Standing in the Stream

I found a lifelong encouragment in a stream. I was wading in the hot shallow stream across the street from where we lived in Memphis, Tennessee when I spied a flashing golden keychain amidst the crayfish and pebbles. I loved wandering barefoot in the stream, though it was always spooky too. Tiny creatures always darted against my ankles, mostly crayfish and minnows, and tadpoles. But I never knew if the next creature might be some miniature hammerhead shark. You just never know. So I walked barefoot in the stream, mostly loving the feel of the water cascading and the smooth pebbles but with a sense of trepidation for the unknown.
And that is how I found one of the treasures of my life at age 8. It was shimmering among the smooth pebbles under the gurgling water, a gold keychain that I realized God had planted right there just for me. I picked it up reverently, knowing that at long last, after a long hard eight years of searching for the meaning of life, here it was. It was of course not real gold, but a beautiful gold color, and on one side were hands in prayer, and on the other side, 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

I clutched that little keychain to my heart, named her "Goldy" with that wildly creative knack at clever names that helped me come up with Friskey for my cat and Lady for my dog. Goldy stayed in my pocket for years, and when not in my pocket, reposed in my velvet lined Wilkinson Sword silver razor chest that my Dad had given me. I still have Goldy, over 40 years later. Every so often I open that little silver treasure chest and examine the collections from my childhood that still are so precious to me. A tea bag paper that has a verse on it promising me a long and happy life, a little heart shaped rock I colored red with a magic marker, an indian head penny, a silver dollar, and Goldy.

I am not sure that God ever did grant me that serenity prayer. I think I still may struggle to accept the unchangeable. I think I still rise only weakly to change the hard things I can. I am not sure I really yet know the difference. But it is possible that the lesson had less to do with the prayer on the keychain and more to do with how I found Goldy. Walking barefoot in the stream, like baring a soul to the flow of life, has dangers. There are all kinds of things that float by and knock into you, and some have teeth, and some can knock you down. But when you walk in the stream, sometimes the sun sparkles on a treasure in your path and you would have missed it standing safely on the shore.

Proverbs 2:3-5

³ and if you call out for insight
and cry aloud for understanding,

⁴ and if you look for it as for silver
and search for it as for hidden treasure,

⁵ then you will understand the fear of the LORD
and find the knowledge of God.

Skipping Stones

There are many things that when you really think about them are odd. Many activities we do and things we say that don't seem likely. Like skipping stones. Really, think about it. Who decided that it would be cool to see if heavy rocks could dance on water? And why? Presumably this first occurred when as a species we were beyond subsistence level existence. I remember in psychology 101, according to Maslow's hierarchy of needs that first hunger, thirst, and sleep must be met long before the need to skip stones. It is a frivolous activity at best and probably the result of an accidental discovery, like dynamite was. I think the likely scene unfolded thusly- a crocodile was after someone's child and the brave mother tossed a rock at it. The rock totally missed the crocodile but went skipping at the perfect angle all across the lake, felling a duck and the crocodile went after the already immobile and thus easier prey. A child was saved and a new leisure activity was born.

Then, there are those unlikely things we say, like my daughter's new favorite phrase, "Good grief!" It can be applied to any situation but often is a quicker way of saying, "This is the thousandth time you have told me that - what do you think I am... a 12 year old?"
But when you think deeply about those words, they make little sense. They are like "jumbo shrimp" or "amicable divorce", "boneless ribs", or my personal favorite, "elementary calculus".
What is so good about grief?

Personally, I find little to commend grief. The effects of prolonged grief are as devastating to our health as Dippin Dots at every meal, and a whole lot less fun. It takes more muscles to frown than to smile, thus the physical exertion involved in grief can exhaust the hardiest of souls. The only real good I can see in grief is that it rhymes with "leaf" which is useful for poets.

Yet everyone will at some time in their life, likely experience grief. Some will wallow in it, and some will drown in it. Some lucky few only dabble in it but even for those brief excursions into grief, I doubt they are shouting about how good it is.

Yet oddly, there is a good side to the aftermath of grief. No one holds a hand more warmly than someone who has grieved similarly. And no comfort is so encouraging as from someone who has been in the same abyss and crawled out whole on the other side. So maybe the good in grief is since it is inevitable, it is not without purpose if we can follow its trajectory to the other side, like a skipping stone, where someone is waiting for a message of hope.

Reading Ahead

As you know there are only two things that are difficult for a homeschool mom. The first is starting the school day and the second is the rest of the school day. Besides that, life is a breeze. As we enter the higher grades, I can no longer hand my daughter a book and say, "See you in a year for the test!". Now I actually have to learn the material because occasionally she needs assistance.

I almost didn't make it through Algebra, and when we slogged through quadratic equations, I thought I may have reached the end of my capabilities. I know there will come a time in our math career when I will need to barter someone's math expertise for my art expertise. I will teach how to draw a triangle if someone else will teach how to prove that the square of its adjoining legs are equal to the square of the hypotenuse.

