Precipice

Standing on the Precipice
I teeter
My head floating up
I catch my footing
As red pebbles slip
Sailing down, down
Like a dream
To the bottom
From which I climbed

I feel drawn into the canyon
My body dizzy and weak
I want to relax and fall
With the pebbles
It’s easier than pulling away
Fighting the cold zing of wind
Drying the sweat on my spine
And calling me below

Hair whipping my face
I look up to see streams of light
Piercing clouds heavy with liquid
Grey and blue against an orange sky
It’s been a long day climbing since dawn

I breathe cold air into my lungs
Muscles aching, I could not have climbed anymore
Could not fight the rocky canyon
I look horrified at the depths from which I came

Suddenly, a steady wind blows up
A warm breath washing over me
Sustaining wind
I know I will not fall.

Mommy Marketing

Mommy Marketing

We are strong proponents of Mommy Marketing in our home. My kids need a “master of the obvious” to state the wonderful truths of mom’s virtues on a regular basis. When they ask for juice and I give it to them, I like to say every once in a while, “There you go, here’s your juice. Don’t you have the most wonderful Mommy in the world? She must really love you to give you that juice!” This probably fits within the need for parents to help kids draw the categories of their world.

As an adult, we feel like only unsolicited compliments matter; that if we fish for them, we have somehow nullified their validity. But my kids, and I suspect many kids, weren’t born knowing how to share their love verbally with others. In fact, sometimes I think that developmental stage where babies do not distinguish between themselves and their mother lingers on long into childhood. Mom has always been there and it is impossible to imagine life without her. She always gets my juice, reminds me to pick up my toys, gives me a bath, etc. So, expecting gratitude without pointing out the fact that mom exists is unrealistic.

So, we market mommy around here, hoping to teach our kids how to feel and show gratitude, love and appreciation, not to mention boosting Mom’s mood which seems to help the rest of the family tremendously!

Sustainable

Sustainable, a word reclamation

The word reclamation here is “Sustainable.” Like many popular words, you can hear this word sprinkled around the meeting table, rolling off silk ties swung around starched shirts. The project needs to be sustainable. Is it sustainable? How do we make it sustainable?

Buzz words generate excitement, but users of them don’t always have a crisp understanding of what they mean. Take the word sustainable. It may sound wise to talk about sustainability. It may be convenient to label a new idea unsustainable if we don’t like it. But let’s think through this idea of sustainability and what it means.

The American Heritage Dictionary defines sustain as:

sus·tain
tr.v. sus·tained, sus·tain·ing, sus·tains
1. To keep in existence; maintain.
2. To supply with necessities or nourishment; provide for.
3. To support from below; keep from falling or sinking; prop.
4. To support the spirits, vitality, or resolution of; encourage.
5. To bear up under; withstand: can't sustain the blistering heat.
6. To experience or suffer: sustained a fatal injury.
7. To affirm the validity of: The judge has sustained the prosecutor's objection.
8. To prove or corroborate; confirm.
9. To keep up (a joke or assumed role, for example) competently. [Middle English sustenen, from Old French sustenir, from Latin sustinēre : sub-, from below; see sub- + tenēre, to hold; see ten- in Indo-European roots.] sus·tain'a·bil'i·ty n., sus·tain'a·ble adj., sus·tain'er n., sus·tain'ment n.

Most of the time when we use the word sustainable, we actually mean self-sustainable, our goal being to make sure there is a plan for X Project to continue on long term without the support or intervention of the creator. We use it to answer in the affirmative the question, “When I am gone, will this continue on?” But the word in itself means to maintain, nourish, and support something. Wanting something to be self-sustainable is wanting it to maintain, nourish and support itself. I wonder, how many things in our world can nourish themselves? We live in families and communities because we need each other. Sustaining something is part of our nature. So why is independence the measure of success? I wonder if it would be better to think in terms of healthy interdependence rather than independence.

But there is wisdom in planning for the future. The desire to have something go on beyond our direct influence is good and healthy when it is within Gods will and direction. But if we determine our success solely by how long something survives, it may be echoing our desire for legacy and the ability to live on despite our finiteness. These desires cannot be met in our work, but only through the infinite God who supplies our legacy through our obedience to Him. When we find these personal needs met, we are freed to see clearly enough to let go of projects that may have outlived their usefulness.

The common sentiment when we talk about sustainability is to ask, “Can man sustain whatever project we are talking about?” And “Can we train, organize, and manage the endeavor in order to turn over responsibility to someone who can sustain it after we are no longer working on it?” The reality is, nothing is sustainable outside of God. Man is finite and anything that begins and ends with man is temporal. It may be helpful to talk in terms of degrees of sustainability asking, “How finite is my project?” or “How long of an existence would be considered success in this endeavor?”

To look to sustainability as the ultimate measure of success for something is probably not wisdom. If we did, we may forgo efforts that God would have us try. To feed a hungry person is not sustainable, but it does show God’s love. Jesus encouraged us to help the poor, and to build our legacy in Heaven (Luke 12:33). Helping the widow and the fatherless does not restore their family, but it does bring our Lord glory when it’s in obedience to Him. We need to be careful not to put aside projects God would have us do because we don’t see them as sustainable.

Many times a buzzword pops up to answer a void that exists. Perhaps we didn’t think enough about sustainability in the past and now in the excitement of a new and helpful concept, we have swung to use it too heavily when measuring success and judging effectiveness. We need to find a balance between sustainable and self-sustainable, and evaluate the motives behind our value for sustainability by looking to God for His direction in all our endeavors.

Verses to Ponder
Isaiah 44:6 (New International Version)
6 "This is what the LORD says— Israel's King and Redeemer, the LORD Almighty: I am the first and I am the last; apart from me there is no God.

Psalm 55:22 (New International Version)
22 Cast your cares on the LORD and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous fall.

Psalm 146:9 (New International Version)
9 The LORD watches over the alien and sustains the fatherless and the widow, but he frustrates the ways of the wicked.

John 12:8 (New International Version)
8You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me."

James 1:27 (New International Version)
27Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.

Nehemiah 13:14
14 Remember me for this, O my God, and do not blot out what I have so faithfully done for the house of my God and its services.

Psalm 103:14 (New International Version)
14 for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust.

Psalm 112:6 (New International Version)
6 Surely he will never be shaken; a righteous man will be remembered forever.

Ecclesiastes 1:11 (New International Version)
11 There is no remembrance of men of old, and even those who are yet to come will not be remembered by those who follow.

Mark 14:7 (New International Version)
7The poor you will always have with you, and you can help them any time you want. But you will not always have me.

Luke 12:33 (New International Version)
33Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will not be exhausted, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys.

Sources
Biblegateway.com
Dictionary.com
Etymonline.com

American Heritage Dictionary - Cite This Source - Share This
sus·tain (sə-stān') Pronunciation Key tr.v. sus·tained, sus·tain·ing, sus·tains
10. To keep in existence; maintain.
11. To supply with necessities or nourishment; provide for.
12. To support from below; keep from falling or sinking; prop.
13. To support the spirits, vitality, or resolution of; encourage.
14. To bear up under; withstand: can't sustain the blistering heat.
15. To experience or suffer: sustained a fatal injury.
16. To affirm the validity of: The judge has sustained the prosecutor's objection.
17. To prove or corroborate; confirm.
18. To keep up (a joke or assumed role, for example) competently. [Middle English sustenen, from Old French sustenir, from Latin sustinēre : sub-, from below; see sub- + tenēre, to hold; see ten- in Indo-European roots.] sus·tain'a·bil'i·ty n., sus·tain'a·ble adj., sus·tain'er n., sus·tain'ment n.
(Download Now or Buy the Book)
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth EditionCopyright © 2006 by Houghton Mifflin Company.Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.

Etymology, http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=sustain
sustain
c.1290, from O.Fr. sustenir "hold up, endure," from L. sustinere "hold up, support, endure," from sub "up from below" + tenere "to hold" (see tenet). Sustainable growth is recorded from 1965.

