Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child: Method Nine

Distract the Child with the Shallow and Unreal
“Modernity is a form of confinement: a way of life wherein we are free to ‘express’ ourselves, so long as the differences between one person and the next are not considered of any account. Everyone is different, and the differences make no difference; everyone walks in the gaudy wear of his own whims, and therefore everyone is a prisoner of the fads of the passing moment.”
Television
Television is probably the first destroyer of the imagination that people think of. It’s true that TV is full of “moronic sales pitches for toys and toothpaste and luxury cars, appealing to lust, vanity, greed, envy, pride and various other sins deadly and disheartening.” It’s true that staring at the screen is easy—it replaces the physical and mental exertion required by reading or riding a bike. But have you ever thought that “every hour spent in front of the television [is] an hour not spent doing something else?...For everybody has to have some time doing something pointless, like playing cards. But the television engages the imagination in a false and easy way, as playing cards does not.” It requires no effort and then, when effort is required, the lazy, glutted imagination will not be able to give it. “You’ll still be able to play cards, but you will find it hard to listen to Beethoven.” Roald Dahl’s “Song to Mike Teevee” comes to mind here.

Noise
The real problem with television is that it is full of noise. This kind of noise is more than just decibels; it is “a kind of mental and spiritual interference, like the blitz of tiny explosions in radio static.” And it’s not limited to the TV screen. Anonymous crowds, billboards, announcements, pretentious posters pushing political propaganda, useless information immediately available on handy portable devices, slogans about slogans.... Eyes will be “trained to jitter with the skips and blips of visual distraction,” ears will “jitter along with incoherent wailings,” and minds will not rest on the beauties of even an actual stretch of sea and sky, let alone an imaginary sea and sky.

People
A life lived in a community of other lives will be a rich one. Every other person has the potential to broaden the mind because each one has a different set of experiences. But it takes time to get to know them and humility, too, because one must listen instead of talk, receive instead of offer. Too often what we have instead of community is crowds: herds of people merely performing functions for each other. The cashier at the grocery store is not a person with character and a story, she is just a cog in the wheel of society. Even the family is being dismantled: parents are being replaced by professionals who do their job efficiently, not lovingly. Life is deadened by routine without order, affability without love, rebukes without anger.

Does anyone else think that Facebook (dare I bring it up?) lends to this problem? As Esolen says, “We use the word ‘friend’ to describe someone we hardly know because the real depths of friendship are inaccessible to us.” Facebook relationships tend to be both “shallow” and “unreal.” Do they distract from the kind of friendship that bares souls and gives all?

So what shall we then do about all this?

In many cases, nothing, says Esolen.

The imagination is a natural faculty in man. It can be drowned out in noisy clamor, it can be scheduled and managed into oblivion, it can be squashed as its heroes are flattened, it can be muffled up indoors, but don’t make the mistake of trying to foster it. It can be so powerful on its own that sometimes all it needs to thrive is a bit of peace and quiet, some time to think, and something noble to think about.

True creativity can be thought of as a kind of receptivity to something that comes to us from without. Tradition has the poet as hearer before he is crafter of verses. “The Muse comes to him.” Milton, the blind poet, appealed to his Heavenly Muse to dictate to him his unpremeditated verse; Einstein daydreamed in the hills of Tuscany wondering about light, listening to the light’s whisperings; Elijah witnessed all the “pyrotechnics nature has to offer”—the whirlwind, the earthquake, the fire from above—but the Lord was in the “still, small voice.”
“In the deep quiet of the heart we hear things. We hear that the world as we know it is passing away. We are passing away. Yet the world is beautiful and good is no illusion....We [can] crowd many years into a single instant, or we [can] recall an instant years later, as if it were present now in all its power and life.”
As mothers we want to protect our children from the distractions of a garish world. We see them as so much putty in our hands, ready to be molded into something great. But maybe they are more like seeds which (as Toad had to learn) need simply to be planted, watered and then left alone to grow. No amount of playing music, providing light in the dark of night, or shouting “Now seeds, START GROWING!” would help them along. If our children are given silence, then—though they may be living in this world—it will be as if they know of an extra dimension or two invisible to most. They will be free: free to wander, free to love. They will be human, creatures against whom the empire of the masses will not stand.
“If our current empire is to survive, we must resist the temptations of the One whom Elijah heard in the still, small voice. For unlike the serpent in the garden, He really would make us be as gods and set us free. We prefer our bonds instead.”
You can read my "Ode to Silence" inspired by this chapter.