But this year we entered Geometry. As you all know because I remind you often of my humility, I do not like to brag, unless of course someone is listening. And while math is not my thing, I did get a perfect grade in Geometry. I believe this is because Geometry involves drawing things. So we entered Geometry happily, glad to close the door on Alg. 1 that was running over into Alg. 2 which did not bring tears of joy to my eyes.

And for the first few chapters all was going well. We were bisecting lines, drawing triangles with compasses, and trying to remember which is the protractor and which is the compass. Then yesterday, I was very busy and told Asherel to do her math on her own. She had been getting all her problems right and seemed to have the same knack for Geometry that I had when I was young(er). Then out of nowhere, I hear weeping and gnashing of teeth, and sackcloth and ashes being pulled out of the Old Testament.

"I don't get this!!!!" I hear, the words that send every excellent home school parent like me into the closet til the father gets home.
This is Geometry? What is not to get? It is basic shapes that occasionally you bisect, as I recall from 40 years ago.
I look at the problem giving her pause. It is a proof, of at least 20 steps, and I don't understand even step one.
So I use the tactic that often works, "Did you read the introduction page?"
She nods.
So I read the introduction page with growing horror. There are all kinds of words that don't even appear to be English. And so many if/then propositions that our tongues are in a tight double knot.
The burgers burn as I sit down and try to decipher. In agony I realize I will need to start hunting our math expert. And then I look at the page number.
"Asherel, this is not where we are. We are a hundred pages back."
"We are?" she asks.
We are. We still have a hundred pages before we reach that indecipherable proof and who knows where I will be in a hundred pages? I could be a famous author by then who will hire a math tutor.
"Asherel," I tell her with wisdom dripping slowly like molasses from my tongue,"This is an important lesson in life. Never read ahead. The page for today has enough troubles of its own."

Matthew 6:34
Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

LAST DAY TO VOTE FOR HONEYBUN!!!!!!!!!

> 1. Click on this link:
> http://www.petco.com/content/storiesListheartChampion.aspx?bvcategoryid=1-9
> 2. In upperish right side, select "sort by OLDEST STORIES FIRST"
> 3. Scroll down to bottom and select page "5".
> 4. Scroll down to bottom and select page "6".
> 5. Honeybun is the second story (picture: doge sleeping on pillow,
> covered with a blanket. title: A Last Chance Dog.
> 6. Click on "Read my story and vote"
> 7. Click on the 5th (rightmost) gold medal (it will say "5 stars" when
> you hover over it.)
> 8. On the Righthand side of the page enter your/an email address and
> click the continue button.
> 9. You will be returned to Honeybun's story page.
> 10. Close your BROWSER program (not just the window).
> 11. Repeat steps 1-10.

Guarding Hearts

A lot of people hate Canada Geese, consider them a green pooped nuisance... but I love them. I love them despite the fact that a nesting mother goose once attacked me, and then chased me for a mile across a field, dive bombing and beating me with her wings. I understand that "mother" mentality, so while it wasn't fun, I empathized with her.

I love how at least one goose is always standing guard, always on the alert for any danger to his group. He doesn't eat or look down, but like radar, swivels his head at all sound and alerts the gaggle if anything looks amiss. I love how he puts the needs of the gaggle (can you tell i just love that word!) above his own needs.

Yesterday, I was in a flurry. Matt is coming home for Spring break and we have our big DI competition in 2 weeks, my living room is a huge puppet set at the moment, and I am in the midst of financial aid forms, forms for DI, forms for our spring trip, hotel reservations, doctor appointments.... and more. We have 5 trips over the next 8 weeks. I was feeling frazzled, but it didn't matter. Art class was due any minute.

"Sometimes I wonder why I teach this class," I complained to Asherel, "I just don't have the time with homeschooling and all the other things we are doing!"

With this admirable attitude, I opened the door to my little art group. They set busily and happily to work, when one straggler came in- quiet, late, subdued. She is normally cheerful and talks a mile a minute. She had not brought a picture to draw from. So I gave her my pile of photos that I save for just that, and she quietly leafed through them. She chose a beautiful peaceful scene and told me this reminded her of Texas and so she would draw this one. I gave her some instructions and was about to scurry on to the next child amidst the controlled mayhem of the chattering class, when she asked if she could tell me why she chose that picture.

"It reminds me of Texas, when my dad was alive. 4 years ago he passed away, and today is his birthday," she said, "I want to do it as a memorial for him."

The class was silent. What do you say to that?
I put my arm around her shoulder and told her I knew that it must be a very hard day for her, and I would help her make it a lovely picture to honor her dad.

And then I felt like scum of the earth for all my kvetching about how I was too busy to run my art classes. I think we are all called upon to be "guard geese" at times, looking beyond ourselves to the needs of the gaggle. And sometimes it can be in the form of something as mundane as an art class.

Isaiah 58:8
Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard.

Psalm 25:20
Guard my life and rescue me; let me not be put to shame, for I take refuge in you.

Dangerous Activities

Unfortunately, Asherel is insisting we snowboard, so I am still looking for dates to do so, but in the meantime, I have developed a new malady from the even more death-defying activity....Canis Ambulavi - dog walking. Walking one dog is dangerous enough, but walking two dogs is something a beginner should never attempt without lessons, helmets, and pads.