Refracted Messages

Refracted Messages

When I was a kid, I was fascinated with prisms. I’d look for prisms in everyday life; a beveled glass window, a drinking glass, a shard from a lamp shade, or a raindrop on a flower petal. I loved to create a circular rainbow while watering the tomato plants with the garden hose. My prized possession was a prism I bought at the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago with my allowance.

Sixth grade science tells us that white light is made up of many colors that can be broken apart using any sort of prism. When the light is bent, our eye receives only part of the truth within the light. What comes to our eye is, in fact, truth, but it’s only a part of the whole.

In communication, a refracted beam of light can represent a message that has been bent. This can be through sarcasm, humor, sending it through another person, phrasing a command in the form of a question, and the list goes on and on. Humans are experts at refracting their messages because they’re smart and clever and extremely adept at reducing pain. Why pain? Because truth hurts. It’s more pleasant to look at a rainbow than to look straight into the intense white light of an unbroken message. It is painful to hear what someone really thinks about you. But refracting a message also makes it difficult on the receiver whose interpretation of the message can be way off. In addition, it is difficult to respond to a refracted message. This means that progress on a difficult issue is nearly impossible.

Suppose my young daughter comes down the stairs Sunday morning wearing 5 clashing colors. I want to teach her how to coordinate colors and save her from certain teasing, but I don't want to hurt her feelings. So, I exclaim, “You look like a rainbow jello!” My daughter likes rainbow jello and so feels like this may be a compliment. However, she picks up on the tone of the comment and wonders at the incongruity, “Does this mean I look pretty like the rainbow jello or does it mean I look silly and should change my clothes?” In the end, the result of the wrong interpretation of the refracted message can be more painful than the "straight truth" that says, "Your clothes don't match," as the child has no way of responding or confirming whether what they interpreted is even close to the intended message.

We learn to refract our messages so early on that we do it almost without thinking. We even call it “tact.” To counter the effects, then, it takes a lot love and extra effort to keep communication clear and open. The child needs to learn how to say, “Mommy, does that mean you like my clothes?” instead of assuming she understands and either becomes concerned about picking out her own clothes or thinks that clashing colors are part of an acceptable wardrobe. When the messages come as sarcasm or humor, strategies at responding to them become a little trickier. But having tools to respond is an important life-skill to learn.

NOTE: I personally think the rainbow jello look is cute!

Yuck, Yuck, Yuck

Yuck Yuck Yuck

A couple weeks ago, I went in to get the little one out of the crib after naptime, and instead of her usual smile and squeal of excitement at my arrival, I got an outstretched hand, a crinkled nose and a clear, “Yuck!” From the smell in the room, I knew she had a problem during naptime, and even though we cleaned it up with surprisingly little effort, she was still horrified. The entire rest of the afternoon, everything was “Yuck!” From truly disgusting things like poop in the yard, to a benign scrap of paper on the floor, she exclaimed with the same intonation, “Yuck!”

I began to have visions of her growing up to be obsessed with clean, everything in rows and perfectly organized, not being able to tolerate the everyday imperfections of our world. I decided, “We need to draw this ‘Yuck’ category very tightly.” However, in spite of my concerted efforts to downplay her exclamations, explaining that, no, that wasn’t yuck, it was just this or that, she would have none of it. She had decided what yuck was, enjoyed the drama of it, and continued her word-play with disgusted pleasure.

I think redrawing this category is going to take quite a bit of time, effort and patience.

For more on drawing categories for kids, see http://ourwordshop.blogspot.com/2007/10/line-drawings-drawing-categories-for.html

Line Drawings

Line Drawings; Drawing Categories for Kids

One of the most important things we provide for the kids in our lives are line drawings superimposed on the paintings of their lives. We accentuate the picture of their world with dark ink, pointing out the important things to us personally, and to the culture the child has been born into.

When they are born, a child’s little brain receives stimuli and messages that they are just beginning to learn to process. Through trial and error, they learn to make sense of the world by interacting with their environment and with the people around them.

It’s amazing to watch and participate in. The child in the stroller watches the world go by and observes with wide open eyes and ears. She sees a neighbor wave at Mom. Mom waves back. Then she sees a great palm tree hand waving in the wind. She lifts her little hand and waves. But Mom doesn’t wave. “That’s a tree,” she says. “The tree branch looks like it’s waving at us in the wind.”

The child learns that we wave at people, but we don’t wave at trees. Mom is accentuating the world her child sees with values and customs. The child is learning what is important. As good realists, we believe the world itself hasn’t changed, but how the child interacts with it and sees it has changed.

When my first was born, I had no idea how her personality was going to change my world. A shy person by nature, I prefer to blend into the walls, but when my little one got around people, she began to shine. Heads turned, the barametric pressure of the room actually changed, and there was no hiding at a party.

At first I used to shush and hush her…bring extra toys to try to keep her quiet and settled. Over time it was a useless exercise. She was who she was, and I began to think to myself, “Why do I think it’s better to be quiet and unobtrusive in public? There is absolutely nothing wrong with letting her be the little extrovert that she is!” I began to separate my idea of politeness from the personality traits of quietness and shyness. My hope is that I have been teaching her politeness without squelching her personality.

Most of the line drawings we create for our kids are just an outpouring of our internal values and culture. They are almost invisible to us. But it’s worth thinking about and evaluating the categories (line drawings) we draw for them as we notice them because it could be an opportunity for personal growth. It also may help us identify the values we really want to teach and make us more proactive in the process of showing and teaching kids about what is really important to us.

Mourning the Morning

Mourning the Morning

What joy the dawn brings. A new day is born in hues of pink that remind us of a newborn’s cheeks. But with each celebration of morning, there is the mourning of a death. It is so core to our experience that most people don’t even notice this loss, but today’s morning mist marks the death of yesterday. We are surrounded by the casualties of time. Day after day dies at the hand of the invisible marching clock, our memories reminding us of our losses. Many of us do not realize how we grieve these losses, but the fact that most of us struggle with change indicates that we do feel the effects of time.

Each new phase in life means that the old phase has to die. We have parties, give gifts, and have ceremonies as ways of celebrating the new and letting go of the old. We work hard at remembering the lost yesterdays. Photos, bits of paper printed with dates and places line our scrapbooks. Our past is our present and our future. Yesterdays make us who we are today and affect who we become tomorrow.

But then what if yesterday was not gone forever? What if we never lost it at all? What would God’s scrapbook be like? Perfectly preserved, could we pull it down and read it again and again, experiencing our lives in crystal clear memory? We could study it, gaining understanding into the why’s and how’s we could never see while knee deep in living. We could smile at our memories, and remember the hard times, but now instead of “through a glass darkly,” we could finally see the purpose behind the trial or loss.

Just a wondering that makes me long for heaven.

Dancing in the Garden

Dancing in the Garden

Grandmother put down the Bible, took off her glasses and rubbed her deep blue eyes. “What a tragic day that must have been for them, having to move out of the garden.” She sighed and hugged the little girl in her lap. “But I guess none of us could have done any better in the same situation, could we?”

The little girl looked up, “If I were in the garden, I wouldn’t have eaten that apple Grandma, I promise.”

Grandma said, “Yeah, maybe so, but you would have done some fence-dancing, believe me.”

“What’s fence dancing?” The girl asked, getting down from the lap and sitting on the floor looking up. Grandmother grinned and settled into her chair. The girl smiled knowing she was going to get another story before bed.

“Let me tell you a story,” she began. “A long time ago, almost before there was time,” She winked, “a little girl very much like you said exactly the same thing. Only instead of hearing a story from her crazy old grandmother, a wonderful and frightening thing happened.”

The girl’s eyes did not blink. You could see the whites of her eyes in the night.

“Now I’ve got you!” Grandma thought, and continued.

“This girl lived in a small town. There wasn’t much to do really; compared to the towns we live in today. No movies, no McDonald’s. Parks consisted of trees, and streams and fields of grass. Kids had to make up their own things to do. And this little girl was particularly good at making up things to do. Mostly, she made up stories in her head and acted them out. She could be so many people and go so many places in her mind that she would live in her imaginary worlds for hours. She imagined she was a princess picking roses for a banquet she was giving. Sometimes she was a great scientist trying to discover a cure for a terrible disease that threatened the lives of the entire town. Her favorite was when she was an animal doctor, fixing the broken legs of horses and watching baby kittens be born.