Ode To Silence

Inspired by Ten Ways To Destroy Your Child's Imagination, Method Nine

When I was young there were always younger siblings needing naps. I remember the quiet that would settle over the whole house when the baby went to sleep and for two hours out of every afternoon we would have a sacred Quiet Time. Mom would sleep too, no one would converse (if we did we would involuntarily whisper), we were either reading or pursuing some quiet activity.


It’s nap time now as I write this. Someone upstairs is practicing music, Mom (she no longer has a baby to put to sleep) has just returned from an errand, I can hear footsteps, cupboards creaking. But all these sounds are distant, part of someone else’s life. Here, in our little home, Lucy has drifted to sleep next to a pile of picture books. Esther is stirring, but she has been told that it’s not time to get up yet. I can hear Joshua’s legos tinkling in the box as he searches for the right piece and the keys of my keyboard make muted clicking noises. The calm, the quiet, is almost tangible, like a quilt that we are snuggled under as we rest from the labors of the morning and get ready for the labors of the evening.

Usually our church is bustling with people. A hundred “how-do-you-do’s” are exchanged as we all find our seats but then the cheerful cacophony is united in song and confession. Even during the sermon, as the pastor’s voice brings the word of God, there is a soft, quiet rustle as children color, parents hush, and Bible pages turn. But if you happen to go into the sanctuary when all the worshippers have gone off to their various daily lives, you will encounter another tangible silence. In that silence you can hear without hearing the echo of hundreds of hymns sung by thousands of voices throughout the ages. If you listen to that silence, pausing for a moment from whatever errand you might have been on, you will know that this passing life is not all there is.

New York City is a place of hustle and bustle if any place is. We saw Times Square, alight with one glitzy advertisement after another. We rode the subway with hundreds of people hurrying hither and thither. We were on the Empire State Building as the sun set and millions of lights began to blink on—lights in houses, street lights, traffic lights, and head lights on thousands and thousands of cars. In the midst of Manhattan, many people find sanctuary under the trees, in the meadows, and along the paths of Central Park. But my favorite place that we visited in the City was the Trinity Church. The old church is right in the financial district, mere blocks from the Stock Exchange. There were no signs instructing curious tourists like ourselves to be quiet, but when we walked in, the place itself made us involuntarily respectful, reverent. We didn’t rush from one informative plaque to an other, we didn’t point out curiosities to each other. No, we sat, gazed a little, and listened. A place like that takes you beyond yourself. The eternal touches the present and we know that a home is prepared for us Somewhere Else.

I Was A Fun Mom Today

It was 11:30—an hour and a half till nap time, that oasis in a mother's day. I had already been for a walk, made breakfast, cleaned up from breakfast, dressed everyone, started two loads of laundry, read a story to the kids, worked on letters with Joshua and supervised Lucy's workbook activities. As we sat at the table drinking tea, I suddenly remembered that I'd been wanting to make cookies with the kids. As they sipped their hot beverage I gathered the ingredients for my favorite chocolate chip cookie recipe. Instead of just getting it done as quickly as possible (you know, the sooner to eat the cookies!) I let them help. Lucy dumped in sugar, Joshua tried his hand at mixing, and they both unwrapped the butter. Sure, I did most of the work, but they felt included, especially when the mixing was done and the "nibbles" of dough could begin going around.

Waiting patiently is so hard!
Too late!
Finally, we could enjoy the fruits of our labors. Yummy!
Picking out the chocolate chips, of course.
Isn't that how you eat them?
Yes, they really were that good!
Eli, if you read this at work, let me assure you that
there are plenty waiting for you when you get home.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

An Early Spring Walk in the Woods


Since Exodus is closed on Monday Eli gets to spend the day with us. This week we took the kids on a walk through the Mount Talbert Nature Park. It's a small butte just down the road from our home with very nicely maintained walking paths. Mostly it's used by joggers, but I love rambling through it with the kids. There's lots of birds, ferns, and moss, and in the summer the sunny meadow is full of blooming daisies. This time we even caught a glimpse of two deer just before they bounded away into the trees!


I like to call it "the Golden Wood." With the sun streaming through and all the yellowy moss on the trees, it takes on a warm, golden hue that is almost magical.


The first time we came here we brought our new stroller with its snazzy all-terrain wheels. But it was no match for the roots and rocks that we encountered at certain parts of the path. This time we knew better, but we should have planned some sort of transportation for an unsteady and quite slow eighteen-month-old.


I think she enjoyed the trip from her comfy perch up on Daddy's shoulders.


This is Joshua's senior portrait pose.


Just kidding! He's still just a little boy!


