Author: joyfuldomesticity

If paideia is the entire enculturation
of a person or society,
then what is culture?
How do we begin, start, create,
cultivate a specific culture?
How do we then maintain, tend, keep,
and share an existing culture?

Paideia is the word handed down to us from ancient Greece, which means education or upbringing, the culture of a society—this was broadly understood to mean that this was the all-encompassing atmosphere and education necessary for the continuance of the Greek values and methodology. Particularly passionate Greeks wanted to produce similarly passionate Greeks in the following generations. Paideia was the word used to describe the way their culture and life and belief system and practices would be perpetuated. But in our modern American social elitism, I don’t know if we even understand culture anymore. We think it is simply what surrounds us, with its ever changing ebb and flow, dependent upon the whims of the society and their winds of change which always blow.

Culture is a word that has a noun form as well as a verb form, and both have an interesting nuance when it comes to raising the next generation in a specific paideia.
As a noun, culture means:

—the customs, arts, social institutions, and achievements of a particular nation, people, or other social group.

As a verb, culture means:

—maintaining conditions suitable for growth.

Interestingly, I find the definition of enculturation to be a sort of marriage between the noun and verb forms of culture:

—the process by which an individual learns the traditional content of a culture and assimilates its practices and values.

Enculturation and acculturation are two vastly different things. And I think one of the sad realities is that a lot of Christians in our nation have given way to acculturation rather than actively pursuing the enculturation of our children for the kingdom of God. Briefly put, acculturation is the amalgamation of multiple cultures, as opposed to enculturation which is the acquisition of one’s own primary culture.

For the Greeks, they wanted to raise good little Greeks, and they actively pursued a Greek paideia. They certainly didn’t want the influences of outsiders to overwhelm and overtake their children, thereby staining and ultimately derailing the next generation. When Paul used the term paideia in Ephesians 6:1, he used that word specifically because it would have been commonly understood and recognized by those who received his letter. He exhorted fathers to raise their children in the paideia of the Lord. He was promoting a culture centered on their heavenly citizenship over their national citizenship.

Philippians 3:20—But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ.

This is a principle which withstands time and supersedes location. The paideia of the Lord is a culture which transcends time and location!

What do you want your children raised for, educated for, brought up to love and pursue and perpetuate?

I for one long to raise my kids for Christ, to educate them well in order to equip them to glorify Him through their lives as His image-bearers, brought up to love things which are good and true and beautiful, to pursue the spreading of God’s kingdom on earth, and to perpetuate the line of Christ and practices of piety… in other words, I want to bring my children up in the paideia (nurture, admonition, education, culture, principles, instruction) of the Lord Jesus Christ.

I am hands-down, fully-in on that. Lord, grant me strength and shower me with mercy as I strive to accomplish this on Your power and grace!

A new nuance to contemplate, and that which has recently intrigued me, is the verb form of culture. “Conditions suitable for growth.”

I know a lot of people have been thrown into a lot of new things in the last couple of years, as though tossed into the water without the slow and careful teaching of swimming and floating methods. Things that I honestly have not been thrown into or had to develop myself, because I have honestly just always lived and swam in this water. In a recent discussion with a new friend (one of the founding members of Paideia Southeast, a new sister community for Paideia Northwest which I founded in 2018), I was reminded once again that learning something new and countercultural is harder to recreate than continuing to perpetuate something old and already culturally assimilated.

Two things a lot of people have been thrown into recently are sourdough baking and schooling at home. So I will use these as my primary examples here.

I was brought up on homemade bread. My children have been brought up on homemade bread. And one of the many types of bread I like to make is sourdough bread. In fact, I like to use my sourdough starter as a base for almost any kind of bread I make. I have a friend who really wanted to learn to use sourdough bread a couple years ago, so I gave her some of the sourdough starter from the container in my fridge, told her how I care for it and use it in baking, and wished her well. Again, about a year ago, she came back to me asking for starter and instructions… because it hadn’t worked well for her, she kind of forgot about maintaining it, and she’s not really sure what happened, but it definitely derailed and she tossed it. But with the craze of sourdough bread baking during the insanity which was 2020, she remembered that she once had an interest in this particular thing, and that she had access to someone who was already elbow-deep in the process. I haven’t asked her how it has been going over the last ten or twelve months, but I wonder if she has been more proactive and diligent and engaged in the sourdough process this time around. I wonder if she has been able to taste the wonder of the fruit of those labors.

