Socialization-schmation!

There are two things I almost always hear when I tell someone I homeschool my son. The first thing is usually “OH!,” as though a spider just crawled over my shoulder and surprised them. The second thing, without fail, will be a remark or concern about “socialization.”

It was my first concern when we started discussing the idea of homeschooling our kids. The second was stigma, but it’s my thinking that a stigma has to be accepted by the stigmatized to gain legitimacy.

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Our babes are a wee 6, 4, 2, and under 1. So the times, they are constantly a-changin. My heart has been warmed numerous times by the camaraderie shared by the older two boys. They’ve been such tight friends over the years.

Okay, now truth. Seriously, they hang out all day long. IN the trees, ON the couch, racing around the dining room table, hanging off of me (literally), and they TALK the entire time. So you’d THINK that at the end of the day, after all that talking and playing and running that they’d pass right out as soon as their wee heads hit their cheap pillows. But you’d be disappointed. I mean surprised. I mean disappointed. Because they talk. And talk. For another hour and half sometimes. What the world could they POSSIBLY have to talk about. My wife and I haven’t seen each other all day, and we’re sitting on the couch, silently, listening to them chatter upstairs, in zombie like reverence.

Anyways, they’re friends.

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As “Tig” (the older; dubbed because he is CONSTANTLY bouncing, and Tigger’s love to bounce), is navigating through his sixth year, his confidence in his own abilities, knowledge, and general stature as an authority in the world has taking a radical leap. Which has really been great for his studies. HOWEVER, it is also affected his “attitude,” particularly in relationship to his main social contacts, those being his parents and his siblings.

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There’s a gate between the dining room and the kitchen. If you have had kids, you’ve had some version of this gate. No, not like the Black Castle of Mordor with the guards, spears, and giant Ogre’s to open and close the heavy gates. Those weren’t on sale the day we went shopping, though I’ve had my eye in CraigsList™ pretty steadily. We say it’s to keep the kids safe from the implements in the kitchen, BUUUUUUUUUUT I think we all know- they are a shield and refuge, a tower against the storm, a high tower from the assault.

That’s just from my perspective. For them, it’s more like the windy turnstile gates in fast food restaurants or in amusement parks- they go back and forth, back and forth (it’s only a 30” door, for pete’s sake!) trying to weave themselves to the “front.” Where they can be served.

Let’s see, let me think: 30” doorway, 3 kids- that’s 10” per kid.

UNLESSsssss you’re the biggest, in which case it’s 20” for me, and you two can fight for the difference. This, ladies and gentlemen is what Jesus meant when he said “Love your neighbor as you love yourself.”

Or not.

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Seriously. If your children have siblings, they get all the socialization they need at home. Doesn’t matter if it’s 2 kids or 8. If they are in competition for air with somebody, and there is an authority figure present, you have all the building blocks to “socialize” your kids. And you’ll be surprised at how much you gain from a little socialization as well.

Don’t wait for pre-school, kindergarten, driver’s-ed. We have our own little reality at home, where we can set the boundaries of reality and fantasy. Where we can set the mandates and rules, and where we can say KNOCK THAT CRAP OFF! YOU'RE ACTING LIKE A PUNK AND BEING A PAIN IN MY NECK!

Or something along those lines.

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What opportunities have you had to “socialize” your kids at home? How have you seen those moments played out again in public? What tips would you offer the parent of a young child like me?

Road Trip

CraigsList ™ is totally, totally awesome. It’s a free online version of local classifieds. It’s a searchable database of advertisements for pretty much anything you could ever want (to throw away). And it’s free?! And local?! Did I mention that it’s awesome?! There’s just one real drawback.

There’s this sort of unspoken code of ethics connected to Craigslist. No checks. Just cash. Delivery of goods is a privilege. “You haul” is the norm. And the stinger: first come, first served. Just because you make contact with the seller doesn’t necessarily entitle you to first claim. If you can’t get there to purchase or take the item in question, it’s still for sale. And in some instances, if you're not quick about it, you may make the drive to get something and get there only to discover that it’s not there anymore.

