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Aletheia, part three

(…continued from Aletheia, part two…)

We have thus far considered truths in Scripture about our identity as Christians, and now we will ponder the reality of living as physical representations of God’s image.

So what does it mean to be a woman, a female?
Where do we find the truth about this in Scripture?
And how are we called to shine the light of Jesus in our womanhood, our femaleness?

In answer, I have three succinct categories. We are to be unabashedly female, undeniably feminine, and unequivocally fervent.
Female, feminine, and fervent.

The fact that I am a woman does not mean that I need to be a different kind of Christian, but the fact that I am a Christian does mean that I need to be a different kind of woman. A woman who is actually rather countercultural in our day. A woman who recognizes that God made me specifically who I am, right down to how He coded every miniscule detail of my DNA—the red hair, the blue eyes, the XX pattern on every single cell in my body.

Nancy Wilson writes, “Christian women, of all women on earth, ought to think and dress and act in a manner that is completely contrary to the world.” This is currently a hot-button topic in our culture, yet in reality it is biblically very straightlaced and plain.

In our so-called politically correct society, it is essential that we think biblically, speak the truth in love, and honestly laugh out loud at the modern absurdities regarding gender roles and the fluidity of sexual identity.

I find it incredibly ironic that gender reveal parties seem to be all the rage, in this era when our Mister Potato Heads are being stripped of their titles, and in a web search I could find as many as 22 genders listed. Yet the most basic gender science of all is on wild display every time a baby is born—the baby is either a boy or a girl. I have to laugh at National Geographic type discoveries of ancient remains where they isolate DNA, declaring the body male or female; or a recent Nova article where cremated remains were deemed identifiable as female. The inconsistency of progressive modernists is absurd.

I remember a tiny niece of mine watching me change my baby boy’s diaper, and she marveled at his physical difference from her. She looked up at me in awe: she both saw (pointing from my baby to herself) and spoke the difference: “boy, girl.” As Psalm 8 says, “Out of the mouth of babies and infants, You have established strength because of Your foes.”

From the very moment of conception, we are created and then subsequently born either male or female. Now, I am a doctor’s daughter and I have had enough exposure to pregnancy and infancy complications that I do know there are genetic mutations and complications which are not simply XX or XY. But I don’t think we need to go into those rarities for this conversation—God’s typical way of creating healthy image-bearers for Himself is by creating them male or female. Beyond the scientific, genetic, built-into-our-very-DNA and observable with our own eyeballs… Scripture (which inerrancy and efficacy we established earlier) tells us that this is so. In Genesis 1:27 we read “So God created man in His own image; in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them.” And then after He gives them work to do and purposes to fulfill, we read in verse 31, “Then God saw everything that He had made, and indeed it was very good.”

God certainly was pleased with Himself over what He made, for it was only after He created the first humans in His image that He proclaimed His creation very good. Nancy Wilson says we ought to be “delighting in the way God has made us male and female and not blurring the distinctions.” God wants us to be unabashedly female.

We ought to revel in a humble awe over the divine creation of sex and gender. We are not just to acknowledge or accept our gender, and we are not to somehow seek to overcome our sexuality. We ought to go so far as to affirm it and rejoice in it. Elisabeth Elliot says, “We seek to be faithful to it as we seek to use it as a gift of God. Unfaithfulness to one’s sex is unfaithfulness to everybody… The husband who is not faithful to his masculinity defrauds his wife, and the reverse is equally true.” Elliot also says, “If you can understand your womanhood, you will know fullness of life. Hear the call of God to be a woman. Obey that call. Turn your energies to service. Whether your service is to a husband and through him and the family and home God gives you to serve the world, or whether you should remain, in the providence of God, single in order to serve the world without the solace of husband, home, and family, you will know the fullness of life, fullness of liberty, and fullness of joy.”

You are female. Rejoice in that. Unabashedly.

(…continued in Aletheia, part four…)

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Holy Week, I

Holy Week, 1 ~ Palm Sunday, Triumphal Entry


Special Foods:

Pax Cakes with fig butter

Pax Cakes

Special Activity:

Palm frond crosses

Art Study:

Entry of Christ into Jerusalem, by Sir Anthony Van Dyck

https://www.britannica.com/biography/Anthony-Van-Dyck

Scripture readings:

Zechariah 9:9

Psalm 116

John 12:12-13

Song:

All Glory, Laud, and Honor

Poetry:

The Donkey, by G.K. Chesterton

Ride On by Henry Hart Milman

Create:

Hosanna lettering & coloring tutorial

https://www.pzazzonline.com/blog/diy-hand-lettering-easter-art-full-tutorial-p-zazz-art-studio

Listening:

Cantata for Palm Sunday by J.S. Bach, “Himmelskönig, sei willkommen” BWV 182: I-IV

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Aletheia, part two

(…continued from Aletheia, part one…)

As a Christian, then—as someone who belongs to Christ—what is it that I profess and proclaim?

If I say to my children, “children, what do we believe?” they will all answer with a loud, confident recitation of the Apostles’ Creed.

The Apostles Creed

Like my children, I was raised on Bible verses, Bible stories, sermons, and songs. As I have grown, I have learned catechisms alongside my children—which are essentially miniature creeds, broken down into question and answer format, to teach myself and anyone else who listens to me, what I do profess and proclaim. The New City Catechism is the third catechism I have memorized in tandem with my children, and I continue to learn and grow and deepen in my knowledge of Christ and Christlikeness and Christianity through this pious practice of catechesis.

But going back to Scripture, we see in 1 Corinthians 15:3, that the Apostle Paul begins writing what Alisa Childers (of Another Gospel?) called one of the earliest creeds. He says that the most important things are our beliefs that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures, that He was buried, that He was raised on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures, and that He appeared to Cephas and then to the twelve—and then on to more and more witnesses. So the most basic tenets of the faith are right there: Christ truly died and Christ was truly resurrected.

