Responding with Grace

Lately, I've been haunted by the story of Jesus and the woman caught in adultery.  Granted, it's a strange passage to be consumed by, especially in a season where most of us are focusing on the birth of Christ, but the Holy Spirit continues to bring it to my mind.  The refrain that echoes as I pore over this section of scripture is "radical grace.....radical grace.....radical grace."  You see recently, I haven't been very graceful.  My family has suffered a loss that has caused a rift among some members, and I, myself, haven't always managed the tension well.  In fact, there are times where I've ignored the teachings I hold dear and just sought to handle my grief in my own way.  It's in those moments where I most keenly hear the voice of my Savior reminding me to seek the way of love, peace, and reconciliation.  I believe my current preoccupation with the story of Jesus and the adulteress is a reminder of Christ's call to live gracefully.

We live in a world full of hurt, anger, vengeance, loss, and retribution.  One doesn't have to look far to see the results of our pride:  parents, reeling from the pain of divorce, who refuse to behave civilly for the sake of their children; harsh remarks uttered just so we can feel justified for wrongs we believe we've suffered, unaware of how deeply our words cut; a waitress humiliated in front of customers because the soup wasn't hot enough; refusing to offer assistance to someone against whom we hold a grudge; business partners who split then attempt to ruin the other financially because of a misunderstanding. Very rarely does the news air stories of grace.  When was the last time we witnessed someone turning the other cheek?  We even look down our noses at the destitute and think, "Well, if you hadn't made this or that choice, you wouldn't be in this predicament."  We stand before someone whose reeling from an error in judgment and hold it over his head and remark, our words seething with vitriol, "You brought this on yourself."  In our self-righteousness, we hold his transgression over him as a reminder anytime he wrongs us again, bringing up the same hurt anytime an argument arises.  We need others to know they've hurt us and then somehow cause them to suffer for the pain they caused.  I know because I've participated in relishing when others receive their "just desserts."  I've stood in self-righteous judgment of others while entangled in the trap of my own sin.

Enter Jesus.  Jesus who shocked the world by coming as a humble babe in a manger, born to a poor unknown; Jesus who takes the expected rules of behavior and turns them on their head.  Jesus who challenges us to live a different way, who encourages us to forget self to alter radically our reactions to the ones who've wronged us.  And it's uncomfortable, much like the story of Jesus and the woman caught in adultery.  We want to say, "But Lord, she deserves this."  As I've pored over this passage, I've seen a woman, clearly caught in sin, a sin that could easily tear apart two families, a sin that is just as hideous now as it was then.  I see a crowd eager to see her justly condemned for her decision. Notice her partner in crime is absent.  Here she stands, like Hester Prynne, alone before the judgmental eyes of those who eagerly wish to watch her die.  They bring her before the son of God and ask what must be done, hoping to trap him and destroy two lives in one moment.  Jesus looks at the crowd and says simply, "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone."  Stunning.  With one sentence he forces everyone in the crowd into a moment of self-examination, and each discovers that he is just as ugly and worthy of condemnation as the woman before him.  We hold sin over the sinner, wielding it as a weapon then fail to see the sinfulness in our own hearts.  "'The one without sin among you should be the first to throw a stone at her.' When they heard this, they left one by one."

What this story doesn't say speaks to me as loudly as what it does say.  We don't know anything about this woman other than she was an adulterer.  We don't know if she was forced into the relationship or if she complied willingly.  We don't know if she was an upstanding citizen or the kind of woman that when people heard about her transgression, no one was surprised.  What we do know is that she was caught in the act, dragged into the temple complex, and humiliated before the entire town.  I wonder how each of her accusers would have fared if his sins had been forced into the bright sunlight of day.  Each of her prosecutors leaves without so much as a pebble kicked up from the dust of their retreat tumbling her way.  The woman now stands alone before Jesus, where he begins to lecture her.....no.....where he tells her what a worthless piece of trash she is...no......where he accusingly wags a finger in her direction......no....where He simply asks, "Woman, where are they?  Has no one condemned you?"  To which she responds, "No one, Lord." Then in a moment of radical grace, Jesus offers this woman, dejected, humiliated, despised, possibly deserving of chastisement, punishment, and judgment, and undeserving of grace, he offers her these sweet words.  "Neither do I condemn you. Go and leave your life of sin."  He doesn't say leave your life of sin then I'll not condemn you (Tchividjian), he says, neither do I condemn you. For someone who messes up about fifty times a day, then beats herself up for being so foolish, for a girl who often imagines her heavenly Father looking down with condemnation in his eyes, admonishing her folly, this is a sweet, soothing salve.

This encounter between Jesus and the woman bothers some of us because she didn't get what was coming to her, but I see it differently.  Jesus doesn't excuse her sin.  In fact, he tells her to leave her life of sin.  He doesn't then shield her from the further repercussions of her behavior.  When she left Jesus, she still had to contend possibly, with an angry husband, an angrier, jilted other woman, children who were left reeling in the aftermath of requited passion.  We don't know, but we can imagine the sort of consequences that ensue such an act.  We already see the devastation of being a woman in her position.  Her lover wasn't dragged into the marketplace to be publicly stoned.  Jesus doesn't remove the earthly consequence, but he does offer her forgiveness and grace and saves her life in more ways than one.  In his book One Way Love, Tullian Tchividjian defines grace as "unconditional acceptance given to an undeserving person by an unobligated giver."  He further explains that "grace is love that seeks you out when you have nothing to give in return.  Grace is being loved when you are unlovable.  Grace is love that has nothing to do with you, the beloved.  It has everything and only to do with the lover.  Grace is irrational in the sense that it has nothing to do with weights and measures.  Grace doesn't make demands.  It just gives....and from our vantage point, it always gives to the wrong person."  I believe that because of the grace offered by her Savior the woman left that place a new woman, a woman who still had to face the reality of her sin and the pain it caused others but a woman, now sustained by the grace of Jesus who suddenly had the strength to face her transgression and to pick up the pieces of her shattered life.  

 If Jesus had lectured her and pointed out how worthless she was, she would have left dejected with no hope of reform, but because He showed her mercy and grace, she left transformed, much more than if she had been berated.  Yes, she still faced the consequences of her behavior, but now she faced it with the knowledge that the son of God loves her, and little did she know, shortly after that encounter, that He would take on her sin and your sin, and my sin and die for it.  He would pay in full the penalty for her adultery and for any transgression big or small that we commit.  She had encountered the Savior of the world, and I believe she left motivated to turn her life around, knowing that she was beloved because how can we glimpse His radical grace and love and not be transformed?
The story of the woman caught in adultery reminds me that I am a sinner who deserves the full penalty for my sin, yet Jesus steps in and cancels the debt.  I don't deserve it; I don't earn it.  It's a gift, a radical, life-altering gift.  And it's this knowledge that should encourage me to offer grace to others.
I'm not saying that we shouldn't face earthly consequences for poor choices, that justice shouldn't be sought for victims of crime, but when faced with the choice to swallow our pride and forego an injury to our ego or even an injury that sometimes cuts us to our core, I believe we are called to show grace.  Jesus tells us to be reconciled to our brother, he tells us to turn the other cheek, that if someone wants to sue for our shirt to give him our coat, to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us, to forgive people for their wrongdoing, to consider others more important than ourselves, to look not only to our own interests but to the interests of others, to make our attitude that of Christ Jesus, who emptied Himself by assuming the form of a slave, who humbled himself to the point of death on a cross.  We are told to clothe ourselves in humility, compassion, kindness, gentleness, patience, accepting one another and forgiving one another, and above all, to put on love.  I've never seen the fine print nor read any exceptions.  Jesus calls us to live radically different from what our flesh feels we deserve.  And just like the earlier definition of grace says, we don't control the response of the one to whom we extend grace, nor are we necessarily called to be best friends, but we are called to forgive and to love.  We aren't responsible for the behavior or reaction of the recipient, but just as Jesus's grace has changed the lives of so many, what if our grace did the same?  In this season of love and of giving and of celebration of Christ's birth, may we challenge ourselves to extend grace to those around us, especially to those, who like us (mind you), don't deserve it.  That's what Jesus in his birth, life, death, and resurrection continues to do for us.  

