Challenges – Page 3 – The Word Worker

If You Know How to Look

Today my husband and I spent the day outdoors. It’s the height of autumn here in the south, and this year has brought us a particularly fine one. The normally green beauty of the woods has flamed with color, and the lake bottom is rusty with orange and purple.

I revel in the crisper air and the brilliant color that coats the world for such a brief moment, but we didn’t go out to appreciate that today. Everyone with eyes can see that flamboyant display whether they try or not. We went in search of something a little less obvious.

There is perfection buried in the shade of those bright leaves, but not everyone can see it. Some are overwhelmed by the blatant beauty and are convinced it is enough. Others may realize there is more to see but don’t know how to find it.

What do you see in the picture? Leaves? Look closer. Now what do you see? Deep in a hole full of dead leaves, a hole I might have stepped in had I been focused on the canopy above, grew these tiny, fragile mushrooms. So small and delicate that a touch might break them, they clung to the side of the hole and peeked around the edges of the protective leaves.

Much about life, about people, is obvious. The way we look, the way we act, the things we say are all the blazing leaves on the trees, impossible to miss. But what is hiding on the floor of that brilliant forest? Do you know how to look? It doesn’t take special education. It doesn’t take titles or notoriety. It requires time taken to step slowly and gently. It requires leaning in to examine every inch of ground for what is hidden. It requires the gentlest of touches to shift protective leaves away from the fragile thoughts and feelings buried deep within.

There is so much unexpected beauty to be found. If you know how to look.

Work and Purpose

When people talk about parenting challenges, they usually talk about toddlers or teenagers. No one really addresses the middle years, the years of learning, discovery, and character shaping. My ten year old son is right smack in the middle of those years.

For several months now his behavior has been, well, challenging. We’ve been unable to curb a tendency to bully, and chores have been more miss than hit. We won’t even mention the lack of respect shown toward us as parents. Fortunately, my husband had a clue.

Last week he relinquished ownership of one ax to our son. Instead of taking a turn at things like dishes and laundry, our son is now responsible for making sure we don’t freeze this winter. We have wood heat, so my husband cuts and hauls all our wood himself. This year, he will run the chain saw and our ten year old will split and haul, as well as help keep the heater full.

The change in his attitude was immediate. No more bullying, no more disrespect. He is proud of that ax, and proud that he cuts a little deeper every time he swings as his strength grows. He even wakes up in the middle of the night to check the heater! He’s still a little boy with a lot to learn, and it will be a while before he can perform this job perfectly and without any help, but he stands taller already.

You see, every human being needs purpose. Not just any purpose, but the one God created for them to own. Skills like washing dishes or laundry, while necessary for all humans to know, chafe at a boy seeking to direct his developing testosterone and strength. He is made to work hard, to challenge his limits, to protect and provide for those upon whom he bestows emotional attachment. Keeping the fire going may seem like a small thing, but for a ten year old it becomes purpose.

We’ve talked often in our home about work, but as we have recently admitted, our culture has stripped much of our true purpose out of work. Women, who once spent their days keeping the family fed, clothed, and nurtured with the direct labor of her hands and heart now chafes with time on her hands and her labor replaced by technology and machines. Men, who once tested their endurance against the elements to house their families and prepare the ground to produce food, who once set their minds to outwitting the instincts of animals in order to harness their power or harvest their meat, now chafe at desks and try to bury their frustration in virtual combat. Children, who once filled critical roles as assistants in house and barn, now seek endless stimulation and chafe at chores artificially assigned by parents desperate to teach some semblance of responsibility in a world that requires none.

I appreciate so much of the convenience we experience in our modern culture. We have so many blessings that the denizens of yesteryear never imagined. But unless we in some way return immediate and created purpose to our work, for both ourselves and our children, those same blessings feed the endless misery of an empty life.

Tuned

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An old hymn from 1758 begins with the words: “O thou Fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing Thy praise.” These days we have all sorts of electronic gadgets and apps for instrument tuning, which takes some of the meaning out of the phrase. When I began taking music lessons, a few decades ago, I was given a simple tool called a tuning fork instead.

Instead of many notes, electronically replicated at the touch of a button, a tuning fork produces one. One clear, smooth, beautiful note from which all others can be discovered. Tuning requires much more work and a deeper understanding of music, but the process is actually quite simple. Strike the metal fork against a hard surface so that it vibrates with a perfect, pure, natural sound.