If you do not have creeds or catechisms as part of your Christian practice, please allow me to highly commend them to you. The Apostles’ Creed and the New City Catechism are both approachable and Scriptural and truthful (but there are lots of other similar resources that could equally bless your family). The Apostles’ Creed is from the early church fathers themselves, and the New City Catechism is a modern tailoring of historic catechesis. I would be more than happy to share more with you about these things any time. Creeds and catechisms are a beautiful way to develop the heart of a disciple. And as someone who belongs to Christ, I am His disciple. And children—particularly the littlest ones—are hardwired for memorization and recitation. They thrive on it, they love the process, and it is good for their souls. The martyr William Tyndale in the early 16th century encouraged all Christians to memorize the entire book of Romans. Wow! But that is where the beauty of concise things like catechisms and creeds really shines. Work your way slowly into larger portions of Scripture. I was pretty pleased when my children and I memorized Psalm 103 together a couple of years ago… but the entire book of Romans would definitely require practice and perseverance.

(Check out Crossway and ChristianityToday for more information on the practice of catechesis.)

I know that I belong to Christ, and I know what I profess and proclaim… so how do I then live as a Christian, letting the light of the Gospel shine here?

Two of the things that should flow from our lives as Christians are evangelism and worship. We need to be evangelists—and there are many ways to share the Gospel with others, whether you deliver tracts to doorsteps, spend time on mission trips introducing indigenous tribes to Jesus, show hospitality to your neighbors through acts of mercy and generosity, or invite unbelieving family members to join you in services or events at church. Regardless of how this plays out in your individual life situation: you are called to share the love of Jesus, and tell others about Him, share Scripture with them, and give a defense for the faith and hope within you.

Paul writes wonderfully about these things in his first letter to the church in Corinth:

If anyone loves God, he is known by God (1 Corinthians 8:3). Let no one seek his own good, but the good of his neighbor (1 Corinthians 10:24). Whatever you do, do all to the glory of God (1 Corinthians 10:31). Imitate Christ (1 Corinthians 11:1). Do not be contentious (1 Corinthians 11:16). Suffer together and rejoice together (1 Corinthians 12:26). Pursue love (1 Corinthians 13), and earnestly desire the spiritual gifts (1 Corinthians 14:1). Be infants in evil, but think in maturity (1 Corinthians 14:20). Let all things be done for building up (1 Corinthians 14:26).

In 1 John chapter 4, we read more about Christian life being one called to love. This is where we really see the truth of who God is, who we are as His children, and how the Gospel light shines here:

“Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love. Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. If we love one another, God abides in us and His love is perfected in us.

Whoever confesses that Jesus is the Son of God, God abides in Him, and He in God. We love because He first loved us.

Everyone who believes that Jesus is the Christ has been born of God, and everyone who loves the Father loves whoever has been born of Him. By this we know that we love the children of God, when we love God and obey His commandments. For this is the love of God, that we keep His commandments. And His commandments are not burdensome.”

And how do we know what the commandments of God are? Luke 10:27 teaches us that the law or commandments is to “love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.” And Micah 6:8 says, “what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God.”

If these things inspire me to do anything, it is to worship Him. To reflect upon His massive mercy, and return praise to Him. As someone who belongs to Christ, I am called to be a worshiper. You are called to be a worshiper. Worship corporately, worship privately, worship alongside your children, worship in quiet, worship aloud. Worship by declaring the holiness of God and rendering due praise unto Him.

This is the truth we rest in as Christians: we belong to Him because He chose us in Him to be His people. We love Him because He first loved us, and now we are called to walk forward in love and good works for His glory and in His image. We are to be disciples learning from Him, evangelists sharing about Him, and worshipers giving honor and praise to Him. We can fully rest in the knowledge that we belong to Him, and that it is because of what He has done for us—not because of what we do for Him.

…

(…continued in Aletheia, part three…)

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Aletheia, part one

I was really delighted to be asked to speak at a local retreat! When I was asked if I would speak on “truth that shines,” I simply began to pray that God would lead me to the topic that the women would need to hear. I had no idea who would be attending this event, the background or baggage, preconceived notions or presuppositions that would be coming along for the ride.

In the end, I decided to focus on a very high-flying, broad view of how to discern truth from Scripture about who we are as Christians, women, wives, and mothers—and how we ought to live in light of those realities of Truth. The Greek word for truth is a beautiful term: αλήθεια (aletheia). In ancient Greece, this was used in a lot of philosophy, to designate full disclosure and the reality of being unconcealed: truth.

The Truth of Who We Are

  • as Christians
  • as women
  • as wives
    (homemakers)
  • as mothers
    (homeschoolers)

and how the light of the Gospel shines here

In case you are new around here, I will briefly introduce myself. I’m Melissa Joy, and I have been married to my husband Steven for almost fourteen years. Ten years ago we built our house on a plot of land beside my parents’ property in the Pacific Northwest—there, my husband runs his Bible software company Olive Tree—there, I plan annual Paideia Northwest conferences to encourage moms in the Christian education & upbringing of their children—and, most importantly, there we seek to raise our five children in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.

I am a second generation homeschooling mama, and I love spending my days delving into stories, songs, histories, sciences, and messes of all kinds with my always-too-precocious children.

I am also a who-knows-how-many generations back Christian mama. I was raised with five generations of Christians alive at once, attending the same church (we regularly filled two long pews in the balcony) & having Sunday evening dinners together every week at Grandma’s house. The faithfulness of God to my great-great grandparents and beyond is astounding. Having such a long standing line of faithful Christians to stand on is a humbling thing, but a glorious heritage to follow. We take up our cross to follow Him, but His burden is easy.

As we look together now at the subject of discerning truths, those are just little pieces of truth about me as an individual. Telling the truth about me allows you to know me. The truths that we now turn to are what allow us to know God. He is truth, and so my hope is that by time we are done here, we will all know our Lord a little more intimately. These truths are not new—they are as old as creation. And they are graciously, generously both broad and simple.

