This advice could make you feel like a Superhero Mama in Clark Kent clothes (OK – Clark Kent clothes with finger paint on them. Who’s looking THAT closely?) because this article is FILLED to the brim with advice about how to make your homeschooled kids clean up!
And since that covers everything I know about the topic, I don’t have much more to say, except that I found myself in a (very rare!) instance where I was tempted (but didn’t succumb!) to acting with less than total maturity – The usual way that I conduct myself.
As I travelled recently, I sauntered across the line into injustice, which roused my dormant immaturity. I don’t usually cross over to the side where injustice lives. I like to stand firmly planted where the power is. (For example, read my marriage advice here!)
Then the signs directed “Foreigners”, like us Canadians, to a long line of about 500 people waiting to enter US Customs, but our line-up only had 1 (that’s “ONE”) Customs Agent.
And when we finally arrived at Customs, my teen daughter ADMITTED (“WHY OH WHY did I teach her to tell the TRUTH?” I lamented with agony!) to forgetting to throw away her banana peel. She ignored or was too intimidated by the guys with guns at the customs depot to obey me when my eyes tried every manner of saying, “DROP the banana peel confession!”
So this little truthful confession cast into a deeper level of airport hell with the other Felons.
And there were no bathrooms during that long line up OR in the extra hell section of the airport we were in waiting for the Banana Felony to be absolved. And there was no water fountain. The lady before us was faint and had to sit on the floor just before her turn at Customs.
I felt like an animal waiting in a cage, the justice for basic human needs rising within me.
Not long after this, 3 hours later, when my sing songs, manic video watching and dancing about could no longer contain the fact that “I would like to use the bathroom please”, I was finally, reluctantly, given a pass out of the “Banana Felony” section of the airport.
Then the toilet wouldn’t flush. (It wasn’t just a number one but something more significant).
“Take that LAX airport!” I thought with great satisfaction!
There is justice in the world, after all!
After washing my hands, I suddenly realized it would be the hardest working person in the airport, the immigrant without much English, the one who is a post-doc in Moldova and whose 8-year-old child will one day end the Ebola epidemic. It would be that person who would encounter my indignant attempt at injustice.
I found a way to flush the toilet. (As I reflect, it was surprising how EASY it was to flush the toilet when one REALLY wanted to do it!)
“Did I find myself rejoicing in what I think I was rejoicing in?” my more mature self asked my recently victorious self several minutes later.
Yes, BUT I rose to the occasion and ACTED MATURELY!
Here’s how!
You’re welcome!
Good luck!
Three Tips to acting maturely EVEN WHEN YOU DON’T FEEL LIKE IT:
1) Try to remember that there are other people in the world besides you.
2) It’s okay that you aren’t friends with Trump, or someone in high places who has “connections,” and can bail you out of deep water when you are in trouble. (In fact, this may be a very good thing!) Something good happens to our soul when we suffer a little and brush up against a tiny measure of the injustice that most people around the world experience daily. This small measure of injustice can build compassion for the less fortunate if we let it (See Point #1).
An estimated 5 billion people have unmet justice needs globally, including people who cannot obtain justice for everyday problems, people who are excluded from the opportunity the law provides, and people who live in extreme conditions of injustice.
As the song below plays, consider asking God, “Is there someone I know experiencing injustice I can help support?” Who comes to mind? How can you reach out to them this week?
For most of us, deciding whether to homeschool or not is an agonizing decision.
So, let’s say we choose to homeschool. What if we wake up one Saturday late because we are exhausted and realize with terror that we’ve ruined our kids? That they are irrevocably broken?
Click HERE to continue reading this previously published post.*
*Let’s admit it! – You weren’t really listening the first time you read it!
Thank you for liking me! I like you too! (Proven HERE, HERE and HERE!) Let’s journey together!
I’m feeling sad because today is the last day of our holidays.
I’m surprised because I’m going home to an awesome life! I mean, I take great pains to portray an image of having a fantastic life for you! (Why else would you read this stuff?)
I tenderly opened the depths of my heart to my empathetic husband, and he said something along the lines of, “Well, of course, you’re not happy to be going home! You’re a nutcase there!”
Actually, on reflection, he phrased it closer to, “You’re more stressed out trying to get a million things done at home.”
