Unschooling Snippets

Yesterday Kwamai and I did a few fun things. For one, we read through a science book on light and colors. It was written with a little information, then questions to elicit from the reader what s/he already knew about the subject at hand, and experiments to find out more.

Here are some of Kwamai's comments.
Q: What are things that give off light?
A: The sun, the full moon, lots of little stars all bunched together, planet blobs in the sky.

Q: How can you see at night?
A: You can use your whiskers to feel where you are.

Q: How can you make a shadow get bigger?
A: Hold someone's hand.

We tried our first full-fledged science experiment, which was supposed to show that if you twirl a multi-colored ring around you will see white, due to colors blending into white light. It didn't work, but Kwamai thought it was great fun anyway.

Then I tried a little idea to expand Kwamai's sight vocabulary and ability to spell beyond toilet content words. I gave him a magazine, asked him to pick out pictures and tell me what word he associated with it. He picked Elmo, football (as in the sport, not the object), drums, funny face and colors. I pasted the pictures onto cardboard, and put the written words on the back. He looked them over a few times, and was able to tell me by looking at the word what it said very quickly. He did have to concentrate a bit a couple of times which tells me he truly was reading it. The funny thing was, when he tried to verbally spell "drums", he started out "p...". From reading the book Upsidedown Brilliance, I knew that if I told him that b, d, p, and q were all the same letter just turned a different way, that that would make sense (and was "ok" and wouldn't scar him educationally for life!!)

The cool thing to see was how his confidence soared after mastering these few words. It was like he knew he could do something he really wanted to do.

Remembering Fr. John

Fr. John Campbell, S. J., was my spiritual director at a very pivotal time in my life. I had just become a Catholic, and there was much that was confusing to me. It was like stepping into dazzling brilliance from murky grey.

God had led me right to him, practically. He (God) had given me rather specific instruction to start going to daily Mass. When I finally heeded that call, I went to the 5:30 pm Mass at Gesu parish (on the campus of Marquette University in Milwaukee, which was about 8 blocks from my then-apartment). I remember the first Mass I attended at which Fr. John presided. I thought to myself "he might even be saved!" I didn't have any trust in clergy at the time, and almost none in anyone Catholic. (It was no big surprise that God had me wait almost 18 months from my initial conversion of heart to actually entering the Church, but that is another story.)

Fr. John preached intelligent, thoughtful homilies, and even then I could see that he was all about the paschal mystery.

But eventually one thing really started to bother me about dear old Fr. John. He was of the generation and place and circumstance where he just never called God "He." He didn't call God She, either, mind you; mostly just "God." I remember one Psalm response which became "God Godself is in the midst of God's people." It started to drive me nuts, and soon I started to avoid that particular 5:30 pm Mass and attend at a different parish when I could. Then one Sunday (mind you, this was all before I actually came into the Church, in 1992), he was the presider for the particular Mass I attended. I *almost* turned to leave to come back for the next Mass, when certainly another of the many Jesuits would be presiding. But something made me stay. Specifically, God kicking me in the butt. If the Holy Spirit can have a stern "voice", He told me ever so sternly to respect this man (and by connection, everyone participating in Holy Orders). Specifically because this man knew what it was to walk through the darkness by faith. I felt deeply chastised, humbled, and practically commanded to pray for and love this man.

What happened next, I will never forget. A Religious Sister started talking to me after Mass, a rarity. We chatted on and on, and then she suddenly said "have you met Fr. John? Let me introduce you." She led me over to where he was, and introduced me. He started telling her that I listened so intently to his homilies, and that it really helped him to pray. He was so gracious, so welcoming, so real, so accepting of me. I felt like slithering under the tiles in the floor. Now, he knew who I was.

I don't remember how long it was after that that I really really felt the need for a spiritual director. I felt like a kitten whom God was picking up by the scruff of my neck and depositing at Fr. John's door. At the time I was so extremely nervous about talking to strangers (and everyone felt like a stranger to me). It took a good long time, almost a year I think, and enough desperation, for me to finally call him. Again gracious, he returned my call with that jovial voice of his.