We turn to Scripture in order to seek truth. I believe in (and love) 66 fully inspired and Spirit-breathed books in the canon of Scripture. When it comes to certain topics especially, I just don’t even see the need to try saying anything eloquently because the Word of God is right here at my fingertips! My desire is to thumb through the Scriptures now in search of Truth, beginning with this Psalm 139:

“O Lord, You have searched me and known me. You know my sitting down and my rising up; You understand my thoughts afar off. You comprehend my path and my lying down, and are acquainted with all my ways. For there is not a word on my tongue, but behold, O Lord, You know it altogether. You have hedged me behind and before, and laid Your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high, I cannot attain it. For You formed my inward parts; You covered me in my mother’s womb. I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; marvelous are Your works, and that my soul knows very well. My frame was not hidden from You, when I was made in secret, and skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth. Your eyes saw my substance, being yet unformed. And in Your book they all were written, the days fashioned for me, when as yet there were none of them. How precious also are Your thoughts to me, O God! How great is the sum of them!”

Something that really strikes me in this particular Psalm is the way David writes about both our spiritual selves and our physical selves. We are fearfully and wonderfully made, and the glory of God is expounded when we contemplate His hand in both our spiritual and physical life. Those are the two things we will begin contemplating—who are we spiritually and physically?

The majority of people who would read my blog, probably including you, are Christian women. That is both a spiritual and a physical designation. Fearfully and wonderfully Christian. Fearfully and wonderfully female.

So what does it mean to be a Christian?
Where do we find the truth about this in Scripture?
And how are we called to shine the light of Jesus in our Christianity, corporate and personal?

I would like to suggest that three ways we ought to shine truthful light as Christians are by being disciples, evangelists, and worshipers. We are disciples when we seek the face of the Lord to learn at His feet, like Mary the sister of Martha, in Luke 10. You know the story, right? Martha was bustling about the house, and fretted because Mary was sitting at the Lord’s feet, listening to what He said. Jesus told Martha that she was worried about many things, but Mary was singleminded. In fact, Scripture says in Luke 10:42, “One thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her.” She was taking the part of a disciple, and Jesus says that this is good. So we must begin with being disciples, eager to learn truth at the feet of Jesus, saturated in His Word.

Throughout the history of the church, true ideas and false ideas have grown together, and it’s up to faithful Christians to be watchful and diligent to compare every idea with the Word of God—we must prayerfully consider His Word as we discern everything else life and culture throws our way. Especially in this world of having a “31 flavors of ice cream” kind of Christianity smorgasbord, we must be as wise as serpents and as innocent as doves (Matthew 10:16).

On an average Sunday, my family drives almost an hour to reach our church. I have not tried to count all of the churches we pass directly on our way, but it is undoubtedly dozens—including my parents’ church, my brother’s church, and multiple churches where good friends of ours worship. And the point is this: there are countless houses of worship even right in our county. Many of them are definitely preaching Scripture, gospel truth, and pursuit of faithful living. (Amen! Praise the Lord!) But many of them likely are not. How are we to discern the truth of the Gospel? How do I even know what it means to be a Christian?

According to Scripture, the term “Christian” was first used in Antioch—Acts 11:26 is the first place where the Greek word Χριστιανός was used. It is a noun which literally means “one who is like Christ.” It is not a casual participle saying that those folks over there are kind of Christ-ish. It is its own designation. Christian. One who belongs to Christ. One who is part of His body. There are multiple ways this can be nuanced, probably according to which church tradition you study: and, often, it can be associated with the time of baptism or some kind of conversion experience.

So, the truth is, I might say to you that I became a Christian when I was baptized in 1996—I can tell you the jumper I was wearing (it had sunflowers on it) and some of the people who were in the room—because that is the time when I visibly joined the Church.
Or I might say to you that I became a Christian when I was a toddler—I don’t remember it, but my parents have told me that at bedtime one night while my daddy was playing guitar and singing to me, I said I wanted to ask Jesus into my heart—so that is probably the time where I prayed some semblance of “a sinner’s prayer.”
Or I could tell you that I was a Christian by the time I was born—I had faithful Christian parents, (some) faithful Christian grandparents & great grandparents—and I was raised in the church from the womb, not ever knowing a single day where I was not taught to sing and pray and read my Bible and repent and forgive and trust in Jesus.
But then again, the truth is, it was two millennia ago when Christ died at Calvary, thus atoning for my sins and sealing His promise of everlasting life to me… and it was long before even that when God chose me to be one of His children—in fact, Ephesians 1:4-5 says that He chose His people before the foundation of the world, predestining us for adoption as His children.

But what does this mean or why does it matter? How does this tell me anything about the truth of who I am as a Christian?

At its most basic level, to be a Christian is to belong to Christ.

I think a lot of times, we think that being a Christian means doing certain things, living a certain way, checking off certain boxes—like reading your Bible, believing in the dual nature of Jesus as both God and man, attending public worship on Sundays. Or maybe even legalistic things like dressing a certain way, avoiding certain substances, praying certain prayers.

But here is the thing: too often we focus on what we are doing as Christians. We need to focus on what Christ has done for us.

We don’t belong to Christ because of the things we do, the theology we believe, or the way we live our life.

Rather, we do the things we do, believe the things we believe, and live the way we do because we belong to Christ. Who we are is Christ’s! What we do flows out of that reality.

When we belong to Him, we walk in His ways, we seek to become more like Him, and His Spirit produces fruit in us. These things, like salvation itself, are by grace through faith. (Ephesians 2:8-9) Salvation is not procured by our good works, it is a gift of God. He gives us this salvation and eternal life as a gift to receive with humility, thanksgiving, and joy. We can not boast about it, except for boasting in Him (Galatians 6:14 and 1 Corinthians 1:31).

