The Wide Mercy of Narrow Focus

 Somewhere around mid-September, Jude (age 7) finally started coming to terms with the hibernation of all the frogs on our property.  It was like watching someone give up chocolate.  Or cigarettes.  

He'd get up in the morning and make 20 comments about frogs--wondering how they were feeling that day, speculating that there might still be one or two that hadn't yet gone to sleep, fuming about the onset of cold weather, postulating about what month the peepers would come back in the spring, snapping at siblings, and moaning about his extreme boredom.  

He brought out his plastic frog collection and set them up and stared at them, moved them around and stared at them again.  

He read books about frogs.  

He made frogs from Play-doh, and beamed when I drew frog eyes on his waffles with syrup. 

Then he asked me to draw frogs on paper.  

Then he started drawing them.

Suddenly a new world opened up to him.  Before this fall, he only held a pencil as a last resort.  (As in, "Here's a notebook.  You can either sketch during your quiet time, or take a nap.")

But once he learned how to draw a frog, he discovered that he enjoyed the feeling of watching the pictures in his head come out the tip of his pencil.  

He started drawing cars and trucks, farms, airplanes, monsters, fish, football players, family members, epic battles, natural disasters, bugs, and of course, lots of frogs.

He has pursued his new interest with the same singular focus as his previous passion--often stumbling straight from his bed into the school room before any of his brothers are up, quietly and contentedly burying himself in piles of markers, pencils, and notebook paper until he is called down to breakfast.  

His Daddy has a wider range of interests at this point in his life, but he shares Jude's tenacity and focus.  Last night I helped Jamey write up a "brief life history from high school to the present" for a banquet at which he will soon be honored.  

In seeing that telescopic view of his life, I realized how wonderful it has been for him to have the opportunity to pursue medical science for the past 25 years, working primarily with his mind to discover how and why the body sometimes reacts against itself and how to help it start functioning properly again.  

He reads, studies, and listens, and then reads, studies and listens some more, and he is good at what he does because of the fact that after 25 years he is still intrigued and inspired by the vast and beautiful universe of the human body.

Nice stories.  So what's the point?

Well first, on a macro level I hope to inspire gratitude in you for what we have here.  With all its imperfections, the United States is the ideal culture medium for people like Jamey and Jude.  

Because of the time and place in which we live, Jamey has been able to use his specific interests to pursue the research and develop the skills necessary to help push back the devastating effects of arthritis and other auto-immune diseases in his patients. 

Jamey is brilliant at wrestling down tricky problems and a bulldog at following ideas to their logical conclusions, but I'll tell you what he can't do.

He can't use a power tool to save his life.  

He has no instinct for fixing broken things that aren't human (unless it can be done with duct tape).  In fact, he has a deadly effect on electronics of all kinds.  

He doesn't grow things that live in dirt (except children), or raise animals (except children), and his own body is affected by the very disease he has spent his life fighting in others, leaving him with substantial physical limitations. 

If he had lived in almost any other time or place in history, he most likely would have been crippled or dead long ago.  Certainly, he would have struggled to build and maintain shelter for his family, or grow crops, or raise livestock, or work grueling hours of hard, physical labor of any kind. 

And thankfully, he hasn't had to.  Because of the system we have here which allows people to capitalize on their strengths--and make a living doing so--he has lived a dream which so many others have never been allowed to experience.  

I can't help but think of the slaves who would have made brilliant writers or musicians or statesmen or scientists, who were (and still are) instead ground into the dust by stronger wills.  

I think of the beautiful minds and hearts silenced under the relentless crush of tyranny and despotism--in culture after culture, century upon century.  

I think of numberless little boys through countless ages, born with Jude's same, singular tenacity and focus and sense of wonder, pulled under and absorbed in the inexorable grind of child labor and subsistence living.  

And I am grateful, that for all of its faults, and all of its inequalities, we have a system here that allows people to at least make a stretch toward realizing their lovely, God-given potential.  