We met for spiritual direction for the first time in January of 1994. He had the great skill of making me feel completely at ease, and not at all strange for being an ex-Pentecostal struggling to make sense of myself in a Catholic context. We met monthly at least for the next nine months. I poured out my heart, we shared a few tears, and most of all, he listened. Listened. Listened very well. I don't remember much of what he told me, and I do remember some of it not seeming to make any sense at the time at all. But we were able to share in a kind of spiritual communion that was deeply healing to me.

Then, I went to Japan. It was really the worst decision I had ever made, and I made it during my third month in spiritual direction. He wasn't the type of director to say "now, Marie, are you sure this is a good decision? Are you sure this is what God wants for you?" Maybe I really needed to learn the hard way at the time.

And he was there when the whole Japan thing came down around my ears. I ended up being briefly engaged to a Japanese man, and that would have been such a disaster had we actually gotten married. I shudder to think of it. I was back in the States on "break" when I realized I needed to come home for good, and I was about to be stranded in Los Angeles -- long story there. Fr. John set me up with relatives of his who were so kind to me. When I finally washed up on shore to the US again for good, I saw him again.

And then I was off to Steubenville.

I had written to him frequently in Japan, and he made it clear he wasn't a correspondent and wouldn't write back, and I said that was fine. Once I got to Steubenville and started truly feeling alive again in many ways, I started writing letters of thanks to Fr. John. I think maybe once or twice a year I would just well up with the awareness of thanks for the gift God had made of Fr. John in my life.

After I got married, Fr. John eventually started writing back. My husband and I had lunch with him when we went to Wisconsin one Christmastime. That was wonderful, and strange too, for I still had a good deal of that painful shyness. Eventually, I would write at least at Christmastime, and so would he.

In Christmas of 2004, I wrote of our good news that we were expecting a baby in April, and that our son's adoption would finally be finalized. He wrote his news; he was battling cancer of the tongue, but he was looking victorious, although he'd been forced to stop preaching for several months.

My newborn daughter had this little half smirk-grin that reminded me so much of Fr. John. I so wanted to tell him that, and I thought of it every time I looked at her. It took me some time to get a picture sent off to him, though, with all the busyness of having a new baby. It was September when I finally did.

Around this time last year I got a card from Gesu Parish. I stared and swallowed when I realized it wasn't Fr. John's handwriting. It was from his superior. He had taken it upon himself to open my letter, and to let me know that Fr. John had passed away on June 26, 2005. The cancer had spread rapidly, the experimental treatments he had volunteered for were not successful. He welcomed his time to go home to the Father's house, at age 60.

I felt -- I feel still now, in a way, more alone in the world. Ah, but with friends in high places.

Fr. John, as always, I pray for you and carry you in my heart. Please, do the same for me.

Your Inner Pharmacy

I've recently finished reading this book: Your Inner Pharmacy: Taking Back Our Wellness by Dr. Robert Blaich.

I would recommend this book to anyone with any health concerns. It discusses Applied Kinesiology, the role of good diet, the role of exercize, and gives hope to those who desire excellent instead of mediocre health. It is a great resource for people who would like to be still active and healthy into their 80s or 90s.

Fair and Merry, Boisterous and Strong

In his homily today, Father David referred to St. Francis' Caniticle of the Sun and his reference to Brother Fire. This in connection with lighting a lamp and where to put it. The translation he cited had St. Francis calling Brother Fire "fair and merry, boisterous and strong."

He emphasized the word boisterous, how much he liked that term.

There is something attractive about it, isn't there.

Well, attractive in the way that people think of the idyllic scene of monks in the hermitage, working in their garden and gathering herbs. In that scene, monks don't sweat, itch, stink, get dirty or hot. Or need to use the restroom.

Ok, there's something peaceful about the monk scene because we see monks as spiritual, peaceful people (and ourselves, by contrast, as NOT those things, I guess).

And maybe there is something attractive about boisterous when our lives are too tame, too sedate, not enough tussle and fun.

Mothers of five year old boys probably have their fill of boisterous. At least I feel I do.

But then I thought again of St. Francis and Brother Fire, and of Fr. David's contagious sense of attraction to all of the above.

And I thought of how many times I've heard of parents who were opposed to their son's priestly vocation, and of how I've always thought "I'd never do that. How could anyone do that?" Well, I thought, how good am I at embracing whatever gifts God gives my children?

I need to face it, God has created my son to be Brother Fire.

