PearlS | The Average Pearl

When You Walk By the Way

Last year I began writing a few chapters about one of the best habits I’ve ever happened upon. I initially thought I could turn it into a little series or book read-aloud, kind of like In the Closet. When I began teaching at school, I put down my notes, but I still maintain the habit—which I am now going to share with you.

It’s one of those life-disciplines that changes everything—but you have to be turned on to the idea before it occurs to you how important it is—like eating healthy food, or exercising regularly, or keeping a budget. Immensely beneficial, but sometimes you need a kick in the pants to get going.

I was driving my kids to school every morning, a fifteen minute drive on a good morning. They would fuss over who got to sit where, then they’d gripe about someone’s hand crossing the line on the seat, or a water bottle touching someone else’s backpack and I’d have to threaten to pull over and set them straight.

I’ve been convicted for a few years with a verse from Hebrews (5:12), “now, at the time you ought to be teachers, you are still infants”—in other words, believers need to grow past the point of gnawing on teething biscuits to sooth our gums. The concern Paul had for his friends was that they’d become complacent. He didn’t want them to be satisfied with just fellowship and the swag bag that brought them into the church in the first place—he wanted them to grow up and teach.

This is a still a problem, isn’t it? Many issues would be solved it the goal were to mature beyond spiritual teething biscuits. And why is teaching so important, anyway? Because it’s the natural next step in passing on a way of life. It is what grownups are supposed to do with the wisdom that distinguishes them from children.

So as my kids bickered in the back seat, I decided to pop in my audio Bible CDs. They immediately fell silent, absorbed in story.
We began in the fall; Acts. It turns out fifteen minutes is more than enough to cover two or three chapters, depending on the book. We’ve since read through Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, skipping in and out of the letters of Paul and breezing through Revelation. (“It’s an allegory, right Mom?”)
In the Old Testament we’ve made it to 2 Samuel before flipping back to the New Testament. Jesus keeps blowing our minds.
Now the ride to school is silent.

GK, first grader, said on the way home from school last week,
“Mama? You know how Jesus said not to ever swear, no matter what? Well, Miss Polly made us raise our right hands today and swear to be kind. Can you believe it?”
We have inside jokes, like when I got an eyelash stuck in my eye and Luke said, “if your right eyelash causes your right eyeball to sin, cut it out—it’d be better to enter heaven with one eyeball!”
Or when kids get out of the shower at night and huddle on the bathroom floor in their towels, procrastinating at putting on their jammies—a kid will joke, “Is _______ also among the prophets?!” (Gotta love a good King Saul juke)

Obviously there are folks who think it irreverent, but I can promise this: the Word is hidden in their heart. It’s common language and a familiar reference point in our family. Countless times my kids have asked me questions and I’ve referred them to what we listened to in the car that morning. Turns out the teaching part isn’t so hard when Jesus does the talking. All we have to do is keep pointing at Him.

It is not beyond the sea, so that you need to ask, “who will cross the sea and get it and proclaim it to us, that we may obey it?” But the word is very near you; it is in your mouth and in your heart, so that you may obey it. Deuteronomy 30:14

Here is the thing: parents have been handed the task of when you walk by the way. I think sometimes we get the idea we’ve got to sit down and really spill our guts for a conversation to count—not so. I have felt pressure to dedicate them as babies in the church and pray a sinner’s prayer to “get” them “saved”. These are not failproof for salvation, nor are they even biblical. Your children aren’t a checklist to mark off. Your job isn’t to save them; your job is to get them to the point where they have ears to listen. God can handle the heavy lifting.

Teach them diligently. Talk about things when you lie down and when you arise. When you sit in your house, when you walk by the way (Deut. 6, 11). This was the template God established for teaching kids: spackling paste in the cracks of life. When you fold clothes, when you pick them up from practice. As you go get the mail, on your trip down the grocery aisle. In traffic. After bedtime stories. Sitting on the edge of the tub as they play in the bubbles.
Apply generously and often.

God’s Word acknowledges the fact that you as a parent will be parenting as you work, as you earn a paycheck, as you pursue grownup endeavors. You, as a parent, will likely be doing things that often prioritize earning a living or completing daily chores above explicitly evangelizing your children. The intentionality is not misplaced—rather, it is delicately woven in to the fabric of your everyday life.

Think critically about the in-between moments: how are you spending them? How many minutes in the car on the way to where you’re going? How many moments are happening in the bedtime and morning hours? Have you set down your phone, turned off the game, removed your earbuds long enough to teach them diligently?

