“Earth’s climatic future is uncertain, but the world needs to prepare for change…climate scientists also use these simulations to envision a range of different possible futures, particularly in response to climate-altering greenhouse gas emissions. These Choose Your Own Adventure–type scenarios aim to predict what’s to come…”
I am quite convinced of three points here—that the Earth’s climate is changing, that humans are stewards of the Earth, and that we are terrible at predicting anything.
The fact that the climate is changing seems rather obvious in light of the fact that once upon a time we were in an ice age and now we’re not. That we, as human beings with hot ideas and a penchant for making our lives simpler, easier, and more comfortable without realizing the cost, have altered the planet isn’t on the far side of believable. But I shake in my boots when we embrace “this is what the future looks like” scenarios. Not because they couldn’t possibly happen, but because, in a strange way, through our imagining them, we make them the very least likely thing to happen.
That’s where fiction comes in. The power of fiction is not that it simply tells an entertaining story, but good fiction tells the truth through an imaginary lie. Shadows outlining reality. Not how it actually is or is going to be, but shadowing the spirits of heroes and monsters stalking us through the highways and byways of human history.
I’m not suggesting that scientists can’t wring their hands with the best of us, worrying about our great-great-grandkids’ futures, but rather that we should take a cautionary peek inside ourselves as much as stare at threatening simulations.
As a teacher, I well remember the grand conferences where we’d gather in scholarly-bulk and the latest-greatest and most advanced reading programs would be laid before our wondering eyes. After a hearty lunch, we’d head back to our rooms and try to apply our newfound knowledge so that we could enflesh that glorious hope and teach our twenty-some kids to read. The next day, I’d have a kid whose mother threw a shoe at him on the way out the door, another child with an upset stomach, and one dad bellowing about the sports program. I’d scratch my head and pray I could manage to keep the class from breaking into hives, much less teach them to read.
In my Kindle Vella series, Homestead, I envision a rural homemaker trying to manage in a world where technology has crashed, and her husband doesn’t make it home. The key for her, teachers everywhere, and those humans who actually care about the Earth is that in order to achieve a noble end, we have to do a lot of little things right. And they have to be done at home. Up close and personal. Self-discipline married to selflessness.
Kids aren’t so keen to read when mom and dad are having emotional meltdowns. Improvements in the US, China, India, or any other country, aren’t going to happen simply because computer simulations show future generations wearing gas masks embedded in their skin.
The value of a good story, the ones that really stop human beings in their tracks, are the ones where we see ourselves reflected in the cause as well as the effect. It’s not because people are terrible, evil beings that we suffer climate change or any other danger. It’s because we like to travel far and fast, use air conditioners and refrigerators, eat lots of meat, and have our own way more than we care about long-term effects on others. Yes, we can make laws demanding lower emissions and whatnot, but as long as there are black-market buyers, there will be black-market sellers, and so it goes.
Whether we believe in a hot-house Earth, crashing technology, out of control bots, scammers extraordinaire, or whatever nightmare we can simulate, like Rosie, we must accept in our day-to-day lives, we are the homemakers or the home breakers—be it on the ground floor or in the middle of a solar system.
A. K. Frailey is the author of 15 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8.
Make the most of life’s journey.
For books by A. K. Frailey check out her Amazon Author Page
Dana couldn’t stand still for a minute. Even perpetual motion machines of the world took notice.
I sat on the back steps letting a cool front work its magic. For the end of June, it was gorgeous. Cool sunny mornings, warm days with afternoon rainstorms, and blessedly chilly nights. “I wish this would last forever.”
Dana stopped pacing under the maple tree and stared at me. Glared really. But who am I to quibble? She had stayed longer than she intended, only because I threatened to get on my knees and beg.
“You’re okay without dad?”
I shook my head and tried to wave her comment into oblivion. “That’s not what I meant. I was talking about the weather.”
Her hands went to her hips. “It’s time we left. You’re not going to give us any trouble, right?”
Juan slipped out my bedroom door and stopped on the top porch step. I didn’t see him. But I didn’t need to. I knew the sound of my son’s footsteps as well as my own heartbeat.
I waited. Juan didn’t want to leave home. I knew that, but there was an unspoken understanding that he would go with Dana. He had to. She was going no matter what I said. But she couldn’t go alone. And I was hardly fit enough to traipse across an out-of-control country. I’d do better to keep the home fires burning. Literally.
