Providing Needs

      School has reopened at the Kaseorg Homeschool. Asherel and I creaked into the new year, kicking and screaming a little but by the end of the day, we were back into the routine. I was glad I had written the blog yesterday about a good attitude making all the difference because it is never easy to return to long hard days after two weeks off. I had to resort to a lecture on the serenity prayer: God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Amen.

    "Can you change the fact that you have end of the year AP and SAT tests and have to be prepared for them?"

     "No."

     "Can you change the fact that you are a student and by law I am required to educate you?"

     "No."

     "Then that is one of those things you have to accept, and it will be a lot more pleasant for all of us if it is with joy and delight."

     I recounted how I used to stay up mourning all night on Sunday before I had to return to work on Mondays back in the days of my full time working. It is not that I didn't understand her reluctance. It is hard to kiss vacation goodbye.

     Meanwhile, my favorite animal rescue, Hollow Creek Farm, never takes time off. They had posted to facebook that the dogs were coming in faster than money, potential owners, or crates. They were desperate for all three to be able to help the dogs they pull from imminent euthanasia lists or have found dumped in mostly horrific condition. They have started a new rescue venue, called Operation Candy Van (at least I think that is what the OCV stands for...could also be Occupy Canine Vigilantes given the current fad in our country.) Whatever OCV stands for, it transports dogs from southern gas chambers to owners seeking pets in the North. HCF makes sure the dogs are vetted, innoculated, healed as needed, linked with potential owners, and then driven a thousand miles to their hopeful haven. They scrounge for donations, but a good bit  of money is from their own pockets.  I am sure I will be corrected if I am wrong on this description.

     Anyway, I noticed in a recent post that they were asking if anyone had crates, preferably 36 inch crates, so they could temporarily house more dogs in their shelter, save more lives. I wondered why there was a glut of dogs that required 36 inch crates. It was right around Christmas, and I was in the midst of family gathering, cooking, entertaining. As soon as family left, I was felled by a mysterious illness which my husband called a "bad cold" but I am certain was something more exotic, like PanAsian HiNi7. I had already given them our extra crate, so had nothing to offer.

    Finally feeling well enough to start back to my walking regimen, I was rounding the corner yesterday and noticed my neighbor working in his yard.

     "Happy New Year Jim!" I called.

     "Happy New Year, Vicky! Oh, I wanted to ask you. I have a brand new crate, never opened, still in the box that was the wrong size. Never returned it. Might that animal farm you like want it?"

     I stopped in my tracks, "They sure would!"

     He had the tiniest dog on the planet so I knew it wouldn't be what HCF most needed, but any crate could help them. If nothing else they could loan it to other needy rescues. He opened the garage door. The crate box came up to his waist.

     "That was for Piper (the chihuahua mix)?"

     "No, it was for Casey. It turned out to be a little too small for her." I wondered why for three years since Casey had died, the crate had just sat there, unopened.

     "Well thanks! Out of curiosity...what size is it?"

     We leaned over and read the box: 36 inches.

     I led the way while Jim shouldered the heavy box to carry to my porch, and I smiled shaking my head. I may not always have the courage or wisdom to change the things I can, but it seems God is determined to help me out in my inadequacies. I sent an email to HCF, "Want a 36 inch crate?"

     "Heck yeh!"

Philippians 4:19 NIV

And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus.

Guide lines

I love how my life mimics art.

The task for my art class this week was two point perspective. Meanwhile, in our home school, we were losing all perspective, crumbling slowly in the face of an overwhelming schedule and the rigors of highschool. I know some homeschools are perfect and never wonder if knowledge is really such a good thing, but we were in a crisis; wondering if it would be possible to graduate from 9th grade by whittling out some of the less important subjects...like all of them....and replacing them with candy.

I sent the art class several warnings throughout the week. Each warning was accompanied with a supply they must not forget. Rulers are crucial in two point perspective drawings, for example.
"BE ON TIME!!", I begged, "Or I guarantee you will be lost. Two point perspective is not easy."

It is easy once you understand it. A whole world of drawing opens up before you like magic when you understand two point perspective. However, it is initially very confusing. To gain the proper perspective, you sometimes start off with a tangled confusion of intersecting guide lines.
"Which guide line does the roof line here go?" asked one student.
"Which guide line does this bottom angle into the alley way go?"
"Which guide line do you follow for the line of lampposts?"
"How do I draw a guideline for a sign sticking out of the building?"
Etc.
And uniformly, when I showed the kids where they had placed a building edge on an incorrect guideline and they corrected it, they sat back with a big smile on their face. When you follow the correct guide lines, the result is perfect.
"I know something is wrong," said Hannah, "But I keep trying to redraw it and it is still wrong."
"Which of these guidelines do you think you need to follow?" I asked.
She peered at the drawing.
"Oh... this one?"
"Try it."
"Yes!!! Wow!"

As every student successfully mastered the two point perspective sketch, I pulled out a picture of towering skyscrapers. The photographer was standing at the base of them, and all the lines of the skyscapers were converging at varying angles. Initially, I had thought this must be about a hundred point perspective drawing. But then I realized something that made me think long and hard about my homeschool.