This morning, as I read more of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection in Luke’s careful study, I had to wonder if Jesus ever felt that way.

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Jesus and his fellow road-trippers were pretty much always on the move. Jesus says of himself that he “has nowhere to lay his head.” They’re always walking someplace, going from this town to that town. And since at least a third of his little tribe were fishermen, they went by boat, too.

Luke tells of one trip they took across the “lake” where the weather almost got the best of these professional boaters. These master sailors were afraid for their lives while Jesus, the carpenter, is sawing logs in the bottom of the boat. So they wake him, terrified, to alert him of their imminent doom, only to watch, jaws gaping, as he yells to the wind to be calm. And it does.

“Who IS this? Who commands the wind and it obeys?!” they ask each other, incredulous.

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So they land, finally, on the other side of the lake only to be greeted by a freakshow of a man. I can only hope it was still day time when they stepped foot on the shore, because the welcoming committee came out to greet them acting like Marilyn Manson, but even nakeder. And possibly more maniacal. And his opening line? “What do you want with me, Jesus? Son of the Most High God?!”

So the guys who are sharing their spam, and taking turns at the water fountain with Jesus? Not sure who he really is. Freakshow? Seems pretty sure about who Jesus is. Interesting.

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Anyway, on with the story. Jesus cures this man, casting the whole Queen's Navy of demons out of him and, fittingly, into a herd of hogs (an animal the Jews scorned as unclean by Divine proclamation). When the herd managers return with townspeople to demonstrate that it’s NOT THEIR FAULT (the pigs, upon being possessed, promptly took to the lake and drowned themselves), the townspeople saw Marilyn acting more like Mr. Rogers than Mr. Hyde, looked at the floating pigs, and told Jesus to take his show back out on the road.

So you know what he did? Got back into the boat and went home.

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There’s a book I read several years ago that completely altered my perspective on more than a couple of things in my faith-life. It’s called Permission Evangelism by Michael Simpson, and it’s an apt title. But it’s not really about evangelism, is it Michael? It’s about the Holy Spirit. Because the Holy Spirit delivers the heart of the broken and rebellious to a place where they can kneel before God and be fixed. And sometimes the heart God wants is simply not ready. God comes to the door, in the person of the Holy Spirit, on behalf of the man Jesus, and there’s nothing to see. God won’t force it. He may come back later. But for now, He just gets back in the boat.

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I guess you could say that I’m fascinated by how Jesus’ agenda works. While he’s going places, he’s constantly interrupted, redirected, misappropriated, reappropriated and in general lives life subject to the needs that surround him. He’s been invited to dinner, invited to sickrooms, invited to funerals, invited to speak, and invited to leave. He’s incredibly open to invitations. Even invitations to beat it. I think my take away is that I need to perhaps accept rejection differently. Maybe I shouldn’t get so bent when people just aren’t that interested. Maybe their acceptance or rejection of me, or whatever I’m trying to offer doesn’t define my success or failure. Maybe it’s alright sometimes to just get back in the boat.

Is the Net Actually Dirty?

Jesus Anointed by a Sinful Woman

³⁶ When one of the Pharisees invited Jesus to have dinner with him, he went to the Pharisee’s house and reclined at the table. ³⁷ A woman in that town who lived a sinful life learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee’s house, so she came there with an alabaster jar of perfume. ³⁸ As she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them.

³⁹ When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself, “If this man were a prophet, he would know who is touching him and what kind of woman she is—that she is a sinner.”

⁴⁰ Jesus answered him, “Simon, I have something to tell you.”

“Tell me, teacher,” he said.

⁴¹ “Two people owed money to a certain moneylender. One owed him five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. ⁴² Neither of them had the money to pay him back, so he forgave the debts of both. Now which of them will love him more?”

⁴³ Simon replied, “I suppose the one who had the bigger debt forgiven.”

“You have judged correctly,” Jesus said.

⁴⁴ Then he turned toward the woman and said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. ⁴⁵ You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. ⁴⁶ You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet. ⁴⁷ Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—as her great love has shown. But whoever has been forgiven little loves little.”