My three kids, all smiling for the camera for once!

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Ten Ways: Method Eight—A Female Perspective

Method eight in Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child is full of examples from history and literature and Esolen also uses many anecdotes from his own childhood. He is definitely writing from the point of view of a man who was once a boy so the illustrations of girlhood and womanhood are (understandably) a bit thin. As a woman who was once a girl, I thought I’d throw in my two cents worth of childhood memories.

When I was almost seven my family joined a church that spent nearly all of every Sunday together. After the service we had a fellowship meal together and after that we would have a short communion service. We were meeting in the school building belonging to a Seventh Day Adventist church. There was a gym, a long hallway (with mysteriously closed off classrooms hiding behind each door), a large covered porch, a playground, and a big field hedged at the back by blackberry bushes which bore fruit for us to eat and make into "ink" in the summer. When the weather was even sort of descent (I don’t think our mothers invested in fancy church clothes) there would be children of all ages roaming that property. The big boys would do back flips off the swings to the amazement of all of us younger kids. Boys would find frogs or snakes or they’d collect pinecones to be used (you guessed it) as projectiles. My friends and I alternated mostly between princesses and pioneers. After I read the Misty books we played that we were wild horses a few times. We also gathered pinecones, but they were the provisions we took with us on our journey to the Oregon Territory.

Then we all discovered freeze tag and almost every Sunday for a year or more you could find a group of maybe ten to twenty kids (boys and girls) running around the playground and the field. If it was too close after the meal, at least one or two would be collapsed on the ground with an excruciating side ache. But even though we played together, there was still a divide between the boys and girls. My friends and I would come to the game together and leave together. We would congregate on “base” together. There was definitely a sense of mystery such as Esolen refers to. And yes, there were glances back and forth.

Still we grew. Civil War re-enacting became vogue. The boys made or acquired uniforms (mostly Confederate gray), they collected rifles and they marched off through the woods to shoot at each other and die as realistically as possible. Then they would sit around their campfires and drink water out of canteens or (preferably) maple syrup jugs that would look amusingly as though they contained something a good deal stiffer. We girls got to be nurses (pale and shaking) during the hospital scenes, which always included amputations. We sewed dresses out of colorful calico, we baked pies, we crocheted. In the evening we would dance. Then the distinctions between boys and girls (not yet men and women, but getting close) were preserved and even sharpened. We would sit on the side and wait to be asked. They would ask and they considered it an honor (or they said they did, anyway). They would lead us on and then lead us off again.

I don’t remember the division being weird or forced. No one told me not to play with the boys or to only get so close or to only talk for so long. It was natural and I think it did result in a greater respect for each other when we did get together.

Of course there has to be balance. We don’t want our children going all Victorian and prudish, especially as they get older. But they should understand and embrace the differences. Then as they mature they can begin to wonder and marvel at them.

Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child: Method Eight

Level Distinctions Between Man and Woman
“We human beings wherever we go will always have one frontier right before us, one source of wonder, precisely for the fascinating strangeness of the land. Women will have men and men will have women.”
The imagination, unless it is stifled early, is restless. It longs for the faraway, the separate, the unknown. The previous chapter demonstrated how love ignites the imagination; this chapter suggests that the way to keep men and women from falling in love—beholding each other with wonder and reverence—is to flatten the children. From an early age they are to be given both a superficial familiarity and an impenetrable ignorance of what makes men and women so strangely, uniquely, marvelously different from each other.

Superficial Familiarity
An easy way to dispel the mystery of the sexes is to herd kids together whenever possible as if there’s no reason to keep them apart. Boys and girls routinely thrown together will not learn the wonder of love but rather the boredom of familiarity. They may still develop friendships in that situation, but the primary focus will be who is eyeing who and who is going to who’s party. But boys and girls are different. Even when they are at the same activity, they don’t go about it in the same way. Keeping them separate is healthy for their intellectual and emotional development and makes it possible for them to try their hand at this and that without the distraction of (and the fear of being embarrassed by or in front of) the opposite sex. A divide wisely and judiciously set up will feel natural and will be respected by both the boys and the girls. It will allow boys to be boys and girls to be girls and each will feel like that means something. There will still be glances back and forth, but they will be glances of wonder and esteem.

This chapter is full of examples from history and literature and Esolen also uses many anecdotes from his own childhood. He is definitely writing from the point of view of a man who was once a boy so the illustrations of girlhood and womanhood are (understandably) a bit thin. As a woman who was once a girl, I thought I’d throw in my two cents worth of childhood memories. (read more...)

