my thm journey, part two: baby steps

At the suggestion of a sister THM-er, I've decided to post weekly rather than monthly.  Given the length of this one post, I think that was a good suggestion. :)

I think I should introduce myself before going much farther, in case people read this, but not any of my other blog posts.

My name is Cathy.  I am the stay-at-home wife of a Baptist pastor, living in eastern Ontario.  We have ten children, ranging in age from almost 6 to almost 26.  Three of our children have left home (two of those are married; one has given us our first grandchild).  Of the seven who are left, one is an adult working as a carpenter full time and paying rent by helping us remodel our house.  Another is almost an adult, and has plans to move to Virginia if he is accepted as a Joel Salatin apprentice.  The last five are still in home school, so my days are still very full.  Full, but rewarding. :)

Last week I started a series depicting my THM journey.  I "went public" because I believe I need the accountability.  Writing this paragraph at the end of the first week, I can definitely say going public has helped a lot.  You can read my first post here.

February 28, 2014 -- Weighed in at 207.0.  Ate three butter-fried eggs for breakfast.  Drank water kefir pretty much all day.  I drink water kefir pretty much all day every day, so I'll not mention that again.  Snacked on cheese somewhere around noon.  Celebrated my daughter's birthday at our church after youth group/Bible club.  We had brought an ice cream cake from Dairy Queen, but I remembered to bring all the stuff I needed to make a chocolate muffin in a mug and a cottage cheese raspberry whip, so I had that instead.  Later, though, I ate the chocolate bunny my husband had bought me.  (Note to self: Ask him not to buy me any more chocolate, not even if I beg.)

March 1, 2014 -- Weighed in at 205.8.  Ate two butter-fried eggs for breakfast.  Had a family day skating on the Rideau Canal, where my daughter took this photo of me pushing my grandson in his stroller:

I have probably a dozen or so "before" pictures I could have picked from, but I decided to let this one be it.  I smiled for the camera even though I knew my daughter would post this on facebook.  She and I have talked a lot about self image as relates to our bodies, which conversations would fill several blog posts of their own.  In fact, we had such a conversation today, as we traveled the canal together.  (She skated, I walked with the stroller.)

Considering the fact that I spent 4-5 hours walking almost non-stop today, I felt myself justified in getting a poutine.  For the uneducated, this Canadian delicacy consists of French fries and cheese curds with gravy poured over it.  I'm sure that sounds gross to some people, but we all think they are delish.  I only get one when I'm at the canal (which is no more than once a year, or less), and only when I don't get a beaver tail.  I also had a small cup of hot apple cider.

On the way home, we stopped at Tim Horton's where my husband treated every one to doughnuts and hot chocolate. I had come prepared for this.  I pulled my knitting out of my backpack (which I carry everywhere instead of a purse), and knit fast and furious on what will probably be the first of many hats I plan to donate to a rescue mission in Ohio (where a friend of ours is a men's counselor).  This will be a good way to keep my hands occupied when we are out in public and there is non-THM food around.  After I use up all my leftover yarn, I'm going to buy some cotton and start on dishcloths.

All that walking just about did me in, though.  I have plantar fasciitis in both feet, so after hobbling into the house, I plunked myself down in the recliner for the rest of the evening.  Asked one of my girls to make me a peanut butter sandwich.  She used homemade whole wheat bread, and it tasted good.

I worked out where we were on the canal on Google Earth, and I'm guessing I walked close to six miles.  That's a lot when you're walking on ice and trying to keep your balance!

March 2, 2014 -- Weight: 205.2.  My feet feel like they are broken.  Thankfully it's Sunday, and I don't have to do much.  A friend sent me a link with plantar exercises, which I hope to start tomorrow.

Breakfast was chocolate muffin in a mug and cottage strawberry whip.  I ate it on the way to church since I was running late, but it was so filling I could not finish it.  I left it in the van since it's still cold and snowy here, and finished it on the way home.  I did eat a piece of the chocolate that was being passed around by someone in the church.  I'm debating about whether to let this be a once-a-week treat, or to say no to it altogether.

Sunday dinner: The big thing in this house is to keep Mom out of the kitchen on Sunday afternoons.  The children are all adamant about this.  This is the day Mom gets a break from the kitchen, so while they make dinner, I get to put my feet up--and stay out of the food. :D  Today they made scrambled eggs and a mixture of fried potatoes, sausage and onions.  I ate the eggs with a little ketchup, though I'll have to look later to see if ketchup is S acceptable.

Snack after evening service: peanut butter sandwich made with slices of cheese instead of bread.  Yes, I am quite aware of the lack of veggies in my life.  Plan to fix that tomorrow.

March 3, 2014 -- Weight 202.6.  Chalking up that drop to be the 6 miles on the canal catching up to me.  All the same, I don't want to lose weight that fast, so I determined to eat every three hours today, whether I felt hungry or not.  Started with a chocolate muffin at 7:30.  Those things taste amazing, but they are soooo filling.  I felt like a stuffed pig already when Tom came in 15 minutes later and announced to the children that he was taking me out for breakfast and all the normal Monday morning errands.  I was totally not expecting that!

