Who's Gonna Win, Gonna Win, Gonna Win?

I am counting the days until the election is over the way some count down the days 'til Christmas. I am weary of the debate and the commercials and the mud-slinging. Fact: All parties are corrupt.

Ever since the dawn of time people have looked for leaders to lead. Face it, the majority of people on the planet are followers and are desperate for someone to follow. The first book of Samuel chapter eight tells of the nation of Israel's debate with Samuel over appointing a king. Up until this point, Israel had been ruled by judges but the people became dissatisfied with theocracy and demanded a king so they would "look like everyone else." Samuel tried to tell them what having a king would entail: A king would take their sons and bring them to war. He would take the best of all their land and flocks and belongings, making them his own slaves. "Yeah, whatever--GIVE US A KING," they insisted. And God responded, "Give them their king."

These days, in this country, we get to elect our leaders. Whenever one party is in power, people of a different persuasion tend to think a new ruler/president/government will make things better. We look back on the successes and mistakes in the history of our young nation with either glowing nostalgia for The Good Ol' Days or disdain for the ignorance of our forefathers who weren't necessarily that upright in their methods or ideology. Some feel "If only we could go back in time." Others, "If we knew then what we know now, we'd do it right." Neither is true.

Mankind, as a species, is not improving with each generation as some seem to believe. You need just to watch the world news to see endemic corruption, violence, and terrorism common fare. Civilized people love brutality as much as the audiences of the gladiators of old. We pay money to be entertained by graphic bloodshed in theaters and act out the same in the form of popular video games. We insulate ourselves from the horrors that occur every day where the innocent are slaughtered and starved and ignored. Yet we firmly believe if our party was in power...if the government was run by Christians...why, we could make for ourselves a veritable Heaven on Earth. Or could we?

Things could not have been more perfect in the garden of Eden. And yet...it wasn't quite enough. The two first people on the planet wanted more. They wanted power. It wasn't enough to be made in the very image of God, they wanted his ability to discern--for themselves--what was good and what was evil. That thirst for power has infected mankind ever since. And regardless of what motives a leader begins with, you can be sure that by the end there will be an exposing of feet of clay. We are terrible at choosing our own leaders because even the best among us is incurably flawed, selfish to the core. And we are too blind to notice.

You would think, with such a view of humanity, I would be discouraged with people altogether. What is the point then? Why even vote? Why pray for our country at all? I am able to get up every morning with joy in my heart because my trust is not in the fickle decisions of foolish man--he is like King Midas who ruins and poisons everything he touches with his selfish ambition and greed. My hope is in God. He is the one who holds the rulers of the nations accountable. Nothing takes place without his notice. God himself sits on the throne and surveys all the work of his hands. Nothing is hidden from him--no motive, no secrets, no intent of the heart. It is all bare before him. Rulers, drunk with delusions of their own authority, have no power but that which is allowed them. There is a much bigger picture waiting to be assembled than this jagged, current-events piece we hold in our sweaty little hands.

My hope is not in the Democratic Party, nor the Republicans, neither any off-shoot thereof. It is not in Barak Obama that I trust, nor Mitt Romney, nor any of their running mates. My hope is in the Maker and Sustainer of the Universe. He will reign over that which he has created and his will be the final word. Come November, I will not be disappointed regardless of what the voters decide. I'll be glad we can move on to better commercials.

Go Play Outside

I'm currently reading a book called, "Last Child in the Woods," by Richard Louv which addresses what the author is calling a "nature deficit" plaguing today's children who spend far more time in front of electronic screens than they do in unstructured time outdoors. Growing up, I was outside eating toast at the crack of dawn and stayed out until dark--coming inside ONLY to eat and use the bathroom. But our world is changing. This marks the first generation of children who will grow up with few familial ties to the land, meaning, that most of them do not have parents or grandparents who farmed or lived in rural areas. Even children's time is at a premium and what little of it is spent outside is usually in some type of organized sports program, not in exploring or random play. The Great Outdoors is being choked out by Wii and IPads and Netflix.

