Author Archives: PearlS

Toothpaste on the elbow: tell us pleasant things.

I have become busy this summer planning a whole new music curriculum for school on top of my general mom duties. It was a swift, no-turning-back decision and I tend to get overwhelmed by the scope of the project.
Firstly, my music theory chops are severely underdeveloped. I just like to sing and strum a guitar, and it doesn’t seem like that could get me a whole job. Yet here I am, contemplating the merits of color-coded solfege and Orff and the difference between glockenspiels and xylophones.

I was thinking aloud about the potential in overlapping subjects—fractions and meter! Rhythm and pattern! The science of loud and quiet and noise vibrations. The history of composition and instruments. Literacy and rote memory work. Shakespeare, performance, comic operettas, John Phillips Sousa, Jimmy Driftwood, local versus world. My brain is a sticky fly trap for ideas.

Meanwhile my garden is bursting with aroma and symmetry—a combination of multiplication (one seed+sun+water+time=bountiful flowers and fruit) and awe (the beauty!). The diversity in root systems, corms, tubers, sprouting eyes. Vines that trellis, male and female flowers and buzzy little pollinators that promote fertilization. When I planted sunflower seeds, they grew into the exact replica of the photo on the seed packet.

The two things I’ve homed in on this summer, teaching music and growing stuff, are completely, absolutely dependent on the standard-issued, God-provided, earth material.
Music is not produced without sound waves, and plants never spring from nothing.
The rules, though not explicitly stated, are stiff. The accuracy and reliability is mind-boggling. What you plant is what you grow. What you sing is what others hear. A new creation cannot be conjured up—you can’t mix a graham cracker with a cup of lemonade and expect it to turn into a graham cracker plant. You cannot sing by rubbing toothpaste on your elbow. No one has ever even tried these things in the name of passing the product off as vegetables and music, so implicit the rules are carved into our conscience.

Still, an original, amazing creation can be cultivated within the boundaries. The garden is unique to its climate, unique to the people who nurture or neglect it. The tone or timbre is unique to the person who vocalizes or plays the particular instrument.
One takes the seeds they have and the notes on the scale and the possibilities are limitless.

I haven’t heard people argue against this sound logic. No one is buying graham cracker lemonade plants in the produce section at the grocery store. We aren’t fooled by a sludgy mix of goo next to ripe red tomatoes and crunchy sweet peppers. No, it’s fruit and vegetables we want and expect.
No musician has ever made it onto stage rubbing toothpaste on their elbow. The audience would be weirded out and leave immediately. The liberty and expression that comes with songwriting and performing is meaningless without melody and rhythm. It’s music we want and expect.

I wonder sometimes if logic is too logical to the culture of today. Anarchy balks at logic, because rules are too rule-y. I read a book, Blackout, by Candace Owens. She muses on the state of black Americans as well as the history, present, and future of our nation. She surmises that we have become, altogether, so free and enlightened about ourselves that we’ve gone off the deep end of logic. Free—our enemies around us all defeated. Enlightened—because we are living at peace with individual rights and liberties.

Owens suggests that instead of being satisfied with our affluence, the culture of today looks for ways new ways to be at war. In short, people aren’t content to live at peace. There is always a new level to conquer, liberties that are curious and obscure to outsiders that live in other nations. Folks that would be delighted to feed their children or send them to school—think of their puzzlement over the “right” of aborting healthy babies and the “right” to pose as anything other than their birth gender.

Indeed, human nature is at war with itself, always self-seeking yet never satisfied. Always wanting what’s beyond the boundary without realizing there is only confusion beyond them—toothpasted elbows and graham cracker slop. What happens when an abortion brings you unexpected grief, regret, and self-loathing? What happens when gender-bending brings confusion, emptiness and isolation? Is it any wonder suicide plagues our young people? That a diagnosable mental illness affects one in four Americans?

It’s fairly easy to draw the conclusion that living life without natural boundaries is darkness and confusion. In the Word, God’s people try to escape the rules and fall into anarchy territory:

These are rebellious people, deceitful children, children unwilling to listen to the Lord’s instruction. They say to the seers, “See no more visions!” And to the prophets, “Give us no more visions of what is right! Tell us pleasant things, prophesy illusions. Leave this way, get off this path, and stop confronting us with the Holy One of Israel!”
Isaiah 30:9-11

Sound familiar? Our culture is filled with people who hate authority and the laws of nature to the point of self-destruction.
God warns them, “this sin will become for you like a high wall, cracked and bulging, that collapses suddenly, in an instant. It will break in pieces like pottery, shattered so mercilessly that among its pieces not a fragment will be found for taking coals from a hearth or scooping water out of a cistern.”
Isaiah 30:13

But this is what He wants for us:
“In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength…the Lord longs to be gracious to you; he rises to show you compassion…How gracious he will be when you cry for help! As soon as he hears, he will answer you.“
Isaiah 30:15,18,19

Life inside the lines is full of color, creativity, opportunity, contentment. In hindsight, it’s never been as much about rules—this and that—as it has been about order. The kind of order that makes way for healthy relationships. The kind that upholds a marriage vow as a promise so that when the waves start rocking the boat, nobody bails.
The kind that introduces forgiveness that wipes the slate clean.
It’s the kind of order that leads the way for children by example and doesn’t hedge questions about identity and sex before they are mature enough to understand it.
The order that balances the truth of God’s word (in quietness and trust is your strength…) with the crazy, chaotic world that screams, mob-like, “Don’t tell us what is right! Tell us pleasant things!”

