We went on a picnic at the park with another family after church today, and had an absolute blast. We waded in the stream, caught crayfish, spotted a frog and a snake, watched bats huddle in the eaves of a covered bridge, and went on a nature hike, where we learned that it's NOT always a good idea to sniff unknown fruit you find growing near the ground to see if it smells gross (it does).  After extensive internet searching I discovered that this particular plant is a Mayapple, the fruit of which is edible when fully ripe, though not tasty in the opinion of some. Apparently you can even make it into jellies, marmalades and pies. The seeds are not safe to eat and the rest of the plant is quite toxic. According to a few accounts, a native american wishing to commit suicide would eat the highly poisonous roots.

  (pic not mine)

Another discovery I made while we were munching on lunch was a little fuzzy white caterpillar I couldn't resist bringing home. From my research it appears to be a Hickory Tussock Moth. I guess the only way I'll know for sure is if it looks like the proper moth when it comes out of its cocoon---that is, if it lives long enough in captivity. Apparently it prefers the leaves of trees like walnut, which were in abundance at the park, but not in my backyard. It will eat other hardwoods, but it looks like I need to find some walnut trees in short order to make it happy. In the meantime I need to keep the kids from touching it as the hairs are irritating to the skin and eyes.

  (pic not mine)

Regarding our monarch caterpillars, one thing I am finding a challenge has nothing to do with keeping a supply of milkweed on hand. No, the difficult part is finding a place where our new cat, Mitsy, can't get to them (which would be nowhere). She's quite the climber, and she's constantly knocking the 30" high mesh-enclosed habitat off tables and batting it around on the floor. The poor things are getting motion sick. I've contemplated hanging a hook in the middle of the kids' bedroom ceiling to suspend it from. Can cats pole vault?

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Time to take inventory of our total household population.

Let's see...I have one husband and three children. That's all.  No, wait...there's also two hermit crabs that are managing to survive.

Outdoors? Oh...well...we have at our bird feeders several cardinals, titmice, chickadees, song sparrows, house sparrows, house finches, mourning doves, a nuthatch or two, a few woodpeckers, one gray catbird, robins aplenty, squirrels, and a pair of goldfinches, courtesy of our five feet tall thistles. At night the raccoons come up to our porch for leavings from the bird feeders.

That's all.

Um...then again, In the last few days we have also acquired a hummingbird at our sugar water feeder. Our birdhouse has became home (after many vacant years) to a family of Carolina Wrens. We also house a family of moles under our side porch under a pile of grass clippings, a groundhog with a complex underground apartment, and a mama deer with spotted twins on our overgrown and woodsy hillside. Occasionally we're visited by a bunch of turkeys, and just yesterday we set up a nursery on our kitchen windowsill for a Monarch Butterfly caterpillar and eggs, which I found on some milkweed leaves at the park yesterday.

We also have two cats who want everything on this menu for breakfast.

Geez! Do we REALLY have all this in our tiny little home and half acre in the suburbs? Apparently so. I know this sounds like the stuff of country life, but we've managed over the years to create a hospitable environment for the creatures who now call it home. It all started so innocently when I decided four years ago to develop a hobby Grant and I could share during the other kids' naptimes, and it snowballed from there. Now even my husband (who thought birding was for those who no longer had their teeth) has bought a mini tripod so I can snap pics and video from my kitchen windowsill. It has been well used, as you can see. I catch him staring at the feeders as often as I do, and he doesn't DARE pull up those thistle weeds.

There is something about getting close to nature that can't be described in words. The idea that they let us into their world at all is amazing. When the hummingbird appeared after months of waiting, it could clearly see me staring at it. It would hover near the feeder, cast a wary eye, and quickly poke in and out of the feeding hole with its little bill. Then it would pull back out and stare some more, just to make sure I wasn't up to something. I was indeed---snapping pictures like I'd never see it again.

 

Of course, education plays a big role in what I'm doing here too, both for my children and for us parents. We are learning so much about the world God created and how it was fashioned with every detail in mind and working in harmony, each part of nature playing a role in the survival of the other parts. Who other than an amazing, detailed, intelligent creator God could have designed something so complex and sustainable. Only He could have had the wisdom to create bacteria that breaks down what once was living so it can decompose and be returned to the earth to replenish the soil, encouraging new life. Only God could create a hummingbird, with the brain the size of a grain of rice, to possess the ability to remember what flowers it visited during its 2,000 mile migratory route, returning to them each year. Only God could have designed each plant species to bear seed in order to propagate itself.

Only God...

When I take for granted the world around me I become somewhat numb to just what a wonderful, amazing, awe-inspiring world it is, and I forget to glorify my Creator. What's more, in the awesomeness of what is around me, He thought I was worth making. Do you all understand this? Each one of us has worth in the eyes of the holy, perfect, glorious Lord. And we are made in His image, we are the work of his hands (Ephesians 2:10), and it is we who God the Son, Jesus Christ, was pleased to die for so we might enjoy eternal, perfect fellowship with Him.

I am amazed...awestruck...humbled...inspired. And if I am given the gift to enjoy His creation to a ripe old age and read His Word until I know it forward and backward I will only have a glimpse of how wonderful this God of mine truly is. "For we see through a glass darkly, but then [in heaven] face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known." (I Corinthians 13:12)

In the meantime I will have to "see" and "hear" God through His amazing creation and think of that beautiful hymn by Maltbie D. Babcock:

This is my Father's world, and to my listening ears
all nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres. [heavenly bodies]
This is my Father's world, I rest me in the thought
of rocks and trees, of skies and seas, His hand the wonders wrought.

This is my Father's world, the birds their carols raise;
the morning light, the lily white, declare their Maker's praise.
This is my Father's world, He shines in all that's fair;
in the rustling grass I hear Him pass, He speaks to me everywhere.