Outside the town was a gardener living in a lovely singing cottage. The girl called it the singing cottage because so many birds perched there that it seemed as if the cottage itself was chirping and peeping, and singing. Around his home was a beautiful garden with flowers, vegetables and fruit trees.

When the girl first discovered the garden, she sneaked in to play her games because the closer she was to the garden, the more real her stories became. She came back day after day until one day she met the gardener face to face. She was playing with a stick, sword fighting with an imaginary enemy when he walked up and smiled at her with the most peculiar grin.

“Not trying to hurt my friend there, I trust,” he said.

The girl smiled at his laughing eyes. He turned toward the imaginary swordsman, took off his muddy hat and bowed. She liked him immediately. His eyes were a potpourri of green—the colors of the leaves, grass and flower petals mixing together and reflecting back at her.

“I’m sorry to trespass," the girl said. "But your garden seems to make things alive. I like playing here.”

The Gardener turned away and walked a few steps, twirling his cap in his hands as if in thought. “You may play in my garden. It is a wonderful place to pretend and to grow,” He said decisively. “But there is one very important rule you must follow. If it is broken, you cannot play in the garden any more.”

“What is it?” the girl asked. And he told her the story of the Great Garden of long ago.

"I've heard that story before," the girl said, "I would never do that."

The Gardener took her hand, and together they walked over to a single tree in the center of a perfectly circular fence. “What is the fence for?” she asked, “You have a fence around the whole garden. Why do you need another one around this tree? Certainly it is safe from anything that would harm it.”

The Gardener said, “It is not to protect the tree, but to protect you and me. Tradition says that the Great Garden was at or near this spot, and that seeds from the Original Tree fell here and planted themselves in the ground. All the other trees of this kind have died, but this tree remains alive. It’s too dangerous to even go near the tree because the temptation is too great. You can play in the whole garden, but you may not go inside the fence.”

The little girl agreed to stay away from the tree, even as she noticed that it was the most beautiful tree in the garden. Every tree wore springtime flowers, but the colors of the fenced tree splashed the brightest shades of pink and yellow and purple against the blue of the sky.

At first she played as far from the tree as she could, but the colors drew her closer to the fence each day. She longed to feel a petal against her face. Was it as soft as velvet? Which sweet smell in the wind was coming from those flowers? As the air warmed day after day, the flowers turned to fruit and the branches weighed heavy toward the fence. She thought, “Oh, how I wish there wasn’t that rule!”

Every day, she played her games closer and closer to the tree. Then, the tree became the main character in her imaginative dramas. One day, she was the princess performing a dance for the kingdom. The first time she performed the dance, all the subjects loved the dance, but not everyone could see her. So, she decided to dance on the fence that stood around the tree. The dance was beautiful; the music soared; she jumped, turned and ended the dance with a beautiful pose. The whole kingdom cheered, and she bowed, but when she did, she lost her balance and began to wobble. She leaned forward, pulled back, then sideways. She was about to fall when she reached out and grabbed one of the heavy branches to steady her from falling.

As several pieces of fruit fell to the ground and the girl’s body made a sick thud on the ground, the Gardener walked up, His shoulders lowered and his head drooped. “I thought this might happen.”

He came over to the fence and leaned on it. He patted it several times “Fences. Rules. When they’re around, we feel trapped. But it is when we have them that we are actually free."

She got up slowly and walked over to the Gardener and looked into his sad green eyes. She ducked under the fence and stood next to him looking down. She felt the wood of the fence on her fingertips.

“It’s like this for everyone. We start out being afraid of what we can’t do, but as we get used to it, it becomes less scary. Our hearts stop pounding and it doesn’t seem so bad anymore. Then we get closer, until one day, we either give in, like I did; or we trip up like you and fall into the trap. It’s always better to play away from the fence because one day, we’ll want to dance on it.”

“You see, sometimes we figure out how to obey a rule, but we inch as close as possible to the deed. We find a loophole. We stretch the rule as far as we can without breaking it, but we break God’s heart in the process. What God wants is our heart obedience. He wants us to obey Him because we love Him.”

Tears dripped silently off the end of the girl’s nose. “I guess I have to say goodbye to you and the Garden,” she cried, trying not to sound like a baby. “I am so sorry.”

“You will have to say goodbye to the Garden,” he said gently, “But you will not have to say goodbye to me,” He tucked her under his arm, “You come to the garden fence whenever you want, and I will come out to meet you. I love you, little one.”

“Did the little girl ever get to go back into the Garden?” the girl said through a yawn.

“Well, that’s a story for another time, but I will tell you this. She came back every day to meet the Gardener at the fence, and they remained great friends. I could tell you about all the mysteries he told her or about the imaginary stories she shared with him, but I think that’s enough for tonight,” Grandma hugged the girl who had already fallen asleep.

Letting Go

I wrote this last year when my first went to Kindergarten. It's been a year of adjustment, and though painful, there has been a lot of growth--and joy. I thought I'd put it up since I didn't have a blog at the time.

Letting Go

As I watch the waves crash in and swish out across the sand, I notice how the things I’m learning seem to do the same in my life. A theme will come in to the front of my life and then ebb out only to come back again.

Recently that theme has been letting go. I feel like permission to hold onto anything has been stripped away and I am left trying to hold my hand open, relaxing the muscles, wishing I could close it tight.

Two ice blue eyes bounced up and down near my waist, excited to start this new adventure of school. To me it was our last walk together as my baby. We had been walking together for nearly six years…I as the mom and she as the baby. It was hard for me to let her go grow up.

It’s hard to write about, trite as it is. I expected some tears, but the gush that came after I was out of eyeshot of the school was as surprising as the tsunami. The wave just came up and swallowed me.

There are probably many reasons. For one, the deafening quiet my firstborn left in her wake constantly reminded me of the change. There is hardly any way I could fill up the silence and lack of constant conversation.

The other is that it was a change in our team. It had been me and her together for so long. During good and hard times, she was my constant companion. When my husband would leave on long trips, she joined me in the night. “I’ll always be with you when you have hard times,” she would say. Her presence was a comfort.

Sharing. How hard I had worked on that concept with her, but had failed to see I was reluctant to share her with others. Always her passion was to be out there, finding new friends. The world is full of opportunities.

Also, I enjoyed our relationship where we could understand each other. Our experiences were so much the same, that we understood each other completely. She was convinced that I could read her mind, and many times she did the same for me. It was a common vocabulary with parallel connotations. I knew that was going to begin to change.

Change. I’ve never been good with it. It ties my stomach all in knots. I get headaches. I cry. It hurts to change. It’s a grieving process, even when the change is a good one, a happy one. I wish I could see it differently, but life is a series of births and deaths. Not just people, but phases in life. Constant death is in my life. The intense, painful, constant change of life.

An old oak

An old oak

An old oak stands in the forest.
He can see above the trees,
Looking out over the world
Through a hundred years
Of wind and clouds and birds.

A young flower kneels at his root.
She sees the sky through a canopy of knitted branches.
Her translucent petals flutter
as green light filters through the leaves.
Her life is short, fleeting;
Like a smile crossing a face at a distant memory.

The two make a natural pair.
Strength and beauty living in the harmony
of a thousand rustling leaves;
The sound rushing like a running brook.

The oak doesn’t need the flower, but he enjoys her delicate beauty.
He likes to think that some of the joy she brings comes from the protection and nourishment his roots and canopy supply.
He knows her life is fleeting.
He has supported many flowers in his long life in the forest.
Seeing many friends come and pass,
He knows the joy of life is worth the pain of loss.

The flower needs the oak.
His dark, tall strength lending her the protection she needs to bloom.
But there is no shame in her need.
Her delicate beauty enriches the life of the old, knobby oak
And in the blending
They find joy.

By Mindy Hirst

Baby Critical Realist

in process...

Baby Relativist

in process...

Baby Idealist

The baby idealist says, "The duck is wet. I feel the duck is wet. My mind tells me it is wet; I feel it, and what I feel is real."