A society that encourages and facilitates specialization allows folks like Jamey and Jude to laser in on a narrow field of interest without being distracted by a thousand things they are not good at and have no interest or ability to accomplish.  

In turn, Jamey does that for others (and hopefully Jude will too one day:), when he hires a stonemason to build his patio in an artistic and durable manner, or pays a farmer and a grocer to grow and sell food to our family, or buys a car which has been thoughtfully engineered by a team of experts.  

The freedom to pursue one's interests and talents provides humans with an escape from the scratch and scrabble of subsistence living--something to remember as we continue to slide toward a "command and control" system of government.


On a micro level, I want to bring something up with you well-meaning, earnest, industrious, over-achieving mamas out there.  

I have seen more and more of you lately.  I have been you more recently than I like to admit.

It is time to be OK with the fact that we cannot do everything.

Not well.  

Not without risking a break somewhere.  

We are not gods.

And yet, we women put that pressure on ourselves.

And on one another.

"You mean you don't make your own bread?"

"Grow your own organic, non-GMO vegetables?"

"Grind your own wheat?"

"Write your own curriculum?"

"Refinish your own furniture?"

"Raise your own free range, slow-grown, foraged, pastured, soy-free, corn-free, fish-free, wheat-free, anti-biotic free, gluten free, hormone-free, heritage chickens/cows/pigs?"

"Knit your own socks?"

"From your own sheep's wool?"

"While homeschooling your children, running a successful Etsy shop, and working weekends in the PICU?"

What are we doing to each other?

I will never forget seeing a young, struggling mama come into a conversation at one recent ladies' gathering I attended.  Week after week I had watched her sitting at the feet of other well-meaning mothers, who were telling her what she should be adding to her family's diet, what she should be purging from her pantry, where to buy (very expensive) environmentally and ergonomically proper toddler shoes/lunch pails/cloth diapers/water bottles.  

She was a new, eager, earnest, but overwhelmed mother of several young children, and I could tell by the questions she was asking and the look on her face that these suggestions were adding to the list in her head of what she needed to do to be a "good mom".  

All of the advice didn't come from one person, and I am sure it was well-intentioned.  These other moms each had their passions and convictions and hot-button issues, but without realizing it, they were conferring their personal lists onto her.  And it was a burden. 

So she came in one day with shy, expectant look on her face and announced, "I made my own chicken broth yesterday!  Meijer had a sale on whole roasters and I made and froze enough for five or six meals."

"Not grocery store chickens!" was the immediate, horrified response from one listener.  "Oh, Girl!  I need to tell you where to get birds that aren't full of vaccines and antibiotics!"

And I saw my young friend's face fall in disappointment over yet another perceived failure, and an opportunity to encourage a fellow mother go up in flames.  

Now, we all have our own personal passions and interests, and that is as it should be.  I am not against learning about yours and I like sharing mine, but is it possible that they don't all have to be the same?  

That we don't all have to be involved to the same degree in each other's pet causes?

My guess is that all of you don't scroll through photos of abandoned children on the Michigan Adoption Resource Exchange website every week and cry and pray over the photos.  

I do.  

Because God has burdened my heart that way, and so those little ones have become precious to me. 

But how would you like it if I made you feel guilty over not sharing my heightened level of concern over the plight of orphans?

(Maybe I have, and if so, I am sorry.   Last time I checked, I was not the Holy Spirit, and I no doubt need to leave the more of the work of conviction to Him.)

Yes!  We should all care about orphans, but maybe your real fire is lit for elder care, or politics, or the arts, or post-abortive ministry, or family counseling, or earth stewardship, or meeting the needs of refugees, or eradicating sex slavery, or serving in your local church ministries, or homeschooling, or being a good neighbor or an involved PTA mom.

The truth is, we can't all be ignited to the same level about the same things, or we would burn out.  Or go crazy.  Or both.  

As a Christian, I desire to live with an open-hearted attitude toward God's will.  I want to be moved if He is ready to move me, and I trust that He will enlighten me on the direction my passions should take me.  I do want to know what other women are doing to live out their callings, but I do not want to be buried in impossible expectations.  

