Joyful Noise: a Review

I picked up this book at the library, knowing nothing about it, but wanting poetry and appreciating the fact that it was written for 'two voices.' I thought choral reading would be a fun activity to do with the kids: one that would enable us to simultaneously enjoy the beauty of poems and the act of reading aloud together. Joyful Noise (by Paul Fleischman) did not disappoint.

The poems in Joyful Noise are all about insects. "Insects?!" you might ask incredulously. Yes, but the topic of insects is portrayed here with creative, humorous, and sometimes even poignant language and themes. For example, one poem is about moths ... and their detrimental but inevitable love affairs with lights. "Porch light, hear my plight! I drink your light like nectar/ Dream of you by day/ Gaze in your eyes all night/ Porch light!"

Another is about the digger wasp, and how the mother provides for and 'loves' her babies even though they never get to meet her. "I will never see my children, they will never gaze on me. I'll have died when they're emerging next July. So it must be. Yet, when they behold the home I'm digging now for their protection, safe and snug far underground, they'll recognize my deep affection."

The imagery in Fleischman's poetry is reason enough to read this book. But the fact that he wrote it for two voices to 'sing' together is just as good a reason! The lines are arranged in a variety of ways. Some poems use the unison lines to add emphasis and unity (as in a mated couple of book lice who love each other despite their different taste in literature); others use simultaneous lines to provide comparison (for example, a worker bee and queen bee giving opposite opinions of "a bee's life"). When reading these aloud with my 10- and 11-year-olds, I often felt like I was singing a duet with them. The language and rhythm were lyrical and clever, a joy to the ear!

I can not recommend Joyful Noise highly enough. My children, who have not been exposed to much poetry yet (to my shame), were captivated, as was I. Let me close with a few lines about the firefly: "Fireflies gleaming/ glowing/ Insect calligraphers/ practicing penmanship/ copying sentences/ Six-legged scribblers of vanishing messages, fleeting graffiti/ Fine artists in flight/ adding dabs of light/ bright brush strokes/ Signing the June nights as if they were paintings."

Change on the Horizon

 

Steve and the kids by the Capitol, February 2014

This month marks one year of living in our townhouse, and 2 1/2 years of living in the metro Washington, D.C. area. It's hard to believe that we've now been in D.C. longer than we've lived anywhere else since leaving Wheaton, Illinois in 2005. And hopefully we'll be here for the next 4-5 years to come. After that, all bets are off!

Life is about to change quite a bit for us, though, despite the fact that we're feeling increasingly settled in a home we own, and in a city that feels familiar and comfortable. The upcoming change is that Steve will be leaving his editorial job at Georgetown University, and becoming a full-time PhD student there instead. We got word in March that he's been accepted into a funded Theological and Religious Studies program, with a comparative focus on Islam and Christianity, and he's let his workplace know that August 1 will be his last day of full-time employment. Though this is a continuation of the path we've been on for 9 years now -- the journey that took us to Edinburgh, Oxford, and Amman -- he'll still be starting from scratch and unless he receives 'advanced standing' (which he very well might, due to his previous Master's degrees also in Islamic studies), it will be a 5-year commitment. 

Steve is thrilled to pieces about this. He's been increasingly unhappy at work, and simultaneously feeling frustrated that he's not pursuing his true calling. His ultimate goal is to teach at the university level, and for this, he needs the PhD. 

I am less than 'thrilled to pieces' about this new stage in our lives, but I'm definitely proud of Steve for his hard work and perseverance, and thankful for a funded education for him. I know there will be many benefits from it and I'm trying to focus on those instead of all my fears and worries. God has provided so faithfully for us in the past, and in our present. How can I not trust Him for our next steps?

We would love to keep homeschooling our three kids, and think that through my part-time work and Steve's stipend, we'll be able to do that. Finances will be tight, but we're already used to pinching pennies, and our situation won't be too different from what it's been the past couple years. For this, I'm especially grateful!

