There is always a boys vs. girls competition for funds raised during the week.   All the money goes towards missions.   Last year, the girls lost, so the female leaders had to kiss a pig.   This year, the boys lost, and so all the male leaders, including my superhero, got slimed.    Please pray for him that he’ll return to help on next year (LOL).

One of the positives, at least on the surface, was the record(?) 88 volunteers that we got this year.   On the surface, 88 volunteers for 200 kids sounds awesome, right?   Our Children’s Pastor quickly came to the conclusion that a significant volunteer population was teenagers who came as “floaters.”   A floater would normally be a person unassigned to a specific task, making him or her available to float about where needed.    In the case of the teenagers, floater meant an unsupervised teen coming to hang out with friends in and around the VBS and the church parking lot.

In the last few months, we’ve very slowly allowed our teenager to spend a brief amount of time after church service with the kids in her Sunday School class.    Generally, she’s with them about as long as it takes us to round everyone up and complete any outstanding ministry tasks, catch up with a few friends, etc.   After one Sunday, she came to the car and decided that they might not be her crowd.   The conversation on that given week was all the gritty details about one of those teen/young adult reality shows that has been discontinued, which then somehow led to a discussion about where each of them might go to college.   Before our teen could answer, someone else said to her, tongue-in-cheek, “You’ll probably go to Harvard or somewhere, huh?”   Oh, well.   At least they give her credit for being smart.    At any rate, watching them as an outsider, at that time and again this week, confirmed for her that she really is better off somewhere else.

Teenage development can be challenging; finding your own skin, and then trying to grow comfortable in it, is not the easiest of tasks.   I have moments in my 40’s when I wonder if I’ve truly conquered that battle.   When my cousins, also homeschoolers, came to visit on last week, we talked some about how kids who don’t fit into the norm develop coping mechanisms.   His son’s mechanism is to keep quiet like a wise old owl; that way, his thoughts are not subject to ridicule.   Our daughter’s mechanism is to spend time with people older than she.   Of course, they don’t expect her to be mature and capable, and so at times treat her as if she’s a typical teen, much like the kids she stays away from.

 Many parents make the decision to put their children back into traditional school environments at this age because of what they might miss.   I won’t presume to judge anybody else’s decisions, but I am increasingly convinced that one of the many blessings of homeschooling is affording children the ability to complete this “skin thing” without the pressure to fit into someone else’s prescribed version of what they should be.   So, with that in mind, our daughter has had a unique opportunity—to observe her peer group without striving to fit into that same peer group.   And we’ve had a wonderful opportunity to talk about what it takes to let go of people and move on.   Letting go and letting God, I believe is the term popularized in music.   As much as our minds can grasp that we’re better off without some people, the heart longs for belonging, for inclusion, for welcoming.   That becomes the place of trust in God, that He’ll bring the right people to us, friends that uplift and don’t tear down, friends that can handle your anointing and favor without jealousy or insecurity.  

I minister to her as I minister to me.   When people would leave my life, I would begin to second-guess myself: what did I do?  What did I say?   Why don’t they like me anymore?   This was the worst thing I could do; it led to all kinds of self-destructive thoughts and patterns.  It took many painful years to learn that people’s appearance, and disappearance, in my life had as much to do with them, and with God, as it had to do with me.   Now, I don’t spend much time chasing people down when they leave; I pray and I trust God to reveal it in His time.   Being an introvert, I don’t seek attention or crave for a boatload of friends.   The few I have are as close as family to me.   Our teenager, on the other hand, is much more social, or at least (typical of an oldest child), she can lean either way between the introvert who’s close to a few and satisfied, or the extrovert who frets over who spoke to her, who talked to someone else, who’s in who’s friendship circle, etc.   I don’t think her struggle is in any way unique.   I’m just thankful that she has space and time to work it out without negative influences—just me, just her dad, and most importantly, just God.

In six days, she and the rest of the missions team take the VBS on the road.   I’m praying on a number of things—safety, salvation, deliverance, healing, resources, and many more.   But I want most for God to invade our teen’s life, to take over, to reign supreme.   Believe with me, please.

Anyway, Plan A got diverted.   After a week of free hotel breakfasts (I don’t think I want to see a bagel again for a number of months), I made our old standby: cornmeal pancakes.   Then I started a bit of light cleaning before settling down to the computer.  Light cleaning became washing, drying, and folding all the clothes.   In putting the 4-year-old’s clothes away, I began to clean out drawers (she got a boatload of new things from the outlet we did damage to while on vacation); out with the old, aka too small/worn out, in with the new, right?   Her room looks like a tornado touched down on it, so she and I began to clean.    From there, we did a mini-tour of the house to pick up the rest of her toys.   That conversation went something like this:

Mom:               “This [doll/toy] looks lonely.   Let’s put him/it with his other friends.”