Impenetrable Ignorance
Children are herded into anonymity at earlier and earlier ages and as they grow the homogeneity continues. Boys are not led into “manhood,” girls are not ushered into “womanhood,” and neither are led to believe that the two are at all different. Instead they merely “grow up” into “adulthood,” as do animals and weeds and with about the same significance. Modernity, putting on a veneer of intelligence, scoffs at traditional ideals by pinning any easy stupidity or immorality upon the men and women of the past who exemplified them. Never mind that these conventional men and women—possessed of virtues modernity would ignore—tamed a continent. No, the only ideals children are given to seek after are lots of money, a sharp wardrobe, and a glamorous career—things that “glut the soul rather than whet its longing for what is beyond our immediate range of sight.” Not very inspiring or elevating, but quite necessary to drive the economy. On the other hand, the concepts of manliness and womanliness give young people a recognizable ideal to strive for and grow into—and it’s not one of their own making. It’s something that has been done by all the boys and girls of ages past who became the men and women who made history. It’s beautiful and bracing, significant and noble.

When children are herded into big, controlled crowds they can neither enjoy the bliss of solitude nor form close friendships. Friendship exalts the imagination and when boys hang out with other boys and girls gather with other girls, they are free to develop the kind of companionship that is unencumbered by feelings of attraction or shyness. This “brotherhood” and “sisterhood” will allow the boys and the girls (who will eventually become men and women) to accomplish the great and the glorious. When you have a real friend you remember and treasure the past. You love the friend and suddenly the concerns of the masses fade into unimportance. “Pals we may have, in the flatlands of contemporary life. Political allies, sure. Coworkers aplenty. But not friends.”
“Wherever such friendships persist, there persists the possibility of imaginative leaps that threaten the comfort of the banal.”

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child: Method Seven

Reduce All Talk of Love to Narcissism and Sex

Containing many beautiful examples from literature and poetry, this chapter is a tribute to love—love that exalts, love that is mysterious, love that is selfless, love that “touches the ordinary so that suddenly we see that it is not ordinary after all.” Love takes the earthly beauty around us and gives it greater meaning and a heavenly splendor. It makes us hunger for the good, the true and the beautiful. This kind of love goes beyond physical desire; it does not reduce its object to animal attraction or to material accidents such as a pretty eye or a fair cheek. Not that it doesn’t appreciate the beauty, but it is on a quest for something greater than mere copulation. It desires to possess that beauty all the more and in its noblest form: companionship bound by a mutual rivalry of noble deeds and consideration of the good itself. This kind of love becomes merged with our longing to know the highest truth: to contemplate the beauty of the Creator.
“What exalts us is not the poetry, nor even the haunting melody to which it is sung, but the call of love that leads us, in imagination, into a world of desire and beauty and disappointment. It is a world as old as man; and can be put to death only by the abolition of man.”
The abolition of man is exactly what mass-entertainers and mass-educators are about. Instead of ennobling poetry about selfless love of another, we get self-infatuated drivel. Love now has to do with “whatever makes me happy” not with whatever makes me see beyond myself. “It is an emotional itch, that is all.” But it’s not really love they’re talking about at all—it’s lust. Lust not only ignores the heavenly things, but also reduces even earthly things to “dunghill thoughts” and cannot imagine anything other than the urge of animal desire. The glorious mysteries of manliness and womanliness are dispelled or papered over and ignored and when that happens, “we can no longer appreciate why men and women were ever fascinated with each other in the first place. We lose the poetry and music of love.”

Modern educators reduce “manliness” and “womanliness” to the capacity to engage in sexual intercourse. The qualities traditionally associated with good men and good women (service and support, respect and submission) are merely conventional: they can and should be otherwise. “The passage from girlhood to womanhood, from being a child to being capable of bearing a child, is reduced to twaddle and giggles.” Measurements and functions are all love is, without the least connection to the being of a woman. “Manhood” is not something into which a man could lead a boy. Delicate matters of human desire and attraction are shrugged away with a laugh. The whole subject of sex has to do with controlling the hardware and keeping it clean. Not much happens when a boy and a girl fall in love except that they eventually get around to wondering when they should “go further.” Modern educators set up a pasteboard world where virtue, duty and the momentous giving of oneself wholly to another have no part. They are not interested in the mysteries of love, only in mechanics and hygienics. “What is love? No concrete answer can be given, so why bother asking?”