Similarly, God is the one note to which all others are tuned. There is nothing artificial about Him. Tuning our hearts to produce the same note requires work. Often it requires being struck again and again until we finally find the right note. Then when we have managed to match that first frequency, when the remaining cadence of our lives jars discordant against it, the even harder work begins to tune it all to a perfect scale from which the song of thanksgiving can be sung.

One day we will meet Him face to face, and all the voices of the faithful, tuned by trial, error, and dedication, will sing the new song of triumph and love.

The “Whatever It Is” Life

Yesterday my kids held their annual pumpkin carving session. Because buying a pumpkin for every family member in a household of seven puts something of a strain on the already holiday stretched budget, they team up. Boys get one pumpkin, girls get the other. As you can imagine, this is not a situation that leads to peace.

What pictures will we carve? Everyone has a different idea. Something scary! No, something silly. An elaborate design far too advanced for childish hands. Can’t we just use something from the book? And the squabbling begins. Who gets to carve which part? Who has to scoop out the seeds? Mom confiscates the knife and removes the stem herself to prevent accidental stabbings.

The results are… interesting. What is it? No one knows. No one cares. Destruction and creation went hand in hand, the dream come true of every kid. Whatever it is that was created, it is unique, holding a piece of each young participant in its creation.

Like life. There is no cookie cutter life. Each individual adds a piece of themselves to each day, a slice here, a scrape there. Sometimes the bits overlap, sometimes they fail to intersect at all. Sometimes the contributions seem to clash, making no sense together, because the contributors could not agree. Each wants a different design for life, and each sees a different outcome. The result cannot be identified with certainty, leaving an unbeautiful “whatever it is” to reveal the glow within its heart.

In the end it doesn’t matter. Despite the squabbling and the chaos, not one kid was disappointed with the end results. They couldn’t wait to light them up and show the world their delight. Our squabbles and our chaos bind us together, carving something out of this crazy “whatever it is” life we can only appreciate when we step away and let the light shine through.

“We Need a King”

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How many times have you heard people complain about something wrong or unpleasant then demand that someone do something to fix that problem? Throughout history this has been a common human reaction. If we are honest as individuals, we have probably all done it at some point.

The prophet Samuel accomplished a great deal with his example of faith, drawing Israel as a nation back into relationship with God. Sadly, as Samuel grew old and less able to be active throughout the nation, evidence mounted that something was still missing in the hearts of the people. They came to him demanding not just a replacement in Samuel’s role as spiritual guide and civil judge, but a king. When, at God’s instruction, Samuel warned the people what their request really meant, that missing piece left them unable to listen.

Samuel warned them that having a king meant that their children would be conscripted to fight in wars of the king’s choosing and work on the king’s property. Their property would be subject to seizure and use by the king. They would be required to pay whatever taxes the king required in order to pay his own household or desired to enrich himself. They would lose their freedom and become subject to the king’s demands in every aspect of their lives.

The Israelites weren’t interested in any problems that would come in the future. Not even the example of Samuel’s errant sons taking advantage of them carried his point home to them. Their answer to Samuel’s warning holds a sad commentary, not only on Israel’s failure to grasp God’s will, but on the deep failing of humanity since the garden. They wanted someone else to solve their problems. They wanted someone else to fight their battles. They wanted someone else to take a stand. They wanted someone else to be responsible so they didn’t have to.

God gave them exactly what they wanted. He appointed the epitome of human ideal to be their king. Saul was physically imposing, standing taller than any other man, and was considered extremely attractive. He looked good in the role. He even appeared to have an attitude of humility, expressing confusion that he would be chosen and hiding when called to be crowned.

When the time came to prove himself, Saul proved to have as little desire for responsibility as the people who demanded the creation of his role. He proved to be concerned only with what benefited himself, what promoted his own image and ensured the continuation of his own power. He could never admit fault, and he could never see ahead to the consequences of his decisions. Not only did the Israelites fall prey to Saul’s own selfish whims, but his inner weakness plunged many of them back into slavery to their enemies as piece by piece the land God gave them was lost.

Ultimately, this outwardly perfect specimen of humanity, the pride of the Israelite nation, the one they demanded carry their own responsibility, cowered in his palace while a boy no one considered noteworthy offered himself as the price of faith and won God’s gift back for His people. You see, it wasn’t a king the people needed. It was the willingness to step up as individuals and serve the King who already reigned, as Samuel had and as David would. The easy decision, the temporary reprieve, always comes at an insurmountable cost. Make the hard one. Choose the responsibility God created us to possess. We don’t need a king.