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Nothing But the Finest for our Backyard Friends

(Summer, 2005)

Our family recently took a weekend trip to upstate New York for a family reunion. We stayed in a quaint little town complete with lake for swimmers and boaters. One day while my oldest son, Grant, and I were wading at the water’s edge, we made a fun discovery. We shared the lake with freshwater snails. They were attached to a concrete wall that sectioned off the swimming area. Being a fledging homeschool mom, always on the lookout for a science lesson, I just couldn’t leave the snails there safe and sound. They’d have much more adventure in the energetic hands of my 4 1/2 year old. Carefully I peeled two unsuspecting creatures off the wall and put them in a bottle of water to take home, along with some intact empty shells we also found, just in case they survived long enough to grow out of their portable homes.

Amazingly enough, they weathered the seven hour car ride home in better shape than my husband and I, probably because they don’t have ears to hear recurring sounds like, “I’m hungry,” ”I have to go potty,” and my all-time favorite, the tearful, “Connor’s looking at me!” If I never hear Veggie Tales sing, On The Road Again, it’ll be too soon.

The easy part, actually, was getting the critters home. The hard part was figuring out how to house and feed them. Freshwater snails can attach themselves just about anywhere, but they’re picky eaters, preferring algae and microscopic cuisine. Where was I gonna come up with that? About the only gross thing in my home (besides whatever is growing at the bottom of my fridge) are dirty diapers. I could wait for the kids’ wading pool to turn green, but I wasn’t interested in entertaining mosquitoes as well. In the meantime, I placed the snails in a plastic container with some tap water. We have city water, which is chlorinated, and I wasn’t sure if our slimy friends could tolerate that. If they died because of the sanitary conditions, I had the comforting thought that at least they’d be well-preserved.

Apparently snails are tougher than they look, and very smart too. They know how to play dead. A few days after they settled into their home I decided to gently tip the fake Tupperware back and forth. Unfortunately our two new pets floated freely. I went outside to dump them before they started to smell, but when all the water and empty shells were on the ground, I found them clinging to the sides of the bowl.

They live!

Fortunately, by this time I had someplace more suitable for them. I’ve been rooting some ivy clippings in a bucket for later planting, and the water they’re sitting in has grown some algae. PERFECT! Welcome home boys! Or were they girls? Actually they’re hermaphrodites, but I’m not going to get into a sex ed lesson on snails. Look it up.

Satisfied that I had made the snails happy, I turned to another task at hand, this time dealing with some undesirable wildlife (as opposed to the slimy, one footed creatures with retractable eyes who now call the bucket of algae their home. Clearly I’ve lost my mind).

Recently Ryan and I have tried our hands at a backyard garden. If you’ve ever seen our property, this will make you laugh. Our house sits on postage stamp-sized turf, eighty percent of which is on an unuseable 45-degree angle. In our tiny backyard we have a swing set, sandbox, grill, patio furniture, kiddie pool, and...oh yeah...a bucket of green water with snails and rooting ivy. The kids never need to touch the ground when going from one thing to another. We cut the grass with scissors. Obviously I overstate the case, but you get the idea. Not much room for a garden, but we’re doing it anyway.

We’ve worked hard to cultivate our squash, peppers, and tomatoes, so when we realized we shared the backyard with a hungry groundhog, who made a burrow for his home on our hillside, I realized we’d never see ripe produce while he was at large. I immediately called animal control and they dropped off a trap.

I learned something about the intelligence of groundhogs, as opposed to the stupidity of raccoons. For example. Did you know you can bait a trap for a groundhog with the most succulent vegetables from the most expensive grocery store, and they will turn up their noses? Yet a raccoon will see an empty trap, say to himself, “why look, what an interesting contraption. Let’s see what happens if I crawl inside.” We’ve caught six raccoons this way, which is fine with me, because I’m tired of picking up garbage strewn all over my front lawn after they’ve ripped open the misnamed Steel Sak. “Hello, Hefty? I’m suing you for false advertising….”

Fast forward to today. I called animal control to pick up yet another ignorant gray creature we trapped sometime in the middle of the night. Before the officer showed up to empty the trap, I thought now might be a good opportunity to teach Grant about respecting wildlife. I took him out back to see the raccoon. “Oh, how cute,” he said, “but I think he misses his mommy.” How sweet, I thought, that he still has a tender soul that thinks of the animal’s happiness, unlike his cold-hearted mother whose main objective in life is to catch vermin, stand them all up in a row with blindfolds, and have them shot. Okay, perhaps that’s a bit harsh, and I don’t really feel violently toward God’s creatures. I love anything with fur or feathers...can’t get enough of them, really. I put bread out for the deer, fill the bird feeder for my winged visitors (and the squirrels, unfortunately), and even take pleasure on a stray cat passing through my backyard. I felt a little sorry for the forlorn creature in my prison, who looked up at me with sad eyes. But I can compartmentalize my affection for animals when it comes to the well-being of my kids and my garden. Off with his head!

I explained to my sweet son that even though wildlife is enjoyable to look at, he must never try to touch a wild animal, because she may bite and scratch in order to defend herself, and he could get hurt very badly. While Grant observed the incarcerated raccoon from a safe distance, I decided to check on the snails. I was not prepared for what I found.

The ivy that had been growing roots in the bucket were now strewn about, and not a single snail could be seen. At first I thought they had made their escape in the night. Then I saw it—broken shells all over the ground. I looked up at the cage, and quickly put two and two together. Apparently our raccoon friend came upon the gourmet dish while foraging, and had himself a tasty meal. Then, like the idiot he is, he climbed into the cage for an after dinner nap.