…

(…continued in Aletheia, part two…)

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A Series is on the way

Back in January, I received a message from someone who knew me through my conference work at Paideia Northwest, asking if I would speak at a weekend retreat in March. I remember actually busting up into giggles: no, really – I did that! When my husband, who was sipping coffee nearby, asked what was so funny, I said, “I think somebody must have me confused with someone else. Because I just got a message asking if I would speak at an upcoming retreat.” My husband didn’t see the level of humor I did, and admitted, “I think you would do a great job at that. What makes you think it wasn’t intended for you?”

I am pretty sure I gave him a blank stare. Giggles stifled, I sent a quick response basically just clarifying who I am, and checking to see if the request was actually for me. I admitted that it has been almost ten years since I have spoken officially at anything… you know, outside of being the emcee of a medium-sized conference every November in recent years. I figured the sender would appreciate being given an “out” once they realized their mistake in reaching out to me.

I was surprised to shortly receive a response which clarified that they knew exactly who I was, and I was exactly the person they wanted speaking at their upcoming event. And she knew that I was not a seasoned speaker… and apparently that didn’t matter to her, and wasn’t necessarily what she was looking for.

She told me the topic and theme for the retreat weekend, and I began to pray and read some books and decided to step across the threshold of the door God was opening.

Tomorrow evening, I will be giving my first of two sessions. I will give the second one on Saturday morning. I don’t have stagefright about being in front of people: honestly, I think that whole idea of being an emcee in front of three hundred people every November has sucked those nerves right outta me. But I have a deep desire to simply be a conduit of God’s grace to this group of women… and I am confident that while I have nothing to offer, the Lord can use me. Even me. Even my words.

So I am praying for the women that will be sitting near, maybe even note-taking, while I deliver a little treatise on a large topic.

I ended up having so much to say about the subject that I wrote it all down, and decided to share all of it in a blog series here. I will use some of the things for my talks, of course, but with only a total of ninety minutes of presenting, I won’t be able to cover as much ground there as I can in a blog series. There are no time limits when it comes to blogging!

This is the pile of books that I started with, and I will share links to each one. They are not all created equal, and just because I revisited them or even quote from them doesn’t mean that I would encourage you to go out and buy them or gift them or apply them unapologetically. Sometimes mediocre books have wonderful things to chew on, but there are also things to be spit out. Have wisdom. And I would love to engage further about these books or the series that will begin to go live tomorrow… so if anybody wants to discuss these things, just contact me and I will get back to you: I won’t even laugh out loud, thinking you contacted me by mistake.

To whet your appetite, here is what’s coming:

The Truth of Who We Are

  • as Christians
  • as women
  • as wives
    (homemakers)
  • as mothers
    (homeschoolers)

and how the light of the Gospel shines here

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Grandmama’s Treasures

Growing up, I was blessed with the multi generational upbringing of five generations alive at one time. Sundays were one day a week where we could count on all being together. We attended the same church, and I remember sitting in that balcony pew with my brother & parents, my mom’s parents, my grandma’s dad, and my great-grandpa’s mom. Until I was almost ten years old, I got to worship alongside even my Great-Great-Grandma, Martha. I don’t remember a lot about her. But I do remember the yellow swingback chair she sat in at Grandma’s house. I remember her thick ankles, and how tan pantyhose would slide into wrinkly piles just above her solid black shoes. I remember the shape of her jawline and the stern corrections she would offer when we young whippersnappers did something out of order. When you’re born in 1887, you see a lot of history unfold. Great-Great-Grandma really had seen and experienced a LOT. I didn’t really have a grasp of that until just recently, I think. It makes me wide-eyed with awe.

My mother had the blessing of inheriting a lot of various treasures from these people, these familial generations who lived together in the winter of life. My mom was the only daughter of an only daughter, who was the only child of an only child. So as far as wills and inheriting all the things, perhaps you can just imagine the treasures my mother has been given. Also of note: these people lived through things like two World Wars, the Great Depression, and a whole bunch of other history we can only begin to imagine. Gathering items of potential future use and keeping things not just out of necessity but out of a worldview of knowing loss & need could be just around the next sunrise ~ this was the norm. Not to mention the longing, the genuine need in the soul, to have things that were simply lovely in the midst of an uncertain and dusky world.

Great Grandpa and Great Great Grandma each had their own rooms & bathrooms in the house where my grandparents lived during the majority of my childhood. My grandparents had their own storage in addition to the storage of these previous generations. Their triple garage barely ever fit a vehicle because it was a treasure trove of antiquities. And junk: yes, plenty of junk as well.

When my parents finally helped go through and clean out that house and garage full of boxes and bins and bottled up memories of lives from almost a dozen decades, they ought to have earned badges bearing the title of Museum Archivist.

I still don’t know what they dug through, boxed up, moved out, gave away, or brought to their own home. I was given a box of square dance clothing, which brings back a cornucopia of memories from my childhood, for my children to enjoy when they play dress up or put on shows with their cousins.

The truth is, there were things boxed up and stored away which had neither seen sunlight nor usage for decades.

There was, in classic fashion, an incessant reminding at Grandma’s house from three cohabiting generations of grandparents that we were not to touch, that we were to be careful, that there were a small number of certain things intended for being used and all others intended for only being gazed upon at best (packed away at worst).

That was my own childhood.
Now my children are the ones with curious imaginations and busy hands, wanting to touch and play and use and experience.

My mother has ten grandchildren of her own now, from one to twelve years old, all living nearby, all loving beautiful things. Of course there are glass-fronted curio cabinets with breakable treasures in them, which the energetic wee ones know are to be gazed at but not opened unattended. But Grandmama is teaching the grandchildren to gently use and tenderly enjoy fragile treasures. Tea parties and Sabbath feasts are prime moments for using antiques and heirlooms. Even the toddlers are given china teacups for sipping and real linens for wiping ketchup from chins.