Book Review: The Tattooist of Auschwitz

When Lale walked beneath the lie that dressed the gates of Auschwitz-Birkenau, he intended to keep his head down and do whatever he was told, whatever he had to do to avoid being killed. He hadn’t counted on two impossible events: being chosen as the tattooist’s assistant, and falling in love in the death camps.

The day he was forced to tattoo Gita’s arm as she entered the camp is the day everything changed. Lale would do anything to keep her alive, even if it meant risking everything. In the shadow of smoke from the furnaces of Hell, Lale and Gita run an unofficial black market of food and medicine, paid for with the spoils of war stolen from beneath the noses of their captors, and bought from secret sympathizers hired by the enemy to build the tools of destruction. All they had to do was protect each other long enough to survive the nightmare, however long it lasted.

I usually review books that make great family read alouds, but this is an exception. It does have some language, and due to the setting there are very adult themes that run through the book. Because it is the true story of a survivor, an unlikely hero in the midst of a darkness the world would love to forget, I feel this book deserves a place here. Lyle and Gita’s ability to produce joy in the deepest darkness and willingness to risk everything to save each other as well as their fellow prisoners will inspire any reader.

Mr. Meanie

“I was yelling at Mr. Meanie! He just WON’T! LEAVE! ME! ALONE! I can’t do anything right anymore!”

The above came from my tearful, sobbing seven year old son. He had thrown his playthings and rushed to his room growling like a cornered tiger. To an outsider it might have looked like a temper tantrum, but tantrums are intentional and controlled. In that moment my son was helpless, trapped by his own mind and desperately screaming for help. This is the face of OCD.

My son is bright and beautiful. He can build anything he can imagine with Legos. He knows more than I ever realized existed about dinosaurs. He loves Godzilla and could probably provide sound effects for the movies with his imitation skills. He has a gift for finding the lonely and offering love. He adores his little sister and, though they fight like cats and dogs, will demolish anyone else who dares to offend her.

One tiny part of that beautiful little brain malformed. A section of neurological wiring has a short. Thoughts that feel like his but are not, unbidden and unwelcome feelings, and unwilled behaviors originate in that shorted out, alien knot. Chemical help can mute them to a whisper. Therapy can provide strategies for working around the shirt in the wiring. Nothing will ever make them go away. His whole life will be a battle with Mr. Meanie, the alien inside.

For now, we turn off the lights and snuggle on the bed, his head on my chest and his hand clutching my arm. Worship music plays from my phone, his choice, soft and soothing in its reminder of a love that bears his pain. He doesn’t fully understand it yet, but he can feel it, and his tension fades. We have quieted Mr. Meanie. For now.

Inside

https://pixabay.com/photos/iranian-architecture-isfahan-city-5243948/

“What is this place?” Dax blinked in the shaft of light streaming through the scrollwork of the single window high overhead. His head hurt; for some reason he couldn’t remember how he got here. Wherever here was.

In the narrow fringes of light he could see walls covered with ornately designed panels, gold-leaf scrollwork glinting against the surrounding darkness. Beneath the window he could just make out a door, it’s frame marked by the same gold leaf designs as the rest of the wall. The door itself was a blank hole in the dim light, jarring in its luxurious surroundings. The floor was plain tile, an incongruous grate in the middle of it leading to unknown paths beneath.

Dax rubbed his forehead, then froze. Was that movement just beyond the light? He peered closer, barely distinguishing a black shape in the shapeless darkness. “Who’s there?”

“Choose your path,” a raspy voice said. “Above brings great blessing but great temptation. Below is fraught with danger but brings enlightenment. Choose your path.”

“Path to where?” Exasperation crept into Dax’s voice. “What exactly is it you want from me? I don’t even know how I got here!”

“You have accepted the quest,” the voice continued. “Only one can save the empire. Only one path will bring victory. You must choose now.”

“Forget it!” Dax clenched his fists and stomped over to the door. “This is either a really bad joke or you’re insane. I’m leaving; I’ll ask someone to direct me to nearest embassy. ” He yanked at the door and almost fell backward as it opened easily.

“Your choice is made.” The voice grew distant as his surroundings faded into nothing. “Let the quest begin.”

Learning Outside the Box

I’ve always found it hard to explain to questioners what we do as homeschoolers. Not because I don’t know what we do, but because most questioners have preconceived ideas of what constitutes education. They want to know what grade a child is in, what their letter or number grades are, what subjects they are taking, etc. Even babies and toddlers are expected to learn according to curriculum and schedules. The concept of learning in any other way is foreign to most of the modern world.

