LONELY

2: without companions; solitary

The last seven days have been busy: filled with the work of homeschooling, scheduling volunteers for May and June, driving my dancer daughter back and forth to rehearsals, ordering curriculum to finalize plans for next year's tutorial and scheduling everything that needs to be done in Nashville before being out of town for a month.  As I've moved through these busy days, I've tried to be aware of what I am feeling and one thing I'm noticing is how lonely I find work to be.

On Thursday, I came home from driving K to golf, A to ballet and making a quick stop at the library in preparation for World Book Night to find that B had cleaned the house in my absence.  The books that cluttered the dining room table were gone, the kitchen counters were clear, even the dishes had been magically moved from the sink to the dishwasher (isn't it always magic when that happens without your own two hands doing it?).  I nearly wept with relief at the thought that perhaps not every step of my work must be done alone.

I tried to explain to B how meaningful this was for me.  I told her how lonely my work makes me feel, that I feel the burden of people's expectations and the desire to not disappoint them.  To illustrate, I referenced the most recent Project Runway episode we had watched together.  I reminded her of how one contestant wanted to be totally in charge of her team - she wanted to own the vision, but not do all of the work.  Her own dress was 100% her creation, but her teammate's was 50-50.  Unlike this person, I don't desire to take all of the credit - if all of these jobs in process are carried through to completion, I am happy to blend into the background.  But if something goes wrong?  That's all on me.  I bear the burden for every detail that goes undone.

This is a lonely feeling.

And as I sit with my loneliness, I am realizing how lonely I am in various aspects of my life.  I spent the last hour or so typing words and erasing them.  I'm inclined to tell you about my various responsibilities and how they make me feel lonely, but I think more important to share - and see clearly for myself - is the reality that responsibilities and carrying them out make me feel lonely.  In short, I find work lonely.

I suspect this is because I feel inadequate to the tasks before me.  Since inadequacy = shame on my feelings chart, I'm sure there's an important kernel of truth for me here.  Sadly, I can't find a few simple words to convey this truth since I'm not even fully sure what it is.

What I do want to ponder further is how to do without feeling lonely.  If work makes me feel isolated from those around me, how can I use my work to connect with God?  A book I am reading talks about how when the author tries Brother Lawrence's way of finding God in the small, mundane tasks, she is able to do so, but finds she is slower and less productive.  Am I forfeiting intimacy with God because of a (self-imposed) pressure to manage all the details myself?  Or a (again, self-imposed) pressure to do everything on-time, as close to perfect as possible?  Am I still a perfectionist, not a recovering one, as I like to believe?

Or am I just in over my head?  Have I taken on too much?  Frankly, this seems like the easy way out for an Ennegram 9 like me.  I am only too willing to admit I can't do it all.  Even as I type the words, "Am I just in over my head?" my heart constricts - I do not think the solution is to start dropping responsibilities.  This might ease my loneliness short term, but I don't think it is where God is leading me right now. Instead, he is encouraging me to leave the safety of the known pasture for the intimidating freedom of the open road.

I don't know what awaits me.  I could fail miserably in any of these ventures and find myself lonely in failure instead of lonely in competency.

What I do know is that I don't want to remain the same person I have always been.  I want to find a way to work within my gifts and stay engaged.  I want a path to being present even when my mind is task oriented.  This feels like hard heart work for me.  But maybe the hardest, best work is always lonely.

YOKE

1 a : a wooden bar or frame by which two draft animals (as oxen) are joined at the heads or necks for working together

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” -Matthew 11:28-30, New International Version

Thanks to chapter 11 of Matthew, I've been pondering what it means to be yoked for the last five days or so. When I read through the passage, I was using the lectio divina method of reading scripture, so I read it through several times and then tried to picture myself talking to Jesus about it.  In my mind's eye, I saw Jesus guide me into a room both welcoming and beautiful.  Once there, I settled in on a sofa with a blanket tucked around me.  When I thought about the word "yoke" I felt clearly that what this word meant for me was "write."  This might seem contradictory since I have been doing many things - none of them writing - over the course of the last three weeks.

It's not that I haven't thought about writing - I have.  But most of my ideas lately have been of the fiction variety.  And who has time, energy (and talent) enough to tackle that?  Not me.  So I've been mentally filing away the writing ideas and instead pouring my time and energy into planning for our next school year.  While that may seem a long way away, the knowledge that I will be homeschooling all three girls again next year has propelled me to move from dreaming about an idea to actively pursuing it.  Starting in August we will have our very own neighborhood tutorial offering science, literature/debate and possibly a math enrichment option.  Since January, I have been working steadily to find tutors, work out the timing and get everything arranged.  Sunday night I took the somewhat scary step of presenting the plan to other families via e-mail.  Nearly all of them want to join us on this adventure.  I am pleased, excited and a little terrified.

I've been dreaming of doing something like this since my first year of homeschooling, but I've also been waiting for the right time.  Last fall, I accepted a job at my church overseeing the elementary Sunday school classes and volunteers.  Just recently, I agreed to expand that role to the preschool classrooms as well.  I've been treading carefully through all of this, taking it one month at a time.  But I have prayed for guidance at each step and I've honestly found the work quite easy.  A few months into the job at St. B's, it occurred to me that it might help prepare me for starting a tutorial.  Many of the skills I use for that role, including communication, volunteer management, setting clear expectations and supporting the people in the classrooms, could help me set up a homeschool tutorial.

How does all of this relate to being yoked?  I see it as being about my yoke because there have been times in my life when I've strained against my yoke, pushing ahead and pulling God along behind me.  There have also been times when God has had to encourage me to take a step instead of staying rooted to the spot.  But these jobs have felt like a natural outflowing of who I am and what I do well.  While I wouldn't say I have exactly felt like I am working alongside God (I haven't felt enough closeness to him to describe it that way), I can say that when I look back I feel like I have been gently led to where I am standing - and there has been very little need for pushing or prodding.

The hardest part of being yoked isn't being asked to work - I am finding that if I wait for God to show me the jobs that are meant for me, they are rarely hard.  He knows my strengths much better than I know them myself.  All three of the current things that occupy my time and energy - homeschooling, coordinating at St. B's and setting up the tutorial - require skills and interests that I have (in abundance).  So doing them isn't the hard part.  The hard part is believing that I've made the right decisions and having confidence that I can do these things.  So I'm trying to remember that I don't have to do all of this on my own.  That's where it's helpful to see myself as yoked - I'm only doing part of the work.  The Message version of Matthew 11:28-30 says it this way,

Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly. -Matthew 11:28-30, The Message 

When I hear the word "yoked," I may worry about being asked to do things I can't do or being pulled along to a place I'm not ready to go.  But these words paint a different picture.  Live freely and lightly?  Learn the unforced rhythms of grace?  Yes, please.  And I can see this in my life.  The work I am doing feels unforced.  That makes me desire even more to walk with Jesus and watch how he goes about his work, in the hopes that I can do mine in a way that likewise blesses other people.

PAIN

2 b: acute mental or emotional distress or suffering : grief

One night last week I was praying for a friend as I went to sleep.  As I was praying for her, my mind shifted from seeing her standing on the shore with God to seeing myself seated in the sand with Jesus beside me.  For a while, we sat companionably but then he moved into the water and invited me to join him.  Before I joined him, he was clear about one thing: moving into this water would hurt.  Not because the water was cold (though it was) but because this water was the pain of the world.  I was afraid.  Would anyone head into something containing the pain of the world without at least pausing?

