tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60807479553028020432024-03-05T20:27:54.108-08:00Journey ChroniclesAmanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.comBlogger58125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-60563334166481134032011-03-30T19:53:00.001-07:002011-04-05T11:47:58.133-07:00Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child: Method Nine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.exodusbooks.com/details.aspx?id=24768" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibp2aIhh9bfwGs-wIyWY0BdHrOmRcsFQ9knPP31g7-YatueFGVzYQx8x65ZPEjUIJ5NqjpePTwkLqZTByOmkgApqi9BistiffMqa3Mq6mhFqIao6fO0ZXUlDtSVS9vnc1jRSvImjJH8FQj/s200/bookcover10ways.png" width="132" /></a></div><b>Distract the Child with the Shallow and Unreal</b><br />
<blockquote><i>“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.”</i></blockquote><b>Television</b><br />
Television is probably the first destroyer of the imagination that people think of. It’s true that TV is full of “<i>moronic sales pitches for toys and toothpaste and luxury cars, appealing to lust, vanity, greed, envy, pride and various other sins deadly and disheartening</i>.” 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 “<i>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.</i>” It requires no effort and then, when effort is required, the lazy, glutted imagination will not be able to give it. “<i>You’ll still be able to play cards, but you will find it hard to listen to Beethoven</i>.” Roald Dahl’s “<a href="http://www.exodusbooks.com/family/article.aspx?id=42">Song to Mike Teevee</a>” comes to mind here.<br />
<br />
<b>Noise</b><br />
The real problem with television is that it is full of noise. This kind of noise is more than just decibels; it is “a<i> kind of mental and spiritual interference, like the blitz of tiny explosions in radio static</i>.” 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 “<i>trained to jitter with the skips and blips of visual distraction</i>,” ears will “<i>jitter along with incoherent wailings</i>,” and minds will not rest on the beauties of even an actual stretch of sea and sky, let alone an imaginary sea and sky. <br />
<br />
<b>People</b><br />
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. <br />
<br />
Does anyone else think that Facebook (dare I bring it up?) lends to this problem? As Esolen says, “<i>We use the word ‘friend’ to describe someone we hardly know because the real depths of friendship are inaccessible to us</i>.” Facebook relationships tend to be both “shallow” and “unreal.” Do they distract from the kind of friendship that bares souls and gives all?<br />
<br />
<b>So what shall we then do about all this?</b><br />
<br />
In many cases, nothing, says Esolen.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. “<i>The Muse comes to him</i>.” 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 “<i>pyrotechnics nature has to offer</i>”—the whirlwind, the earthquake, the fire from above—but the Lord was in the “still, small voice.”<br />
<blockquote><i>“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.”</i></blockquote>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 <a href="http://www.exodusbooks.com/details.aspx?id=2420">Toad</a> 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.<br />
<blockquote><i>“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.”</i></blockquote>You can read my "<a href="http://journeychronicles.blogspot.com/2011/03/ode-to-silence.html">Ode to Silence</a>" inspired by this chapter.Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-11218231910115961952011-03-30T19:53:00.000-07:002011-04-05T11:58:16.826-07:00Ode To Silence<i>Inspired by <a href="http://journeychronicles.blogspot.com/2011/03/ten-ways-to-destroy-imagination-of-your_30.html">Ten Ways To Destroy Your Child's Imagination, Method Nine</a></i><br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_66NzQ9MFueZhN3SSke2DxoYWea2UiIWt4g_aSFdHzit62xpGlPTL_pCjfj7P79S1zUenZN5bvr5UApikd4-1rUGAtx9wxhhPBiJA_9C5K4f0DYtLPJt5o1rsMtuz61-xb2pHcPqFbOND/s1600/Sleep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_66NzQ9MFueZhN3SSke2DxoYWea2UiIWt4g_aSFdHzit62xpGlPTL_pCjfj7P79S1zUenZN5bvr5UApikd4-1rUGAtx9wxhhPBiJA_9C5K4f0DYtLPJt5o1rsMtuz61-xb2pHcPqFbOND/s400/Sleep.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWiuR7On7__sSs5Zuzloo7T4U95yfmG8X5mkFb9fbVIFZPMrKr7ZY-nc_yc7mVwCpYaL2YpexaerjlaPryDIL78KrqZARSPoTxamVp_JQsRYjHo2p8iDlJ7TwZrntzHBscLudSZtJg3pf9/s1600/Trinity+Church.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWiuR7On7__sSs5Zuzloo7T4U95yfmG8X5mkFb9fbVIFZPMrKr7ZY-nc_yc7mVwCpYaL2YpexaerjlaPryDIL78KrqZARSPoTxamVp_JQsRYjHo2p8iDlJ7TwZrntzHBscLudSZtJg3pf9/s400/Trinity+Church.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-32072832335437811662011-03-30T13:53:00.000-07:002011-03-30T13:55:43.961-07:00I Was A Fun Mom TodayIt 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 href="http://www.exodusbooks.com/details.aspx?id=7265">a story</a> 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 <a href="http://www.pelennorfields.com/mystie/2010/perfect-chocolate-chip-cookies/">chocolate chip cookie recipe</a>. 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.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgavtaqcfb_oC1A41h4C7dJCS8WgLi26BjT01Nqjgqjia4B7lVtkSujs0lITpYsjIDOTWdAmQBhdD06PIdr93AopHARRmsGSJb_4jRJzndcGewQTee0nAVUPyawJUqlr4L6E1r9m6fol9Ym/s1600/IMG_6812.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgavtaqcfb_oC1A41h4C7dJCS8WgLi26BjT01Nqjgqjia4B7lVtkSujs0lITpYsjIDOTWdAmQBhdD06PIdr93AopHARRmsGSJb_4jRJzndcGewQTee0nAVUPyawJUqlr4L6E1r9m6fol9Ym/s400/IMG_6812.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting patiently is so hard!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBay68mrwerU-YLGDRGgUDhIShVr3mQmAWgV0GBYQTjOCp1fzcsWC1beZgps03xZFMI9piPoI8UHReVON34ISywOnMNstII8nDuuJrNKZvYecSnGr4kqR3SLGA_Ng-AV0s6aRZk2Ud_fq0/s1600/IMG_6815.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBay68mrwerU-YLGDRGgUDhIShVr3mQmAWgV0GBYQTjOCp1fzcsWC1beZgps03xZFMI9piPoI8UHReVON34ISywOnMNstII8nDuuJrNKZvYecSnGr4kqR3SLGA_Ng-AV0s6aRZk2Ud_fq0/s400/IMG_6815.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Too late!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVeT23wYFS0SGppkhOV0bOFnlPZ2k6I33LXszbsP0vwoJ_HfX6j882j8lCFjnlaPmfOECo4RSDuD4m3_mrl_sjXxLNZkl-rnvzVZfGDF_FDgd-Q9JYSj9ZiG48k56b5PuiGCUgx96AMZ38/s1600/IMG_6816.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVeT23wYFS0SGppkhOV0bOFnlPZ2k6I33LXszbsP0vwoJ_HfX6j882j8lCFjnlaPmfOECo4RSDuD4m3_mrl_sjXxLNZkl-rnvzVZfGDF_FDgd-Q9JYSj9ZiG48k56b5PuiGCUgx96AMZ38/s400/IMG_6816.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finally, we could enjoy the fruits of our labors. Yummy!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxeo5hQzgvWxvcYLP0-gVH2klymmthqn0dQT_c3_Cp1YTbFhBQDED-od8FlvTNGoUz6e6yOtYyzrxVsPLxH-NwGmId0IGyonQ9X1lRyza2tXuaVpZgGVLuGiNCheZ30iCmLtgscoEpTYQC/s1600/IMG_6820.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxeo5hQzgvWxvcYLP0-gVH2klymmthqn0dQT_c3_Cp1YTbFhBQDED-od8FlvTNGoUz6e6yOtYyzrxVsPLxH-NwGmId0IGyonQ9X1lRyza2tXuaVpZgGVLuGiNCheZ30iCmLtgscoEpTYQC/s320/IMG_6820.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picking out the chocolate chips, of course.<br />
Isn't that how you eat them?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLxfPIOolY8-sXBIrKEal3Cj9cmr9KSjA2Kt2MhLIJK2tsSaWyBJXebH_esu0ChegVh-srVwCtPhrXbMfAflb87pfM8xgIHbUxB1ZNMGas3i1QfpO7aqKBN-GS0kyypacJVxPcnadwgHHc/s1600/IMG_6826.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLxfPIOolY8-sXBIrKEal3Cj9cmr9KSjA2Kt2MhLIJK2tsSaWyBJXebH_esu0ChegVh-srVwCtPhrXbMfAflb87pfM8xgIHbUxB1ZNMGas3i1QfpO7aqKBN-GS0kyypacJVxPcnadwgHHc/s320/IMG_6826.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, they really were <i>that </i>good!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbllb3u_sTO31lGEoOxJwMJ_KQch-LVKnywXdULVXbKEEsfyOtVviFaIS4CgnD5avd5aXyoSJs94wJLkyZETo_30IcAEZ-Cxnt2FXS6NuSrIpcdTXoQ7LvmQgwc5D37oA8dGl30O14gO5n/s1600/IMG_6839.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbllb3u_sTO31lGEoOxJwMJ_KQch-LVKnywXdULVXbKEEsfyOtVviFaIS4CgnD5avd5aXyoSJs94wJLkyZETo_30IcAEZ-Cxnt2FXS6NuSrIpcdTXoQ7LvmQgwc5D37oA8dGl30O14gO5n/s400/IMG_6839.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eli, if you read this at work, let me assure you that<br />
there are plenty waiting for you when you get home.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-53108856805642226562011-03-29T11:46:00.000-07:002011-03-29T11:46:16.028-07:00An Early Spring Walk in the Woods<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6k66SP__t06eqO_HQelPRQr9Qoke_iTvlDxjByRZ_EPvu-PSMJ5wjc2CyxLqISauhg6IdJZ0qdtQskAjMgpnZYhYYewC__Mc6wN1BVFFis-tCC5veiL3J9g6e0cD_3lnznh82M5A6bqm-/s1600/IMG_6738.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6k66SP__t06eqO_HQelPRQr9Qoke_iTvlDxjByRZ_EPvu-PSMJ5wjc2CyxLqISauhg6IdJZ0qdtQskAjMgpnZYhYYewC__Mc6wN1BVFFis-tCC5veiL3J9g6e0cD_3lnznh82M5A6bqm-/s400/IMG_6738.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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 <a href="http://www.oregonmetro.gov/index.cfm/go/by.web/id=22177">Mount Talbert Nature Park</a>. 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!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvaZNHv5rLiDmcl509pIfGVJgcF6rgMZAi36ceuEk2G2eRXCK0qGsu-5gpwpzoS73CVhLIgRQ-xMFotgqq_bfjVR6a2byrLy1GdlxOVGCbTJfjcyI1L5N7ip16O3gZrNdqex302m1Bm2hR/s1600/IMG_6709.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvaZNHv5rLiDmcl509pIfGVJgcF6rgMZAi36ceuEk2G2eRXCK0qGsu-5gpwpzoS73CVhLIgRQ-xMFotgqq_bfjVR6a2byrLy1GdlxOVGCbTJfjcyI1L5N7ip16O3gZrNdqex302m1Bm2hR/s400/IMG_6709.jpg" width="340" /></a></div><br />
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.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipL7PUqziucRpHXIZ-KXUd22HQTOS3eHEk8gog0iqSwLE08YHSdn-BJ-MRpiUZqmDVJAiKwuVChC6oDb4mdyok0BcXFrUbz9bkD1DwXoWNSR1ZMFgyLI0EBflgIqUKkzGBTIDfG2UNVJJN/s1600/IMG_6728.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipL7PUqziucRpHXIZ-KXUd22HQTOS3eHEk8gog0iqSwLE08YHSdn-BJ-MRpiUZqmDVJAiKwuVChC6oDb4mdyok0BcXFrUbz9bkD1DwXoWNSR1ZMFgyLI0EBflgIqUKkzGBTIDfG2UNVJJN/s400/IMG_6728.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><br />