Where in society is being boisterous welcomed? Serious question, here. Maybe bars? Entertainers? Certainly not schools or "the workplace". How can I welcome Brother Fire without dousing him or ... (say it; it's so obvious) getting fried?

A while back on the UC list there was discussion of learning opportunities for kids with fire. I realized that my off the cuff idea was that a hands on lesson there would not be desirable. (Many people then told of their own fire experiments and demonstrations with their kids.) I guess I'm afraid of fire. Any sane person has some fear of fire. But I guess maybe it needs to be more the idea of respect and understanding. Understand the laws the govern how it grows and spreads, when there is danger and when it actually is quite safe.

Here's the hitch: I know I can go to the library and find a book about fire safety, physics and all that. Where is the book that will translate the analogy for my son?

****
bois‧ter‧ous [boi-ster-uhs, -struhs]
–adjective 1. rough and noisy; noisily jolly or rowdy; clamorous; unrestrained: the sound of boisterous laughter.
2. (of waves, weather, wind, etc.) rough and stormy

I Love Jesus

Today I had the pleasure of attending a Communion and Liberation gathering. Used to be that whenever I heard the word "liberation" in any theological context, my hackles went up. Funny. Irrational, though.

Anyway, this was a very welcomed development, to come upon this group. I got the email last night, about 24 hours ago, that this group was to start meeting this morning. It requires no reading in advance, and children are welcomed to come. And it offers intellectual discussion on spiritual topics. Sounded like a perfect match.

We read an article, and true to my introverted ways, I found throughout the day that I was formulating the thoughts I might have offered in discussion, had I had them that fast. Really, I think I was more pondering the discussion and the reading that did take place. Even though I like these group discussion things, seems I usually keep quiet during them.

The discussion moved to Islam vis a vis Christianity. I have not done a great deal of thinking about Islam, but I did today. I chewed over some things that were said by the women this morning. And I'll chew them over some more here.

First, someone pointed to St. Thomas, and his famous doubts. She said, that in the Islamic system, Thomas would not be free to doubt, to state his disbelief. Either Allah would have finished him off on the spot, or at least his fellow Apostles would have. God is absolute, you are not to question but submit. Tromp, tromp, tromp -- he's dead/gone. She pointed to the beauty of Jesus' response to Thomas: "put your finger here, put your hand here. Do not doubt, but believe." Such an attitude of mercy. But WHY? And here's the real point we discussed: because God respects our humanity. He created us as human beings because He likes us this way. It's His plan, and He honors it. He honors our reason, our intellect. He honors the fact that we are created for relationship!

Another woman pointed out how the trend to removing the phrase "God our Father" and replacing it with "God our Creator" falls into this same trap that Islam is stuck in: it destroys the Father/child relationship language which Jesus came to reveal. The whole point of the Incarnation is that Jesus comes to reveal the FATHER -- not "merely" the Creator (as if that were a "mere" thing). That God loves us this much, and this personally, to desire relationship with us.

When I was a Protestant, I remember meditating on a few praise songs that were to or about Jesus. And I wondered to myself, why are we singing this to Jesus, and not the Father or not the Holy Spirit. I really didn't know. I just figured we could relate to Jesus since He was our Savior and the other part of the Trinity was just sort of nebulous. But saying "Oh How I Love Jesus" made some sense because He was a person, after all.

But how much do you/can you really love a person if you don't understand them or know them deeply? That's where I feel I was stuck as a Protestant. I just had this idea of a divinity that most of the time I called Jesus, although I knew there was a Trinity and it included God the Father and God the Holy Spirit, too.

It was only upon becoming a Catholic that I began to develop the faintest notion of Jesus as God's revelation of His own personal incarnate love. Then, of the Trinity as God as Life-Giver. As the One who relates. As the One who created us for Himself and to share His life. I may not talk much differently about the Trinity now than I did as a Protestant, but I have as it were a 3D view now rather than a flat picture.

(So the blog title -- can be either a shallow bumper sticker type saying, or the most profound reality.)

And I wonder -- it has been said that how the Church teaches what she believes might look quite a bit different if She had never been in the tussle with heresy. Seems every time the current wind of false doctrine comes along, God calls us to beef up our own understanding, our own practice, and to reach out to those caught in its error -- not only those practicing the heresy, but especially perhaps those Christians who swallow the same thinking without realizing it.