Just then the animal control officer came by to empty the cage. He thrust his pole into the contraption, lassoed the animal, and lifted him out. All at once the sweet, fuzzy creature with the soft brown eyes became an enraged, demon-possessed thrashing ball of teeth and claws. He did not ruffle the twenty-year veteran officer, however, who blithely swung the pole this way and that, down to the street where he placed the animal into another cage built into the side of his truck. In moments they were on their way to wherever animal control goes to put critters to sleep. I don’t feel guilty about his death in the least. He had a terrific last meal.

While my son played in the back yard with a potato bug he found, I reset and baited the trap with a piece of zucchini for the groundhog I know will not touch it. Next I placed the ivy back into the bucket of water, mourning the loss of the homesick snails that never knew what hit them. I’m sure they missed their mommies too.

Our next family reunion to New York will not be for two more years, but already I’m looking forward to trying again with more snails. I’ll have a bucket of fuzzy water sitting out in preparation for them, however, I plan to keep it higher up so our innocent creatures have a greater chance for survival.

Escargot anyone?

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Here's another little story I found while cleaning out my hard drive. I wrote it a couple of years ago after experiencing a day not to be forgotten...have a good laugh on me.

Once upon a time there was a queen named Mommy who woke up one Saturday morning determined to do everything she set out to do while being cheerful and kind to her children and helpful to her hubby. She got out of bed with a smile and served breakfast to her children, even managing to eat herself. Feeling sorry for her overworked prince charming, she cooked a special omelet for him along with some sausage, and made him his favorite flavor of coffee. Since he had to work at home that day the queen knew prince charming wouldn't be able to help very much, but she was sure everything would be okay as long as she kept a cheerful, positive attitude. After all, what could go wrong?

Her first goal of the day was to exercise on her machine for twenty minutes. But as Queen Mommy began her workout, she noticed some squeaks and noises coming from her machine. She rummaged through the garage for the WD40 and some tools. Finally, a half an hour and four interruptions later, she stepped onto the machine to begin her workout.  But then her little princess, in the joyful stages of potty training, needed some assistance. After getting the princess situated on her little throne in front of the television, the queen was ready to continue exercising. Prince Charming even gave her some headphones so she could listen to music and block out the children’s noises. Undaunted by the headphones, however, Queen Mommy's royal children shouted louder in order to be heard, forcing her to remove her headphones every two minutes to make sure that there was nothing urgent needing her attention. Of course there never was.

After the workout it was time for a shower. But one of the queen’s princes had been waiting patiently for her to play a game with him. After tossing some clothes into the dryer which contained the only pair of clean pants she had for the day, she was ready to play. But then her little princess needed her throne emptied and her pants put back on, so that came first. The prince, who had already set up the game and had been waiting for her, grew impatient and threatened to interrupt Daddy, who was shut up in his bedroom on a work phone call. Mommy finally sat down with the prince to play Chutes and Ladders. Unfortunately the prince became discouraged that he was only getting chutes, and no ladders, and stormed off the battlefield. Mommy cleverly put on her psychology thinking cap and coerced the prince to return, saying that she herself got a chute and had to go all the way to the bottom. Feeling no guilt over her lie, she fooled the child, who eventually won the game to the queen’s relief. During their play, prince number two constantly begged to join the game, so Queen Mommy promised him a turn. During THAT game, however, the princess wet her pants and needed to be changed. Prince number two was growing bored anyway and left the game. Now was a good time for the queen to finally get her shower.

The queen undressed and turned on the shower. While waiting for it to get warm, she bent down to pull out her scale. Then she noticed a puddle on the floor beside her. As she moved her pile of wet clothes from the puddle, she realized the puddle was growing. Turning around she discovered to her alarm that the shower head was cocked at an angle and water was spewing onto the floor. Leaping to her feet, she whacked her head on the towel bar. With skull throbbing, she pulled back the shower curtain and a spray of water met her face. She reached in and adjusted the showerhead while trying not to slip on the wet floor. At the same time the princess came in to use the BIG throne this time, so the queen put her on it. Then she returned to sopping up the lake in her bathroom. Picking up the throw rug, which dripped with water, she noticed a suspicious circular stain on the underneath of it. One sniff told her that one of her cats recently used it for a litter box. So, while the little princess was still on her throne, choking the toilet with large wads of paper, Queen Mommy gathered up all the wet and soiled items and carried them to her bedroom hamper. Prince Charming, ever so kind and sweet, laughed at her disheveled appearance, for she was cold and wet, had an armload of dirty laundry, and not a stitch of clothing on. Taking pity on her, he came to the bathroom to help the princess finish up. Finally, after frequent visits from a prince or two inquiring when she would be finished, the Queen Mommy stepped out of the shower. It was then that she discovered a fresh yellow puddle on the floor. Deducing that her princess had not yet mastered her potty training, the queen cleaned this up as well. After partially dressing, for the queen’s pants were still waiting in the dryer, her princess came to her with wet pants again, requiring another change. The queen then decided to ban her from juice for the rest of the day. She barely finished redressing the child when heard the other children coming. Still half-dressed herself, the queen raced to her bedroom to hide, slamming the door behind her. Prince Charming was sitting on the bed, working on his computer. She begged him NOT to give away her position. Unfortunately the noise of the slamming door gave her away, and the children pounded on it, begging for a snack.

Prince Charming owed her one.

The queen then left the room to face the royal pains…er…children. Determined to finish dressing, she made her way down to the dryer with whining children in tow. Feeling ever so loving, she tenderly yelled at them to leave her alone. Finally the queen donned her royal pants and was ready to dole out some food. Desiring that her children only eat healthy snacks, she served up some chocolate chip cookies and sent them to the couch to watch TV, breaking her own rule about eating food outside the kitchen. The queen became hungry herself, so she popped in a video to keep them from disturbing her and went to heat up some lunch. The children, however, were not fooled by her clever trick. Immediately disinterested in their favorite Barney episode, they visited the kitchen frequently to ask for drinks, beg for a different video or complain that someone had pushed them off the couch. Fiercely defending her right to a hot meal, she practically tossed them back downstairs. Suddenly there was a noise from the living room. The queen rushed in to discover one of her cats (the one guilty of soiling the bathroom rug) climbing up her sheers. Aghast, she leaped to the window, shouting. The cat frantically scurried away, having had a few lives frightened out of him.