Thankfully, we did some of the errands before breakfast, so by the time we got to the diner I felt like I could eat again.  Normally I get the Atkins breakfast (no carbs), but we were at a different diner this time, so the plate of eggs and bacon came with toast and home fries.  I did eat the toast with a teeny tiny bit of jelly, but passed on the home fries.  But by the time three hours had gone by, I still felt way too full, so decided to wait another hour before eating an FP cottage strawberry whip.

After that, it was time to take the girls to piano lessons, so I was in town when the next three hours was up.  I shared some pepperoni and cheese sticks with them to hold me over till supper.  (Meanwhile, I had been at the library studying my family herbalist course--I don't trust myself to go shopping alone.  Too much chocolate in every single store.)  I also finished a hat while one daughter went into the mall for something.  While the family ate lasagna, I ate a huge plate of greens with a sprinkling of parmesan cheese and some ranch dressing.  Seriously, that is enough food for one day!!  I am stuffed full to bursting, and never once felt hungry.  I'm thinking I'd like to feel hungry between meals.

Oh, I forgot.  One of the girls got a small peppermint patty from her piano teacher, and she gave it to me.  Yes, I ate it.  I need to learn how to make THM patties.

March 4, 2014 -- Weight: 203.8.  I expected this after all the food I ate yesterday.  Also, I'm figuring the weight loss from the canal has stabilized.  And I know that you're not really supposed to weigh yourself every day.  I will probably do something different next week.

Spent 25 minutes snowshoeing.  The wind and the recent snowfall almost erased my previous trail, so I had the fun of breaking it out again.  Came home and felt hungry.  There is something about working up an appetite that makes me feel like I "deserve" to eat, and that I'm not being a glutton.  I like the feeling, but I don't know if it's a good one, or an accurate assessment of why a person does or should eat.  Somehow I suspect not.

Breakfast: oatmeal sweetened with xylitol and cinnamon, and a cottage strawberry whip.

Lunch: Took me a while to get over my "full" feeling from breakfast.  Ended up with a four-hour gap instead of three.  Decided I needed dessert for lunch, so after eating the piece of mozzarella a young son cut and gave me, I looked through the book and decided on Peanut Butter Chocolate Cookies (page 387).  Chose to bake them in a square pan as bars instead of as cookies.  Baked 20 minutes instead of 10.  I ate two small bars, finding them a bit too sweet.  Next time I shall reduce the sweetener amount.

Snacked on those bars, one here, one there, for the rest of the day.  Sounds bad, but I didn't eat nearly as many of them as I would have of a pan of regular brownies.  There were still a lot left, even after sharing them with a few of the children.  But they've respected my announcement that they were mine, made without sugar, and were good enough to ask instead of just taking.

I did eat a piece of homemade whole wheat bread fresh out of the oven, with some butter on it.  I know I should learn to make Gwen's whole wheat sourdough bread, but I've not had good success with sourdough, so I'm a little leery of it.

March 5, 2014 -- Weight: 202.8. 

"O God, thou art my God; early will I seek thee: my soul thirsteth for thee, my flesh longeth for thee in a dry and thirsty land, where no water is; to see thy power and thy glory, so as I have seen thee in the sanctuary." --Psalm 63:1-2

Oh Lord, fill me with that kind of longing for You!

Breakfast: Scrambled eggs with cheese, two biscuits with butter, one also with apple butter.  Biscuits and apple butter not THM friendly. 

Lunch: This was one of my busy days, when I just didn't want to take time to actually make something.  Had a few more of those chocolate peanut butter cookie things, with a couple pieces of cheese.

Supper: About half an apple and some cottage cheese.  I really was not hungry, which was why I didn't eat the whole apple.

March 6, 2014 -- Weight: 202.8

Breakfast: Chocolate muffin in a mug, cottage strawberry whip.

Walked down to the local Tim Hortons to buy some K-cups for a friend.  This was a round trip of about 5 1/2 miles.  Normally, I would use that distance to justify a doughnut or two and some hot chocolate.  However, I did not want to have to confess to that in this public journal, so I refrained.  (See what I mean about needing accountability?)

Lunch: Somehow I skipped lunch.  I didn't mean to, but it happened.

Supper: Salad with cut-up chicken breast, with ranch dressing.  Finished with two more of those chocolate peanut butter bars. 

Midnight snack: One chicken breast.

March 7, 2014 -- Weight: 201.8

End of Week One assessment:

Weight loss: 5.2 pounds.

Successes:  Having to report to a public journal made me less likely to eat unhealthy foods.

Areas for improvement:

1. I need to eat more meats and veggies.

2. I need to eat more regular meals.

3. I need to space out my exercise to daily short bursts rather than 2-3 long, hard "marathons".

4. I need to weigh myself less often so as not to be obsessed with numbers.  Planning to try for Friday mornings only.

my thm journey, part one: confession is good for the soul

If you don't start somewhere, you will never start.  Just like a baby learning to walk, you will never have a perfect beginning, but you'll make a good start by taking the first step.