Are you the person they are asking questions? Let it be you they come to first.
I marvel when I listen to the Bible audio in my minivan on the way to school. In our ears this morning Jesus told the pharisees that the prostitutes and tax collectors were entering the kingdom of God ahead of them.
So we talked about prostitutes (people who sell their bodies to be abused by other people). And tax collectors (people who use their use their job description as a license to steal money). And Pharisees, people who talk a lot and judge a lot but are straining gnats while eating camel soup (Matt. 23:24).

I’ve never had to bring up an awkward topic before to my kids. All I’ve got to do is listen along with them and then answer questions. For some reason, God made it so every bit of the Bible can be chewed, swallowed, and digested by children.

What an awesome foundation.
What a cool job it is to be a parent, cracking open the spackle and applying liberally.

See to it that you don’t despise one of these little ones, because I tell you their angels are always looking into the face of my Father in heaven.
Matthew 18:10

Rhett and Link and the key to Undeconstructionable Faith

One of the Average Pearl posts that gets the most traffic to this day is a summary I made of Rhett and Link (Good Mythical Morning) a couple years ago. I’d listened to their podcast about why they’d “left the faith” or “deconstructed”—the more edgy way of saying the same thing—and I retold their history and what most likely led them down that particular path.

As a quick review, Rhett and Link are well-known worldwide as a comedy duo on Youtube. They do ridiculous but usually PG-rated music videos, short series, silly challenges, etc. My twelve year old begs to watch them eat things while blindfolded or debate the merits of Nerds versus Snickers.
We were introduced to these guys via Buck Denver, a Christian children’s DVD series created by the same guy who created Veggietales, Phil Vischer. Since then, they have abandoned Christianity and detailed it publicly on their podcast, Ear Biscuits.

When I check my website stats, it is a constant reminder that folks are searching the internet for Truth. They look at friendly guys like Rhett and Link and are curious over the details of their breakup with Jesus. I have a hunch most are genuinely seeking meaning in their own life but coming up dry.

It seems like along with a thirst to know more about “deconstruction” seekers tend to be on the hunt for real spiritual meat. If this original Christianity wasn’t the real thing, or at least not real enough for PG super YouTube stars like Rhett and Link—what, exactly, is real enough?

I’m a thirty-eight year old woman with half-grown kids. I’m younger than Rhett and Link, but definitely in the same cohort that grew up in the nineties with a serious Baptist influence. I know about burning bad CDs and purity culture and WWJD everything. I remember camps where teenagers were “called to the ministry” and promised, as a fourteen year old, to become preachers and missionaries. I know concerts and long van rides, confessions and crying and altar calls and everyone close your eyes and raise your hand if right now in this very moment if you were to die tonight, you don’t know where you would go.

The thing is, however sincere it felt at the time, it wasn’t the real deal. Emotionally-charged ultimatums have never been what Christianity was about. Following Jesus is a daily act of joy-inspired self-denial— for the joy before Him he endured the cross (Hebrews 12:2).
I recognized smoke and mirrors when I saw them as a teenager.
Many, many people did not.

It is all thanks in large part to uncool people, the ones who get the least credit—now this truly is the way of Christ, having no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him (Isaiah 53).
The unattractive, true Jesus-following examples in my case were my folks. Unattractive, because they were older, wiser, anti-idiocy advocates with an ultra practical lifestyle. Nothing in their appearance that I might want to emulate them because what teenager wants their peers to think of them as a forty year old?
My own parents (brilliant and loving and supremely attractive in hindsight) never bought into a youth group culture where we had to go along with twenty-something Brads who made us all draw straws to eat packets of mayonnaise and relish in an attempt to bond with other teenagers on Wednesday nights. They knew the battle was more real than that, and they made sure we were aware of it. There were no late night, soul-baring conversations at my house. We didn’t stay up until midnight and watch X-Files with cool parents. They were too tired for all of that and firmly believed it wasn’t in their job description to makes us happy or keep us entertained. Our family didn’t go to church to make friends; we went to worship and study the Bible, and if the church didn’t do those things, we went somewhere else.

My parents paid their bills on minimal funds. Mom wrote checks in the name of Jesus just like the Macedonian churches (2 Cor. 8), “giving out of their poverty” and “beyond their ability.”
Coincidentally, we didn’t have the money or influence to show up looking like groupies at youth group. It wasn’t intentional, it was just an unvoiced understanding that some of our values didn’t align with the church, or at least their methods of attracting youth. As a teenager and after years of not fitting in, you sort of start to give up.