Returning to her now cold meal, she gobbled it down before something could interrupt her again. Sure enough, one of the princes came along to remind her it was time for his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The queen’s heart sank as she remembered using up the last of the peanut butter yesterday. Upon learning this, the prince broke down in sobs and hysteria, crying royal tears. Knowing that the other children would soon follow suit, the queen thought it best to hasten to the nearest convenience store.

After everyone had eaten their sandwiches, it was time for a trip to the park, the weather being so nice. The royal children enjoyed climbing, sliding, and swinging, and wearing themselves out good. While they played, the queen took stock of her day. Despite the mishaps and interruptions, the queen had managed to eat breakfast and lunch, exercise, shower, and dote on her husband a little (which paid off when he emptied the dishwasher for her). She even got to spend some quality time with each child and play with them at the park. All in all it was a successful day. And despite new piles of soiled laundry, cookies crumbs on the couch, a dirty bathroom floor, snagged curtains, cold meals and frazzled nerves, they DID all manage to live happily ever after.

The End

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While cleaning out my computer files I came across an article I wrote for no particular reason other than that I was feeling inspired at the time and did not yet know about blogging. I wrote it about three and a half years ago and thought I'd better post it here in case I lose it. So here goes:

I never want my children to be creatively challenged. I also don’t want them to miss out on the wonderful world God has created for their enjoyment. I believe we short-change God when we rob Him of the joy of seeing our children discover, taste, see, smell and touch all His creation.

I love the outdoors. It’s probably the reason I dislike winter. Sure, the snow is magical, but the cold keeps me inside most days, and I quickly get cabin fever. So, the first spring thaw we had, we burst forth like hungry animals emerging from hibernation, and eagerly began searching for signs of life. 

Since I plan on home-schooling my children, I’m always looking for ways they can learn while having fun. Over the winter my four-year-old son, Grant, and I discovered a tiny little bird braving the icy weather to find what little sustenance he could forage in our front yard. The internet informed me it was a black-capped chickadee. While I’ve never been interested in bird-watching, I thought it might be a good educational opportunity.

During quiet time, when Connor and Emily were taking their afternoon naps, Grant and I would spread some birdseed on our front porch, lay on the floor on our bellies and watch through the full-length glass storm door to see what would come by. It didn’t take long for the birds to discover the new diner, and we learned a lot just observing them eat. Chickadees, for example, were happy-go-lucky, energetic little birds who fearlessly watched us through the glass before picking up a seed and flying right back to their perch to eat it (they can even be trained to eat out of your hand). Other birds, like the blue jay, cardinal, and even a red-headed woodpecker, visited our fine establishment. I never saw so much color in winter in all my life! How had I not noticed them before? 

Probably the most amazing part of becoming a bird watcher was how interested in birds my son became. Before long he was able to name many of the birds who ate off our porch. He would laugh and try to imitate the funny way the mourning doves walk, poking their heads out like chickens with every step. Even my then 2 1/2 year old, Connor, was picking up the hobby, in his own simple way. Anytime we hear a bird singing while we’re in the back yard, he asks “what’s that?” I resist the impulse to say “a bird,” and instead tell him exactly what kind it is. We search through binoculars to try and spot the singer. If it’s a new bird to us, we leaf through my field guide (a Christmas gift from my hubby) to see if we can find out what it’s called. I had no idea how many birds have made our little postage stamp-sized yard our home! Our birdhouse is home to a house wren, whose mating dances entertained our family for days on end (human males aren’t the only species who show off for a girl)! Up in the attic we have a mommy and daddy house sparrow that chirp noisily all day long. The other day when our family went fishing (a hobby my husband instituted), we discovered a gorgeous shimmering tree swallow peeking out of her nest box at us. She flew away when we got close and the boys and I had the rare opportunity to sneak a look at her tiny white eggs while she watched from a nearby tree. “See how carefully and lovingly she made her nest out of grass and feathers?” I explained to my boys. “This is how she keeps them warm. Isn’t God so amazing to make such a smart little mommy bird?” I hugged them tight. “She loves her babies just like I love you!” My children are learning the wonder of creation and living in awe and thanksgiving to the Artist...and we are bonding. And later, if my husband ever catches a fish, my sons will learn what fish like to eat and how they breathe underwater through their gills.

My kids enjoy the outdoors more than TV, and I prefer it that way. They also enjoy doing things with their hands...building things, picking flowers, painting and coloring, and sculpting with Play-doh. Perhaps bird watching isn’t your thing. Maybe you or your husband like physical activity, woodworking, painting, sewing, working on cars, hunting, growing a garden, or reading. Whatever it is, involve your kids in it, even if it seems a little over their heads. They’ll learn faster than you can imagine, and develop physically and mentally ahead of their peers.  You’re also fostering creativity and a love of learning, and most of all, an appreciation for their creator and the wonderful world around them. Doing a hobby together, you might find yourself enjoying your kids even more, and they will enjoy being with you. A word of warning: enjoying hobbies together often forms friendships, so don’t get into a hobby together unless you want to be your kids’ closest companion! 

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In reading Gena Suarez's latest post on recent criminal activity among school employees, I was struck with how trusting we as parents can be when it comes to our children's care. The article listed several links to news stories about school employees (teachers, teachers aids, a bus driver, and even a cafeteria worker) who were charged with drunken driving, sale or possession of illicit drugs, child pornography and sexual assault. The parents interviewed in these articles were either shocked, angry, or shaken. These families had trusted the individuals whose children were in their care.

