God is our Forgiving Father

If I had to pick one of these alliterative names for God as my favorite, it would have to be Forgiving Father (Mark 11:25). It’s good for us to think about the different attributes of God and the varied aspects of our relationship to Him, because an overemphasis on any one of them (and a corresponding underemphasis on others) is not good. But “Father” encapsulates so many of those truths in a single word.

Father means that

• He is the source of our life
• He is in authority over us
• He love us
• He helps and teaches us
• He corrects us when necessary
• He has a continuing relationship with us
• He is personally interested in each one of us

I did not have a close relationship with my own father. I liked going hiking with him, or doing other physical activities (biking, swimming, making things on his toolbench downstairs). But I don’t remember talking much. He didn’t talk a lot (unlike our mother, who was aggravated by this lack of communication), and neither did I, so conversations between us were generally limited to practical matters – how to do something or how to get somewhere.

I remember one time at the dinner table he commented on Communion at church, saying that he felt close to God then – I think he even said something about God speaking to Him through Communion. It was one of the rare times when I learned something about his inner life. But I didn’t feel comfortable asking him to say more about it.

Books: Education (Opposing Viewpoints)

For a book less than two hundred pages long, this took me a long time to finish (and not only because I mislaid it for two weeks). The subject is interesting and relevant, and each viewpoint is short enough to finish easily in one sitting, even with a dog whimpering for attention (or maybe it’s the food I’m eating while I read) and staring at me with her big dark eyes. But as with the previous book that I read in this Opposing Viewpoints series (on Islam), I felt that the viewpoints were addressing various aspects of the issue without answering the points made by other writers.

Partly that is a result of these books being compiled from previously written materials, rather than essays written for the purpose of the book. The best books I have read that present opposing viewpoints allow each author to directly address the points made by other authors in the same volume – and better yet, to respond to their responses. One article did directly criticize the views expressed in the previous one, which had been written by then-President Clinton and was no doubt widely distributted. But its objection was that too many people would jump on what Clinton said to do without noting that he said one had to go about it the right way.

That probably applies to just about everything written on the subject of education, and accounts for a great many of the problems in the system at all levels. It is folly to take any one recommendation about education and try to apply it across the board, without consideration for how it will work out in a specific situation, and often without heeding the cautions that accompanied the initial recommendation. The best piece in the book, I think, is one that emphasizes the need for each local community to have authority for and take responsibility for implementing educational programs that meet their needs and their goals. That author also stressed that it is a long, difficult process, with no quick or easy fixes.

There are some places where bilingual education is done well. One of them happens to be in a community near ours, where elementary students (whose parents choose to have them participate in this program) learn to be fully bilingual, regardless of whether their first language is English or Spanish. Other bilingual programs have been found to be dismal failures. It is a mistake to say that bilingual education is best based on the success in West Liberty. But it is even more mistaken to say that the whole idea is flawed because of the places where it has been done so badly.

Books: Paths of Glory

Until I picked up this audiobook by Jeffrey Archer (the author’s name alone was enough to recommend it to me), I had never heard of George Leigh Mallory. He was, I know now, one of the greatest mountaineers in history, and according to this site also “perhaps the most famous mountaineer in history.”

Ten years ago, Mallory’s body was found high on Mount Everest, where he and his climbing partner Irvine had perished 75 years earlier. I read many stories of adventure as a child, and one of my favorite books was James Ramsey Ullman’s Banner in the Sky. So why had I never heard of Mallory, whose story would no doubt have greatly intrigued and inspired me?

Probably because there is no solid evidence that he ever made it to the top of the world’s highest mountain. People remember Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay (my uncle’s family named one of their cats Tenzing, because he climbed everything), because they made it to the top and then back down to tell the story. But no one knows for sure if Mallory and Irvine died trying to reach the top, or on the way back down.

Archer happens to be of the opinion that they did reach the summit, and tells a very plausible account of how it was done. But that comes very late in the book (one knows from the prologue what Mallory’s end will be, so the suspense is only in when and how it will happen), and I would not have been eager to get that far if Archer had not drawn me fully into the story with his engaging account of Mallory’s life and character.

Spiritual inheritance (part 2)

When I wrote the previous post on this subject two days ago, I was thinking mostly of how Jacob might have viewed the birthright. But I’ve also given some thought to how Esau may have viewed it, and why he so readily agreed to sell it to his brother in exchange for a bowl of lentil stew.

I always thought of his wrong decision having taken place on that day, when he had a choice to take the stew and give up his birthright, or to go hungry and keep it. His action clearly shows that he did not esteem the birthright very highly. But when I read Orson Scott Card’s book about Rebekah, I realized that Esau’s decision that day was just a natural outcome of how he had lived his life.

Until I read Card’s book, I had always thought of the birthright as primarily a matter of possessions and status as family leader. But Card showed how the patriarch in that society was also the spiritual leader of his clan, and for family line of those who followed the one true God, it meant also the safekeeping of the knowledge of God, both what was written and what was passed on by word of mouth.