"How many point perspective is this picture?" I asked the class.
" A million?" said one student.
"Six?" said another.
"Where is the viewer standing?" I hinted.
"At the bottom looking up," said Adam.
"Remember what I taught you about the horizon line being wherever your eye level is? Where is the horizon line?"
"Straight up...." said Monica.
"And how many points on that horizon line do the edges of the buildings converge on?" I asked.
"One!" cried the students..
"Yes," I said, "There is only one vanishing point. This is one point perspective. All guidelines converge on one point straight up."

Later, I thought, that is the proper perspective for our homeschool. Our guidelines need to all converge on one point, looking straight up.
Asherel and I decided to take a break and go for a walk, and pray.
Because half the battle is one of perspective.
But just in case, I have a bag of candy at the ready.

Psalm 23:2-4

 ² He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
 ³ he refreshes my soul.
He guides me along the right paths
   for his name’s sake.
⁴ Even though I walk
   through the darkest valley,
I will fear no evil,
   for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
   they comfort me.

Divergent Paths

For the record, practicing guitar is easier than learning Kreb's Cycle. If you don't remember Kreb's cycle, it is probably because you didn't understand it in the first place. Asherel and I made a chart, filled in all the co enzymes, products, ATPs, NADs, Acetyl CoA as needed, and then sat down together to do the end of section test.
"Don't answer unless we both agree," I warned her.
"What answer is most common, b or c?"
"That doesn't matter, we are not going to guess. We are going to determine the correct answer."
She looked dubious, "I think it is B. They almost never have A or D as the answer in multiple choice."

I gathered our chart of Kreb's cycle and our notes that we had taken in front of us. Then I took a deep breath, which by the way, is part of how Kreb's cycle works...it needs oxygen and is the basis of cell respiration. As Asherel's video teacher keeps telling us, "How cool is that?"
"Ready? OK, question number one...how many ATPs are produced as the result of glycolosis and Kreb's cycle? We can do this! We know this! 2!"
"No, 4."
"Don't answer! We don't agree."
"Mom, it's 4."
"Should we just guess B? I think you are right that usually it is B or C."
"Mom, I know this one. It's 4."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
"Well then go for it. I think it is 2."
The little video quiz instantly pops up the correct answer. It was 4.
"Oh!" I said, "I misread the question. I just thought we were looking at glycolosis, not Kreb's cycle too!"
Asherel smirked at me, "Read the question carefully!"
I won't tell you our final score, but we didn't fail. At this point, that gives me hope.

"What are you going to do with that Kreb's cycle chart?" asked Asherel.
"Hang it in your room."
She looked horrified, obviously picturing John, Paul, George and Ringo having to give up one of their prime wall positions to let Krebs in.
"No!"
"Well I want it to go somewhere where you will see it everyday and learn it."
(I would like to take a moment to let you parents doing early Christmas shopping know that if you have a teenager, you can cross the Kreb's Cycle poster off the Christmas list.)
"Maybe in the bathroom, then, " I said, picking up our Kreb's poster.

Guitar lesson was a blessed respite. Lenny taught her how to play another Beatles song, and I drew on my iPod. My brain ached.

I think Kreb's cycle is one of the harder things we will have to figure out in Biology. I can't wait for the sections on anatomy. Even genetics is easier than Kreb's. But the strange this is, I felt proud. I haven't worked that hard to understand something in a long time. Most of schooling high school level courses is providing mentors and resources in the areas I am not skilled in....which is all of them. Well, except for art. I think I am actually a pretty good art teacher. However, I took a subject I had not remembered at all, looked at several hours of text and videos with Asherel, and managed to understand it, at least to a small degree. And I am remembering something about school I had forgotten. Learning something that you were certain you could never learn is satisfying. Deeply satisfying.

We moved on to Poetry.
"Oh, today we read my favorite poem!"
"What is it?" She looked worried.
"The Road not Taken," I told Asherel.
I began to read. As I read, my eyes began to fill with tears. I could see Asherel rolling her eyes. Whenever  I read her a magnificent poem, I start crying.

"I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference."

Tears rolled down my cheeks and I tried to choke out the words, "Why do you think he tells this with a sigh?"
Asherel was still rolling her eyes, but paused, "Hmmm. He feels sorry for the road?"
"He doesn't personify the road so you shouldn't either. What do you think he's feeling if he retells this with a sigh?"
"Regret?"
"Yes!!!!! Why do you think he speaks with regret?"
(And please don't tell me because he had to learn Kreb's cycle before going on his walk in the woods.)
"Well, because he had to make a choice, and he wasn't certain it was the right one."
"You know," I told her, "Every choice means you must give up something else. So every choice involves loss. And sometimes, you will never know if the decisions you made were the right ones or not."
By now, I am really feeling like sobbing, because the poem touches the very core of my soul. So many decisions in life I look back on with regret, or with ambiguity. Was it the best choice?
"What does he mean in the lines-
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted I should ever come back."
"He won't pass that way again... the road leads him further and further away."
"Homeschooling is one of those divergent paths for me," I told her, "Every year I agonize whether taking that path is the best path. We give up alot as homeschoolers...but we also gain alot. I will never know if that choice was the best choice, but I can't go back, at least not to reclaim the years that have already passed."