We Are The Body

From the choir loft, I notice my friend bend down to my five-year-old son's level.  Her long, brown hair tumbles over her shoulders hidiing his face for a moment.  When she stands upright, I notice that he now stands proudly holding a hymnal, turned to the correct page.  Her finger draws his attention to the correct phrase.  Though, he can't read a word, he is participating in the Sunday ritual of singing praise to God, and the smile on his face reveals that in his sweet mind, he is singing and reading each word with melodic accuracy.

Since I sing in the choir each Sunday,  my husband usually sits with our children, but from time to time, A and C find themselves sitting on an entirely different pew or my husband has to fulfill scripture reading or ushering duties.  Making sure our children are cared for during service, though, is never an issue because a member of our church family always steps in to see to it that A and C are seated respectfully.  Someone is always there to lovingly turn my son's upside down hymnal to the correct position and to the correct page.

I hold my son's hand as we cross the street to the park, where we are meeting friends.  The afternoon sun hangs low in the bright blue sky, its rays filtering through the colorful array of fall foliage.  We manage to open the lopsided wooden gate then C sprints to meet his friends, who are already busy swinging and sliding.  To an outsider, the group gathering on this cheerful autumn day have arrived at the park to celebrate another Saturday of college football victories or the birthday of a child, but this tight-knit band is here to grieve with friends, fellow church members, who are getting ready to say good-bye to their beloved step-mother who recently passed away after a difficult battle with cancer.  While our children's voices echo happily through the air, women of all ages sit in a ring of folding tail-gate chairs sharing stories, swapping memories, and offering solace in ways that only friends can. Though there are no crosses on the wall or bibles in our hands, church is in session and the comforting power of the Holy Spirit can be felt throughout the park.

One favorite argument skeptics use in their thesis, "Why I Refuse to Attend Church," is that they love Jesus but can't stand the church.  I get it.  The church is messy; the church is flawed; the church can be judgmental, harsh, and legalistic; the church is full of sinners.  But, it's hard to love and serve Christ if you don't love His body.  Whether we like it or not, the group of believers called the "church" is how Christ chooses to fulfill His purpose in our world.  The Son of God entered into the brokenness, and He expects us to do the same.  Though skeptics may despise it, Jesus loves the church.  Ephesians 5 says, "just as Christ loved the church and gave Himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her with the washing of water by the word.  He did this to present the church to Himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or anything like that, but holy and blameless....for no one ever hates his own flesh but provides and cares for it, just as Christ does for the church."  Christ is the head of the body, the church, and he loves us so much that he gave Himself up for us.  Christ also calls us to be a unified body, working as his hands and feet, ministering to a hurt and broken world.  

Perhaps our real problem with the church, once we move past the easy, comfortable answer of "I don't like it because it is full of hypocrites," is that it forces us to become vulnerable and share our lives with others whom we fear might reject us.  It challenges us to immerse ourselves in a broken world, where we may be required to get our hands dirty and our hearts broken.  Church membership calls us out of the sanitized safety of isolation and demands we feed the poor, comfort the brokenhearted, love our enemies, and wash the feet of both strangers and fellow believers.  It compels us to work alongside others who challenge us, encourage us, and sometimes, even anger us.  We will witness pain like we've never seen, hurt that causes our hearts to ache, injustice that makes us want to scream, but we will also see the face of Christ reflected in those we serve and in those we serve alongside, and we will see Him move in ways that astonish us.  We will witness the power that Christ has to heal brokenness and to set captives free from addiction, guilt, bitterness, and sorrow.  Though many of us like to proclaim our faith is a private matter, scripture clearly calls us to live out our faith in community.  And, while conflict and division sometimes prevent us from effective ministry, I invite you to see where the church shines:

When a tornado ravages a neighborhood destroying homes and leaving a wake of desperation and chaos, church members of those affected respond even before the rain has ceased falling.  Phone lines are cluttered with the quick chatter of members making plans to provide shelter, clothing, meals, and clean-up assistance.  Long after the branches have been cleared, the church is still there picking up the pieces.

Refugees seek solace from persecution faced by governments in Iraq and Syria, the church through organizations like Samaritan's Purse unite to provide food and clothing.  

Bible study groups and youth groups shop for local food banks and homeless shelters; they meet to pack shoe boxes that will travel thousands of miles to provide smiles to children on the other side of the world, a brief reprieve from the hardship that constitutes their daily reality.  

Missionaries travel into areas where others flee to provide medical care and hope for those dying of disease, thirst, and malnourishment.  While moments of crisis are where we often shine brightest, it is in the quiet, dark moments of everyday heartbreak and stress, where I most feel the grace of Christ, as He reaches out to me through the ministry of the church

I place my head in my hands and roughly push my fingers back through my hair until pieces are clenched tightly in my fist.  I fight the urge to scream.  I've over-scheduled myself, yet again.  If one more demand is made on my time, I may seriously consider crawling into bed and hibernating until spring.  Anxiety consumes me, as I worry over a family member fighting for her life, and watch the threads of my family slowly come unraveled as fighting and finger-pointing ensue a controversial decision. I wonder if reconciliation will ever occur.  Rather than begin the thousands of tasks on my list, I sit, staring at the table, overwhelmed by sadness.  In that moment, I keenly sense the brokenness that surrounds me.  For some reason, I open my computer to check my email and see a message penned by the youth and family pastor at my church.  He sensed the Holy Spirit's prompting to send me a prayer that put into words the groanings expressed by my spirit.  His words bring comfort.  

A dear friend from my Sunday school class senses my stress and invites my daughter over to play for the afternoon to give me some much-needed time to myself.  I receive text after text and call after call from the girls in my Sunday school class and bible study checking on my family and me, all offering a safe place to share my grief and frustration.  A friend brings a meal just because, but I know it's because she understands what we are going through.  Women I only met because of our church membership are now among my dearest friends, even the ones who no longer attend the same church.  Because we are sisters in Christ, unbreakable bonds have been formed.  My own church has faced a season of grief and loss, as several dear, many too young, members of our congregation have died.  Each member could add her own beautiful thread to the tapestry of stories we collectively weave, stories of members selflessly ministering to other members and to the world at large.  Yes, this is how Christ chooses to minister.  "How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!" How messy, human, broken, stumbling yet beautiful is the bride of Christ. 

The Right Fit

I walk in the door from work to discover A sitting quietly on the couch.  Her bright smile that usually welcomes me home has been replaced by a look that clearly conveys hurt feelings.  "Hi, Pumpkin!" I greet her.

"Hi, mommy," is her quiet reply.

"What's wrong?"

She presses her face into her beloved Sparrow, a stuffed African wild dog, that has been loved within an inch of its life.  If the Velveteen Rabbit were a true story, A's puppy would be well on its way to becoming real.  Sparrow, dressed in a dinosaur t-shirt and rainbow-colored tutu, accompanies my daughter everywhere, including soccer practice, from which A has just arrived home, so I suspect that may be the cause for some of her distress.  "The other kids made fun of me for bringing Sparrow. Some little boys I don't know were saying mean things and grabbing her."

"Oh," is my profound response.  I weigh my words carefully.  This is the first time my daughter has been teased by someone other than a cousin or sibling.  Part of me wants to tell her that if she just kept Sparrow at home and played like the other kids then no one would make fun of her; problem solved.  But, that response gives me great pause.  The past year has seen Sparrow become practically an extension of A, much like her hand or foot.  She's a child who loves her buddy and carrying a stuffed animal everywhere is just part of who she is.  Sparrow has replaced A's American Girl doll as her current object of affection and even has it's own wardrobe and car seat.  This love of her stuffed animal has never been a point of contention until now. Having Sparrow accompany her gives her a sense of security and makes her happy, yet I see the impracticality of having a stuffed toy at soccer.  I also think that because A is home schooled, she might not experience the hurrying into maturity that sometimes accompanies children in public and private school, which means she might mature more slowly than other kids her age and cling to dolls and stuffed animals longer.  This is something, though, that I don't personally see as a problem, except for the fact that it might make her the target of some teasing.