From Jacob’s point of view (according to Card), that was the most important aspect of the birthright, and why he dreaded seeing his older brother assume that role. Esau did not care for studying the holy writings as Jacob did, and he might not even trouble to keep them safe. He had married wives who worshipped other gods. How could he possibly lead the family in worship and service to the true God?

So how did Esau think of the birthright? He had most likely taken it for granted since he was old enough to know it would be his. He certainly would have known that his father favored him, and as this was the case in spite of Esau’s lack of interest in spiritual matters, he could easily have concluded that, even to Isaac, the spiritual aspect of the birthright was not so important.

Spiritual Inheritance

Renaissance Guy’s post today on The Birthright and the Blessing got me thinking about what heritage I have from my own parents – a rather mixed blessing, in some ways. I also read Eve’s post, to which he links, and from which he got the questions he is trying to answer.

Then I started thinking more about Jacob and Esau, and the rather mixed blessing of Isaac and Rebekah’s parenting. If you’re looking for advice on handling difficult family relationships, this family is not one to take as a role model.

Sermons on the subject tend to stress Esau’s spiritual blindness, that caused him to “despise his birthright.” But Jacob generally doesn’t come across much better, nor do his parents. Isaac is weak and easily manipulated, Rebekah is an expert manipulator, and Jacob learned well from his mother.

I’m not sure I ever gave much thought before to what Jacob wanted in taking the birthright and the blessing intended for Esau, but I always considered his motives selfish. He wanted whatever he could get, especially if he could get it by trickery rather than hard work and honest dealing. And he wanted more than what would have been considered his fair share (which, as that of a second son, would not be considered a fair share to us in our egalitarian society).

Games: Cranium Family Fun Game and Rack-O

Al asked for a Family Night, and the holiday tomorrow allowed for staying up late this evening playing games. So we gathered around the game table downstairs, and we picked out Cranium Family Fun Game as one mostly likely to work well for all ages and provide lots of fun and laughs.

Like most of Cranium’s games, this one has a number of different kinds of activities. Depending what color you land on, you pick out a card from one of four decks: Creative Cat, Word Worm, Data Head, or Star Performer. We quickly agreed that Data Head was the easiest category, generally depending more on knowledge than ability. Recognizing common objects from photos showing just a small detail is probably the hardest in that category, while the true/false questions and multiple choice were usually easy for all of us.

Word Worm is my favorite category, as I really like words. Spelling words backwards is not very challenging for any of us, but finding six words starting with six different letters (roll the letter dice to get your letters) in six specified categories can be quite a challenge. So much so, in fact, that we never managed before time was up.

Creative Cat and Star Performer require more ability and creativity, and generally are where the laughs come in. How do you pantomime playing musical chairs, or doing instant messaging? My husband had somewhat more luck acting out being a race car driver, and later being a waitress (the latter was quite memorable and will probably continue to generate laughter whenever we remember it).

I had to crab walk around the room with a plastic frog on my belly. There was some question as to whether the frog was still on my belly, as it slid down near my hip, but as I made it around the room, panting with the effort, my husband decided I had accomplished it. On other rounds, we raced around the house collecting items, such as something made only of cotton (a T-shirt), or something with batteries (a remote control). Kyra helped with this category, providing both something alive, and something for a dog to fetch.

Books: A Friend Like Henry

I don’t normally take an interest in a book about someone else’s pet. Of course that pet is wonderful to the people who know and love it, and its particular habits and quirks are endearing to them. But I suppose I’m not enough of an animal lover to want to read about the animal whose love is tied up with someone who is a complete stranger to me.

This book didn’t interest me until I notice the word autistic in the subtitle: “The Remarkable True Story of an Autistic Boy and the Dog That Unlocked His World.” We had just gotten our new puppy when I decided to buy the book, and I wondered how she might help Al, even if he is hardly “locked” in his own world the way Dale Gardner was.

Somehow the book got buried in a pile of books, and I just unearthed it recently. I read nearly the whole book Tuesday afternoon and evening, while Al was enjoying music and crafts and other activities at VBS (see my recent post Overnight with Noah). This afternoon I finished it – and managed to choke back some tears near the end.

Thinking of our experiences with Al, I can recognize in this account much of what we dealt with. As his autism is much milder, we never went through the total lack of communication that the Gardners had to deal with. I do remember, though, the terrible frustration both he and I felt when he couldn’t tell me what he wanted, the sense that he was sometimes looking through me instead of at me, his indifference as to what adult took care of him, his unwillingness to get near other children, extreme pickiness in eating, throwing up at will, running around in circles, arm flapping, and so on.

10

Ten years ago today, I gave birth to a 10 lb. nine oz. baby. We named him Alaric, which means “king of all” and happens to be the name of the king of the Visigoths who defeated Rome in 410 AD, but we mostly call him Al.