⁴⁸ Then Jesus said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.”

⁴⁹ The other guests began to say among themselves, “Who is this who even forgives sins?”

⁵⁰ Jesus said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

I was reading this story this morning, wishing that it was the story of the Prodigal Son, and listening to my boys make quite the unholy ruckus upstairs. Seriously, boys, I’m trying to get with God here.

My bible and I have only crossed paths infrequently lately. Not a big deal, unless, like me, you believe in the power of Jesus’ Holy Spirit to interrupt your reading with His own voice, creating and showing you subtext and context that draw you and your life directly and personally into the story of God saving the earth and everything in it from every form of corruption and degradation conceivable. So, yeah. It was calling to me.

The prodigal son story sounded good to me. A story illustrating how somebody who thought they’d slipped below the waterline of worth crawling back, hanging onto a grain of hope that he could somehow slave his way back into his Father’s good graces, only to be surprised when his Father lifts his skirts to run down the driveway in a rather undignified fashion to kiss him and hold him, and to embarrass himself with affection towards this very dirty, stick-thin, and unclean man. Yeah, that sounded good to me.

But no. Not today. I turned to the place where I’d stopped last time, and came upon this story- rich with possibility. Jesus, who goes where he’s invited. The woman, who pursues Jesus in repentance and contrition. The Pharisee, who has invited Jesus to come and be a guest. Jesus, who mixes with unclean people, risking his holiness. The woman, who endures obvious scorn from the Pharisee. Jesus, who is willing to forgive both.

I have often recognized my tendency towards Pharisaism. It just seems easier sometimes to know and follow the rules as their written. Sorry. Jesus frequently bawled the Pharisee’s out for following the rules of God in such high fashion, but failing to show mercy, love and compassion.

When I think of Pharisees, or myself, I usually think of someone who has dedicated a great deal of time and energy to honoring the Law of God in all it’s rich implication. In committing myself with discipline to living correctly. Why? Because that’s how God designed us to live. It makes sense to live that way. Sorta like reading the manual and using what you gained in it. Just makes sense. I can relate to that. I think I’ve spent a lot of my life and my energy trying to “do rightly.”

Yeah. That’s workin for me.

Thing that struck me this morning is that the Pharisee was appalled that Jesus didn’t appear concerned by his intimacy and connection with this sinner. He’s recorded as thinking … “he would know who is touching him and what kind of woman she is—that she is a sinner.” The good Pharisee is concerned, for Jesus’ sake, because he’s been caught up into this notion that God’s desire for our holiness is connected to what we do, rather than where our heart is.

What I wonder is if Jesus is so secure in his place in God’s heart that he can’t be touched by the corruption of another’s sinfulness. His faith in God’s power to save has given him strength and freedom to reach out, in justice, loving mercy, and with humble dependence on God.

I’ve been convicted in the last year or so of my own Pharisaism. Not that I live by such a high standard or code, thanking God that I’m not a sinner, tithing my mint and whatnot. Yes, there is some of that mixed into it, but that’s not what God’s been speaking to me about.

The Pharisee in this story isolated himself from the brokenness of the world, from the broken of the world because he was afraid it would drag him down. He was afraid it would somehow rub off, tainting his own posture before God. He couldn’t handle listening to radio stations that played AC/DC and Motley Crue because the lyrics filled his mind with terrible things. The commercials for the Lumber Yard just were too much. The drugs were too much. The cheating, selfishness, and complete idolatry of material goods were too much. What if it rubbed off?

The aroma of Jesus is stronger than the stink of cigarette smoke, the raunch of a dance club, or the smell of beer and puke. The strength of Jesus is greater than addiction, it’s greater than greed, and it’s greater than self-hatred. I just need to grab onto that strength and depend on it. Rather than resting on my own will, my own determination to be pure, my own desire to live holy. Would my life bring greater glory to God were it isolated in holiness? Or dirty like a fishing net? Is the fishing net actually dirty or did it just get some dirt on it?