It can be so easy to fall into this trap of trust, and I'm no exception. Let's face it...when I'm desperate for a date night with my husband or have had an especially stressful week, I'd be inclined in those weak moments to yank a virtual stranger off the street to watch my kids. Because we as Christian parents strive to create a wholesome environment for our children, we generally want to believe that others who we put our trust in hold to those same values or eithics, simply by virtue of the position they hold. Not necessarily so.

I, for one, prefer to believe the best about people, and not even because they have done anything to deserve it. Perhaps it's my way of protecting myself from the idea that there could be so much corruption in our world. I know in my head that our society is corrupt, but I so want to believe that such a cancer hasn't found its way into my sphere of contact. But then I open the paper or watch the news and I learn that it's closer than I'd like it to be.

Probably the most unintentionally deceptive way to gain a parent's blind trust is through the mandatory background checks that are required for employment in virtually every occupation, especially those related to child care and education. A church I once attended even ran one on me as standard practice before I was allowed to serve in the nursery.

While I see nothing wrong with the idea of a background investigation and appreciate its importance, I have come to realize one thing...it is FLAWED. Why? Because it can only check an individual's recorded history. Let's face it...a pedophile who hasn't been caught in the act, and therefore has a clean record, is still a pedophile, and an unacceptable choice for a gym teacher. A woman who deals drugs but doesn't do them herself and therefore has a clean urine test is still unfit to be driving an elementary school bus. In one of the news articles listed in Gena's blog, a parent was quoted as saying she was surprised that the individual charged had an occupation at the school since the school performs background checks. Basically she was saying the individual should have been weeded out before he was hired. She put her faith in a flawed procedure.

Let's think about this another way. A person who sexually abuses children in his care had to have a first victim. There had to be a first time. The seed had to have been planted in his or her heart at some point in order to do such an atrocious act. But where would the documentation on that be, which would warn parents not to trust that individual with their children? You won't find it. It's impossible. It only comes about (if at all), AFTER the incident has happened. But for that victim it's too late. The damage has been done.

There IS valid documentation on the state of a person's heart and motives, and it comes from Jeremiah 17:9. "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked. Who can know it?" In other words, don't blindly trust! A person left to himself is inclined toward evil, not good. I don't mean to say we should assume the worst about everyone or treat every caregiver with disdain (cynicism and disrespect aren't holy), but what I do believe is that we should not assume anything.

I once had a conversation with a police officer in my district who told me he used to teach "stranger danger" whenever he visited schools, but no longer. Why? Because kids aren't very good at recognizing strangers, and are often abducted by people who are not strangers to them at all. We as adults aren't much better. We seem to think that because we are grownups we now have the ability to differentiate between the good and the bad. But that's an impossible job! For example, we might say "our son's 4th grade teacher isn't a stranger. She's my son's educator. I know her." or "my daughter's bus driver is so friendly. She smiles and waves to me every day when she picks my child up in the morning, and my daughter really likes her."

Truthfully, there are a TON of wonderful people who serve our children every day. They're not all bad. So, your job is to know which ones are safe and which ones aren't. And you only get one chance to be right.

Not so easy, is it?

I had to put my money where my mouth is recently with regard to my son's therapy. For several months he was attending Wonderkids, a social therapy group for kids with ASD (autism spectrum disorder). He spent six hours there every week. Wonderkids has helped many an autistic child learn the social and communication skills that are often lacking in kids on the autism spectrum. Thankfully, as it seems, my son doesn't struggle socially, but that's not the reason I pulled him.

Every day that I took my child to the therapy sessions we went through a little side door in the basement floor of the building. We sat in a tiny waiting room until the staff specialists (who looked more like college students than professionals) opened a locked door to let all the kids in. Parents were not allowed back. I'd hug and kiss my child goodbye and send him off with the others for three hours. When it came time to pick him up, I'd wait in that little room again until the locked door opened to let him back out. I was not allowed to observe anything (for the sake of other parents' privacy). I was never even invited to tour the facility or given information on their techniques or their daily activity schedule. I didn't like it, and I imagine it doesn't sound too good to most of you, either. I didn't know those girls who took him from me each day. We were never even introduced. I had to find out from my son what their names were! I had no information on their credentials, their education, etc, except that they were college grads. A school wouldn't even operate this way, and I was to intentionally allow this for my son? Sure, he was having fun, and was disappointed when it came to an end, but I believe I did the right thing by him. We use other therapy services now, and it's much more parent-inclusive and in the safety of my home under MY supervision. I sleep better at night.

Some final food for thought: It's certainly true that your child may NEVER come in contact with a pedophile or a drug dealer during his entire educational experience. I, for one, never came across any, either in the public or private school. I thank the Lord I don't have those experiences to haunt me for the rest of my life. But I can tell you that I picked up on my fair share of garbage from other students. That opens up a whole new topic I don't want to go into at length, but I regret being exposed to things I should have been kept from, and I must note here that the bulk of it was at the Christian high school I attended. I did not choose my friends wisely, and they were a negative influence, and it was one of the lowest points in my life as a believer.

One of my relatives was devastated to learn her elementary-age son was taught about all kinds of abberant sexual behaviors from a friend--things she wouldn't have even imagined, as well as all the crude phraseology to go along with it. She hadn't even had the chance to teach her child about sex before he received a corrupted version that will remain in his memory forever.

In life our kids are going to bump elbows with lots of folks. Some good, some bad, some downright dangerous. Consider the ways you can reduce the probability that they will be jarred by the wrong elbow.

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It has been said that it is impossible to reason with children since they do not possess the necessary logic.

I beg to differ....

Enter my five-year-old son, who is playing in the back yard. Upon realizing his bladder is in need of some relief, he does what any hot blooded male child would do and turns a corner of the yard into his personal bathroom.

Father, upon catching son in the act, admonishes human fountain that this is unacceptable behavior.