I spent this afternoon outside with 18 children exploring and documenting our discoveries on One Mile Prairie. We identified lavender wild asters, burgundy-stemmed turkey-foot grass, and white wild yarrow. We climbed a hill and measured temperatures and wind speeds high on the trail, and counted mallards and flocks of teal on the marsh below. Kids took out their journals and sketched goldenrod, milkweed, and cattails. They shaded in colors of the sky and pointed out various cloud forms. We purposely listened and recognized the sounds of crows, chickadees, killdeer, and simply enjoyed the rustle the wind made as it passed through the tall grass we were sitting in. Bees and dragonflies with iridescent wings zipped around us while franklin gulls wheeled in aerial patterns high over our heads. In the air was a hint of wild sage, the light musty scent of the waning marsh, and the sun warming dry foliage. We poked in the dirt with our fingers and pencils to expose small spiders, crickets, and grasshoppers. We loaded the bus 90 minutes later hot, sweaty, and thirsty. Was this time well spent? Yes. Educational? Absolutely. We need to reawaken a sense of WONDER in our children and erase the word "boring" from their vocabularies. Everything around us does not have to exude flashing lights, bells, and whistles to be interesting and appealing to our innate longing for the natural world. But we need to be taught, perhaps retaught, to pay attention to nature's subtleties in spite of our sensory-overloaded urban environment.

As Christians, this speaks to us on an even deeper level. "Be still," we are exhorted by our Creator. "And know that I Am God." He calls us away to quietness where we can appreciate the miracles of life all around us, a place where we can hear His soft, small voice.

What ideas do you have for getting kids to spend more time outside in unstructured play? How is your children's relationship to the outdoors different from what you experienced as a child?

Fall Daze

I am sitting out on the front porch swing in my swishy skirt sipping iced tea and enjoying the comfort of the sun on my face. The wind is blasting leaves off the trees and making the flowers whip against the pickets of the fence. Squirrels dart back and forth across the street. I wonder what's so pressing on the other side that they risk life and limb every ten minutes? The dog stretches out beneath me, eyes half-mast against the late afternoon brightness. I can smell the squash that is baking in my oven through the open window.

I am thinking about my sweet students, how different they all are from each other--sort of like the flowers in my garden. I appreciate the diversity of the youngsters I see every day and find them endearing in a thousand separate ways. There are the gregarious charmers who have a hard time containing their social inclinations--ones who like to catch my eye at odd moments in the day, and never miss the nuances of subtle humor. There are the shy ones, who just like to stand by me and wait to be noticed. Sometimes they'll be overcome with boldness and reach for my hand. I never let go first. I love their gap-toothed smiles, sprinklings of freckles on sunburned cheeks, fuzzy new crew cuts, shining braces. Best of all are their eyes: Green eyes, gray eyes, blue eyes, brown eyes, eyes that vary based on what they are wearing, eyes fringed with lavish lashes, eyes filled with wonder and innocence. They stand close to show me their drawings, their owies, painted fingernails, and loose teeth. I get to read with them, help them with number patterns, untie knots in their shoelaces, listen to them recite memory work. Every Monday morning our school has chapel and I find myself towering over them--like a sunflower in a wheat field--worshiping among the little guys and gals. There is nothing like being surrounded by a hundred children belting out praises to God. He must smile. I know I do.

I'm so thankful for the color and the texture children bring to my life.

Merry Christmas, Family & Friends!

A common theme that has been running through my mind all year is the importance of relationships. While God does hold us accountable as individuals in our connection with His Son, he looks at us as groups in ways that are foreign to those of us in western society. God set the stage in Eden for families by declaring, "It is not good for man to be alone." He then gave Adam what he knew he would need: Family. Years later God blessed all the families of the earth through the faith of one man, Abraham. Throughout the Old Testament we see him relating to the family, the nation, of Abraham's grandson Jacob (Israel). Generations of people were blessed by this association.

Centuries passed. And when the time was perfect God sent His own Son in a wrapping of human skin. He wanted to make a way for us to experience the righteousness that belonged to members of His family through relationship with this Person who came to us as a baby. Chris Rice sings,

"Fragile fingers sent to heal us,
Tender brow prepared for thorns,
Tiny heart whose blood will save us,
Unto us is born..."

From His birth, Jesus was on a mission. Two thousand years later we still marvel at the wonder of this plan. In Christ, we can join the family of God and enjoy all the privileges and blessings that entails. My favorite verse this year, one I have adopted as our family verse and emblazoned on a plaque by our back door is this:

"From Everlasting to Everlasting the Lord's mercy is on those who fear Him. His righteousness belongs to their children and grandchildren." Psalm 103:17

Unto us is born...a Savior who can connect us to an everlasting Father who is full of mercy and goodwill toward men, who can bring peace to our troubled times and hearts. I wish you JOY this season and hope that only God can give.