After I yelled at him and sulked for a while, I had coffee with Jesus, and that’s when I realized my husband was right.
(Don’t you hate it when that happens? I still haven’t admitted it to him, though. He is living under my condemnation, which increases the power balance in my favor for a while. I’ll be less mad at him the next time I do something stupid, and the power shifts in his favor. There’s some more free marriage advice! You’re welcome! Good luck!)
But we’re not done talking about this end-of-the-vacation-sadness thing.
The insight I had today is that the reason why we travel is . . .
. . . to get away from OURSELVES.
I mean, away from that feeling of wanting to be Jesus, get everything done, help everyone around you, and learn how to live a better life and stuff like that.
Wait. We’re not supposed to want to BE Jesus. It’s hard to keep all of that theology straight!
I left my To-Do list at home for just a week while we were on holiday. I left my neurotic rambling to try to figure out how to live a purposeful life closed up in my journal. Instead of powering through these lists and creating more lists, I simply enjoyed drinking fresh coconut water by the beach and laughing with the people I love.
And so it’s not that we need to get away from a particular PLACE to relax.
I’ve realized with startling insight and uncharacteristic blindness to my motivations that what I need to get away from is actually just ME.
Do you have any Type B friends? Type B people seem to be more relaxed and don’t seem to wind themselves up so tightly about whether their life has meaning and unimportant stuff like that. I don’t happen to hang around any Type B people.
We don’t get along.
But perhaps the point of this trip is that shifting ever so slightly into that place where we put the responsibility for the meaningfulness of our lives onto the broad shoulders of Jesus is one of the ways that the weights can fall off of our lives so we can rise and soar like we’re meant to.
He energizes those who get tired, gives fresh strength to dropouts. For even young people tire and drop out, young folk in their prime stumble and fall. But those who wait upon God get fresh strength. They spread their wings and soar like eagles
So no, I am not saying that Type B people have something we can learn from because I’m definitely not humble enough to admit that yet!
However, admitting that I’m not God is a good start!
And we all start somewhere!
I hope this helps you!
You’re welcome!
Good luck!
As the lyrics of the song below sing, “It’s all I can do to get up in the morning . . . But where else can I go . . . but to you?” do you see Jesus holding out his arms to you like a father, bidding his small child to rest in his arms? As you quietly rest in his arms and take some deep breaths there, what do you sense him saying to you as the rest of the song plays?
God, we carry burdens and responsibilities that are too big for us. We finally, reluctantly, hand them over to you, and we receive the peace of knowing that holding your hand as we live our lives allows you to carry the responsibility for a life well-lived. Wake us up to how we try to carry what only you have strong enough shoulders to bear.
I’ve been thinking a lot about how we, as a culture, travel lately. Our family is travelling this week in a middle-income country. I was amazed at the most popular tourist tour, which allows travellers to:
(1) Be terrified tubing down a river with rapids and canyons,
(2) Horseback ride in the nearby wilderness,
(3) Zip-line through a canyon inclusive of rock climbing and Tarzan swings 250 feet above the ground, and
(4) Experience mud baths in about 10 different pools of varying temperatures.
And this is all done in one day.
It got me thinking, “Really? Do we need to do that many things in one day to keep our high-revving ‘I’m bored’ switch turned off? Is there another way?”
I think there is another healthier way – To be willing to look like an idiot!
For example, we hired a guy to point out the types of birds lurking in the sidelines everywhere we travelled but that we didn’t have eyes to see.
Check out this bird!
We saw this greater-than-full-size likeness painted on a restaurant wall later that day, which I also wouldn’t have given more than a passing glimpse a few days prior.
“That’s a Turquoise-Browed Motmot!” I exclaimed in delight, my neck twitching. I recently learned that this is a common side effect of birding. Here below is the bird in real life.
Can you imagine how incredible it would be to see this bird in real life, aided only by a telescope or binoculars?
It was thrilling.
And wasn’t even the bird tour itself that was the most thrilling – It was more the effect it had on waking us all up to an unseen reality. “What is that?” our 16-year-old daughter exclaimed two days after the bird tour, stopping mid-step on a mundane walk, her ears alert to an unusual bird call, one none of us would have noticed a few days before. Her ears became more sensitive.