Chastised son replies with "but Dad, it's cleaner. This way I don't have to wash my hands!"

Now, how can you argue with THAT?

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I thought I'd never get through I Corinthians. I called my brother (a seminary student at Southeastern) more than once for insight into several of Paul's writings. He was such an eloquent writer, and coupled with the archaic language of the KJV, for which I had to keep an NIV as backup, I had a hard time wading through the verses. But I finally completed it, and darn it if Paul didn't decide to write those people in Corinth a second time. So once again I will be running up a phone bill talking to my bro.

Anyway, as I finished up the last chapter yesterday, which contains Paul's closing thoughts, I didn't figure on getting much meat out of my reading. As usual, I was wrong. Here's the verse that smacked me around:

    I Cor. 16:14 "Let all your things be done with charity [love]."

I thought about what motivates us as believers to do good deeds. We may say we are motivated by love, but secretly crave the affirmation and attention. This is only human. Not acceptable motivation, but human nonetheless.

I remember arguing with someone who tried to convince me that any person's motivation for doing good is ultimately selfish. I asked how he could come to that conclusion, and he asked me, "how do you feel when you've done something for someone?" Of course I told him I felt good inside, and what's wrong with that? He said that was the ultimate motivator for people, and therefore an act of selfishness. Now, mind you, this individual loved to argue a point, no matter how ludicrous, but I could understand where he was coming from.

I would like to think that my warm and fuzzy feeling is merely a by-product of a good deed done out of love for another person, but perhaps in some ways we all need to feel good inside about something, so we turn to good deeds in order to get that emotional high, so to speak. But this motivator will ultimately backfire.

A personal example: Several years ago I was training a replacement for my job. I was about to go on maternity leave (for which I had NO plans to return), and my office hired a temp in the hopes that she would become permanent if she worked out. It just so happened that she was a Christian. Things seemed to be going okay and I was optimistic. During this time she had a falling out with her landlord, a real scuzzbag. She was on her own with no place to live and desperately searching for a new apartment. Out of compassion I offered her to stay at our home, rent free, for a couple of weeks until she could find something else. She was extremely grateful and took me up on it. I also took her to church with me since she was looking for one.

Shortly after she moved in I began to notice a serious deficiency in her office ettiquete, not to mention her social skills. I took it in stride and tried to mentor her as best I could. But things went from bad to worse and it was becoming clear she would not work out. I had to honestly inform the temp agency of what was going on. I knew it would eventually get back to her, but there were some serious issues to be addressed that I could not avoid.

One Friday afternoon, to my relief, she informed me she would be moving out of our home. She actually removed her stuff quickly and left before I even arrived. I had a feeling she was already aware of her poor review. That weekend I received a nasty and insulting email. I was angry, then I was hurt, and then I cried. "After all I did for her!" I said. My husband consoled me, the office staff called me a saint, and I focused my energy on training someone else more emotionally stable.

Why was I so offended? Why did I tell everyone at work what happened? Why did I get angry? Sure, she took my kindness and stepped on it, but it was more than that. She took away my good feelings about what I was doing to help her. My motivation may have been pure at first, but I was feeding on the compliments I received at work about my patience with a difficult person and my willingness to open my home to her. My motivation shifted from one of being kind and loving toward a needy person, to feasting on the praise and the warm and fuzzy feeling I experienced.

Emotionally motivated do-goodism can turn you into a cynic. Everybody's gonna get burned while trying to help others. A cynic's response is "forget it! If people are gonna bite the hand that feeds 'em, I'll stop feedin' 'em!" But Paul says we're to be motivated by love. We submit ourselves to helping one another out of love for them as fellow believers, even if they turn on us. Then, if they need our loving help, we give it again, and again, and again, without the praise, without the affirmation, without the love in return.

It's really hard to serve this way, with such pure motivation isn't it? I haven't arrived. When Paul spoke of love as being a debt we can never pay off, I feeling like I haven't even begun on the principal yet. My collectors are knocking down my door. Do I love people? Do I love my family? Do i love my husband's family? Would I do anything for them? Would I truly love and help a believer who hated me? Would I do anything for a believer who hurt me? Would I only love those who loved me back? Would I give the shirt off my back to an enemy?

In the comfort of this vacation home I can say, "of course!" But in my heart I know I am not so good as that. But I want to be. This is the type of love that sent Christ to the cross. The kind of love that died for the people who mocked him. There was no good emotional high in this. Christ was in physical pain and emotional anguish and yet made the choice to stay hanging there, forgiveness and compassion still on his lips. If I can't love someone else this way, why on EARTH would they want fo follow my God?

Thank goodness I'm done with I Corinthians. I've had it up to HERE with conviction.

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That's right! To all you drivers who slap oval "OBX" stickers on your back windshield, as if to say "look where I've been, aren't you just soooo jealous?" I say "HA! Brag all you want you snooty travelers, I have been to the Outer Banks. Not so special NOW, are ya? C'mon honey--let's go buy us a sticker!"

We are really enjoying ourselves here in Duck, NC. We couldn't ask for more beautiful weather or a more comfortable rental house. We all (Ryan's family that is) chipped in for a nice place just a block from the beach. We've fished, swam, shopped, and hunted for crabs on the beach at night. My brother-in-law took some incriminating video of me losing my cool as I sqeamishly held a harmess little sand crab...I'll need to organize a search and destroy mission for that later.

The cousins are having a blast together. It's really neat to see them enjoying the simplicity of life. And Ryan is finally getting the break from work that he's deserved. We are so thankful the Lord has given us this opportunity to unwind and reconnect with his family.We only ask that our oldest son doesn't do anything to land him in the emergency room like he did last vacation.

