it out, although I'm not quite sure that September's objections were the same as mine. In fact, I'm not 100% certain about the precise nature of her objections in the first place. But at any rate, here they are.
This book is a bad book.
It's a bad book, she said.
There's people who cover people--
And they don't like it.
She took another long look,
Took a long look, then she said
They're trying to take a horse--
And it's not good.
But cuddle up, sweet mama,
and fold me in the blanket
so we can be toasty.
This book is a bad book.
It's a bad book, she said.
There's people who cover people--
And they don't like it.
She took another long look,
Took a long look, then she said
They're trying to take a horse--
And it's not good.
But cuddle up, sweet mama,
and fold me in the blanket
so we can be toasty.
4.18.2009
Onward Christian Soldiers
"Hey Mom, wher're we goin' today?"
"Well, I was thinking of taking you guys to the Salvation Army store."
"Do they sell guns there?"
"Um... no."
"Why don't they sell guns there?"
"I don't know. Maybe they do. I've never checked. They sell a lot of different things."
"Oh, so do they just sell swords and spears and bows and arrows, like in the Bible?"
"I don't think so. They just sell clothes and furniture and stuff."
"Oh, okay, so they have soldier boots there? Is that why it's called Salvation Army?"
"Well, I was thinking of taking you guys to the Salvation Army store."
"Do they sell guns there?"
"Um... no."
"Why don't they sell guns there?"
"I don't know. Maybe they do. I've never checked. They sell a lot of different things."
"Oh, so do they just sell swords and spears and bows and arrows, like in the Bible?"
"I don't think so. They just sell clothes and furniture and stuff."
"Oh, okay, so they have soldier boots there? Is that why it's called Salvation Army?"
4.16.2009
You should probably beware the brioche dough of the Pharisees, too.
I'm guest blogging at the evangelical outpost about my life-changing experiences with bread dough.
No, not the one a few years ago where I sort of ate too much brioche dough and the yeast sort of colonized in my stomach, and I sort of thought I was going to explode, until raw garlic came to my rescue for the first of many times.
No, this time I'm blogging about good experiences with bread dough, experiences in which none of the dough made it into my mouth before first being baked into wonderfully scrumptious breads.
Although I guess that other bread dough experience was a very good one, too, because that was the first time I discovered the anti-microbial properties of raw garlic, and though I've never repeated that particular mistake of eating anything containing live yeast, it turns out that garlic can kill all sorts of unwelcome invaders and has saved me a tremendous amount of agony, not to mention thousands of dollars in copays for doctor visits and antibiotics.
But I think these experiences with bread dough were even better, because while the other helped me understand garlic better, these helped me come to a deeper understanding of the gospel.
And the gospel is even more powerful and healing and cleansing and purifying than raw garlic.
Which is actually saying something.
http://www.evangelicaloutpost.com/archives/2009/04/the-kingdom-of.html#more
No, not the one a few years ago where I sort of ate too much brioche dough and the yeast sort of colonized in my stomach, and I sort of thought I was going to explode, until raw garlic came to my rescue for the first of many times.
No, this time I'm blogging about good experiences with bread dough, experiences in which none of the dough made it into my mouth before first being baked into wonderfully scrumptious breads.
Although I guess that other bread dough experience was a very good one, too, because that was the first time I discovered the anti-microbial properties of raw garlic, and though I've never repeated that particular mistake of eating anything containing live yeast, it turns out that garlic can kill all sorts of unwelcome invaders and has saved me a tremendous amount of agony, not to mention thousands of dollars in copays for doctor visits and antibiotics.
But I think these experiences with bread dough were even better, because while the other helped me understand garlic better, these helped me come to a deeper understanding of the gospel.
And the gospel is even more powerful and healing and cleansing and purifying than raw garlic.
Which is actually saying something.
http://www.evangelicaloutpost.com/archives/2009/04/the-kingdom-of.html#more
4.15.2009
A few days later...
Easter Sunday was just lovely.
The process of tumbling out the door to church was fraught with more than usual chaos. It seemed that everything that could possible go wrong did... but then again, it seemed that nothing that could go wrong really mattered. Death itself is conquered--is there room in this flood of joy for fretfulness over smaller troubles?
And in the end, we did make it to Sunday School--and very nearly on time, too!
We'd planned on a picnic, but in the chaos of the morning, I'd forgotten the food, and anyway, it was pouring rain. So we just went home.
But by the time we got home, the rain was gone, and Andrew set up the grill on our own little porch, and smoked our burgers with some chips from some gorgeously aromatic purply logs he'd split a week or so earlier. (What a wonderful place Houston is to go scavenging for firewood!)
So we had our burgers on the porch--our newly open sunshiny porch, now that Andrew has gotten rid of one of the overgrown shrubs--beside our new little barely-sprouting vegetable garden, and the big stack of fragrant firewood. It was as pleasant a place as you could ask for, and the burgers were delicious, with avacados and mushrooms and swiss cheese and carmelized onions, on sourdough rolls fresh from the oven. An nontraditional Easter feast, perhaps, but a very yummy one.
As we were finishing up, we noticed two little pairs of eyes peeking through the fence, and so for most of the afternoon we were joined by a very adorable pair of boys from our neighborhood. A good time was had by all.
It was one of those days to savor, a bright sunshiny day of loveliness and bliss that sparkle out like jewels among the days of one's life.
Yesterday morning, September wanted to know if it was still Easter.
Yes, my child, it's still Easter. Now and forever.
4.09.2009
Have you ever noticed...
...how raw carrots smell like roses?
And make superb teethers for little ones?