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.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVXq5Sbb4tSSL3u4W_tawUyzfnGBnK7oMStY9m97yN_EshmuL7NQ-QmupeW5UBV9lGm0-m6n76v7zYVrnZtRoP-wre-FrGDuIl37EuA0etLMdlsFBJOqWs9uzC_kP2I80_CRdGMmihQJgT/s1600/IMG_6715.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVXq5Sbb4tSSL3u4W_tawUyzfnGBnK7oMStY9m97yN_EshmuL7NQ-QmupeW5UBV9lGm0-m6n76v7zYVrnZtRoP-wre-FrGDuIl37EuA0etLMdlsFBJOqWs9uzC_kP2I80_CRdGMmihQJgT/s320/IMG_6715.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I think she enjoyed the trip from her comfy perch up on Daddy's shoulders.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfNtQUHNh2-k8_RkIrskqCXJpp-Cql0Nky5KclQs9mZ8IVSYAhMEPYU5mQXVLd9L8my_RWOTcZBHCuFbaNhI0yb0uAyE_normWov3FdJv4uws_a9mD3jdue_b36Gy6ze8C3T4eMNakE6T6/s1600/IMG_6742.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfNtQUHNh2-k8_RkIrskqCXJpp-Cql0Nky5KclQs9mZ8IVSYAhMEPYU5mQXVLd9L8my_RWOTcZBHCuFbaNhI0yb0uAyE_normWov3FdJv4uws_a9mD3jdue_b36Gy6ze8C3T4eMNakE6T6/s320/IMG_6742.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />
This is Joshua's senior portrait pose.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXuO3bnwa84kAzki6kzzy0Xk_q-2AphhxEOXg0MKan1D8s28pxmvNthliDDVPV20yS7wnAU665Y00ok4dPQT3gQJt3F0MxPh50Sg9l_jWdXPHlv3g6t0qYwKzZNGtUeh68WNJLKanvfrxs/s1600/IMG_6721.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXuO3bnwa84kAzki6kzzy0Xk_q-2AphhxEOXg0MKan1D8s28pxmvNthliDDVPV20yS7wnAU665Y00ok4dPQT3gQJt3F0MxPh50Sg9l_jWdXPHlv3g6t0qYwKzZNGtUeh68WNJLKanvfrxs/s400/IMG_6721.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><br />
Just kidding! He's still just a little boy!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimR0HjrPUZGI8_iQl9lH48KBXAc9E5poi-jMPa6wsEa_19ngXN_KAH-yNVwXEXOXSzKiSFeF1hLh22t3TjUKyb9FyBMVqLSiHbTdqxEXR_VBPUvwizCRYEl2Mce8BeZqWIK1G_1JLqygf3/s1600/IMG_6752.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimR0HjrPUZGI8_iQl9lH48KBXAc9E5poi-jMPa6wsEa_19ngXN_KAH-yNVwXEXOXSzKiSFeF1hLh22t3TjUKyb9FyBMVqLSiHbTdqxEXR_VBPUvwizCRYEl2Mce8BeZqWIK1G_1JLqygf3/s400/IMG_6752.jpg" width="307" /></a></div><br />
My three kids, all smiling for the camera for once!Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-45921148102722208502011-03-26T12:49:00.000-07:002011-03-26T12:49:51.272-07:00Ten Ways: Method Eight—A Female Perspective<a href="http://journeychronicles.blogspot.com/2011/03/ten-ways-to-destroy-imagination-of-your_26.html">Method eight</a> in <i>Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child</i> 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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-76005928936557668332011-03-26T12:40:00.000-07:002011-04-05T11:49:49.238-07:00Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child: Method Eight<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.exodusbooks.com/details.aspx?id=24768" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibp2aIhh9bfwGs-wIyWY0BdHrOmRcsFQ9knPP31g7-YatueFGVzYQx8x65ZPEjUIJ5NqjpePTwkLqZTByOmkgApqi9BistiffMqa3Mq6mhFqIao6fO0ZXUlDtSVS9vnc1jRSvImjJH8FQj/s200/bookcover10ways.png" width="132" /></a></div><b>Level Distinctions Between Man and Woman</b><br />
<blockquote><i>“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.”</i></blockquote>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. <br />
<br />
<b>Superficial Familiarity</b><br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. (<a href="http://journeychronicles.blogspot.com/2011/03/ten-ways-method-eighta-female.html">read more...</a>)<br />
<br />
<b>Impenetrable Ignorance</b><br />
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 “<i>glut the soul rather than whet its longing for what is beyond our immediate range of sight</i>.” 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. <br />
<br />
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. “<i>Pals we may have, in the flatlands of contemporary life. Political allies, sure. Coworkers aplenty. But not friends</i>.”<br />
<blockquote><i>“Wherever such friendships persist, there persists the possibility of imaginative leaps that threaten the comfort of the banal.”</i></blockquote>Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-64666535952006186442011-03-24T23:07:00.000-07:002011-04-05T11:53:24.458-07:00Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child: Method Seven<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.exodusbooks.com/details.aspx?id=24768" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibp2aIhh9bfwGs-wIyWY0BdHrOmRcsFQ9knPP31g7-YatueFGVzYQx8x65ZPEjUIJ5NqjpePTwkLqZTByOmkgApqi9BistiffMqa3Mq6mhFqIao6fO0ZXUlDtSVS9vnc1jRSvImjJH8FQj/s200/bookcover10ways.png" width="132" /></a></div><b>Reduce All Talk of Love to Narcissism and Sex</b><br />
<br />
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 “<i>touches the ordinary so that suddenly we see that it is not ordinary after all</i>.” 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.<br />
<blockquote><i>“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.”</i></blockquote>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. “<i>It is an emotional itch, that is all</i>.” 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, “<i>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</i>.”<br />
<br />
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. “<i>The passage from girlhood to womanhood, from being a child to being capable of bearing a child, is reduced to twaddle and giggles</i>.” 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?”<br />
<br />
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 “<i>that one-flesh union that allows us to link one generation to the next</i>.” Retaining a sensitivity to the mysterious and holy, he would not be so easily assimilated into the world of the masses.Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-74358484696062487002011-03-24T22:37:00.000-07:002011-03-24T23:15:50.381-07:00Project Simplify: Kids Clothes and Toys<div style="text-align: center;"><a alt="project simplify on simple mom" href="http://simplemom.net/project-simplify" target="blank" width="150px"><img src="http://simplemom.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/projectsimplify.png" /></a></div><br />
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 <i><a href="http://simplemom.net/toys-before-and-after/">children's clothes and toys</a>!</i> I eagerly read <a href="http://simplemom.net/project-simplify-hot-spot-2-revealed/">Simple Mom's</a> suggestions and tips on how to manage this troublesome area.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFcAl7qtpldxnHDf23qKZCL2G1H9eBQoFUCkXlRENL4-wmY3opwxhyphenhyphenBAhA5Ol7mPswNhCUrsfQZ9w6g27rsS6oZawdwB-MNRf2iDLfc0L_lu4S7gP1L4cLs_jueCDuKIVoJomfY_PwoWDy/s1600/before%2526after310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFcAl7qtpldxnHDf23qKZCL2G1H9eBQoFUCkXlRENL4-wmY3opwxhyphenhyphenBAhA5Ol7mPswNhCUrsfQZ9w6g27rsS6oZawdwB-MNRf2iDLfc0L_lu4S7gP1L4cLs_jueCDuKIVoJomfY_PwoWDy/s320/before%2526after310.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>So Tuesday morning I dumped every stitch of their current clothes that I could find on the floor in my room.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOrTx3TfRfQdHaEKgwSoFqSwf4g6_IOZkHD6c28Ff5WGJVKkOCh0bZbhvJTpaJMFbNJIaiHW0rAVj5M56pSrYf9CxsoNgReQNfU_76XoCqgeuzwCYLxYKKAwYpR11jldYpAkDm-bBv_SnZ/s1600/before%2526after311.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOrTx3TfRfQdHaEKgwSoFqSwf4g6_IOZkHD6c28Ff5WGJVKkOCh0bZbhvJTpaJMFbNJIaiHW0rAVj5M56pSrYf9CxsoNgReQNfU_76XoCqgeuzwCYLxYKKAwYpR11jldYpAkDm-bBv_SnZ/s320/before%2526after311.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>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.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgQ-1z01bZ7pmwA3gNbO3ISg1l4RyqmcrgjpSIdv4hjpH0rCrw0xYsrmw64rpNwGKG4fI-LbIZK4Vvg0Jl7UOJ5X0fZUvxrc1xYovZTkCebwj6OtLdS-_hCpCDFEZ-2-RWAlwkBa9xIVy4/s1600/before%2526after309.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgQ-1z01bZ7pmwA3gNbO3ISg1l4RyqmcrgjpSIdv4hjpH0rCrw0xYsrmw64rpNwGKG4fI-LbIZK4Vvg0Jl7UOJ5X0fZUvxrc1xYovZTkCebwj6OtLdS-_hCpCDFEZ-2-RWAlwkBa9xIVy4/s320/before%2526after309.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Too big.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtNkC-PWo2AI5E8TyzKAdZl4BYxPjrW4t-u9tHqmrcDCiILOG-I6MxrCVXFzGHMiU2q9_GazkuF6meD8Jrq4jdZ9e1yl0XJulFTcd0yQgQ68Yg7P7gI2D8F8V4HvOW0eoWMKsdRmXFPhmm/s1600/before%2526after307.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtNkC-PWo2AI5E8TyzKAdZl4BYxPjrW4t-u9tHqmrcDCiILOG-I6MxrCVXFzGHMiU2q9_GazkuF6meD8Jrq4jdZ9e1yl0XJulFTcd0yQgQ68Yg7P7gI2D8F8V4HvOW0eoWMKsdRmXFPhmm/s320/before%2526after307.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Too small.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDM8gLwW1-xdtB7dWGk71uOG5pN0ij0fb9AOVd9fEAtJY8IbhrdN-P7TgqM6mXyOiA2qCnOEyx_lxRd-EGHHujHuTbsHmh2mdcgeyMJ7GRSgGFD-zTTee_oODuOjMNC1zuOdhcpgC957Th/s1600/before%2526after308.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDM8gLwW1-xdtB7dWGk71uOG5pN0ij0fb9AOVd9fEAtJY8IbhrdN-P7TgqM6mXyOiA2qCnOEyx_lxRd-EGHHujHuTbsHmh2mdcgeyMJ7GRSgGFD-zTTee_oODuOjMNC1zuOdhcpgC957Th/s320/before%2526after308.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Esther's too small.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh80xR0kvcL7fFTmJ724v3q90Xpe8IF_KpS_Lr2KRvauEWX6kePEBfzkCiTliWyJ2GaNDTMCFjErRq3KnDeLKzidW8c25C6hwI81PA1g_rHWSrGRqCzeswCiiK46-PUwY2ftHgBm0EC4mlw/s1600/before%2526after306.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh80xR0kvcL7fFTmJ724v3q90Xpe8IF_KpS_Lr2KRvauEWX6kePEBfzkCiTliWyJ2GaNDTMCFjErRq3KnDeLKzidW8c25C6hwI81PA1g_rHWSrGRqCzeswCiiK46-PUwY2ftHgBm0EC4mlw/s320/before%2526after306.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To go OUT.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTOPEdwBIktYeCjbnm0OiA6g5OIu0puhOMWn-UwxqT1iqnylShLO4zkT6oFhJINd9JZjwL7HYk1e7YzlvWJXqmikZq0dbxm4UacsL2oIkt4uYvm9bCHOZ-flTrGpXM9lv7VysDjaNGgleU/s1600/before%2526after305.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTOPEdwBIktYeCjbnm0OiA6g5OIu0puhOMWn-UwxqT1iqnylShLO4zkT6oFhJINd9JZjwL7HYk1e7YzlvWJXqmikZq0dbxm4UacsL2oIkt4uYvm9bCHOZ-flTrGpXM9lv7VysDjaNGgleU/s320/before%2526after305.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An example of the finished look.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtxq-pOA9dsA9u28FDWZ8ZfkP7x2M86r0W75kcNdr2rIQUM_pBPHwPUwXp0vDlWEgVRBgeOIIB4I4pJ_pUgzOPtK2udE7mAMDDFquZbYbbn_3JaAB6iXEoqwwKeosYbwjAZJ7wUzxcyiKE/s1600/before%2526after304.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtxq-pOA9dsA9u28FDWZ8ZfkP7x2M86r0W75kcNdr2rIQUM_pBPHwPUwXp0vDlWEgVRBgeOIIB4I4pJ_pUgzOPtK2udE7mAMDDFquZbYbbn_3JaAB6iXEoqwwKeosYbwjAZJ7wUzxcyiKE/s320/before%2526after304.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="176" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNx8_owuvqjQi4LNZ-neUAMwP08VdpLU7QLZPVo0rAyAHTxhYJzz4gxEFoZRpZz7QLk5Sg89Jl5xnqGW8x_b7wLq-ncmg_iqbEQ2jElJ1geVnds5UbU3ex-dhyiht5oGiFHagE2PDLJBQ3/s1600/before%2526after302.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNx8_owuvqjQi4LNZ-neUAMwP08VdpLU7QLZPVo0rAyAHTxhYJzz4gxEFoZRpZz7QLk5Sg89Jl5xnqGW8x_b7wLq-ncmg_iqbEQ2jElJ1geVnds5UbU3ex-dhyiht5oGiFHagE2PDLJBQ3/s320/before%2526after302.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>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!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw75gY1wFT6j0rdYLEhlL0OE3KXwCveZZElFcwe8fF3JzK_sji7uxDwSM41MTLYVcHShBC1ruDX0_dXtEYiniDpquKehuLAUS9imWx_jlEZhKxgR6qUyNR2TCocSOzQ29ZPvjX4w6Yzzbs/s1600/before%2526after303.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw75gY1wFT6j0rdYLEhlL0OE3KXwCveZZElFcwe8fF3JzK_sji7uxDwSM41MTLYVcHShBC1ruDX0_dXtEYiniDpquKehuLAUS9imWx_jlEZhKxgR6qUyNR2TCocSOzQ29ZPvjX4w6Yzzbs/s320/before%2526after303.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who says organizing is drudgery?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9kjfNmIWQaAA6tI3PSrYI_X7SqKJ90VQ7-VqcS69HWNL3S2BLqPIbf8tpSbChKBTY8BEzAHrv2z3jJQjVcSaiZlI8KtUZKrOTIhtrQ3hgdjIzAJHTPg-smspHp8MwVHUSSAFso6FN164r/s1600/before%2526after301.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9kjfNmIWQaAA6tI3PSrYI_X7SqKJ90VQ7-VqcS69HWNL3S2BLqPIbf8tpSbChKBTY8BEzAHrv2z3jJQjVcSaiZlI8KtUZKrOTIhtrQ3hgdjIzAJHTPg-smspHp8MwVHUSSAFso6FN164r/s320/before%2526after301.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>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!"<br />