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Let me just state here first off that I am an intense music lover, and have prided myself on giving just about every music style a chance, from alternative to classical (NOT opera—blech). I’ve been singing contemporary music in my church for years, and I have many albums I really enjoy. As time has gone by I have even found myself open to some of the edgier sounds, though I have my limits.

Since I don’t listen to any song (Christian or secular) without analyzing the lyrics closely to make sure they agree with the Bible, I know that many of CCM’s lyrics are indeed doctrinally sound and teach some great biblical truths. There are a few songs that do not line up with scripture, and many are just mere “fluff” and I wonder at the point of them. Ry likes to tease that I take all the fun out of listening to a song!

Clearly, emotions are God given and are as valid a part of us as our hands or eyes. And just like our hands or eyes, emotions can be used for good or evil. Emotions can motivate us to help another person in need, and yet can also drive us to react in unholy anger. Over the last several months I have had to come to terms with my own emotions and how some of my music choices affect them.

Understand me now—my heart belongs to Ryan alone. But couldn’t the power of music such as Groban’s slowly and subtly turn my heart away from my husband? I had to honestly admit that it could (you realize the risk I am taking by opening myself up here). Be assured that my marriage to Ryan is wonderful and quite strong, but many marriages are not so intact. A vulnerable woman (or man) who is constantly saturated by modern secular music could very well be emotionally driven by the words, the beat, the theme. The music becomes a tool that drives the wedge deeper, turning once united hearts apart and toward alternate relationships or at the very least into a fantasy world, which is unhealthy at best.

As far as teenagers go, emotion-packed ballads can inflict just as much damage. Teenage girls especially are driven by the desire for romance and love. Boy bands croon their sweet words, fueling that fire, even feeding young girls the lie that a sexual relationship is part of that romance. Once a girl experiences those emotions encouraged by the secular music industry it’s hard to get them out of her head. They’ll likely drive her to make mistakes she’ll regret. Maybe some of you can even identify. If you’re a man reading this, you might think it silly that a song could evoke such emotions in anyone, but before you start casting stones, consider the testosterone induced "tough-guy" music containing attitude-packed lyrics tempting men to tell off their boss, throw their weight around at home, and toss back a few with the guys, no matter what the wife says (country music comes to mind). As a matter of fact, some of those same messages are being pumped into music geared for women. As a result we have a masculinized, headstrong generation of women who feel they are even above their husband’s authority--women who have forgotten the beauty of femininity God gave them. As men can tell off their boss, says the secular music world, women can tell off their husbands and usurp control. Not good. This is the essence of secular music that toys with the emotions.

So what does this have to do with CCM? After all, many of the lyrics are teaching Christian truths and encouraging holy living, and these musicians are trying to reach the lost using modern styles (both in music and in appearance) that many of us, especially teens, can identify with. Makes perfect sense, doesn’t it? I used to think so.

In his book, Lucarini admits he felt the same way until he took a closer look at what goes on, especially at some of the edgier Christian rock concerts. Picture huge crowds of people packed in tight, staring expectantly at a darkened stage. All of a sudden, the artist makes his (or her) appearance to thunderous applause, shouting, whistling, and sometimes screaming. The musician then performs a couple hours worth of music to enchant his fans. When all is said and done, no matter how many references to God are made during the performance, the whole thing comes off as being more of idol worship and an ego boost for the artist than an evangelistic opportunity. Many of these concert-goers even have the artist’s poster on their walls, not to mention the t-shirts and autographed CD’s.

There are some pretty influential CCM artists who have also “crossed over” into the mainstream pop/rock circles. Michael W. Smith and Amy Grant come to mind. I have never been a fan of either, but I have enjoyed some of their songs. The crossover arena, in my humble opinion, is dangerous territory for both the performers and those who follow them. Complete strangers in the audience falling all over them during performances…tons of fan mail…huge sales in merchandise. It would be enough to give the holiest person a big head and feel pulled toward the “love” coming from his or her fans. Being a Christian artist doesn’t inoculate him or her against the temptation that comes with that kind of attention. Some have indeed fallen and my heart breaks over the mistakes and choices they have made, not to mention the destruction it caused.

So now what? I can’t make the choices for anyone but myself, and I am relying on the strength and leading of the Holy Spirit to make the choices that will honor Him. I am praying that He will help me to be honest with myself and be willing to part with anything that would feed my flesh at the expense of a closer walk with Him.

I covet your comments, so please don’t be shy. You can remain anonymous if you prefer. And if you have questions, post them as well and I’ll try to answer them in a future blog.

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I think I understand Jonah perfectly now.

No, I have not been called to preach to Ninevites at the risk of being boiled in hot tar or anything. But Jonah, seeking shelter from the burning sun, became attached to a certain tree. Then God sent a worm to destroy the tree, and Jonah mourned it. I am now able to identify.

You see, I’ve been sitting on an airplane for an hour and a half, however we’ve only been in the air for 30 minutes. After boarding, the pilot told us there was a malfunction in the process of being repaired. Though the risk of being driven crazy by other people’s children was very high during this long, hot, boring ordeal, surprisingly they were all largely content, especially since they had their own electronic entertainment available. No risk of being boiled in tar here! Finally, we took off. I have plenty of elbow room since the seat to my left is unoccupied, and since I have a window seat (my favorite) I can enjoy the lovely view. So far this promises to be a very comfortable and pleasant flight, albeit prolonged. To make the most of the next two hours and fifteen minutes, I whip out my laptop. I already blogged during my four hour layover in Milwaukee, and I’m tired of reading my magazine. Time for solitaire!

I go to where it can usually be found, using my hubby’s work laptop he was willing to loan me for my trip. I open the menu bar, click here, then click there…hey…where’s the “games” selection?

In front of me a baby starts to cry.

I search through all the menus, my pulse quickening as panic sets in. Finally, I request a search of the entire hard drive for the coveted game that will ensure my survival from boredom. It is non-existent. WHAT? You mean to tell me I have a two hour and fifteen minute flight on an airplane with several children (one now screaming) and I don’t have SOLITAIRE!?