I peered at Dana. She was the same woman who had driven to St. Louis weeks ago, but at the same time, she seemed so altered that I hardly felt comfortable in her presence. There was something she wasn’t telling me. And I was weary of not knowing—fighting off the horrors that raged in my mind. So, I countered with a question of my own, “You want to tell me about the aliens?” That threw her. I knew it would. The look that crossed her face when…
Into the Deep End
It was late by the time Ben left and the kids settled down for a good night’s rest before their adventure the next day.
To my everlasting gratitude, Ben offered to go with the kids. He didn’t start with that offer though. Ben is far wilier than I had realized. What comes across as boyish innocence masks a deceptively perceptive nature. He outfoxed Dana better than I ever could.
He spent the majority of the evening asking her advice, taking her lead. Even glancing her way when I suggested an early bedtime. Almost as if he and she had formed an inside club that knew better than color-in-the-lines-can’t-be-too-careful mom.
Juan sat back and luxuriated in someone else taking the burden of conversation off his shoulders. Though he did add texture to the stories, Ben got Dana to share details about their travels.
No one mentioned aliens.
I wished Ben had asked. For some reason, I thought he might be able to get away with that line of inquiry when it was clear, I’d be blown to smithereens for my efforts. Still, it was a great evening. A memory I could snuggle close to, comforting me through the ordeals ahead.
When I heard knocking on the kitchen door at six in the morning, I assumed it was Ben ready to roust the kids out of bed and hit the road for a fresh start before the sun climbed too high. I poured the last of the pancake batter into the frying pan and wiped my hands on a clean towel. “Coming, sir. Right in time for—”
Josh stared at me through eyes glossy with exhaustion, his body limp and his clothes filthy.
“Is he here?”
“Who? Ben? He’ll be coming along in a bit.”
Pushing past me, Josh stumbled into the house and landed on the kitchen bench, his whole body sagging. “No, Jared. Has he come by? Or said anything to you?”
I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the young man. Didn’t want to either. “No. Everything has been quiet here. Ben and the kids are heading out this morning—”
Josh wavered to his feet. “Don’t!”
I swallowed the fear lodging itself in my throat. “Why?”
This time the knock was followed by the door opening in quick succession. Ben swung into the room, his gaze locking on me. “You okay?” Footsteps pounded down the stairs, and Dana joined the coffee klatch though no coffee had been served yet, and I was as confused as…
For the rest of these episodes and others visit Kindle Vella Homestead by A. K. Frailey.
Home is where the heart is. But when the world fell apart, an alien race invaded, and my husband and children were in different locations, my heart dug deep into the home stead. If I couldn’t get to them, I’d hold fast, so they had home to return to…
No Place I’d Rather Be
I clasped a hot cup of coffee in my hands, stepped onto the back porch as the rising sun peeked between the flowering trees, and breathed deep. As if wishing me a good morning, sparrows, robins, blue jays, and a couple of cardinals fluttered about in springtime joy. I had a whole weekend to myself, and I planned to enjoy every peaceful minute of it.
There was no place else I’d rather be.
That has remained true, despite everything. Maybe because of everything. Perhaps some part of me knew what was coming, and I needed to savor every drop of beauty, glory, and strength to live beyond my small, about-to-combust, world.
Dana had left for her new job in St. Louis the previous Sunday afternoon. It was a great opportunity for her. And she knew it. I knew it too. Somewhere deep inside.
“Mom, please don’t dribble your despondency all over my clean car.”
Her dad, Liam—aka my beloved—grinned like the besotted fool he was.
The kid got her sarcasm from me, so I could hardly complain. Though I did scrunch my eyes, stomp my feet, and pantomime a child having a conniption fit.
Dana laughed. A loud bark that set our hounds into howls.
Her car, stuffed with two kitchen chairs, bedding, the last of her clothing, enough comfort food to get her through the first week, and a miraculous medal and prayerbook she didn’t know about tucked into the glove compartment, announced her readiness to fly from the proverbial nest.
She came around the front fender and wrapped me in a big hug. Dana was never small. Even as a baby, she came into the world larger than life, thrashing and screaming, her black hair wild, making her look bigger and badder than she really was.
