Selfish

Someone, in the midst of attacking our choice to homeschool our children, once threw out an accusation that has stuck with me all these years: you’re selfish.

As in, “Your choice to homeschool your children is purely selfish.”

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Birthday

Jude skipped easily over the first birthday milestone yesterday, somewhat enjoying his cake, but very much enjoying his balloon and happy birthday dance. There were no presents (from the immediate family– Mamaw and Papaw brought one by, though!), we didn’t even get to go to church (making sure we’re 100% clear of a nasty strep infection that hit 8 of us this week), and it stormed for the better part of the morning.

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The earth moved

A year ago, the earth moved.

It was a day like any other in Nepal. Goats were tied alongside open air counters, ready for slaughter. Children roamed the streets. Taxis lined up at chowks, awaiting fares.

Babita says it was a slightly grey, rainy day. She had always liked overcast days. It was early afternoon, and she was just finishing teaching youth Bible study at her church.

But then the earth moved, and nothing was ever the same again.

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5 a.m., Tuesday morning

When my alarm rings at 5 a.m. Tuesday mornings, I’ll admit, I hesitate for a moment before crawling out of bed.

I think, “Maybe this week, maybe this morning, it’s not worth it.” But then I walk to the closet, get dressed and get ready to go.
Tuesday mornings, 6 to 7 a.m., is my church’s men’s Bible study. Since December, I’ve been attending the weekly meeting at a local McDonald’s as often as I can, and now I hate to miss it.

 

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Learning through interruptions

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John Mark. Are you listening? John Mark?”

Suddenly, I had his attention, even if The Burgess Animal Book for Children hadn’t.

“I’m sorry, Momma. I just … can’t… take my eyes … off the lizard with the red throat.”

And like that, we were down a rabbit trail.

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Memories

Do you ever wonder what things your children will look back on as adults and select as their best memories of growing up? I do. Like Jesus says in the book of Matthew, we parents go out of our way to give our children good gifts. Not just physical things, like a custom-designed, homemade Titanic birthday cake— complete with iceberg— on a certain child’s birthday (been there, done that), or stuff under the tree on Christmas morning. No. We give our children the best of gifts: the gift of days ripe with joy and free of fear and pulsing with opportunity. We give our children the gift of childhood.

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Following the tracks of a legacy

This past Saturday was a pretty decent Saturday, as they go for teenagers. I slept in, (thank you, Mom,) relaxed in the morning, played a game with my peer-aged siblings in the afternoon, and spent the rest of the time leading up to dinner outside. It was a beautiful day: the perfect level of sun combined with just enough wind to make it tolerable to my Washingtonian tastes.

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