 4-year-old:      “He doesn’t have friends.”   Translation: why can’t he stay where he is?

Mom:               “Then take him to your room.   He might like to meet your other friends.”

4-year-old:       “He won’t like them on any day.”

Kids are hilarious.   I remember a time when we paid the older two an allowance based upon competed chores.   At some point they decided that they had enough money and no longer needed to do chores.   Lesson learned.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, plan B worked well, too.  After all of the diversions (I didn’t mention curling my hair after a trip by the mirror and a check-in with my college kids), I wanted to be sure to check in with my blogging friends.   You guys have been so nice and helpful with your posts.  Bobbie’s thoughts about the dance being God’s larger plan for reconciliation?  Priceless, and I wanted to tell her so.   BChsMamaof3 had a fantastic recipe for a “blue sky” parfait.   Tirzah's partying hard, and Sahmto4ormore and ThreeLittleLadies had great vacations, too.   Happy Anniversary to Sandbetweenmytoes!

Last week, I found myself managing my college requirements until 1 and 2 in the morning, which added to the stress of morning hustles to be places on time.   This promises to be a lighter week for me.   With that in mind, it would be a perfect week to update both our website and the blog, making them more informative and user-friendly.   I’ve neglected my writing for far too long now, and it’d be great to make headway on a project that’s been on deck for months.   Interestingly enough, the kids and I were reading Man of the Family by Ralph Moody.   In today’s story, the oldest daughter, saying that God had spoken to her, told the mother to give up a job that made her family a secure income (but wore her out) and trust God for an income that hadn’t completely manifested itself in the natural yet (Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen).   The mother trusted God and was obedient to the call.   Having now fought my 3^rd battle on a job that’s wearing me out, I can’t help but wonder…

We are vacationing/dancing/learning/stretching/growing at the National Dance Championships this week.   It’s been exciting, eye-opening, and in that way, very educational, all at the same time.   The competition has been a backdrop, really, for far greater spiritual growth and development.   With everyone either sleeping or venturing out, I thought I’d start my own process of reflection.

Over eleven years ago, my niece, the only child of that particular sister, graduated from high school.    I had committed to attending the graduation, but then, my father became sick, eventually relocating to Heaven.   The expenses of traveling (he lived 800 miles away), paying his bills and ours, not to mention burying a man with little insurance (we paid for the premiums on his policy, bought when he was 70 years old), quickly took their toll on our household over the next four months.   As we fought to stay afloat, I realized that I wouldn’t be able to attend.    My sister, focused on the perfect celebration for her daughter, didn’t see it that way and hung up in my face when I tried to explain my position over the phone.   We hadn’t spoken since--her wish, not mine.    Over the years I’ve had an opportunity to understand forgiveness in a whole new way, and to understand the process of forgiveness: we hate, we hurt, and then we heal.   Some will disagree with me, but I think understanding and communicating honestly with God about where we are in that process is far more important than rushing to heal.   Is the God who is big enough to create this entire universe not wise enough to know when you’re angry?   When you’re hurting?   When you don’t want to put on the Christian “I’m always so perfectly happy” mask?

I’ve also had a chance to define, and then redefine, what forgiveness looks like, at least for me.   Initially, forgiveness was a matter of words: “I’m not mad about it,” and “I’ve moved on” were from my mouth, not from my heart.    I felt that I’d been wronged by a cruel and heartless dial tone while trying to share my heart, and I wanted an apology.  Every time I spoke of the incident, I became angry all over again.    Eventually those emotions passed, and I was, and am, able to talk about what happened without the same emotions, but things were always tense whenever the family gathered together.   Through Bible study, I realized that I needed to write a letter, at minimum expressing my love, and even apologizing (though I felt I’d done nothing wrong).    Admittedly, I failed the test of the apology, but a few years ago I did at least write a love letter—one that was never returned or acknowledged.    Another lesson in forgiveness.   I released this situation more and more over to the Lord, content in thinking that my sister might actually die without speaking to me again.    It’s okay, I told the Lord.    Whatever happens, I simply ask that you bless her and give her a more intimate knowledge of You.