I hugged her back with every ounce of my fifty-year-old strength.
When her car turned at the end of the lane, I stopped waving and wiped tears from my eyes. Liam held my hand all the way up the front steps.
Juan, my broad shouldered, eighteen-year-old, sunshine child, brought into my life by two miracles—his birthmother’s big heart and my husband’s absolute trust—bounded down the back porch steps on Thursday afternoon with the abandon of a guy ready for an early weekend.
I reminded him of dinner. “I’ve got a roast chicken and an apple cobbler nearly ready.”
An apologetic shrug. “I’m heading out—gonna go camping with a few friends.”
“It’s April!” I thought that explained everything well enough.
Not according to Juan’s logic. “Hey, ma, I’ve worked hard. The guys and I want to get away for a bit, think things over before our next big move.”
I scratched my head. “By move, you mean summer work, right?”
Crossing my arms, I shot one over the bow. “You ask dad?”
“He said go have a good time.” Juan squinted in his playful way. “I think he’d like to get out his corporate meeting and come with us instead.”
If I was perfectly honest, I’d rather Liam head to the wilds of Alaska than the L. A. madness that was his corporate headquarters. But mine was not to reason why…
It was only after Juan had roared his car down the road that it dawned on me. He took no clothes, no bedding, no tent. Camping? My eye.
I sighed as I headed back to the house and faced the roasted chicken that I knew my husband wouldn’t eat.
By Friday morning, Liam was a mess. He hated traveling. He loathed meetings. He despised corporations. How he managed to rise so high in the tech field is one of the mysteries of life. I forgave him for the third time for picking my beautiful dinner to pieces, knocking the Easter Lilly off the shelf, and nearly shutting the car door on my hand in his haste to get to the airport on time.
“If they try to drag me to one of their get-togethers, I’ll tell them I have a fever and—”
“Say you’re sick, and you’ll have the entire place hyperventilating. Just say you have work to do. They’ll respect that.”
“They’ll laugh and try to set me up with drinks and dates.”
I glared out of the corner of my eye.
He kept his eyes on the road.
“You ever consider starting your own multi-million-dollar business and work from home?”
Such a bark, I could almost hear the dogs howl though they were miles away back on the homestead. “I know where Dana gets it.”
“That laugh. It sounds like a bark.”
For the first time in three days, Liam smiled. “It’s not a bark. It’s a hoot.”
“You’re a hoot.” I smiled back, kissed him at the visitor parking lot, and kept it plastered on all the way along highway seventy till I reached home.
Saturday morning, I rose early, poured myself a cup of hot coffee, traipsed onto my bedroom porch and breathed deep without an inkling that the world as I knew it was about to end.
Even the Birds Stopped Singing
After dressing in jean shorts and a tunic top, I enjoyed coffee and a robust breakfast of eggs and toast. Fortified, I ran downstairs and tossed in a load of laundry. Then I scurried back upstairs and wondered why I was in such a hurry. With a reminder to take it easy, I grabbed another cup of coffee and meandered to the roll-top desk in my studio. Like a lady of leisure, I scrolled through my emails and social media.
When the internet flickered off and on around ten o’clock, I didn’t think anything of it. We live in farm country, so wild critters sometimes make a bad life decision and interfere with the lines, or storms miles away can interrupt service. I glanced outside. No storm. A perfect sunny May first. I shivered for the critter that may have suffered an untimely death.
When my phone chimed from the kitchen counter an hour later, I had just kneaded the last bit of dough for my weekly bread making and lined up the greased bread pans. My fingers, covered in sticky goo, weren’t suited for a technological device at the moment. So, I used my elbow and managed to make the connection.
My sister, Sarah huffed her words. Must’ve been running, I figured.
“Hey, Kiddo, did your power go off this morning?”
I slapped on the tap water and rinsed my fingers, talking over my shoulder. “Just for a sec.” I scowled at the trickle dribbling over my hands. The water pressure was down. Deep inward sigh. Water pressure meant a lot to me. How was I going to take my bed-time shower?
“But it’s back on, right?”
The proverbial light bulb clicked on. Power outage and loss of water pressure. Oh, yeah. Made sense. I peered at the ceiling. The light wasn’t on. I glanced to the counter. Nor was the coffee maker. But, silly me, they shouldn’t be. It was bright and sunny and I’d cleaned the coffee maker after my second cup. I glanced at the stove. The clock showed the time, but only dimly.