So, what about Islam. Of great offense to Islam is this notion of the Trinity. Of a God who desires relationship, who honors reciprocity, difference. Who deeply and profoundly respects the human person, including his reason and intellect, even to the point of respecting his right to refuse relationship with Him. Who has highly exalted a woman. Are there any ways in which I have swallowed "Islamic" thinking? Have I disrespected any human person in his inner being (like, perhaps some of the little human persons with whom I spend each day)? Am I focused on the value of relationship and do I count it higher than other goods/products? Do I praise God with every fiber of my being for the astounding miracle of the Incarnation and all that theologically flows from them -- the Sacraments, the Immaculate Conception, our own participation in grace?

We need to live and love these truths to their fullness to present to the world the God who Loves us, to draw the world to Him.

Second Verse, Same As The First

I'm up, it's late, and I should be in bed. Or at least (I think) it would be good if I were doing something more productive than tittling around on the computer. (At least I'm not playing Pac Xon anymore!)

So, I was reading some of my own Blog posts. I've been writing them as a sort of way to journal my thoughts, meditate on them a bit. And I realize I haven't progressed very much in my thoughts about authority equals service, and my desire to interact more patiently with my dear son.

Which reminds me, we have undertaken a new little project. We are going to our local cemetery every day, to stand at exactly the same spot and take a photo of the trees. The idea is to watch the subtle changes as we approach fall.

I really HOPE that there is a correlation here. Today we went, and the trees looked pretty much like they did yesterday. I suppose they'll look pretty much the same tomorrow as well. Maybe even for the whole week. Maybe even two or three weeks. But eventually, I know, the leaves will turn yellow, orange, brown, and start to fall. Eventually the branches will be bare. Eventually then they'll be full of snow.

So I hope it is just that I don't feel like my making much progress in virtue, my desire to be patient, understanding, long-suffering, and delighting in serving my family. Maybe virtue doesn't even grow as fast as leaves change (nor is it as inevitable!) Of course, it isn't too healthy to sit around analyzing one's virtue, in a navel-gazing sort of way. Examination of conscience and prayer, yes. Good and necessary. Probably something I should do more of.

At some moments I feel like I want to be able to say "Can I just not be the Mom today? Can I just go have playtime instead, and do only what I feel like doing?" That's not what I really want on any kind of permanent basis. But a break now and then...

I guess that's why I sit up tinkering at the computer when I should be sleeping. But is it really worth being tired in the morning?

OK, I'm talking to myself too much. Good night.

Homeopathy

One of the Yahoo! lists I belong to has been debating the value of homeopathic medicine in light of what our Catholic Church teaches.

Some of the members have strong feelings that homeopathy is somehow a part of the New Age movement. I'm sure if the only people they have known who use homeopathy have been New Agey folks, if the only websites or books they have seen about it have been slathered with New Age talk, well, ok, I can see how they would get the association.

But as I keep saying to my husband, if the local coven of witches all breastfed their babies, would that make breastfeeding a Wiccan practice?

I can get fairly emotional about healthcare topics. Although I see it more as getting "passionate". I have a crusading streak that really wants the best for people and I really really like the feeling of offering something to someone that may be just what they need to turn some kind of a corner to better days.

You can lead a horse to the corner, but you can't make him go around it.

Plus, I am learning to admit that I don't know everything, and that any argument made based on "passion" is not scientific proof. I'm not big on science (because after all I am a female who went to public schools!) It is a gap in my own education. I am slowly working to correct that gap, and learn.

So I've been doing a bit of research/reading on homeopathic medicine. I was directed toward a very interesting website: This one was pretty interesting, too.

I really enjoy learning about this stuff.

Renovations

Ok, so I haven't completely fallen off the face of the blogosphere.

Yesterday I had an inspiration and a surge of energy, and took the carpet out of my son's room. Probably not a week goes by that I don't look at one or the other of our old, sorry looking carpets and fantasize about ripping it out. When I vacuum I often test corners to see just how easy it might be to take it up, and to get a peak at what the floor looks like underneath.

So I was cleaning and vacuuming, checked out that corner, conferred with my toddler regarding her thoughts on the matter (she agreed it would be a great idea). So, I went for it.