<br />
Really, there's a part of my that wants to toss it all and just let the kiddos play with the <a href="http://www.wired.com/geekdad/2011/01/the-5-best-toys-of-all-time/">Five Best Toys of All Time</a>.Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-88247350107529361212011-03-23T10:35:00.000-07:002011-03-23T10:35:12.205-07:00Esther: Eighteen Months Old<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ttEEHu3lfpu6N_ybtKMwQiTuJ3NddqRYg5V7XzCOwmOoScrBumWu9wzL-vUjGdfrD6c1zMfLFbuE1hTByGAUKa4TOsZ6JY6MF5GM5DjW5rmz68iWMJDgxBJbGRBTetbt9JXwOux-Ricx/s1600/Esther18mo5x7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ttEEHu3lfpu6N_ybtKMwQiTuJ3NddqRYg5V7XzCOwmOoScrBumWu9wzL-vUjGdfrD6c1zMfLFbuE1hTByGAUKa4TOsZ6JY6MF5GM5DjW5rmz68iWMJDgxBJbGRBTetbt9JXwOux-Ricx/s400/Esther18mo5x7.jpg" width="285" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG4pIZmbWBLS-l0ukbVCcRPbR_AmGBSLwkztgrAffeqMDcfsSgIYBKG_fWvj80pDGlTTrpZbf6ro1-5w9Q4V5yPZtnnDUuG8N2sKAx1uEQlsRIdmmjsSRAz1ErwBbN1GcwUou_ZjcT2SLP/s1600/Esther18mo4x6-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG4pIZmbWBLS-l0ukbVCcRPbR_AmGBSLwkztgrAffeqMDcfsSgIYBKG_fWvj80pDGlTTrpZbf6ro1-5w9Q4V5yPZtnnDUuG8N2sKAx1uEQlsRIdmmjsSRAz1ErwBbN1GcwUou_ZjcT2SLP/s400/Esther18mo4x6-3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgSZe-nmK5JBvFNEsXcWxBK6KjQdeIyc2PlaSgu3Aw-PTpYjgLkkyWUwmcNIkJoViTQALk6-yqMOodhIZ9VreHMZY2r2wRkghCKrlDtI1OThkOaz1wW5230vIiCEGei_P6DJbnJ4lO3rEH/s1600/Esther18mo4x6-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgSZe-nmK5JBvFNEsXcWxBK6KjQdeIyc2PlaSgu3Aw-PTpYjgLkkyWUwmcNIkJoViTQALk6-yqMOodhIZ9VreHMZY2r2wRkghCKrlDtI1OThkOaz1wW5230vIiCEGei_P6DJbnJ4lO3rEH/s400/Esther18mo4x6-4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Esther's name means "Star" and she has a twinkling personality!</div>Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-8851915282287892782011-03-23T10:20:00.000-07:002011-04-05T11:54:46.483-07:00Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child: Method Six<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="hhttp://www.exodusbooks.com/details.aspx?id=24768" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibp2aIhh9bfwGs-wIyWY0BdHrOmRcsFQ9knPP31g7-YatueFGVzYQx8x65ZPEjUIJ5NqjpePTwkLqZTByOmkgApqi9BistiffMqa3Mq6mhFqIao6fO0ZXUlDtSVS9vnc1jRSvImjJH8FQj/s200/bookcover10ways.png" width="132" /></a></div><b>Cut All Heroes Down to Size</b><br />
<br />
There are three ways to remove the inspiration of heroes from our children’s imaginations:<br />
<br />
<b>1. Belittle military heroism</b><br />
<blockquote><i>“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.”</i></blockquote>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 <i>The Cat and the Hat</i> and <i>The Very Hungry Caterpillar</i> 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 “<i>fashionable glances at wise people who did the politically correct thing and wicked people who did not</i>,” 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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.”<br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b>2. Flippancy</b><br />
<blockquote><i>“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.”</i></blockquote>C. S. Lewis (in <i>Screwtape Letters</i>) 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.<br />
<br />
<b>3. Equality</b><br />
<blockquote><i>“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.”</i></blockquote>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<i> College Graduate</i>, as if that makes one somebody. <br />
<br />
<b>So why--if we wish to stretch their imaginations--should we introduce our children to heroes? </b><br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-79400632185872856612011-03-18T05:02:00.000-07:002011-03-18T05:02:00.630-07:00Project Simplify: Paper Clutter<div style="text-align: center;"><a alt="project simplify on simple mom" href="http://simplemom.net/project-simplify" target="blank" width="150px"><img src="http://simplemom.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/projectsimplify.png" /></a></div><br />
Hot Spot #2 is <i>paper clutter</i>. Head on over to <a href="http://simplemom.net/project-simplify-hot-spot-2-revealed/">Simple Mom</a> for some great tips on how to tackle and manage this on-going housekeeping issue.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>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:</div><div><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2w8ezwFeLVpqbvR_OFzWf3UEhX-D3yZz3d2bi5beMmUfhgfAXML-qGYkRd3WlCpQsslJIFK03lsRa-PNLsL0Ab4SiH0FAfAsPA1Qw5hX0S1ntP4XKN6a5ylfGY4HJ_yGptvkW1qHeUd8i/s1600/Before%2526After201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2w8ezwFeLVpqbvR_OFzWf3UEhX-D3yZz3d2bi5beMmUfhgfAXML-qGYkRd3WlCpQsslJIFK03lsRa-PNLsL0Ab4SiH0FAfAsPA1Qw5hX0S1ntP4XKN6a5ylfGY4HJ_yGptvkW1qHeUd8i/s320/Before%2526After201.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My desk</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq1YH-yQm5sR0393VsoeU4sl865ldZHI66rkZTleIuXZe5HnUAlSxHiNT1yDjjmwIZW4Cb3cddad_d65jEH6M3hus4Q2wmyn_wHMTDZf3PqiySPvQeFPdre8KI64E2zax0fqke80fNCLMd/s1600/Before%2526After202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq1YH-yQm5sR0393VsoeU4sl865ldZHI66rkZTleIuXZe5HnUAlSxHiNT1yDjjmwIZW4Cb3cddad_d65jEH6M3hus4Q2wmyn_wHMTDZf3PqiySPvQeFPdre8KI64E2zax0fqke80fNCLMd/s320/Before%2526After202.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Misc. papers sorter: suspiciously empty.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirZRLNkSSD2GWS6lptwO9OO5BjYpCxRGnPsFgof7fhnGgDX3PM6L5G-tWCUZGn8PMGXPRWkDUPMD6ecL_mx4TzoGOQ-jHlmReQNXhN1yky6Bv-OeP-6ij-K0ex0dkFEZOh3PDIwBsjhqEx/s1600/Before%2526After203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirZRLNkSSD2GWS6lptwO9OO5BjYpCxRGnPsFgof7fhnGgDX3PM6L5G-tWCUZGn8PMGXPRWkDUPMD6ecL_mx4TzoGOQ-jHlmReQNXhN1yky6Bv-OeP-6ij-K0ex0dkFEZOh3PDIwBsjhqEx/s320/Before%2526After203.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Basket for family worship papers: mostly full of old Sunday School projects.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidSbuvGnYPOpaZsVZfKWa4iMqXIdkmZCTuzro8HBIgOcFhGsmGZikuortjDws5qgKFgB2mPloSEm3RhPr942Qj-w1RdlGuycnELIfdCNpa9Dau_kZjl8hADZ_gO1kj_7BJOAQVZs4wuVSG/s1600/Before%2526After205.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidSbuvGnYPOpaZsVZfKWa4iMqXIdkmZCTuzro8HBIgOcFhGsmGZikuortjDws5qgKFgB2mPloSEm3RhPr942Qj-w1RdlGuycnELIfdCNpa9Dau_kZjl8hADZ_gO1kj_7BJOAQVZs4wuVSG/s320/Before%2526After205.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eli's desk: not my responsibility, right?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPDNmvwf5Jonv8jivx1W1xvusr9jqEsk446G_UFkylUp3ayG2AuzMAMOk1cN4ddKocayiSI37suo22mcG-wjOXrcHoqZf7EBnYp_nrfjRYa93lI56aFr0LBWkwoPM25VutQLcwYrpNmG9F/s1600/Before%2526After211.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPDNmvwf5Jonv8jivx1W1xvusr9jqEsk446G_UFkylUp3ayG2AuzMAMOk1cN4ddKocayiSI37suo22mcG-wjOXrcHoqZf7EBnYp_nrfjRYa93lI56aFr0LBWkwoPM25VutQLcwYrpNmG9F/s320/Before%2526After211.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bedside nightstands: just how many books are we reading right now?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIVL1_vWpquuYKm-fWNcBHJpLk_o8sq-2u78MtnrweRPN_gJemLFtZaKK0UeQ4Pru__fJPQ0EZnqE_Rh6-wQGwWrFJ3mjyTrVtR3sBXNjBATdC2fLHzDEBCEZK-7tcOISzPmRrFLbIDWaJ/s1600/Before%2526After206.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIVL1_vWpquuYKm-fWNcBHJpLk_o8sq-2u78MtnrweRPN_gJemLFtZaKK0UeQ4Pru__fJPQ0EZnqE_Rh6-wQGwWrFJ3mjyTrVtR3sBXNjBATdC2fLHzDEBCEZK-7tcOISzPmRrFLbIDWaJ/s320/Before%2526After206.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Pile</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>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...)</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuHwQwkJh2wsjrtjtU7H4XX-bhWmAqDpHSR8GFaDlKcEHyGUSVib9SjRSHMyPlUzISDlg2BZRSudVDUVN3wypFrjlGumLxCx5enbY2wZfHjdgP0lf0eyB6dtKlJyN6REm6-5oAV56hfvpe/s1600/Before%2526After204.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuHwQwkJh2wsjrtjtU7H4XX-bhWmAqDpHSR8GFaDlKcEHyGUSVib9SjRSHMyPlUzISDlg2BZRSudVDUVN3wypFrjlGumLxCx5enbY2wZfHjdgP0lf0eyB6dtKlJyN6REm6-5oAV56hfvpe/s320/Before%2526After204.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>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?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsrEGuD1ykYLoSXiYCKVUbxnjGSEo1vwaAtsjnPxvTS5vVSl7UFT83sK5BjLlYcEiz6P3W_DgnBCcC-FrUQwLnSRUr0JII4EPBySC-coJxA2s1RWnAopFgmfjOb5bLxLBTkNzmr_2J5wV-/s1600/Before%2526After207.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsrEGuD1ykYLoSXiYCKVUbxnjGSEo1vwaAtsjnPxvTS5vVSl7UFT83sK5BjLlYcEiz6P3W_DgnBCcC-FrUQwLnSRUr0JII4EPBySC-coJxA2s1RWnAopFgmfjOb5bLxLBTkNzmr_2J5wV-/s320/Before%2526After207.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>All those slots are labeled. There is a place for everything, now we just need to put everything in its place.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW99OzGLJzsBPlMTHfekCQYVtIxSdJ9_6UxOrDrR2EtEI-KA2V8sefmRFpYCKLyJPwDdElWPZ8cQTAlJxaGH5pw-QKy8JZKR481dRgEbr2RnfAfI00P-9htnjamHEn_57hhgx24JSYcEC4/s1600/Before%2526After208.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW99OzGLJzsBPlMTHfekCQYVtIxSdJ9_6UxOrDrR2EtEI-KA2V8sefmRFpYCKLyJPwDdElWPZ8cQTAlJxaGH5pw-QKy8JZKR481dRgEbr2RnfAfI00P-9htnjamHEn_57hhgx24JSYcEC4/s320/Before%2526After208.