I thought of all the choices, the really big choices in life that my beloved daughter will have to make. Later, without even knowing what sparked it, we were returning from guitar lesson and were discussing why I am so passionate, so strong in my opinion about certain things, mostly things of God.
"Of all the things I help you to choose, as a parent, what I desire more than anything is that you will choose God. It is the one path that I hope more than all others you will choose to follow. But all I can do is set forth the example, and my reasons while you are young. Ultimately, it will be your decision, not mine."
We were quiet for the rest of the ride home as I thought of the line from Frost's poem, "And that has made all the difference."

Joshua 24: 15
¹⁵ But if serving the LORD seems undesirable to you, then choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve, whether the gods your ancestors served beyond the Euphrates, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land you are living. But as for me and my household, we will serve the LORD.”

Meltdown

Perhaps it was the rain, or maybe it was the 3 hours of work that still loomed for my daughter, or maybe it was the muddy dog, or maybe the penciling in one more thing on the already overfull calendar...I am not sure what the catalyst was...oh, perhaps it was the list of catalysts  and enzymes Asherel is required to memorize for AP Biology which seemed like such a good idea when I was planning our highschool schedule in the summer and now as I read the details, less so....
BUT at any rate, something caused me to have a minor melt down. I have had worse. This one was contained and no permanent damage was done to those outside the 20 feet perimeter of the unexpected collapse of what had once been a functioning human being.

The art class had left, and as I scurried to clean up, I had one hour to get Asherel out the door and fed and ready for her church Youth Group. I had to vacuum immediately or the charcoal bits and dust from the class would spread like gangrene through the house. I grabbed the vacuum and then raced quickly to the refrigerator to be sure we had easy dinner food I could microwave. We did have chicken, and raw broccoli...that would do for two of the food groups. Carbs? What could I use for quick and easy carbs? Ah, leftover pizza. It would have to do.
Then I plugged in the vacuum and glanced at my watch. I had a half hour.
"I cannot do this," I said. And just like that, I melted into a panicked, overwhelmed, overburdened, pessimistic mess. Arvo, noting the vacant look and tendrils of radioactive dismay steaming from my nostrils asked if I needed help.
"I cannot do this," I repeated.
He took the vacuum and I robotically prepared the gourmet meal of leftover chicken, raw broccoli, and pizza. No one complained as we ate in near silence. I would've chatted but there was a tape playing in my head singing over and over again, "I cannot do this."

This, my friends, is a defeatist attitude. I have a wonderful family, and they try very hard. Asherel really could not be working any harder. She is a gem. Something has got to change in our schedule, but we are at a loss as to what it should be.

And then I started thinking about illegal aliens. Sometimes a mind that is melting does strange things. I am a nationalist, and I believe in sovereignty of nations, and I believe in borders, and in national pride etc...but for some reason, I started wondering if my premise was flawed. Why does one people have the sovereign right to close the borders to another? We are studying the Revolutionary War period, and both Asherel and I are filled with conflicting emotions. Yay, America! Oh, poor Britain. And especially oh poor Indians. The history of why we are a nation is really filled with courage, and ideals, but also with selfishness. Our claim to the land is based on who grabbed it more effectively from someone else. I know there are valid arguments for national rights, especially for a nation like Israel who has had a history of getting the snuff beat out of them no matter where they go. They need a nation to call their own, and they must defend it with every bit of energy they have. But I don't know. If I was a wretchedly poor native of a corrupt country, why should I, by accident of birth, not be allowed to go wherever I could make a better life? 
I think I am having a crisis of thought. This happens sometimes when I eat pizza, chicken, and raw broccoli for dinner. I did a word study of Nations in the Bible. There is no doubt God established and worked through nations. And He clearly chose Israel to be His chosen ones, a nation of people that He preserved, and untimately used to bring forth His Messiah, and plan of redemption of humankind. There are almost 400 references to nations, and how they will battle each other. Why so much unrest in my heart over nations? But then, in Psalm 10, God proclaims that in the eternal perspective, the Nations perish. The downtrodden will be heard.

I read over the AP Biology manual.
"Facts should not be taught over concepts," it said, "Lest the student be overwhelmed."
"Do you understand the concept of glycolosis?" I asked Asherel.
"I think so."
"Then we do an open book test tomorrow. If you get the concept, that is enough.You can just look up the enzymes."
I don't know about you, but sometimes a little perspective for me can provide a cooling flood of relief, and stay a nuclear meltdown.

Psalm 10:
¹⁶ The LORD is King for ever and ever;
   the nations will perish from his land.
¹⁷ You, LORD, hear the desire of the afflicted;
   you encourage them, and you listen to their cry

Why History Matters

My job at the barn was to clean out the office while Asherel went on her riding lesson. Jill was apologetic, assigning me this duty.
"I tried to keep it clean after you organized it the last time, but well..." she flung open the office door and we looked in, " I just can't."
"It's ok," I comforted her, "I love this kind of stuff. I am good at this."
(And frankly, it is a heck of alot easier than chipping away at the concrete goat poop sludge that was my last job.)
And I am very good at organizing, especially if it is not my stuff. Jill left me a large garbage bag and told me not to worry where I stashed stuff- she would find it eventually. This is the kind of carte blanche instructions that make an organizer's heart flutter with delight. I only had an hour but if it didn't matter where I put things, my job was definitely within my pay grade.