I realize this shouldn't be such a big deal, but my words matter here because I don't want to ask my daughter to keep her stuffed dog at home, simply as a means of conforming, so she will be like everyone else, and no one will tease her.  While I could easily address the fact that Sparrow is a distraction and needs to be kept at home,  I still need to address the teasing and its cause.  As a homeschoooling mom, I already worry that my daughter has a target on her back, a universal expectation of social awkwardness, simply because she is home schooled.  That, though, is ridiculous.  I attended public school for 12 years and am the most socially awkward person I know.  Plus, research has found that the type of socialization that school provides is often less than ideal.  A is quirky, unique, and adorable; she isn't afraid to walk to the beat of her own drum, and I don't want that to change, simply because others might tease her.  I want to affirm who she is and for her to feel secure in being herself, regardless of what others think because living her life based on the whims of the opinions of others will become exhausting and frustrating, so yes, this is an important conversation to have with my daughter.

My response reveals what I value and what I want A to value.  Do I want her to fit in to save herself a little discomfort, or do I want her to maintain her convictions and be true to God's design for her?  As a child, I also tended to walk to the beat of my own drum, not always fitting in.  It wasn't just my short blonde "Annie" curls, red-framed glasses, size gargantuan feet, and braces that made me appear awkward.  I was much more at home with a book or a journal than with a group of friends.  I kept a log where I wrote down the definition of one new word each day.  I watched Jeopardy most afternoons, competing by phone with a friend.  Let's just say homecoming queen was never my destiny.  But, I was comfortable in my own skin and found friends who accepted and even loved my quirkiness.  It was when I grew tired of being different and just did what everyone else was doing that I felt this great sense of loss, a crisis of identity, and found myself compromising values I had previously held dear, all to fit in to someone else's expectation mold.  Suddenly, I found myself jumping through hoops to please others and to be liked, and I was miserable.  It's when I'm true to myself that I feel the most freedom and the greatest sense of peace.  It's this knowledge that I want to share with my children.

Because A has been educated at home, she hasn't really had to experience the taunts of children who target differences.  She hasn't been faced with the prospect of changing herself to blend in to the crowd.  She's always been surrounded by friends who love her exactly as she is, who accept that she loves Minecraft, history, NASA, stuffed animals, and Legos.  As she steps out into the wider world, she will find it harder to be true to who she is, that sometimes it's easier to just follow the crowd.  As someone who works with teenagers, I see this happen all the time.  I watch bright young men and women mask their intelligence because it's not "cool" to be smart.  I've especially seen girls compromise their values and hide their delightful personalities to fit in with a certain group.

I think, unwittingly of course, we as parents sometimes subliminally encourage our children not to stand out.  We buy them certain clothing, toys, electronics, and cars, so they will fit in.  We express relief when they outgrow idiosyncrasies that set them apart, rather than celebrating their uniqueness.  We teach them, sometimes by our own example, to look outward for affirmation rather than upward to God and inward to themselves.  I know I'm guilty when I post every accomplishment on Facebook, seeking validation for everything from my parenting to my cooking.  I've perused Pinterest for hours, beating myself up because I can't even get store-bought cupcakes home without turning them upside down and getting the icing all over the top of the box, much less pull off a Thanksgiving feast complete with a homemade centerpiece.  I set the example, and I'm afraid it isn't always one to be commended. That's why, as I sit, watching my daughter wonder why anyone would care whether or not she brings her stuffed friend to watch her practice soccer, I pray for the right words.

This is a conversation I want to get right.  I want her to know that being herself gets harder, but it's always worth it.  She needs to know that there's a billion people out there swimming in the same direction, and that to swim against the stream takes courage, but it's those fighting the current who change the world.  It seems safe on the shore with everyone else, but it's the few exploring in the deep who are really living life, who are overcoming challenges, and depending on God to guide them into the adventure of a lifetime.  That doesn't happen when we're so busy worrying about what everyone else thinks of us that we miss His call.  I want her to know that no two people share the same set of fingerprints or DNA; that God created each of us as individuals with a special purpose and that purpose probably doesn't involve hiding who we are to please others or blend in with the crowd.  She needs to know that she's loved and accepted exactly as she is.

I can't shelter her from the world, from the sad fact that when we're insecure about something in ourselves, we often lash out at others, teasing them, sometimes even bullying them.  Something in our human nature feels threatened when it encounters someone who is completely secure in her own skin.  Perhaps it magnifies our own insecurities.  I can't always protect her, but I can prepare her, teach her how to respond, and give her a soft place to land.  So, this first experience of her being teased  also gives me the opportunity to talk to her about Jesus's call to pray for those who persecute us and to love our enemies.  I know, teasing isn't exactly persecution and elementary-age boys aren't the enemy, but it probably feels that way to an eight-year-old girl.  It gives me an opportunity to teach her to show love and respect even when she'd prefer to lash out and tease back.  I can also use this as an opportunity to remind her that as followers of Christ, we are called to no longer conform to the pattern of this world but to be transformed by the renewing of our minds.  While I want to protect and shelter her, this experience can be an opportunity to teach my girl about herself and about how to respond when faced with something that hurts her feelings. It also challenges me to practice what I preach.

So, I gather her in my arms and ask, "How did that make you feel?"

"Sad," she responds.

"What do you think you should do?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "I like having Sparrow there."

"I know," I respond.  "And that's really all that matters.  It shouldn't matter what others think as long as what you're doing isn't wrong and doesn't hurt anyone.  But, do you think it might be safer for Sparrow if you kept her home?  I wouldn't want anyone to take her or tear her.  I also wouldn't want her to distract you from focusing at practice."

A ponders this for a moment and agrees it might be wise to leave Sparrow at home, but we agree that Sparrow can attend the games and sit with me.  We talk for a moment about the importance of being ourselves and how it's okay to have different interests than her friends.  We also discuss how our words can wound and how we should always be respectful, even praying for people we might not like very much at that moment.  As she leaves to get ready for bed, I realize this won't be the last time we have this conversation.  There will be broken hearts, broken friendships, and broken promises, but each time my daughter comes to me in these moments, it offers me the chance to affirm who she is and to encourage her to be who God created her to be in a world where we so often try to hide what makes us unique, simply so we can fit in.  I will remind my girl and my boy that God calls them to stand apart from the crowd and to shine like stars, illuminating the world with their individuality, and I will remind myself to do the same.

When In Doubt

Papers lie scattered across the table.  A stack of books lean precariously on the edge of the dining room table, tottering so that one sudden movement would send them tumbling to the floor.  The table resembles my daughter's disorganized, lack of attention to school today.  I grab The Story of the World:  Middle Ages, which serves as A's history book, her favorite subject, and prepare to read today's lesson, hoping to draw her attention back to learning.  Our reading is on Muhammad and the founding of the Islamic religion.  I make an attempt to explain how Islam differs from Christianity when A suddenly says, "Mommy?" then turns her head away shyly.

I pause and respond, "Yes?"

"Never mind," is her quiet reply.  She rests her head onto her folded arms, turned away so that I cannot clearly see her face.  I notice a small tear slip off her elbow and puddle onto the table.

"What is it, Pumpkin?  You know you can tell Mommy anything."  She shakes her head "no" and continues to stare in the opposite direction.  I pull her into my lap and give her a moment.  "

Are you sure you don't want to tell me what's on your mind?"

She begins then hesitates.  I smile encouragingly and wait for her to continue.  "Sometimes I don't believe Jesus is real."  My heart changes its rhythm, and I feel a heavy thump that resonates almost audibly in my ears.  Her tears slowly morph from a trickle to a stream.  Lord, I'm going to need help with this one, I silently pray.

Here is where the old me would have panicked.  The old me would have said in an uncomfortable voice about five octaves too high, "What do you mean you don't always believe Jesus is real?  How could you not believe?  Haven't we taught you all you need to know, given you all the evidence? Of course, He is real.  You have to believe in Jesus to go to heaven"  Inside, I would have been shouting in my head, "WHAT??  My baby girl is bound for eternal damnation.  What did I do wrong?  ARRRGH!!!"  I would have proceeded to worry incessantly about the soul of my child.  Ahh, the old me was so much fun.

The old me would have, in that moment, shut down any meaningful dialogue that could have occurred between my daughter and me about doubts, questions, faith, and the immense love of a magnanimous, wonderful God.  But, because in the past fifteen years, I have wrestled with my own questions and struggled through my own doubts, I understand that God is big enough to handle these moments.  Actually, it's through the desert seasons, the seasons where it seems that He is anywhere but near where I have drawn closer to Him and emerged with a faith stronger than when I felt I had all the answers to the questions.