Here are ten things I’m thankful for about Al:

He is grateful for the many small blessings in his life, as well as the bigger ones. He has been working at cleaning up his room in preparation for his birthday party this weekend, and he has been finding toys and other objects he hadn’t seen in quite a while. While he doesn’t enjoy the work of cleaning, he is thrilled at each of these small finds, as they bring back pleasant memories of how much he had enjoyed those things before.

He is, for the most part, content to be who he is. Occasionally he has said he wishes he didn’t have autism, when he is feeling extremely frustrated (something that happens much more often with autistic people, particularly when they have to deal with something new – which is a great deal of the time when you’re growing up) and having trouble calming down. But the other day, for our Bedtime Blessing he wrote a poem using words that start with the letters of his name, and the first word he chose was Autism. After all, he pointed out, that’s a significant part of who he is.

He wants to follow God, but he is also honest about his questions and doubts.

He loves learning new things. Many of his interests do not last long, but while he is interested he throws himself wholeheartedly into it. I get to learn new things along with him, or tell him about things I already know that interest me.

He is an avid reader. His taste in books is not the same as mine – or the same as mine at age ten – but there are some books we can enjoy together. I had fun introducing him to Paddington Bear recently.

He loves to make up stories. Unlike me, he would prefer to tell them aloud than to write them down, but either way he is exercising his imagination.

He is an excellent speller. So is the rest of the family, so it’s no great surprise, but it’s satisfying to watch him spell words I didn’t even know he knew. Sometimes he has to ask for help, but rarely.

He is taking a greater interest in healthy eating and exercise. He has rediscovered a liking for salads (at a year old he would as happily munch on a piece of lettuce as a chip, but by age two he would no longer eat any vegetables), and he is trying to exercise regularly.

He has a generous spirit, as happy to give gifts as receive them.

He is my son – a reason by itself to be thankful.

Happy Birthday, Al!

Books, metaphors, and the march of history

Today my sister sent me a link to the transcript of a very interesting speech, given in 1872 upon the occasion of the centennial of the New York Library Society. Of course, one reason I found it very interesting is the possibility that the speaker was one of our ancestors. The name is the same as that of our great-great-grandfather (Thomas Ward), who was a printer and would certainly have had an interest in the library, and we do have ancestors from the New York area. But even aside from that possible connection, I enjoyed the speech for its own merits.

Margaret had mentioned Ward’s comments about the importance of books, and how loving books seems to “be in our DNA.” I certainly liked Ward’s descriptions of books, which included intriguing metaphors. It’s common enough to call books treasures of knowledge, but Ward also speaks of books as “granaries wherein the mental harvests of past generations are safely garnered” and “ancient bottles, where in skins of the goat, the calf, and the sheep are stored the rarest wines, expressed and fermented, of the teeming human brain.”

I was reminded throughout the speech (considerably longer than I expected – people had somewhat longer attention spans then) of the more literary style appreciated by listeners in that era. In books “we find the pure grain of wisdom winnowed of the chaff of mortal infirmity, the flowers of song shorn of the thorns of human fretfulness, and the perfect thought, no longer shapeless ‘in its infant dew,’ but crystallized into forms of imperishable beauty.”

Ward didn’t stick to talking about books, however. From discussing the history of books and writing in general, and of the New York Library Society in particular, he launches into extolling the wonders of the modern era (for him, the last third of the nineteenth century). Well over a hundred years later, it is enlightening to see what was then considered the height of mankind’s achievements.

Guest blogger reports lucky catch

My guest blogger today is a 9-year-old storyteller with a great imagination. Most of his stories involve monsters, heroes, and superpowers, and audience participation where possible. But he also is excited about the opportunity to contribute to my blog post today. (Actually I told him we would work on it together yesterday, but it took until today to get photographs transferred from the camera to the computer.)

Yesterday I caught four or five fish. That’s not all. According to Dr. Gipple (we were at his family’s pond), I caught the second or third biggest catfish and the biggest bass, I caught with two poles, I caught the most fish and most species. I also ate catfish.

You may notice the shirt worn by our lucky fisherman/blogger: “This is my lucky shirt” (also his favorite/lucky color green). It certainly seemed to be the case yesterday. After catching two bass and a bluegill, he was asked to help reel in a catfish hooked on another pole. Turning his own pole over to Mom, he made the catfish catch, then returned to find another bluegill hooked on his own line (helpfully retrieved from the pond by Mom, who wanted a chance to do something besides watch the fun).

Having caught so many fish, he decided to give someone else a chance to catch some. So he went off with some other children to see the sights (a waterfall, though he told me it was much smaller than Niagara). Meanwhile his lucky pole (or maybe it was my green T-shirt) proceeded to catch two or three more bluegill (we threw them all back, keeping only the catfish). I nearly landed a catfish, even though my line lacked the special hook and stinky bait designed for them, but the teenager trying to help me managed to lose it.

At home, I fried up the catfish (kindly dressed by Dr. Gipple – on right side of picture at left), and we both enjoyed it very much. Fish tastes great when it’s fresh, especially when you have caught it yourself.