People with a strong sense of being embodied creatures rather than bundles of appetite provided with the machinery of a body will blanche at genetic engineering, homosexuality, the raising of children by institutions... Such a person would not drag the distinctive qualities of manliness and womanliness over the ground of the other because he would give each the greatest respect possible. He would glimpse with awe the unfathomable mystery of each, whose bodies—when they unite—produce “that one-flesh union that allows us to link one generation to the next.” Retaining a sensitivity to the mysterious and holy, he would not be so easily assimilated into the world of the masses.

Project Simplify: Kids Clothes and Toys


On Monday Eli and I rearranged pretty much the whole house. We moved the couch out of our room and into the kids' room where we will actually use it. To make room for that we moved the crib into a little alcove in our room. It looks adorable as a little nursery! Well, the office was in that spot so we had to find a new place for that...etc...etc... Because of the rearrangement I had to re-situate Esther's clothes. Just before I sat down to find out this week's hot spot on Simple Mom, I told Eli that organizing the kids' clothes would be on my to do list this week. How convenient to then find out that the official Hot Spot #3 is children's clothes and toys! I eagerly read Simple Mom's suggestions and tips on how to manage this troublesome area.

So Tuesday morning I dumped every stitch of their current clothes that I could find on the floor in my room.

Children's clothes are a challenge to stay on top of. Seasons change before I know it and the little munchkins just keep on growing! They crawl around on the floor and put holes in their jeans, they spill food, they play in the dirt... I already work hard to keep up with their changing wardrobe and their changing needs, so mostly I just refolded and put things back into place. But there were a few items to sort out and some to pass down.

Too big.
Too small.
Esther's too small.
To go OUT.
An example of the finished look.
The kids' clothes are in one half of an oversized closet in their room. The dresser and everything hides nicely when the door is closed. Clothes ready to be handed down stack on top of the dresser and their church clothes hang on a mini closet rod hung across the depth instead of the width of the closet. Yes, I realize that I have enough dresses to keep an army of little girls clothed for a month of Sundays. I have gone through them. Repeatedly. Really! They're just so cute! If only my daughters would stop growing...

Well, I was on a roll, so I put Esther down for her nap in my room and we tackled the toys next. It's amazing how many will accumulate after 3 baby showers, 4 Christmases, and 9 birthdays!

Who says organizing is drudgery?
I do sort toys regularly so there were only a few old or broken toys to get rid of. Mostly they just play with Duplos so I try not to have too many other little sets of building toys. I couldn't really get a picture of the after effect because everything just looked put away. The building toys are under the bunk bed, the toy dishes and larger sized cars are on shelves, and there's a small set of drawers in the closet with toy animals, army men, and matchbox cars. The stuffed animals go in a funky mesh sorter thing I found at IKEA for quite cheap. When Lucy settled down on the couch for her quiet time after we were done, she said, "Mom, our room looks so nice and clean!"

Really, there's a part of my that wants to toss it all and just let the kiddos play with the Five Best Toys of All Time.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Esther: Eighteen Months Old

We had some lovely sunlight filtering through the window in my bedroom a while ago so I dressed up my little girl and we had a home photo shoot. At eighteen months, it's fun to watch the baby-ness fade as the toddler-ness blossoms. She still cuddles like a baby, though!




Esther's name means "Star" and she has a twinkling personality!

Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child: Method Six

Cut All Heroes Down to Size

There are three ways to remove the inspiration of heroes from our children’s imaginations:

1. Belittle military heroism
“The virtues that really open the heart and the moral imagination are those that you must exercise with real effort, here and now--standing up in front of this bully, perhaps taking a blow for what is right, and dealing one or two in return. Even friendship can be forged out of enmity when opponents of genuine courage meet one another.”
Boys will be fascinated with violent action. A two-year-old will pick up any random stick and turn it into a gun, bang-banging away at anything in sight. He will build cannons out of Duplos and the pieces strewn on the floor become so many dead bodies. Killing bad guys is quickly a normal part of his vocabulary even if his innocent mother only remembers reading The Cat and the Hat and The Very Hungry Caterpillar to him. And this is only the beginning; his interest in war and fighting will only grow as he grows. The modern age would have us give our children as heroes not people who make peace but people who safely and comfortably talk about it a lot. Wars and those who fight them are bad. People die in war. Resources are destroyed. When history becomes nothing but “fashionable glances at wise people who did the politically correct thing and wicked people who did not,” then only the miseries that war brings are dwelt on. No one bothers to ask what would have happened if Britain had surrendured to Napoleon or Hitler. No one wonders what the world would be like if America, instead of fighting back, had come to terms with Japan after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Once the innocent mother has removed all of her boy’s real heroes, the modern age gives her an easy and frivolous outlet for his fascination with violent action: noisy, imbecilic, lewd and bloody video games.