The old me would have demonstrated to my daughter what a faithless walk resembles.  A faith that panics rather than trusts, a faith that is unable to acknowledge that the same God who loves and created me holds my own children safely in His hands and who desires them to know Him and come to an authentic, meaningful faith in Him, not a shallow, shaky faith that seeks only to trust enough to receive a "get out of hell free" card.  The deep sort of faith is often built on withstanding the storms, wrestling with the questions, and seeking to discover the truth for oneself, not merely riding in on the coattails of a parent's faith.  That isn't the kind of genuine faith that is going to transform the hearts and minds of my children.  While my daughter has prayed, of her own asking, to repent and to receive Christ, her transformation will not take place overnight, and while I do see evidence of Jesus working in her heart, she will still have moments where she questions, sometimes even the veracity of her own beliefs.

I think as Christians we so desperately long for our children to come to faith in Christ that we panic anytime they express doubts or ask tough questions.  We seem to believe that we have an all-or-nothing- one-shot chance at bringing our kids to salvation, and if we miss that chance, all hope is lost, so we rush our kids to make commitments and say prayers they may not be ready to pray.  Faith is a lifelong journey not a moment, and on that journey, our children will express doubts.  That's part of the growing process.  I cannot ask my daughter to accept my faith blindly and to not ask questions or to not find Jesus in her own way.  That moment isn't entirely up to me.  It is my job to prepare the soil and plant the seeds, but it is the Holy Spirit's job to convict and draw her into a true relationship.

I'm reminded of the man who came to Jesus seeking help for his son and Jesus said, "Everything is possible to the one who believes."  Immediately the man cries out, "I do believe!" Yet, in the next breath exclaims, "Lord, help my unbelief."  He longs to believe but realizes that he needs Jesus's help to do that.  Jesus doesn't scold him but rather heals the man's son, an act that would surely help the man overcome his doubts.  I also think of John the Baptist, Jesus's cousin, the one whose life mission was to prepare the way, who is in prison and asks of Jesus, "Are you the one or shall we look for another?"  Does Jesus condemn John for his doubts?  No, he gently reassures John's faith, "Tell John what you have seen; the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised up, and the poor have the gospel preached to them."   I imagine that if John had doubts, we, too, can expect to have moments of questioning.  I think we can trust Jesus to reassure the faith of our own children, as well.  When the prodigal son goes through a crisis of faith, the Father allows him to struggle, to even hit rock bottom, but when the son arrives at his moment of clarity, the Father welcomes him home with open arms.  Great men and women of faith have struggled with doubt and faith and were given a safe place in which to wrestle through their unbelief.  I believe the same grace offered to them allows me to offer that same safe place to my own children.

So the new me, the me who has been running this race for a long time, sometimes beaten up and bruised from the pace and from the terrain, pulls my daughter closer.  "You know, Pumpkin, Mommy wouldn't ask you to believe something that I don't believe with my whole heart.  You know what else?  I've had doubts before, too."

"Really?" she asks.  I can see visible evidence of her relief at knowing that she isn't the only person to ever question faith in Jesus.  We spend the next few moments discussing the evidence for Christ's birth, death, resurrection, all the people who witnessed His time on earth after the resurrection, and those who witnessed the Ascension.  A and I even have an opportunity to talk about all the disciples and martyrs who risked their lives or even lost their lives to preach the Gospel.  I assure her that I can't imagine they would stake their lives on something that wasn't true.  We, on her level, talk about why the penalty of sin is death, and I get to remind her again of the beauty of the Gospel, that Jesus paid her debt in full.  I use the example of her walking into a store and not having the money to buy an item and a kind stranger pays for the item, refusing to be paid back.   She asks me if I know about the book Heaven Is for Real, which opens up a discussion about what it must be like to look into Jesus's incredible eyes of love.

After a few moments, we resume school, but before we do, we bow our heads, and I pray over my daughter, that Jesus would reveal himself to her and strengthen her faith and reassure her.  And I believe He will because I believe that the most amazing thing about God's grace is that, once we believe, He doesn't offer us the amazing gift of eternal life, somewhere in the future, then leave us where we are.  No, He gives us the Holy Spirit to transform us into new people who receive eyes of mercy, love, and grace and then allows us to go transform the world with His story.  So rather than fill my child's heart with fear, I hope I gave her a sense of the grace that Jesus offers us, the grace to safely question, wrestle, and eventually, come to a place of authentic belief and faith, the kind of faith that radically transforms her heart then the world.

In Defense of Motherhood

A few days ago I came home early from work to find myself home alone, a very rare occurrence.  Rather than do something productive like laundry or lesson planning, I decided to watch a cooking competition where a regular old home cook competes against a professional chef.  On this particular episode, the stay-at-home mom smoked the professional earning a tasty prize of $100,000.  As she tearfully thanked the host, she vehemently stated, fist in air for effect, "This is for all those moms at home just changing diapers thinking there has to be something more."  While the statement seemed tame, I found my pulse begin to pick up its pace and my stomach tighten.  It reminded me of another moment on another game show, Let's Make a Deal, where the host introduced the female contestant who identified herself as just "a stay-at-home mom" then he introduced the male who taught kids to cook and the room erupted into cheers of admiration.  Stop judging my television viewing; stop it now.  What struck me is the lack of respect for motherhood.  It didn't just grab my attention, it angered me.  Why have we as a society reduced motherhood to an endeavor that demands shame or apology?  What's more important than rearing the next generation of lawyers, doctors, scientists, artists, ministers, missionaries, architects, engineers, etc.?  Why must there be something more worthy than that?

Don't get me wrong.  There are days where I feel that if I have to referee one more fight, listen to one more millisecond of a whine, or find one more tiny sock in the sea of laundry that I just might dive in and swim
 away to the nearest Caribbean island, park it on the sand, and listen to Jimmy Buffet for the next two weeks.  I get that the mundane is very, well, mundane, which causes us to question our own contribution to society.  I comprehend the "there must be more" moments, but they're fleeting.  Because, then I look at the faces of my two children and see the future, a future that is bright and full of promise, and folding laundry, helping with homework, listening to them sort through the difficult questions in life is more contribution than any career I could choose.  And, there is sacred in the mundane.  Jesus Christ served, healed, fed, washed, lived the mundane; the King of kings came to earth to serve, humbly, as a servant. Fewer things come closer to living out the gospel than the selflessness, humility, love, and sacrifice of motherhood.

Dear moms, society has lost its ever-loving mind if it makes you feel that you are less worthy, less talented, or less important because you chose the path of motherhood.  Before I continue, let me say what this post is not.  This post is not working mom vs. stay-at-home mom.  I am both.  I stay home and home school my children during the day then work at night.  This post is for all moms.  I don't know of one mom, working or full-time at home, who isn't drowning in laundry, homework demands, or grocery lists.  In our current world of technology, most moms I know work in some capacity, be it from home or outside the home.  This is my plea to all of us to stop it.  Stop apologizing for motherhood.

This is for every mom who has ever apologized for leaving a big project at the office to attend your child's school play.  This is for any mom who's left work under a cloud of guilt because she had to scoot home early to tend to a sick baby.  This is for moms who choose to stay home and quietly mumble at dinner parties that they don't work, as if managing a house full of littles is a recreational activity.  This is for those of us who stay at home but fill our schedules with commitments, so people won't think we're just taking up space.  What must we do all day at home?  This is for all of us who love our children yet feel the tug of careers, volunteer demands, and church commitments.  This is for those of us who sit at work and agonize that we're not at home and then, who once we're home, fret over all that we left undone at work.  This is for moms who are told six weeks is enough time to bond with our babies; get back to work or else face losing your job.  It's time we stop qualifying motherhood as "just" something and force society to celebrate it for the beautiful, magical, sacred calling that it is.