It was old, very dirty goldenrod carpet with a decaying rubber pad underneath. Based on the discovery of a 1967 penny underneath I am guessing that either someone put that there on purpose to date the installation, or it was put in in the early 70s (goldenrod?!?) and the penny was an accident.

Good heavens -- can you imagine? Carpet almost 40 years old?

It went in a garbage truck early this morning. Have a nice time in the landfill.

The floor underneath is pretty. But someone painted about an 18 inch strip around the perimeter with brown paint.

It took me maybe 6 straight hours Tuesday, with some tidy up work today. We went to the Vigil Mass for the Holy Day on Monday night. Always seems funny because it ends up that the only days I don't go to Mass are on Holy Days that way. Twice the day before, but none on the day itself.

It struck me that I was able to get so much done because we didn't take the hour and 15 minutes out of the middle of the day to go to Noon Mass. But then it struck me another way -- just think of how much we accomplish spiritually on a daily basis by investing that time day in and day out. It is hard to measure non-tangible investments like that. But I know that the benefit is there. I do not at all care for the feeling of not going to daily Mass for any extended period of time. It's just not God's program for me. Somehow He knew that this non-schedule, non-routine person needed that anchor of a daily encounter with Him. It was His first directive to me on my road of conversion, after I got done sobbing at Him that it was so hard for me to become a Catholic, after all, I didn't know any Catholics and everyone I knew was going to reject me and oh! the pathos.

God told me then "Be going to Mass."

So I remember back to that when my son is carrying on in his dramatic way; just state the plan -- the sky is NOT falling.

Now, if only I could free the rest of the floors!

Pruning Time

The other day I got the message that I'm trying to do too many things. I gave a friend a ride to Mass, and as we were getting in the car I pointed out the lettuce plants I've been trying to grow this summer. I mentioned that I'm learning that when you don't water them enough, they grow thick, tough stems -- to get water from down below, I suppose.

She commented that to grow plants you really need to tend to them daily, and that with two young children, I have enough to look after.

Then, at Mass, we had the Gospel reading of the sower and the seed and the four types of soil. The priest pointed out that one way to look at the seed sown on thorny ground was that it represents the person who simply has too much going on. The one who is so busy doing good he doesn't have time to pray.

So, twice within a half hour. The message registered.

I've been making a mental list of all the things I've done or tried to do this summer (with varying degrees of success and completion). Here's the ones I can think of now (not necessarily all attempted at the same time, but all during this summer):

Learn to sew and make underwear for my daughter
Grow Romaine lettuce from seed
Learn French
Catch up on classical literature by listening to books on tape
(In that category I finished Hound of the Baskervilles and David Copperfield, and gave up on Little Men.)
Gather quotes to get our house painted and meet with contractors
Supervise clean out of rental house, find new renters, and clean/sort/and donate huge amounts of stuff to local thrift store
Screen new rental applicants
Serve on advisory committee for local thrift store
Work on my family tree (to date it contains 31,615 names)
EC with my daughter
Orchestrate sale of organic meats to families in my area from a farmer an hour from us
Shop at the local Farmer's Market weekly
Strew interesting science materials for my son
Attend daily Mass
Cook nutritious dinners from scratch each evening
Participate in about 12 on-line discussion groups
Blog
Serve on a committee to research and create new Baptismal preparation materials for our town's parishes

Perhaps I'm missing a few things.

I think my friend is right; next year I should forego the lettuce.

I don't know... am I the only one who struggles with feeling like I don't really DO anything all day long? That there is so much more I could be doing? How do I stop the whirlygig and come to a quiet place? I remember in my Lutheran days hearing how Martin Luther said if he had an extremely busy day he knew he had to spend an extra hour (so two, not one) in prayer.

I need to re-focus on that which is most important -- the life of the soul -- and let other unnecessary things fall away, and allow the other important things to be re-vitalized for me so that my mind can be with me in whatever I do, not on the 100 tasks I haven't done yet.

Scrubbing Toilets

When I was in my late teens and early 20s, I had a common refrain about my fears of what would happen if I gave God full control in my life (hmmm... there's that control word. Probably another post coming.) The refrain was "I'm afraid if I tell God I'll do anything He wants that I'll end up in some little town scrubbing toilets."

Well, Steubenville has a population of about 18,000, and today I scrubbed my toilet.