Pondering: How does the baby begin to think that the duck is wet? Is it because there is a physical sensation associated with the word “wet” that her mother keeps uttering at the side of the tub?

See…
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Idealist

…epistemological idealism (also known as the "way of ideas"), asserts that minds are aware of or perceive only their own ideas, and not external objects.

http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?search=idealist&searchmode=none
ideal

Baby Pragmatist

The baby pragmatist says, “The duck is wet. I pick it up and drop it back down into the water and it splashes. Mom says, ‘Did you get wet?’ I look at mom and hold it up to her. She says ‘The ducky is wet.’ I hold up another toy and say, ‘wet.’ She nods her head. My testing says that it’s wet.”

Baby Realist

In process...

Rubber Duck Philosophy

As we walk through the process of writing this book on epistemology (the study of knowledge and the nature of truth), I've been trying to apply the principles and concepts of philosophy to the very basics of life.

I found myself at the side of the tub with a very wet child and a rubber duck bobbing in the water. It made me wonder how the different philosophers would think about the statement, "The duck is wet."

The duck knew this was coming, as my youngest last week dropped it in the toilet and he escaped, being flushed away to sea (at least we hope he makes it eventually).

Permissive

Word Reclamation: Permissive

Permission Parenting

The current word reclamation, and then subsequent renaming will be “permissive parenting” to “permission parenting.”

In the extreme of the popular meaning of the word “permissive,” the parent allows their child to have whatever they want, whenever they want it. This may be for a myriad of reasons. Maybe the parent is afraid, indifferent, or indecisive. It may be that the parent thinks that giving the child everything they want will make them happy. The parent may care too much about what other people think, and therefore makes decisions based on that.

Sometimes the description is used to describe discipline tools used by the parent. Time outs or natural consequences being used by more “permissive” parents, while more painful methods used by parents who use more “strict” methods.

But when you put aside the popular concept of the word permissive and consider the definition, it would be difficult to imagine a loving parent not wanting to fit into this definition. Let’s take a look.

The American Heritage Dictionary of the English language defines permissive as:

per·mis·sive
play_w("P0201500")
(p r-m s v)
adj.
1. Granting or inclined to grant permission; tolerant or lenient.
2. Permitting discretion; optional.
3. Archaic Not forbidden; permitted.
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition copyright ©2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Updated in 2003. Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.

Who of us doesn’t want to give our children good things? Who of us wants to say “no” for the sake of saying it? But with the negativity surrounding the word, parents are afraid to be viewed as permissive because it is seen as spoiling or taking the easy way out.

Part of the reaction to permissiveness is the idea that there is no authority. But when you look at the act of granting permission, authority is the foundational concept. You cannot grant permission without authority.

per·mis·sion
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(p r-m sh n)
n.
1. The act of permitting.
2. Consent, especially formal consent; authorization.

The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition copyright ©2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Updated in 2003. Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.

On the outside, some of the decisions and style of a permission parent may look permissive in the popular sense, but under the surface there is a different structure guiding the decisions.

The reaction to the popular idea of permissive parenting is to go to the extreme in other direction. The popular word for this is “strict,” though I believe this word, too, needs reclamation.

American Heritage Dictionary - Cite This Source
Strict (strĭkt) Pronunciation Key adj. strict·er, strict·est
1. Precise; exact: a strict definition.
2. Complete; absolute: strict loyalty.
3. Kept within narrowly specific limits: a strict application of a law.
4. Rigorous in the imposition of discipline: a strict parent.
5. Exacting in enforcement, observance, or requirement: strict standards. See Synonyms at severe.
6. Conforming completely to established rule, principle, or condition: a strict vegetarian.
7. Botany Stiff, narrow, and upright.[Middle English stricte, narrow, small, from Latin strictus, tight, strict, past participle of stringere, to draw tight; see streig- in Indo-European roots.] strict'ly adv., strict'ness n.
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition copyright ©2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Updated in 2003. Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.

Though they appear to be antonyms, these two words are not mutually exclusive. A loving parent can be inclined to grant permission, while also being rigorous in the imposition of discipline. When the goal is to impart values, respect and experiences over compliance, the two can coexist in a complementary relationship.

Values are at the base of the difference. If control is the highest value, then strictness without permissiveness would be the goal. If happiness is the highest value, then permissiveness would be the goal. But when a process of learning is the goal, then a dance using both concepts will be the constant cadence of our lives.

I suggest a new term to describe this dance; “permission parenting.” With this concept, I have many wishes for my kids. I want them to learn to be patient, kind and generous through a healthy balance of yes’s and no’s coupled with teaching and explanations.

I want my kids to wake up each morning to a world full of opportunity. I want them to see that with every no there is a yes. When my little girl was small, she used to go all around the house touching things. I would say, “that’s a no. Go find your yeses” She responded so well to that small explanation. I want to help my kids to look for the yeses in life.

I also want my kids to learn to trust me to answer their questions, and hopefully with that trust, to learn patience.

I want them to know that I value them. I want them to believe that I want to help them learn. Sometimes the answer is simply, “Because I love you, and I’m trying to make the best decision in this.” It’s ok for them to know I have to pray for answers. It’s ok for them to see me change my mind sometimes.

Saying yes to the good with good timing is a wonderful and loving thing to do. The trick is figuring out which things are good and which things are not good. Sometimes it’s not that clear on the surface, and it takes a bit of falling in the mud to figure it out.

Questions I ask:
Is it good for them?
What value will it teach them if I give them permission?
Will it help them learn something?
Will waiting help them develop patience?
Is this a timely request that needs to be accepted now?
Will it make a good and lasting memory of love?
Is it a mistake?
Is it a mistake that they are willing to make and learn from?

One of the synonyms to permissive is tolerant, which also gets a bad wrap. At first glance, we think of tolerating something bad without saying anything, but there is more to the word than that. In a certain context, it doesn’t have to mean tolerating bad behavior. It could mean tolerating and forbearing difficult circumstances.

tol·er·ant
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(t l r- nt)
adj.
1. Inclined to tolerate the beliefs, practices, or traits of others; forbearing. See Synonyms at broad-minded.
2. Able to withstand or endure an adverse environmental condition: plants tolerant of extreme heat.

God doesn’t give us little blank people to mold. They have their own makeup that we work with. Being tolerant of those parts of our kids that we don’t understand and are different from us is a wonderful goal to aspire to. And what parent hasn’t endured adverse environmental conditions?

But this approach takes a strong parent who understands their values and their approach. It illicits criticism. Finally, it takes a lot of work because it is hard not to discourage a question while at the same time address the attitude behind it. It takes constant thinking and dependence on God for wisdom, which means that we will surely fail daily in our humanity.

God is the great parent. Our Father, who art in Heaven… What a wonderful comfort to know that the task of parenting has not been given to us without our being given the most competent example. Sometimes it’s easy to look at this person or that person’s strategy and wonder how their kids “will turn out” in time. It’s like we all want that magic mirror to look into for wisdom. We forget that God has been parenting generations of fallen humans just like our kids, and He has given us glimpses into his strategy through His Word.

There are a couple places in the Gospels that talk about this subject of permission. Jesus talks about God giving us good things when we ask.

Matthew 7:9-11 (New International Version)
9"Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? 10Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? 11If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!
Luke 11:10-12 (New International Version)
10For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened.
11"Which of you fathers, if your son asks for[a] a fish, will give him a snake instead? 12Or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion?

In this mindset of permission parenting, life becomes a practice of questioning attitudes and underlying motivations. It becomes looking into the future that the consequences of choices (yours or your kids) will bring. There becomes a larger and larger need for wisdom. And isn’t that where God wants our search for meaning to go…to His provision? And if we ask God for wisdom, what good thing will He give to us, but just that?

www.biblegateway.com

1 Kings 3:7-14 (NIV)
7 "Now, O LORD my God, you have made your servant king in place of my father David. But I am only a little child and do not know how to carry out my duties. 8 Your servant is here among the people you have chosen, a great people, too numerous to count or number. 9 So give your servant a discerning heart to govern your people and to distinguish between right and wrong. For who is able to govern this great people of yours?"
10 The Lord was pleased that Solomon had asked for this. 11 So God said to him, "Since you have asked for this and not for long life or wealth for yourself, nor have asked for the death of your enemies but for discernment in administering justice, 12 I will do what you have asked. I will give you a wise and discerning heart, so that there will never have been anyone like you, nor will there ever be. 13 Moreover, I will give you what you have not asked for—both riches and honor—so that in your lifetime you will have no equal among kings. 14 And if you walk in my ways and obey my statutes and commands as David your father did, I will give you a long life."
Luke 15:11-32 (New International Version)
New International Version (NIV)
Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society

In permission parenting, my highest value cannot be protection from harm. Sometimes I have to stand back and not swoop in to rescue…and that is hard. It’s easier just to say no and keep a child protected. I think of the story of the Prodigal son.