As a young mother myself I can see how easy this would be. It’s hard to know what to do when your little boy is running around killing things. It would be easier to teach him pacifism. “Killing is bad, little boy. Would you like to play storekeeper? Play with your blocks; maybe you could become a builder some day. If you must fight, fight fires or disease or global warming. If something in society bothers you, just pass laws against it.” And then when he still wants to shoot stuff up, you sit him in front of a screen where at least the killing isn’t real.

The life of a soldier is prone to many a vice and much drudgery, but it is a profession worthy of honor because in entering it the man implicitly agrees that his life is not his own. War calls forth acts of courage and generosity and charity, often at the cost of limb or life. “Death or the risk of death can suddenly lift us out of the petty concerns of the day.” A child raised on modernity’s ideas of heroism will say, “I am heroic already because I agree with William Wilberforce,” rather than, “If only someday I could do something a tenth as noble as what William Wilberforce did.”


2. Flippancy
“Not many people can cut a really good new joke, but anybody can be trained to speak as if the good things of this world were ridiculous.”
C. S. Lewis (in Screwtape Letters) says that flippancy is a thousand miles from joy and deadens instead of sharpening. It builds up armor against God. It’s easy to fall into flippancy because heroes often do what is foolish in the eyes of the world. They attempt the brave and noble--often seemingly pointless--despite difficulties, obstacles and dangers. Why admit that they are greater than we are, why risk our own safety or reputation to try to follow in their footsteps, why cheer, why flush with admiration when we can snigger and smirk and laugh at what we do not understand. Humility? Honesty? Chastity? Quaint. Out of fashion. Self-control? Temperance? Takes too much effort. People who value those things are unenlightened. Besides, none of it works anyway.

3. Equality
“Everyone is creative, everyone is original. Every one of the millions of lemmings is to believe himself a leader of tomorrow, leading tomorrow in perfectly predictable fashion right over the edge of the cliff.”
Even a brief glance into history will find excellence to be admired and learned from, but that superiority is often an affront to our self-esteem. Excellence implies that some are better than others. In our day of “No Child Left Behind” we do not want one to excel beyond another. Someone’s feelings might get hurt, for goodness sake! So instead of admiring the artistic, intellectual and moral heroes of the past and learning from them, we homogenize and level them. Scott Joplin may not be as good as Mozart, but he was just as famous in his own day. Shakespeare was popular “back in the old days” but people couldn’t read and write back then. Nowadays we all see dramas; they just happen to be on television. "I think," says the person who doesn't really know what he's talking about, "that such and such is just as good as anything Shakespeare ever wrote." And any of us could come up with our own fine piece of work. The genuine heroes of the past are tarnished and mirrors of self-adulation are set up all around. Everyone goes to college--not to learn about the great ones of the past and for the opportunity to maybe be a great one in the future--but to be a College Graduate, as if that makes one somebody.

So why--if we wish to stretch their imaginations--should we introduce our children to heroes?

If you think back to the heroes of history who stand out for their artistic or intellectual accomplishments, you will find that most (if not all) had heroes of their own. And they didn’t just respect and learn from them as one would a knowledgeable mentor. They were their authorities, their teachers and they bowed with reverence before them. J.S. Bach, Edmund Spencer, Machiavelli...they all had their heroes and it was this admiration for genius past that enabled them to change history. The souls of our children will be exalted by the greatness they esteem in others.

A hero extends the limits of what is human and introduces us to possibilities we had never considered. If he does so in the service of something good and noble, we love him so much the better for it. Love of a hero does not make sense sometimes--like love, like playfulness, like anything that “makes life more than a calculation of profit and loss.” To common eyes the hero often looks like a fool: the missionary who returns to preach to his captors, the small band of soldiers who won’t surrender even though they are vastly outnumbered, the explorer who journeys to lands unknown and inaccessible, the statesman who stands against the slave trade even though it is the foundation of his nation’s economy. But it is this folly of a man making a stand despite all odds that makes a hero like a pack of dynamite to a young mind, ready to blow away conformity and dullness.

Friday, March 18, 2011

Project Simplify: Paper Clutter


Hot Spot #2 is paper clutter. Head on over to Simple Mom for some great tips on how to tackle and manage this on-going housekeeping issue.

I would describe the level of paper clutter I have to deal with as minimal to average. Our utilities are included in our rent agreement (including internet), we don't have any house payments and all the papers that come with that, we don't have a land line phone and we paid for our cell phone in one big chunk since we're on Eli's brother's plan. I haven't even started homeschooling in earnest. Maybe I'd better make that paper level minimal.