I’ve seen it in my own life over and over—fruitful with peace, love, and self-control.
It’s abundant—like a well-watered garden planted in the sunshine.
It’s beautiful—like music.

a joyful plod: have-it-all moms.

The morning of my first job interview since I had children (a good decade and a half ago), I pulled a crocheted gray cardigan over a buttoned-up floral blouse, slipped into a pair of rarely-worn khakis, and slid into my favorite purple half-inch pumps.

When my little girl descended the stairs into the kitchen for breakfast, her hair tousled and eyes bleary, she stopped cold and studied my outfit. A huge smile broke out on her face. She ran to me and wrapped her arms around my waist.

“Oh mom,” she breathed, fingering the front of my shirt, “you look just like a teacher.”

Surely it comes more naturally to other people, and obviously I am slow to commit and reluctant to limit myself to one career-related endeavor. It’s my husband who always wanted to climb ladders or even got any sort of thrill out of trying.
I’ve been biding my time, waiting for the golden opportunity or a sign from heaven to let me know I could move on from the stay-at-home gig. After all, who will do laundry? Who will clean toilets? Who will roast the chicken and mash the potatoes? These are high on the list of things good mothers do, and I love clean things and delicious food.

I spent one summer in college working for an old lady who, every day, wanted me to clean her windows with vinegar, newspaper, and water–the outside of the windows, mind you–where she hung the suet feeder. There’s nothing more demoralizing than scraping big globs of fat off glass you cannot reach (the windows being on the second story) with the wrong tool for six dollars an hour. (Demoralizing well describes every job I had prior to the age of 26.) I also weeded the pitiful zinnias and polished the Civil War-era silver on the mantel. The latter felt to me like a chore better left to professionals (also, do I look like a person who has ever polished anything in her life?). This was confirmed when the tiny, marble-sized handle on the sugar bowl popped right off the lid and bounced out of my hands and onto the hardwood floor. I pretended I never saw it happen. (Lord, forgive.) 

The lady’s name was Win and she so happened to be a professor emeritus at the University–a skilled writer known nationally for her rhetoric-plus-composition curriculum and literary translations from Spanish into English. I didn’t know I was in the presence of anyone great. It was later, when her obituary was in the paper ten years ago and my mom sent it to me, I felt a kinship toward her instead of dread over window washing and the nagging guilt of the sugar bowl incident.

The article described her life and accolades, a writer, teacher, mother–hugely successful and beloved by students. She was 38 years old when she earned her master’s degree and 53 when she got her doctorate. (These are numbers you appreciate as a mother in the dregs of potty training, sleeplessness, and unending chasing-of-toddlers phase.) There was a quote she’d give years and years before she passed away. I’m paraphrasing, but I’ve tucked it away in my pocket for such times as this: “I firmly believe a person can do it all and have it all. You can be a mother, an author, a teacher. You just can’t expect to do it all at once.”

Bless Win for saying it. We get in such a hurry to do it all and be it all and what’s left in the meanwhile? But then again, what’s left behind if you aren’t pursuing at least something? It’s a plodding sort of pace one must maintain if they expect it to be a joy-filled life. But plodding forward, nevertheless.

We’ve been studying the story of Samuel at home, where a baby, pre-born, is dedicated to the Lord by his yet-to-conceive (and desperate-for-kids) mother.
Two things important to know: it was God who had caused her to be barren in the first place (1 Sam. 1:6) and it was a source of bitter grief (1:16).

When the Lord gives her the so-desired baby, she announces she will wean the baby and then take him up to the house of the Lord to dedicate him. Her husband shrugs and says, “okey-dokey!” (This is humorous to me because I’m married to the same type of guy– “do what seems best to you!” Applicable advice in every situation, from shopping to hair-cutting to child rearing! Also the same guy who says, “why are you sad? Don’t I mean more than ten sons to you?” Seriously, Elkanah?! not.the.same.thing.)
So Hannah, Samuel’s mother, stays at home with him until he is weaned. I imagine this was akin to getting him used to eating solid food–probably meat and bread (as that’s what Eli and the priests ate, but I’m getting ahead of the story) and giving him a few get-ready-for-kindergarten life lessons.