I don't suppose it was the scrubbing part, or necessarily the toilet part, or even the small town part that I dreaded. What I was sure of is that if all of these came to pass, I would be miserable. Really, I think what struck me as the worst is that at the time I never would have freely chosen to do those things. I guess what I was trying to say is I feared God would force to do something I didn't want to.

Ok, on second thought, this IS that other post.

God doesn't force people to do things they don't want to do. God doesn't force anything. Even good things, which is really all He has to give, anyway.

What God does, which I completely did not understand during the phase of my life when I feared this, is change us with His grace. He created our nature -- human nature and our own individual soulish composition. Then, He gives us grace. As we receive it, we believe and act upon it. Then He gives us more grace -- that's how we walk down the road with God, so to speak. It's how the journey of faith goes.

It occurred to me the other day at Mass that we go through different stages in our relationship to virtue. We, or at least I, start out thinking virtues are nice things, nice ideas, with not much application to me. Then, virtues are something I try to have. I try to be generous, I try to be zealous. And that lasts maybe a hour or two, and I'm back to real life. Then virtues are things I get bothered about not having. I'm so stingy, I'm so bland. It's only when we get to the scary point of needing a virtue -- being pushed to exercize weak virtue -- that we start getting the point. And for me right now, needing virtue in relationship to my children is the ultimate motivator. The ultimate fear, if you will. When my son was a baby, it was fortitude in advocating for him in his foster care system. But when it is virtue needed in talking with him, in modeling the way I wish for him to live, that is when I am finally on my face, needing virtue. I know I need something that God has to give me, that I can only receive from Him.

I want that virtue because I need that virtue. Without that virtue I will feel a type of failure towards my children I don't want -- the failure to show them Christ.

So I was thinking about authority = service today as my daughter was on the potty, and I said to myself, my that toilet needs a wipe 'round. Because I am in authority over my children, I need to clean that toilet. God commissions me to clean that toilet.

But the difference here is that I see it as a bigger part of the desire for virtue. I went after that toilet with the kind of quiet delight that says "this is God's will for me." Mind you I don't like cleaning the toilet. I'd rather not have to. But because it presented itself as a need, I embraced it. I wasn't miserable. God wasn't forcing me. It's part of the little way God gives me to walk with Him and grow in grace.

I think perhaps the only way we can teach our children to be virtuous is by becoming virtuous ourselves. It isn't easy, because it involves dying to ourselves.

He's Learning, Too

Here's an episode from today. I don't know if this indicates a huge paradigm shift on my part, or if it just shows how dense I'm capable of being!

I was making dinner, and my son's friend came down to the kitchen looking serious and told me that he had hit her. I'm developing this mode where I figure if I just say some small thing, the child at hand will run with the next stage of things. So I gave a very serious look back and asked her how she felt like dealing with it. She commented that she didn't know, and turned and went out the door.

Moments later, my son came downstairs. He explained his own upset. She insisted on calling him One-X, but he didn't want to be called that, and it was making him really mad, and she wouldn't stop and she hurt him so he hurt her. My sweet boy is always honest.

He emphasized the part about being really mad. I asked him what would be a good way of handling it when he was really mad. He said he could shut the door and be alone, which I affirmed and added to a bit, and pointed out that his friend had already left. A moment later, he was outside after her, because he really doesn't like to be alone all that long. I stopped him to also remind him that hitting is not a good way to handle being really mad.

The whole incident was smoothed over and they were back playing together within another 60 seconds or so.

And as he went out, I was thinking about my previous post, on the nature of parental authority. And I thought to myself "Hmm. Well, I'm not the only one who's trying to learn about how to interact with others."

And then I thought -- wait a second! I'm the Mommy; he's the little boy. Of COURSE he's learning about how to interact! For a minute I thought I was the only one for whom getting along with others is sometimes tricky.

Isn't this the sort of thing that Familiaris Consortio talks about in terms of all of the family evangelizing each other? I help him, actively, try to handle his emotions in constructive ways, and he helps me, passively, for now at least, grow in virtue by requiring it of me!

Which reminds me of something else I wanted to blog....

Question Authority??

I had an experience the other day of the sort I've not had in quite a while. Here's what I mean: I was telling my son something, and realized while I was saying it that it was much more profound that I realized, something I could really benefit by pondering awhile.