Still there's paper around to deal with and since there's so little, we tend to let it pile up. Here are the problem areas:

My desk

Misc. papers sorter: suspiciously empty.

Basket for family worship papers: mostly full of old Sunday School projects.

Eli's desk: not my responsibility, right?

Bedside nightstands: just how many books are we reading right now?
So I collected everything in one place. I was not planning on doing any major re-filing or catching up on financial paperwork. I just wanted to get it put away.

The Pile
About 50% of that got recycled. 25% was just books that needed to be put back on their proper shelves. And that basket in the middle holds (dare I admit it?) Christmas letters and cards. (I have an excuse: most of them are from church friends and we get them all on the Sunday before Christmas. If we read them right away it would take a whole evening! We've been meaning to go through them...)

I moved the wicker paper sorter to the place where papers tend to pile up and replaced it with my cookbooks. Yes, that is a Bible next to them. Man cannot live by bread alone, right?

All those slots are labeled. There is a place for everything, now we just need to put everything in its place.

Maybe I'll actually sit down here and write or something now!

Several books went back up to my nightstand. Yes, I really do need them all up there.

This basket looks pretty much the same, but now the papers in it are useful. I put all the unread Christmas letters here. Maybe we could read one each evening and pray for the family?

Ah, much better!

In conclusion, there's not really anything I can do to improve the system. We just need to stay on top of it.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

More Household Help

"Vanity of vanities,” says the Preacher;
"Vanity of vanities, all is vanity."
What profit has a man from all his labor
In which he toils under the sun?
...
All things are full of labor;
Man cannot express it.
The eye is not satisfied with seeing,
Nor the ear filled with hearing.
That which has been is what will be,
That which is done is what will be done,
And there is nothing new under the sun.
...
I have seen all the works that are done under the sun; and indeed, all is vanity and grasping for the wind.
Sometimes the futility of my labors as a housewife just astound me. You know how it goes: by the time you fold a load of laundry, there's another pile that needs to be washed...you clean up the floor and then someone eats crackers for snack...you make the beds only to climb right back into them.... Every time you turn around something that you just finished needs to be done again!

Of course, if you've read Ecclesiastes, you know not only that this repetition is natural but also that you are not the first to be confounded by it all. One generation passes away, and another takes its place...the sun rises and sets...rivers run into the sea and the water returns to run its course again...and again...and again. The wind keeps on whirling about.

No, I don't go crazy while I'm doing housework, but I do tend to over-think it. That's why one of my birthday gifts from a friend is particularly special to me.


My friend Katelyn has been learning to knit. Whenever we get together she is stitching away--knit after purl, purl after knit--on wash cloths of various sizes, colors and patterns. It made me happy that she thought of me as she made this yellow cotton cloth and every time I use it I think of her. It reminds me that I'm not alone in this endless cycle of housework. It reminds me that there is more to life than doing dishes, but doing the dishes is good too. 
Here is what I have seen: It is good and fitting for one to eat and drink, and to enjoy the good of all his labor in which he toils under the sun all the days of his life which God gives him; for it is his heritage. As for every man to whom God has given riches and wealth, and given him power to eat of it, to receive his heritage and rejoice in his labor—this is the gift of God. For he will not dwell unduly on the days of his life, because God keeps him busy with the joy of his heart. Ecclesiastes 5:18-20
Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with your might; for there is no work or device or knowledge or wisdom in the grave where you are going. -Ecclesiastes 9:10
Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter:
Fear God and keep His commandments,
For this is man’s all.
For God will bring every work into judgment,
Including every secret thing,
Whether good or evil.
Ecclesiastes 12:13-14

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Household Help

Have you ever heard that only a couple generations ago almost everyone had some sort of paid household help: a servant, maid, cook, handyman, chauffeur or any combination of the above? You either had household help or you were household help. Does this make you feel sorry for us poor 21st century people who have to do all our housework ourselves? Why don't you walk with me down to the servants' quarters in my home and I'll introduce you to the servants I have working for me.