Grandmama shows by example and embrace that beautiful things are made more beautiful by using them and sharing them. When a treasure gets shattered, fellowship doesn’t have to be shattered with it. We learn to sweep up broken glass and apologize if there is broken trust.

This attitude and approach is where the very idea of a little Wonder Garden came from. Why should my children collect nature’s gifts of seashells, sparkly stones, and textured lichens simply for hoarding? Teaching my children that putting these treasures on display in little coves in the forest is teaching them to use and share their beautiful collections… like their Grandmama.

Generational living. Generational learning. THAT is one of my very favorite treasures of all.

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Wonder Gardens


Spring is trying to sprout, and we are loving the sunshine and longer days! My three younger children walk around with their eyes searching for treasures, their boots sloshing in mud, their fingers sticky with pine sap. The one year old is learning about prickly pine needles and pokey pinecones (he is not a fan). The five year old collects a pile of rocks, the eight year old collects chunks of bright green fuzzy moss: they both run to the garage to pilfer old cardboard boxes to fill with their treasures.

When I return from a walk to reach my 75K workweek steps, during which I was listening to an audiobook on authenticity in the Christian walk, the children want to go into the house with me. Tea and stories, they beg! I make no promises but agree it is a lovely scheme. I watch them grab small cardboard boxes, and they ask where they can store their treasures. Is there a shelf in the garage where we can make space for these boxes?

Suddenly I think about boxes of treasures in basements. Parents and grandparents who have lovely things boxed up and put on shelves. Stored away. Supposedly treasured, yet simply coffined.

I stop the children, and stoop down to meet their eyes. “Why would you find treasures, just to put them in a box and hide them on a shelf? Wouldn’t you rather beautify something with them?”

Quizzical looks spread across their faces. They don’t quite understand.

“Did you collect these things because you find them lovely or pretty or wonderful? Let’s not stuff your treasures away, let’s use them to beautify something. Let’s go plant a wonder garden!”

We found a little cove in a forest stand right by the driveway, and two children each claimed a small spot of earth. They unpacked their treasures, decorating their garden spot with tangible pieces of wonder.

Sparkly rocks encircle tree trunks like necklaces. Pieces of moss line up against a fallen branch like a lace collar.

They are catching on.

A pile of deer bones, an antler, a bucket of shells from last summer’s scouring of the beach… the children suddenly see their treasures with new eyes. Not just as things to hoard and collect, to quantify and pile up like a dragon. But rather as things to use and bless, to decorate and share. To take dominion over a spot in the forest by sprinkling gathered wonder.

We’ll see if this idea catches on. But for now, even the tiny seed of idea makes the possibility bubble in joy.

“Now we can go in the house. Now that we have found a proper home for your treasures, let’s go sip tea and read stories.”

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Lenten & Eastertide Poetry

Looking for some poetry to memorize with your children during this season? Let me share some pieces here that my family finds pertinent and lovely.

THAT EASTER DAY WITH JOY WAS BRIGHT
By J.M. Neale

That Easter day with joy was bright:
the sun shone out with fairer light
when to their longing eyes restored,
the apostles saw their risen Lord.

His risen flesh with radiance glowed,
his wounded hands and feet he showed;
those scars their solemn witness gave
that Christ was risen from the grave.

O Jesus, King of gentleness,
do thou thyself our hearts possess,
that we may give thee all our days
the willing tribute of our praise.

O Lord of all, with us abide
in this, our joyful Easter-tide;
from every weapon death can wield
thine own redeemed forever shield.

SEVEN STANZAS AT EASTER
By John Updike

Make no mistake: if he rose at all
It was as His body;
If the cell’s dissolution did not reverse, the molecule reknit,
The amino acids rekindle,
The Church will fall.

It was not as the flowers,
Each soft spring recurrent;
It was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled eyes of the
Eleven apostles;
It was as His flesh; ours.

The same hinged thumbs and toes
The same valved heart
That—pierced—died, withered, paused, and then regathered
Out of enduring Might
New strength to enclose.

Let us not mock God with metaphor,
Analogy, sidestepping, transcendence,
Making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the faded
Credulity of earlier ages:
Let us walk through the door.

The stone is rolled back, not papier-mache,
Not a stone in a story,
But the vast rock of materiality that in the slow grinding of
Time will eclipse for each of us
The wide light of day.

And if we have an angel at the tomb,
Make it a real angel,
Weighty with Max Planck’s quanta, vivid with hair, opaque in
The dawn light, robed in real linen
Spun on a definite loom.

Let us not seek to make it less monstrous,
For our own convenience, our own sense of beauty,
Lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour, we are embarrassed
By the miracle,
And crushed by remonstrance.

THE DONKEY
By G.K. Chesterton

When fishes flew and forests walked
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood
Then surely I was born.

With monstrous head and sickening cry
And ears like errant wings,
The devil’s walking parody
On all four-footed things.

The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.

Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet.

THE SCARS OF GOD’S HANDS
By Jason Farley

My soul clung to the dust,
now dust clings to my soul.
Your life-breath, once blown
up the nose of my father,
once exhaled in fruit-statutes,
once blown across the dry bones
until they could get up
and dance; breathe life
on me. Speak again the six
stanzas that climb up to rest.
Speak them into me. Tie
my ears to my dusty soul
and blow.

I, clay-jar, am
cracked. Scratched. Divoted. Grand
Canyons that leak. But, Lord, if
my scars leak out,
might they leak in?
If I am not air tight,
might your breath
sneak in?

Can scars be glory?
Can glory leave scars?
I will run to my heart’s end.
Enlarge my heart.
Might your scarred love
love the scarred?
Let your scarred hands
leave scars.
Blow. Blow hard enough
to dislodge the dust.
Even if it takes a hurricane.
Even if it leaves scars.

NO SCAR
By Amy Carmichael

Hast thou no scar?
No hidden scar on foot, or side, or hand?
I hear thee sung as mighty in the land,
I hear them hail thy bright ascendant star,
Hast thou no scar?