When we slow down and notice the stuff around us that we can’t usually see because of the comfort we rely on of all our distractions to avoid thinking or feeling the thoughts that matter, life gets a little more fun.
Sometimes, Holy Spirit even breathes on the wind as we’re going about our day, and if our ears aren’t filled with noise, with luck, we may have picked our ears up off the floor and attached them to our heads long enough to maybe catch a word or two God utters to our hearts.
“You hear [the wind] rustling through the trees, but you have no idea where it comes from or where it’s headed next. That’s the way it is with everyone ‘born from above’ by the wind of God, the Spirit of God.”
And then we don’t need quite as many amphetamines or adrenaline or even indulging in the types of activities that go against the best versions of the very souls we were created to be.
“If you’re not going into the ocean, or you’re not going to the top of a mountain, or you’re not going into the woods or the rain forest, the only alternative is [an] assault on the senses.”
It’s just you and a bird and nature and a little bit of humility to realize that you may also not know the difference between the call of a Pygmy owl and a White-Winged dove (True story- Don’t judge me!).
But there are also no hangovers, ego promotion or moments of regret.
Being a loser definitely has its advantages!
Try being an idiot, too, the next time you travel!
You’re welcome!
Good luck!
When the lyrics sing, “I don’t want to miss it”, consider asking God, “Would you heal my ears so I won’t miss the melody You are singing over my life?”
God, thank you that You delight in reattaching our ears that so quickly fall off in the distractions of life. Show us how to keep our ears near, that we can hear the sound that propels us into a life of adventure, with You, we pray.
Footnotes
*I actually read this quote in the book Ageless by Suzanne Somers, but I’m too embarrassed to admit to reading that book. (No offence, Suzanne – You are intelligent even if the TV personality you portrayed was not!) And besides, why would I be reading an anti-aging book? No reason! Of course I’m PERFECTLY accepting of the natural aging process – Thank you very much!
Do you ever travel to a new country and feel as if somehow you have travelled inside a large glass box, with carefully placed posters on every wall so that you can’t see outside?
How can I see the actual “them” – the people who live in the place I am visiting as a tourist?
We travelled to a lower-income nation recently, and glass walls abounded. We were visibly the tourists. Despite long looks from a passerby – despite seeing a glimpse of a local’s hand through the glass walls laden with posters – even so, culture and financial inequalities ultimately separated our shared humanity.
It was love that broke through the impenetrable travel barriers.
Brochures distributed to tourists in this country clearly warned: “Do not leave valuables unattended.” And the pictures were those of children. A warning to keep kids close. Common sense anywhere.
So as we drove to church that Sunday, I prepped the kids ahead of time so they would stay with us in the service, regardless of whether there was a children’s program.
They nodded and looked out the glass windows of the car.
But as children often do, through a look, a smile, and then holding hands and a hug, our 8-year-old quickly made a new friend a few minutes before church started.
“Oh, Mommy, can I go too?” my daughter’s shrill voice echoed loudly down the church hall as her new friend paraded to the children’s program ten minutes later.
I smiled, nodded, and followed my daughter, changing my plans and sacrificing my attendance at church so I could sit with her in her program. Seeing the huge smile on her face, it was not much of a sacrifice. I felt the claws of my mother bear hands protruding from my paws at the thought of leaving my child with these people.
“They would have to kill me first,” was my knee-jerk reaction to my inner question of whether I would leave this child with these people.
Who were these people anyway? What did they value? I had noticed the ten-foot-high iron gate at one location. Who were they keeping out or in? What were the relative risks?
I didn’t know.
I would be content to sit and watch my child play in her Sunday school program.
But what I wasn’t prepared for, what I didn’t have any defence against, was the love of God poured into my heart. What would I do with this water, this love for the people around me, pooling at my feet? “Where do I put this water?” I called out to God.
Leave the water here and come with me, He seemed to nudge my heart.
Back to the church service?
Yes, He assured me.
And so I left.
And His peace came with me. And His peace sat with me, calmed me when I remembered the folly of my actions, leaving my child with – who are these people? Panic would rise in my chest, and God would reassure and calm me again.
For some reason, it seemed important that I trust my child to these people –
To His people.
And as I knelt to receive communion at the front, tears poured down my cheeks. Again, I was reminded that I am somehow part of a family, even of a family of people of whom I don’t even know their names. We are united in love, somehow. And I am not alone, no, never truly alone. How am I truly alone when love surrounds me?