The Parable of the Lost Son
11Jesus continued: "There was a man who had two sons. 12The younger one said to his father, 'Father, give me my share of the estate.' So he divided his property between them.
13"Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living. 14After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. 15So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. 16He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.
17"When he came to his senses, he said, 'How many of my father's hired men have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! 18I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. 19I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired men.' 20So he got up and went to his father. "But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.
21"The son said to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.[a]'
22"But the father said to his servants, 'Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. 23Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let's have a feast and celebrate. 24For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.' So they began to celebrate.
25"Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing. 26So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on. 27'Your brother has come,' he replied, 'and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.'
28"The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him. 29But he answered his father, 'Look! All these years I've been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. 30But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!'
31" 'My son,' the father said, 'you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. 32But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.' "

I made of list of things for which I try to give my kids permission. Some of them are hard, and I’m still in process of relinquishing control of their lives to God, but aren’t we all in a process of growth?

I give you permission to:

Ask me questions
Feel emotions
Talk to me
Disagree with me
Hurt my feelings
Accept my forgiveness
Have the will God gave you
Learn to give that will to God or me willingly
Learn the hard way
Learn the easy way
Stand up straight
Have an opinion
Wear clothes that don’t match to school
Have your own style
Say no
Say yes
Try something you’re not good at
Ask me why
Grow up at your own pace
Love me willingly
Or not
Learn to live without me

Related words to ponder:

com·men·da·tion
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(k m n-d sh n)
n.
1. The act of commending.
2. Something, especially an official award or citation, that commends.
hm();Sources=Sources 2;
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition copyright ©2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Updated in 2003. Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.

ap·prov·al
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( -pr v l)
n.
1. The act or an instance of approving.
2. An official approbation; a sanction.
3. Favorable regard; commendation.
Idiom:
on approval
For examination or trial by a customer without the obligation to buy: took the dress on approval.
hm();Sources=Sources 2;
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition copyright ©2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Updated in 2003. Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.

tol·er·ant
play_w("T0253200")

(t l r- nt)
adj.
1. Inclined to tolerate the beliefs, practices, or traits of others; forbearing. See Synonyms at broad-minded.
2. Able to withstand or endure an adverse environmental condition: plants tolerant of extreme heat.
[French tolérant, from Latin toler ns, present participle of toler re, to bear; see tolerate.]
tol er·ant·ly adv.
hm();Sources=Sources 2;
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition copyright ©2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Updated in 2003. Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.

Word Reclamation

Sometimes a word is so over-used in the negative sense, it loses its usefulness to describe something good. Especially if it is used to describe a stereotype, it becomes cultural taboo to be associated with it, and people are then almost permanently cut off from a word tool. It’s fun to go through the mental process of word reclamation by analyzing its meaning, and putting it in a new light. It may not take away the connotations that an over-use could create, but it may regain some of its richness and usefulness over time. One side of me would want to begin using it in its new, positive sense, but a more practical solution is to come up with a similar, but new word to describe the new idea. The intent of this section is to walk through words in a process of “word reclamation” in order to spark thought about a subject and possibly enrich the meaning of a word tool.

Jello on the Wall...Honest Reactions

Jello on the Wall

My new motto is forming: Honest flaws for honest growth. I’ve been learning a lot about honesty, and how many places in my life are coated with its antithesis. I’m not talking about outright lies, but a subtle, acceptable, an even likable tendency to read a situation and react in the most acceptable way possible in the culture I am in. It stems from a need to be liked, accepted, even an illusion of perfection or politeness. Sometimes I call it self-control; sometimes consideration. When I make decisions, it’s hard to think through the muck of intentions. But I’m learning that if I can strip away the coating of likableness in my heart, then I am given the clarity that enables growth. I can face the fear or anger in the pit of my stomach and instead of covering it up, I can look intently into its face and choose what to do, rather than react out of fear or insecurity. Honest selfishness is a better starting point for growth than white-washed cultural fluency. Like a radio that hones into the right frequency, honesty brings clarity to the Holy Spirit’s voice. The message hasn’t changed, but I can hear it, and it sounds more and more beautiful the closer my dial comes to the source.

My life is full of opportunities to react with cultural nicety, or with honest reaction. Once we reach a place of honesty, hopefully we will stop reacting and begin responding with the Holy Spirit’s prodding to show true and honest love when we are wronged, irritated or insulted.

This week has been particularly full of memories and current moments of what God is teaching me about honesty. In my daily routine of taking care of small children, my mind often wanders to my mother. Memories flash across my mind when I smell the baby lotion or hear a certain inflection in my own voice. It’s like she’s talking through the years through my very own voice. Most recently, my reverie brought me back to a moment when I was three years old, wanting so desperately to be a big helper on grocery shopping day. My mom allowed me for the first time to take the plastic gallon jug of milk from the car, up the stairs, through the living room, and then, with my cold hands slipping on the condensation and my little arms aching from the load, less than 2 feet from the lanolium kitchen floor, I dropped it. The plastic cracked and I saw a gallon of white liquid squirt out. Glug, glug, glug, I saw 8 pounds of milk seep into the carpet and saturate its way into the padding and down to the floorboard beneath. I cried. Not out of fear, but of failure. I looked up and there she was, the most beautiful woman in the world, (of course), blond curls framing a tender look. It was ok.

I wonder if I could be that calm. I think of the moment when I looked out at my 16 month old in the yard. We made eye contact, and she pulled the sausage of dried dog poop out of her mouth and offered it to me. I wasn’t that calm. I scooped her up and ran her upstairs to the sink as fast as I could, rinsing her mouth out and sanitizing her hands.

I think of the moment when I spent precious time finding and printing a picture out of the computer to use for a party game and brought it into the room. Proudly, I leaned down to show the younger two kids the picture and they grabbed it and crumpled it in delight. When I finally pried it out of the baby’s hand, seeing it was useless, I crumpled it in frustration and threw it in the garbage.

There are times when I’ve made conscious choices to act a certain way regardless of my feelings. Wet beds at night are one of those. As a chronic bed wetter, I had the benefit of a wonderful example in my mom. When I awoke in the night to cold, clingy sheets and a sharp smell, I never felt shame or fear. She quietly and lovingly replaced the sheets and tucked me in. I try to respond that way, remembering how much that experience convinced me of her love.

But how do I know my mother’s extreme patience in those moments was not a carefully planned stoicism…a detachment from the reality of little children? I know because of her honest reactions, and willingness to allow us to see her weaknesses. I remember one time, mom was on the phone and something upset her so badly that she took the bowl of Jello she was working on, and threw it against the wall. I walked into the room to see the remains of the sweet gelatin creeping down the wall leaving a red stain behind, and saw a mother who had just had an honest release. She always thought we teased her about the Jello on the wall because we liked to torture her. I know it was because that one, rare moment of human frailty solidified the honesty of all the moments of patient love she gave to us.

When we don’t live honestly, we begin to die inside. We look around for how we should act to be accepted. We crave approval. Without honesty, we begin to lose sight of what is real. We don’t have our identity in Christ, and we begin to not even know who we are anymore. We get hurt when our efforts don’t gain for us the fulfillment we are looking for, and we carry grudges of hurt and pain.

When I live in this mindset, I feel dead inside. All this trying to make people around me happy saps my energy, and leaves nothing left to grow in Christ. I can’t hear God’s voice because I’m listening to all these other voices around me…voices of expectation, service, and duty. I can’t hear what God is asking me to do today.