Hast thou no wound?
Yet I was wounded by the archers, spent,
Leaned Me against a tree to die, and rent
by ravening beasts that compassed Me, I swooned:
Hast thou no wound?

No wound, no scar?
Yet as the Master shall the servant be,
And, pierced are the feet that follow Me;
But thine are whole: can he have followed far
Who has no wound nor scar?

LEST WE FORGET
By Amy Carmichael

Home of our hearts, lest we forget
What our redemption meant to Thee,
Let our most reverent thoughts be set
Upon Thy Calvary.

We, when we suffer, turn and toss
And seek for ease, and seek again;
But Thou upon Thy bitter cross
Wast firmly fixed in pain.

And in our night star-clusters shine,
Flowers comfort us, and joy of song;
No star, no flower, no song was Thine,
But darkness three hours long.

We in our lesser mystery,
Of lingering ill, and winged death,
Would fain see clear; but could we see,
What need would be for faith?

O Lord beloved, Thy Calvary
Stills all our questions. Come, oh come,
Where children wandering wearily
Have not yet found their home.

EASTER LILY, A POEM
By Tinuviel

In unseen Saturday silence
Petals unfurl,
Mute trumpets crying out
With rolled-away stone: 

“Take hope! Take heart!
Why do you seek the living among the dead?
He is not here; He is risen! 

“Your trust, your toil,
His promise are not vain.
Death will be swallowed up in victory.
This body of death, This broken life,
This night of tears are not the end. 

“At last trumpet’s fanfare
Dead shall be raised,
Dustless, Deathless, Glorious.” 

White heralds soundless sound:
“Christ has died; Christ is risen; Christ will come again.”
Hallelujah!

AMORETTI LXVII: MOST GLORIOUS LORD OF LIFE
By Edmund Spenser

Most glorious Lord of life, that on this day,
Didst make thy triumph over death and sin:
And having harrow’d hell, didst bring away
Captivity thence captive, us to win:
This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin,
And grant that we for whom thou diddest die,
Being with thy dear blood clean wash’d from sin,
May live for ever in felicity.

And that thy love we weighing worthily,
May likewise love thee for the same again:
And for thy sake, that all like dear didst buy,
With love may one another entertain.
So let us love, dear love, like as we ought,
Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.

LOVE’S AS WARM AS TEARS
By C.S. Lewis

Love’s as warm as tears,
Love is tears:
Pressure within the brain,
Tension at the throat,
Deluge, weeks of rain,
Haystacks afloat,
Featureless seas between
Hedges, where once was green.

Love’s as fierce as fire,
Love is fire:
All sorts – infernal heat
Clinkered with greed and pride,
Lyric desire, sharp-sweet,
Laughing, even when denied,
And that empyreal flame
Whence all loves came.

Love’s as fresh as spring,
Love is spring:
Bird-song hung in the air,
Cool smells in a wood,
Whispering, “Dare! Dare!”
To sap, to blood,
Telling “Ease, safety, rest,
Are good; not best.”

Love’s as hard as nails,
Love is nails:
Blunt, thick, hammered through
The medial nerves of One
Who, having made us, knew
The thing He had done,
Seeing (with all that is)
Our cross, and His.

~C.S. Lewis, Poems, (1964)

RESURRECTION SUNDAY, 1
By Joseph Carlson

The trumpet blast! The bells in Church tow’rs rings.
The cymbals crash! The hosts in Heaven sing.
Now let the nations all, their praises bring-
For Christ the risen Lord has conquered death!

The sun has risen from the darksome night;
He spreads his rays and on us casts his light.
A new day dawns on blind men, giving sight,
For Christ the risen Lord has conquered death!

Where is thy biting sting, O conquered death?
O grave, thy victory that stifles breath?
The sting and victory of death are gone-
Destroyed in that bright morning’s breaking dawn.

As all God’s children sing out loud and long,
Let Church bells ring out clear their ageless song.

RESURRECTION SUNDAY, 2
By Joseph Carlson

I hold an old gnarled seed in my gnarled hand.
Above the earth, it cannot hope to live.
Above the earth, it nothing has to give.
But plant that old gnarled seed, and watch the land.
One day my old gnarled hand will till no more;
Though much it gives, the best has not yet come;
Though much it sees, it has not seen its home,
But plant my gnarled hand, and watch as before.
Both seed and hand must die for them to grow;
Both must descend and find their homely grave.
For this world’s dirt has now been built to save
The dead, and raise the hands and seeds you sow.

O grave, O death, where is thy biting sting?
Our Jesus rose and has become our king.

EASTER
By Jason Farley

If it’s true,
Why do we live like we do?

Excerpts from THE HEEL-STONE
By Jason Farley

Wars and seed and bruises.
Our God promised us
wars and seeds and bruises.

But we would win
in the end.
The dragon’s curse—our promise—
is a man with a heel.
A seed with a heel.
A dragon skull crushed.

The ground remembered all of the blood from Abel.
The ground remembered all of the blood to Zechariah.
The ground knew the dead’s taste.
The ground swallowed up our dragon-slayer.
Life’s an unfamiliar flavor.
The Son of God was manifested,
to destroy the devil’s works.
Took on mortal flesh:
That, through death, he might destroy
him that had death’s power.
That death might swallow Death.
Dragon skulls echo when they crack.
Wars and seed and bruises.
The God of peace went to war.
Children of the God of Peace
now playing in the asp den.
The God of peace may soon crush Satan.
May soon crush Satan
underneath your feet.

JESUS IS THE BEAUTIFUL GATE
(Acts 3)
By Jason Farley

Jesus is the Beautiful Gate
through whom we walk and laugh and leap
into the presence of God the choreographer.

We join the sphere-dance like kings.
Join the sun, leaping and dancing,
covered lightly in light.

As Christ’s Life-Word
bubbles and leaps—alive in the dance—
within us. Stopped springs suddenly re-dug.