There are no extra points given to ladies who "do it all".  While it is true that some women seem to be "Janes-of-all-trades", I think many of us are "specialists", with hearts designed to care for the specific needs of a finite number of causes and creatures. 

Now, if you want to (or need to) grow and make everything from scratch and trace the source and content of every bite of your food and every stitch of your clothing all the way back to the Garden of Eden, by all means, do so!  I personally love eating the food that my "cooking from scratch" friends make!  (Keep it coming!) 

And I fully support you ladies who are front and center at the Capitol Building, or putting in long hours at the homeless shelters, or building orphanages in Guatemala, but right now, if I spent more time in those areas my house would be in shambles, my husband would be wearing Ohio State t-shirts and sweatpants to work, and my kids would be filthy and ignorant.  At this season of life, I know I need to use my time in other directions. 


I think God gives us the GIFT of specialization--or narrowed vision--so that we can best utilize our unique talents and energy.  We have limited hours and years, and yet there is so much pain, and so many to care for, how else would we avoid becoming paralyzed by the enormity of the task?

Only God can comprehend the true immensity of the need, but every one of us can catch hold of a small part of the vision--slender thread here and there, where we see it--and pull together in the same direction for the good of one another and the glory of God.

**************

1 Peter 4:8-11

Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. 

 Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling. 

Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms. 

If anyone speaks, they should do so as one who speaks the very words of God. 

If anyone serves, they should do so with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. 

To him be the glory and the power for ever and ever. 

Amen.

 

Momentary Honesty (Not to Be Read By Potential Homeschoolers or the Easily Discouraged)

This morning one of my sons came down the stairs wearing a bright red and blue shirt with faded, maroon, high-water sweatpants, hair plastered straight down on one side of his head, and straight up on the other (as it was when he got out of bed), questionable teeth, and bare feet.  He then announced himself as "ready for school".  

That is usually my cue to break into my daily, well-rehearsed "maternal checklist for school readiness", which includes addressing each and every one of the aforementioned issues with his attire and personal hygiene, as well as the chores which were almost certainly left undone upstairs.

I opened my mouth and watched his eyes glaze over, and suddenly I realized that this is one of the problems with homeschooling.  

It is time to be honest.  In my 10 years of experience, I haven't come across many major problems with homeschooling, and the ones I have encountered aren't enough to make me abandon my calling, but--I need to be frank--difficulties are there, and sometimes they pop up and stare at me with big mocking eyes and make my lower lip tremble a little bit. 

I think that a good number of us homeschool moms have spent many years trying to explain to people why we have made the doubly strange decisions to...

a) ...forgo careers with other grown ups in places where we can wear pretty clothes, talk in complete sentences, not cut up other peoples' food, and get paid...

...in order to...

b) ...stay home with our kids for 24 hours a day, from the time they are 0 to 18, teaching them not only what it means to become a civilized human being (normal parent stuff), but also everything they need to know to land a spot in the college or career of their dreams, which requires multiple role changes on our parts, multiple times a day.  I routinely change from mommy to teacher, to coach, to therapist, to pastor, to nurse, to drill sergeant, to maid, to cook, to valet, to prison warden, to chauffeur, to psychologist, and back to mommy again within the span of two hours' time.

It is worth it.  It is just hard to describe why or how sometimes, and since there is always an army of tongue-cluckers waiting to see a spectacular failure from among us (so as to discredit the whole movement), most of us hold our fears close to the vest.   

We are well aware that such a "failure" could not be blamed on anyone but ourselves.  The only bad teacher my kids had was me.  Same for ineffective career counseling, sub-par cafeteria food, and dilapidated playground equipment.  My fault, my fault, and my fault.  

Textbooks not up to snuff?  Me again.  

Bullied by peers?  My bad.  I gave birth to (many of) the kids around here.  

Curriculum gaps?  Umm...that would be on me.  