Much love to you and yours--

Dawn and family

Everyone Needs a Hero

I took myself school shopping today. I have long since outgrown formal schooling, but I work at one and if I am not tired of seeing myself in all of last year's clothes, I'm sure the kids are. So this was a mission of compassion, really.

I went alone, which was probably my first mistake. I loathe shopping and it affects my digestive system in an adverse way. I also don't know what looks good on me and usually have to straw poll the entire dressing room. But today, I was a woman on a mission. I was shopping clearance racks and I just wanted to get the whole thing over with.

An hour into the excursion, I teetered to a dressing room laden with prospective articles. I tried on pants first. Then shirts with pants. Then pants with shirts again. I was nearing the end of the pile and was standing there clad only in my undergarments when I noticed a long sleeved button-down shirt I had not tried on yet. I put my left arm in the sleeve and started my right arm in the other to hitch the shirt into place when, just past my elbows something locked. That's right. The shirt just locked onto my arms like some sadistic straight jacket with super glue. It was hot in the dressing room and my arms were damp. Now beads of sweat began to form on my forehead. I looked at myself in the mirror and gasped. I was not wearing any of my best underwear--the kind your mother tells you to wear when you go out in case you're in an accident. They looked as tired and saggy as I felt. I don't generally choose to spend a lot of time naked in front of a mirror and certainly not in department store lighting. No one could see me like this! I couldn't get either arm out of the sleeves and both were pinned behind my back. Panic rose in my throat.

What should I do? RIP the shirt off like The Incredible Hulk and sheepishly pay for the remains? I struggled against the sleeves. They were well-sewn and felt even tighter than before. I needed someone to pull the shirt down from behind me. Maybe...I could push the handle down on the door with my knee and get the attendant's attention. Wait. Did I want the attendant's attention? Did I want to be seen like this? Would this story make the six o-clock news? I thrashed harder now, determined to get the blasted garment off if I had to dislocate both rotator cuffs in the process. Inch by inch the shirt fabric squeaked down each arm, first the right, then the left, until one (now hairless) arm was free. I yanked my captor off and whipped it triumphantly to the floor, panting with the effort.

I quickly donned my own safe (loose) clothing, pushed tangled hair out of my eyes, and gathered the clothing pile to return to the store clerk. I felt like a disheveled Clark Kent emerging from the phone booth after a very eventful Superman moment. "Did these things work for you today?" she asked smiling sweetly. I couldn't even respond. Evil did not triumph today. I would live to fight future dressing room battles. But next time? I'll bring a friend.

A Place to Hide

I have always been on a quest for the perfect niche--a space just big enough for me to hide, think, spy on the world, imagine. One of my favorite spots as a little girl was in a mammoth evergreen tree that was directly across the street from our house in the neighbors' front yard. It had long, arching branches that hung just low enough for a nimble eight year-old to chin-up and swing onto. It wasn't a pokey kind of evergreen. It's bark was smooth and reddish in color. I spent hours there, sometimes alone; often perched on the lowest branch with other barefoot and sunburned children like so many baby birds. If I close my eyes, I can still feel the smoothness of the worn wood, breathe in the tangy scent of the sap that left dark sticky patterns on my hands by the end of the day. The tree would sway in the wind and seemed pleased to be hosting small children in its branches. I felt important in the tree. I felt strong.

In those days, I used to have vivid nightmares. The common theme was a monster of some kind that was intent on catching me and I was unable to run. I would wake up, heart pounding, sweating, convinced the dream was real. In one boost of adrenaline, I'd be off my bed, down the hall, and into my parents' bed where I would worm my way between them and burrow under my dad's arm. Sometimes, I would throw an arm or a leg over one of them just to make sure they stayed put. If I squinted in the darkness, I could barely make out the form of my dad's .22 rifle in the corner by the dresser. I knew no boogie men or bad guys could touch me here. I felt safe.

Years later, an older version of me discovers a brand-new hiding place. It is my fifteenth summer and I am following my boyfriend, Ron, up the ladder into the hay loft of his dad's barn. I am terribly smitten with this boy whose head is a mass of curls the color of ripe wheat, his sky-blue eyes brilliant in a face tanned from hours of fieldwork. He has something to show me and he moves off toward one wall, selectively pushing heavy bales of hay aside as he goes. I stand in the shaft of light from the trapdoor, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. Outside, it is sweltering and the June bugs are singing their tinny songs. Below us, calves sleep, piled against one another, ears twitching to keep the flies away. A tiny window at the top of the loft lets white light stream down to the hay covered floor and dust motes dance in its path. Ron motions me over, smiling. I crawl over bales and look where he points. Five newborn kittens snuggle in a cave of straw with their mother in the safety of the darkness. Ron hands me a tiger-striped kitten whose eyes aren't even open yet. Her tiny red mouth mews at me. I stroke her velvet fur and hand her back. The mother cat purrs and blinks at us with half-opened eyes. What an ideal place to hide something so perfect and defenseless!