When the service ended, I went outside, past the church, to the children’s building, collecting the piece of my heart that had been ripped away from me for a short while by our Savior Himself.
I was astonished at the responses I received.
Six or more women, strangers, saw me and then spontaneously threw their arms around me, one after another, as I walked by them.
We didn’t say a word to each other. But these women knew what I gave them. Trust. The ultimate symbol of love. And they loved me because I loved them. And I loved them because I knew that they first loved her.
And so, the walls separating our cultures were entirely demolished that day.
God, from the wounds of your cross flow the waters of your love. May the waters of love pour from our tiny sacrifices, too, as we obey You, prompting our hearts. Continue to heal our hearts with your love for us, and with our love for each other, we pray.
I in them and you in me, that they may become perfectly one, so that the world may know that you sent me and loved them even as you loved me.
We were visiting the largest city in our region and decided to stop at the library to borrow some books for our youngest daughter’s summer reading cache. We walked in awe, looking up in wonder at the size of the magnificent building. There are so many books inside!
Yes! I pressed the “like” button on my previous post to “like” my post! Now, before you throw rotten tomatoes at me and throw me off the internet, watching me spiral away like a free-floating astronaut, hear me out! We agree that we are ALL (sort of – not REALLY me*, but I have to say it for humility’s sake) losers, right? (If not, see HERE).
But being a loser, if displayed with enough gusto, can ACTUALLY become part of our superpower! Let me explain. That loser-ness contributes to our awesomeness because we know who we are so that we can relax!
We no longer have to spew boasts describing ever so covertly our successes in attempts to impress people.
And this is freedom.
Maybe we didn’t find gold stars all over ourselves when we dressed this morning. Or perhaps our stars have rusted and fallen off. (Does NO ONE care anymore that they voted ME one of the best dressed in my red-necked high school? It was a BIG THING back then. I’m just saying.)
We can, in our best redneck attire, STILL pat others on the shoulder with love to encourage them, even though we sometimes (in theory, and I speak of OTHERS MOSTLY here), have a big “L” on our forehead for “loser”.
And we can “like” ourselves too because we are just little bundles of love dressed up in whatever old rags we could find as we wandered through life.
And love is enough!
So, if you don’t have any gold stars that our culture handed out, or if you were late for the lineup for these accolades, don’t worry!
The stars wouldn’t stick to our old rags anyway.
If we find we have stars, tearing them off is still the way to true freedom. Because in the dark of night, just before we fall asleep, more often than you’d like to admit, friend, your esoteric anxiety startles you for a moment with, “What AM I doing on planet Earth??” (It happens to the best of us! Even the wisest of us are SOMETIMES confused!) In those moments, our gold stars earned in high school or passed out to us last week don’t satisfy us. We know this stuff, but saying it aloud helps us understand who we are. You’re welcome.
And now that you know your true state (You can take the “L” off your forehead now), we can all stand together and hold hands.
And what’s next?
Let’s stand here in a circle and … sing. Yes, sing.
We praise the one who IS the standard of the world’s excellence. We wonder at Jesus (He’s the guy 1/3 of the people on the planet claim to follow – Know him?) and find that as we gaze at the One who is genuinely excellent, he gives us new clothing, too. We can throw away our old torn redneck outfits and other cultural achievements because he has new clothes for us – the stuff princes and princesses wear when we become children of the King, his dad – God.
The point is that He is pleased with us.
And so you should be, too.
So you can “like” yourself!
You can even “like” your own posts.
Whenever, though, [we] turn to face God . . . we are transfigured much like the Messiah, our lives gradually becoming brighter and more beautiful as God enters our lives and we become like him.
God, help us to see ourselves the way You see us, both in our true brokenness before we turn to You and in our glorious attire as we fix our eyes on Your beauty. Help us to “like” who we are becoming by Your grace, we pray. As the song below plays, take some deep breaths and then ask God in the quiet of your soul: How do You see me?
If you knew who God made you to be, you’d never want to be anyone else.
Pastor Bill Johnson
Footnotes
*(My editor said I should write that part about me being a loser, too, so that you feel there is someone you can relate to.)
You’re welcome!
Good luck!
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