I was also brought up on home education. And my children likewise have been brought up on home education. But I happen to know that there are plenty of cases over the last nineteen months where families have had their kids brought home to pursue their schooling out of forced necessity rather than choice—and while some have embraced it with skill and joy, others have found it to be a nightmare of overwhelm or dropped the ball from apathy or simply found it undesirable to have to sacrifice their days and hours and resources to educate kids themselves. This was not an ocean that I was pushed overboard into—it is a sea of blessing which I would gladly drown in, but prayerfully swim and float through by God’s grace. It is the same water (educating kids at home), but being shoved overboard into it is vastly different than searching for the water and wading in slowly from the shoreline… which, I would argue, is also vastly different than simply having already spent your whole life in that water (yep: I think I just labeled myself as a mermaid).

Two crazy metaphors which cannot overlap and seem unrelated if not opposed?
I don’t think so.
(…but humor me, and stay tuned for part two…)

It rained last night. Real, wet, heavy drops. It thundered but no lightning struck nearby. The ground is still wet this morning. The bugs and birds are literally dancing with delight.

The heavens declare the glory of God and the firmament shows His handiwork.

We sing Psalm 19 for the month of August, and we seek to see how its every sentence is applicable for us in this current time and place. God gloriously, faithfully shows us His glory and His handiwork.

In the muddy puddles. In the bowing sunflowers. In the wriggling worms. In the clucking hens and crowing rooster. In the shadow-dappled grass. In the image-bearers making French toast in the other room. Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in Your sight, O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer.

Today, I launch fully into another Paideia Northwest conference season with joy and weight – this is good work, it is big work, it is valuable and sweet. I am deeply humbled at the work God has put into my hands. I did not seek this, but I gratefully receive it. I have just opened registration for this year’s event, Rest. If you or anyone you know is interested, it’s best to get a jump on signing up. We sold out very quickly last year, and this year is shaping up to be similar. The details are occupying the corners of my brain space: luncheon details, decoration details, vendor details, volunteer details, printing details… Twelve weeks from tomorrow, we will be gathered in Post Falls – and I am here for it.

PSALM 128:1-2 “BLESSED IS EVERYONE WHO FEARS THE LORD, WHO WALKS IN HIS WAYS! YOU SHALL EAT THE FRUIT OF THE LABOR OF YOUR HANDS; YOU SHALL BE BLESSED, AND IT SHALL BE WELL WITH YOU.”

I find that I love organizing and creating lists and compiling details and pulling together lovely things. I have a penchant for pulling people together for common work and encouragement. Never before would I have thought that’s something I loved… but I do. Another evidence of this is found as I am also preparing to launch fully into directing the Paideia Studies co op. We begin meeting in just twenty days! I’m trying to finalize details for this work too. Printing off copies of the Collective plans for every family – thirty-one weeks of devotion, Bible memory work, poetry, loop studies, Medieval art study… I had so much fun compiling true, good, beautiful, pertinent, and worthy things for our year of education. My hope is that having it all laid out so far in advance will bless my future self, and serve the ten families in our group well. I pray that it is so! All of the details necessary for a co op director to have in order seem to be smoothly sailing at this point… again, I pray that it is so. I am grateful for the steering committee and board, and the prayer and conversational support the network provides for our co op. I am grateful for the mamas who are learning new methods for building upon familiar principles. I am grateful for the kids who are about to embark on new friendships, new studies, and new projects. I am grateful for the church where we are meeting each week this year – for their hospitality and generosity and kindness. I am grateful for the limitations we already face: limitations in space & size & scope & time. Limitations are a blessing for someone like me who can so easily be tempted to bite off too much at a time, or jump in too deeply before wading.

GALATIANS 6:9-10 “LET US NOT GROW WEARY OF DOING GOOD, FOR IN DUE SEASON WE WILL REAP, IF WE DO NOT GIVE UP. SO THEN, AS WE HAVE OPPORTUNITY, LET US DO GOOD TO EVERYONE, AND ESPECIALLY TO THOSE WHO ARE OF THE HOUSEHOLD OF FAITH.”