Jill and the crew saddled up while I started at a pile of junk on the right hand corner of the floor, a tangle of objects stuffed under a saddle. I pulled out an ancient, spider web gooey old rotary dial desk telephone. It had some frayed wires and the dialer popped in and out of place. I hurried out of the office to catch Jill before she left.
"Do you want me to toss this?"
"No..." she said, looking a little abashed, "I want to keep that and try to fix it. Do you know one of my students saw that when I found it in the hay loft and asked me what it was? Wouldn't it be cool to repair it? Kids today have no idea that is a phone!"
Jill is young- certainly not half way through thirty. She would never have used a phone like this either. What was it about the lost history that touched her, I wondered? I dusted off the phone and put it on a high shelf. I suspected it would never be repaired, but I thought it seemed grateful to have escaped the garbage bag.

We are studying the Revolutionary War  in our homeschool. History was my least favorite subject when I was a student in school, but my favorite now that I am an adult. I am fascinated by it, particularly by the motivations and descriptions of the main characters in the saga of our country's birth. I want to generate that same level of interest in Asherel, to convince her that history is filled with wonderful exciting stories, sobering moral lessons, valuable insights that can guide our future. It is perhaps the hardest job a teacher of young people has- how does one convince someone with so little history of their own that all this panorama of history matters?

We just finished a book on Benedict Arnold. While part of me despises Arnold, part of me feels very sorry for him. As we finished the book, and reached the end where he dies in poor health, despised by both Americans and Britain, never achieving the status of hero that he longed for, I said, "I feel so sorry for him, don't you?"
"No," said Asherel, "Why do you feel sorry for him?"
"Well, I know he was despicable, but he was so self deluded. He never recognized, or admitted that what he did was treason. He was always rationalizing his behavior. He never understood that he was the source of his problems. He always blamed others, or his circumstances."
She looked at me, as though that hardly was sufficient basis for my pity, given his crime.
"We are all self deluded to some degree," I said, "I mean, we may not go and commit treason, but we do other things and try to feel better about ourselves by blaming everything but ourselves."
And the other sad thing about Benedict Arnold was his motivation. He wasn't motivated by great and noble desires, like so many of the patriots. He was motivated by the lure of money and fame. One of the greatest lessons of Benedict Arnold, in my opinion, is: examine your motives.

When Jesus was tempted in the wilderness by Satan, He had been fasting for forty days. He was certainly starving, and there would be nothing sinful in eating at the end of his time of prayer and fasting. However, Satan tried to lure him by telling Him,  if you are the son of God, all you have to do is turn the stones into bread! Just do it!
This temptation of Christ is one of the most interesting parts of all History. First of all, why is eating when you are starving a sin? And why does Jesus resist Satan on this point? What are His motives in doing so?
Obviously, eating when we are hungry is a good and natural desire. However, for Jesus, this temptation reveals the perplexing dual nature of His mission. He is both completely Divine, and completely Man, a duality that I cannot understand, but still trust to be true. And assuming it is true is the only way I think this first temptation makes any sense. He is the son of God, and He is hungry and His period of fasting nearly over. Satan would never say to a mere man, "Turn these stones into bread!" because no man could do so. Satan knows that, so Satan is tempting Him as God. Jesus as man would want nothing more than to eat at that moment, but He was not sent to the desert to eat...He was sent to the desert to resist the temptations of Satan. If He turned the stones into bread, He would no longer be relying on His Father to supply His needs, and most importantly, He would be using His divine nature to escape the trials of His human nature. Should He succumb to this relatively simple test, how would He ever remain on the Cross? Satan's taunt in the first temptation is eerily reminiscent of the taunts of the crowd when He is crucified, "...save yourself! Come down from the cross, if you are the son of God!"
History teaches us so much that is worth knowing! Especially, His Story.

Jill returned and looked at the clean office.
"Wow," she said, "I promise I will try to keep it like this."
"I put your phone up there," I said, pointing to the shelf, "I dusted it off a little."
"I know it seems silly to keep it...." she said.
"Not at all," I said, smiling at her, "I totally understand."

Matthew 4
1 Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. 2 After fasting forty days and forty nights, he was hungry. 3 The tempter came to him and said, “If you are the Son of God, tell these stones to become bread.” 4 Jesus answered, “It is written: ‘Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.’

Matthew 27:39-41


39 Those who passed by hurled insults at him, shaking their heads 40 and saying, “You who are going to destroy the temple and build it in three days, save yourself! Come down from the cross, if you are the Son of God!” 41 In the same way the chief priests, the teachers of the law and the elders mocked him.

I'll be waiting

Our homeschool officially started...and then took a three hour skimboarding break in the middle of the day. This is one of the reasons we love homeschool. When the day is a perfect, low humidity, 83 degree, blue sky, sunshiney day; and a friend knocks on the door and tells us there is a creek with a stretch of sand along the edge that might work for skimboarding....the student can mark her place in her history book and just go. Since the math and spanish books don't even arrive for another week, school is light the first couple of weeks anyway. And we are both pooped from the early mornings and long days of the Dog Agility trial this weekend. It was nice to start our school year, so that we don't fear the enormity of the task before us so much, but it was also nice to slip in and out of it.

And then the mail came and Comer's book arrived! For those unfortunate few of you who don't follow my blog with the fervor of a rabid fox, Comer is my 93 year old friend who lives with his wife, who has Alzheimers, in an assisted living home. When he wistfully told me he wrote poetry and always thought one day he would do something with all those poems, I collected them, compiled them, edited them, and published his book of poetry. The proof now lay in my hands.  I was not happy with my editing skills. I had missed a typo, and the spacing between the poems was not regular. It is only a proof, but I had hoped it would be perfect, since at age 93, Comer may not have long for me to perfect my editing talent.  But it was a bona fide book with a black and white photo of him as a young man on the cover. I called him immediately.