But I wanted to be near Jesus, so I went.  There wasn't anything for me to do with all of this pain, just bear witness to it.  And as I stood in the midst of the pain, the water shifted.  Standing there beside Jesus, the water immediately surrounding us changed from murky brown to turquoise, aquamarine, sky blue.  Instead of sitting stagnant, it shimmered.  This beauty didn't mean the pain went away.  It was still there, but with beauty amongst it.

Since that prayer, I have tried to choose moments to stand in the pain instead of avoiding it.  Perhaps it is not surprising that I've found it is easier to stand in others' pain than my own.  My own pain, especially when accompanied by anger, makes me feel shame.  One reason I wrote about my frustration, disappointment and sense of abandonment surrounding our magnet school application process was as an attempt to stand in the pain.

I tend to deal with pain in one of two ways: I let anger fuel me and push through it belligerently or I gloss over the pain, moving as quickly as possible to a place where I can see the good instead of the bad.  These are not necessary poor ways to cope with the world: seeing things positively does make me more content and pushing through the pain gives (at least the impression of) strength.  But there is a difference between coping and growing.  I do a lot of the former.  I want to do the latter.  Choosing to stand in the pain?  That's not my typical approach.  It requires patience.  It requires that I acknowledge everything is not OK.  It encourages me to feel deeply.  And it hurts.

The only time I willingly stand in the pain is when I have no choice.  (I'll let you decide whether that really qualifies as "willing.")  There are times when what I am feeling is so big, so encompassing, there is no pushing through or glossing over.

The circumstances surrounding B's school options for next year are not nearly so big as that.  There is much I appreciate and enjoy about homeschooling.  I treasure the time with B and the flexibility our family will continue to enjoy.  But rather than go straight to the silver linings, I felt it was important for me to actually see, dwell on and process the way this particular disappointment has brought pain to my heart.  As always, it has been illuminating.  (I think pain tends to function as an internal spotlight, showing us the places we neglect, the unkempt corners of our souls.)

What I have seen this time is that I believe, despite all evidence to the contrary, that God takes some pleasure in causing me pain.  I know this particular idea of who God is comes from my earthly father.  He always seemed tickled when I did something wrong or stupid.  Why this is true, I am not sure.  I hurt for my children when they make a mistake or feel shamed.  But that wasn't my own experience.  I'm not the only one to confuse God the Father with an earthly father.  Richard Rohr writes:

After years of giving and receiving spiritual direction, it has become obvious to me and to many of my colleagues that most peoples’ operative, de facto image of God is initially a subtle combination of their Mom and their Dad, or any early authority figures... The goal, of course, is to grow toward an adult religion that includes both reason and faith and inner experience that you can trust. A mature God creates mature people. A big God creates big people.

I hope I am growing toward a mature faith, but allowing my image of God to change is no small task.  Awareness is hopefully the first step, but I imagine I may only have my toe on the first step of a processes comprising many flights of stairs.  For now the only thing I know to do is try to sit with the pain and hope that staying in it will allow beauty to enter and commingle with the pain, thereby transforming me in the process.

MAGNET

2: something that attracts

For hours, I have been trying to do something other than sit down and write this post.  I've cooked.  I've done laundry.  I've watched a TV show.  But the words keep circling in my mind and I feel the pull to put the words down, even while I don't want to.  (This, by the way, is the thing that stinks about Lent this year: when I feel that pull to write and ignore it, I feel like I'm ignoring God.) So I will write, despite my misgivings, despite my fear, despite my shame.  I will write with the caveat that if you are one of my readers who judge me for homeschooling, please just click away right now and don't read this post.  Or if you are a fellow homeschooler who judges me for thinking a return to school might factor into our future, now might also be a good time for you to depart.  Because I'm feeling enough shame without having others heap it on.

The last few weeks have been an emotional roller coaster.  On January 12, our public school system held their annual lottery for admission to a variety of magnet schools.  We only entered one child for one school this year.  A is entering 8th grade next year, which means her chances for getting into a magnet were slim.  Plus, who wants to join a school in 8th grade after everyone else has already been there for three years together?  But B is entering 7th grade and is therefore eligible to apply to a math and science school.  On lottery day, she came in 77th on the waiting list.  Then the roller coaster began.

I initially thought 77th on a waiting list sounded like it would never happen.  Then I noticed that not a single seventh grader was admitted via the lottery.  Were they all going to a waiting list, only to to pulled off later?  After checking with some friends, I heard encouraging news: each class has roughly 200 students and 100 of those spots are filled by students from a feeder school.  That made 77th sound pretty good.  But why would everyone go to a waiting list?  I thought I had uncovered the answer to that mystery when I heard from someone whose son attends the feeder school that current sixth graders are given one more opportunity to get into the magnet school if their grades on this year's standardized tests allow them in.  That meant a long wait (until late spring or early summer), but I still felt good about B's chances.  I had been mentally preparing to have her back in school next year.  Until yesterday when I ran into a friend who is now a guidance counselor at the school.  We haven't seen each other in years, so I didn't even know she was working there until I noticed her t-shirt.  I mentioned that B might be there next year and when I told her our lottery number, she broke the news to me: no students will come off the waiting list this year.  They are only accepting students from the feeder school, none from the population at large.  So if you didn't win the lottery two years ago and end up at a magnet school back then, you are out of luck.

I am so thankful that I ran into this friend.  I can't imagine how devastated and befuddled we would have been to have received this news just weeks before school starts.  And my friend couldn't have been kinder in the way she broke the news to me.  She even commiserated with me that the school system has not and will not be informing parents of this.  From their perspective, we are on a waiting list.  We should have no expectation of getting in.

Yesterday I was shell-shocked.  Today I'm more angry than shocked.  I'm angry at a school system with nearly universally weak middle schools that forces me into feeling like our only option is to try for a magnet.  I'm angry that they don't respect parents enough to explain the situation - thinking that it is perfectly acceptable for a family to wait months with no clear information.  And I'm angry with God for leading me down this path and then yanking the rug out from under my feet.

Last year, we didn't lottery for spots for any of our daughters, but this year I felt oddly compelled about putting B in the lottery for this particular school.  And when I thought our chances were good, I started reconciling myself to the idea and was able to see that in many ways I am not the ideal teacher for B.  She pushes back so hard in everything and I don't want to be the one who pushes her. I want to be her safe place, not her taskmaster.  She and I discussed this shortly after the lottery.  B wasn't excited about the idea of going back to public school, so she offered a solution that she would try not to push so hard so that I would keep homeschooling her.  A sweet offer, but not something she would be able to sustain for very long.

So now that I've reconciled myself to the idea that she should go to school, I find out she can't go back to school.  I feel like saying, yet again, to God, "What the hell?"  And when I look at the families who do win the lottery, for not just one child, but multiple children, I feel like God is looking at us and saying, "Nope.  Not you.  I don't love you enough to let your children go to a good public school.  You are not enough.  Go sit over there."  Because it seems outside the realm of possibility that God's best for my children is me as their teacher.

I actually love homeschooling them.  I love teaching them things like how to create ordered pairs from a two variable equation and graph a line.  I love showing K that her cursive is better than my own.  I love the way she wants a bonus spelling word every day: "Give me a really hard one," she says.  I love getting to spend time with my children.  Because in less than five years, A could be off in another city, pursuing a career.  (Am I the only one that finds that scary? Five years?!)  So it's not that I don't want them around.  Or that I don't enjoy the teaching.  It's just that I don't want doors closed to them because of my own failings.

Maybe that in itself is naive.  There are already doors closed to them because of who they are and who I am.  Doors start closing for most of us the minute we're born, even though we'd like to believe anyone can do anything in our country.  That simply isn't true.  We are limited by our socioeconomic status, our race, our gender, our abilities, our work ethic.  But it's one thing to see my own life options narrow as I make choices.  It's entirely another to see that happen to my children.