I wonder if this was the problem with the Pharisees and the teachers of the law. Jesus called them white-washed tombs, full of dead men’s bones and everything unclean.

Matthew 23:27 (New International Version)
27"Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of dead men's bones and everything unclean.

The problem with honesty is that it opens you up to judgement from other people, and that can be painful. No wonder Jesus talks so strongly about judgement.
Matthew 7:1-3 (New International Version)

Judging Others
1"Do not judge, or you too will be judged. 2For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.
3"Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?

That’s also why it is so important to have our identity in Christ. If who we are is not dependent on what anyone else thinks of us, then we are not vulnerable. We are protected by a perfect love that casts out all fear.

1 John 4:18 (New International Version)
18There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.

It’s fun to take a truth and look into a world where it is played out as the rule rather than the exception. What if we taught our children to be honest with themselves and others? What if we praised them for honest growth rather than what looks good on the outside? Would our relationships be healthier? Could we move forward in love without fear? It would be ok to say, “That hurts” or “I don’t want to.” Would we be hurt less often and heal more quickly?

Speaking the truth in love is difficult. Today my daughter looked out the window and announced that the neighbor children were smashing mushrooms in the front yard. I felt the anger well up, and I took a deep breath. I wanted to do the right thing, so I prayed. Then I opened the front door to see smashed and broken mushrooms and a flattened flowerbed. The huge mushrooms that fascinated me the morning before littered the front steps. The old me would have reacted very differently. I would have gone outside, and quietly cleaned up the mess without saying a word, knowing that if I said anything, I would feel guilty later. Instead, I called over to the children and asked them if they had plans to clean up the mess. I didn’t yell, I simply asked them to take responsibility, and they rose to the calling. I did not get an apology, but they knew I was not happy, and there was no yelling necessary. Hopefully, future mushrooms will be saved from certain demise.

Ephesians 4:14-16 (New International Version)
14Then we will no longer be infants, tossed back and forth by the waves, and blown here and there by every wind of teaching and by the cunning and craftiness of men in their deceitful scheming. 15Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will in all things grow up into him who is the Head, that is, Christ. 16From him the whole body, joined and held together by every supporting ligament, grows and builds itself up in love, as each part does its work.

It is neat to see how what you learn as a parent changes what you teach your kids. I used to believe a good goal was to teach kids how to act to be acceptable. The “pleases,” “thank-you’s” and “I’m sorry’s” were to keep the peace, not to teach a moral and relational lesson. Teaching them a polite tone was to avoid having them in time-out at school, not about respect. Now I see that it’s more important to teach them the reason behind the “I forgive you” than to get them to say it through clenched teeth. I would much rather see an honest grudge in my child, than one suppressed, because honesty is easier to work with than a cover-up. I still believe we should teach kids politeness, but always on a foundation of honesty with the goal of bringing them along a path of understanding about respecting others, repentance, and forgiveness.

Teaching kids to be honest with themselves and others equips them to form honest and healthy relationships with genuine affection, without a need to hint to get their needs across. Built on a foundation of honesty, their relationships can be secure.

On my daughter’s birthday, her little brother could not be convinced that it was not his special day. He kept insisting all day that it was his “Dirtday.” All day, my daughter reinforced that it was her birthday and his would come another day, but he could not be convinced. When it came to present time, there was a gift for him too. None of us knew how she would react, since transparency is a strong trait in her. When the gifts were open, she leaned over to her brother and said, “I’m glad you got those trains.” Nobody was watching, she just had an honest moment of generosity. The next day, he sat alone at the kitchen table with a leftover piece of cake on a pony plate and happily sang, “Happy Dirtday, Dear Sister, Happy Dirtday to You.” Honest love in relationship.

After the kids finished cleaning up the big pieces of mushroom, I swept up the remnants. Looking down, I saw what was left of another set of neighbor children’s chalk drawing. A set of arrows went down the stairs, across the sidewalk and up to their home where there was a birthday wish for my daughter written on the driveway; an honest chalk path of friendship.

Life is not a finished article, it’s a work in process, with spelling errors, fragments, and jumbled thoughts, moving along the page as the thoughts pour out. If we stand back, watching from afar, we may gain head-knowledge of what works and doesn’t work, but we don’t increase our skill at living. We have to get out there and make the hard mistakes. We have to wade our way through the muck of this world in order to make any progress. And we have to be honest to grow.

Golden Moment

In the light of this coming autumn, here is a wish that everyone has a golden moment of their own...

Golden Moment

a moment shimmers
gold and clear
in this yellow place

warm light flickers
as golden crowns wave
on top of great trunks
white and straight

a yellow blanket
crunches beneath my weight
earth and sky meet
in a canopy of light

my nostrils tingle
with the first hint of winter
air expanding my lungs
the autumn mountain
smells of burning leaves

i dare not move
and disrupt the magic
in this yellow light
yesterday, tomorrow and today
blend
in this golden moment

memories and dreams
mix into one
like warm light
and cool air marry into joy

how long will this moment last?
i wonder
if the watch ticking out the seconds
has stopped
i dare not look
and see the moment vanish

By Mindy Hirst

A Sense of Duty

“David also said to Solomon his son,
‘Be strong and courageous, and do the work.’”
1 Chronicles 28:20

By Jon Hirst

There is a sense of duty that drives people to do the many things that fill their lives. We feel duty to our country, duty to our family, duty to our alma mater, and the list goes on. These forces in our lives cause us to invest time, resources and ourselves on many levels. And we do it happily because when we do this, we feel that we are completing a circle that no one can quite explain but everyone knows must be finished in order for life to go on.

The word duty floods my mind with ideas of responsibility, tradition, value, and good character. It also carries with it a feeling of obligation – a heavy feeling that sticks to you like plastic on sweaty skin. This heaviness paints negative strokes on the canvas that is the word duty. It reminds us that sometimes duty is an obligation that is shunned or at least disdained.

So what is the place of duty in the Christian life? The first question to ask is, “Duty to whom?” Many people say that they feel a duty to their church or to their parent’s religious background. But I have heard few talk about duty to their Creator.

It seems rather obvious that the creation should feel duty towards the Creator of the universe and Savior of the world. It would make sense that if humanity were to feel duty towards anything it would be towards their God. So when I realized that this wasn’t the case, I had to ask myself why.

It comes down to the way that God revealed Himself to us. He chose to reveal Himself through grace, and He gave us a choice. He decided not to impose duty upon us but to give us the ability to come to Him or reject Him. And that ability is what makes the difference.

No one I know chooses duty. Duty is thrust upon someone and they either struggle under the load or thrive with the challenge. Duty is either a loathsome obligation or a special privilege. Once God extended to His creation a choice, we realized that the decision was up to us. Humanity then began to view its decision to follow God as something that could be controlled by them and held up as an accomplishment of humanity instead of the duty of a creature.

In the rush of free will we have left duty far behind. We preach choice from our pulpits. We focus our eyes on the important role that each individual plays in the redemptive plan. We view that moment that an individual steps from the shadows of darkness into the aisles of pure light as the pinnacle of what makes our faith so incredible. And truly it is an incredible moment. That moment encompasses everything that is amazing about grace.

Unfortunately, in our humanity we focus on the human choice that exists and forget about the reality of eternal duty. We don’t understand that it is our duty as the creation to serve the Creator. We truly have no choice about the matter. The only reason that there is choice involved is because God has postponed the day when “every knee will bow and every tongue will confess that He is Lord.” That example of duty makes my loyalty to a university or to a company feel very insignificant.

Eternal duty makes my head swim. I struggle to imagine an obligation so strong that time cannot erode it. This type of duty desired to command the attention of my grandfather and his grandfather. It will exist when my great grandchildren grow up. And the most amazing thing is that this duty doesn’t change.

When God asked Solomon, through his father David, to fulfill his duty by building the temple, it was the same call that God makes to Christians today. Solomon understood clearly what God wanted Him to accomplish and he knew that eternal duty demanded it. With that understanding, Solomon built one of the most amazing structures in the world and watched as the Creator of the world descended into it and inhabited it.

In our day, the existence of eternal duty is just as real. But the question that remains is, “Are God’s creation aware of their duty and willing to fulfill it?”