Though this must have felt like an awful ticking countdown for Hannah, for whom there was no promise of additional children to take Samuel’s place.
But, upon closer inspection–I don’t think it was so. Hannah was determined to squeeze the joy out of the toddler years, just as she was determined to keep her promise of giving her son away when time ran out. Surely this determination and boldness to keep plodding forward was a source of inspiration to her husband–do what seems best to you! (don’t you think he knew good and well he wasn’t going to change her mind?!)–and every person who knew Hannah?
She was the same woman who defended herself to Eli, the priest, when he accused her of drunken-prayer: “I am not drunk! I’m pouring my soul out to the Lord!” (1:15)

All this to say–my children have been weaned accordingly. I also stayed home until they were fit to be around other kids and grownups, pouring on some version of obey-and-respect-authority and treat-others-the-way-you-want-to-be-treated kindergarten lessons.
I’m amazed I made it through what I consider one of the sketchiest phases of my life (toddler boys on mountains near rushing rivers, bears, and mountain lions. Nine-month long winters, poorly vented wood-burning stoves, carbon-monoxide poisoning, GT kiddos with major sensory issues, scraping by to pay the mortgage, you get the picture). Weaning takes a looong time.
Win, I think, was right: you really can’t do it all at once, but it all can be done. And it can be done with great determination. Hannah knew it, too.
There’s no passive life that is worth living, but let’s not mistake passivity for patience and persistence. God closed her womb; he also opened it. He gave her a child and expected her to keep her promise; she did.

God did bless Hannah with more kids–and who knows what else! Did she get the job she interviewed for? Did she work until she retired? Did she become a writer? (If the recorded prayer in chapter 2 is any indication, I think she did!)
This second prayer happens when she drops Samuel off at his appointed destination. It’s an audible prayer this time, not one mistaken by Eli or anyone else as drunkenness:

My mouth boasts over my enemies, for I delight in your deliverance (1:1)
There is no one beside you, no Rock like our God (1:2)
Do not keep talking so proudly or let your mouth speak such arrogance, for the Lord is a God who knows, and by him deeds are weighed. (1:3)

This bold prayer goes on for ten verses, every one a declaration of God’s goodness to Hannah. It is His goodness to us when we don’t lean on our own understanding, but acknowledge Him in all our ways and He directs our path (Proverbs 3:6).
What a faith-filled, devoted, humble and confident mom!
I wonder, do I have that same vibe about me?

And when I put on my flowered blouse–and my kids are beaming, holding my hand when we walk into school together–and my husband gives me the do what seems best to you! go-ahead nod along with a bear hug and kiss–

When, at thirty-eight years old, the ground shifts because the babies are weaned and I’ve plodded into new ground–
I think I’m on the right path, one where Hannah and Win and other moms are cheering me on.

American Board certification

In February, about the time we were to get slammed with several snow days but I still didn’t know it yet–that’s when I signed up for a study program to get my elementary education teaching certificate.

I’d been at a sixth grade basketball tournament and had a random conversation with a woman who traveled the state to train teachers in professional development. She asked if I was a teacher (I must put off a certain vibe) and I told her I only substitute-taught at our local school. She encouraged me to go ahead and get my license because, she said, “it’s never been easier than it is right now. We are in desperate need of great teachers.” 

I can vouch for that. Covid has worn people out–teachers have been piled with more responsibilities, given less help, get paid very little as it is. Kids are rowdier than ever, dealing with social media junk, mental health, and lack of parental support at home. Fresh young teachers coming out of college have little of the life experience it requires to manage the behavioral issues–which is a massive problem. If you care about kids and education, right now is the time to move in that direction.

When I got home from basketball,  I pulled up the state department of education website and perused alternative routes to certification. Since my bachelor’s degree isn’t in a specific subject area (like science, English, history), the best option for me looked to be the American Board Certification for Teacher Excellence (ABCTE) program.
When I signed up, as of February 15th, the cost for the program was $1600–including the materials to study for the elementary education (grades 1-6) portion and the professional teaching knowledge (PTK) portion. This money also covered my testing fee (to be scheduled at a later date through Pearson Vue testing centers).

I was a bit overwhelmed when the email landed in my inbox to begin the program. ABCTE first requires college transcripts (about $17 for me to request and have sent as an e-doc) and a background check form. Once this is accepted, the studying commences. ABCTE recommends you take several months of studying time for each portion–around 4-5 months for both the PTK and subject specialty. My goal was to pass the certification exams before the end of the school year so my state department could process my documents before recent college grads would jam up the system ( I don’t know if that actually happens but it felt like good motivation).

To put myself on a deadline, I immediately scheduled my elementary education exam for two weeks out. Out of those two weeks, my kids were out of school for two long, snow-day-extended weekends amounting to 8 days at home. I worked two days in that same time frame, thus leaving me four whole days to study plus at night after the kids went to bed.
The first thing I did was take all the quizzes to see where I was lacking knowledge. I’m pretty well-read and sort of informed on history (thanks to history buff kids who can tell me off-hand any random fact I’m looking for–”Hey guys–what was the Zimmerman note about in World War II?”) and last year I helped one of the kids take an intensive online Algebra course, so almost all of my initial grades were 60% or above. I reviewed the questions and the correct answers and took notes on my weak areas.