Alongside my anger with God for not deeming us worthy of good schools is an anger at our school system for using magnet schools as an excuse to not make every school in our system one that parents want to have their children attend.  If magnets attract, shouldn't all schools be attractive?  But they aren't.  They are gloomy, sterile and sometimes downright scary.  I know their job is a huge one - to educate such a disparate population while making sure no child is "left behind."  But perhaps instead of concentrating middle class educationally talented children at two high schools by attracting them like metal pilings to a magnet, they should work at attracting families to the system and keeping them there, in all of the schools throughout the system.

I know this is a pipe dream.  I know it won't happen in time to change anything for my children.  But the other thing magnets do?  They polarize?  That attract like to like and push differences away.  Is this really the approach we want our schools to take?

As I shared my frustration with J earlier today, he was able to be much more positive about the possible reasons for B not getting to attend a magnet school.  (Admittedly it's not difficult to be more positive than, "God doesn't love us.  That's why this happened.")  He offered a range of options from God protecting B from potential dangers to God asking J and I to confront our own biases about education and how that should play out for our daughters.  I'm not able to see this glass-half-full yet, especially when I feel like God has turned his back on me in the last six months and left me standing in the desert gasping for air.

I don't know how to end this post other than to acknowledge that even as I try to work through my anger with a God who seems to not care a whit for me or my family, one of my daughters ran downstairs to tell me that a song we know was playing on the radio.  We came to know this song after a friend read a post of mine and brought me the CD.  At that time, the CD hadn't been released yet, but she thought one song in particular would encourage me - a song called Not for a Moment about how God doesn't forsake us, not for a moment.  So while I'm reluctantly fulfilled a lenten discipline by writing about my wounded heart, God is reminding me that even in the dark, he will never leave.

LIBERATE

1 : to set at liberty : free; specifically : to free (as a country) from domination by a foreign power

Yesterday the girls and I went to see the Emancipation Proclamation. (If you live in Nashville, I highly recommend you go.)  Before we went, I looked up a bit about the document online.  I found this article on the National Archives website and read it aloud to the girls as we sat around the breakfast table.  It was good background for all of us to understand the limitations of this document that proclaimed freedom for some, but not all.  Yet the thing that stuck with me was this sentence: "Moreover, the Proclamation announced the acceptance of black men into the Union Army and Navy, enabling the liberated to become liberators."

Did you catch that?  "enabling the liberated to become liberators."  What a gift: allowing freed slaves the opportunity to fight for the freedom of others.  Because freedom, once gained, begs to be shared.  I find this a powerful concept to ponder and explore on Ash Wednesday, especially since today's second lesson included a favorite passage reminding us that we are God's ambassadors.  If I'm God's ambassador, what country do I represent?  An enslaved one, held captive by lies?  Or one that is filled with light and truth?

We all need to be liberated from something.  Whether it's an addiction, a fear, a deeply rooted sin, a predilection for numbing the pain in our lives with screen time or the belief that we don't matter, we are all either enslaved or liberated - or both.  Having one set of chains broken often leaves us passionate about the areas of our former enslavement.  Once free of shame, we want others to see and name that demon for what it is.  Formerly blind to the prison of objectification, we long to help other women see that they are more than the cells, ligaments, tendons and bones that comprise their bodies.  Freedom begs to be shared.

But when we are trapped, we can resent the freedom of others.  Addicts cleave to addicts, whether the addiction is alcohol or pessimism.  Emotionally unhealthy people surround themselves with others in similar circumstances, if only to better shroud their hurt and pain.  I am certainly guilty of surrounding myself with people like me.  Currently, that means I want to be around friends who are self-aware, who know their own strengths and weaknesses and aren't afraid to share both.  I crave time with women who walk with a limp from the ways life has broken and bruised them - but not defeated them.  I want friends who wear their scars proudly because scars do not form on the dying.

That hasn't always been the case.  For many years, I didn't see how broken I really was.  I went through life shoving all of the hard feelings and hurts deep down inside.  I wanted to be around people who didn't go too deep, who were content to watch a football game with me, but never push past the surface level.  That got lonely.  And I grew restless, tired of the same old me.  I wanted more and sought people who want more.

I'm not sure whether I could qualify as liberated yet.  There are still chains encircling me, many of which I don't even see holding me back.  But I will tell you this, I long for freedom for myself and others and I am thankful for the blinders that have been removed from my eyes.  I hope my daughters are never enslaved to the idea that they are not enough.  I want mothers to resist efforts to shame their parenting, who instead revel in not having it all together, who can laugh over their inefficiencies and flaws.

Last night a friend who is walking a long, dark and muddy road shared her story.  There was pain, anger and bleeding, but also hope: hope for a deep and lasting healing.  And I saw in my friend a liberated woman who will tell her story to liberate others.  There is nothing more beautiful than claiming the pain in our lives and using it to sow seeds of beauty and freedom.  May we all have the courage this Lent to face, walk through and embrace our pain in order to be both liberated and liberators.

ASSESSMENT

1. the action or an instance of determining the importance, size, or value of: appraisal

It's that time of year: the time when people are looking back with a small degree of distance at 2012 to assess their performance.  Over the last few weeks, my husband has done his self-assessment and has moved on to evaluating his direct reports.  Inspired by this, tonight at dinner I suggested the girls do an impromptu assessment of their own strengths and weaknesses.  Their initial reactions were more interesting - and telling - than any thoughts they offered on their performance: B was immediately defensive and then starkly rattled off weaknesses, K effusively offered her strengths and A was hesitant but honest in offering thoughts on things she should work to improve.

After initial reactions, I asked A to give me some of her strengths.  In the pregnant pause that followed, J observed that A was a lot like him in that it was easier to list her weaknesses than strengths.  I agreed and offered that I thought 4 of the 5 of us at the table found our weaknesses more readily apparent than our strengths.  The exception?  K, of course.  I'm not sure whether it's her age or her personality that enables her to proudly state that she is good at reading, science, math and organizing (the last a blatant lie), but she clearly doesn't have self-esteem problems.

Our dinner conversation left me pondering the idea of evaluating my own performance.  And then I read a blog post by a friend of mine that made me wonder whether I would even be able to provide a semi-accurate self-assessment.  I say that because I read my friend's post and nearly glowed with pride in her hard parenting work and thankfulness for her success and gratitude that her children are blessed to have her as a mom.  I know my friend T isn't perfect, but from where I stand, she is a great mom.  But what if she were to do a self-assessment?  I'm betting she wouldn't give herself an A+.  Nor would I give myself stellar marks.

Tonight as I put B to bed, we talked about the start of her day.  After I showered this morning, I went upstairs to check on she and K.  I was surprised to find B still asleep since she normally sets her alarm on tutorial days and is one of the first ones out of bed and into the shower.  But today she was sound asleep until I walked into the room and whispered her name.  Upon hearing me, she bolted upright and said, "What time is it?  Why didn't my alarm go off?"  She still had plenty of time to get ready, but it broke my heart when tears sprang to her eyes as she realized her clock hadn't done its part to get her day started right. 

At bedtime, I told B how sad it made me for her to cry over a missed alarm and asked what she had been thinking.  Her response?  That she was thinking about how stupid she was.  She tried to continue, but I cut in.  "That voice in your head is a liar," I said vehemently.  She looked surprised at my tone and insistence, but I continued, "There's another voice that tells you true and good things.  There's a voice you can trust and one you can't.  The sooner you learn to know which one is which, the better.   You can save yourself years of pain if you learn that now."  I didn't go on to tell B this, but I call that untrustworthy voice in my head my inner critic.  No matter what I do, the critic is not satisfied.