I look at individuals like John Wycliffe, Martin Luther, D.L. Moody, and Billy Graham and I can say that some do see their eternal duty and take it up as their commitment. But so many more are happy with other duties that pale in comparison.

What is loyalty to a job, or faithfulness to a cause in the face of eternal duty? Now I am not saying that these things could not be part of our eternal duty to God. God uses people and their specific skills and responsibilities and these people are driven by this sense of eternal duty. But too many times we settle for these inferior duties as ends in themselves instead of a part of the eternal picture.

I imagine with sadness the look on the face of an activist that spent their life fighting for their cause only to realize as they kneel before the throne of God that their cause was just a puddle compared to the ocean of God’s eternal purpose.

So how can this eternal duty be explained? What are it’s guiding points. Jesus laid them out to the young man who came to him searching for a cause. Jesus said “love God then love others (get exact verse).” Everything we do should be judged based how we represent these principles to the Creator and His creation – after all it is our duty.

Boxes

Boxes

My house is full of boxes, because to me, a box holds mystery, joy and magic. The lifting of a lid is a moment to cherish. Sometimes it’s the small delight of a Frango Mint at Christmastime. Other times it’s accompanied by cake and open-mouthed smiles singing “Happy Birthday.” Some boxes play music. Others boast hand-painted designs.

A box can protect a family history, like the wooden box full of grandma’s treasures.

Sometimes a box holds a yesterday; like the glittering box that cradles my daughter’s baby teeth.

A box can hold tomorrow; like the small velvet box that my love gave to me the night he proposed.

A box can hold forever; like the simple box that wraps a child’s first Bible.

Our life is full of boxes. We need places to hold the precious things in our lives. Places to keep them, protect them, and frame the images that flood in when we dust them off in the quiet moments of life and remember, cherish, and hope.

Quiet the moment, and open a box.

By Mindy Hirst

A heart cry

A heart cry

Sometimes when I’m tired or sick or afraid
I hear my heart cry, “I want my mom!”

It is an intense longing; a cry from deep inside.
Like an infant in her crib crying out,
She knows that she is not enough in and of herself.

What is this my heart is longing for?
To lay my head on the softness of her shoulder;
To awaken to the smell of coffee and
her warm skin wrapped in cotton pajamas.

It is to run in the dark with your heart in your ears
Knowing that if you could just get to the side of the bed
You would be safe and the pounding would stop.

It is waking her up in the middle of the night,
To talk through some anxious pain,
And she, listening over a bowl of ice cream.

It is feeling her there at every proud moment,
Watching you with wet eyes;
Knowing you are filling her heart with joy.

It is her hand gently stroking your hairline
As you cry out in the night;
Rocking back and forth in pain;
As you bring forth your own child;
Your heart is not crying…

Mom is there.

Sweet Baby

I wrote this several years ago to our youngest child before we knew her. I thought I would share this for those who are waiting...

Sweet baby, I miss you.

We’ve never met, so how can I miss you so much? Why does my chest ache with an emptiness I can’t understand? Why do my arms feel empty? Why do I count the heads at the table and feel like someone is missing?

I love you. But how can I love someone who was never created? Is it that you are out there waiting for me to accept you? Will your chubby hand never grasp a Cheerio while marble eyes beam above two mounds of white cheek? Or will you go to someone else if I wait too long?

I close my eyes and I can see your eyes, feel the soft skin on the curve of your cheek, smell the wispy hair above your ears and it’s hard to let you go. It’s hard to know that you may never be mine to hold, to love, to raise and then finally to let go.

Instead, I have to let you go now. Even before you exist. You are not mine…not that you ever would be. You are God’s—to give or not to give. It is not in my power to make you come to be. It is only in God’s power that your life is created. And that is fitting, for only through his power can your life be redeemed.

But I can’t help hoping that you might still come to me. My heart races at the thought that the gift of your life might be placed in mine. That my life might be given to yours to help you come into the world. And then it would be my honor to watch you grow. To pour my life into yours. To see you become the wonderful vision God had of you when he sat down to create you.

If one day you’re given to me, it will be the greatest gift. But even the thought of you…the hope and longing for you is a wonderful joy. And so I love you baby, and always will.

Mindy Hirst

The Look

The Look

My mind has stored many memories from those first fuzzy, dreamlike days following the triumphant drive home from the hospital with our newest baby. One of those is my five-year-old looking closely into her new sister’s squirmy face as her eyes fluttered open for a brief second. She turned to me and announced in disbelief, “Mom, she has blue eyes just like me!”

But her eyes, though similar, were not exactly the same. Still in the cool family, her eyes were her own shade of blue, and we have watched over the months as they have taken a yellowish turn, making us think they may become green over time.

It is incredible that each member of our family, though similar in many ways, has his and her own hue. We’ve gotten a strange pleasure from naming our particular shades. Like the labels on a pile of crayons, we’ve named each other; ice blue, denim blue, Chicago River blue, Lake Michigan blue, and Arizona Desert Sand. There is something about being a family that ties us together. A similar sense of humor, the way our bodies are made up, a tendency to like or dislike the same things. But, though we may all be of the same genetic makeup, our shading is all our own, and it affects the way we do things and even our style of parenting.

One characteristic in my family that was not passed down universally is “The Look.” We can only trace this trait as far back as my grandfather with his steel eyes and intense expression. My mom inherited those eyes almost without variance, which is how she got The Look. Her eyes are sweet and caring most of the time, but step over the line and you’ll get it. The Look can stop you mid-sentence, mid-reach or mid-jump (in my brother’s case). It makes you think again about whatever it is you are doing. You can even feel The Look if it is given from behind.

I, being an overly compliant child, rarely needed more than The Look in the form of discipline. I knew that what followed was never good, and I had observed this life-principle many times in the lives of my older brother and sister. I knew better. It was a wonderful tool, and I am thankful in retrospect for it. It was a warning, like the tide rolling out before a tsunami.

When I became a parent, I realized pretty early on that I was not my mother. Strong, decisive, organized. I had always idealized the amazing woman who had poured her life into me. Initially, I figured I could follow in her steps and do what I always did…learn from watching. But my memory, good as it was at storing childhood memories, was not enough. I found quickly that I was a different person with different strengths and that my mom’s strategies would not work across the board for me.

“You need to get ‘The Look,’” she said to me one day as my precious little two-year-old tested me at her house, embarrassing me with her iron-willed determination to touch whatever it was she wasn’t supposed to touch.

“I know,” I said discouraged. What she didn’t know was that I had tried the look, given the look, and even practiced the look with no results. What was the problem? It worked for my sister, why not me?

Then one day I realized why. Since I was a small child, my mom always told me that I looked like my dad. She attributed most of it to the wavy hair and likable smile I got from him. What she didn’t realize was that although the color of my eyes came from her, the set of my brow was that of my father’s. It was one of the things that drew her to him, those sweetly set, wet hazel eyes. But it was also the thing that made it impossible for him to relate to us the way she did.

Without The Look, Dad’s authority had to come from elsewhere. Not immediately imposing, we had to learn over time that he may not look serious, but he would always follow through on the important things. His disappointment was not something to be feared, but his approval was attainable and was to be treasured.

Eventually, we all get our own style and confidence in parenting. Over time, I’ve learned to find my own strengths and use them to my advantage, compensating for the lack of other tools. Being childlike, I have a way of understanding a child’s world and connecting on a different level. When I talk with children, they understand me. This has been tremendously useful in my relationships with my kids. What strengths do you have that help you work with your kids? Are you funny, patient, consistent, organized? Ask God how you can use those gifts to pour into the lives of your kids.

We are each created unique, and God has an intimate knowledge of our makeup. He knew exactly what he was doing when he planted your children into your family. And he knew exactly what they needed when he gave you to them. He has given you the tools you need to teach them what they need to learn in their young years. Just ask him for wisdom to see what they are.

I just dumped out our tub of crayon nubs and found 49 blues. I would never want to be stuck with only one shade when I undertook a major work of art. God made each of us as individual as the colors in a box of crayons. Though sometimes similar, we are all unique. He uses each of us for a different purpose in the work of art He is creating in our families and communities. Be proud of your hue, and be willing to let God use you in his masterpiece.