And have rings like trees?
And have give a musically percussive snap when you bite into them?
And are altogether wonderful?
God makes good things.
And make superb teethers for little ones?
And have rings like trees?
And have give a musically percussive snap when you bite into them?
And are altogether wonderful?
God makes good things.
Overdone
We've been reading Now We Are Six. There's a lovely little poem about a charcoal-burner, and Nathan wanted to know what on earth a charcoal burner was, and so I looked it up on wikipedia. It was also a good chance to clear up a trivial controversy that had been floating about our house--Andrew and I had been disputing whether charcoal was partially burnt wood, or simply another word for coal.
Turns out we were both sort of right. All coal is vegetable matter that's been condensed down through heat and pressure. It's a process that can happen over many years, deep in the bowels of the earth. Or people can make it happen much faster.
Of course I don't understand the process very well, but I did my best to explain it, and Nathan seemed to find my account very satisfactory indeed.
Dawning recognition broke forth on his face. "Oh! Like when you have a special piece of meat, and you cook it very carefully... that's charcoal!"
Turns out we were both sort of right. All coal is vegetable matter that's been condensed down through heat and pressure. It's a process that can happen over many years, deep in the bowels of the earth. Or people can make it happen much faster.
Of course I don't understand the process very well, but I did my best to explain it, and Nathan seemed to find my account very satisfactory indeed.
Dawning recognition broke forth on his face. "Oh! Like when you have a special piece of meat, and you cook it very carefully... that's charcoal!"
4.01.2009
A new kind of bullying
September approached me, in tears.
"Nassan tried to flip me."
Concerned, I asked her to explain. She didn't look injured... but that sounded pretty serious. "He tried to flip you?"
"Well, yeah. He had the pancake flipper, and he tried to flip me."
Oh.
"Nassan tried to flip me."
Concerned, I asked her to explain. She didn't look injured... but that sounded pretty serious. "He tried to flip you?"
"Well, yeah. He had the pancake flipper, and he tried to flip me."
Oh.
3.31.2009
How They Did It: Abraham Lincoln
Amid the mass of contradictory ideas about education, it's hard to know which way is up. A few things, however, are clear and certain.
History is filled with glowing examples of powerfully brilliant and effective people.
And some of them have left us with some valuable insights into how they were educated. Or (more often) how they educated themselves.
As I think about what I want for my children, I want to take their words very seriously. The sheer quantity of contradiction makes me think that my own reasoning powers are very likely to lead me astray on this extremely important topic. I need some solid authority.
It's not enough simply to listen to brilliant men give their hypothetical plans for how they would go about educating other people. They contradict each other all over the place, so clearly at least some of them are very wrong. This is one area where the truth matters very much, and one of the best ways I can think of for sorting it all out is to ask the truly well-educated how they got that way.
For starters, I bring you Abraham Lincoln, in this snippet of conversation with Rev. J.P. Gulliver, published September 4, 1864 in the Independant. (found here)
History is filled with glowing examples of powerfully brilliant and effective people.
And some of them have left us with some valuable insights into how they were educated. Or (more often) how they educated themselves.
As I think about what I want for my children, I want to take their words very seriously. The sheer quantity of contradiction makes me think that my own reasoning powers are very likely to lead me astray on this extremely important topic. I need some solid authority.
It's not enough simply to listen to brilliant men give their hypothetical plans for how they would go about educating other people. They contradict each other all over the place, so clearly at least some of them are very wrong. This is one area where the truth matters very much, and one of the best ways I can think of for sorting it all out is to ask the truly well-educated how they got that way.
For starters, I bring you Abraham Lincoln, in this snippet of conversation with Rev. J.P. Gulliver, published September 4, 1864 in the Independant. (found here)
"But let me ask, did you not have a law education? How did you prepare for your profession?"
" Oh yes! I 'read law' as the phrase is; that is, I became a lawyer's clerk in Springfield, and copied tedious documents, and picked up what I could in the intervals of other work. But your question reminds me a bit of education I had which I am bound in honesty to mention. In the course of my law-reading I constantly came upon the word demonstrate. I thought, at first, that I understood its meaning, but soon became satisfied that I did not. I said to myself, 'What do I do when I demonstrate more than when I reason or prove? How does demonstration differ from any other proof?' I consulted webster's dictionary. That told of 'certain proof,' 'proof beyond the possibility of doubt;' but I could form no idea of what sort of proof that was. I thought a great many things were proved beyond a possibility of doubt, without recourse to any such extraordinary process of reasoning as I understoof 'demonstration' to be. I consulted all the dictionaries and reference books I could find, but ith no better results. You might as well have have defined blue to a blind man. At last I said, 'Lincoln, you can never make a lawyer if you do not understand what demonstrate means;' and I left my situation in springfield, went home to my father's house, and stayed their till I could give any propositions in the first six books of Euclid at sight. I then found out what 'demonstrate' means, and went back to my law studies."
I could not refrain from saying, in my admiration of such a development of character and genius combined, "Mr. Lincoln, your succeses is no longer a marvel. It is the legitimate result of adequate causes. You deserve it all and a great deal more. If you will permit me, I would like to uase this fact publicly. It will be most valuable in inciting our young men to that patient classical and mathematical culture which most minds absolutely require. No man can talk well unless he is able firswt of all to define to himself what he is talking about. Euclid, well studied, would free the world of half its calamities, by banishing half the nonsense which now deludes and curses it. I have often thought that Euclid would be one of the best books to put on the catalogue of the tract society, if they could only get people to read it. It would be a means of grace."
"I think so," he said laughing; "I vote for Euclid."
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