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Maybe I'll actually sit down here and write or something now!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFDNTE-eTaQbztsfeGVflM35zh0wBEUSgu0vMa0e-UwlBDuRsxICJuOjEgo0wp0yO-GODAMe45GKjQEU2LHf0-aIC769PKFuI90SOQ1N4yceVp8Yx2b1LArZUFMXkJXSvgW7pxuReZoyX0/s1600/Before%2526After209.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFDNTE-eTaQbztsfeGVflM35zh0wBEUSgu0vMa0e-UwlBDuRsxICJuOjEgo0wp0yO-GODAMe45GKjQEU2LHf0-aIC769PKFuI90SOQ1N4yceVp8Yx2b1LArZUFMXkJXSvgW7pxuReZoyX0/s320/Before%2526After209.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Several books went back up to my nightstand. Yes, I really do need them all up there.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJtKU3O7xkPccPjIaRh9OIRbxs4uM2MqYcex69Kfr94tKh228UmllJ4L4oLJdpXgG6bjFT2lmvjrfbtx855I6CVBRSugUIoCkV5RyvhD2Bj935af5z1Czq4EIhRSuew_NDLoiDiVvMAJ1d/s1600/Before%2526After210.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJtKU3O7xkPccPjIaRh9OIRbxs4uM2MqYcex69Kfr94tKh228UmllJ4L4oLJdpXgG6bjFT2lmvjrfbtx855I6CVBRSugUIoCkV5RyvhD2Bj935af5z1Czq4EIhRSuew_NDLoiDiVvMAJ1d/s320/Before%2526After210.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>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?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1pLHrOa9TigzVzyqvDK2c5xp6B7iFGw4LprXItOkmzeebHu5rz7de3sNXSVmV15Mr_jHh2a0yT8ZPBWhkR5QHUZ3j4DIA7ypc9AJSzh4L2gX9ql0hIcG5pXRmMSZNTIMXsJTHNRyu4yqC/s1600/Before%2526After212.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1pLHrOa9TigzVzyqvDK2c5xp6B7iFGw4LprXItOkmzeebHu5rz7de3sNXSVmV15Mr_jHh2a0yT8ZPBWhkR5QHUZ3j4DIA7ypc9AJSzh4L2gX9ql0hIcG5pXRmMSZNTIMXsJTHNRyu4yqC/s320/Before%2526After212.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div>Ah, much better!</div><div><br />
</div><div>In conclusion, there's not really anything I can do to improve the system. We just need to stay on top of it.</div>Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-79915043911293845262011-03-15T16:37:00.000-07:002011-03-15T16:46:19.527-07:00More Household Help<blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><i>"Vanity of vanities,” says the Preacher;</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>"Vanity of vanities, all is vanity."</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>What profit has a man from all his labor</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>In which he toils under the sun?</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>...</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>All things are full of labor;</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Man cannot express it.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The eye is not satisfied with seeing,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Nor the ear filled with hearing.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>That which has been is what will be,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>That which is done is what will be done,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>And there is nothing new under the sun.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>...</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I have seen all the works that are done under the sun; and indeed, all is vanity and grasping for the wind.</i></div></blockquote>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!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">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.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRSMaGwLqRAlgEHAhSrWT7bzJx1OYGLgYso5Chz1OJrfKLBgx4HUDniy7gs0SAMBPWTvK9d2I3Lbp67GWEn2fqTrUwq-xplc-V-YBs3vtvZ1qbfB_8X4TNs1_ZJAOPpZ9rXaSpsPfD5ZrA/s1600/help.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRSMaGwLqRAlgEHAhSrWT7bzJx1OYGLgYso5Chz1OJrfKLBgx4HUDniy7gs0SAMBPWTvK9d2I3Lbp67GWEn2fqTrUwq-xplc-V-YBs3vtvZ1qbfB_8X4TNs1_ZJAOPpZ9rXaSpsPfD5ZrA/s400/help.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">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. </div><blockquote><i>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 5:18-2</i>0</blockquote><blockquote><i>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</i></blockquote>Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter:<br />
<blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Fear God and keep His commandments,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>For this is man’s all.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>For God will bring every work into judgment,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Including every secret thing,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Whether good or evil.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Ecclesiastes 12:13-14</i></div></blockquote>Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-13878936896147861262011-03-12T16:00:00.000-08:002011-03-12T20:19:45.343-08:00Household HelpHave 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 <i>were</i> 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.<br />
<br />
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 <a href="http://www.exodusbooks.com/details.aspx?id=4089">Anatole</a> 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Okay, enough of the cheesy personification. All I really wanted to say was that we just "hired" a new "servant." Meet Miss Dishwasher!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBVsUdvTUDkHjk55cPhOXKSSiglXCqt64_ui625ORb6M-eOlDGilWRbEGhisVJ5vQI3VaQ8Y-U3RuUdw_i531CrVltmWGxbUTite65sQr8nAitvrYccXswZo6BvpyCjByqI5clkCzdgsR2/s1600/New-Slave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBVsUdvTUDkHjk55cPhOXKSSiglXCqt64_ui625ORb6M-eOlDGilWRbEGhisVJ5vQI3VaQ8Y-U3RuUdw_i531CrVltmWGxbUTite65sQr8nAitvrYccXswZo6BvpyCjByqI5clkCzdgsR2/s400/New-Slave.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
When I first got married we lived in your average <a href="http://www.exodusbooks.com/family/photo-album.aspx?id=77">apartment</a> 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.<br />
<br />
Then we moved to the <a href="http://www.exodusbooks.com/family/photo-album.aspx?id=37">old red house</a>. 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.<br />
<br />
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!).<br />
<blockquote><i>Dear new housewife Self,<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
<br />
A busier You</i></blockquote>Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-60338968927100898582011-03-11T20:08:00.000-08:002011-03-11T20:23:14.771-08:00Project Simplify: Master Closet<div style="text-align: center;"><a alt="project simplify on simple mom" href="http://simplemom.net/project-simplify" target="blank" width="150px"><img src="http://simplemom.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/projectsimplify.png" /></a></div><br />
I'm joining up with <a href="http://simplemom.net/project-simplify/">Project Simplify</a> on the blog <a href="http://simplemom.net/">Simple Mom</a>. 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: <a href="http://simplemom.net/project-simplify-hot-spot-1-revealed/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+simplemom+%28Simple+Mom%29">the Master Closet</a>. She has some really good tips so you should definitely check out her website!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS23d0-x_PjHfhxmpf3qv5IB1LkEehNjT3t5h2TSvFxl6HMC_bHrvOwh3_BfpWmKO6F6ZvTE21BonJlvdOarxRdSwZ9CoyebXdQRYnLsBKQA2HH4mVzXea6iEitRu3wDFlgLS45hNc37zA/s1600/before%2526after1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS23d0-x_PjHfhxmpf3qv5IB1LkEehNjT3t5h2TSvFxl6HMC_bHrvOwh3_BfpWmKO6F6ZvTE21BonJlvdOarxRdSwZ9CoyebXdQRYnLsBKQA2HH4mVzXea6iEitRu3wDFlgLS45hNc37zA/s320/before%2526after1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">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!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7O9598tQ7vzKZRSLeS-TiCdNzl7nWMcATWGi_CIFlR1EGsI1dsBGBk_ZRECnhVaJpRSgeWLtd8-Xs0ZJeI2SbRD9gvWs1k1coy3vp2DtqGrxzHLhgPwzcQhxnYClPmOtD5meG4gPwQOJt/s1600/before%2526after3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7O9598tQ7vzKZRSLeS-TiCdNzl7nWMcATWGi_CIFlR1EGsI1dsBGBk_ZRECnhVaJpRSgeWLtd8-Xs0ZJeI2SbRD9gvWs1k1coy3vp2DtqGrxzHLhgPwzcQhxnYClPmOtD5meG4gPwQOJt/s320/before%2526after3.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Then I ironed that little pile draped on those drawers.<br />
How long had they been sitting there?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWC-oJ7lJK5R9SNtygFKgs9ZQM4yCCazEhnXJYUcB-xB5Me0DGgqLgws8SbPJpUBAsllFz4bfM4JOx-bsbnjYy3uvE9zfY-Vu_3w2G_3asF9Vgm7mT4S2yCjJjeNGPZ1jaiDDrE5-6UCr5/s1600/before%2526after4.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWC-oJ7lJK5R9SNtygFKgs9ZQM4yCCazEhnXJYUcB-xB5Me0DGgqLgws8SbPJpUBAsllFz4bfM4JOx-bsbnjYy3uvE9zfY-Vu_3w2G_3asF9Vgm7mT4S2yCjJjeNGPZ1jaiDDrE5-6UCr5/s320/before%2526after4.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>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.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIJCIt8Ot6-SgLhGniCA8FtsYkOmbqKXScE8STKHv3NpVrSsH98s_PLWBaCHUT_45mms_FP6i0ZzRNypJM8qLTFPJ5n9uQzeIQh3CyEyzgbo2lVQZAzQRXZkoKTfW0mZOQq8lK21tlO7p_/s1600/before%2526after2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIJCIt8Ot6-SgLhGniCA8FtsYkOmbqKXScE8STKHv3NpVrSsH98s_PLWBaCHUT_45mms_FP6i0ZzRNypJM8qLTFPJ5n9uQzeIQh3CyEyzgbo2lVQZAzQRXZkoKTfW0mZOQq8lK21tlO7p_/s320/before%2526after2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijvJ-RwEgllPg26Y48I0TAygSjnI6OZDx6mx5GCfCpLDfyw-1M3cJghWx3QI4Ky0TvqGBpJDTyB-eXbaBKxWL01BKmEOX6e9DbTtMT19DuvPK5XV35UefTejJzZQOhpds-iSUdWoKp8AAR/s1600/before%2526after5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijvJ-RwEgllPg26Y48I0TAygSjnI6OZDx6mx5GCfCpLDfyw-1M3cJghWx3QI4Ky0TvqGBpJDTyB-eXbaBKxWL01BKmEOX6e9DbTtMT19DuvPK5XV35UefTejJzZQOhpds-iSUdWoKp8AAR/s320/before%2526after5.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The rejects.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU03M3Jxj7z5JB3fJ-W9ZqQr-ZQ3KCMaQJfVPI6Ovr0NLBw8ZE_z_9pLW2FTqpXXiPKz7V48UGmr6F0vYsoEnut7ljdiR6bPoTDkV2jDLp20f_mwSOPFQ5WmuAunFH1bOy4liklUReCbmu/s1600/before%2526after7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU03M3Jxj7z5JB3fJ-W9ZqQr-ZQ3KCMaQJfVPI6Ovr0NLBw8ZE_z_9pLW2FTqpXXiPKz7V48UGmr6F0vYsoEnut7ljdiR6bPoTDkV2jDLp20f_mwSOPFQ5WmuAunFH1bOy4liklUReCbmu/s320/before%2526after7.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg19kzu08a1XNz5jDk0CgsR0krlSmgwYW2uG72E35F_GdT7yWRbRBGO2qCpfNQsyMk8Zjd7VA8ivdWncYL6MwDnU87U5y2p9hIMxJ0wZta-mCEq4jzHKu0ujweZ2XdysMzcckgXs_Wa04ce/s1600/before%2526after8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg19kzu08a1XNz5jDk0CgsR0krlSmgwYW2uG72E35F_GdT7yWRbRBGO2qCpfNQsyMk8Zjd7VA8ivdWncYL6MwDnU87U5y2p9hIMxJ0wZta-mCEq4jzHKu0ujweZ2XdysMzcckgXs_Wa04ce/s320/before%2526after8.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />
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!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Fr0V4XberG9AD6Ng1tsWB41wu3u-Wlx2aOv-it5ngsZZnzDrsHKuy5e-HQVBVCxetsqgFCdiyriJdlqAMgJR-qd2pkSYVCGvBFpo4Alm-eRd3pGE9uquPiZUvtF4aj_FDbjCjFF3RySy/s1600/before%2526after6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Fr0V4XberG9AD6Ng1tsWB41wu3u-Wlx2aOv-it5ngsZZnzDrsHKuy5e-HQVBVCxetsqgFCdiyriJdlqAMgJR-qd2pkSYVCGvBFpo4Alm-eRd3pGE9uquPiZUvtF4aj_FDbjCjFF3RySy/s320/before%2526after6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
This is the stuff that needed to be put away. Mom had an extra container I could use for the pile of <a href="http://www.exodusbooks.com/family/photo-album.aspx?id=128">costumes</a> 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.<br />
<br />
This closet and a half a linen closet are the extent of our storage here. The too small baby clothes are <i>all</i> I have stored elsewhere (at Exodus). I love the simplicity that comes from only keeping what we need! Head on over to <a href="http://simplemom.net/closet-before-and-after/#more-12078">Simple Mom</a> for some tips and tricks for getting and staying organized.Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-51467381403184367002011-03-09T10:08:00.000-08:002011-04-05T11:56:07.150-07:00Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child: Method Five<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.exodusbooks.com/details.aspx?id=24768" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibp2aIhh9bfwGs-wIyWY0BdHrOmRcsFQ9knPP31g7-YatueFGVzYQx8x65ZPEjUIJ5NqjpePTwkLqZTByOmkgApqi9BistiffMqa3Mq6mhFqIao6fO0ZXUlDtSVS9vnc1jRSvImjJH8FQj/s200/bookcover10ways.png" width="132" /></a></div><b>Cast Aspersions upon the Heroic and the Patriotic</b><br />
<blockquote><i>“Learn to despise the place where you were born, its customs, its glories and its shame. Then stick your head in a comic book. That done, you will be triple-armored against the threat of a real though or the call of the transcendent.”</i></blockquote>Ideology is a system of ideas and ideals formed upon the basis of economic or political theory and policy. Piety, on the other hand, is a belief that is accepted with ritual reverence. Patriotism reveres the things that ideology cannot touch: the small and the old, the vulnerable and the venerable. The place we are committed to, the people we honor don’t have to be grand and glorious to earn our love and loyalty. We are devoted simply because they are ours. But when children have been raised on the flashy, the simple pieties of hearth and home--a hot meal, the love of a good wife, the praise of God and songs sung for a country whether it deserves it or not--will be lost on them. A patriotism of piety can be heady alcohol for the young mind.<br />
<blockquote><i>“Piety nurses the imagination because it places us in both greatness and smallness, in the stillness of a single moment and in the long sweep of the generations. Ideology digs many graves but tends not a single stone.”</i></blockquote>Without a love of past people hanker after what is supposed to be new and thus desirable without asking where it has come from or where it will take them. “<i>A man with a past may be free; but a man without a past, never</i>.” That is why, in <i>1984</i>, Big Brother shreds any artifacts that might be a link to the past. In contrast, the hobbits in <i>The Lord of the Rings</i> have a rich history of great deeds--glorious and disastrous--that stretches all the way back to the dawn of the world. It is this very history that gives them the capacity to take part in their own chapter of the saga of Middle Earth.<br />
<br />
The past never changes but that only makes it boring to those who grow up on the constant stream of unceasing movement in video games and movies. The past is like a secret room in an old house filled with ancient armor, antiquated odd tools, and books recalling words and deeds of men and women who now lie in their graves. We come into the presence of those who once were as we are and are now as we will someday be. When children go into such a room they will bring those people--larger than life--into their own lives. In fact, because the past is simply there, never to change, its constancy reflects the eternity of God. “<i>It presents to the young mind a vast field of fascination, of war and peace, loyalty and treason, invention and folly, bitter twists of fate and sweet poetic justice</i>.” When that past is of one’s own people or country or church, then it makes claims upon our honor and allegiance and fires the imagination all the more.<br />
<br />
To honor the past is not to whitewash it, romanticizing those we admire and flattening those we don’t. Such caricatures do little to inspire. Neither do we need to expose the past, magnifying the tarnish and taking everything noble and making it small--like ourselves. That leaves us with nothing but cynicism and moral and intellectual superiority. When we do not gloss over the faults of our heroes we get to know them as men and women and we can admire and respect them all the more. Bring the past to life, not just on the pages of history, but also in the expanding heart and mind of the young.<br />
<blockquote><i>“The imagination seeks out the ideal and beholds its beauty. In doing so it penetrates farther to the truth than does the sloth of cynicism. Anyone may see a wart or a mole--faults about in every man and the grime of life tarnishes us all. When we apply its wisdom to our country, whatever that country may be, we can grow to love her enough to wish to correct her.”</i></blockquote>Nowadays we have lost our love of past and place. Instead of patriotism we have multiculturalism which turns up its nose at our own local and national pastimes in favor of the fashionably foreign. This fascination with any other place but our own--kills patriotism. Pretending to love every place, you love none at all. Encouraging this will produce either the mildly interested tourist who collapses everything he sees into the two-dimensions of a brochure or the couch-potato who never ventures out because one place is as dull as the next.<br />
<br />
Even some Christians (us included) tend to take an ideological outlook on our country because the economics and politics are not going in a direction we agree with. We, more than any other people, should be the ones to have a love that desires to reform, reshape, rebuild.Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-88950436239652539262011-03-09T09:59:00.000-08:002011-04-05T11:57:35.021-07:00Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child: Method Four<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.exodusbooks.com/details.aspx?id=24768" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibp2aIhh9bfwGs-wIyWY0BdHrOmRcsFQ9knPP31g7-YatueFGVzYQx8x65ZPEjUIJ5NqjpePTwkLqZTByOmkgApqi9BistiffMqa3Mq6mhFqIao6fO0ZXUlDtSVS9vnc1jRSvImjJH8FQj/s200/bookcover10ways.png" width="132" /></a></div><b>Replace the Fairy Tale with Political Cliches and Fads</b><br />
<blockquote><i>“Fairy tales are for children and childlike people, not because they are little and inconsequential, but because they are as enormous as life itself.”</i></blockquote>Fairy tales are full of characters that are recognizable for their types: the damsel in distress, the knight in shining armor, the evil step-mother... The world they inhabit is a moral world where good is good and evil is evil. The two are at war but we know that good will always triumph. The stories and the characters in them resonate with us because they are fundamentally true--not in a “true,” historical way, but rather in a <i>real</i>, typified way. They may be exaggerated or simplified, but they are like a child’s palette of colors--you know, the ones that come in the Crayola eight pack of crayons. To a child the sky is blue and trees are green. As he grows he will learn that the sky is sometimes gray and trees turn vibrant red, orange and yellow in the fall. But his understanding of the basics will be a firm foundation upon which to build a deep appreciation for the variety, richness and complexity of life.<br />
<blockquote><i>“When you starve a child of the folk tale, you not only cramp his imagination for the time being. You help render vast realms of human art (not to mention life) incomprehensible.”</i></blockquote>Characters that are real feats of the imagination are not wholly good or wholly bad--the elemental motives of human nature drive them to make the choices they do. But the good and the evil in them remain unchanged. If our imaginations are full of types from fairy tales, we will be able to understand these subtler, finer-drawn people. We will see jealousy and self-sacrifice in the same person, or foolishness and vitality, weakness and strength. The hero’s armor isn’t always quite so shiny and the villain’s motives not quite so black. But the heroism and villainy is there nonetheless, just like it was in the fairy tales. As these people come to life on the pages of the books we read, they “<i>become parts of our moral universe... they are the lights to shine upon what we have seen and known to reveal what would otherwise have lain hidden from our understanding.</i>” They are the telescope we use to see the stars by which we navigate through life. They are a magical device for seeing deep into the human heart. They will reveal truths about the lives that are being lived out around us.<br />
<br />
In our enlightened day, though, we sneer at the archetypal figures in fairy tales and call them antiquated “stereotypes.” We flatten them into homogeneity and use them to push political agendas. We replace the types with cliches. Men become beasts, religious people are bigots, women are never weak, Indians are good because they are In Touch With Nature... Every subtlety is replaced with current platitudes. <br />
<br />
Cliches are easy. Instead of making us think, they elicit “<i>a cheap, automatic, superficial, and temporary response</i>.” We aren’t changed, we don’t grow in our perception of humanity. We just laugh or mock or hate as the movie, book, or song suggests. Fundamental truths, on the other hand, require “<i>a real response: they cause us to brood over the mysteries of this life....[They] require silence, and patience, and thought</i>.” <br />