"Comer! It's Vicky!"
"Hiyeee," he said, the same curious intonation with which he always greets me, "How're you?"
"I'm fine, how are your eyes? Recovering ok from the cataract surgery?"
"Well, I see much better, but they hurt, especially at night."
"Oh? Have you talked with the doctor about that?"
"Well, I'm sure it is just part of the healing process."
"Well, I have your book! It came today! Would you like me to bring it and take you and Evelyn to lunch tomorrow?"
"I'd love you to bring it, but I don't think I am up for our usual lunch. I have been feeling a mite woozy."

This concerned me. Comer had not felt like going out for the past three weeks now. He used to look forward to our outings as the highlight of his week. How I wish the proof were a better sample with perfect spacing! I have discovered that editing is one of those jobs that is never over. There is always a better word, or a better sentence construction, or a more apt phrase. At some point, editors just have to say, "This is good enough." I don't think perfection will ever enter the editor's world. And when one is 93 years old, good enough might have to arrive sooner rather than later.

I thought of how the universe itself is waiting in expectation, knowing perfection is possible, but not yet arrived. In the book of James, the Bible author describes how the farmer waits for the valuable crop, knowing it will come, it will be ready for the harvest one day, and he will bring in the wealth of his time and energy rewarded. We are the crop, I thought, and God the harvester...patiently waiting till we reached the fullness of growth, the fruitful abundance of faith.

"It's not perfect," I warned Comer, "And it is no problem resubmitting it if you want me to. But I will bring it tomorrow around 11."
"Thank you so much," he said, his voice a little weaker than I like, "I'll be waiting."
Yes, dear friend, please be waiting!

James 5:7

Be patient, then, brothers and sisters, until the Lord’s coming. See how the farmer waits for the land to yield its valuable crop, patiently waiting for the autumn and spring rains.

Unnatural path

Hooray! School starts today! We will be the first ones to crack open and sniff those new book smells! We will be exploring the wonders of highschool, with a thirst for knowledge that knows no bounds. We will be like Honeybun in the agility trial this weekend, streaming joyfully over the jumps she so loves to clear.....
OK...in reality, we will be able to figure out how to program the online biology course if we are lucky, and begin maybe to decipher the somewhat complicated check list system of the curriculum.

I am more like a dog learning weaves for agility trials. It is not a natural motion for a dog and if they don't practice it regularly, they lose the skill. Homeschool is like that for me. Over the summer, I forget how to do it. Sometimes even why we do it.....

Then usually, within a few days, it feels comfortable again and I remember how happy I am to have those extra hours with my kids that most people don't get the privilege of having. Because when they graduate, they are gone, and it is nice to have a backlog of memories to fall back on.

At the Dog Agility trial yesterday, after 3 classes of messing up her weaves, Honeybun finally got them the first time in the last class. Asherel decided that maybe she was trying to run too quickly through the weave section. Honeybun was stressed, as many dogs are at trials, and was forgetting all the training and acting like she had never seen a weave pole. So Asherel decided to just take the weave section slowly, one pole at a time, encouraging Honeybun each step of the way. And Honeybun got them! It was slow, but she followed the path perfectly.

The disciples lamented that they wanted to follow Jesus when He warned them He would be going away, but they didn't know the way, He reminded them, "I am the way, the truth, and the light. No one comes to the Father except through me."

I have often wondered about this direction of Jesus. If I had been one of those mournful disciples, I think I would have just felt more lost and confused. I once was seriously lost in a forest as night was falling. I was terribly frightened, and looking desperately for the way out of the forest, back to the campground. If a guide had been with me and just as I needed directions, he had said, "Don't worry, I know the way out, I am your ticket to s'mores and the campfire" and then disappeared, I might have felt a similar confusion.
If you are the way, why are you leaving? It seems the purpose of a trail that leads me home is to stay right where it is, under my feet, clearly marked.  But that's not what Jesus did. He told them He was the Way, the only Way, and like it or not, He was leaving. But, He assures them, if they sought Him, they would find Him. And then He goes on to lead them step by step through the unnatural process of faith. It is a powerful chapter, John 14, where the Way to God is outlined. It is a perfect chapter to dwell on when one is frightened, or insecure, or unsure that the way set before them is a path they can truly navigate. Like a dog facing the weave poles.....

As I pop open the wilderness of the highschool teacher's guide today, I am going to hold the Bible open to that page.

