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.

It's all too rare, but precious, that we get to see how our homes would function if our children ruled it.   But I had this experience a few days back.   We've been discussing over the last week or more the writing of the Constitution--the debate and dissension, the decisions not to sign it, and the reality of what it took for these men to endure a grueling Philadelphia summer to pen our foundation as a country.   On one day, our son said, "History inspires me to do so many things."   (the necessary lead-in to get Mom curious and excited about the upcoming idea).   He then began to talk about how he got involved in the stock market after our discussion on the Great Depression.   (True, true.   So what's up?)   "I think I'm going to write a constitution for our family, because I don't like some things that are happening around here."    My first inclination was to stop this effort before it got started, thinking that these new family "rules" would be beyond silly.   For sure the kids would list that they could stay up as late as they wanted, allowances would be doubled, etc.   However, I went along out of curiousity, and admittedly, the 'history being inspiring' comment worked; I fell for it hook, line, and sinker, and only needed to be reeled in.   He got started and the oldest one jumped in, perhaps to be sure that no rules got past her.   At any rate, I was floored and thrilled at the same time.     Mom and Dad ratified their draft over the weekend (comments in italicized teal).   I tried to write it just as they penned it.

Bullard Family Constitution

Room Rules

1. Everyone must knock on each other’s doors, especially bathroom doors.
2. With parent permission you may move furniture.
3. Ask before you take TV remote.
4. Cut off lights when you leave.
5. Leave room like you found it.
6. Respect private time.

School Rules:

1. Do not be annoying.
2. If you finish early comment but don’t brag.
3. Come ready to learn.
   1. Head is up and eyes are open
   2. Narrations occur accurately after 1 reading
   3. Questions are based on not understanding rather than not listening
   4. Work is completed in a timely fashion
   5. Bring a good attitude
4. Respect other’s area.
5. Ask for pencils.
6. If 1 person is annoyed they may move.  If more, the annoyer may move.

Friends/Family Rules:

1. Be nice to guests.
2. Do what guests want as long as you are allowed to.
3. Make sure their needs are met.
4. Make sure restricted areas aren’t seen by guest unless permitted.
5. Work out debates without parent help.
6. Everyone takes part in cleaning.
7. Love each other according to 1 Corinthians 13.
8. Show each other much grace and mercy.

Car Rules:

1. Take turns in front and 3^rd rows.
2. 2^nd row may control air.
3. Empty trash as you get out.

Kitchen Rules:

1. If you make a mess, CLEAN IT UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
2. Feet stay on the floor.

Amendments (added by Dad):

1. Wear your shoes when the car is outside (the garage, that is).

More often for me, a walk with God has been about being obedient to the next step.  I believe it was evangelist Charles Stanley who talked about how sometimes the next step after prayer is to get up off your knees and wash the dishes.   Such was the case a few weeks back when we ventured up to Austin for the University of Texas’ “Explore UT” day.    The marketing and pre-planning for this event made it sound like the event of the year for any kid looking to pursue a college education—exposure to a flagship university, interactive workshops for attendees, and all day fun planned for every age.    They even prepared a place on the website so that you could plan and print your agenda for the day.    How much closer to college, without actually being in college, could you be?

The two younger kids had a blast.   My husband and I split up to cover more ground, and he came back with licorice sticks and marshmallows, neatly converted into DNA.   He found T-shirts for all three kids and all kinds of other neat places and surprising things to do—he’s so cool.

For the oldest one, I would grade the trip a D+.    For a kid who’s looking at a college from the angle of possibly making it home for 4 years, this “exploration” concept failed miserably.    Exhibits would close early, others that were billed as “interactive” turned into more of a “stand and watch me” event.   Hot and increasingly tired, I was determined not to voice my disappointment, but instead to allow her to have her day as she wanted it.   We both hit a low when we reached the textiles dept. (her love) and found that a number of highly marketed exhibits were science fair-like displays.   When we got to the “Be A Future Designer” (or something like that) display, we found an empty room of mannequins, fabrics and the like.   I asked another parent passing by if she knew where the exhibit was, and her reply had me thinking that I was in the wrong room, and that, in the right room, the oldest would be sewing, cutting, and so forth.   Trying to run so as not to miss one minute and vacillating over whether or not our daughter was old enough to operate a sewing machine, you can imagine the emotional roller coaster I was on when we reached the right room, only to find a group of uneasy college seniors working on their final projects.   Apparently, no one told them the details of the event, and so they were a bit disconcerted that people were walking through their area all day and watching them work.   Not wanting the whole experience to be a waste, I asked the oldest, normally our social butterfly, to ask the kids a couple of questions--a request that she flatly turned down.    Now I’m starting to lose it.   We drove all the way up here and we’re meeting kids in a field you want to study, and you have nothing to say?   So under great duress, she complied (emphasis on complied) with uncharacteristic timidity.   Yeah, it’s not much of a praise report thus far, but…

We left what we thought was the right room, and while looking through another couple of displays, we met a faculty member.   As outgoing and vibrant as our daughter, she talked to us for at least 20 minutes.   For all the people who crowded the hallways, suddenly no one was there.   We talked extensively about high school preparation, intro “weed-out” classes, textile fundamentals, even reasons not to go to UT!   Incidentally, I found out that part of the high school preparation for the fashion program is a solid command of math and science.   Why, you ask? (I did).   Because of the fabrics themselves—each responds to heat, water, chemicals, etc., differently, and understanding of chemistry and math helps with knowing what fabrics to pick for what you want an outfit to do.

So, after repeated talks about passion, self management, and all those other intangibles that determine success in college, and in life, truth be told, this was a huge catalyst in lighting a fire under the future designer.   We even returned this past weekend for the senior’s presentation—a full-scale fashion show.  This event did not disappoint, and the oldest is far more encouraged in her dreams.

This was larger for me, however, than seeing a great fashion show, or enduring a grueling 8-hours of walking a HUGE college campus with little harvest until the midnight hour.   It’s not a promo or a criticism of UT.   For me, it was about getting out of the way and trusting Him to lead us to the right places and the right faces.   I believe in my whole heart that because I didn’t grumble about what I thought was a bust, I didn’t blow a good day for everyone else, there was something larger in it for me, too—a boost of inspiration and encouragement, a sense of direction that I didn’t orchestrate, and a message of perseverance from someone other than a occasionally anxious mom.

All of this put me in the mind of a hymn that you don’t hear much in modern-day churches, but its words are timeless:

‘Oh, what peace we often forfeit,

Oh, what needless pains we bear,

All because we do not carry

Everything to God in prayer.’