Psalm 139:13-14 (NIV)
For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.

Kindergarten Teacher

Kindergarten Teacher

Her face is alight in the playground sun
She is standing at the bottom of the slide
a chain of children curling down every inch
She laughs, reaching out
making sure each child survives
the twenty slipping, wriggling legs

Her eyes are serious
She is directing a line of children
some shuffle along looking at their feet
one marches head high, shoulders back
another studies the shape of the cloud overhead
They hurry and dawdle in a pattern of chaotic order

Her back is strong
She is bending over a short table
crayons scattered in red, and blue
and yellow—her favorite color
A small hand colors
wild hair blowing in the wind
It is my teacher,
my Kindergarten teacher

Her smile is young
She is immersed each day
In the imagination of five-year-olds
Their in-the-moment
Love of life infusing her
With the joy and energy of a child

Her heart is loving
She is standing at the gate
Carefully watching each child go home for the day
They look to her in awe and adoration
Her face forever etched in their mind
The thought of her smile always bringing pride and comfort

By Mindy Hirst
September 11, 2006

The Mountain Has a Soul

The Mountain Has a Soul

The mountain has a soul
on its side a battle rages

The winds crest against its sides
and clouds swirl and build

As shadows invade the gentle slopes
and creep toward its valiant heart

The mountain has a soul
and it finds most joy in the light

But the winds still howl
And the shadows creep

The battle descends on every valley
Defying light and casting dim dismay

It makes us ask of the journey,
Why the winds?
Why the shadows?
Why the battles?
Why the struggles?

But that is not the question of this mountain
This struggle created its shape and majesty
Instead it asks with hopeful certainty
For strength in the journey

Jon Hirst

The Rock and the Rainbow

2 Samuel 22:47 “The LORD lives! Praise be to my Rock! Exalted be God, the Rock, my Savior!”

I watched a rainbow pierce the side of a rock cliff this afternoon. Rain drops fell around me and the dark clouds lumbered by, giving the sun moments to glaze the rocks with light.

I watched a rainbow pierce the side of a rock cliff this afternoon. Part of me wished the rock was not there and the rainbow was allowed to stream down to the ground. The rock’s solid mass broke up the rainbow into a million pieces of light and I mourned its passing.

I watched a rainbow pierce the side of a rock cliff this afternoon. Another part of me admired the rock. In the face of such beauty and mesmerizing power, it held steadfast and did not waver. It faced the rainbow, the rain, the sun and every other element with a strength I do not have.

I watched a rainbow pierce the side of a rock cliff this afternoon. Strength and beauty met together at that divine intersection, and I saw the point of the soul where God pierces his people with his light and steadfastness, transforming them into holy works.

We pause today at the rock and the rainbow and thank God for one of His own, remembering the great power and beauty created in a life dedicated to Him.

By Jon Hirst

God's Workbench

God's Workbench

When I was a kid, my dad had a huge workbench in the garage. It was black with use, but orderly with a light oily smell. He had a corkboard above with hooks suspending endless tools; clean and well worn. I remember a fine-toothed saw and another with jagged crocodile teeth. On the desktop lay more tools; an adjustable wrench, pliers, a notched-handled screwdriver, and a set of silver wrenches that gleamed like jewelry.

Above the bench was a piece of plywood between rafters that held a pile of lumber just waiting for an imagination to lift some down for a go-cart or lean-to. With that bench, a big yard and an engaged imagination, there were endless possibilities. Standing behind those tools, there was a sense of excitement and power.

We are all tools on God’s workbench. Hopefully we are willing tools in the hand of the Creator, who uses each of us to accomplish the projects He is working on in building His kingdom. Some of us are used on many projects; others are committed to one project for a lifetime.

Sometimes we kids would swipe a tool from Dad to build a fort or fix a toy, and leave it in the yard to get wet and rusty. Sometimes I feel like that when I leave the workbench of God to work on my own projects. I may accomplish something, but outside the safety of the bench, I am left uncared for. And then the wonderful day when I am found again, dried off and set again on the honorable workbench until he has a job for me.

There have been other times in my life when I have felt like the obscure tool in the drawer, forgotten and unused—my strange shape making people wonder what I could possibly be used for. And then a snag comes up in a project and I am the perfect solution to get to the next step.

My dad always said, “Use the right tool for the right job.” But sometimes when you can’t find the right tool, you have to make due. There are times when I felt like a hammer pounding in a screw…or better yet, the screw getting pounded by a hammer, because there was not the appropriate tool willing for the job. I wonder if our lives would become a little easier if all God’s tools were willing to do the jobs He intended for us.

Not too long ago, God had us working on something, and then switched us to another project in the middle of the job. My initial response was frustration and resistance. How could God stop work on MY project? And then I realized; it was never ours to begin with…and who is to say that work has stopped just because we’ve been moved to another kingdom project? He is the Creator. In that realization, I have much peace. Now He has us settled again in another project. We feel fulfilled, using our skills to complete kingdom tasks. We can see results and that is a tremendous blessing.

Since we’ve been married, we’ve been trying to follow God’s leading, step by step, working on the projects He lays out for us, and sometimes switching projects when He needs us somewhere else. Without that understanding, our decisions may look erratic and confusing; changing projects every few years and having a baby in each state we have lived in! But from the Creator’s perspective, our life is secure and stable as a part of His toolset. It gives us joy to know that we fit perfectly within his plan no matter where it takes us.

Jon and Mindy Hirst

Sewer Flower

Sewer Flower

I spent a week in a crowded, Asian city where the sidewalks cracked. The sewer stench leaked out into the hot, muggy air. Out of a crack, grew a simple stalk, with one delicate flower. I touched it. It was as if that bright pink flower was the inspiration for all the luscious silks that come from that part of the world.

By the end of the week, the flower bloomed into a group of seven. It was thriving in a dirty, smelly world. It pulled nutrition from the defecation, and created from it a lovely fragrance. It didn't grow to be placed on the president's table, but for the pleasure of the person walking along the street.

There's something to learn from that small sewer flower. God chooses each of us to emit His fragrance to the people around us. It's easy to get disillusioned and bitter about the sin and corruption around us, but it's not the flower's job to point out the scum in the sewer; nor is it the flower's job to clean it up. It's the flower's job to take what little good there is from the sewer and be beautiful.

Freely give of the beauty He gave you until He transplants you to another street. And be careful not to suck up any of the bitterness from the sewer.

by Mindy Hirst (Spring 1999, edited Fall 2007)

Talks with Jesus

Talks with Jesus

It’s beautiful to see her sitting, cool in her flowered dress. Still more beautiful to hear the soft murmur of her voice as she talks with Jesus. A comforting sound. The rhythm soothing. The love comforting. Strength flowing out of every word into lives. Lives so busy with living that a prayer seems a difficult task.

Her mirror’s edge crammed with snapshots—their names the essence of the simple poetry of her prayers. No one quite knows the effect of her constant dialogue in the lives of those faces. I’ve often wondered why on a particular day, in a certain situation, a prayer I never uttered was answered. Perhaps my name was mentioned in her daily talks with Jesus.

It’s beautiful to think of her now, face alight at Jesus’ side. So happy to see her, you can tell they’ve been talking for years. Now where were we? Oh yes. I can do that. And, yes. I will do that too. It’s so good to see you here. I love talking with you.

By Mindy Hirst

Our Word Shop Dream

It was the first time away after our little treasure was born. After several hundred nights of bad sleep and the adjustment of not working together was mostly over, we walked alone in a small Midwestern rivertown. Here, we dreamed of a life away from the suburbs where somehow clear thoughts could form.

We built in our minds a little shop off a quaint street where we would work together again, helping authors with their own thoughts by creating a place where imagination and joy of communication could share a cup of coffee and a muffin. We called it our Word Shop.

Now, almost five years later, we still don't live in a rivertown, but clear thoughts are beginning to take shape. It seems to be the right time to begin to build a place online that echos the dream of that trip together. Maybe someday we'll build it with brick and tile...today we lay the foundation with words.