Kids prevented from mastering crucial scholastic concepts by noisy siblings, barking dogs, distracting UPS men, phone calls, and the smell of burning bread?  I'll have to own all that. 

Bad habits, bad manners, bad breath?  With no renegade classmates to absorb part of the blame, those peccadilloes would all fall on moi.  

So as you can imagine, with that kind of built-in pressure, we homeschool moms tend to be closed-mouthed about the occasional problems that crop up in home education, except among friends and people who won't make us worry and stew more than we already do.  

But today, I feel brave.  

Or desperate...

Either way, this is what I am noticing around here lately.

Problem 1:  My children have no hawk-eyed peer group waiting to pounce on fashion foibles, unusual manners, and gross personal habits, which means...

...I have to do that entire job myself. 

Now, you might think this is not really a problem, and you are partly right.  

It is true that my kids can make it through the school day without being teased for wearing last year's hairstyle or the wrong labels on their clothes.  It's just that sometimes I think a little ridicule might come in handy since my boys routinely show up in not only last year's hairstyle, but in last night's hairstyle--untouched by brush, comb, or water.

Without shame.  

They also have the tendency to belly up to the table in shirts (often pungent) which have been dredged up from the abyss behind their beds, clothes borrowed from siblings (ridiculously over or under-sized) as well as "old favorites", a.k.a. "clothes they love too much to ever put into the laundry lest there be a dreaded two hour period of separation whilst the item is washed and dried."

As for labels, they wear them all right!--hanging off the back of inside-out sweatpants and flopping out the front of backwards shirts.  

With pride.

What hasn't worked so far:  Me telling them that they look/smell like hobos in hopes that they would eventually learn to discern that fact for themselves.  I am simply outnumbered--just one lonely voice competing against a chorus of brothers who would (and do) accept and approve of any configuration of "school uniform", be it matched or unmatched, freshly laundered or ripe, ripped or intact, properly sized or sprayed on.

My brilliant idea:  A small rental mob of children (five or so) to come over periodically and rib the boys about their unfortunate apparel choices and sloppy hygiene.  

They could show up around 8 in the morning, twice a month, constructively critique each person under the age of 12 as he or she comes down the stairs, have a snack, and be driven home.  

If that doesn't work, I guess we'll just have to wait until the kids go off to college.

Problem 2:  Motivation to complete assignments is lacking...er, non-existant.  

What Hasn't Worked So Far:  I once imagined that if I could just devise a perfect school schedule, color coded with a slot and time for each student and assignment (including ample recess time and frequent snack breaks), and then laminate it and display it in six convenient locations, I would have compliance and enthusiasm from the troops.  

That flopped, so then I let them have a say in the schedule.  Create ownership, I thought!

That worked for half a week before it flopped too.  

So I tried a rewards system.  And then a combination rewards/"punitive redirection" scheme.  Flops.

Crying flopped too, although that wasn't a planned strategy on my part.  Same with yelling.

I had the idea to deliver a calm and logical dissertation on "The Indisputable Benefits of Having Completed Fourth Grade When Trying to Land Gainful Employment in Today's Tough Job Market".

I also gave a speech on "How Not Making Your Mother Send You Back Four Times to Complete Every Single Problem on Your Math Worksheets Can Improve Your Quality of Life."

And, of course, there is the perennial favorite "Six Things You Will Lose if You Make Me Tell You ONE MORE TIME to Get Your School Book Box and Come to the Table."

Flop.  Flop.  And flop.

My Brilliant Idea:  Twins.  I need one for each child, and here's why.  

I recently learned from Jamey that the ONLY reason he EVER completed an assignment from 1st grade through his sophomore year in college was because he was actively competing with people who were doing the same work.  He said he had absolutely no interest in the subject matter at hand.  

Ever.  

He was only ever trying to do his work in order to be faster and better than someone else. That changed when he turned 20 and discovered that gaining knowledge is a pleasant and profitable pastime all on its own.  

So, until then I will need a source of competition--a fellow student working through the same material--to provide the proper motivation for each child.  The solution?  Twins!