The truth is that all those preconceived ideas are a relatively recently created box. Once upon a time, education occurred from reading living books, experimenting, discussing, researching, and writing. The concept of grade levels did not exist; tests and scores would have no meaning. Mastery was determined by how well ideas learned could be practically implemented by students, or by how well a student could reason using what they had been taught. A successful education was considered to be the ability to think, discuss, and work, rather than the ability to regurgitate disembodied facts or fill out an answer key.

In the past the difficulty and expense of dispensing information restricted education to those with the means to pay such costs, but much has changed since that argument was used to support the founding of public school systems. Books are inexpensively printed on paper that costs pennies; photography and digital recording have replaced the tedious work of sketching anything to be studied later, as well as made records less destructable, and both can be done by anyone from a handheld device at the touch of a button. Technology has advanced to the point that communication from any point to any other point can be instantaneous with a miniscule cost. Because of the many tools now available, the education coveted and treasured by our ancestors lies at the tip of our fingers, and yet we can no longer comprehend its nature.

So, when I say we don’t know our grade level, I really mean my children are motivated to read books of greater difficulty in order to research their interests. When I say we don’t use a scoring system, I really mean that we work together on projects and correct mistakes until we understand all the elements of the project and produce the appropriate results. When I say that we have never taken a test, I really mean that my children can carry on an hour conversation with anyone who will listen about minute details of complicated subjects. When I say they haven’t memorized standard lists of facts, I really mean that they are capable of reasoning and arriving at conclusions on their own, often putting me to shame. When I say that I don’t have lesson plans or assign lessons, I really mean that my children have the desire to know and keep up with their own educational activities in special journals with my supervision and approval.

This is possible because not only do we function outside of mental boxes, but my children do not spend most of their life in the physical box of the classroom. As a mom of five, I can attest to the difficulty of monitoring, interacting with, and teaching discipline to only five children with five separate personalities and sets of needs. The classroom box renders such attention impossible and reduces everything within it to either rote and drone or total chaos. Neither lead to actual education, no matter how dedicated and caring the teacher; there is simply no space or time to do more than establish the ability to fall in line.

The world desperately needs a return to learning outside the box. I’m grateful for the freedom and the tools to pursue it.

Peace, Be Still

When God called Moses from the burning bush, Moses already knew God. He had already felt a calling to help his people, a purpose greater than himself. Because his early efforts had failed, what he did not feel was equipped. He pleaded to be excused from the task because he did not think he had the tools to do it. God sent him anyway.

When Jezebel put a price on Elijah’s head, Elijah already knew God. He was a wanted man because he had taken a stand for God in the face of powerful retribution. He didn’t flee and hide because he didn’t believe in the cause, but because he felt discouraged. No one stood with him, and he could see nothing but lonely failure. God fed him, let him rest, then sent him back to stand again anyway.

When Saul’s entire focus bent toward killing David, the future king already knew God. Saul hated him because his great trust in the Lord had brought victory and respect of which Saul was unworthy. David didn’t flee Israel because he rejected God, and even in self-imposed exile he tried to help God’s people. He fled because he was tired and afraid. Not only was he in danger himself, but his entire family and thousands who supported him stood to lose their lives. God reminded him that danger was everywhere and sent him back to keep fighting anyway.

When Jesus sat in the garden facing death in the morning, He was God. He wept and trembled, not because He didn’t believe in His plan, but from the pain and grief of knowing what the people He loved would do, the suffering that was necessary for them to cause Him before they would understand His love. The angels comforted Him and He faced the cross anyway.

When the storm threatened the disciples’ ship, they already knew God. He was in the boat with them. They panicked, not because they weren’t aware of Him, but because they weren’t used to relying on Him. They thought they had faith because they believed He could save them. Jesus said they had none because they didn’t believe that He would.

So often we run – from the storm, from the task, from the danger. Perhaps we feel unequal to the challenge, think we lack tools needed to be successful. Perhaps we feel alone and cannot see how one person could make a difference. Perhaps the enemy is so massive that we see no other option but to hide, to pretend we are something other than we are. Perhaps the cost is so high, the loss so painful, that we must weep and tremble for a while. Perhaps we really do believe that, although God exists, we are still on our own.

It’s time to let God send us back to stand. Trust that He is equipped whether we are or not. Know that whether or not any human stands with us we are not alone. Shine against the pain of the world’s betrayal of our God. Let His peace still the storm.