Dog walking requires skills that tap every aspect of an athlete's physical prowess. Concentration and mental acuity must be intense, as at any moment hazards such as squirrels may cross in front of the athlete. The athlete must prepare for the inevitable sudden bone snapping lunge of the leash. Ear plugs are an absolute must in this sport as the decibel level of the eruption of barking has been known to topple skyscrapers.

It is highly advised that the athlete engage in rigorous weight training as the stress to the joints can be extreme. While the well documented effects of "squirrel passing" has been noted, this is not nearly as exhilarating as the "dog passing nearby" challenge. In this challenge of the sport, dogs seen in the distance while engaging in Canis Ambulavi can invoke the g-forces equal to astronauts leaving earth's orbit as the dog snaps forward. There have been reported cases of arms being completely detached from the body in these instances.

Some of the constant athletic requirements implicit in this sport include, but are not limited to: dexterity in untangling leashes from legs and paws, regaining balance as dog trods on heel and trips athlete sometimes purposefully (fouls are rarely called), and sudden unexpected stops as the dog has an uncontrollable urge to pee every 20 feet or so. There is considerable discussion currently of making dog-walking an Olympic Sport, to be sharing broadcast time with Curling.

So, anyway, the malady I have developed which is not uncommon with athletes of my caliber in this demanding sport is "anconagra". This is latin for "pain in the elbow" and the term in the vernacular is "dog-walker's elbow." I am now eager to try my hand at snowboarding, as Canis Ambulari seems to be fraught with too much danger and likelihood of injury.

Ecclesiastes 12:5
when men are afraid of heights and of dangers in the streets...

Forsooth! The Forsythia!

I tried to find the derivation of "Forsooth! The Forsythia!" because my mom used to say that every spring every time we saw the first Forsythia bloom. However, while many sites can be found that proclaim "Forsooth! The Forsythia!" , none of them tell me where it came from. I was certain it was a poem my Mom was quoting. Maybe it is just a phrase that springs from the universal consciousness of reverence when fragile blossoms dare brave the frost and snow. Any old flower can bloom in the hazy lazy days of summer when bees are pollinating and gentle sunbeams are caressing fragrant gossamer-thin petals. It takes a hardy and bodacious spirit to unfurl in yellow cascading nakedness to the bitter grey of a world not yet awakened to the promise of rebirth.

I saw the first daring daffodil this week, and know the forsythia are not far behind, though there is snow in the forecast today! I had not known how completely I was storing up the wisdom and spirit of my mom until I drew my picture of the soon to burst forth forsythia. I can't wait to take my daughter to the wild splaying burst of blossoming sunrays and with great sagacity, tell her, "Forsooth! The Forsythia!"

I suspect she will crinkle her forehead and maybe smile, but she won't quite understand. I think you have to have a certain number of hard won wrinkles and aching bones to understand the courage and beauty and divine spark that those blossoms in the snow represent. But it will be my legacy to her, like it was my mother's to me, to never trim those wildly free branches that wave golden banners heralding hope and to shout our welcome.

Song of Solomon 2:12
Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land

Climbing Mountains

One of my favorite movies is The Sound of Music. When I was a little girl, I always pretended to be Julie Andrews and went on long walks and long bike rides singing songs from that musical. When I was in need of encouragement, I sang Climb Every Mountain. I had to either scare away all little creatures with the impossibly high "till you find your dream!" concluding notes, or drop it an octave. If I was high on a deserted mountain top, I would shriek it out and the poor daisies in the field would close their petals.

I had a favorite mountain to climb in Binghamton, NY. We lived in the foothills of the Adirondacks. The mountain was across the street from our neighborhood, covered with forests and open fields, and it was huge. It rivaled Mt. Everest. I would often pack a lunch and head for the hills, singing under my breath until I hit the deserted slope, and then I would belt out, "Climb every mountain, search high and low, follow every by-way, every path you know...." while puffing up the steep scale, huffing to the distant peak. In the back of my mind, I knew that had I not packed lunch, surely I would have died on that precipice, my last ounce of strength exerted to reach the summit. Besides singing at the top of my lungs, I would contemplate life, and goals, and heartbreak. But I would soldier on, determined, fortified by the message of the song, and when I reached the peak, I would gaze out for hundreds of miles across a land studded with possibilities and dreams. I had conquered the mountain and thought perhaps I would be able to summon the strength now for ninth grade.

As an adult, I return often to visit my folks in Binghamton, NY. The "mountain" is covered with houses now. No open fields or forests of hope remain. And someone also shrunk the mountain. I don't know how they did it, but it is now just a bump, a small hill. I still shake my head every time I see it. What happened to the mountain?

I suspect that is similar to how I will feel someday, standing in Heaven, looking back over the eternity of my life that lasted but a moment. I think I will be smiling, probably with my old cat Friskey on my lap, and I will wonder where did all those unscalable mountains go?

Genesis 49:26
Your father's blessings are greater than the blessings of the ancient mountains, than the bounty of the age-old hills.