John 14: 1-21
¹ “Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. ² My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? ³ And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. ⁴ You know the way to the place where I am going.” ⁵ Thomas said to him, “Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?”  ⁶ Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. ⁷ If you really know me, you will know my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.”
 ⁸ Philip said, “Lord, show us the Father and that will be enough for us.”
 ⁹ Jesus answered: “Don’t you know me, Philip, even after I have been among you such a long time? Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? ¹⁰ Don’t you believe that I am in the Father, and that the Father is in me? The words I say to you I do not speak on my own authority. Rather, it is the Father, living in me, who is doing his work. ¹¹ Believe me when I say that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; or at least believe on the evidence of the works themselves. ¹² Very truly I tell you, whoever believes in me will do the works I have been doing, and they will do even greater things than these, because I am going to the Father. ¹³ And I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. ¹⁴ You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it.
¹⁵ “If you love me, keep my commands. ¹⁶ And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another advocate to help you and be with you forever— ¹⁷ the Spirit of truth. The world cannot accept him, because it neither sees him nor knows him. But you know him, for he lives with you and will be in you. ¹⁸ I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you. ¹⁹ Before long, the world will not see me anymore, but you will see me. Because I live, you also will live. ²⁰ On that day you will realize that I am in my Father, and you are in me, and I am in you. ²¹ Whoever has my commands and keeps them is the one who loves me. The one who loves me will be loved by my Father, and I too will love them and show myself to them.”

As Alexander the Great once said.......

One-two-three-fire!
The projectile headed up, up, up, through the tree limb and down down down. It had traveled about a meter forward.
After hours of adjustments to our trebuchet, hammering, filing, sawing, brainstorming..... it was shooting projectiles worse than ever.
"What are we doing wrong?" I groaned.
So back to the drawing board, back to tinkering, and now it is slightly better on average than it was before the regional Science Olympiad competition. Very slightly. I understand that some of the schools have scientists, engineers, experts in the field called in to consult with and work with  the kids. As homeschoolers, all my team has is me.

"We have to figure out if we want to use the short sling, the middle sling, or the long sling," I told Josh and Asherel, my trebuchet team.
"Well," said Josh solemnly, his chin thrust forward, "As Alexander the Great once said- it is not the high road, or the low road, but the middle road you should take."
I blinked at Josh.
"Did he really say that?" I asked.
"Probably!" declared Josh, "I mean he might have. He could have."

Right before our practice, I had received an email from the agent I most want to represent my book, the one I have been writing, editing, revising, and peddling for two years now. The agent said my proposal was very professional, and she was interested! BUT....always those buts that stick their noses in every bit of good news and mangle it, I needed to work on my 'platform' section, the part that indicates I have a market frothing at the mouth in anticipation of my book. For example, she continued, I don't mention radio or TV appearances. Radio or TV appearances?

I can see it now. The local news has caught wind that I want to publish a book. Put that newsreel on the bombing of Libya on hold! Someone has written a book and might publish it someday! Breaking news!  Can't you just picture the anchorman setting me down across from him:
"Well Vicky, before we begin, could you again reiterate exactly why we are interviewing you? My notes indicate you hope to publish a book? While this is indeed fascinating, can you tell me if there is anything you have actually done that might interest our viewers?"
I whisper a few hurried words in his ear.
"Hahaha, well no, I am not sure that raising a rabbit in 4H actually is the sort of thing I meant. Do you have any other accomplishments, something that raises you from the status of a nobody?"
And so on.

I wrote back and told the agent that while I fully expected someone might want to interview me for a radio or TV appearance after I published my book, I wasn't quite sure they could be persuaded to do so beforehand.

And then this blog I write. I get about 20,000 hits a year. The agent gets 20,000 hits a month on her blog. And even that is not enough. I need to find a way to find more people to read my blog. I need to increase my readership at least ten fold. Everyone has advised me on that. One suggestion- add interesting sidebars, like recipes to my blog.
"Oh yes," agreed Asherel, "Press the 2 button on the microwave."
"Now that was funny..." I said, "Disrespectful, but funny."
And alas, true. Josh had brought in the trebuchet and was chatting with us while I whipped up dinner.
I opened a box of chicken cordon bleu, ripped off the cellophane, plopped it on the cookie sheet and set the oven at 400. This special meal only occurs rarely.
"I make chicken cordon bleu!" said Josh.
"Do you pull it out of a box too?" I asked.
"Oh no, I roll ham, and provolone in the actual chicken breast. It is delicious. Then I coat it in breadcrumbs..."
Josh is 13. No, I don't think recipe sidebars on my blog are exactly my forte.

"Well," asks the TV anchorman, "Vicky, what exactly is your forte?"

At our helicopter practice, right before trebuchet practice, Ben insisted the .09 rubber band motor was going to be too strong for his helicopter.
"Look Ben, it is what the experts recommend. We have to try it to find out or we will never know."
So under protest, he wound the heavy rubber on his helicopter, which snapped off his motor hook , flailed around like a club and smashed his week of work to smithereens.
He looked pointedly at me.

"Vicky," said the anchorman, "I am waiting. We cut to commercial in 20 seconds. Can you summarize why exactly the producer put you on this show?"

"Well, as Alexander the Great once said, greatness is not measured by what you do, but by your heart."
The anchorman arched his eyebrow, "Did Alexander the Great really say that?"
"Probably! He might have....he could have."

Matthew 19:29-30

²⁹ And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or wife or children or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much and will inherit eternal life. ³⁰ But many who are first will be last, and many who are last will be first.

Send me

After Asherel's helicopter finished its flight at the Science Olympiad contest, she didn't want to put it down. She cradled it in her hands, and smiled as coaches from other teams came to look at it. It had flown one minute thirty seconds....not its personal best of 1:40, but still under the stress of contest conditions, a long and beautiful flight. And at that point, the team was in first place. Her partner Ben's copter flew almost as long, and the second flight would be the tie breaker so we were confident we had done well.  I spent the time before and after the flight body blocking objects that came too close to the fragile helicopter, and glaring at anyone who dared come within a 6 foot radius. This 4 gram thin balsa and tissue structure was the culmination of 9 months of excruciating labor and to the best of my ability, I was not going to let it die under my watch.