Then I went back and skimmed the study guide and looked up Youtube videos on Civil War events and Prohibition (I think I’m an audio-visual learner. Sometimes simply reading won’t cut it, I need to hear it).  I’m not great at timelines, but I could remember the big highlights, who started what war and why, that kind of thing. Vascular plants versus non-vascular, the layers of Earth, the difference between a comet and a meteor (I have actually no idea), basic chemistry (another subject I just hoped wouldn’t appear on the exam).

The biggest emphasis was on early language, such as graphemes, morphemes, diagraphs–phonetics in general. I am aware of these things because all my kids have learned how to read over the past nine years and my last child is currently a kindergartner.

For the four days I studied, I made sure I didn’t take much of a break from the computer, so as to get used to sitting and staring at the screen (the exam is a few hours long). I took one practice exam at the beginning of those four days, and one at the end. I improved something like 20% overall, so I felt confident when I took the actual exam for Elementary Education.

At the testing center post-exam, I was given an initial paper that said I’d passed. So when I got home, I went ahead and scheduled the PTK portion. This time I tried to be smart about it and give myself at least a month to study.

PTK was a bit trickier for me. I found it wasn’t helpful at all to skim through the list of standards. They sounded like common sense. What ABCTE wants is application of “best practices”. The best help was listening to all of the videos to get a feel for what they’re looking for. I did pretty poorly on my initial practice quizzes, but reading back through the answers to see why I got them wrong was again the best approach to learning what they’re trying to teach. Again, I did poorly on the first practice exam but I knew how to get down to business after knowing my weak spots.

I memorized Bloom’s Taxonomy–they really want to hammer in the idea of what promotes greater thinking in students, what comes first (learning happens with proper scaffolding), and how to build on prior knowledge. There is also a general knowledge of appropriate actions to take if a kid is struggling (don’t embarrass them, seek outside help) or misbehaving (move closer if it’s a small infraction, be swift and direct if it’s egregious).
After I’d listened to every single video, I went back and read through all of the study materials, because by this point I have a reference point for my interest, which is figuring out what I missed and why I was getting it wrong.

When given four multiple-choice questions, my approach was to eliminate two as quickly as possible, then really study the remaining two to tease out the differences. ABCTE advises you to really study the way the question and answers are written, because the correct option is usually only a degree or two off of a wrong one. Think “best practices” instead of “what would I do in this situation?”
My second practice exam was much better. By then I was able to sit down, read the standards, and understand them thoroughly.

As far as the PTK essay portion goes, I was not worried. I love to write and it comes quite naturally to me. I was a bit curious about what the topic might be, but really the idea is to complete the task, not to pound out a thesis. One, write who it’s to, who it’s from, the subject line and date. Two, write five paragraphs; the first addressing the person and the problem, the middle three explaining how to solve it, and the last wrapping it up.
The problem being solved is only a tiny portion of the assignment. You won’t be graded on this portion by someone who is familiar with best teaching practices–you’ll be graded by an English major (just kidding, but probably) who is looking for good spelling, great grammar, complete thoughts. Above all, you must complete the task: five well-formed paragraphs that address the problem with a solution. Don’t overthink it or try to be a hero. 

I passed the PTK exam a month after the Elementary Education exam.
In about a week’s time the grade and report were viewable on my ABCTE dashboard. On April 6th, all the boxes were checked: exam status, documents status (the background check is run after the tests are passed), and certification status.

In all, it took under two months to sign up for the program and complete it. I am still waiting on the hard copies in the mail, but should be able to copy and mail them to the state department within the month.

For the money and time invested, I think ABCTE is an awesome avenue for becoming a certified teacher. As requirements vary from state to state, I cannot speak for the ease of continuing certification and submitting various documents. But I’m glad I did it, and I think if you are interested, you should go for it. It was far easier for me as a mom of four kids to buckle down and study and take an exam than it would’ve been for me to go back to college for a year or two. Far cheaper, too.

My best advice? Set a deadline. Watch and listen to the videos. Practice quizzes and tests are essential. Do one exam, then book the next. Give yourself time, but not so much time that you lose interest or skip the studying. Practice sitting still and reading and focusing–these are all, in my opinion, underrated tools for conquering the exams.

The local school has already asked if I’d be interested in teaching–which is a super nice way of easing into a job interview (ha!). I also love learning more about the profession and best practices, because it keeps me on board with what teachers are doing right now at school. I can be a thoughtful parent and also keep our district accountable to the highest academic standards.

Kids need good teachers now more than ever. 

You can do it!

Who told you you were naked?

My first encounter with Ken Ham was not the great Ark in Kentucky.