“Hmm…it came back on but—” I ran and flipped the light switch with my wet hand.
My sister broke through. “Hey, I’ve got another call. It’s Bill. Poor guy had to work over the weekend. Better go.”
I listened to the click as she hung up, but my eyes stayed fixed to the ceiling. Brown light. Not the bright glare I was used to.
A sound in the distance caught my ear. Horns? Who on earth would be blowing their horn out here? We lived on a dead-end lane and there wasn’t any traffic even during planting season.
“Oh, God!” It was an accident. I was sure of it.
But just as suddenly, it stopped. All noise stopped. Even the birds stopped singing. Complete silence.
If you’ve ever been suddenly thrust into the pitch black, you know how disorientating that can be. Well, the same was true when all sound stopped. It was as if the whole world was holding its breath. The moment after a collective gasp.
My youngest son decided to reorganize his room today, and when I went to check, I saw that he had piled a stack of box springs and mattresses on top of each other to rival something out of The Princess and the Pea. He called it King Sized. Yep. I’d say so. I swallowed and merely asked him not to fall off in the middle of the night and break himself into Humpty-Dumpty pieces. He assured me he’d be careful.
I had a sudden memory of the first time one of my boys climbed a tree, reaching what my mother’s heart considered dizzying heights. I knew at the time that climbing trees was a normal pastime for kids—I had climbed plenty in my day—but still, I had the urge to ask him to get back to earth. An urge I resisted.
Later as I plodded up the steps with my umpteenth load of laundry, I noticed that my formerly clean counter was now hosting what looked like a rather odd science experiment involving toothpaste, shampoo, and baking soda. I didn’t even ask. Just waved my hand in a “You know what you’ll be doing when you’re done—right?” attitude. “Please don’t spill it all over the floor” didn’t even need to be verbalized.
Sometimes I wonder what a stranger might think if he or she wandered into our home on any ordinary day. It’s generally quiet, though the piano is played quite a bit. Holidays and birthdays are celebrated in style with a cleaning frenzy right before. With laughter.
But more often than not, there are piles of books here and there. Pencils and papers scattered about. Drawings half-finished on the couch. Knitting projects proudly ensconced on a living room chair. Woodworking projects clutter the basement floor. Broken floor tiles skitter underfoot. Light smoke from the wood stoves tints the walls. A couple door handles are loose.
It is a well-used house. The kitchen sink is practically never empty, even though I (and the kids) do dishes the livelong day. The washer and dryer have given us their hearts and souls several times over. Footsteps patter upstairs or down the steps constantly. A door opens and shuts like a heartbeat.
We are not living in a magazine. Nor would I want to. The kids learn from taking their room apart and building glorious beds. They see new heights from the tops of trees. They practice drawing a face…or a landscape…a hundred times over and scatter the results everywhere. Birdhouses are built and hammered on posts outside. The birds come, lay eggs, and their lives join with ours.
There will be a day when the footsteps will fall silent. When the beds are made to perfection and the counter will stay clean for days on end.
I do not forward to that day. I am content with reality right now.
Our lives may not be perfect, but they are well lived.
A. K. Frailey is the author of 15 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8.
Make the most of life’s journey.
For books by A. K. Frailey check out her Amazon Author Page
Loren crouched low as she snuck up behind the enemy, one finger poised over the trigger. She knew all too well the price she’d pay if she missed.
The enemy swarmed off to the right—they’d be beautiful if they weren’t so dang dangerous. She had children to protect. Creeping ahead, she spied their base of operations.
Got ‘em now!
Exhilaration pumped adrenaline into Loren’s bloodstream. She rose to her feet, both hands braced over the canister, aimed, and fired. Direct hit!
The swarm didn’t know what happened. They dropped onto the porch floor and buzzed furiously until Loren swept them into the front garden bed with her foot. She exhaled a long, cleansing breath. Thank—
“Mom! You know it’s wrong to kill bugs. They’re a part of nature, and we’re supposed to respect them!”
Loren turned and faced her irate eleven-year-old daughter; the wasp spray canister hung limply in her left hand.