It is time we demand that society respect us as both moms and women who also use our gifts and talents to contribute the larger world.  It's time employers respected motherhood and stopped making us feel like we are constantly having to choose between our families and our jobs. One only need to watch thirty seconds of news to see the effects and aftermath of a society that has stopped respecting the sacredness of the family.  It. Is. Horrifying. I, who set my own hours, found myself working frantically, burning the candle at both ends, day-in and day-out building a business, afraid to say no because I didn't want people to think that a mom couldn't handle both motherhood and her own business.  Frankly, it sucked.  I bought into the lie that women could have it all:  a wildly successful full-time career, a happy, healthy successful family, and time to volunteer in the community.  I couldn't and I had to make a difficult choice.  I choose my family.  I still have to work, but when it comes time to choose between one more client or an afternoon with my kids, I'm learning to choose what's better.  I can do that because I run my own business; it's time as moms we demand the same balanced approach from our employers.  Motherhood is a short season that reaps eternal harvests.

We, as women, are strong, nurturing, forces to be reckoned with.  We can do this.  We can stop apologizing for putting our families first.  We can stop saying we're sorry for choosing our kids.  We can stop mumbling quietly under our breath that we're just mothers.  We can demand society recognize the importance of rearing strong, healthy children and stop forcing us to choose between providing or helping to provide for our family and loving and nurturing our family.  Motherhood is beautiful.  Motherhood is sacred.  It's time we stood up and made society apologize for making us often feel like second-class citizens.  The next time a woman introduces herself as a stay-at-home mom on Let's Make a Deal, let's all stand up and shower her with cheers of admiration.  The next time a working mom says no to one more project because it interferes with coaching her child's soccer team, let's give her a high-five of encouragement, not a steely glare of disapproval.  Because mother, you are never "more" than when you stoop down to fill the heart of your child.

Father's Love

 My husband walks in the door after a long day at work.  I greet him then prepare to rush off to my evening tutoring appointment.  As I descend the stairs to the garage, my son comes rushing in from outside and pleads, "Can we play baseball?"  A request he makes only five hundred times an hour.  My husband, who has had no time to decompress, looks at his son and says, "Sure, buddy."  I watch as they make their way to the backyard.  C grabs his bat and hands his daddy a ball.  My little boy places his bat above his shoulder, mimicking the professional players he admires so much.  My husband offers a few pointers on how to hold the bat then gently underhands the ball to our son, where it hits the ground and rolls a few feet behind C.  C smiles, shakes his unruly blonde hair, and teases, "That was a ball, Dad."  "What?!" my husband responds, "that was a strike!"  C insists, "Ball one, Daddy."  Finally, C makes contact with the ball.  He pumps his little fist proudly into the air and circles the "bases," crossing home plate.  He is greeted by a high-five from his hero then they switch places, and I linger for a moment and watch my husband patiently attempt to hit my son's wild pitches.  I exhale a breath of gratitude and reluctantly leave for work, unwilling to tear myself from watching the precious scene that unfolds in the backyard.

My dear husband, I see when you put self aside and despite wanting to simply unwind after work instead choose to play baseball with your son.  I notice when you fold the laundry that's been in the dryer for three days, tossing about aimlessly as I restart the cycle over and over prolonging the inevitable folding process.  I appreciate that you rearrange your schedule so I can run a business I love and still be home almost full-time to home school our children.  I'm grateful how you get that staying home to raise our children is a worthwhile pursuit and never question what I do at home all day.  I love that you never see our responsibilities at home as his or hers and simply do what needs to be done.  I admire that you take our daughter out to lunch every Friday.  It makes my heart smile to watch you faithfully adhere to the small, weekly rituals you've created with each of our children.  Thank you for taking them to the trail to ride their bikes while you run, so I can have a few minutes to myself.  It doesn't go unnoticed that usually four nights a week you are responsible for preparing dinner, brushing teeth, reading books, and tucking two sweet little ones into bed. You are not only our children's hero; you are mine, as well.

In a world where Homer Simpson, Tim Taylor, Peter Griffin, Ray Barone, Phil Dunphy, and other buffoon-like caricatures of dads represent fatherhood, I simply want to say that dad's matter.  We live in a culture where the media has relegated dad to clueless, incapable of doing anything right, breadwinners.  Some would even have us believe that fathers are optional, but this simply isn't true.  While there are some deadbeat dads out there, for the most part, many dad's are unsung heroes, sacrificing selflessly for the well-being of their families.

One of my favorite childhood memories involves getting up early at the beach and riding with my dad to pick up breakfast.  He would drive along the coast, while we discussed two of our favorite topics:  history and politics.  If he had wanted to sneak out to have time to himself, he never let on.  To me there was no one else on earth he'd rather be talking to at that moment.  On family trips, my dad always detoured to show us sights of historical significance, and while it might have driven my mom and siblings crazy, I was thrilled to hear about whatever event once unfolded where we were standing.  My dad knew I shared his love of history and sought ways to connect with me in that way.

Though all dads have faults, to wide-eyed children, they are heroes whose strong arms easily protect from all harm.  Dads are there to make sure their daughters feel beautiful and sons feel capable.  They encourage both their little girls and boys to dream big.  I'm blessed to share my life with a man who is also an amazing father, and on this Father's Day, I want to say thank you.  Thank you for teaching our children how a husband should treat his wife, and thank you for being someone our children can admire and emulate.  Happy Father's Day.

Greater Love

Most nights as I tuck my children into bed, I read the bible and we pray together then I lean in close and just before I kiss their cheeks, I remind them that I love them, but I also remind them, "God loves you, too; no matter what.  There's nothing you can do to earn His love and there's nothing you can do to lose His love."   Sometimes there's a hint of desperation in my voice because I'm saying it for myself as much as I'm saying it for them.  I'm clinging to the truth that I desperately want my children to internalize and to live.  There's no truth uttered on Earth that could be more beautiful, no fact more wonderful, yet it's one that sometimes escapes this performance-driven people-pleaser.

Recently, I've noticed a restlessness in my spirit when I say it, a feeling of discomfort, one in which I can't quite identify the source.  This feeling isn't new and is one I often feel when the Holy Spirit is moving me to tackle a stronghold that, once removed, will take me to a deeper level in my relationship with Christ.  I felt this stirring a few years ago when I entered into my 7 experience, and God opened my eyes to see service to Him in a whole new light.  It's not a feeling I relish because it leads to some uncomfortable soul-searching, but it's that discomfort that draws me nearer and pushes me closer.  It's not like I can run from God.  Sooner or later, He catches my attention and praise God.  It's evidence of His spirit working in me, not leaving me where I am but making me a new creation.  This time, I believe what He's asking is, "Do you believe Me?  When you share that truth with your children, do you believe and claim it for yourself?"  Oh, Father, I want to, with everything in me, I want to.

Basking in the glow of God's love is something I've struggled with my entire Christian walk.  Understanding why I'm afraid will require the skill of an archaeologist, but this post is my attempt to unearth the reasons and move forward.  Much of my early church experience painted a picture of God that was stern, impossible to please, and full of wrath, and while this may not be an accurate representation of what I was taught, it's what I remember.  If scaring me into obedience was the goal of my minister, he succeeded.  Though, intellectually, now, I know it's not true, it's hard to overcome years of mastering the art of fear.  Not reverence or awe but fear of a capricious God who relishes in preparing for judgment day when He can cast all sinners into the eternal fire.  It's difficult to run with abandon like a child into the arms of that image of God no matter how desperately you might try.  While this isn't the picture my parents painted of God, it's the one I held to.  I understood that He was just, righteous, and to be feared.  The terror of the end times?  I knew more about eschatology than most scholars.  Mention the shepherd who gently leads me, and you'd receive a blank stare.

Faith became less about falling in love with my Creator and more about pleasing Him because somehow I thought that was possible.  If I did a, b, and c, He'd surely love me.  The frightening thing is I felt safe with this setup.  I knew the "rules"; I followed the "rules."  I knew the game and how to score the most points.  I'm sure I was a moralistic, self-righteous bundle of joy most of the time.  But, it was a concise plan that required no emotional investment.  The trouble is it left me lost.  It isn't that I didn't realize I was a depraved sinner in need of grace, it's that I believed that grace applied to everyone but me.  I had convinced myself that, though God and His love were real, that somehow I didn't qualify.  Every time I attempted to jump into His arms with abandon, the bungee cord of "not good enough" or "follow the rules" or "he couldn't possibly love you" would cruelly snap me back into my safety net.  As difficult as it was to admit, I doubted God's love for me.  I had somehow convinced myself, though, that doubt was an unacceptable component of faith.