No–it goes back twenty years ago, when I was a camp counselor and a representative from Answers in Genesis gave sermons to our little campers in central Colorado.
I have tried to wipe away the memory, as I do with most confrontational moments, but to sum it up–it wasn’t all puppy dogs and dinosaurs.
I was only eighteen and not on my game when it came to apologetics. There were sneaky things that popped up when the speaker engaged the kids, and I remember feeling alarmed but helpless to reason against him. He was an expert, after all, and I was just crowd control.
What I remember the most was the tip to always “answer a question with a question”–my pet peeve when it comes to just about any touchy subject discussion. But other things must’ve imprinted on little minds–probably the “question everything” attitude and rude, know-it-all superiority complex of the speaker.

The campers, at least some, went home and told their parents. There was swift backlash. Apologies were issued on Answers in Genesis letterhead, the situation was swept neatly under the rug, and AIG never again returned to rear its head in that small corner of Colorado.

Maybe I’ve become over-familiar with the story, having hashed it out again and again via assigned Sunday school curriculum. I mean, I’ve told Genesis 1-3 to hundreds of kids, but Sennacherib’s siege on Jerusalem? Or Ezekiel down by the river? The time Israel just about wiped out the Benjamites and then let them steal women to re-generate the clan?
The not-so-ancient history that is so fascinating always gets left out because the spotlight is so hot on Adam and Eve.

This said, I begrudgingly accept the fact that Genesis is the key to unlocking the rest of the Bible. And every January when I begin a read-thru-the-Bible-in-a-year program I look for a new pop or sizzle.

The fact remains: Genesis presents the problem and the solution. The rest of the Bible is just watching it play out.

Before you get to the “he will crush your head and you will strike his heel” eleven-word summation, Eden is a beauty to behold. We conjure up vivid imagery of the two humans in the garden, a paradise full of birds singing, animals peacefully playing, a babbling brook meandering through the canopy of trees in perpetual summer sans mosquitoes. Fruit hangs thick; no mouth will go hungry. Two trees stand taller than the rest.

And the Lord, wrapped in shekinah glory, strolling through it all on his morning walk.

Surely He heard the serpent capture Eve’s attention. Surely He heard Adam tease her as they both ate forbidden fruit. Surely he saw them hastily grab fig leaves and sew them together. Surely he heard them scramble into a hiding place. He wasn’t born yesterday, after all.

“Where are you?” the Owner called.

Adam and Eve exchanged glances. Her eyes widened and she motioned for him to hurry up and say something. They were sort of born yesterday, and neither one was quite familiar with a lie.

Adam hesitantly offers an explanation:
“I heard you in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked…so I hid.”

God asked them,
“Who told you you were naked?”

Adam and Eve weren’t really naked before–not in the way we think of naked–embarrassed and shivering. They were likely shiny with shekinah glory like their Creator, and though their human bodies were technically physically naked, otherwise they were as un-naked as possible.
Every need they had was met automatically.

The garden where they worked was already irrigated and the vibrant trees already produced delicious fruit. It was an open buffet, free for the grabbing.

They’d been given the amazing tasks of tilling and planting and multiplying to fill the earth–making babies before pregnancy and labor became a thing with curses attached (a worthy assignment). They had no fear of being cut by rocks or devoured by wild animals, didn’t have to deal with weeds or parasites, blood or bruises.

They didn’t feel the burden of peer pressure or keeping up with the Joneses. They weren’t gratified by self-actualization; they didn’t desire to climb ladders and build prestige. They didn’t overemphasize flesh, didn’t tattoo their skin to symbolize individualism.
They weren’t looking for novel ways to express themselves, no concern for a deeper tan, new car, nicer house.
Envy hadn’t yet entered their world. No nitpicking marital spats. It was harmonious.

And they were naked, but only in the way we can’t be naked today. Naked, unclothed, without clothes on–but their vulnerability wasn’t a physical threat. They weren’t cold or sunburnt. They suffered no overexposure by the elements. They were safer naked than any protection chainmail armor would offer.

But they were easily duped. And the one thing the Owner warned them not to do, they blatantly did. They traded in their freedom, their shekinah, wrapped-in-God’s-glory nakedness and intimate paradise with Him for a half-baked lie that they might be God-like, too. That they might also get to stroll through the garden as the Owner.

They didn’t know how good God had made it, how perfect their paradise. The serpent told her it could get better and they were just curious enough to give into the temptation of finding out.

Humans today are still very adept at believing a pretty lie.

And I wonder if we don’t do the same thing all the time, listen for little tasty whispers instead of talk to the fellow who owns the Garden and the trees full of delectable fruits, the cattle on every hill, the stars in the sky, all universes yet to be discovered.

There are answers in Genesis, but there are also questions. God catches us rushing off to our hidey-holes and asks, “where are you?” when He already knows.
Like the mother of a two year old who’s just been caught swishing their hand in the toilet, He wants an honest answer, not for His benefit, but for our own.
Are you in the bathroom? Don’t you remember what I said about touching the toilet? Did you obey?