And so as Paideia Northwest and Paideia Studies (which nope, aren’t actually connected – one is a business I run, the other is an old fashioned cooperative I direct – and they just both bear that beautiful Greek term in their titles) are both preparing to launch their 2021 endeavors into the world, my hands are extremely full. And I am grateful to remember what paideia means. I am grateful to rest in the culture that has been passed to me. It is bubbling and vibrant, and I am eager to pass it along to others who want to pursue this culture for their families, their children, themselves, their souls.

ROMANS 12:10-11 “LOVE ONE ANOTHER WITH BROTHERLY AFFECTION. OUTDO ONE ANOTHER IN SHOWING HONOR. DO NOT BE SLOTHFUL IN ZEAL, BE FERVENT IN SPIRIT, SERVE THE LORD.”

The Lord is good. Blessed be His name.

Summertime in the Inland Northwest involves a lot of smoke and a lot of prayer. In fact, yesterday afternoon there was smoke rolling in like I’d never seen before right around the time we were having a few families come over for a time of prayer. Of course, the two things were unconnected at first… but slowly became remarkably entwined.

I had spent the afternoon preparing to welcome nine families over, plus our two sets of parents… all together, we were going to have 69 people over for a bbq potluck. While this may sound like no small undertaking, it was not hard to rally my family to mow the grass, set up lawn games and tables, wipe down a few dozen chairs, and tidy up the main area of the house to be as hospitable as we could manage. Our goal was to make our guests feel at home, to feel embraced and welcomed. While we had met each of these families at least once before, most of the people we were having over are new friends: they are the people we will be pursuing education with this coming year in our new homeschool co op. As Director of the co op, I have been spending weeks compiling family info and class schedules, pulling together curriculum in order to prepare lesson plans. I had printed out each mama’s own teaching schedule and supply list, plus a stack of updated data—schedule, directory, and other documents. I had even gathered textbooks and teaching resources to share with mamas who would be able to put my things to good use this year. We had smoked pork butts shredded, watermelon cubed, bags of chips opened, condiments set out with big stacks of paper plates and napkins… we even had dispensers of ice water, lemonade, and iced tea beside towering stacks of classic red Solo cups. And just because I like to add a personal touch whenever I can, I put out centerpieces of sliced wood, burlap squares, and jars of flowers from my garden bed on every table inside & outside.

I guess you could say, I felt ready. Dare I say, I even felt in control.
Being a leader is new to me. I have long loved following. I like being told what to do, so there is no question about whether I am doing the right thing or not. I’m still a recovering people-pleaser, and being in charge of things can make me anxious: what if people don’t like the way I am leading, preparing, or organizing? Well, God has been pushing me to make strides in these areas over the last couple of years, and this summer you could say He shoved me the final distance to close the gap.

But last evening, as we were welcoming a few families into our home for a time of prayer over our homeschooling plans and upcoming co op year, the smoke was rolling in—and it slowly became obvious that I was in control of none of it.

By the time we finished our prayers, we looked up to see more fresh smoke through the windows, and more new friends arriving, bearing armloads of food and furrowed brows.

Then peoples’ phones started shrieking with alarms. Evacuation Level 2 was at play for us, and Level 3 was happening for friends of ours just down the road. The smoke was not blowing in from a far distance as has happened in previous summers—this smoke was from forest & field charring up just down the road in our little farming community.

It felt a little surreal. Steven and I just sort of stared at each other, bewildered or unbelieving or naïve—I’m not sure—while the other adults who were gathering around us in our dining room seemed to all be talking at once. Pack your things, Where are all your important papers, Tell us where to put your photo albums, How can we help, What do you want us to do, We’ve been through this before… Thoughts and questions and experiences were entering my ears in fragments, but I wasn’t really processing any of it. I just looked into the eyes of my husband. Honestly, I felt calm—or maybe numb. I remember sighing and asking, What am I supposed to do? I’m supposed to be hosting and leading. Do I just send my children away with all these friends, and stay here to pack up whatever we can salvage before our home burns down? I wasn’t panicked. But my questions were plain.