Here is Mrs. Washer and Mr. Dryer (they both bobbed their heads and gave you a cheerful smile). They're married and together they do all my laundry. I give the clothes to Mrs. Washer and they come out clean. She passes them to Mr. Dryer (I usually have to help with this, though soon my children will be their little helpers) and when he's done with them they're crisp and dry. In the kitchen we have Mr. Oven. Unfortunately he's not a French Anatole and our food is only as good as I make it, but his fire never goes out and he never takes a day off. His right-hand helper is little Master Microwave who keeps busy doing the little jobs. Miss Vacuum is our upstairs maid. She's a lazy creature whom I have to push around. We also have Miss Fridge and Miss Freezer (they're attached at the hip, but it's a functioning relationship) and their older brother, Big Freezer. They take care of most of my preserving so I don't have to slave away all summer putting up food to eat later.

All of these servants require management, but the servants of old did too. Mine never bicker, they don't get offended, and (as long as I pay my electricity bill) I don't have to feed them or pay them.

Okay, enough of the cheesy personification. All I really wanted to say was that we just "hired" a new "servant." Meet Miss Dishwasher!


When I first got married we lived in your average apartment which had your average quality dishwasher. But I was the oldest of six kids. It had been years since I didn't have a sibling old enough to take care of the dishes after meals. Suddenly I was in my own home and not only did I have to clean up the kitchen after meals, I had to make the meals themselves...and vacuum...and clean the bathrooms...and do the laundry...etc. Sure there was just me and Eli, but I still had to figure out how to balance all these responsibilities. Quite frequently the dishes were just piled into the sink until later and the dishwasher sat empty.

Then we moved to the old red house. No dishwasher there. My only helpers were ye old soap and water (and a helpful husband). Suddenly it wasn't so convenient to just leave the dishes for later because then they would pile up! Living there helped me build habits of cleaning up after myself and doing the dishes after (almost) every meal.

Now our family has grown beyond two plates, two cups, two forks, and a pot and pan or two. There are three little people using dishes, dropping crumbs, and needing faces and hands washed. Meal prep and meal clean up both take more time and I have now have many new responsibilities like teaching letters and numbers. My nice landlords, after deciding to keep renting this apartment even after we move out, put in the new machine this morning (thanks Mom and Dad!).
Dear new housewife Self,

Your responsibilities are really quite simple. Before you know it there will be more dishes and no dishwasher. Seriously, how long does it take to take care of that little stack?

Love,

A busier You

Friday, March 11, 2011

Project Simplify: Master Closet


I'm joining up with Project Simplify on the blog Simple Mom. On Monday she announces a hot spot to de-clutter and organize and then on Friday everyone gets to share before and after photos. This week: the Master Closet. She has some really good tips so you should definitely check out her website!

On Thursday, Joshua was upstairs playing with Legos with Nathaniel and the girls were happily amusing themselves so I took the opportunity to work in my room.

First I took care of this. I hate it when by the time I'm done folding the clean laundry, it's time to wash another load!

Then I ironed that little pile draped on those drawers.
How long had they been sitting there?

Those boxes of candles wouldn't fit in the drawer designated to them. One drawer was full of lovely frames, empty since we got them for our wedding. I pulled them all out and evaluated. Use them or loose them, that's my motto. But I really like them! So I found places for them and soon I'll get some pictures printed to fill them. With that drawer empty, the candles fit easily.

That paper bag was the remnants of a sewing project from last year. But the container that my project materials are supposed to go in was overflowing. So I sorted through all that stuff and threw away scraps of fabric and yarn that really are too small to use. I did end up putting all my fabric into a separate bag, but the container of yarn, crochet hooks, knitting needles, and whatever else is much more neat and accesible.

By this time Esther was ready for her nap so I put her down on my bed and put Lucy in her bed for quiet time. Joshua was still playing Legos. As the girls took their naps I poked around my room and finished the project.

A few months ago I had already given this area a big re-organization so you could call this week's project a re-re-organization. However, since I usually just use my maternity clothes out of their storage container or stuff them in drawers on top of my regular clothes, I decided to use this opportunity to fully rotate out clothes that don't fit with clothes that do. So I piled those on the floor and did the great switch. In the process I sorted stuff out. This time I really let stuff go.

The rejects.
After


It's not really all that different, but just going everything a go-through results in drawers that close, clothes that fit on the rod, and the knowledge that I have a little less stuff that I don't need. I love that feeling!


This is the stuff that needed to be put away. Mom had an extra container I could use for the pile of costumes in the middle and Eli brought home an empty container from the Exodus attic for that pile of clothes that don't fit right now on the right. Both fit easily in the closet. I still need to get an over-the-door hook for our bathrobes.

This closet and a half a linen closet are the extent of our storage here. The too small baby clothes are all I have stored elsewhere (at Exodus). I love the simplicity that comes from only keeping what we need! Head on over to Simple Mom for some tips and tricks for getting and staying organized.