But since I generally cannot ponder these days without being distracted by housework that needs to be done, or by falling asleep, I'll blog it instead.

We were in the car, driving to the library after having run a couple of other errands. Getting my son into the car had been a bit of a to do, as he had been playing with the neighbor kids and even though I'd told him about the outing all morning, and he'd happily chirped, just before skipping out to play, that I should just let him know when we were going to leave -- when it came time to go, he was a tad surly.

As we drove, he grumped that after we finished at the library, he intended not to obey me after that. As a reflex, I told him that sounded dangerous. And I proceeded to tell him what obedience is for: protection.

Maybe this was partly from my pre-Catholic pentecostal days, and this is part of why I need to meditate/blog on this for a bit. But what I found myself telling him was that God puts each one of us in relationship with other people in a way that is like being under an umbrella. I explained that he is under my authority in order to be protected. And that when children are little, like his baby sister, that protection is largely of the physical sort -- so that no physical harm comes. But that as we get older, the protection is more for our hearts. And that just like when we get sick, we have pain that tells us something is wrong in our bodies, so when we are disobedient, this is showing us that there is something amiss with our protection.

Then we got to the library, and he started telling me how his 6 year old next door friend had been telling him about offering things up as sacrifices.

Big huge flashes went off in me as I was saying this, because I also knew what it was telling me about right use of authority. I did mention to him, too, that authority can be abused and misused. But I saw that parental authority is not about getting my son to suit my personality, to embrace my interests or abandon his, or about my comfort, my way, my thing.

Parental authority is a commission I have received from God to protect my children from physical, emotional, spiritual and moral evil.

Whoa.

Sometimes I still struggle with feeling like what I am called to do as a parent is to crack the whip, lay down the law, demand compliance, have him ask "how high" while jumping and all those cliches. I'm not sure how long it will take me to realize these are all vestiges of dominance, not authority. Didn't today's Gospel, for the Feast of St. James, talk about how the Gentiles lord it over each other, but it is not to be that way for Christians? Doesn't that include Christian parents?

I saw that when I started to give a "why" to the obedience I was seeking from my son, calmly I might add, without feeling personally threatened by his daring to "disobey after going to the library" (he's 5, ok, so his phraseology is as cute as it is confusing most of the time) -- he seemed much more at ease with obeying. How often haven't we all said, especially as kids, "what's the point? why do I need to do this? aren't you just bossing me around?"

What I need to think about next is this: when I'm tired, reaching my wits end, busy with making dinner, baby care and managing the last mess that just occurred (these five combine daily), how do I exercize authority that is there to protect him, to shape his heart productively, to instill virtue? And not just rudely, domineeringly, try to make my moment easier for me? Maybe the fact that my son and I have such different ways -- he is definitely not the auditory learner I am, and my words sail right over his head most of the time -- but I do feel that most of the time by the time we connect I am being rude to him. Maybe I need to learn to connect in ways other than words. To me that's like saying I need to learn to walk without using my feet. Hmmmm... a challenge.

After all, if God has placed me in authority over my children, I'd better figure out how to do it well.

What it's all about... in the final analysis

Handwritten sign found on the wall of Blessed Mother Teresa's room:

People are often unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered; forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives; be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies; be successful anyway.
If you're honest and frank, people may cheat you; be honest and frank anyway.
What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight; build anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, others may be jealous; be happy anyway.
The good you do today, people will forget tomorrow; do good anyway.
Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough; give your best anyway.
For you see, in the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.

Adapted from The Paradoxical Commandments by Kent Keith (1968)

Lesson Needed: Conserve!

We rent out our "old house" as we call it; the house my husband and my mother-in-law bought when he first moved to town. It is where I first met my future husband. It is where we had our rehearsal dinner before our wedding. It is the first house we subsequently bought together, from MIL. It is where we first brought my son home to when we started his foster/adopt process.

We moved three years ago, because even though it is a decent, solid house, it's right smack on a corner with quite a bit of traffic whizzing by, it has no yard, and it's not in what you'd call the most family-friendly neighborhood.

We rent it because houses just don't sell around here. Real estate boom? Not in Steubenville.