My mom and dad fostered joy and an absolute reliance on God’s provision. Our close-knit family dynamics weren’t cultivated by vacations, sports teams, hobbies, or “making memories”—rather, the opposite. We were on the same team because we were all facing the same giants. We each took on the world and returned at night to the safety of a home where Jesus was alive and present.
Under these circumstances I think the inability to fake it helped me spot the real fakers and ultimately avoid becoming one.

It’s really no wonder Rhett, Link, and their like-minded friends have abandoned faith. It wasn’t real to begin with, and jerry-rigging Christianity to be more Saturday-night-live-ish is a headache. It’s far easier to abandon ship than keep up the carnival games under the pretense that this is how we win people to Jesus, guys.

But there are people out there still doing it, micro-celebrities and YouTubers and influencers who water down Jesus until he’s hardly Living Water. People who have become so tolerant of and comfortable in the world that they enjoy life in a gray zone, full of incongruities and misnomers—the very trap Paul warned believers not to fall into: you were called to freedom, only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh! (Gal.5:13)
Until very recently I listened regularly to Knox and Jamie, two southern-Baptist pop culture experts, on their podcasts, The Popcast and The Bible Binge. They get some things right. But they sow a lot of confusion by wading into today’s culture and cherry-picking what supports their liberal worldview. They want to be the type of Christian who can watch and recommend violent, explicit movies and also teach 1 Samuel while doubting the historical validity of the Bible.
(If everything is so up for debate, I’d wager they are on Rhett and Link’s path of “deconstruction.”)

I’ve seen other grown-ups my age who are trying to right the ship by steering modern Christianity in another direction—the direction of reformation. It is well-intentioned, and I applaud the energy that is directed. Lots of books are written and purchased, plenty of social media and podcasts. It’s the kind of Christianity you can get on board with, where parents want to be parents and the family is the focus. There’s quite a bit of banter over schooling and raising up the right people into the proper political positions. Unfortunately, it seems to be a faux-Puritanism that avoids any and all reality. Martin Luther also did some reforming and came to the realization that sitting on the bench wasn’t spreading his light very far. The facts are this—a dumpster-fire world exists: “in this world you will have trouble,” Jesus promised (John 16:33), and we’ve been put smack into the mess of it.
With purpose—we are put into this world with purpose. Just probably not the kind that sees believers changing the world through politics and Charlotte Mason.

Where do you lean? This is my question. Are you playing carnival games, having abandoned Christianity completely? Are you toying with grace as a ticket to do whatever you like, the Knox and Jamie-type teetering on the brink? Are you a Christian soldier, marching solidly in the opposite direction, hell-bent on keeping your nose clean but conveniently ignoring the mess we’re in? Are you a Puritan who won’t touch sinners with a ten-foot pole but preach your how-to-save-the-world convictions regularly on Twitter?
It would be nice to identify your type, at least so the younger generation can have a better shot figuring out how to construct a faith that won’t implode someday.

There are people still looking for real meat. They see hints of it in those nice guy types, pretty pictures of happy families on Instagram, news headlines that mention kindness, generosity or any hint of self-denial. These are all poor substitutes, but seekers like the flavor. They’re looking for more. Some are even hungry for a full meal.

Jesus told his disciples that He was the real meat.
“Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I in them…the one who feeds on me will live because of me.” (John 6:56,57)

When He said this, many people left.
Many of his disciples said, “This is very hard to understand. Who can accept it?” (John 6:60)

Friends, people leave Christianity because either they never tasted the real meat or they did but the “worries of this life, the deceitful news of wealth and the desires for other things come in and choke the word” (Mark 4:19).
Following Jesus isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s not for people who are full, but people who are hungering and thirsting (Matt.5:6), hanging onto Jesus’s words. It’s a life of dying to self—putting off the old, putting on the new—but the death feels right because the former life was all gross little packets of mayo and relish. There’s no room in this life for worthless endeavors or even worthwhile self-focused endeavors. It is for those who want to be sober, want to straighten up, want to be delivered—but admit they can’t do it on their own. It isn’t for the righteous, but for the forgiven.
This is a faith that cannot be deconstructed because it’s firmly built on the Rock.

And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, and they did not love their lives to the death.
Revelation 12:11

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)