<br />
Cliches are rooted in the here and now. In fact, people reading them ten years from now probably won’t even understand them. Powerful imaginative literature is <i>not</i> about ourselves. Like a ship, it transports us to lands unknown. It transcends time and the people we meet feel familiar to us just as they felt familiar to the people who read the stories in earlier generations. It’s not the setting or the message that fire the imagination. It’s what is fundamentally true: an innocent person outnumbered by evil people, men united in a death-defying purpose, the lowly exalted to glory and the arrogant reduced to nothing. <br />
<br />
Of course it’s easy to think of modern movies and books full of political and cultural cliches and those of us who grew up on “good” literature are quick to scoff. But Christians also produce literature that pushes our own agenda and provokes an automatic and superficial response. We give our kids sugar-coated stories with morals that are easy to swallow and not hard to think about. We gloss over the faults of history’s heroes minimizing complex, multi-dimensional men and women to flat caricatures. The stories in the Bible too are often reduced merely being about people who go to heaven and people who go to hell. Perhaps even God, who moves in such wondrously mysterious ways, is reshaped into a nice, bland deity we can understand.Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-80705987502352158372011-03-03T09:52:00.000-08:002011-04-05T11:59:42.157-07:00Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child: Method Three<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="hhttp://www.exodusbooks.com/details.aspx?id=24768" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibp2aIhh9bfwGs-wIyWY0BdHrOmRcsFQ9knPP31g7-YatueFGVzYQx8x65ZPEjUIJ5NqjpePTwkLqZTByOmkgApqi9BistiffMqa3Mq6mhFqIao6fO0ZXUlDtSVS9vnc1jRSvImjJH8FQj/s200/bookcover10ways.png" width="132" /></a></div><b>Keep Children Away From Machines and Machinists</b><br />
<blockquote><i>“The young man sitting on a tractor for the first time will be both the child he is and the man he is going to be.”<br />
<br />
“We forget as we sit comfortably in front of our computer screens how fascinating a large machine can be.”</i></blockquote>This chapter will be the hardest, the least natural, for us to implement. Esolen talks about the imagination-growing effects of spending time around big machines, really seeing how things work. He writes of learning from people who really know their craft and love it. He mentions hunting, learning how to wait in the cold and mud for just the right moment to shoot the prey. And there’s more: shovels and hammers, engines and batteries, ropes and sailboats, trespassing, bonfires, battle plans, blueprints...<br />
<br />
You can’t just take kids to museums which present science and nature as so much political propaganda and you can’t just sit them down in a class or in front of a demonstration. They need time and space and equipment to experiment whether it’s in the backyard (with rope, wood and a tree), in the garage (with wires, batteries and screws), in the garden (with shovel, seeds and dirt), in the sewing room (with fabric, needles and thread) or in the kitchen (with pans, ingredients and the stove). If kids can learn about The Way Things Work from people who truly understand and delight in their craft, their imaginations will grow all the more. <br />
<br />
As parents we are tempted to look for the <i>worth</i> in our children’s undertakings. If they might someday make money off of one or two of their hobbies or, even better, if it might be the beginning of a career path, then we are willing to let them invest time in it and maybe we’ll even pay for some lessons or equipment. Otherwise all we see is the mess. So much of what looks like pointless tinkering to us encourages inquisitiveness, observation, and (of course) imagination. <br />
<br />
If we do allow our children to dabble in hobbies, we like to keep them small-scale, you know, something easy to store and easy to clean up. But children can learn and experience much more if it is on a larger scale, especially if it has a practical purpose. They will become engineers when they try to rig a rope swing or farmers when you give them a corner of the yard to clear and tend. <br />
<br />
Many of these pursuits are not safe. Fingers will be pounded and knees scraped, they will learn the feel of an electric shock, and they just might earn a scar or two from bumping a pan hot from the oven. But the mind will thrive, the body will toughen, and each experience will teach them something not to do next time. Don’t let safety concerns remove the wonder of discovery and the joy of creating. Let them learn how to be careful and responsible. Doug Wilson is not the only one to say that the body is for using up: we’ll get a new one in the next life.<br />
<br />
Besides physical machines and equipment, our children’s imaginations can also grow by pouring over blueprints, plans, maps, etc: anything that puts an abstract concept down on paper. Just as Wallace went first to the drawing board before building the rocket that would take him and Gromit on their cheese holiday, so most invention begins with paper and pencil. When we supply our kids with examples they can imitate, they should be encouraged to go off and invent for themselves. Whether it’s a diagram of a new machine, the design of a treehouse, a battle plan to attack Russia, or the plot to the next Great American novel, they’ll be able to come up with anything. <br />
<br />
By getting their hands on as much that is real and tangible as possible, our children’s imaginations will flourish. As they experience a physical world, their mental capacity blossom and they will be better fit to take dominion.Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-66747159465978777402011-03-02T09:55:00.000-08:002011-03-02T09:56:06.622-08:00The Boy Who Made Me a Mommy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqhOR87of5o3yTQO3KE1woYDfcjnUNR0hZuHcY3lLzBOooWuVrXTXan5UaHRGJoWJsWu1zmxO8puvERd64DP30rsp5NuSRme5AEqFPO45qev0AYoMWRJanAR0XKvYKzaydW1e-n8HiwmeD/s1600/JoshuaBaby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqhOR87of5o3yTQO3KE1woYDfcjnUNR0hZuHcY3lLzBOooWuVrXTXan5UaHRGJoWJsWu1zmxO8puvERd64DP30rsp5NuSRme5AEqFPO45qev0AYoMWRJanAR0XKvYKzaydW1e-n8HiwmeD/s400/JoshuaBaby.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>This picture was taken when Joshua was exactly one day old. We had survived our first night together and I remember sitting there the next morning looking at each other, marveling at the new life that was beginning--for both of us. He was mine and I was his.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0qiR9BoaoQo3IrFCOO_RDiivzVOUYyTBHHtZ1ElPO18frMjPHmRnck9Gip0HMg32fDr2BVJwkjB6Rp2KistkBM741qZcY-HXZctdTVGTDg6s6Mz5IEUz8i7nlvosZHrvEUIg7kbnlR9Aw/s1600/JoshuaBirthday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0qiR9BoaoQo3IrFCOO_RDiivzVOUYyTBHHtZ1ElPO18frMjPHmRnck9Gip0HMg32fDr2BVJwkjB6Rp2KistkBM741qZcY-HXZctdTVGTDg6s6Mz5IEUz8i7nlvosZHrvEUIg7kbnlR9Aw/s400/JoshuaBirthday.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>In January that little baby turned five! Once he was inside me; now he's half my height. He's still mine and I'm still his.Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-69701839315502677162011-02-26T12:42:00.000-08:002011-02-26T13:04:43.566-08:00Shutter Island: A Mother's Review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDcgigmC9ejvH5qHTzVvf0hqW8uKEaYjovQhWQHXbzu9YPev77Gpt2qwbsTq4lvw288KMgRCqyXseB8AOzDwsRgsCh9oGahKOcTEGVma47HV3pnqNElOCy0DNdnBTy6qh-R_T-UJNxqhkf/s1600/shutter_island_missing_movie_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDcgigmC9ejvH5qHTzVvf0hqW8uKEaYjovQhWQHXbzu9YPev77Gpt2qwbsTq4lvw288KMgRCqyXseB8AOzDwsRgsCh9oGahKOcTEGVma47HV3pnqNElOCy0DNdnBTy6qh-R_T-UJNxqhkf/s200/shutter_island_missing_movie_poster.jpg" width="131" /></a></div>Set in the 1950‘s, <i>Shutter Island</i> is a psychological thriller with all the creepy music, mysterious characters, and “dark, stormy nights” that make movies like that work. Then it has the big plot twist at the end. If you are planning on watching it you might not want to read my review because I’m not going to keep any secrets. If you are a woman with children, please <i>do</i> read my review. You shouldn’t watch this without knowing what you’re getting yourself into.<br />
<br />
Andrew Laeddis is a US Marshal who fought in WWII. He dearly loved his wife but there was only one problem: she was manically depressed and suicidal. He refused to see that and tried to live with her in love until one day he came home from work to find that she had killed their three children. She had drowned them in the lake and he had to wade out and carry their limp, lifeless bodies to the shore. Then, as his wife talked about how much she loved him and how they could dry the kids off and take them on picnics, he shot her.<br />
<br />
The movie opens with him arriving at Shutter Island, where there is a psychiatric prison for the criminally insane. He is on an assignment to investigate the disappearance of one of the patients: a woman who had drowned her three children. He also thinks that the wardens and doctors are using the patients to conduct weird experiments using barbaric Nazi methods to create a person without emotions or pain. His hope is to uncover this conspiracy and expose it to the world. By the end of the movie we learn that it’s all in his head. It’s all part of an alternate reality he created for himself to disassociate himself from what he went through and did. He’s actually been a prisoner/patient on Shutter Island for two years himself, living and reliving this imaginary story.<br />
<br />
Using elaborate roll-playing techniques, the doctors are able to show Andrew the truth: that there are no conspiracies and his children are dead and he killed his wife. Over the two years of his imprisonment, he has gone through cycles of realizing the truth, only to regress into his fantasy again. They really believe that he can break out of this cycle, but since he has military training, he is a very dangerous crazy man and this is his last chance. Realization comes to Andrew--slowly and painfully--and for a moment he is sane. But in the morning he falls back into denial and the movie closes with him walking off to be <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lobotomy">lobotomized</a>. “<i>Is it better</i>,” he wonders, “<i>to live as a monster or to die as a good man?</i>”<br />