He sees us ashamed and groping around for a fig leaf to sew.

The Owner asks gentle questions, “who told you you were naked?”

Have you been lied to? What tree did I tell you not to touch? Did you fall for temporary pleasure when I promised you paradise?

These questions all still apply. Most of us are still worming our way out of answering them because, like our Adam and Eve ancestors, it feels a bit terrifying to stand before God and realize we are quite naked.

Have you ever tried obeying–as in, actually doing what God said to do? Staying away from tempting, but disastrous lifestyles? Avoiding people and behaviors that are temporarily fun but wreak havoc on your faith walk? Have you ever correlated your sin behavior to the consequences you’re now facing in your life, naked, poor, lacking virtue? Who fooled you into thinking fleeting temptation offered a grass-is-greener, more-whole-version of yourself? Why do you keep reaching for fruit that the Owner declared off-limits, if you know He’s already provided you with the best fruit in the garden?

These questions aren’t asked to induce shame, but to reveal how unclothed we are apart from Him. It is a kind question that gets to the heart of the matter–we get to the point where we feel a breeze, look down and realize we are bare. We can either keep running naked in the opposite direction of Him, or we can acknowledge He’s talking to us–we are accountable to Him.

The good news is this: naked and awkward isn’t what God wants for us–He wants us clothed in glory, intimately associated with Him. He wants us back in His garden, feasting at His table.

He doesn’t want us in the dirt, swapping gossip with snakes. And I am convinced of this: if we can avoid the snakes and tempting hissing of the world around us, we can move on to the good stuff in God’s word, all the stories full of intrigue and drama, walking with Him as He reveals glory after glory.

 

Praise be to the God…who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ.  Eph.1:3
(**that’s a lot of not-nakedness)

Will Smith v. Chris Rock: who wins?

I never watch the Oscars–like, never–because I have kids and because I don’t watch many grownup movies. But I decided after the kids went to bed to turn the tube on to see if any Encanto songs might be performed live (I’m partial to Dos Oruguitas and any and all cumbia). That’s when Chris Rock walked on the stage.

Chris Rock has never impressed me. I’ll be the first to say he is a vile person with lots of ugly stuff pouring out of his mouth on the regular. He has a funny voice and an amazingly dazzling smile for a 57-year-old man (how can he be 57??), but that doesn’t hide the fact that his entire career has been about making fun of people.
That’s what most comedians do–they pick a weak spot and shoot arrows at it to make other snarky people laugh. When you land a great zinger, there are plenty of pats on the back. We all feel good about ourselves. Great, actually. Someone was brave enough and clever enough to say the things we all wished we could say.

And when you’ve been doing it for forty years, it surely comes pretty easy to the tongue. Why filter your thoughts before they come out as words when you get paid so much to do it?
Personally, I’ve always felt like the Chris Rocks of the world need a good sucker punch to the face, because they’re jerks.

Then Will Smith walked up and did just that.
The collective world of couch potatoes and Hollywood elites held their breath.
Did that really just happen?
How should I feel about it?
Team Rock or Team Fresh Prince?

Things that immediately went wrong: Will Smith was not escorted out by security. Chris Rock stood there, stunned, fumbling to get on with his speech. The Academy did not cut to a commercial break. Will Smith sat back down, his eyes burning like lasers. Carry on, folks.

The internet went wild. There was talk about physical assault. There were interjections about mental health and what it means to stand up for someone you love. First the first-grade admonition: use your words! Then the first-grade teacher-scolding: still, it’s never okay to hurt with our hands.

Because Will Smith wasn’t asked to leave (the typical first-grade consequence for hurting someone with your hands), he was primed and ready to accept his Oscar win for best Actor.

This is where it turned unbelievable. The Academy gave Smith a microphone and the spotlight for an unlimited, unscreened, unedited amount of time to speak to millions of people. He was on the stand, tears streaming, pouring his heart out to us, the jury. Will Smith, a beacon of light, proclaimed people do strange things for love. Love, I’m assuming, for his wife–the woman he committed his life to with the side agreement that their marriage was open to extramarital relationships.
He wants his life to be about love, man. And Denzel Washington, bless his heart, had just given him a post-punch pep talk: “At your highest moment, be careful. That’s when the devil comes for you.”

Had the devil never approached Will Smith until now?
I was stunned that Smith had a captive audience. (I also didn’t turn off the TV until the whole spiel was over.) In a few minutes, the excellent actor that is Will Smith put on the best performance of his life, clearing his name, Serena and Venus Williams nodding their heads in sympathy. Was Rock backstage, icing his cheek and filing battery charges?

This is what I wonder:
How can we defend or argue what is right and wrong when we’ve already agreed to the soft rules of culture? 