On Confession, On Forgiveness...

On Forgiveness, on Confession

I was in a moment of contrition this morning, listing off the litany of my spiritual ails. It grieves me of course. I was trying to accept the forgiveness of God promised in Jesus, whilst confessing sin by sin. Of course, I desire to live apart from anger, lust, gluttony, greed, etc. I think above all else, my eagerness for heaven is the eagerness to be parted from my wanderings into things that I know are wrong.

But there was a bit of cognitive dissonance- a little bit of friction as I was running down my list, and searching for that feeling of catharsis, of release, of forgiveness-ness.

God doesn’t punish the forgiven.

Everybody: say it with me now, “God does-n’t punish the for-giv-en.” Good.

Why? Because He delivered the FULL punishment for my sins to Jesus on the road leading to, and then upon the cross. And the forgiveness I received in it’s place is full, in perfect proportion to the burden that Jesus lifted from my shoulders. So the question I am lead to; does that mean that I need not ask forgiveness anymore?

I’ve begun to wonder that my life should be transformed to a life of Joy rather than remembering my sins to confess to the Father. I feel like my life isn’t enough transformed- and that can mean only one thing. I haven’t fully realized Christ in my heart, body, and strength. I have refused a portion of God’s grace.

I wonder this morning my effort to confess dutifully, and with full penitence, has hampered God’s ability to deliver me from my sin-filled-ness. Jesus didn’t come to simply remove the burden of ungodly acts from my person. He was beaten almost all the way to death, and then mercilessly stretched out on a cross and nailed down to actually change my being from a being-sin to being-right. And in accepting Him as the Son of God, born, crucified, dead, and raised up as a the first-born of the coming New Creation, I also gained a portion of that piece of the New Creation in me. That’s the Holy Spirit, and in Him I die to my being-sin and Christ is now literally in me.

I stand therefore in the very presence of God’s being. And His being is mysteriously present in my person. When my being-right collides with my being-sin, and I perform an ungodly act, there will be dissonance. There is an ontological, flesh ‘n blood, real-life collision. It is a grieving for the Holy Spirit, and there are definitely genuine consequences in my person, in my experience of God’s creation.

So what should I do? I acknowledge the fact of my failure to rely on God’s Spirit for guidance, and I acknowledge the fact that being-Christ (though only a part, not the whole) is still being formed in my heart, and that my being-sin is not fully extinguished. This is my confession. But I have no need to ask forgiveness- and God has no need to dispense yet another small morsel of forgiveness. In asking for forgiveness, doesn’t that presuppose that God must decide whether to dole it out?

God has already forgiven me. He has already done the work atonement. What is left unfinished is my actual, flesh ‘n blood, real-life transformation that removes and unworks my being-sin entirely. I will then confess my rebellion, but I shall do so as an already thoroughly forgiven being. Therefore I shall confess and give thanks that my rebellion is not held against me, and that even as it happened, was being erased from my histories.

From now on- I will float in the ocean of forgiveness that is around me, under me, and saturates my person. I am forgiven. Sometimes I shake my head, and the water flies away from me, but never do I lift out of the wave.

45 minutes in the Chair

Just a quick note on a characteristic of God I noticed today. So this past year I've started going to a "stylist" rather than a barber. Now, in all fairness, in the past 15 years, I've probably gotten 20 haircuts. If you do the math, I'm not a well-groomed fellow. But, maturity and sloth don't look good on the same guy, at the same time, so...

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My wife met Andy before I did. I don't remember where she got the recommendation but she liked him right away. In fact I don't remember her ever going to another stylist. Well, I met him...seems like 3 years ago? My wife and I were going to see sweet, sweet Baby James. She'd told a coworker, Michelle, who is a huge music buff. And she'd also happened to be bragging about whilst under the shear, and Andy indicated an interest in taking his wife to just such an event. So. There we are: a nice party of 5. Two dudes, three chicks, and sweet Baby James.

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On the date of the show, I was long-locked and resplendent in my split ends. Of course Andy was totally wanting to get into it. We hit if off, and James Taylor performed fantastically. As always. Can the man have a bad night? I don't think so.