If you think of us, please pray for peace and unity. Pray that God will use this program to deepen and enlarge Steve's understanding, and that He will give us just the right finances to make it through the next few years of student living. We are glad we have a BIG God!

 

Naomi by the White House, 2 1/2 years ago

Spiritual Warfare in Africa (or How Not to Give a Missionary Talk)

Naomi's face still tear-stained from enduring the pain of a smashed finger just 30 minutes earlier, and my boys still hungry from having eaten a rushed and small supper, we dashed to the church around the corner from our house tonight for the scheduled missionary talk. We had spent our first 2 1/2 years in the D.C. area either without a church or far enough away from our church that I'd never taken the kids to a missionary talk before. But we've been attending this local church for the past 2 months, and so I thought, "Now's our chance to hear from someone ministering in Africa. What a great opportunity for the kids!"

To be honest, my children didn't want to go. They didn't know what to expect but they had presuppositions. They predicted they would be the only kids there, and that it would be 'boring.' I reminded them not to pass judgement before having actual experiences, and I assured them we could leave early if it wasn't worthwhile. I didn't know anything about the missionary doing the presentation. In fact the church bulletin had only said that he lived and worked "in Africa" (pet peeve to someone who's also lived in Africa, knowing how massive a continent that is, and preferring to tell people I lived in Nigeria).

On the positive side, this missionary did tell story after story of spiritual warfare and God's miraculous works. In my mind, 'boring' would be the least descriptive word for tonight, since I love stories and the ones being told were unlike any I'd heard before. I learned about places like the Democratic Republic of the Congo and Zambia, through first-hand accounts, and I left feeling both educated and inspired.

However, there were some gaping holes in tonight's presentation as well, the biggest of which was that there was no actual introduction or explanation of this fellow and what he does. It was continuously assumed that the church members present already had a relationship with him and a background enabling them to understand all he said. I'm glad the church has such a strong tie with Missionary, but the minute I walked into the small room, especially with three children in tow, I guess I would have hoped he'd want to give at least some context for those of us who don't know him and his work.

Along the same vein, the presentation was sadly lacking in visual aids. There was no map. No photos. No graphics and nothing tangible. Which is okay if everyone knows exactly where DRC is and has vivid imaginations or has read all of Missionary's photo-enriched prayer letters. But wouldn't any talk and every talk, no matter who the audience, be more interesting and memorable with at least a few visual reminders of the topic? Goodness, I know my African geography better than most Americans (not to brag, but it helps that I've lived there), and even I would have appreciated a map so I could compare distances when he was talking about his various travels from country to country.

And finally, the saddest of all to me: my children (the only ones there) were implied to be a hindrance, rather than amazingly open recipients of inspiration. My three can be noisy, no doubt, but tonight, they were as quiet as can be. They were attentive and receptive, and Missionary totally lost out on an opportunity to touch such open hearts. Instead, he and his colleague -- not once, but multiple times -- pointed out to everyone there what "age group" was present, and how this would alter what they could say and what stories they could tell. Mentioning it once, in a tone that showed respect for my kids' naivete would have made sense. I can appreciate that they would say "relations" instead of "sex" because of young ears in the room. (Though funny enough, I'm one of the most upfront and honest-with-my-children sort of parent out there, so they've heard "sex" plenty before -- gasp!) But it wasn't just once, and after the first time, it was said more in a tone of exasperation. Additionally, between the lightning speed of countless disconnected stories and Missionary's sometimes-hard-to-figure-out foreign accent, my children (even my oldest) couldn't keep up and understand what was being talked about.

I have been part of many missionary talks before -- both as a listener and a presenter -- and all I know is that if I saw strangers and children in my audience, first of all, I'd be ecstatic that they'd even have taken the time and interest to come. I would think "Wow! I can bring more people on board with God's amazing work in ______!" And second of all, I'd figure out some way, even a small way, that I could tailor my talk to reach the children and give them something memorable to go home with. And I would hope that thirdly, I'd even make a point of encouraging parents by praising their efforts to broaden their children's minds at such an early age. I certainly wouldn't make them feel bad for changing the level of 'horror' I could tell in my stories because of young ears.