Kara, a self-appointed bug expert, propped her hands on her hips like a furious schoolteacher. She had watched numerous YouTube videos and read articles on-line about native, Illinois insects. In her spare time, she copied photos and made collages, which she hung up around the house underlined with dire warnings about the loss of native species.
Loren chewed her lip and rubbed her jaw as if it had been struck. “Listen, young lady, I got stung this morning, and your baby brother got stung yesterday. Insects may have some rights, but I’m the protector of this family and—”
Kara rolled her eyes and wandered away.
Loren clutched the spray canister so tightly that she accidentally sprayed the floor. Marching into the kitchen, she placed the bug spray on a high shelf and then turned to the sound of the dryer buzzing. She glanced at the stovetop clock, dashed downstairs, piled the warm laundry into a plastic tub, tossed the wet laundry into the dryer, shoved the last load of dirty clothes into the wash, set the timers and scurried back upstairs.
Baby Addison screamed as he climbed the last rail of his crib. Teetering on the edge, he nearly overbalanced before Loren dashed into the blue room and scooped him into her arms. “Whoa, Baby Boy, what do you think you’re doing? Besides giving me a heart attack….”
After a quick lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches, homemade pickles, sliced peaches, and milk, Loren placed Addison in the middle of the room with enough toys to keep a thirteenth-century emperor ecstatically happy and turned her attention to her computer. Onto the next battle—family finances. Well, somebody’s got to balance the books.
Two hours and momentous account juggling later, Loren looked up as Kara sauntered in with a neighbor boy. They both had their iPhones so close to their faces that Loren wondered how they had ever managed to walk into the room without bumping into a wall.
Kara peered over the rim of her screen. “Marvin is staying for dinner. His dad and mom had a big fight and started throwing things.”
Loren froze, though her eyes wandered over Marvin’s bulky frame and unkempt hair. “You want to talk about it, Marvin?”
Marvin shrugged, his eyes still glued to the screen in front of his face. “They hate each other. What’s to talk about?”
Loren’s head dropped to her chest. She felt tears well up, but she brushed them aside as her gaze swept the room. Uh, oh…where’s Addison?
Her heart pounding, she stepped passed Marvin, giving his shoulder a little squeeze as she went by. “I’m making fried chicken. You can stay as long as you need.”
When she entered the bathroom, she knew what she would find, though she clenched her hands in prayer. Please, God, let me get it cleaned up before James gets home.
It wasn’t as bad as she feared, though the wallpaper would never be the same. Thank heaven for disinfectants!
A car rolled over the gravel in the driveway, and Loren bustled with Addison into the blue room. She changed his stinky clothes at the speed of light, rushed into the kitchen, pulled the thawed chicken pieces out of the refrigerator, sprinkled spicy breading over them, poured oil in the pan, and popped muffins onto a tray. When James entered, she put Addison on the floor so he could toddle right into his daddy’s arms, a sacred tradition that James loved.
By the time James had changed and come back downstairs in comfortable jeans and a t-shirt, the table was set, the chicken was frying, a large tossed salad graced the center of the table, and a pyramid of muffins sat ensconced next to a jar of strawberry jam, front and center of James’ place.
At dinner, Addison gummed his crackers and chicken pieces with childish abandon while Marvin chomped on his chicken legs in morose silence. Kara nibbled carrot sticks and muffins slathered in jam, distaining, once again, the flesh of sacred animals. She wrinkled her nose at Addison until her dad told her to stop.
James pushed back from the table and patted his lean belly. “That was fantastic, sweetheart, thanks. His eyes followed Loren as she began to clear the dishes. “Oh, and thanks for mowing the front lawn. I wanted to get to it, but with all the extra work—”
Loren shrugged. “It’s fine. I’ll try to get to the back tomorrow, but I’ll have to squeeze it in before I take Addy in for his check-up.”
James swirled his water glass. “Oh, and could you invite Carl’s new wife—” he snapped his fingers together with a puzzled frown.
Loren glanced over. “Chelsea?”
“Yeah, right, I can never remember. Anyway, invite her to your next Lady’s Tea. I take it that the other wives have shunned her for a—shall we say—checkered past. If you act nice, they might follow.”
Loren filled the sink with soapy water and nodded. “Called into diplomatic service once again, eh? You know that’s what I first wanted—”
Addison’s wail cut short the conversation as James lifted the baby from his high chair and offered to walk Marvin back home.