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So Andy has gotten into it with my lockage several times now, and I always come away looking pretty prim and proper---in a sharp metro way, you know? No confusion, just a sharp dressed man, strutting his stuff down a quiet Midwestern street. Today, as I rolled out of there, ready to take a shot at being America's Next top...I sort of caught myself feeling loved.

Now, don't take liberties---what I mean is that I felt like Andy had been looking forward to seeing me, and talking to me, and actually liked cutting my hair, and trimming my eyebrow (he always asks really quietly if he can trim it-in case I freak out or something?) for me. (When he asks me it's always kinda "Heya, you know, I know you're a dude and everything, and dude's don't really worry about stuff like that, but, hey-you know, since you're just sitting here, and I happen to have some clippers and stuff, you know, why don't we both just grin and bear it, and get 'er done, eh?")

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The feeling I think is best known as being "particularized." I learned that word this year in a small group study. In that context, we talked about how powerful being "particularized" by somebody is. How Jesus "particularized" those he interacted with. He talked directly to them, going into the specific instance of their lives. He didn't lift them up as examples or types. If he was healing somebody, he healed them, as specific individuals, and blessed them uniquely. He made each individual he dealt with feel as though they were known.

I think Andy has an exceptional gift for that. Every time I go in there and sit down in his chair he talks to me like he's been waiting all day for me to get there. That's something to think about. That makes me want to spend time with him. That makes me feel known. And in spite of being known, being cared for. There's something very "Jesus-ish" about that ability that I wish I had a better grasp on. That's a trait I think Jesus must have been well known for. And it's something I think I'd like to be known for.

The Road to Emmaus

I think it's funny. People didn't recognize Jesus when he stood right in front of them. I mean, not "Ho-ho, that's spankin' my knee hilarious!" just-shake my head in amazement.

and after he was starved of food and water, kept up all night, beaten half to death-strike that, most the way to death, made to drag a board the size of two railroad ties a couple miles-uphill, and then nailed through the arms and feet (kinda like when you bang your funny bone, only instead of a table edge or door jamb, it's more like re-bar, and instead of going away after five minutes, it just goes on and on and on...) to those same railroad ties, then left to starve in the wind and sun, and then when the weather turned bad and people got tired of waiting for him to die already, they went ahead and poked him through with a spear---after all this he was probably barely recognizable.

Then, after a few days on a cold slab in a cave, with rags stuffed into his mouth and wrapped all around his neck and head, after absolutely no medical attention or consideration, he got up, alive, and more real than anything else in the entire world. More real than anything else in the entirety of all that exists. And people still didn't recognize him.

Even now. I frequently don't recognize him. And then by his grace he opens my eyes. And usually it's after he's tried to explain it to me, after he's tried to show me. After. I turn around and look again, realizing it was Jesus! IT WAS JESUS! How could I have missed that?!

Just by being a human I guess.

Meditations on Good Friday...(1)

I must confess something: I've never really understood today. I've never known how to feel. Today the "X" on the calendar pierces the heart of history. Today people all around the world will allow themselves to have nails driven though their hands. They will walk the streets of their hometowns whipping themselves. Others will sit in dark rooms and chant chants that have been chanted for hundreds and hundreds of years by thousands of nameless faces.

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But most of us will just go to work like we usually do. I always have. I know our Canadian brethren will take the day off, but I don't think I ever saw any of them in any parades. Perhaps I'm displaying ignorance. I'm sure someone will tell me.

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I think I always had the sense that I was supposed to be somber. Or respectful. (Shrug). I don't really know. I don't know that I've ever been instructed differently.

Tonight, I'll go to meeting and sing songs of worship & lament. Songs that praise the greatness of God and acknowledge the singularity of His sacrifice. Songs that draw our eyes to the cross. And we will collectively meditate on the crucifixion. But key to my confession is this: it's hard for me to appropriately recognize the tragedy because I have already put my confidence in His raising back to life. His resurrection.

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