So, I was a doubt-guilt-ridden moralist who was afraid to love God and afraid to believe that He really loved  me.  Recently, I read in a Beth Moore study on Thessalonians that when we are "down to the dregs, we often grip tighter to what we have left:  our legalism."  This was true of me.  I wasn't allowing myself to be loved by God, which affected every aspect of my faith, so I clung to my legalism.  It was a season of rebellion in college that actually taught me about grace.  One of the darkest moments in my faith journey actually became the most enlightening, shining a spotlight on who God really is, not what I perceived Him to be through inaccurately taught theology.  I began to understand that slipping up was inevitable because the law was impossible to follow.  I had become such a broken fragile mess that I didn't recognize the person staring back at me in the mirror.  Yet, it was the first time I really understood my need for God, my desperate dependence on His mercy and grace.  That began a journey of transformation for me.  More recently, I also decided to read the bible from cover to cover with the prayer that God would reveal Himself to me.  Here's what I've been learning.

Doubt is not the opposite of faith.  

I read recently that doubt is not the opposite of faith; fear is the opposite of faith.  My minister has often said, "Doubt is the ants in the pants of faith."  I take this to mean that doubt is the itch that drives us further in to our faith.  My doubting God's love for me left me hollow, and for a time, I sought to fill that space with what the world had to offer, but it was eventually my doubt that led me to a deeper faith.  I often berated myself for doubting God's love, which would lead to a stricter following of the "rules."  I'm finally seeing that rather than pretending like my doubt doesn't exist that it's okay to wrestle through it.  I've discovered in this particular journey that great men and women of faith have struggled with different kinds of doubt.  John Wesley struggled with understanding God as father, writing in his journal, "I had even the faith of a servant, though not that of a son."  David struggled with doubt when he wrote in Psalm 77, "Will the Lord reject forever, and never again show favor?  Has his faithful love ceased forever? ...Has He in anger withheld His compassion?"  John the Baptist in prison asked Jesus, "Are you the one?"  after baptizing Him and hearing the Lord proclaim, "This is my beloved."  Thomas earned the nickname Doubting Thomas when he proclaimed, "unless I see the scars on His hands."  Mother Theresa struggled mightily with doubt.  The more I study the giants of our Christian faith, the more I find that doubt is a normal part of the faith journey.  For those of us who are believers, though, doubts scare us, whether we doubt God's love or our future or wonder if He's forsaken us, as Jesus when He shouted from the cross, "My Lord, My Lord, why have you forsaken me?" We wonder if doubt is the same as unbelief, if somehow we're not saved if we have doubts, but, I find it's my doubt that drives me to Him, where I seek God desperately and am reminded that those who seek Him shall find Him.  Doubt is strengthening my faith because I no longer take everything for granted, I no longer desire to live complacently, and I actively seek to understand what it means to live freely in the grace of Christ.

We have an enemy of our soul.

I realize any discussion of Satan makes some believers uncomfortable, but I'm learning that understanding that we have an enemy who wants nothing more than to make us believe that God doesn't love us or isn't for us or has abandoned us.  Ephesians 6:12 says, "For our battle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the world powers of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavens," and 1 Peter 5:8 reminds us that "our adversary the Devil is prowling around like a roaring lion, looking for anyone he can devour."  Our enemy wants us to think that God is the bad guy, that He doesn't really love us.  If the devil can have me so wrapped up in wondering whether I am a beloved child of God or not then He renders me ineffective.  There's power in believing that the Creator of the universe loves you with abandon, power that can defeat the lies of the enemy.  Understanding the reality of spiritual warfare, I believe, helps me to understand that while God is for me, there are powers that are against me.  If Satan can convince me I'm unlovable and unworthy then I'm not serving God in the confidence of being His beloved.  My energy is focused inward, not outward sharing the Gospel and meeting the needs of others.   Pride, fueled by the father of deceit, lies at the heart of my doubt.  It's a matter of pride and self-focus to think God could love everyone but me, and it's exactly what the enemy wants me to believe.

Jesus proves God's love.

I recently discovered a verse that is changing my life.  Hebrews 1:3 tells us that "Christ is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact image of his nature, and he upholds the universe by the word of his power.  After making purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high."  Jesus, being in the very nature God, loves me.  Though, I've struggled with understanding God's love and often sit under the false cloud of self-condemnation that I believe is His displeasure with me, which by the way is a horrible, haunting mental place to be, I've always understood Christ's love.  Jesus, I love.  Jesus who lovingly washed the feet of his disciples.  Jesus, who fed the crowds.  Jesus, the gentle shepherd who leaves the 99 to retrieve the one lost, Jesus who didn't condemn the woman caught in adultery, who didn't scold the woman who literally poured everything she had and bore her soul at the feet of her Savior, washing his feet with her hair. Jesus, moved to compassion. Jesus, who welcomes the prodigal home with open arms and no questions.  Jesus, giver of wild, unfathomable grace.  This Jesus is the exact image of the nature of God.  God, not only revealed His love and nature through creation where He walked with Adam and Eve in the cool of the day, He revealed His love in Christ, the ultimate revelation of His love.  Jesus, perfect, unblemished, who didn't just die on the cross but who also withstood being forsaken by His father and took on the entire wrath of God, paying the penalty for every sin that had been committed and would be committed.  It doesn't stop there.  He not only actively prays for us, sitting at the right hand of the Father interceding for us, He also sent the Holy Spirit to guide and comfort us. How could I ever doubt the love of God?

As I begin to grasp and cling to this truth, I find myself reading the whole of scripture through new eyes.  I admit there are Old Testament passages that cause me to bristle, but from the beginning, God sought to provide a way back.  We sinned, we breached the contract, and ever since that first moment of rebellion, God has set into motion a plan to set things right.  God, who revealed His nature of grace and mercy, through Christ loves me.  I wonder if I've subconsciously fought this truth because I knew when I finally grasped how high, how deep, how vast the love of God is that it would change my life.  Change is scary, transformation is uncomfortable.  Laws and rules are comfortable, grace is free, yet there's something inherently threatening to a legalist like me about freedom.  But it's impossible to know that God loves me, truly loves me, and isn't content with leaving me in my doubt, but moves heaven and earth to seek and save the lost, it's impossible to realize that and not be transformed.  He was willing to leave the majesty of heaven and come to earth to rescue me.  When I find it difficult to consider that the Creator of the universe truly loves me, I simply look at the cross and consider what Jesus was willing to sacrifice for me. That is truth that transforms and love that proves without a doubt that I am indeed His beloved.  No matter what my untrustworthy emotions try to convince me to believe, the truth that He loves me is unchanging.  And it's a truth that I can no longer keep to myself.

Summer Reading

As the temperature rises so does our anticipation of everything summer:  swimming, trips to the beach, cookouts, camp outs, catching fireflies on a clear, starry night.  While reading might not top the list of summer expectations, some of my fondest summer memories include losing myself in the pages of a book.  I spent summers hanging out with Scout, Lucy, Huck, and Margaret.  Yes, I also enjoyed time with real, live people, but to me, the characters on the pages were as real as a neighbor, and their quandaries always provided insight into solving my own authentic dilemmas.  Summer also meant swinging lazily on my grandmother's front porch swing, book in hand, or riding my bike to my great-aunt's house, eager to sit on her front porch and discuss our latest read.  Cookies and lemonade always complemented our serious discussions on character analysis and unexpected plot twists.  Often, she would throw in stories of her own, usually more entertaining than a best-seller.  Summer wasn't summer without a list of books to savor on those lazy, humid afternoons.

As a language arts teacher, I'm often asked by parents for recommendations of good books for summer reading. I'll share my list, which includes my favorites and recommendations from others, in a moment, but first, I wanted to address the importance of, not just summer reading, but reading in general.  Sometimes summer reading can seem like another item to add to an ever-growing checklist, yet reading may just be the most important item on that summer checklist when it comes to preparing your child for future academic success.  As an ACT/SAT tutor, the question I hear most often by parents of children of all ages is, "What is the one thing I can do to improve my child's scores?"  The answer:  Read to your children and make sure they read to themselves.  Not that higher ACT/SAT scores should be the end goal, it's just a question I'm asked almost daily.