"Excuse me!" I barked to the lady pushing down on the helicopter point, "Please please don't touch it!" I was in no danger of winning the Gracious Spirit award, but I knew that the 1/16th inch balsa would break with very little effort. She snapped her hand back.
"I should've known better," she said.
 As she had transgressed in this almost unpardonable sin after instead of before our flight, I was magnanimous in my forgiveness.
"It's ok, just don't let it happen again."
(OK folks, I didn't really say that, but I did then put a yellow "no crossing" tape around my team and their copters.)

Our trebuchet did not fire as beautifully as we hoped, and though it came close to hitting the "castle", we saw several teams actually land in the castle. We knew we didn't win that one, but we were somewhere in the middle. Our trebuchet didn't do well with light counterweights, so we had been hoping for a heavy counterweight to be given during the contest, but alas, it was a very light conterweight. However, no trebuchet came even close to the beauty and elegance of the beautiful duct tape pattern and covering Asherel had put on ours. We may lose, but we surely won style points. If they were awarded. Which they are not. Sigh.

Her third event was Experimental Design. The three team members came out after half an hour- with half their allotted time still left.
"It was so easy," they said. Ohoh. That is not always a good sign.

I was designated our club photographer for the awards ceremony, so went as close to the front center of the arena as I could get. There was an empty seat next to a woman who was sitting with a large school. All the other teams there were huge. Our little homeschool team took a small sliver of a small corner of the arena. The powerhouse schools had several teams in every division and I heard whispers that kids had to try out for a place on the team! In contrast, our team had to accost innocent homeschoolers and beg them to join.
At any rate, the woman I sat next to asked if I was a homeschooler. Now how did she know that? I was not wearing the prerequisite denim jumper, I did not have wool freshly sheared that morning that I was busily spinning into yarn, nor did I have a backpack filled with teacher guides in every subject from every grade.
"Well yes," I answered, "But how did you know that?"
"It says Science at Home on your shirt."
"It does? Are you sure? I thought it said Science Hounds."
She looked again.
"Oh, so it does. I thought for sure it said Science at Home."
We laughed and she told me she had a daughter she homeschools herself, and one that she had had to send to school, or she would kill her.
"Why?" I asked.
"Well, we suspect she had neurological issues, but we didn't know that when I was trying to school her. She has just been diagnosed with ADD and we are in the process of trying to do more testing as no one knows what to do with her."
"Have you ever heard of occupational therapy?" I asked.

In my former life, the one before homeschooling and raising three kids, I was (am) an occupational therapist. As I explained to the woman, I had been in private practice many years, and had specialized in pediatrics, specifically children with learning disabilities and attention deficit issues. I had worked in an area called Sensory Integration. (Those words had not tumbled off my lips in years, I realized as I spoke with her.)
As she described some of the baffling issues with her child, I saw a child who very likely had a Sensory Integration type of problem. She could be helped. I gave her a list of resources, and then did a little mini-therapy session to show her something she could try with her child immediately. Then I left to do my duty as team photographer.

Event after event, our team was called to the arena floor to collect medals. Nearly every kid won a medal in our middle school club. My own teams did wonderfully well. Asherel and Ben placed third in helicopter, Josh and Asherel placed 7th in Trebuchet (how....not sure..... maybe the judges gave us extra credit for the beauty of our treb), and her experimental design team placed 5th. The top 5 schools would advance to the State competition. Our club placed 4th.
"Oh goody," I thought, "6 more weeks of breaking helicopters and flinging things at our as yet unbroken windows."

As I returned up the thronging aisles to find my happy team, the lady I had been sitting next to stopped me.
"Do you mind if I get your telephone number?" she asked, "Forgive me, but I feel like you have helped me so much in such a short time....well, would that be ok?"
"Of course," I said, giving her my number. As I returned to my kids, overflowing with joy at the very unexpected results, I was marveling not only at them and where their perseverance had brought them. But I was also thinking of the patient and exquisite engineering of God that had placed me with my little bit of something I do know about next to a woman who sorely needed to hear it. And I returned to the teams I had coached in something I knew nothing about, at least when we started 9 months ago, who were now clasping the shiny medals around their neck.

In the end, you never know how you will be used. Moses begged God not to use him to lead his people, as he spoke with halting speech. Jonah ran from God's direction to speak His words to Ninevah. Sarah laughed and secretly mocked God when told by angels she would birth the father of many nations in her advanced age. Yet in the end, Moses led his people out of slavery, Jonah preached to the Ninevites who miraculously repented and turned to God, and Sarah did indeed give birth to Isaac, who was the father of the entire Hebrew nations.  God can do anything....with anyone.  All He needs is a willing spirit. How often I need to be bonked over the head with that message!

It was fitting that as Asherel's helicopter was disappearing into the rafters, an entire arena full of people were looking to heaven.

Isaiah 6:8
Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I. Send me!”

Earthquakes of Consciousness

If all you have ever known is the sky above you and the earth beneathe, you begin to take it for granted. It has always been there. It always will be.  When something shakes you, some earthquake of consciousness, you begin to realize all that you have that is sometimes held by the tiniest of threads. And you realize how much that landscape of your life, that you have come to expect, and perhaps not notice, is something precious....and something that could be lost.