But there's another voice I hear as well, one that is so much like my own, but more quietly confident.  I think of that voice as the Holy Spirit, but I suppose you could call it lots of things - a conscience, a higher consciousness, God.  The point is that I know I can trust that voice.  It's the same voice that's been encouraging me to see myself through the eyes of others in an effort to see myself more clearly.

I don't know whether it's possible or profitable to try to assess the work I do daily.  There's no matrix for laundry, homeschooling, cooking and chauffeuring, all of which fall within my jurisdiction.  And I'm inclined to think I would be harsh on myself if I sat down with a rubric to assess what I think I should do versus what I actually do.  Yet the truth of the matter is that I am trying.  I cook when I don't feel like it.  I drive hours weekly to enable my daughters to pursue the things they love.  I mark history and science papers when I'd rather be reading my own book.  I fail them daily, but I am trying.  I am working to (nearly) the best of my ability.  Surely I can admit there is room for improvement?

I want my daughters to see themselves with eyes that see clearly - eyes that are spared the filters of familial expectations, society's pressures or shame heaped on by others.  And if I truly want that for them, I need to model it for them.  I need to graciously accept their enthusiasm for a meal that I feel is second rate.  I need to admit I am actually good at some things because they already see that with their own eyes.  In fact, I'm sure it would do me some good to try to see myself through their eyes.  Their assessment of me might be far kinder than my own would be.

The final thing for you and I to keep in mind with any assessment is that we aren't really the ones who determine our own importance or value.  God has already done that.  And he thinks we're all priceless.

SMALL

:the size of the steps I am taking of late

I feel like I am finally on my way out of the desert, but instead of striding confidently to an oasis, I am trying to take very small steps, so as to not lose my way.  One small step has been taking time after breakfast with my daughters to have a tiny bite of Jesus Calling sandwiched between silence and candles.  For many (better) parents, this may seem like a very small step indeed.  But my daughters are as different spiritually as they are in every other aspect.  Want-to-get-it-right A likes devotionals that give her the answers to how to live her life the "right" way.  Want-to-never-be-told-what-to-do B hates devotionals that point her in one direction.  Can't-hold-a-train-of-thought-to-save-her-life K just needs something short.  I am most like B in this regard, so I decided that if I've been able to read the adult version of Jesus Calling for over a year and enjoy it, perhaps this would be a book to try.  It's short, meeting K's requirement.  It's direct, meeting A's.  But it's not directional, much to the delight of B and I.  So far, we are all enjoying it.  

There have been tweaks along the way.  I found out the first morning that you can't let your children eat cereal for breakfast and read them a devotional while they eat.  They can't hear you over the crunch.  A's cereal sat there getting soggy because she wanted to do the right thing and didn't tell me to wait until she'd eaten.  So we try to finish breakfast and then each light a candle.  Silence before or after the devotional was another question I had.  Each girl wanted something different, so we do silence on both ends.  (The not eating breakfast during silence helps everyone concentrate and enjoy the silence that much more.)  I'm not changing the world or my life by adding this little segment to our day, but I have desired something like this for years and this it the first small step I've taken that hasn't led me straight off a cliff with children protesting as we slide down the hill.

Small step number two is adding running back into my thrice weekly morning walks.  The stress fracture that wouldn't heal has finally healed.  (I remain certain that stubborn fracture has a great big spiritual lesson wrapped up in it, but I am equally doubtful as to what I was supposed to learn.)  I've been gradually phasing out of wearing my brace and gradually walking more consistently and for longer distances.  So yesterday I threw caution to the wind - along with a quick pray flung up to heaven - and ran for a few minutes.  My ankle didn't give out and seems fine today, but I am loathe to re-injure myself, so I am taking it slow.  Tomorrow's walk may remain a walk, with additional running left until Monday.

Small steps can be frustrating for me.  I can be slow to act, but once I act, I'd like the benefits, thankyouverymuch.  This going slowly, trusting that even one peaceful day of Jesus Calling is worth it, is hard.  My daughters aren't suddenly fighting less.  They aren't quoting scripture.  They are still exactly who they were - and so I am, sadly.  But my hope is that these tiny small steps will eventually lead us all to someplace new and lush - a place where ankles are whole and healed, where God can be felt and heard, where our eyes are open to seeing who we really are.

Maybe taking small steps instead of giant leaps will help me remember my own smallness and be thankful for it, instead of resenting the limitations it brings.  Maybe small steps will keep the fear at bay and allow me to keep moving instead of hiding under a rock (which I sometimes very much want to do).  Maybe sometimes the only step I can take is a small one and that is just OK.

ORDINARY

3: the regular or customary condition or course of things

Yesterday was a perfectly ordinary day.   It started with a brief morning walk and included mundane tasks like laundry, grocery shopping and changing the sheets on beds.  But it also offered an unhurried span of time to teach and learn, to listen to classical music over lunch, to go for a walk and collect colorful autumn leaves.  The day left me grateful and reminded me why I like homeschooling.  It's been easy to forget the blessings of homeschooling while moving - there has been so much to do that teaching has felt like one more burden to bear.  It didn't feel that way yesterday: it felt like a gift.

In the church calendar we are in the thick of Ordinary Time - that space between Pentecost and Advent when we live out the lessons learned from Christ's birth, the light we see during Epiphany, the things we lose and gain during Lent and Easter.  For me, this is the most challenging time in the church calendar.  There's none of the waiting with bated breath for the birth of the Christ child, none of the daily reminders of Lent to remember my faith by doing or not doing something.  Apparently, I can live my faith life quite well in 40 day increments.  It's when I'm expected to carry on for several months uninterrupted that I long for something to pull me out of the ordinary and shake me up a bit.

Yet I believe our faith is best lived ordinarily.  What we do during our ordinary moments speaks volumes about who we are and what our hearts are tuned to.  When I look back on my life, I want the ebb and flow of my everyday actions to be what people remember - not a few peaks and valleys where I was at my best or worst.  I want my ordinary life to be a worthy offering, not an afterthought.

As we walked together yesterday afternoon gathering leaves, I told B and K what A shared with me two years ago when she took botany: when a leaf changes colors in the fall, it's not becoming that color for the first time.  The color we see is actually the color the leaf has been all along, it's just been masked by chlorophyll.  I told them I think our lives are like that, too.  That when we are dying (as the autumn leaves are), we get to see what we're really made of - what vibrant colors lie just beneath the surface.

The truth of it is that we are all, minute by minute, dying.  And these ordinary days do reveal something about the colors that compose us.  The way I buy bagels because they are A's favorite thing for breakfast? A color of who I am as a mom.  The blessings I've written for their bedrooms?  They show you my heart for my daughters and our home.  The sharp tone of voice I use with my children when I am mentally or physically exhausted?  Also telling you who I am, showing one of the veins running through this particular leaf.

I'd like to imagine that, unlike leaves, we don't have to wait until the very end to see the vibrancy of our beings.  If I'm willing to let go of who I think I am and embrace what I see revealed of myself through my heart and actions, I'll get glimpses of gold, bronze, magenta, russet.

I want to embrace the sacredness of the ordinary.  I think that means seeing all of the things I do - whether sweeping a floor, wiping down a counter or teaching how to write an equation - as both an offering from me to God and an opportunity for me to see myself more clearly.  I want to not resist the ordinary for its supposed dullness, but embrace it for the way it offers me opportunity to work out exactly who I am and what I am meant to be doing.

I want my one ordinary life to be extraordinary not because of what I do, but because of the way I inhabit it, the way I see it and claim it for what it is.