Later that night as Loren brushed her teeth, she could hear sniffles from Kara’s bedroom. She tiptoed into the dark interior, trying not to bang into the desk or the multitudinous science experiments, which Kara laid like traps for her unwary parents. Shuffling forward in low gear, she found Kara’s bed and inched her hand up to Kara’s shoulder. “What’s wrong, honey?” She perched on the edge knowing full well that she was sitting on at least three stuffed animals.
Kara wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffed. “Jean texted me that I’m nothing but an amateur, and I’ll never amount to anything.”
Loren frowned. She didn’t know Jean, as she didn’t know most of the kids that Kara interacted with over her iPod. “Well, darling, you may be an amateur now, but if you study and keep working hard, you may become a professional someday. It all depends on much you—”
Kara waved her hands in contemptuous disdain. “Oh, you don’t understand. You’ll never understand. I want to be great at something. I don’t want to just make a living…or be like you.”
Loren took the body blow with only a slight grimace. She swept a lock of Kara’s hair out of her face and took a deep breath. “You know, I like to think I’m doing something great—here—at home. It may not seem like much but—”
Kara shook her head. “You’re just a mom, there’s nothing great about it. Millions of women have done it—forever. I want something more, something grand and—”
Loren let her head drop as she listened to her daughter’s dreams and aspirations. They all sounded wonderful and noble, something that might make headlines one day. There was so much she wanted to say, to share about her own life and her experiences, which had lead her to the edge of her daughter’s bed, but Kara wouldn’t understand, not now. Maybe someday. When Kara talked herself sleepy, Loren squeezed her hand and tiptoed back into her bedroom and finished brushing her teeth.
A balanced life is an opportunity to live to our fullest potential. I love the monastic ideal of dividing the day between the three core needs of our lives: prayer, work, and study.
As a family, we punctuate our day with prayer in the morning, at noon, and in the evening. Of course, I am frequently tossing prayers up to heaven for a variety of daily mini-disasters or concerns. Yesterday, some of the kids and I spent an hour in Adoration. It was one of the fastest hours of my life. There is a lot to pray for in this world of ours, and it is wonderful that we have such a loving God to call upon, knowing that He will listen and respond. The key to joyful prayer is to allow God to be God and not set Him by our clocks.
Work is also a large part of our day. Today three of the kids helped a neighbor to gather in a hefty wood supply. We all helped to stack the wood so it’ll be dried and ready for next winter. A couple of the kids worked on planting seeds for the spring garden, and one of the kids made zucchini bread. Everyone worked hard today. Everyone will sleep well tonight.
And finally, study is one of the most enjoyable activities of the day. Each of the kids has a full curriculum to draw from, but book learning isn’t the only kind of learning that matters. We also learn by responding to daily needs. Learning to cook, to fix broken tools, to take care of animals, to organize our supplies for the year, to balance a budget are all invaluable learning experiences. It is fun to study history, to read and write, to tease out a math problem, but learning is like breathing, it happens without even knowing it. It’s important to make sure that we offer information and skills that improve and inspire our lives rather than being dragged down by the negative influences around us.
A balanced life of prayer, work, and study have been the best recipe for joy and contentment in our lives.
I graduated from college a long time ago. But I’ve never stopped learning. In fact, as I served in various schools and in the Peace Corps and eventually became a home-schooling mother, I have encountered a multitude of new, rather steep, learning curves. Presently, I am learning at a faster rate than ever before.
This past year I learned how to help my son navigate through the difficulties of a long-distance, online college education, and I am presently considering the next three kids’ futures. They are facing a vastly different world than the one I grew up in. Technology is huge and understanding its place in the world is necessary to succeed in pretty much every field. College tuitions are so high now that for one child, I could easily spend more than I did to buy my house. The consequences of accepting loans are considerable. Choices have strings attached and learning everything I can about higher-education options is vitally important for my family’s health.
I have also been learning how to handle the many house and property issues which creep up on a daily basis. I’ve learned to ask for help and hire experts who can solve issues like broken stoves and stuck drainage pipes, but I’ve also learned that there are things which I can do to avoid problems before they arise. The old adage, “A stitch in time….” is very true! It helps to know where the well-pump turn-off value is too.