Chris Rock can talk as much smack as he wants because that’s his specialty. Will Smith can absolve his sins by delivering a stellar soliloquy. We will all watch, eyes glued to the screen, and laugh and cry because that is the part the audience plays. Then we will take to Twitter and voice our opinions, because it is our duty.

Is life merely about sparking conversations that lead to mutual understanding if, in fact, there is only one Truth?

Why do the winners accept their award, thanking the people who’ve helped them climb to the top, and then make speeches on the atrocities of war, anti-suicide work and LGBTQ rights? If there are so many victims in the greater world, why are we all dressed to the nines and spending billions of dollars making movies instead of helping? What good is awareness when you’re headed to an after-party to get wasted? Why not slap Chris Rock in the face and bring awareness to his trashy way of insulting everyone and everything that crosses his path? Who is to say that’s wrong?

Who gets to cross the lines and never face consequences?

Perhaps Jada should have been the first to slap Will on a world stage, since he apparently thinks so little of marriage vows to be faithful. Then Chris Rock could’ve slapped Will in her defense. Then they all could’ve slapped the comedian hosts who hurt everyone else’s feelings.
It’s all so petty and blown up.


I wonder, friend: can you walk away from this incident and chalk it up to worldliness–the darkness of our culture–or do you feel compelled to get involved? Do your feathers ruffle easily, or are you already weary of it all?
Honestly, it’s made me tired just typing what I’ve written. I don’t really even care about the Oscars, I was just there to see the orchestra and choirs, and now I’ve got to sort out how I feel about Will Smith. Nothing is more exhausting than trying to decipher media and who-says-what-about-who, thinking you’ve boarded a train to higher thinking, when it’s really just a crazy hamster wheel of nonsense.
Actually it is all forsaken.

Chris Rock? Forsaken.

Will Smith? Forsaken.

Immature grownups who slander and hit each other? Forsaken.

A cumulative culture of Hollywood stars pretending to portray stories in made-up movies that we pay to watch to evoke emotion in ourselves? Forsaken.

The Academy who hires jerks like Chris Rock to spew slander and still awards Will Smith best actor, post-assault? Forsaken.

Let’s not waste time judging who was more right or more wrong, Team Chris Rock or Team Fresh Prince.

Your life is more exciting than the Oscars or a Twitter feed, or Instagram account, do you know that? It’s more interesting and real than anything you watch on TV on a Sunday night or scroll on your phone during lunch break. You have living and breathing humans in your life. You have the potential to grow relationships that blossom and mature into shady, comfortable mainstays. You don’t need a stage or microphone to defend your people or lessen the suffering of others. Will Smith could only hope for the kind of love in a faithful marriage of 35 years. Chris Rock can only pray for the self-control required to not blab every little nasty remark on his mind.
Don’t fall into Forsaken territory.
It’s possible to be at peace with both man and God.

I’m pretty sure it’s an even better feeling than holding an Oscar.

love, power, and a sound mind.

I like to do a little update once in a while for my own records and thinking purposes–which I also am told often helps other people think things out, too. 

As a family we’ve had some widely varied experiences in the realm of academics. It’s no secret I’ve been frustrated and elated–super highs and lows–with the homeschool versus public schooling life.
Some people don’t ever think twice about how and why they’ve chosen one path or the other. It’s as natural to them as a duck to water. In public school I’ve met people who’ve never heard of homeschool or had it come near their radar. In the homeschool world I know people who think public is the path to H-E-double hockey sticks.

I think about the two options all the time, the way the thoughts of a pregnant woman are single minded for nine months straight about her baby to be born.

There is a Venn diagram in my brain and I sort the good and bad into categories. In the middle is a “good kid” scenario. I also have a best-case, model-child checklist running. I don’t believe I overthink the parenting gig necessarily–I just strive for the apex and am ever-aware of my parenting peers. The homeschool crowd has made me self-conscious. The public school folk make me feel weirdly overzealous. I don’t have a target on my back, but I do feel pressure to turn out outstanding kids, for integrity and posterity. I wince when my kids are rude. I’m prideful when they excel. My posture is the shrugged shoulders emoji–not sincere enough to homeschool (she must not care enough) and inexplicable to public schoolers who’ve never raised questions (why the heck does she care so much?).

Here is a small example:
I tense up in this world where we show up to a basketball tournament and nearly every parent has already handed their elementary child a cell phone to play video games so as not to cause a disturbance.
Is this a public school phenomenon? Maybe–but surely it isn’t limited to public school. This is just where my homeschooling bias would like to place blame, a sign of the failures of “those people”.

After being back on the public school scene, I am chagrined to come face-to-face with educators who don’t blink at wasting hours of learning time watching movies or playing on devices, all under the banner of “asynchronous” or “differentiated” learning.
I only ever let my kids have screen/device time as a reward. Usually their time is limited to a half hour. I frequently warn them of the dangers of being addicted to devices, and yet this is one huge channel administered by public educators, courtesy of a federal subsidy, intent on attaining a 1-1 student-to-device ratio.