CONFORMITY

1: correspondence in form, manner, or character : agreement
3: action in accordance with some specified standard or authority

A few weeks ago, B wore a Beatles t-shirt to her Tuesday tutorial.  When she put it on, I warned her that I thought it was technically against the dress code.  I knew it said something about no band t-shirts or shirts with shock value, but surely a t-shirt for a fifty year old band couldn't offend anyone, right?  Wrong.  She was asked to zip up her hoodie and she went the rest of the day with Paul, John, Georg and Ringo hidden behind her black camp hoodie.  I understand they were requiring B to follow the letter of the law they have created for their tutorial.  But I wonder what message it sends my daughters.

This Monday, we got an e-mail with a reminder of the dress code policy.  In addition to quoting a portion of the handbook, the administrator said something along the lines of, "While you may not agree with our stance on modesty, we ask that you abide by the rules [while at our tutorial]."  And this is the heart of the issue for me: the creators and enforcers of this policy do not claim their policies minimize offense between students, decrease distractions or create an environment focused on learning.  Instead, they say it is about modesty.  I disagree.  It's not about modesty.  It's about conformity.

I could agree with and support many guidelines designed to create an atmosphere of modesty.  Do I think girls should wear skirts longer than fingertip length?  Sure.  Should underwear for male and female students not be on display?  Absolutely.  These are modesty issues.  My daughter's t-shirt for a band with geriatric members was not immodest.  It simply did not conform.  But because this organization is a Christian one, they spiritualize their reasons for banning certain items.  I think this is dangerous because if you disagree with them, you're not offering a difference of opinion, you're assaulting their entire belief system.  I do not believe conformity equals belief. 

Concurrent with (and in part due to) these happenings, I have been looking for a new tutorial for my daughters for next year.  I'd like to find a tutorial stronger in its science offerings and with a less restrictive dress code.  (In addition to the t-shirt issue, our current tutorial won't allow certain hairstyles.  Both A and B have asked for a hairstyle that wouldn't allow them to attend.  I'd like to be able to allow them to express themselves in this way.)

I heard about another tutorial and checked it out online.  At first it was encouraging.  They place a great deal of emphasis on academic rigor.  They are conveniently located.  They meet on a day of the week I would find easy to accommodate.  Then I found the part of their website that says, "Students who insist on their rights and privileges as a first order of business will not be happy in our group. We do not want to deal with students for whom respect for authority is an issue."  Hmmm.

I needed to stop there for a moment.  "We do not want to deal with students for whom respect for authority is an issue."  I don't think any of my daughters have a problem with authority, but I do have a daughter who thinks for herself and often questions rules before simply obeying.  I don't see this as a problem.  In fact, I think it's a highly valuable skill that will serve her well.  But I want her to be happy at a tutorial and this group seems to indicate she might not be - and that they would even prefer she not be happy unless she conforms.

Here's the thing: I think Jesus had a problem with authority.  He questioned the religious systems of the day because while they were going through the motions, their hearts were far from him.  B doesn't go through the motions of anything.  If she disagrees, she will let you know.  But when she agrees, you'll know it - and God does, too.  Her praise is nothing if not sincere when it comes.  A, on the other hand, conforms a bit too easily.  She dislikes being apart from the group and often doesn't stop to question whether she is conforming to her own beliefs or the expectations of those around her.  For both of them, I think a culture of conformity is poisonous.  A doesn't need to be encouraged to conform.  And B doesn't need to go through life thinking God doesn't love her because she wants to dress differently than your typical 11 year old Christian girl.

I've been really wrestling with these questions over the last few days: Why do we equate conformity with belief?  Why do Christian schools/tutorials/places of worship emphasize some traits over others, especially with young children?  Do we have to spend a portion of our adult lives unlearning what we've learned about God in order to actually see who he is? 

I've talked to my husband and another friend about some of these issues.  One of them said that perhaps all places of faith require some level of conformity - and as adults we just choose the places that emphasize conforming on the issues we match up on.  The other suggested I examine why I feel it's acceptable for me to undercut the tutorial's stance on band t-shirts when I don't do the same thing about a school rule on flip-flops, for example.

These are really hard questions.  Where am I willing to conform in my faith?  Where do I refuse to?  Am I judging people who set different boundaries for themselves and their families?  How do I find a way to walk the path we are on with this current tutorial, yet still communicate to my daughters that I don't think Jesus objects to The Beatles?

My husband pointed out last night that I'm not exactly an anarchist.  I am perfectly willing to require my daughters to conform on some points.  Dishes must go in the sink after meals.  The dishwasher must be unloaded on your assigned day.  The school work must be completed before the field trip can begin.  You get the idea.

I think one difference for me lies in two of the definitions of conformity.  If our actions are in agreement with our beliefs (i.e. that hard work earns you play time), this is a conformity that feels right to my soul.  But if the conformity results from complying with a standard of authority that is illegitimate or couches their authority as something other than what it is (i.e. it is ungodly to dye your hair blue), my soul feels pained and bruised at going along.

How do I teach my children to think for themselves and pursue God from where they are?  It's hard and I fear it will only get harder as they get older and are faced with much bigger dilemmas than what to wear on Tuesday morning.  All I know to do is encourage them to pray the wisest prayers I know: "Who are you, God?  Who am I?"  Because if they know who God is and who they are, they'll know a lie when they hear one and see a false line in the sand when they see it. 

May they learn to conform to what the Holy Spirit places on their hearts - nothing more, nothing less.

FLEXIBLE

3: characterized by a ready capability to adapt to new, different, or changing requirements

August 29, 2012
This morning before I got out of bed for the day, I read Celtic Daily Prayer's morning office.  One of the verses for today was Proverbs 20:24, which says, "A person's steps are directed by the Lord.  How then can anyone understand their own way?"  Given how chaotic these last weeks have been, I found this verse comforting.  What I didn't realize was that it was prophetic as well.  Because I didn't know at 7 AM how my day would go.  At that point, I was naive enough to think it might go as imagined.

At 9, I put in a call to our pest management company.  In the 10 years we have lived here, I've generally seen them only once per year to check for termites and get the thumbs-up all clear.  But today I needed to ask about the tiny moths that were appearing with alarming frequency around the house.  The answer I got was unexpected: pantry pests.  In preparation for the noon appointment, I should empty the pantry and throw away anything not in a can, glass jar or sealed plastic.  I had thought I would spend my morning teaching K about dimes and nickels and reviewing mixed numbers and ratios with A and B.  I didn't.  I cleaned out the pantry.  Four trash bags later, we ran through our math lessons so that we could leave the house for the afternoon and avoid the post-pest control fumes.

Instead of spending the afternoon packing or reading or doing laundry, we killed time at the library, waiting for B's 3:00 piano lesson, A's 4:30 dance class and our home to air out.

I don't think of myself as a control freak.  In fact, I often find it comforting to remember that ultimately I am not the one in control.  But I am wear and over-loaded and overwhelmed.  And I am finding it increasingly difficult to recharge and rest when I don't have full access to my home - how can an introvert recharge without being able to go home to do so? Can my home serve as both a place to rejuvenate and the source of the bulk of my current workload?

I know that flexibility is key.  That's one reason I've drastically paired down our school day to hold just a few warm-up activities, a math lesson and a reading list chock full of classics.  (First up?  Great Expectations for A, Edgar Allan Poe short stories for B and The Princess and the Goblin for K.)

I am trying to be flexible - to not try so desperately to understand my own way - to accept the paradox that I am not in control but must still do the work.  Our house must still get packed up.  I am trying to bend, but not break.  If I can't manage to do so gracefully, I hope those around me will understand.