There was a time when the mere thought of handling large gatherings at meals, organizing classes day-in-and-day-out, and maintaining a bustling home would have sent me into a panic. But panic really isn’t an option. In every home, the hardest part is being involved in the daily lives of those around you. I should say, being aware of the spiritual welfare of those around you. The “stitch in time” adage applies. As human beings, we go through an incredible amount of change and stress in the course of a day, a week, a month and a lifetime. What happened yesterday may still color our mood tomorrow. In today’s technological information-overloaded society, this is especially true. Our kids are immersed in a turbulent sea of information and disinformation. Recognizing mood swings, depression, creeping irritation, a deep-seated sadness, over-arching pride, or a whole host of other emotional and spiritual dangers is vastly important for the success of a family. And deciding which action to take involves another field of expertise. Not something one learns in a day…it takes a lifetime.
But in all these learning experiences, I have found one common ingredient: to care makes learning meaningful. Whether I am learning how to teach, how to fix a faucet, how to love, I know that the most vital aspect of life-long learning is the love with which we approach the situation, be it a lecture or a broken heart.
If I have learned anything, it is that love itself is life.
Children see the world differently. Well, from me anyway. With my vast years of experience, I tend to observe critically and reach conclusions based on my carefully cultured wisdom. Children tend to just see, and since they don’t have as many filters, they tend to report what they see with some accuracy. Their untutored wisdom often leaves me humbled, baffled, intrigued, at times laughing out loud, and certainly, never quite the same.
The other day, as my sons were going out on a mission of mercy to help their grandparents with some heavy lifting jobs, I passed the keys to one son and wished him well. My six year old offered this insight instead: “If the blue car doesn’t work, try the grey one, and if that doesn’t work, ask for help, and if that doesn’t work—walk.” Who knew someone so little could consider the options so honestly?
One springtime, my little son looked outside and saw new buds greening up the trees. He came running up to me, saying: “Look, Mom, God’s dressing up the trees for Easter.” Yes, of course, He was—I’d just never grasped that so clearly before.
And one year, as a play-dead possum lay in the yard after my husband had tried rather unsuccessfully to shoo it away, one daughter carefully observed: “Well, you can’t chase a dead Possum.” Too true. Apparently, Mr. Opossum was in on that bit of insight.
Through the years of raising my kids, I often had the experience of stopping everything just to think about what I just heard coming out of their little/big mouths, minds, and hearts. And it is not just the little ones who have rearranged my thinking—teenagers are quite proficient at tossing my preconceived notions to the wind. Yet my soul has been enriched beyond measure by their words, by their wisdom, by their honest insight.
Sometimes the greatest treasure we can bestow on the world is to actually hear—even when we think we’re listening.
I teach a wide age range and enjoy the challenge. The fun part is seeing how far each child can reach mentally and spiritually while maintaining connections to their siblings. Some people wonder why I go to all the painstaking work of homeschooling when I could more easily put my kids into a public or private school. Though the answer is involved, I can simply state that homeschooling binds us together as a family like nothing else could. We learn together, we deal with problems together, we have fun together, we help each other, and we grow together.
My older kids enjoy giving the younger kids humorous previews of what is coming next... while the younger ones have a uniquely adapted educational experience. We have become self-starters and independent learners. Everyone owns their own curriculum. We go over books and material options together before I buy what we need, and as some zoom ahead in certain areas others choose to do more in-depth studies on a favorite subject. I realized long ago that it is best to have the kids involved early on in some of the educational planning because then they take responsibility for their education. Though they may not love a particular subject (spelling) they know they also have subjects (history) that they really do love. When motivation is embedded in the very learning process itself – so much the better.
We can’t run away from problems. My kids and I have to face discipline issues right away or disruptions will plague us all day. It is funny how the older kids hold the younger kids accountable for their attitudes and say things like: “That pout won’t help you learn, and if you don’t get over it, you might get stuck like that.” Then they go on and tell a long ridiculous story about the second cousin of someone who actually did grimace all day and ….you get the idea.
So as the school year gears up for another semester, I won’t have as much time for writing and gardening and long rambling walks with the kids but such is life. I have the duty and joy to raise each of my kids to rise to their potential. I want them to be great citizens of this world and the world to come. May God will give me the strength and wisdom to do so.