That's as far as I've gotten on that issue since there appear to be some formidable challenges in the implementation phase of this idea.

Problem 3:  The kids know I love them.  

Don't get me wrong.  I think this is also a positive in many situations, but in the classroom, it can lead to an assumption that my kids can act out, speak out, tune out, and freak out, with a level of freedom they might not enjoy with a teacher who doesn't also think they are the most adorable creatures in the universe.  

For instance, Isaiah knows how to make me laugh while I am trying to be stern.  I hate that. Deep down, I am always fighting the urge to squeeze his little round cheeks and he knows it, which makes me less effective than I could be at holding the line with him.  

I have another child who has studied me for 12 years with the singular goal of figuring out when I am least likely to notice his disappearance from the table.  He has mastered the art of innocent believability, counting on the extra measure of grace a mother might extend to her beloved child who, say, "got lost between the bathroom and the kitchen table", or needed to give the dog 47 minutes to do his business.  

I have a third child who counts on limitless second chances (and the lack of a principal's office) to pull shenanigans that would never be tolerated in a classroom.  After all, what am I going to do?  Expel him? 

What Hasn't Worked So Far:  This is tricky.  I actually think that this is a problem I don't want to solve.

And the more I think about it, I'm not sure I want to "solve" any of my homeschool problems.  

Yes, I'd like to improve the peace, obedience, and harmony among the individuals in my home, but there is no magic outside force that will accomplish that.  

The solution for any parent/child problem is the same, whether they are homeschooled or not--daily, consistent, loving direction and discipleship, prayer, and patience.  


The truth is that this the solution for all interpersonal relationships.  I have mine as a homeschool, and you have yours in whatever you do, but we have this in common:  

The closer you get to people, the more vulnerable you become.  And with vulnerability, comes the potential for frustration, pain, and disappointment--but also for connection, affection, and growth.  

Welcome to life on an inhabited planet!  We are all dealing with the same issues.


Any time groups of humans get together for extended periods, problems will develop.  Personalities will clash, selfishness will rear its ugly head, seasons of irritation will come and go, immaturity will surface, perceptions and opinions will butt heads.  

To wish away all the stickiness and stress would be to wish away the people causing it.   

The truth is, we are all bundles of potential annoyance and aggravation for one another!  I provide that service for you.  And you, my friends, neighbors, spouse, and children, provide it for me!

Unless you are Ghengis Khan or the Queen of Hearts (and can thus dispatch underlings with impunity) you will need to learn the delicate art of diffusing tension, inspiring right behavior, and responding to insults with grace.

 I've seen people throw away fixable marriages, or jump from job to job, or leave churches, or trade in old friends for a revolving door of new faces, or moan and stew about every age and stage their children go through because they didn't understand the hard work of human relationships.  

But think what they are missing!  The hardest things in life end up being the most rewarding, and sanctifying--and satisfying.

I could send my children away, but they would simply bring their problems with them and someone else (who knows and loves them less) would have to deal with them.   

And what would I lose?  I would forfeit the experience of the daily, hourly awakening of their minds and spirits.  I would sacrifice thousands of teachable moments.  I would give up the refining fire that exists in my particular calling.  

The temptation is to blame the system or the institution or the environment, but the truth is that I want my kids to be secure in my absolute devotion to them.  I'm glad they are not obsessed with being cool.  I love that they have 5,000 outside interests vying for their attention.  

And I am learning to appreciate the fact that they know me well enough to have me figured out.  
 
So I have some choices.

I could keep looking for the "magic bullet" that will fix them, and be angry and frustrated when they don't fall in line.

I could wish these years away, tolerating my children instead of enjoying them, envying those in different circumstances, and feeding my discontent.

Or I could pursue peace, choose grace, and cultivate gratitude, even in the nitty-gritty business of teaching manners and multiplication to boys who would rather be wrestling and burping;)

***Sigh***

The trick is to remember all this tomorrow morning when Lurch, Oscar the Grouch, and Pigpen show up at the breakfast table:)