After writing this post yesterday at the library, we all prayed last night for a calm day today.  Mercifully, we have had one.  We drastically reduced our already-pared-down school plan, watched last night's So You Think You Can Dance and packed up six bookcases' worth of books.  While I don't feel exactly rested, I don't feel as out of control as I did yesterday.  So thankful to God for mercies, big and small.

CONSUMING

: deeply felt : ardent; also : engrossing

In a matter of days, our house will be on the market.  We've already had one showing and a few phone calls from friends who have friends who might be interested in buying our house.  I don't know about you, but our house doesn't normally exist in a state of show-worthiness.  It has taken hours of de-cluttering, countless trips to Goodwill, the purchase of dozens of plastic bins and cleaning from top to bottom to get our home ready for this.  And now the vigilance begins.  A sampling of my instructions to my daughters over the last 24 hours:

"B, take your markers to your room."
"K, put this doll on your bed."
"A, put this book on your bookshelf." (Followed by, "But I'm reading it."  Which led to, "Then you can put it on your bedside table, as long as it's the only book there.")

There will be more instructions, more cleaning, more dusting over the next days and weeks until we have a contract for this house to sell to someone.

This project of getting our home ready to sell has felt all-consuming.  When I'm not actually sorting items into Goodwill, trash and yard sale piles, I'm thinking about which room needs correcting next.  I think about the things a potential buyer might like (my kitchen) and the things they might not like (the small downstairs bathroom).  I try to cast a critical eye around the space, try to see it as a buyer might.  But I've lived here for nearly a decade, so it's hard to see it with a fresh eye.

The things I've been doing over the last few weeks needed to be done.  Books needed to be purged.  Paint needed to be freshened.  Shelves needed to be reorganized.  Yet I've struggled inwardly with how much of my time and attention all of this takes.  As I said to a friend last night, "I am normally a pretty peaceful person, but right now I'm anxious.  I feel like this is all-consuming and that's not who I want to be."  My friend was sympathetic.  We talked about how hard it is to do something like buy and sell a house without it being consuming - there are things that just must be done.

But my theory is that there has to be a way for me to keep my true self available, even in the midst of stress, busy-ness and riding an emotional roller coaster.  I don't want to be a housekeeping Nazi.  I don't want to be a mom who can't clear her mind enough to teach a math lesson without snapping.  I do want to be a wife who takes time to make dinner - even if it means getting the kitchen spotless again immediately after eating said dinner.  I want to be the mom who takes her time with lessons, stopping to read about this flag and how it relates to the country's history or pulling out a book to show how far away these two countries are from each other.

So when a milestone arrived today, I shortened our lessons - even taking the nearly unprecedented move of saving today's math for tomorrow.  At 10:20 we left our house.  At 1:30 we returned home.  In between, B had her braces removed.  We celebrated with lunch out, ice cream for dessert and an afternoon free of lessons or cleaning.

There are moments every day that are worth celebrating.  Sometimes they are small moments: K telling the time from the clock more quickly than her old sisters, A completing a math lesson with not a single problem incorrect, B writing a perfect paragraph on the first attempt.  Sometimes they are bigger, like getting your braces off.

What I don't want is to be consumed by a process and miss out on those moments.  I want to find a way to do what must be done and still enjoy the fact that life is carrying on around me.  I don't want to move into a new house 8 weeks from now and look around and think, "What just happened?  How did I get here?  Was I marking time or living it?"

If I'm going to be consumed, I want it to be with the beauty of life, with the unexpected goodness that sweeps in as three girls eat ice cream cones, all of them with sparkling white teeth, not a hint of metal in sight.

BEGIN

1 : to do the first part of an action : go into the first part of a process : start


Today was our first day of school for the 2012-2013 year.  When K walked out of her room this morning (after reading in bed for who knows how long), I said, "Hi, third grader."  She gave me a big smile and a hug before heading off to find some breakfast.

Our first day was a bit rocky.  By 9:30, two of my three students/daughters had cried.  B cried out of anger and frustration that school was actually starting, that she really had work to do and that she didn't know exactly where every book was.  K cried because I wouldn't let her read her Nancy Drew book and she was afraid she won't get enough reading time as a homeschooler.  I explained, as gently as possible, that without rules prohibiting us from reading during school hours that's all any of us would ever do around here - read and then read some more.

By noon, all of the sentences had been written, all of the math problems completed, all of the research done.  So we watched the previous evening's Olympics together for a few hours.  B has been dubious about the Olympics ever since I announced we were going to start school by learning about the games through a unit study.  Yet as she watched women's gymnastics, she turned to me and said, "You're right, mom.  This is fun."  I refrained from doing a victory dance and instead breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

Were it not for the Olympics, I might not have started school so early.  Our summer has been abysmally low on down time - a mere shadow of the summer I envisioned having.  But I have felt that we are ready to begin.  Ready to reimpose order and routine.  Ready to have something bigger to give our days shape and meaning.

You might have noticed above that only two out of three daughters cried today.  The third (and firstborn) was raring to go.  When I came downstairs at 7:30, she was showered, breakfasted and had started her daily work.  Even having only ended her summer ballet on Thursday, A was ready to begin.

There is something difficult, yet satisfying, about beginning.  The difficulty lies in breaking away, starting anew, shifting from what is known to what is unknown.  The satisfaction comes from having finally done what is anticipated and perhaps feared.  It was easier than ever to begin school this year.  While I still feel like I am swimming in uncharted waters, I enjoy the freedom of it.  I even enjoy the work of it.  Doing math with K this morning was alternately frustrating (working on math facts) and encouraging (the girl can see patterns).  She is a willing student, if a sometimes distracted one.  B, for all her huffing and puffing, enjoys learning and agreed this afternoon that it was a good day, filled with just the right amount of work.

If the beginning is hard, staying the course is even harder.  I was quite willing to make chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast this morning.  I will not be so willing later this week (or even tomorrow, after tonight's insomnia).  I didn't struggle to let B vent her frustration and anger today, but there will come a time when I want her to simply agree and go along.  When those moments and more arrive, I want to remember that on our first day of school, three of the four of us were in pajamas until noon.  I want to remember laughing about K's puddle of syrup and how A kept getting songs stuck in B's head - which only tormented all of us because B then sang or played them for hours on end.  I want to remember to begin again when it gets hard, impossible and discouraging. 

I want to not let fear, anger and shame paralyze me and instead reach for the joy that awaits just on the other side of beginning.

First Day of School - 6th grade, 3rd grade, 7th grade

KAIROS

: an ancient Greek word meaning the right or opportune moment

It often feels like my time is not my own.  I live my life around appointments, lessons, performances and other obligations.  Even summer - a time that has typically held fewer activities and more time for inactivity (aka rest) - has been full.  I wouldn't necessarily change these things.  Our summer schedule has, I believe, been a taste of things to come.  With my children getting older and our city's school system gradually shifting to a year round calendar, summers are not what they used to be.  Even while we are homeschooling, our schedule is set for us in many ways.  Camps must be crammed into an 8 week period.  Opportunities for enrichment with other children are shrinking.  Travel takes valuable white space off the calendar. 

To be honest, I mourn this.  I love summers with my daughters - time to do fun things together, to stay in our pajamas all day, to do anything - or nothing.  I can still have these things - this time - but in smaller doses.  So I am trying to adjust and accept that time does not always move at the pace I would choose.

When my daughters visited their grandparents in Wisconsin earlier this summer, they came home with heirlooms.  A brought home a 1970s ladybug tunic and shorts.  B loves her cut off jean shorts and summer top.  You should see K model her father's old Brewer's jacket.  And they brought something for me: J's kairos cross from a retreat he went on in high school.