I won't give up on going to missionary talks with my kids. But I certainly hope their next experience is a much more positive one!

Time Away

Tears streamed down my cheeks and my heart ached with the beauty. Sitting in Pierce Chapel, I basked in music washing over me, as ensembles of the Wheaton College Symphony Orchestra rehearsed for their upcoming concert. Brass ensemble, strings ensemble, woodwinds too, playing music by Sibelius, Stamitz, Warlock, and more. It had been so long since I'd heard musicians of that caliber. Their high quality took my breath away. It had also been ages since I'd sat quietly listening to music of that intricacy and beauty. The movement, the dynamics, the dissonance, the progressions ... all of it brought solace to my soul.

How can I describe what my week away meant to me? I cried more tears than I thought were in me. I walked for hours, talked for hours, and ate delicious food prepared for me by friends who love me. For eight wonderful days I didn't have to think about how to feed my family, or listen to my obnoxiously noisy boys. I was able to visit with eleven dear friends, bearing my soul to them and receiving their encouragement and hugs. It had been a long time since I'd spent time like that with close friends, and in fact it was the first time in years to be with those friends *without* my kids in tow. 

A few weeks earlier, a local friend in D.C. had heard my cries for help, as I felt mired in crisis, and recommended that I get away by myself. She had offered to help watch my children for me and given me a deadline to take the trip. Thankfully my husband agreed it was a good plan, and a second friend as well as my in-laws stepped in to fill in any missing gaps when my kids needed care. I was able to leave my three in good hands and trust that all was fine with them. They even got school work done!!

My time in Illinois gave me the quiet and rest I needed for prayer and contemplation. It also gave me time outside to refresh my body and blessings like the symphony orchestra to refresh my spirit. Conversations with friends gave me new perspective and validated my struggles. I didn't come back with any bursting epiphanies, but I did come back more calm, peace-filled, and ready to face my next stage in life. My eight days away were a blessing in more ways than I can count, and I thank the Lord for giving them to me.

Thanks to http://willowandbee.com/2012/12/01/kline-creek-farm/ for the photo of a spot where I walked during my trip.

Free (or Almost Free) Fun in Washington, D.C.: Ice-Skating!

Every Tuesday, from 2:20-3:20, ice-skating costs only $1 at the Kettler Capitals Iceplex in Ballston Common Mall. Since parking in the garage also only costs $1, we pay exactly $5 for the four of us to go skating once a week! This opportunity to skate regularly has been really beneficial for the children. Before January, they had skated only once before, and that had been over three years ago!

Josiah seemed to have a natural sense of balance. Even on his first day of skating, he let go of the side wall, and has steadily gained confidence ever since. The other two kids have had more difficulty, and at times I've even wondered if I should stop taking them. There have been tears shed and frustrated words flung. "I don't WANT to go ice-skating!" has been heard more than once.

When it comes to a new Tuesday, though, the consensus is always that we should try again. And it's paying off. After going 4 or 5 times, Naomi and Ethan were finally able to leave the wall, and now are trying to improve technique. It's still a big effort (not quite *fun* yet) but I'm so proud of their perseverance and determination. My hope is that one of these days, we'll all be going at a decent speed, with smiles on our faces, and no spills!

30 Days of Thanksgiving -- all in one go!

Some people are skeptical of being thankful just in November, but I think it's helpful and valuable to write down even 30 blessings as a prayer of thankfulness to God and a reminder to myself of his gracious gifts. May my heart be encouraged by these blessings everyday...