Dear God, you killed my tree!!!

Wait—they’re handing out meals…and homemade cookies. A new sprout rises from the ground. Ooooh, they’re chocolate chip, and they’re warm.

Sigh…I might just make it after all. Except, I really have to pee, and the very large guy beside me is sound asleep. Perhaps an aisle seat next time….

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Well, here I am, halfway to Tampa. After the nagging thought in the back of my mind that I needed to go down to help out my insanely overburdened mom, the thought became a reality when my brother phoned on Thursday to tell me she’d had a heart attack. Thank the Lord it was minor, and little damage was done, but doctors agreed it was due to tremendous stress. And at fifty-munuhmunuh years of age, she’s got way too much on her shoulders. Besides trying to run her new business, my grandparents are temporarily living with them while my Mom-Mom recuperates from a broken shoulder and elbow. My Pop-Pop, however, has proved to be the more care-intensive of the two, as he is suffering with prostate cancer and all that goes along with it. Rather than go into detail, let me just say that Mom’s house has become a full-fledged nursing care facility, and she and her friend, Kathy, have both worn themselves out cleaning up after them and attending to their every need. My dear husband was the first to speak up and insist that I needed to fly out there, as he could easily take some time off work and take care of the kids. Upon my return I fully expect him to be curled up into a ball in a corner of the room mumbling something like “save me, save me.”

Joking aside, he’s actually quite capable and trustworthy, though from experience I know that being alone with the kids for several days can wear a person out. I’m always glad when he returns from his business trips. It’s a funny thing, I always seem to look forward to time spent alone without children hanging on to me and begging for something, and yet my eyes misted over the minute our minivan left me behind at the airport. I miss them already.

There was no lack of opportunity to sharpen my parenting skills while waiting to board the plane, however. I was entertained by an energetic toddler, whose single mom was en route to Colorado. He was pleasant and kind and shared his magic markers with me as we chatted and played. His mother assured me that he has a dark side, and I’ve learned to believe moms when they tell me this, even though it may not be apparent at the moment. True enough, his horns came out when it was time to buckle him into his seat, ever so fortunately in front of mine.

Oh! The kicking and screaming and hitting. I didn’t know a two year old could have such nerve to beat up on his mother the way this one did. I felt for her. The flight was only an hour, and I did my best to help keep him entertained for his mom’s sake. At one point I allowed him to sit beside me at his request, but within moments of helping him buckle in he decided the grass was not so green on my side and climbed right back to his mother. We tried it again later at his emphatic request, but he changed his mind before he even parked his bum in the seat. The flight was only an hour, but to mom (and some of the passengers to be sure), it must have felt like ten. The only word I can think of to describe how she must have felt was shame.

Shame…

It seems to me I remember that feeling only yesterday at the boys’ gym class. My oldest was less than enthusiastic about participating. In fact, he seemed almost deliberate in having a lousy time. He hardly paid any attention to the instructor who was leading the kids through a really fun obstacle course. Truth be told, it wasn’t all his fault. I set the tone before we even arrived. During the car ride there something irritated him and he got huffy about it. My words of rebuke were harsh, critical, and communicated disapproval rather than love. It would have been better for me had I remained silent until I could cool off and choose my words more wisely, but I excel at knee-jerk responses. My “attitude adjustment” lecture did anything but encourage a better attitude. Instead, I realize, it only fostered and intensified the crummy one he already had. It’s like I could hear him saying, “Mom’s yelling at me again. Now I’m really mad. So I’ll be miserable on purpose just to make her mad.” Well, it worked.

Twice during the class I had to pull him out in the hallway for a scolding, and the second time I actually had to take him out and give him a thump on the behind. Oh yeah, that cheered him right up. By the time the class was over, I felt that same sense of shame. I can only imagine what other parents there were thinking—the same things I would have thought if I had been them.

The day just went downhill from there. So what’s the “shoulda?” Well, I should have calmly but bravely taken him by the hand and sat him down beside me for the remainder of the class to watch his brother and the other kids having fun. I unfortunately was not brave enough to do that, like perhaps the others there would think I was being too harsh. I guess I also hoped that somehow things would get better, but they didn’t. The ride home, needless to say, was pretty ugly. Great—the day before I leave for a week, and this the memory I leave with my child. Shame on me….

So why on earth do I have the guts to expose myself for the crummy parent I can sometimes be? Perhaps it’s my way of keeping myself accountable to others through my openness and honesty. I also often reread my blogs, so this one will serve as my constant reminder to be gentle, even when I must be firm, and to be silent when I cannot trust myself to be gentle. Above all, I need my kids to know that no matter what they do or how they behave, I will always love them unconditionally. I don’t think my son felt that way as I put him to bed. There was a bit of a wall. This morning all was pretty much forgotten, but bit by bit I can see attitude issues creeping into his mind that stem from many scenes like this one making an impression. Sometimes he is sullen and withdrawn. His medication doesn’t help, as it can make him feel a little depressed, but I know it’s not the meds alone.

I earnestly pray that my time away will serve as a reminder to me just how precious is each gift that I check in on each night before I turn in, and to behave toward my children the way I feel inside. When I browse through my baby albums and then see my children as they are now, I know my time with them is shorter than I realize. I only hope and pray that God will give me the strength to control my emotions so that eventually my proneness to anger will simply die. In the latest issue of The Old Schoolhouse Magazine Publisher Gena Suarez put it best when she said “I am not disputing that God gave us emotions. I am disputing the idea that we are to be ruled by our emotions…emotions themselves can be tailored and shaped and changed. We can control how we feel. The things that we exercise and feed will grow…stop feeding it and it will starve to death.”

Here’s to self-control and a lack of shame in parenting!

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