<br />
And that’s it. No hope of change for the better. No redemption.<br />
<br />
I could handle all the horrific stuff in the prison/hospital with all the creepy insane people, the long hallways, the unreliable lighting, and all his weird hallucinations of Nazi death camps. But a momma drowning her children...my heart was ripped out. And then there was hope. He remembered. It was tragic, but he was going to get better, move on. Then--no, never mind. Reality was too much for him. He would rather have some nerves cut out of his brain and live in the stories in his head. My heart was left bleeding on the ground.<br />
<br />
These were my thoughts right after watching it. But as I thought more about it, I realized that the movie couldn’t have ended any other way. After seeing the things he saw and doing the things he’d done, he couldn’t have forgiven himself. Without Christ he was a monster. The doctors did everything they could for him and it was almost enough. But they didn’t give him Christ. <br />
<br />
Without the forgiveness of Christ’s blood we can’t get over sins or mistakes or sinful mistakes. We can’t just forget them, forgive ourselves and move on. We commit them and become monsters. The only way out is to rewrite the story to distance ourselves from the sin. In our minds we can be the victim instead of the villain. We might as well be drugged and have the dangerous tissues cut out of our brains. <br />
<br />
I was fine watching this movie, “dark, stormy night” and all, until he came home to find his children drowned. Finding my own children drowned in a pool or in the bath is already one of my worst nightmares. I will literally wake up at night in a panic thinking of it. I didn’t need to see it lived out on screen. The thought of a mother holding her children’s heads under the water till they drown made me (<i>makes me!</i>) feel sick. I wish I could watch Shutter Island and think, “<i>I could never do that</i>,” distancing myself from it all.<br />
<br />
My children are small and fragile. Comparatively, I am big and strong. I hold them in the palm of my hand. They have no one else to turn to and they can’t get away. That responsibility is scary. Mothers do cruel things to the children in their care every day and but for the grace of God, <i>I could be one of them</i>. Therein is the horror of this movie. Without the grace of God we are all criminally insane. <i>I</i> am criminally insane.<br />
<br />
My response to Shutter Island is to thank God for His forgiveness, to thank Him for forgiving me every week and renewing covenant with me during worship. My response is to pray for His grace to saturate me every day so I can hold my children in the palm of my hand just as I am in the palm of His hand: lovingly, patiently, forgivingly. He has given me a new reality to live out, but it’s not fiction. It’s true. It’s real.Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-53701189211771641252011-02-25T15:15:00.000-08:002011-04-05T12:01:15.802-07:00Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child: Method Two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="hhttp://www.exodusbooks.com/details.aspx?id=24768" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibp2aIhh9bfwGs-wIyWY0BdHrOmRcsFQ9knPP31g7-YatueFGVzYQx8x65ZPEjUIJ5NqjpePTwkLqZTByOmkgApqi9BistiffMqa3Mq6mhFqIao6fO0ZXUlDtSVS9vnc1jRSvImjJH8FQj/s200/bookcover10ways.png" width="132" /></a></div><b><i>Never Leave Children to Themselves</i></b><br />
<blockquote><i>“People who can organize themselves and accomplish something as devilishly complicated as a good ballgame are hard to herd around....They become men and women, not human resources. They can be free.”</i></blockquote>Boys playing baseball in a field or an empty lot must use their imaginations to set up the game, pick teams, and arbitrate disputes. They argue, using evidence (which must be respected if the game is to succeed), appealing to others or pretending the play never happened. “<i>Anyone who harbors hard feelings is labeled a Sore Loser and is looked down upon with contempt by his fellows; it is a deep character flaw. But anybody who can engineer a quick solution acceptable to all sides is labeled a Good Sport, and of him great and glorious things are expected</i>.”<br />
<br />
Boys simply will not develop their characters if everything is always kept perfectly safe for them. Boys ought to be able to bear a few falls, knocks, and bruises. When we adults over-manage the activities of children we take the joy of discovery out of it and by removing the risks, we remove any chance they had to grow and mature. We emphasize fairness and fun for all which does not build character or a sense of duty. <br />
<br />
Now you may be thinking of gangs. Gangs are groups of kids organizing themselves into a society: a society that goes around getting into mischief or worse. Children should be supervised or they might join or form a gang, right? After all, Proverbs says, "<i>He who walks with wise men will be wise, but the companion of fools will be destroyed</i>." You don't get much more foolish than a pack of boys left to themselves. The solution to the gang (or pack of fools) is not to obliterate childhood or community by controlling it and overseeing it. It is to provide the genuine article--solid family and community living--for which the gang is a perversion or a counterfeit. “<i>It’s not that these boys [who form gangs] spend too much time outside the home. It’s that they have no genuine home to spend time outside of</i>.” Children left to themselves will reflect the morals they have been taught.<br />
<br />
My children are still little and I can’t expect to send them off with a group of their toddler friends to organize a baseball game. But I do want to be teaching them the kind of morals here at home that will make them be Good Sports and not Sore Losers. Three and five year olds do need to be supervised, but with the goal of instilling honorable ethics and then turning them loose to figure out exactly how it works in the real world.Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-8422682330225660422011-02-24T16:52:00.000-08:002011-02-24T16:52:39.387-08:00It's My Birthday!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDfCdeLJtKVg_6oKQ2Hc8roV42q_cj8LVR0hwB92udaBn2lDEjEEt2uacYtr7hqWuKb8TMpyRRs2NnuSxxb5oKDvZHezMfRyBcDLc05C6_3DmQmHr8yrkRSD-BUfKbfGTgCR-UJiYI2nMp/s1600/BirthdayFlowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDfCdeLJtKVg_6oKQ2Hc8roV42q_cj8LVR0hwB92udaBn2lDEjEEt2uacYtr7hqWuKb8TMpyRRs2NnuSxxb5oKDvZHezMfRyBcDLc05C6_3DmQmHr8yrkRSD-BUfKbfGTgCR-UJiYI2nMp/s400/BirthdayFlowers.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>I woke up today to a powdered sugar world. Snow clung to every branch of every tree until each one looked like a sugary confection fit to eat. These flowers from a friend were on the table providing kind of a funny combination of seasonal beauty (thank you, God, for hot houses!). Then the clouds separated and for a while we had blue sky and sunshine. Now when I look out the window the snow is falling again in thick, fat flakes putting me in my very own snow globe.<br />
<br />
This year I turned 24 on the 24th. We call that a golden birthday and I was always disappointed as a kid that I would have to wait so long for mine to come around. Besides, I reasoned, I'd be so <i>grown up</i> by then I probably wouldn't care. Well, the year finally came and I decided: <i>You know what? I do care</i>. So I told Eli he'd better make it special. He didn't tell me what he had in mind, even though I kept telling him that surprising me was a big responsibility. I mean, what if I thought the big surprise was kind of lame? He kept dropping hints that he was making plans so I decided to trust him, but I had no idea what was up his sleeve.<br />
<br />
So I was <i>totally</i> astonished when I walked in the door after our ultrasound on Monday to find just about every single one of my friends standing in the hall and in the dining room and in the kitchen and living room all yelling, "<i>Happy birthday!</i>" I love my friends and I love big parties so it was the perfect way to celebrate my once in a lifetime golden birthday. And <i>I had no idea</i> it was coming! As my heart rate settled and snacks and cake were put before me I began to make connections, like when he said <i>this</i>, what he meant was <i>this! </i>And <i>that's why we went there then.</i> It was a lovely party with plenty of loving people around to talk to, no matter which room I walked in. And it ended the way the best parties must: hours later than it was supposed to.<br />
<br />
Thank you, Eli, for thinking of it, planning it, and keeping it secret! Now I feel <i>really</i> bad that your surprise party got <a href="http://www.exodusbooks.com/family/photo-album.aspx?id=107">snowed out</a>.<br />
<br />
Tonight the kids are eating with Nanny and Poppy and Eli and I are going downtown to P. F. Changs. Next to a party with my friends, a dinner I don't have to cook is the best birthday celebration. Or any day celebration, for that matter!<br />
<br />
P.S. I know that I used an over-abundance of <i>italics</i>. A birthday post about a surprise party warrants that.Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-69033668673578676852011-02-23T20:20:00.000-08:002011-02-23T20:22:18.215-08:00At the Back of the North Wind<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJC2dp7hVMOBBTQOTL3R0Pe6RooNDIpiU4cKC7-MJY7qJHpP1ClQ6YmjnEW_id4Nm_Ww135WPEtgAvTsOTicnLqUpVmqyBPwI4Z3_KVNFgYUQrl4U9I-6FqRaS7xPoy8IzqwQ1L5kjXyXL/s1600/northwind_smaller.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJC2dp7hVMOBBTQOTL3R0Pe6RooNDIpiU4cKC7-MJY7qJHpP1ClQ6YmjnEW_id4Nm_Ww135WPEtgAvTsOTicnLqUpVmqyBPwI4Z3_KVNFgYUQrl4U9I-6FqRaS7xPoy8IzqwQ1L5kjXyXL/s320/northwind_smaller.jpg" width="244" /></a></div>I started <i><a href="http://www.exodusbooks.com/details.aspx?id=9046">At the Back of the North Wind</a></i> when I was young but didn't get more than a few chapters into it. Since Lewis and Tolkien atribute so much of their inspiration to George MacDonald, I wanted to give it a second try.<br />
<br />
This time around I was a bit more inspired, but it was still slow going getting through it. Then, as is the case with so many older books, I began to really enjoy it once I got past the first two thirds or so. In the end it was quite poignant and sweet.<br />
<br />