Well, I’ll fastforward a bit.   My sister, along with two other sisters, came this week to support our son.    Up close and personal, with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.   The Lord gave me a face-to-face opportunity to exercise my prayers.   So, beginning with a kiss on the forehead, I spoke, I laughed, I enjoyed time with my sister for the first time in over eleven years.    I’m sure she has her own feelings about what has transpired, why and when, but until she gets a blog, you’ll have to read my side of the story (smile). 

Though I felt, and still feel, that I was wronged, I did come to a realization about her perspective all those many years ago.    We all want perfect celebrations for our children.    Such was my thinking as we drove here to compete.    Though I didn’t share my son’s enthusiasm that they’d win the whole thing (or maybe I did?), I certainly wasn’t prepared for what did happen: they came in dead last.    Losing is one thing; being last is another.   It wasn’t that they performed poorly; they even received an excellence award in ballet.   The other teams, at least from the judge’s perspective, were really good, and I imagine (though I’ve not seen the scores yet) that who won vs. everyone else was a matter of single points, or even some fraction of a point.   Yet, how do you speak to a child’s crushed heart?    Amidst the parents who were angry, upset, and outright belligerent, what are the words that lift up Jesus?    Moreover, how do I address my son’s larger concern that he had disappointed us and wasted all the money we spent to get here (did I say something to give him that impression)?    I spoke the “work hard we’ll get ‘um next year” speech, but another sister put together more memorable words.   It’s okay to be disappointed at not doing well; it shows that you care.   Nothing is wrong with crying about missed opportunities, lost chances, even failures.   It means you want to do better, to be better.    After a good cry, our son enjoyed a final lunch with his aunts before they hit the road, and I hugged and kissed all three of them with no reservations and no anxiety.   He bounced back, took a workshop or two, already getting ahead for next year.   His leadership even got his older sister motivated to participate in a workshop.   Mother Hen here is still watching carefully to make sure he’s okay, and trying to sort out her own feelings in the process.

So, we leave for home tomorrow with smaller trophies than we wanted.   But we also take home new growth, new resolve, and step into a new season.   We might have lost by man’s standards, but we won by God’s.   We had the perfect celebration.   Praise Him for this and every day.

Such empathy and wisdom I received on that last post regarding our "extra money," and I'm truly thankful.   Praise God that we were able to get done what was needed, and to do some of the things we wanted to do as well, like sock some away in a rainy day fund.

We are touring tropical south Texas this week and enjoying beautiful South Padre Island.   Our plans to tour the Santa Ana Wildlife Refuge were squelched after finding out that their trails are closed in summer.   I guess the animals have more sense than people do and take on more indoor activities during 100-degree days.

I saw in one of my daughter’s magazines the story of a homeschooler who lived on a boat with her family for two years.   Though we don’t quite “roll” like that, as the kids say, we have a unique opportunity in our homeschooling journey.   My husband travels extensively for work, and during the summer we like to hit the open road with him.   I sometimes imagine that if we weren’t as involved in some activities at home, we’d probably pack up the car and school on the road.   Then I think, who am I kidding?    Loving a routine and a certain amount of structure as much as I do, I’m sure I’d find a reason to stay home just for the sake of not having my flow disrupted.    I sometimes envy homeschoolers who can simply flow with the tide.    My formal education has taught me to think very linearly, so I struggle with teaching styles where gaps are a part of the methodology.   Recently, on a Yahoo! list, one of the homeschooling parents shared a similar experience, and talked about finding her alter ego in Grace Llewellyn’s Teen Liberation Handbook: How to Quit School and Get a Real Education (I hope I got the title close to right).    That might be yet another read to stick a bookmark in this summer.

Since our homeschooling journey began, we’ve also had the luxury of being around a substantive community of homeschoolers, even minority homeschoolers.   I point out the minority homeschooling community because often I hear other non-whites share that it can be difficult for their kids to find other kids who look like them.   The consequential impact is that they are the only ones in their normal peer groups (neighborhood, church, etc.) who’s homeschooled, and they’re the only person of color in their homeschooling community.   It’s challenging to sell them on the joys of homeschooling when they perceive they’re being isolated (whether or not their perception is realistic).   So as I was saying, we have always had access to a very diverse community.   Our church, to have 3000+ members, had a homeschooling group, and we briefly attended another start-up church that also had a substantial community of homeschoolers.    They actually held a “Homeschool Sunday” service complete with a raffle, and we won a desktop computer!