On the other hand, I feel the need to defend this approach to non-public-schoolers, because my love for teachers and administration is deep and abiding, behavioral problems exist, and public educators are overloaded with the expectation that they will be the sole academic investor in a kid’s life. In short, they are stressed grownups doing more than their fair share of kid-raising, and they are reamed for every shortcoming, every flaw. Public school, if it is failing, is doing so because parents failed first.

If I weren’t on the middle school sports scene, if my kids were instead invested in 4H projects and running the family business, if I were homeschooling–would I be avoiding this disaster? Would my kids have superman self-control to keep their eyes on their books instead of wandering over the shoulder of their classmate next to them who is on their second hour of playing ninja-something?

This is the question that plagues me because I’ve avoided it altogether when I stayed at home. It is an upside down problem compared to our prior year homeschooling, where any situation seemed better than huddling in our house, waiting for a greenlight to be able to talk to people in person again. By re-entering a life where we have to deal with actual people, we actually have to deal with people.

I can almost hear the scornful comments, because I’ve heard them before. They project disaster, downfall. Public schools get lumped with all sorts of political evils and conspiracy. All it takes one good family to stay hunkered in their house are the words critical race theory.

And I get so tired of it. I get tired of me feeling like it’s something I ought to fret over. We are not a people of fear, but a people of love, power, and a sound mind (2 Tim. 1:7).

In the car this morning we were listening to Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, where he tells the church they should get rid of the yeast of “malice and wickedness” and instead be leavened with “sincerity and truth.” He exhorts them to not eat or even associate with people in their midst (the church) who are doing unspeakable things. Then he says something unusual:
“I wrote to you in my letter not to associate with sexually immoral people–not at all meaning the people of this world who are immoral, or the greedy and swindlers, or idolaters. In that case you would have to leave this world. But I am writing to you that you must not associate with anyone who claims to be a brother or sister but is (immoral).
What business is it of mine to judge those outside the church? Are you not to judge those inside? God will judge those outside.”
1 Cor.5:9-13

“In that case, you would have to leave this world.”

How ironic of Paul to solve the cell phone addiction-at-the-basketball-tournament problem for me the morning after. We can’t stand around fretting and huddled, pointing judgy fingers at people on the outside, hoping aimlessly for evil to go away.
When Jesus prayed for us before He went to the cross, He said,
“My prayer is not that you take them out of the world but that you protect them from the evil one. They are not of the world, even as I am not of it. Sanctify them by the truth; your word is truth. As you sent me into the world, I have sent them into the world.”
John 17:15-18

What a relief–I’m right where I need to be, even in the age of smart phones. I’ve been put right here, right now, for a specific purpose. And under His protection and sanctification, I can be in this world yet not live like the world is in me.

Last month I decided maybe the best way to encourage and affect improvement in public school might be by becoming a teacher myself. Instead of talking so much about what is wrong, I should put love, power, and sound mind to the test. 

I’ve been studying to take the exams. I am being made aware of best practices, what is most ethical, most effective, most appropriate. It’s been a great thing to study, because I’m made aware of the specific rules regarding education, and I’m becoming a person who can hold others accountable. It helps me sort out professionalism, laziness, standards and behaviors–a new Venn diagram in my mind. When a circumstance falls into the overlapping circles of “Jesus-follower” and “public school”–it’s within my wheelhouse and I can approach it accordingly.

I’ve developed my teacher voice now, the one where, at a basketball game, I tell the gaming kid to either put away the phone and watch the game or go away. It isn’t based on my feelings, social insecurity or judgment, but best practices. I can feel my skin getting thicker. I know what is right–and I can speak firmly and with love. (Joe likes to whisper-sing Jo Dee Messina in my ear in these situations to remind me “my give a damn’s busted”–he really has a way of embodying sincerity and truth, lol.)

Kids are just kids. They aren’t yet the sum of who they’re becoming. There will be a million forward steps and a million backward steps before they become a mature adult. Love is patient–Lord, help me be patient.
I have told my older kids they can always get out of public school if the need arises. They don’t have to learn in a group of kids who don’t want to be there, or if things are unbearable. Lord, help me have a discerning mind and good judgment.
Thank goodness, we’ve met people who are the real deal at school–real believers who really love Jesus. It’s worth a lot of trouble to get to run into them. We’re learning and we’re looking forward to the summer. Lord, help me be confident as I walk the path you’ve put in front of me.



Life at a vile boarding school is…a good preparation for the Christian life, that it teaches one to live by hope. Even, in a sense, by faith; for at the beginning of each term, home and holidays are so far off that it is as hard to realize them as it is to realize heaven.
C.S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy

Many of us are patterning our lives after the Christian community, and the Christian community is going downhill. The standard of Christian experience is not the Christian community; it’s Jesus Christ. If you have to break with the accepted practices of the Christian community in order to conform yourself to Him, do it.
Howard G. Hendricks, Heaven Help the Home