The writing style (naturally) is rather clunky and old-fashioned. The plot and action is understated while descriptions seem to go on for pages. However, it manages to be whimsical and fantastic while at the same time real and moralistic without providing the answers for any of it. Does the North Wind really visit Diamond and carry him in her arms through the night? Where do dreams come from? Does suffering hardships make good times more lovely? Within the pages of this book, even if life is perplexing, it is beautiful, good and worth living. I liked that instead of moralizing in this story (as is so common in many Victorian novels), George MacDonald would subtly and sagaciously slip in values or little moral messages that were actually pretty profound.<br />
<br />
I would not recommend this for young readers unless they have been raised to appreciate slow-paced and subtle literature. I will consider reading it aloud to my kids in a few years, but not until they've learned to sit through longer descriptive passages.Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-38368017334515554862011-02-22T17:42:00.000-08:002011-04-05T12:02:36.997-07:00Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child: Method One<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.exodusbooks.com/details.aspx?id=24768" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibp2aIhh9bfwGs-wIyWY0BdHrOmRcsFQ9knPP31g7-YatueFGVzYQx8x65ZPEjUIJ5NqjpePTwkLqZTByOmkgApqi9BistiffMqa3Mq6mhFqIao6fO0ZXUlDtSVS9vnc1jRSvImjJH8FQj/s200/bookcover10ways.png" width="132" /></a></div><b><i>Keep Your Children Inside As Much As Possible</i></b><br />
<br />
Contemporary life happens within walls and most people will live most of their lives indoors. In preparation Esolen says,<br />
<blockquote><i>“...we must replace the great world around us with an artificial world where not the imagination but the stray nervous tics of the brain may roam for a while and then rest.... Replace air with virtual space.”</i></blockquote>Children who are left to their own devices outside “<i>may develop into people who do not do as they are told--meaning that they will not buy what marketers want them to buy</i>.”<br />
<br />
Outside children will find:<br />
<br />
<b>The Sky</b><br />
The sky is full of color, clouds, stars, birds, and planes taking people to or bringing them from Elsewhere. “<i>[It] startles us out of our dreams of vanity, it silences our pride, it stills the lust to get and spend</i>.” It’s just there, vast and infinite, challenging us to be.<br />
<br />
Video games and TV fill our visual field with neon lights. Smog discolors our outlook on the sky whether it’s physical smog that clouds our physical view or mental lust that clouds our mind. “<i>A child that has been blared at all his life will never be able to do the brave nothing of staring at the sky.</i>” He will be too bored.<br />
<br />
<b>A World Untamed</b><br />
Outside contains a world not yet managed into submission. Even the small and ordinary found just past our own doorsteps will show us the perplexities and unusualness of life if we take the time to notice. Nature is not all cute and nice. The hunter and and the hunted are waging a war and the result is often kind of gross. <br />
<br />
The mysteries of the world can not be contained in parks (national or neighborhood) and zoos. And they are easily dulled by sentimentality and “nature lessons.”<br />
<br />
<b>A World in Which to Encounter Himself</b><br />
To have any effect on nature, you must struggle. Mere words, clicks of a mouse, transferring of electronic data will do nothing against rocks, stumps, dirt, and weeds. Outside man encounters what is beyond man and attempts to come to terms with it or to master it by cunning, courage, and sweat. Nature can help develop a self to rely on, growing a person in strength and cleverness. The music of the hills, rocks, streams, and trees finds its way into the mind and being.<br />
<br />
Since I don’t live in the country, I was interested in the little section about growing the imagination in the city. The city can not compare to the “illimitably complex, wild yet orderly” environment in the county. But cities are full of people--lives being lived side by side, so different yet often so similar. These can be watched and learned from and known just as streams, rocks, and birds can be in the country. Fear, degradation, sin, romance, vitality...these can be found in the alleys, streets, tunnels, bridges, and shops of a city.<br />
<br />
There is less to excite the mind amid the manicured lawns and homogenous homes of the suburbs. If nature is untamed in the country and human nature is untamed in the city, both have been conquered here in the in-between land. The imagination needs a world of possibilities in which to explore, work, and struggle. Here it has already been done. The sidewalks are spacious and smooth; the yards are professionally landscaped; the people are safe behind curtained windows and closed garages. The opportunities are there for the finding because there is always work to be done in this fallen world, no matter where you are, and there are always people to meet, but it takes more creativity and perhaps more direction from adults. <br />
<br />
And safety <i>is</i> a concern. Our kids can’t go roaming the streets and making friends with whomever they might bump into. I don’t want to raise kids who are too afraid of every passing car to venture outside but neither do I want them so naive that they trust every person they see. Maybe if I keep a childlike outlook on the world my kids and I can go off on adventures together to explore “man’s jumble of artifacts.”Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-35960580773532162852011-02-22T11:57:00.000-08:002011-02-22T17:47:34.574-08:00It's a...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZzpDyNrRFbppLdXzB7dyN6qO53Ie7JkECcgG0QxrYbF_1hHEF6qqYVGlpA6uKhk7dcikQ6l7bQveA0_X8aZjYrS1ewK-5ReEFGMtYYteKdAanESRaa9po1zjwXsmY8BNbA_SBMVFgq5iI/s1600/boy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZzpDyNrRFbppLdXzB7dyN6qO53Ie7JkECcgG0QxrYbF_1hHEF6qqYVGlpA6uKhk7dcikQ6l7bQveA0_X8aZjYrS1ewK-5ReEFGMtYYteKdAanESRaa9po1zjwXsmY8BNbA_SBMVFgq5iI/s1600/boy.jpg" /></a></div><div align="center">BOY!!!</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Yesterday I had my 20 week ultrasound. Eli's been wanting a boy so much that he didn't even want to talk about potential girl names. We have a name in mind that we are really excited about for a boy but <em>nothing</em> for a girl. The doctor went to examine the baby's pelvic area but the bottom was too far down and the feet were curled up under so we couldn't see anything. After looking at the head, the heart, and taking some measurements the baby had turned a bit, so Dr. Ed said, "It looks like this is a girl...no, maybe it's a boy..." Eli didn't need the added suspense! So we finished the other measurements and got the above adorable profile picture. By that time the baby had completly moved and we got a nice clear view. Even we could tell that it will be a son that we welcome in July! </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">My favorite moment of the ultrasound was when we could see a perfect profile: nose, mouth, little round head. And at the same time we could see his heart beating strong and steady.</div><blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><em>For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known. And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.</em> 1 Corinthians 13:12-13</div></blockquote>Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6080747955302802043.post-50443364368710452502011-02-19T10:12:00.000-08:002011-04-05T12:03:48.037-07:00Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child: Introductory Chapter<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.exodusbooks.com/details.aspx?id=24768" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibp2aIhh9bfwGs-wIyWY0BdHrOmRcsFQ9knPP31g7-YatueFGVzYQx8x65ZPEjUIJ5NqjpePTwkLqZTByOmkgApqi9BistiffMqa3Mq6mhFqIao6fO0ZXUlDtSVS9vnc1jRSvImjJH8FQj/s200/bookcover10ways.png" width="132" /></a></div><b>Introduction: Why Truth is Your Enemy and the Benefits of the Vague</b></div><blockquote><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i>“A fact may not be much by itself, but it points toward what is true, and even the humblest truth may in time lead a mind to contemplate the beautiful and the good.”</i></div></blockquote><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The imagination needs memory. In ancient Greek mythology, the nine Muses (the inspiration for everything creative and beautiful) came from the union of Zeus and Memory. Inspiration that comes merely from within--without drawing on history, art, and literature--is self-centered and peculiar.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Facts--whether they are historical, scientific, geographical, or what have you--may not be inspiring in and of themselves but if they are in the memory of a questioning mind, they can lead to all sorts of inspiration. The memory can call up two seemingly unconnected things and mold them into a whole new thought. Without the memory, the imagination has little to play with.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The memory needs facts learned in a structured, organized manner. Random and disorganized facts are robbed of their creative potential. Real art--whether it’s a painting, a poem, a story, or a mathematical equation--is subject to rules and structure.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">A memory stifled by laziness and flattery will quickly fill up with everything that is silly, flat, and vapid.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Esolen quotes Aeneas, the saddest hero of ancient epic, in the Aeneid when he tells his son:</div><blockquote><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i>“Hard work and manhood learn from me, my boy;<br />
Good fortune you can learn from someone else.”</i></div></blockquote><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">A student of Latin fights his way through inflectional endings to translate that passage until “<i>the moment of understanding, the vision of a truth that is precious precisely because it turns us away from easy and comfortable consolations, a truth made more splendid by poetry that burns itself in the memory, will have made the laborious study worthwhile</i>.”</div>Amanda Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327531562563484497noreply@blogger.com0