Tom Parker, former admissions director of Amherst College, tells parents, "The best SAT preparation course in the world is to read to your children in bed when they're little.  Eventually, if it's a wonderful experience for themselves, they'll start to read for themselves" (Trelease, xiii).  In The Read -Aloud Handbook, Jim Trelease, who interviewed Parker for his book, shares that "Parker told me he's never met a student with high verbal SAT scores who wasn't a passionate reader."  In my work, I can tell within minutes of working with a student whether he or she likes to read and whether or not he/she reads often, and the students who succeed in raising their scores are the ones who have read consistently throughout their lives. This result tends to be true for most forms of standardized testing.  Studies find students who read regularly score higher than those who don't.

While we often blame schools when our children fall behind in reading, research shows that "the seeds of reading and school success are sown in the home, long before the child ever arrives at school" (xvii).  In homes where parents read to their children and read themselves, children show a much higher interest in books:  78.6% if the child is read to by parents, 80.4% if the mom reads the paper, 95.2% if the mother reads novels.  It's not just important for us to read to our children; it's also critical that we model reading for our children.  Eighty percent of the books in this country are read by 10% of the people (Healy, 23). Numbers like this suggest that, across the board, we are not setting a good reading example in the home. Consider the following from The Read-Aloud Handbook:

* Among fourth-graders, only 54% read something for pleasure every day.
*Among eight-graders, only 30% read for pleasure daily.
*By twelfth-grade, only 19% read anything for pleasure daily.

Time doesn't seem to be the issue because young adults between the ages of 15 and 19 report spending only 12 minutes a day reading, yet they are able to watch 2.23 hours of television (1).  I believe reading is one of the most critical components of academic success, and the experts I've read also emphasize its importance.  Reading aloud to children improves their reading, writing, speaking, listening, and attitudes about reading (xxiv).  It also "builds vocabulary, conditions the brain to associate reading with pleasure, creates background knowledge, provides a reading role model, and plants the desire to read.  One decline of students' recreational reading is that it coincides with a decline in the amount of time adults read to them." (Trelease, 6).  The U.S. Department of Education conducted research and released its findings in a report titled, A Nation of Readers.  They discovered that "the single most important activity for building knowledge required for eventual success in reading is reading aloud to children and it is a practice that should continue throughout the grades" (4).

According to Jim Trelease's research, "by eight grade, 24 percent of students are below the basic level in reading, 42% are at basic level, 25% are at proficient level, and only 3% are at advanced level" (5). One last fact before I move on:  Research confirms that students who read "regardless of gender, race, nationality, or socioeconomic background....read the best, achieve the most, and stay in school the longest" (6).  Readers are also more likely to succeed in the workforce.  Researcher Mark Taylor found that "reading is the only out-of-school activity for 16-year-olds that is linked to getting a managerial or professional job later in life....the positive associations of reading for pleasure aren't replicated in any other extracurricular activity, regardless of our expectations" (Miller, 318).  Establishing good reading habits also benefit children as they grow into adults, creating lifelong learners who know where to go when they need information.  And while these are all great reasons to encourage our children to read and to encourage us to read to our children, I like the reason that Donalyn Miller in The Book Whisperer gives:  Reading changes your life. Reading unlocks worlds unknown or forgotten, taking travelers around the world and through time.  Reading helps you escape the confines of school and pursue your own education.  Through characters-the saints and sinners, real or imagined, reading shows you how to be a better human being (18).

Hopefully, I've adequately made the case for just how important it is for us to both read to our children and to model reading for our children.  Practice is the key to proficiency, and summer offers the time and opportunity to practice.  For those of you thinking, "But my kid hates to read" or "I hate to read" don't fret.  Most studies I've read find that when parents read good books to children and provide good books for children to read, the child's interest is piqued, and reading usually becomes a more desirable activity.  I tend to read at least an hour a day to my children and assign a minimum of thirty minutes of silent sustained reading (SSR) each day.  At first, my daughter preferred only nonfiction and didn't like fiction very much. Wanting to encourage both, I read to her some of my favorite works of fiction, ones I knew she would enjoy, and within weeks, she was begging to read more fiction.  Reading aloud increased her desire to read and to read a wider variety of books.  She still loves nonfiction but is also learning to enjoy fiction, too.

Another benefit of reading aloud is that I'm able to read to my daughter books that are above her grade level, so she's exposed to a richer vocabulary and to more intricate plots.  I'm also able to provide background knowledge and offer insights that help her to better
understand the text.  During SSR, she is able to read at or below grade level to build confidence.  It takes time to read to my daughter, and like all working moms, I worry that I sometimes can't afford the time to read extensively to her, but with all of the proven benefits of reading aloud, how can I afford not to?

Now for the fun part!  What do I recommend for summer reading?  I like to offer a wide variety of texts to my children, including a mix of classics and contemporary literature.  Some experts recommend only reading the "good" stuff, but as a language arts teacher, I have watched students connect to a variety of texts and walk away with a deeper appreciation of and love for reading, so I am not a proponent of severely limiting literary choices.  I see value in quality young adult literature.  Once children are comfortable reading what some consider "dumbed down" texts, they usually are more willing to attempt more difficult literature.  I have also included texts recommended by Jim Trelease in The Read Aloud Handbook, selections from Donalyn Miller in her book The Book Whisperer, and selections recommended by Susan Wise Bauer in her book, The Well-Trained Mind.


This list is intended for younger and middle-grade children-2nd-8th grades, but as C. S. Lewis said,  "No book is really worth reading at the age of ten which is not equally- and often far more- worth reading at the age of fifty and beyond," so I think all ages will enjoy reading these beloved books!  This list is by no means exhaustive; it is a compilation of personal favorites and favorites of students I have taught over the years.  Two great resources for book lists are Jim Trelease's The Read-Aloud Handbook, which includes selections for younger children, and Donalyn Miller's Reading in the Wild.  Feel free to leave more suggestions in the comments!  The list is in no particular order; I just listed them as they came to mind.

My Top 50+ for Young to Middle Readers

1.  The Chronicles of Narnia- C. S. Lewis
I began reading these to my daughter in first grade, but she wasn't able to grasp them, yet.  I picked the books back up in second grade, and she loves them!

2.  Charlotte's Web and Stuart Little by E.B. White

3. Little Women Louisa May Alcott

4.  The Harry Potter series J.K. Rowling

5.  Aesop's Fables

6.  Books on Greek mythology (D'Aulaire's is a good one; there are also good children's translations of the Odyssey.  My daughter loves anything on Greek myths.)

7.   The Story of the World by Susan Wise Bauer.  These are fantastic non-fiction books on world history but told at a level children will enjoy and understand.  I use these as my daughter's social studies curriculum, and she loves them!

8.  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi Rudyard Kipling

9.  Biographies of great men and women make great read-alouds or SSR books.  My daughter's favorites include Helen Keller, Ruby Bridges, Susan B. Anthony, Florence Nightingale, Marie Curie, Thomas Edison, Neil Armstrong, etc.

10.  Baseball in April Gary Soto

11.  The Best Christmas Pageant Ever Barbara Robinson

12.  Because of Winn-Dixie Kate DiCamillo

13.  Tale of Despereaux by Kate DiCamillo

14. Series like The Magic Tree House, The Boxcar Children, Nancy Drew, Little House series by Laura Ingalls Wilder, Anne of Green Gables, Ten Girls Who Changed the World, Ten Boys Who Changed the World

15.  The Secret Garden Frances Hodgson Burnett

16.  Heidi Johanna Spyri

17.  The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn & The Adventures of Tom Sawyer Mark Twain

18.  Treasure Island Robert Louis Stevenson

19.  Books by Christopher Paul Curtis The Watson's Go to Birmingham and Bud, Not Buddy

20.  Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry Mildred Taylor

21. Hatchet Gary Paulsen

22. The City of Ember Jeanne Duprau

23.  Newberry Winners always make great reads:  The Westing Game, The View From Saturday, The Bronze Bow, A Year Down Yonder, Walk Two Moons, The Giver, Maniac Magee, Caddie Woodlawn are among favorites

24.  The Wednesday Wars by Gary Schmidt  This is one of my all-time favorites.

25.  Schooled by Gordon Korman

26.  Dear Mr. Henshaw and the Ramona Quimby series by Beverly Cleary

27.  Loser Jerry Spinelli

28.  To Kill A Mockingbird Harper Lee

29.  Mr. Popper's Penguins Richard and Florence Atwater

30.  Scorpions Walter Dean Myers

31.  Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing and SuperFudge  really, anything by Judy Blume

32.  Where the Red Fern Grows Wilson Rawls

33.  The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom and The Diary of Anne Frank and Number the Stars by Lois Lowry and The Devil's Arithmetic by Jane Yolen and The Book Thief by Markus Zusak (all Holocaust books)

34.  Walk Two Moons Sharon Creech

35.  A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens  Other Dickens novels are also good read alouds; there are great children's versions of his novels.