Then one of our new friends raised his hand, and we all looked toward him as he said, May I make a suggestion?
I’m pretty sure Steven and I both sighed with relief as this man calmly spoke, commanding the room with his gentle leadership (so Christlike). He looked at me, while all the eyes were turned on him. If I may, I suggest you take your children and go with all the other families and have the potluck somewhere else. Then you let your husband stay here to pack up and do what a husband is supposed to do. He will take care of it, he will pack up what is needed in order to protect and provide. That’s what a husband is supposed to do.

All of a sudden, we had a plan. And a leader.

Most of the parents gathered up all the food and serving supplies, and shepherded children into vehicles. One woman pulled out her iPhone to take pictures and videos of every room (and every bookshelf) in my house, in case we needed such things for insurance claims and repurchasing of items. Another woman walked to all the bedrooms with me, holding a duffel bag and I threw in “two of everything” for each family member. Women kept asking about the pictures on my walls, but in this modern digital age, it was easy to say—I can always print more if I need to. I grabbed one painting, one baptismal gown, and some things from when my babies died. I left everything else. I went outside to make sure my children were prayed with and buckled into the car. Two men stayed with my husband, to remind him to gather banking information, identification papers, business folders, laptops, cash, guns & ammo. My children had been allowed to grab a couple quick things—piggy banks, a favorite doll, a blankie, a book to read.

I kissed my husband before I drove away. While we knew this might end up amounting to little more than a dress rehearsal for a performance that may never open curtains, there was also a sense of heavy reality. Perspective checks are good and healthy. It is a good practice to remember that even the things which feel most precious, and to which we may be fairly attached, are still just things. Even things which have been painstakingly handmade with incredible love are just things. Even if they are technically irreplaceable, they are just things. My children’s eyes welled with tears at the thought of books and musical instruments and bunkbeds and sketchbooks being reduced to char, but they were so obedient and composed and sweet amidst the chaos. Sixty-some people (most of whom they did not know well at all) were rushing around our home and yard, dispersing just as quickly as they had arrived—while smoke billowed in, and the bright sun grew eerie behind the orange-brown haze all around—and my children were being told to leave with only an item or two, perhaps for good.

The Lord was clearly in our midst.

When I pulled into a friend’s driveway ten minutes later, the potluck spread had already been quickly reassembled on a large table, the kids were frolicking and laughing in the yard, and the sixty-some people were now welcomed and embraced by a different hostess. Someone else’s husband asked for God’s blessing on the meal. Someone else had to give directions to the bathroom and repeatedly direct people to the garbage cans. Fellowship happened, bellies were filled, friendships were forged.

And I had almost nothing to do with it.

While I had been planning and prepared to host and lead and act like an adult, what ended up happening was that I was the recipient of some of the most hospitable people I’ve ever met. A friend of mine who was planning to receive hospitality suddenly offered hospitality to this huge group of people. A friend of mine who I barely know yet walked through every room in my house to document all my belongings (in whatever their current state) on her phone. Another friend I barely know helped me pack socks and underwear and toothbrushes, wandering from bedroom to bedroom and bathroom to bathroom in my home—reminding me of the simple task at hand, when it could have felt very complicated.

Later in the evening, my husband and the other men who had stayed with him joined us at the bbq’s new location. We all fellowshipped and feasted until it was almost too dark to see outside anymore. And it was right about that time that phones began to blare again with emergency updates—the fire was being reasonably contained, and we were allowed to return home if we wanted to. We remain in Level 2, but our friends down the road have also been reduced to Level 2—which makes us think the constant hum of helicopters and buzz of airplanes overhead are accomplishing good work. We didn’t sleep much, but we rested in our own beds.

Upon waking this morning, I am decidedly thankful that our home was not directly in the line of fire. In fact, only one home has been lost in the 155 acre blaze. Praise the Lord for His hand of protection over our neighbors! But I am also decidedly thankful for the hospitality roles which were turned on their heads last night. I am thankful that when I felt rather like a follower than an equipped leader—or more of a child than an experienced adult—we had friends ready to fill the gaps and lead us with charity.

Sixty-some people showed up to my home last evening expecting the kindness of hospitality. What they did rather was embrace my family in our own time of need, and showed a unique variety of hospitality to us and one another.

I won’t forget that.
And as fire season has only just started—and a solid month earlier than most years—I will carry with me the lessons they taught me. About what to do and how to serve in moments of crisis. This is Christlike community, and while the smoke & prayers continue to be laid on thick—I am thankful.