The first time I remember seeing this kind of cross was in Washington, DC in 1993 when J and I visited one of his high school friends.  I saw this necklace hanging in his friend's dorm room and asked what it was.  J's friend looked at him in surprise that I hadn't seen it before.  J shrugged while M explained it was a kairos cross.  If he gave me any further explanation all those years ago, it is gone from the mental stores I have available to me.

So when I opened the box with the cross in it, I decided to see if I could find out more about it.  Wikipedia to the rescue:

The ancient Greeks had two words for time, chronos and kairos. While the former refers to chronological or sequential time, the latter signifies a time in between, a moment of indeterminate time in which something special happens. What the special something is depends on who is using the word. While chronos is quantitative, kairos has a qualitative nature.

I don't have a seminary degree.  I don't speak ancient Greek.  But here's what I think: We all live in chronos time, but not all of us live in kairos time.  Time will move on, whether we mark it or not, whether we spend it well or squander it.  That's why it's important to mark the moments of import and notice them. 

I've only had the kairos cross for a few weeks, but I've thus far tried to intentionally wear it when I need to be aware of time.  Not aware of my schedule, but aware of the moments that matter.  I don't know this, but I suspect that if I were better able to see, seize and enjoy kairos time, then chronos time would not feel like the burden it does.

All of these things are more heavily on my mind precisely because my life is so busy.  J and I decided about a week ago that we want to put our house on the market.  Having lived here for ten years, this is no small task.  We aren't exactly pack rats, but we have the blessing/curse of a basement.  The basement is a place best described as the locus of apathy and accumulation.  In all likelihood, there are items in that basement that have been boxed up since we moved here ten years ago.  I can assure you that when I come across said items, they will be discarded.  But it will take lots of work to get there.

I do think this is the right thing for us for now.  This is the time for this task.  But with school starting in ten days, I am feeling pressure to pack fighting a desire to create a quiet space to dream, pray and plan about our school year.  The pressure to pack will almost certainly win, meaning that our school year will start whether I am ready or not - and we will just have to do the best we can to enjoy the Olympics and learn while we enjoy.  (We are starting our year with a unit study of the Olympics, which does relieve some of the pressure to plan right now.)

The last two days have been particularly full.  I told a friend yesterday, "You know I'm overwhelmed when I keep fantasizing about not leaving my house for week.  And that's all I've thought about all morning."

It's unlikely that week will happen any time soon (or ever?).  The best solution I can think of is to remember kairos, to mark my time and pause to enjoy the right and opportune moments when they arise.

BUSY

2 : full of activity : bustling

How busy are you?  Is your schedule crammed with one meeting after another, activities for your children, tasks that must be done?  Is coordinating your family calendar an Olympic event?  Do you look at what's coming in the next week and sigh at the lack of open space on your calendar, in your life, for your soul?

I will freely confess that am busier than I would like to be this summer.  I will also say that I don't believe my children are over-scheduled - I am the one that is over-scheduled.  They are doing the things they need to do (speech therapy) and love to do (dance, summer camp, piano).  But allowing them to be who they are and grow in their gifts does cost me something.

Earlier this week, my husband send me a link to an article called The 'Busy' Trap.  I wish you could have seen me reading it.  I was sitting in my van, waiting for A to come out of ballet (which is funny enough - that this is when I have time to read an article) and I was nodding along the entire time.  I do not value busy-ness.  I don't want it in my life, but it creeps in anyway.  I'm not someone who is proud of how busy our schedule is.  I'm not trying to raise overachievers.  I just want my daughters to be able to pursue the things they care about.

I have friends who are better at saying "No." Friends who manage to not have after school activities or summers littered with camp one week, travel the next week and ballet sprinkled here and there throughout.  I respect them for having good boundaries.  I just don't know how to water their little souls without letting them do what they love.  I would feel selfish to tell A that she can't dance this summer because I need a break from driving her to and fro.  Yet perhaps the key (as always) lies in knowing my children.

Last week, I reminded B on Wednesday night that she had piano the next day.  She began panicking.  "I told Ms. G that I would have Hey, Jude down pat by the next lesson and I haven't practiced at all!"  I reminded her that we had left for Wisconsin straight after her lesson and that we had only been home for 24 hours.  That did not assuage her concerns.  She climbed out of bed and went to practice the song through a time or two.  I offered to talk with her piano teacher and explain.  That helped a bit.  That night, I realized that B has been taking piano for about 18 months and has never had a serious break.

So the next day I asked her if she wanted to take the rest of July off of piano.  Somewhat to my surprise, she said "Yes" without little hesitation.  Of my children, B is the one who not only craves, but is vocal about her desire for down time.  B is what A has christened a mid-trovert.  While my children haven't officially taken the Myers-Briggs test, I can tell you with absolute certainty that A is an introvert and K as classic extrovert.  B straddles these extremes.  She wants to be around people, but needs time to herself.  This leaves my task as a mother of three a complicated one - they each need different amounts, levels and types of interaction to feel happy and content.

Where do my own needs come in?  As an introvert, I definitely need down time as much as B does.  In my ideal world, a day includes time for me to pray, read and rest.  It doesn't have to be a ton of time, but a few days that are packed too full leave me feeling like I am running on fumes.

I've been pondering the best way to begin our school year and what my expectations should be for next year.  It will be my first time homeschooling all three of my children and I think that will be challenging, at least for a while (and perhaps for the entire year).  But as I've prayed and imagined the year, I know that I want to find time and space for us each to be who we are.  We are all excited about the Olympics, so we will start our year with a unit study of the 2012 London games.  We did a field trip each Wednesday of Lent and loved celebrating spring's arrival with a short day midweek and time at some of our favorite Nashville places.

My goal? To be busy only with the things that matter.  Finishing school by 11:45 on Wednesdays required some pushing and pressing.  It felt busy in the moment.  But those field trip afternoons spent walking in the gardens or exploring the solar system or gazing at art felt unhurried and nourishing.  I'm not sure it's possible for me to parent the way I want to parent and not be busy.  What I can do is consistently stop and assess whether we are busy in a good way (doing things we love and need) or busy in a bad way (doing things everyone else is doing).

My home and my calendar may be filled with activity and bustling.  But I want to leave room for my heart to be quiet, still and present.

SUCCESS

2 b : favorable or desired outcome; also : the attainment of wealth, favor, or eminence

This weekend J and I went to a friend's party celebrating his recent American citizenship.  Appropriately enough, while there I talked to another friend about a recent article on why American women still can't have it all.  At the time I hadn't yet read the article, but when I read it the next day, my overwhelming thought was, "I'm not sure I want success if this is how it's defined and what it takes to get there."

Sometimes I am utterly content in my circumstances - thankful for the gift of three daughters, grateful to spend a large portion of my time teaching them, joyful preparing food they eat with delight.  Other days, I wonder whether the things I do are a complete waste of time.  Is anything I do going to have lasting impact?  My daughters will not remember whether their laundry was clean on Wednesday, whether they ate fruit salad or fruit roll-ups for snack, how sine differs from cosine.  After a decade as a parent, I've come to more or less accept this cyclical satisfaction/dissatisfaction.  In some ways I even welcome it, since I tend to subscribe to the theory that the unexamined life really isn't worth living.  If I'm not routinely questioning and evaluating what I'm doing, I'm probably not doing it right.

So I'm thankful for articles like the one in the Atlantic Monthly that make me think about whether I'm on the career and life track I want to be on.  There was a time when I worked full time, traveled frequently and made a fair amount of money.  I can remember being puzzled as my company threw more and more money at me any time I was unhappy.  Yet I was never really unhappy about compensation - I wanted to do work that was engaging, interesting, enjoyable. 