36.  Surviving the Applewhites Stephanie Tolan

37.  Pictures of Hollis Woods Patricia Reilly Giff

38.  Inkheart Cornelia Funke

39.  The House of the Scorpion Nancy Farmer

40.  Eragon Christopher Paolini

41.  The Lightning Thief Rick Riordan

42.  Stormbreaker & other books in the Alex Rider series  Anthony Horowitz

43.  Gulliver's Travels Jonathan Swift I loved this book as a child

44.  The Adventures of Robin Hood and books about King Arthur

45.  Black Beauty Anna Sewell and The Black Stallion by Walter Farley

46.  Shakespeare, I know, right?  But, just like Greek mythology, there are excellent children's versions of his plays.  If they learn to love him now, it won't be such a struggle later

47.  Al Capone Does My Shirts Gennifer Choldenko

48.  The Hobbit and The Lord of the Ring books by J.R.R. Tolkein

49.  The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster

50.  The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame



Sources

Bauer, Susan Wise The Well-Trained Mind:  A Guide to Classical Education at Home

Healey, Jane M Endangered Minds

Miller, Donalyn Reading in the Wild: The Book Whisperer's Key to Cultivating Lifelong Reading Habits

Miller, Donalyn The Book Whisperer:  Awakening the Inner Reader in Every Child

Trelease, Jim The Read-Aloud Handbook

Homeschooling Challenges

Whenever someone finds out that I home school, I'm usually met with this standard response:  "I could never do that.  (Insert child's name here) and I would kill each other."  Since I usually know these moms very well and can assure you that they, nor their children, face any real mortal danger,  I usually smile and nod knowingly. Recently, when a friend asked how homeschooling was going she said, "I'd love to do that, but I'm afraid my daughter and I would kill each other,"  it hit me:  people must think that my daughter and I have a relationship that ensures our home school routine is smooth and pleasant.  Do they think we have somehow escaped the rigors of relationship battles that accompany schooling your own children?  Friends, I am here to assure you that is not the case.  I can assure you that my children and I battle on a pretty regular basis.

Those of us who are proponents of home school, I'm afraid, often present it as the cure for all that ails then remain mum on any of the challenges that often accompany the sometimes awkward, daily transition from mom to teacher back to mom.  I know I've failed to be entirely transparent with the struggles A and I have overcome to make home schooling work for us because I didn't want to deter from the prodigious benefits of this educational choice. That's not fair to the parents seriously weighing their options as they consider home schooling. While I remain steadfast in my role of home schooling's biggest cheerleader, I want those who make this choice to understand the considerable, yet surmountable, obstacles you'll face.

The first six months were the most challenging for my strong-willed daughter and me.  So many pencils flew through the air in frustration that I seriously considered posting a note on the door that said "Enter at Your Own Risk" or "Safety Helmet Required."  When she wasn't throwing pencils at the wall, she was breaking them in two, which I counted as strength training in P.E.  Why let good instruction go to waste?  There were a few days I sat watching her writhe in the floor ripping her paper into pieces because she couldn't grasp a concept, wondering how so many of her father's genes had worked their way into her personality.  On those days, I would call my husband.  Me:  I can't do this anymore.  What was I thinking?   Him:  That bad, huh.  Me, through sobs:  If  I started sprinting now, do you think I could run down the school bus?  Then, I would pray for guidance and strength, which God always graciously provided, and try a new approach.  Each day brought a better understanding of my new role in my daughter's life and though there were setbacks, especially when a new, difficult concept was introduced, A's attitude improved and my vision and philosophy of what our home school should be became clearer.

Part of my daughter's frustration lay in my misguided attempt to replicate school at home.  She wondered why I had removed her from the classroom and brought her home to another classroom that usually served as her comfortable, inviting home, a home where she was normally free to play.  She also wondered where her mommy had gone and who was this dictatorial drill sergeant barking commands.  It was an adjustment to have your mom suddenly become your teacher.  It was also difficult for me to transition into being both her mom and her teacher, though all parents serve in that capacity from the moment their little one is born, teaching them to speak, walk, write, etc..  For me, because I was concerned about what other people would think if A fell behind or wasn't achieving milestones as quickly as her peers, I became more concerned with her performance than with the process and inadvertently placed pressure on her to learn at the same pace her traditionally schooled-peers were learning.  Yet, the opportunity to learn at her natural pace in a way that suited her learning style is one of the things about homeschooling that appealed to us the most.

Once I began to trust my instincts and allowed A to have more say in what we studied and how we arranged our school day, her attitude improved dramatically.  When I made her part of the process, she saw that I respected her as an individual and valued her insights into how she learned.  I quit trying to imitate a traditional school classroom because as a home schooling parent, you aren't bound by the restrictions that must be implemented for a class of 25 students to function effectively.  Homeschooling isn't just school, in the traditional sense, at home.  It offers significant freedom, and once I began to loosen up, stop worrying about what others thought or expected, and trusted my knowledge of my daughter, my knowledge of education,  and my knowledge of her unique learning style, A and I battled much less frequently, and she progressed significantly.

This year has been much easier, especially now that we have settled into a routine that works for both of us and have accepted each other as teacher and student, but it doesn't mean that every day runs smoothly.  "Why do I need to learn to multiply?  Why do I have to know this?  When will I ever use this?  I don't understand what you mean."  are whined phrases that often resound, but who among us hasn't wondered the same thing? (Before I started tutoring algebra, I often wondered when on earth I would actually use it then voila. I now use it every day.)  Now, there is much less pencil throwing and fewer fits of frustration.  A is learning to better channel her exasperation into motivation to try harder, and I'm learning to really listen to my daughter.  Teaching her to write has been a challenge, but I now remind myself that it isn't something that has to be accomplished at this moment, and she usually learns most material quite well in her own time.  The minute I continue to push her when she clearly isn't ready the more likely she is to erupt into a meltdown.

So, yes, building an effective working relationship in home school is difficult but not impossible.  I definitely understand the friction that exists when parents attempt to help their child learn a new skill.  Aspects of that dynamic have actually helped me build my business as a professional tutor.  Yet, for parents who are seriously considering home schooling as an option, I don't want the conflict that will probably accompany the first six months to prevent them from going ahead with their plans.  Once the structure is outlined and our children clearly understand our expectations, and we work with our children to establish an educational model that best fits our family, home schooling begins to work beautifully.

I wouldn't trade those first rocky few months.  The obstacles A and I faced (and that I will soon face with C) actually strengthened our relationship and our understanding of each other.  It also revealed to me shortcomings in my own character.  I was often driven to my knees in prayer, which taught me to pursue a greater reliance on the Holy Spirit's guidance.  God's strength became perfect in my weakness, and He taught me how to parent in His power.  Those are lessons I don't believe I would have learned as effectively otherwise. Those struggles have also equipped me to openly share with other parents how demanding, yet rewarding home schooling can be.  Two years later, A and I are reaping the rewards of our hard work.  She is thriving in our new routine, and I'm allowed each day to observe with joy her excitement when she grasps a difficult problem or understands a new concept.  Rather than melting down in a puddle of frustration, she is now more likely to persevere.  I love being there to share the light bulb moments.  So, hang in there homeschooling moms, it will never be perfect, but it certainly gets easier.  And, if you think a perfect parent/child relationship is necessary to even considering pursuing this path, be heartened to know that very few, if any, homeschooling parents transitioned smoothly into their routine.  We've all wondered if we're cut out for this path.  I believe that if you feel God has called you to this lifestyle, then He will certainly equip you with the tools necessary to succeed.