1- a God who is bigger and more loving than I can ever imagine
2- a family who loves me, extended and immediate
3- good health that I've enjoyed for a lifetime -- I do not take it for granted!
4- my 5 senses, with which I greatly enjoy the world and people around me
5- music "God gave us music, that we might pray without words"
6- color -- the world is so vibrant!
7- diversity -- so thankful the world is not all the same!
8- ethnic food (related to #7) My tongue delights in Ethiopian, Chinese, Italian, Nigerian, Peruvian, etc.
9- laughter
10- my heritage, both good and bad, that impacts who I am
11- that I'm not bound to my heritage, but have a new future lying before me
12- old friends who have stuck by me for years on end
13- new friends who have been willing to get to know me quickly, for whatever short time they have with me
14- books: fiction and non-fiction, children's and adult, beautifully illustrated and interestingly worded
15- movement -- frisbee and long walks, wave-jumping and dancing -- thankful that my body works
16- forgiveness
17- my childhood home of California, its beauty and people and all the memories it holds
18- the years I've had to live in so many diverse homes: Nigeria, Scotland, Illinois, England, Virginia, Jordan, D.C.
19- games, especially fast ones, rowdy ones or get-to-know-each-other ones
20- nature, and all its incredible splendor and minute intricacies
21- animals -- learning about them will never cease to amaze me
22- fast travel - when family's as spread out as it is, fast highways and airplanes become so valuable!
23- communication gizmos, that allow me to keep up with family & friends in far-flung countries and states
24- quiet
25- sleep, though I don't get enough of it. At least when I do sleep, it's restful and rejuvenating
25- provision -- through many ups and downs, we've never been on the street or in serious debt
26- my husband, who has not given up on me even though if I were he, *I* would have given up on me!!
27- my children, who daily forgive, love, annoy and delight me, unspeakable treasures I have on loan!
28- memories
29- my brain - this sounds funny, but I'm so thankful I can think and process and learn.
30- Jesus, who died for me & conquered death, who loves the 'least of these' & whose Spirit never leaves me

Just Keep Breathing

"How many times have you heard me cry out, 'God, please take this'?
How many times have you given me strength to just keep breathing?
Oh I need you.
God I need you now." (Plumb)

The past 7 years have been the loneliest of my life (except for a brief respite in 2009-10), and there have been many moments when I felt like all I could do was cry out to God and hope to "just keep breathing." How many years can one sustain such a basic hope, though? "Just breathing" is not how life is meant to be lived. I feel like I've reached the end of what I can handle.

I'm not intentionally isolating myself or my family, though home-schooling naturally keeps us more insulated than most. I'm part of an informal 'support group' and a more formal 'co-op,' but no relationships have developed from either of those. I'd hoped that neighbors would be a natural source of friendship, but even 5 months after living in our new home, I hardly know any names. And the worst thing is that we are back to having no church home.

We lived our first 8 months in Washington, D.C. with no church and that was truly the loneliest I've been in 7 years. To be brand new in a huge place and have no neighbor friends and no church friends is almost unbearable. We finally did settle on a church and attended it for 12 months, but as of July 1, we've been looking for a new church.

Most of the time, this loneliness has settled in the pit of my stomach, in the depth of my brain, crouching like a hidden dragon. I've ignored it, on the surface pretending that I'm hardy, that I don't need close friends. My husband has tried to encourage me, reminding me of all the good friends I "still have" from my past. These are friends who were close at one time, but they don't call or visit or write. I don't know how that's supposed to encourage me: absent friends aren't the friends I need right now.

The other day, though, I received a phone call from someone I'd known at Wheaton College, been in touch with over the years, and had re-connected with since moving to D.C. This person needed to talk about a heart-breaking situation they're in the middle of, and I listened and chatted for over 2 hours. It happened on a day when I was hard-hit with a bad cold and was desperate for a nap, and my husband later asked, "Why on earth did you talk so long instead of just saying you needed to sleep?"

It hit me hard: I could count on one hand the number of talks I've had with friends in the past couple months, and my heart *needed* that conversation. Even though I was mostly listening (and I still have a heart full of burdens I'd love to share with someone else who can listen to me), I was still interacting with another adult who was actually appreciative of my presence. Such a rare occurrence these days...

I don't know how much longer I can 'just keep breathing.' I know I have my kids who depend on me right now. But I also need to be a friend. I need to talk to friends. And my kids need the same. They are almost as lonely as I am. Without friends, this life seems so purposeless and I don't know how to keep going...