Two years ago the neighbors to our right of our current house had to move out because that house was being sold, and the then-owner of that house wanted to get the guys a good deal, so he negotiated for them to rent our "old house." Which was fine with us as we were looking for renters anyway. But we never did get them to sign a lease.

They supposedly wanted to stay for four years, but they were all from New Orleans, and that was before Katrina hit. They all decided to leave in June.

Well, I don't really know how many people actually lived there at one point during the two years it was rented by the one responsible, polite, friendly face we actually dealt with. I'm thinking it was something like 20. And they all left hundreds, probably thousands of dollars, worth of stuff behind. Computers, designer clothes, televisions, bedding, kitchen stuff, books, personal documents and pictures, furniture, gadgets, boots -- you name it.

Students, they were. I think they needed to take a class on responsibility and conservatism.

I no longer have the slightest compunction about what we ask for rent, which is about the same as what someone in a house much less sound and pretty also pays. I used to feel sorry for poor students, assuming they barely had two pennies to rub together. Or at least it seemed that way with some of our people who didn't seem to have money when rent was due.

Personally, I worked hard every summer so that I could go to college the next year. I did get scholarships and money from the VA due do my father's disabled veteran status. But I also worked. Of course, my tuition and board wasn't a five-digit figure every year. (I recall that for my first semester of college, when I went to the State University and lived at home, my expenses were all of $600. Mind you, that was in 1985.)

Anyway, if these folks can collectively leave behind what amounted to an entire garage packed with stuff, somebody is not hurting for money. I don't begrudge people their wealth, but I am not enamored with people tossing perfectly usable things away as garbage.

We have brought home so far at least 4 heaping minivan loads of stuff that I have cleaned out, sorted, and mostly donated to the local Catholic resale shop to generate some income to aid the poor. At least I do feel good that this is good quality stuff that is going to be able to bring in a decent dollar amount for Samaritan House. And I also know that probably at the end of every semester, there will be more to collect from the University dorms and rental properties.

But I do hope our next renters will abide by their lease and not leave it all over our old house.

Thanks, Jerry

My Schultz Genealogy Gets a Boost
Yesterday afternoon, I called a complete stranger in Minnesota whose great-great grandfather was the brother of my great-great-great grandfather.

If you visit some of the major genealogy websites like Rootsweb.com, after you poke around a bit you could find that I am a compulsive genealogical information hound. I leave messages scattered all over the internet in hopes that someone will find one that is pertinent to them also, and contact me with information.

Four years ago, a man named Jerry Truhn did just that. He had been helping a relative of his research her Schultz ancestors, and he found a query I left on on Genweb World Project website about my Schultzes who just happened to come from the same town in what is now Poland. He had done some research in church records, rather accidentally transcribed way more Schultz information than what pertained to the immediate line on which he was working, and as he read my post, he recognized that he had the info I was looking for.

He tantilized me with a few interesting tidbits, like a half-dozen siblings of my great-great grandmother whom I never knew existed, and the names of my great-great-great-great grandparents. Then he promised to flesh out the post with more information, just as soon as he could go through his notes.

A few nights ago, a cousin (first cousin once removed, to be exact) contacted me, remembering about some promised further Schultz information I had talked about. Oh yeah, I thought, I wonder what ever did become of that?

I went back through my old emails. Jerry had had one thing come up, then another, then another. Then, he had been in the hospital. In his last email he confessed he'd been diagnosed with cancer. He said he would get to me as his energy levels allowed.

But I never did hear from him.

So last week I searched around those genealogical websites to see if I could find some recent posts by him with a recent email address.

Instead, I found his obituary. He was only 63.
http://boards.ancestry.com/mbexec/message/rw/localities.northam.usa.states.iowa.counties.story/1081

So, after a little detective work (which truly is something I love about genealogy), I tracked down the relative with whom he was working on these Schultzes, and gave her a call. Tonight I've printed out a 38 page report of all the Schultz descendents I have on file, a copy of all the email correspondence I had from Jerry, two articles I found on the internet about her parents and grandparents, and a letter summarizing it all, and I'll ship it all off to her tomorrow.

What Jerry was not able to fill in for us, hopefully we'll be able to piece together for ourselves.

As I like to say, the one good thing about history is that it doesn't change, it will wait for me to find it.

And I'm much closer to finding a huge chunk of my history than I would ever have been without Jerry's answer to my query.