I don’t take lightly the environment God has placed in our path to help make our journey successful.    I see the plight of people who join virtual groups and/or send e-mails simply looking for support and encouragement.   Sadly enough, I also see the alternative to the blessing we have.   Our kids are typical suburban kids, naïve in many things and intentionally sheltered from others.   Many of the children they attend church with, however, reap the benefits of inner city education; most are behind grade level in their reading skills, consequently putting them behind in everything else.   They mumble, if they speak at all, and apathy is the order of the day.   In the last year that we’ve worked with our 13-14 year old Sunday School class, we’ve used science experiments to bring Biblical concepts to life for the children.   It’s been a wonder to see their eyes, at least temporarily, light up, and I want so badly to believe that seeds are being planted.   Fertile ground, Lord, and not rocks, and not sand.

I am thankful that we’ve had a relatively easy road to travel.   Though we’ve had our share of left-handed remarks and sideways glances (we both come from families of public school teachers, and my husband works in psychiatric medicines, where Andrea Yates is the predominant image for homeschooled families), the Lord has truly blessed us.    But as I take stock of the opportunities our kids sometimes take for granted—the travel, the welcomed smiles, and even parents who nurture our children's gifts and talents enough to keep educating ourselves—I think there is a larger purpose in our journey.    What we’ve learned will touch many, for a number of seasons to come.    I pray that you’ll keep investing in your children and in yourself, wherever your path of learning takes you.   You never know in what zone of darkness your light will shine, and shine, and then shine some more.     

We were studying this week about John Adams as the 2^nd American president and his signing of the Alien and Sedition Acts.   These acts were in direct contradiction to the 1^st Amendment to the Constitution, and a lesson in the sometimes harsh realities of living by your own words.   We’ve also had some real-life opportunities to apply this lesson as the kids struggle to operate under the very constitution that they created (see here).   Here were some of our realities:

• Cleaning the car before hopping out is easier said than done when it’s almost 100 degrees outside.
• ‘Annoying’ can be defined in any number of ways by any number of different people.
• Loving someone according to 1 Corinthians 13 is downright hard to do all the time (the ‘keeping no record of wrongs’, and ‘not being rude or boastful’ parts are murder).

I haven’t felt so lovable, either, lately.   This summer probably looks more like year-round school than previous ones have.   In addition to our normal “summer maintenance schedule” (math and reading), I wanted to continue history because we fell far behind after not completing our world history studies until this past October (four months into the ’07-’08 school year).    Likewise, I had planned to play catch-up, in a sense, with the youngest after missing a number of days dependent upon what diversions came our way during this past school year.    The kids have felt me breathing down their necks any time I thought the TV was on for too long, and I’m sure they’re having nightmares about the words, “What is your plan for today?”   So, on any given day, our alleged summer break looks a lot like a regular school day.   Throw in the fact that our son is still dancing almost every week until the National Competition late this month, and I’ve yet to truly settle into summer (although the beach was, at least temporarily, very relaxing).

I think what really has me in a funk today is yet another depressing reality.   I wonder if my husband and I are the only ones who find ourselves having to spend money almost as soon as an extra penny comes in.    This month has promised to be a ‘time of rain’ for us, so to speak, and we’ve been so excited about being able to get ahead, to put aside, and to tear up at least 1 of our final 2 debts.   Then, in a matter of weeks, our transmission needed replacement.   That sucked up George Bush’s incentive money plus another $1000.   Funny thing, we were in that category of people who said that we’d save and invest the money, and we wound up spending it anyway.   Then, my husband’s bonus, long awaited, has finally arrived.  Last week at the beach, the oldest bent down over the bay to help her sister wash her hands.   Her eyeglasses left with the tide.   There went $285 on the exam and new glasses, this time including a back-up pair.    During our travels to and from the recital site, I’d noticed that the car (the same one with the shiny new transmission) wasn’t riding the same.   At first I thought that the transmission might be malfunctioning once again, and I was grateful for the warranty on it.   Well, today we found out it wasn’t the transmission.   The back end needed new shocks.   Another $260.   As if all of that weren’t enough, the pity party was in full gear when I couldn’t find my brand new birthday camera anywhere, complete with non-downloaded beach pics.   I’m usually the one to encourage myself and my husband with the Word, but today, I just felt like kicking the proverbial dog.   Fortunately for him, we keep him in the backyard, so I kicked myself instead, at least psychologically.   I’m adding this all up in my head and getting more and more frustrated with life.   I searched the house and cars for hours, to no avail.    Finally, my favorite superhero, or my husband as he’s known more commonly around here, left the house with his handy-dandy flashlight, and within 30 minutes came back in, cape flying, big smile, and my camera.  It had fallen into some cranny in his car where hands don’t fit and eyes don’t normally go.   What do you know?   There is a happy ending after all.