When I question my life's work now, it's not because I long for more interesting work to do.  I worry more about what other people think about my choices than my own disillusionment.  I have interesting work.  I have engaging (if sometimes infuriating) subordinates.  The pay's not great and the hours can be long, but the flexibility can't be beat.  Perhaps most importantly, my current work affords me the time and space to pursue God and be pursued by Him in a way that I think would be difficult or impossible if I were still working full-time.

Since college, I've considered myself a feminist.  I still do - though you likely wouldn't know it to look at the choices I've made with my life.  But the fact remains that they were my choices - not an inevitable path I was forced to take.  In addition to ending this article thinking that I wasn't sure I want success, I was struck by another thought - that I should let my daughters read the article.  Because I don't necessarily want them to make the same choices I've made.  Instead, I want them to make the choices that are right for them.  I feel sure there will be both similarities and differences - we aren't the same people, after all.

What about you?  Are you successful right now?  Does the idea of success drive you to a large or small degree?  How do you measure success?

I've decided to once again try to set aside what the world says success is and instead find my own way there.  I'd like to chart a path to success that leads me closer and closer to who I really am, that gives me space to create, breathe, pray and play, that shows my daughters there is more than one way to any destination.

PRECONCEPTION

: an idea formed (as an opinion) prior to actual knowledge or experience

Last week, I ordered A & B's next math book.  This week, I received the used copy of K's math book for next year.  This morning, I reminded the girls that we're going to start math next week.  B was. not. pleased.

Frankly, she's been like this for weeks anytime I mention school work.  While we'll be doing a smattering of math throughout the summer in order to keep our momentum (and math facts), I plan to officially launch our school year in late July with a unit study on the 2012 Summer Olympics.  A, K and I are excited.  B, on the other hand, leaves the room anytime we talk about it.

So today I laid it out for her.  She can go back to public school - to homework, wearing standard school attire, following someone else's schedule, studying the assigned subjects - or she can be homeschooled.  What she can't do is have the best of both worlds.  She can't take a public school summer break and get shorter homeschool days during our school year.  She can't follow their calendar only until it suits her to switch to mine.

I said this to her firmly but with compassion.  Because I have my own set of preconceptions that have rocked my idea of what summer is and should be.  As I explained to B, I wish our summer contained long stretches of completely unplanned time.  I would like nothing more than to alternate trips to the lake with trips to the library all summer long.  Instead, A has ballet Monday through Thursday and K has speech Tuesday through Thursday.  So those long stretches?  Calling them weekends would be more accurate.  This isn't A's fault.  Nor K's.  It just means that B and I have to try to match our preconceptions with our reality.

To do this, I try to picture holding my preconceptions in my two hands and slowly opening my clenched fists.  Some of what I want will slip through my fingers.  I can either spend the summer mourning the things that fell through the cracks - or I can be thankful for what is left there in my open palms.

B has some choices.  She can choose to enjoy the summer we have or spend it bemoaning what's missing.  She can let her idea that the Olympics aren't a school subject dampen her experience of the games or she can take joy in learning more than Bob Costas will tell her.

I'm the same way.  This summer I'm trying to not only find a rhythm that works, but take joy in what comes my way and only momentarily grieve the things we might miss out on this time around.  Because summer will come again - and sometimes the moments we receive surpass those ideas formed without actual experience.

GROWTH

1 c : progressive development : evolution

Growth can look very different from one person to the next.  What comes naturally to me might be huge growth for you - and vice versa.

Last Saturday, A danced her first dance en pointe.  She has been taking ballet for six years and has worked hard to be able to do this.  It was amazing to sit there in the audience and watch my child do something so impressive.  I wasn't the only one impressed.  As other parents stopped me to congratulate us, I couldn't help but think that this was nothing to do with me.  I merely drive her around.  She does all of the hard work at the barre and on the dance floor.  She's the one who has grown from a six year in a lamb costume to a twelve year old looking very much like a woman-to-be.

The next day as we sat in the pew preparing to go take communion, A peered around me.  She was checking to see whether her favorite priest was serving on our side of the church or the other side.  I pointed out that he was on the other side and that she could just get in that line and then circle around the rear of the nave to get back to our pew. 

"That's OK," she whispered back to me, "I'll just take it over here with you guys."

"A," I said gently but insistently, "if your heart wants to take communion from Father D, go over there."

She did and I was so proud of her.  Breaking that little unwritten rule about taking communion on the left when you are seated on the left was huge growth for my rule-following firstborn.  It was growth for her because she listened to the desire of her heart and followed - even though it meant stepping a bit outside of the lines.  For A, this step away from conformity is almost bigger growth than dancing en pointe.  Dance comes naturally to her.  Breaking the rules does not.

Earlier this week, I read a blog post that resulted in a light bulb moment for me.  While I subscribe to the blog that had this post, the last two weeks have been so busy for me that I've been skimming most of Jimmie's posts about writing.  For some reason, I took the time to read this one more slowly.  That was surely God's prompting because as I read her assertion that writing with a formula eases the cognitive load of writing, I saw clearly why my daughter B does not like to write.  B detests formulas.  She wants to do everything her own way, putting her own spin on the tried and true.  Yet she is not a fan of hard work.  B is a quick learner and most things come very easily to her, so she resists having to work hard to acquire something.  So we've been trapped in this cycle where B doesn't want to follow a formula for writing (which would make it easier), but she doesn't want to work hard (and do it her own way).

Yesterday, B needed to write an artist's statement for an art show next week.  I saw my chance and I took it. I sat down with B and had her read the blog post.  Then I told her that this post made me understand why she doesn't like writing.  I pointed out to her that there is one area of her life where she is willing to both follow the rules and work hard: piano.  B has been taking piano for 17 months and she will come home from a lesson with a song that is hard to play.  It might sound rough the first few times she plays it through.  But she persists and within 2 or 3 days, she can play it well.  By the time she goes back for her next lesson a week later, we've all heard her not only play the song, but play it fast, slow and with beats in between.  She uses the formula of the composer first and then she does it her way.

"Could you try this with your writing?" I asked.  "Could you try using the formula on this print out and see if it makes your writing come easier?  After you use the formula a few times, you'll be able to change it like you do with your songs."

Amazingly, she agreed.  She's written two paragraphs so far and they've come easier and been better quality than her writing has been of late.

As you read this, do you see how growth for these two daughters of mine is completely different?  A needs encouragement to listen to her heart and break the rules occasionally.  B knows her own heart and mind so well that she needs to see the value of rules as a way for training us and equipping us.

I love this.  I love seeing them grow and I love that it doesn't look at all the same.  I don't love that the world (and often the church) will tell you that B needs to grow, but that A is on the right track.  Because they both need growth.  A is sometimes easier to parent because she does follow the rules, but she does so without understanding or questioning the rules.  So what happens when she is faced with a system of rules that are not set up to help her, but to harm her?  She must learn to think for herself.  B needs growth as well, but not because she's a rule-questioner.  She needs growth because all people need growth.

Where do you fall on this spectrum?  What safety zone do you stand within that the world might tell you is just the place to be, but that is keeping you from embracing the great freedom available to you if you grow?

It is my hope and prayer that A is not going to turn into an anarchist, nor B a conformist.  I feel certain that it is ballet's structure and rules that make A enjoy it and thrive.  B will be a better musician if she continues to listen with her heart and not just her ears.  I hope they will continue to be who God made them to be - but I believe he made them to be more than just a rule-follower and a rule-breaker.  He made them to be a bit of both - and to learn from each other's way of doing things.

This spring, during a season replete with growth, look for ways to stretch and grow towards freedom.