When I listened to the truant officer in Illinois during the hearing on Bill 136 who supported the bill requiring homeschoolers to register with the state ed department, I felt a small earthquake. This officer, who has the power to have our children seized from us, said that he welcomed the proposed Bill. It would give him the power, he claimed , to "help" the homeschoolers. He could then not just confront potential truants loitering on the streets day after day, but he could go to the homes of whomever he wished, and snoop around to see if they were properly educating their children.
His analysis of how to determine guilt- if they let him in their home. If they didn't welcome him, then they must be hiding something.

I pulled out the constitution, my little pocket book copy that sits by the computer. I called Asherel over and we read the preamble and then the first four amendments of the constitution that guides our government and limits its powers such that we are a nation of freedom. Then we watched the video of the truant officer claiming he should have the right, even obligation, to enter a law abiding citizen's home, guilty of no wrong doing and with no evidence of any wrong doing. His presumption of guilt? That would be determined by whether the homeowner willingly let him in to trample her 4th amendment rights. My 13 year old could see this was unconstitutional. Nonetheless, she didn't find the study as enthralling as I did.... and I realized freedom is all she has ever known. A state that respects the enumerated limits of its own power is what she has grown to expect, like waking to the sky above her and the ground beneath her. It is all I have ever known as well, but I am only a generation removed from the ancestors Hitler disposed of. I feel their cries of anguish in my soul.

I understand this bill is just tabled for now. It is not dead. A compromise is being sought. What I really want to know is did anyone grab that truant officer after the hearing. Did someone from the Public Education system pick up a constitution and open it to the 4th amendment and tell him he needed to memorize that section and pass a test on it before he returned to work? Were those committee members as appalled as I was by the ignorance of the constitutional rights that he,they, supposedly were entrusted to uphold? Did they not see where this bill was leading? Surely they were not so blind, or so ignorant. I can only assume they know what they are doing.

The enemies of freedom would never succeed if they came revealing the full extent of their plan. We are frogs being slowly boiled to death because the first warm drops don't seem to matter, creating just a hint of lethargy.

In the history of God's people as they entered and conquered foreign lands, they were told not to intermarry lest they be entrapped by the false gods of the foreign nations. Yet time after time, the people would slowly adopt the pagan practices little by little despite God's commands, and they would stumble into idolatry. God, in His merciful wrath, would create 'earthquakes of consciousness' to shake them out of their complacency and they would veer back, at least for a while, to His path.

I would write more, but I hear a knock on the door. It is a truant officer and he is pointing a finger at me, demanding proof that I taught my algebra lesson yesterday, and he wants to interview my child privately to be sure I didn't withhold Twinkies and milk. Since I did nothing wrong.... I don't have to worry.....right?

2 Kings 17:15-17

¹⁵ They rejected his decrees and the covenant he had made with their ancestors and the statutes he had warned them to keep. They followed worthless idols and themselves became worthless. They imitated the nations around them although the LORD had ordered them, “Do not do as they do.”
 ¹⁶ They forsook all the commands of the LORD their God and made for themselves two idols cast in the shape of calves, and an Asherah pole. They bowed down to all the starry hosts, and they worshiped Baal. ¹⁷ They sacrificed their sons and daughters in the fire. They practiced divination and sought omens and sold themselves to do evil in the eyes of the LORD, arousing his anger.

A Quiet Revolution

A quiet revolution has been going on in Illinois. A state senator proposed a bill that would require homeschoolers to register with the state education department.  Taken completely by surprise, Sen. Maloney was dumbfounded as 4,000 homeschoolers stood outside the committee room while the committee deliberated. The homeschoolers sang "America the Beautiful" in 4 part harmony....as though it had been rehearsed. 4,000 strangers lifting their voices in a common purpose and a common love of freedom, children, and the right to raise them without the state regulating how they do so.

I heard this morning that Senator Maloney has backed down, and will not attempt to bring the proposed bill to a vote.  Committee members seem confused. Folks there at the scene reported some committee members as saying, "Who would want to spend so much time with their children anyway?", and the bill was only meant to weed out the "sinister" element in homeschoolers.

I watched the video of the 4000 homeschoolers, moms, dads, and their kids all singing America. The guards stood by, watching. The committee members behind closed doors had to have heard. Did it occur to any of them that the government could never improve on the honest and respectful and beautiful citizenry being raised in the homeschool movement? If the song alone doesn't convince you, maybe all the studies and statistics on homeschooled students will. They outperform public and private schools on average in every area measured....including civic involvement.

The National Education Association wants to get rid of homeschoolers. At least we are equal in this respect. I want to get rid of the NEA.

I cried watching my fellow homeschoolers, united in love of their country,  and their children singing the anthem of freedom.

Isaiah 52:7-9

 ⁷ How beautiful on the mountains
   are the feet of those who bring good news,
who proclaim peace,
   who bring good tidings,
   who proclaim salvation,
who say to Zion,
   “Your God reigns!”
⁸ Listen! Your watchmen lift up their voices;
   together they shout for joy.
When the LORD returns to Zion,
   they will see it with their own eyes.
⁹ Burst into songs of joy together,
   you ruins of Jerusalem,
for the LORD has comforted his people,
   he has redeemed Jerusalem.