One of my favorite verses of scripture is from Psalm 91. I absolutely love the imagery: (1) "He who lives in the secret place of the Most High will find rest in the Shadow of the Almighty. (4) He will cover you with his feathers. He will shelter you with his wings. His faithful promises are your armor and protection."

There are days in adulthood when nightmares aren't my imagination, when I feel as defenseless as a blind kitten. How many times do I still long for that safe place--a lap big enough for me to sit in, a cozy bed hemmed in on either side by someone Bigger and Wiser and Stronger? Somewhere I can go and just breathe. Just be. Just rest. God promises to be that place for me. The secret place of the Most High--covered with his shadow, his wings, his protection. Who can harm me? What evil can touch me here in this secret place? Here, I find peace as he whispers his faithful promises to me. And I am able to say, "It is well, it is well with my soul."

Ties that Bind

Every interaction with another person is an opportunity to either make a connection or sever one. Just as our brains are constantly making new connections increasing cognitive intelligence, our words and actions can make connections that increase our social intelligence.

The great thing about social intelligence is that it can be taught and learned. Not everyone is born gifted in social skills. Quite the opposite--we are actually born handicapped, thinking only of ourselves and our wants and needs. Any action counter to this innate inclination grabs our attention. The other night, I was eating at Burger King with my two young grandsons. They had finished their chicken nuggets and milk and I bought each of them a warm, double chocolate cookie for dessert. Cohen, 4, took a huge bite out of his (picture: Cookie Monster) and fully half broke off and landed under the table on the dirty floor. He looked at me, cheeks full of chocolate, eyes full of alarm.

"Nema!" he mumbled around his mouthful in desperation. "Get my cookie!"

"Oh, Cohen," I lamented as we both beheld the cookie lying in a muddy puddle from our boots. "It's full of germs now." I glanced up at two year-old Sawyer who was passively observing the drama as he knelt in the booth beside his brother, holding his intact cookie. "Maybe Sawyer will give you a bite of his?"

Sawyer, Chocolate Lover that he is, did not even hesitate. He handed Cohen his untouched cookie with a smile. Wordlessly, he watched Cohen devour half of it in one bite. Cohen kept pushing the cookie past his chocolaty teeth as he watched for our reaction. "Save some for Sawyer," I warned. He squeezed the entire cookie in his mouth, noted the look on my face, and reeled out a half-inch sliver from the edge and handed it back to his brother. Sawyer popped the remnant into his mouth without complaint. This, for the uninitiated, is not normal toddler behavior. This was Heroic Generosity.

My seventh grader comes home with Tales from Junior High nearly every day which I try to use as springboards for discussions about social skills. Victoria was in a play recently where she had a rather large part. It involved weeks of practice, memorizing of lines--a lot of work. She met many new friends as no one in her little network was in the play. She was especially nervous for the last performance as everyone in her school would be attending. When it was over, she texted one of her friends to ask what she thought of the play. "What play?" the friend replied absentmindedly. "The play I was in," she prompted. "Oh, that play...what was it about again?" Victoria patiently explained the plot and ended with her own question. "Weren't you paying attention?" No response from the friend.

Here was a teachable moment: What was Victoria looking for? Simply, "Good job--you did great!" would have sufficed. Why couldn't the friend give that? We talked about what her motives might have been for withholding good. Regardless of whether she liked the play or not, found it entertaining or boring, when your friend does something big you encourage and support them. It's an unwritten rule. Likewise there are a number of things you don't do in seventh grade: You don't trip your friend in choir so she falls flat on her face and then laugh along with the whole class. You don't make comments in the locker room. You don't tell others her secrets. You don't tell her you liked her hair better before she cut it.

If only children were the only ones who lack social savvy! Adults can behave just as badly and sabotage their relationships without even knowing it. Some of my personal pet peeves go like this:

Me: Don't you think that guy over there looks like your brother John?
Friend: No.

Me: I just love the new coffee flavor from Caribou!
Friend: I don't.

These are pretty minor, but basic. Some among you, and I suspect you are lonely, would say, "What? Aren't I entitled to my own opinion? Do I have to agree with everything you say?" And to this, I would respond, "Yes. In matters that don't matter--AGREE. It's polite."