De-roof my heart.
Let down this paralyzed soul
to wind up a bucket of living water

To pour it out in sermon-song.
To un-dry the desert dust
that this cactus might fruit, might flower.

That it might be poured to fill the trough
of young calves, freed from their stalls
to walk and laugh and leap.

I GOT ME FLOWERS
By George Herbert

I got me flowers to strew Thy way,
I got me boughs off many a tree;
But Thou wast up by break of day,
And brought’st Thy sweets along with Thee.

The sunne arising in the East,
Though he give light, and th’ East perfume,
If they should offer to contest
With Thy arising, they presume.

Can there be any day but this,
Though many sunnes to shine endeavour?
We count three hundred, but we misse:
There is but one, and that one ever.

EASTER HERALDS
by Amos Russel Wells

Who came from the tomb
When Jesus came,
To scatter our gloom
With his living name?
‘Twas the angel Hope,
Whose sunbeams go
To the farthest scope
Of our darkest woe.
Hope came from the tomb
When the Saviour came.

Who came from the tomb
When Jesus came,
In the bursting bloom
Of a world aflame?
It was Joy, the angel,
Who sang and sang
Till the glad evangel
Through the wide world rang.
Joy came from the tomb
When the Saviour came.

Who came from the tomb
When Jesus came
From the conquered doom
Of our sin and shame?
It was Love, supreme
Of the angel host,
And her graces gleam
Where we need them most.
Love came from the tomb
When the Saviour came.

Easter Hymn
by A. E. Housman

If in that Syrian garden, ages slain,
You sleep, and know not you are dead in vain,
Nor even in dreams behold how dark and bright
Ascends in smoke and fire by day and night
The hate you died to quench and could but fan,
Sleep well and see no morning, son of man.

But if, the grave rent and the stone rolled by,
At the right hand of majesty on high
You sit, and sitting so remember yet
Your tears, your agony and bloody sweat,
Your cross and passion and the life you gave,
Bow hither out of heaven and see and save.

EASTER DAY
by Oscar Wilde

The silver trumpets rang across the Dome:
The people knelt upon the ground with awe:
And borne upon the necks of men I saw,
Like some great God, the Holy Lord of Rome.

Priest-like, he wore a robe more white than foam,
And, king-like, swathed himself in royal red,
Three crowns of gold rose high upon his head:
In splendour and in light the Pope passed home.

My heart stole back across wide wastes of years
To One who wandered by a lonely sea,
And sought in vain for any place of rest:
‘Foxes have holes, and every bird its nest,
I, only I, must wander wearily,
And bruise my feet, and drink wine salt with tears.’

SEE WHAT A MORNING
By Keith Getty

See, what a morning, gloriously bright
With the dawning of hope in Jerusalem
Folded the grave-clothes, tomb filled with light
As the angels announce, “Christ is risen!”

See God’s salvation plan
Wrought in love, borne in pain, paid in sacrifice
Fulfilled in Christ, the Man
For He lives, Christ is risen from the dead!

See Mary weeping, “Where is He laid?”
As in sorrow, she turns from the empty tomb
Hears a voice speaking, calling her name
It’s the Master, the Lord raised to life again!

This voice that spans the years
Speaking life, stirring hope, bringing peace to us
Will sound ’til He appears
For He lives, Christ is risen from the dead!

One with the Father, Ancient of Days
Through the Spirit who clothes faith with certainty
Honor and blessing, glory and praise
To the King crowned with pow’r and authority!

And we are raised with Him
Death is dead, love has won, Christ has conquered
And we shall reign with Him
For He lives, Christ is risen from the dead!

And we are raised with Him
Death is dead, love has won, Christ has conquered
And we shall reign with Him
For He lives, Christ is risen from the dead!

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Musing upon Memory Work

One of the things I love to do with my children during our Morning Time collective (which is a lovely word I recently heard to describe the gathering of all the ages to do a collection of things together – and I want to adopt the word!) is memorizing poetry.

Surprisingly, even to myself, I love memorizing with my children. I have never been good at memorizing anything, and I am not sure if it is a particular lack in the chemical make up of my physical brain, or a lack of having exercised my brain in quite this way as a child myself, or what… but memory work has always been the thorn in my side. It made studying for tests excessively difficult, and it made my pursuits of music extremely burdensome. I simply have not had very good recall. Not only of facts, but also of my own life. My memories are few and vague. It actually saddens me deeply. Thus, trying to memorize things has been a source of anxiety and struggle for me throughout my life. So the fact that I now completely love memory work with my children just blows my mind! And it goes to show me that I still have much room to grow and deepen and practice and learn. God is so good to continue my education, and to bring me joy in it.

To be precise: I love the pursuit of a certain kind of memory work. I am not a natural proponent of all kinds of memory work. In fact, I will be willing to stick my neck out here and tell you that I have rather a disdain for the memory work of Classical Conversations and other similar Classical education niches which emphasize the rote memorization of a multitude of facts, without giving the explanatory depth and fattening the curiosity which comes from having been introduced to a new word or item or idea or event.

I don’t want my children to be able to regurgitate things on command simply because it feels shiny or impressive. I want them to be able to regurgitate things of eternal value and importance. Will they memorize secular things along the way? Absolutely. You bet! Times tables and measurement conversions, recipes and formulas… and probably all kinds of things their mama can’t even begin to wrap my head around.

But the things which I absolutely believe ought to be hidden in their hearts are the things I take the trouble to bring into our Morning Time collective, and work to cycle through regularly on repeat. These are mostly faith based, but also some additional beauty-based things (my friend Heather would tell me they are wonder-based!) which are still nourishing the mind and nurturing the soul.