This is something I have taught my children. Is it dishonest? Perhaps. But a little restraint can be a balm in everyday conversation. Everything doesn't have to be a debate where you defend your platform. That makes you tiresome. Sometimes, you have to do more than just be agreeable to protect peoples' feelings and it is called employing "tact." Example:

Me: I got my hair cut.
Friend: (clearly hating the New Do but realizing I can't glue the hair back on) Oh, you are just aDORable. You could shave your head and still be the cutest ever.

That isn't actual lying, by the way. My friend loves me. My friend thinks I'm adorable. Hair will grow back but hurt from too much honesty can cause wounds that fester forever. Tempering your own opinions, curbing envy, and bridling moodiness are very healthy to relationships.

Me: We are going on vacation to Florida next month!
Friend: Must be nice! (jealous) I hate the beach! (more jealous)

There are many variations on the above theme: I got a new job, bought a new house, I'm pregnant--can all be announced to unenthusiastic friends who (apparently) hate jobs, houses, and babies. GET OVER YOURSELVES, I say in my head to these people. Put yourself in someone else's shoes for five minutes and allow yourself to feel happiness for them. Then, speak.

What these insensitive rebuttals are is Conversation Killers. My husband and I have an analogy that we call, "Keeping all the balls." Here's how it works: I say something to you, toss you an imaginary ball:

Me: Hey, did you watch the Oscars last night?

You: (catching the imaginary ball) No, I don't watch that crap! Hollywood is full of a bunch of godless weirdos and I never even go to movies so what do I care about who wins a naked statue?

You kept my ball. You did not throw it back and have effectively shown me you are not interested in playing with me. Or if you are, you will determine the rules. Suppose, even if those were your truest feelings, you had responded with:

You: No, I missed it! Did something interesting happen? Tell me about it!

You have just tossed the ball back like a good sport insuring that the game will continue for some time. For extra credit, you might practice the fine art of The Segue. After politely tossing the Oscar Ball back and forth a few times, you could change the subject and introduce something else:

You: Did you happen to catch the last episode of NCIS?

This is totally acceptable and, with practice, you can get really good at it.

It is impossible to learn this level of social network building unless you develop an Interest in Others. Again, since birth, our primary interest has been ourselves, so this takes some cultivating. Since it is easiest to be interested in those who are most like us, start there. For instance, if you are a stay-at-home mom who homeschools and makes bread every day from scratch, begin with someone in this camp: Practice being interested in her curriculum, her children, her recipes and don't try to one-up everything she does and resist the evil imp in you who wants to turn each interaction into a competition. Once you get comfortable playing catch with people similar to yourself, be daring--branch out: Ask a mom who works full-time and has 4 kids in the public school how she manages to do it all. Compliment a single woman from church who is going back to school on her ambition and inquire about which class she finds most challenging. Engage a senior citizen in line at the grocery store by commenting on the contents in his cart and the rising cost of food. Ask a preteen girl on your block what she thinks of Justin Beiber's haircut.

There are basics, such as smiling and using eye contact to engage others. But relationship building is about so much more. Take turns with those conversation balls. Don't expect the other person to keep lobbing them into your lap while you start a collection. This is no fun at all for the pitcher and, once they run out of balls, they'll find someone more engaging. On the other hand, don't chuck all the balls like missiles at someone forcing them to run in self-defense. Real conversation is a sport, a dance, that requires a lot of practice and good timing.

I'm convinced that all of us long for meaningful connections with others. I work at an elementary school and every day I see things even from the very young that destroy these ties: Jealousy, sarcasm, teasing, ball-hogging, score-keeping, comparisons, pride, gossip, insensitivity. No one has to teach these qualities--they come as part of the human package.

But we are not without hope! New and better skills can be learned to replace the ones we're born with. My favorite building tools are a set of questions which I make a conscious effort to employ every day:

-I was wrong, I'm sorry, will you forgive me?

-What do YOU think?

-How do YOU feel about that?

Some of the best advice I've ever heard on relationships comes from the book of Philippians: "Don't act out of selfish ambition or be conceited. Instead, humbly think of others as being better than yourselves. Don't be concerned only about your own interests, but also be concerned about the interests of others." Phil. 2:34

Lord, give me a humble heart like yours that seeks to serve, not be served; that looks out to the good of others before myself. On my own, I want everything to be all about me. Help me love like you love, Jesus. Amen.