Being Renewed in the Spirit of our Mind for the Practical Existence of the One New Man

What do I find to be the spine of our memory work? I don’t know whether boiling it down to “faith” is too simplistic or not, because it is so much more than just that. Scripture passages (sometimes a single verse, sometimes an entire chapter), catechism (which are formed around doctrines from Scripture), liturgical pieces (creeds, the Lord’s Prayer, and other high church forms I love to pull from early church fathers, saints, or the Book of Common Prayer), Psalms (in my home, usually sung- often verbatim Scripture, sometimes metrical/poetized), and hymns are the faith-based things we pursue daily.

So faith is our spine. No surprise there, I think.

But what do I pull in that isn’t faith-based, but rather draws us to beauty and wonder in a more material way? Poetry. Sometimes we have added in geography songs or ditties like that… and I think they do enhance our wonder, even if they lack a little bit in the beauty category I so love. But poetry is a joy, and we pursue it in our Morning Time collective regularly. We memorize poems as a group, but also as individuals. About two weeks ago my children finished memorizing their winter/snow poems that we began in January (which were on the heels of the Advent/Christmas poems they had memorized during those seasons), so after taking one week to cycle back through memorized poems from previous weeks and months, this week we began Lenten/Easter poetry. This is later than I probably should have started, but we will dig in and see if we have these memorized by Resurrection Sunday. If not, that’s okay. We will do our best recitations possible at our Sabbath feast that day, but if we need to read rather than recite, that’s okay too.

What struck me is how difficult it was to find excellent Lenten or Eastertide poetry. A simple Google search did not suffice. I asked some trusted resources personally (like Amy Sloan and my friends at Schole Sisters), and got a couple of recommendations. I pulled out some beloved books of poetry written by some friends (Jason Farley, Ben Palpant, and Joseph Carlson). I searched for specific poets I know we love, and found a few gems. And then after I printed them all up, I let the children (currently ages 12, 9, 8, and 5) choose which poems they wanted to memorize for this season. It is always interesting to see what they pick, and to ask if they can articulate why they chose a specific piece. Length? Rhythm? Rhyming scheme? Subject in general? The wonder of the words? The beauty of the image it evokes?

It never ceases to amaze me how we remember these things. Even when we revisit a poem memorized a year ago (which we have revisited multiple times previously since then as well), it still comes rushing mostly back. Perhaps we have to peek at a word or two for a good cue at the next line now and then… but for the most part, these things are rooted deep.

What I long for is for those roots to grow fat and tight around the brains and hearts of my children. When they are challenged, I want the roots to cling and stick. When there is suffering, I hope Psalms will spout up from the depths of their souls. When there is laughter, I hope poems of joy and silliness ring out of their mouths. When there is comfort to give, when there is doubt in faith, when there are growing pains of any sort… it is the Creed, the Catechism, the Proverbs, the epistles, the hymns… Psalms & other Scriptures!… those are what I pray will bud and flower and bear much fruit.

If something must be forgotten, dear Lord, let it be the times tables and the periodic table and the long lists of states & capitals. Please, Lord, let the faith and the beauty remain.

Amy at Humility & Doxology wrote about this recently, and simply echoed my own previous experience with my grandpa. After watching Grandpa forget everything from his address to his family members to what were his favorite foods, and then forgetting even how to walk or speak… there were faith and beauty memories brimming under the surface.

The miracle of hearing him hum along when my children and I would sing hymns to him… or mouth along the words of Psalm 23 or the Lord’s Prayer when we recited for him… or raise his hands and nod his head while listening to the reading of Scripture from the mouths of his grandchildren and great-grandchildren… HE REMEMBERED.

That was the experience that really drove home to me the importance not only of memorizing things, but of choosing carefully what to memorize. When everything else was erased from him, Grandpa still remembered what mattered most: faith.

Renewed Day by Day | 2 Corinthians 4:16

Our bodies will waste away, the things of this world will turn to dust; but our soul is eternal. That immortal part of us which can not die, but ought to be renewed day by day in God’s grace, is what lasts. That is what matters most.

So we will memorize all kinds of things in our pursuit of an excellent, nourishing education as I walk through life with my five children. But it is soul-fattening and faith-saturating memory work which will be the spine.

That begins here. For us, it starts with our Morning Time collective.

At the end of my life, may I too recognize the truth, beauty, and goodness in Psalms, hymns, poems, creeds, catechisms, and Scripture. When my body has wasted away, may I too (like Grandpa before me) still lift my hands and nod my head and groan in my spirit when the things of faith wash over me. And may my children and grandchildren be gathered around me, washing me with the Word.

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“Botanies”

When a child wakes up and immediately packs for a “backyard safari,” the correct answer is, “when are you heading out? And did you remember to pack a water bottle?”

As it turns out, this sweet boy desired an “adventure assistant” and asked Mommy to take the job as he was ready to head out the door. I was glad to drop other things and see the world through the wonder of his eyes. Every inch of creation is magical. This boy knows it in his bones. As he gazed around the field and forest through the binoculars, he gasped at one point: “Mommy! There are so many botanies out there!” and I suppressed my giggle enough to help him revel in the wonder of his epiphany. He was, after all, absolutely right.

He was beyond delighted to unearth an old rusted can of some sort, declaring it to be undeniable treasure. He pulled out almost every tool he had tucked into his backpack in order to dig it up and work at prying the sheets of metal apart in order to discover what the golden sheen hiding inside was made of. The slight tremor in his voice proved to me that he absolutely believed it was either elven magic or earthen gold. Eventually he said we should turn back home, treasure in hand, because he didn’t want anyone to worry about us.

Half a mile distance and half an hour’s time – that’s all it required. But who can think of the smallness of that reality when the wonderment was a thousand times bigger than that?! For five year old Simeon, we were on the other side of the world making discoveries never before touched by human hands.


Memo to self: remember to say yes to adventures with little ones.
For some excellent reading on this subject, I suggest Greta Eskridge‘s 2020 book, Adventuring Together. Such a beautiful testimony to the beautiful childhood we can encourage for the sake of our families just by saying yes to adventures ~ both big and small.