I am a lazy perfectionist.  I am the kind of person who wants everything perfect right from the start, and who is ready to give up in despair at the first blunder.  And then wallow in despair for a while before getting up and trying to be perfect again.  I am too lazy to work at it.

I first found out about Trim Healthy Mama during the summer of 2013.  I understood the concept almost immediately, and thought, "Wow!  I can follow an easy diet full of foods I love and crave, and the pounds will simply melt away without my even half trying!"

As soon as I had enough Amazon gift cards (earned through swagbucks), I ordered the book.  It's a huge, thick book, but I dived in right away.  Everything I read made perfect sense to me.  I was sold.  So sold, I went out and bought enough of the specialty items I could find locally, and started gung-ho into the plan.

Within the first several weeks I had lost ten pounds, I had told numerous friends about the plan, and had sold a few of them on it.  They ordered their books, and started seeing the same results I had.  I was so pleased to find a plan that worked.

But then laziness kicked in.  My long-suffering husband, having watched me start and fail too many times, was not keen on having the whole family diet radically changed on what he perceived to be just another whim.  I was going to have to prove it first.

Which meant that I was going to have to prepare six meals every day: three for them and three for me.  Every dieter in the world knows how hard it is to stick to a plan no one else is following, in a house full of forbidden eatables.  Sugar and wheat flour were the biggest temptations for me.

Every day started well.  The girls and I would get up and start breakfast for the family.  Then, while the family had Bible Time, I stayed nearby and contributed my thoughts while making my own breakfast of THM-friendly ice cream and cake (a chocolate muffin in a mug and a whip made of frozen strawberries, cottage cheese, almond milk, and THM-approved natural sweetener).

However, as the days went by, I often found myself too busy to fix a meal that was different from what the family ate.  At noon, I would typically grab some sort of THM munchy such as cheese, a spoonful of peanut butter, or a bit of cottage cheese.  Something quick and easy, but not very filling.  By supper time I would be just ravenous, and not caring about E, S, FP, or even Crossover.  I gobbled whatever the cook for the day had made (my girls take turns), then spent the rest of the day feeling very bloated and very guilty.

And the numbers on the scale stopped going down.  In fact, they began to climb back up to pre-THM levels, and then higher.  I hated what was happening, but despaired of ever changing.

So I came to a decision:  I'm just going to get back on the bandwagon and do the very best I can in an imperfect way.  I'm going to stop "starting over" every morning, and just go with it.  I'm not sure how well things will go, but I'm going to work hard and see where I end up.

February 28th marked my last "start over" day.  I'll come back in another month with a THM update, and let you know how it went.  I plan to keep a journal of each day's ups and downs which I will post in the update.

Pray for me, especially those of you who know me personally.  :)

"her name is sarah"

There came a day one late spring when my son Nathanael decided that his life was not yet complete.  Something was very missing.  Or, rather, some one. 

"Please," he begged his father and me, "I need this person.  Get her for me."

We told him it wasn't the right time.  Conditions were not favorable.  He needed to wait.

But he persisted.  Not a day went by when he did not speak of her.  Finally, I told him he would have to pray about this, because this dream of his was not on our agenda.  Only God, we told him, could work this out for him.

So he prayed.  "Dear Jesus, please give me a baby sister."

He was three years old, and had the undeniable, unshakable faith of a child.

Technically, we were homeless.  We had a place to stay, but not permanently.  Most of our worldly possessions were in storage in another state a full day's drive away.  Tom worked nearly non-stop from seven in the morning till eleven at night because we were trying to save as much as we could so we could join our possessions before fall.  With a preschooler and a toddler, we felt we had enough on our hands at the moment.  Much as we love children, this was not the best time to add a baby.

One month later I got so sick I could hardly function.  Nothing I ate would stay down.  Nothing.  I moaned and groaned on our borrowed couch, overcome with waves of nausea.  I knew the signs.  I'd gone through this before.  Twice, in fact.  I dreaded going through it again, but there was no denying it.

We were having a baby.

Nathanael was just ecstatic when we told him.  Jumping up and down, clapping his hands ecstatic.  He told everyone he knew, and even a few people he didn't.  He wanted to know when she was coming, what her name would be.

"Well," I said, "IF we have a girl," (great emphasis on the word if), "we will call her Sarah."

Nathanael completely ignored the if.  There were no ifs in his thinking.  Not at all.  God had heard his prayer; he was getting his baby sister at long last.

We went to Maranatha that August, and Nathanael met lots of new people.  He quickly learned there were several pieces of information everyone wanted to know, so as the out-going older brother of a rather shy toddler, he took over all the introductions.  And added a bit of extra information no one thought to ask about.

"Hi!  I'm Nathanael, and I'm three.  This is my brother Josiah, and he's one.  And I have a baby sister named Sarah, and she's inside my mommy's belly."

Oh, the looks that generated!  Most people at least had the grace to act excited for his sake, but the sidewise glances I got were...interesting.  :D

Several teenage girls sat down with Nathanael that week, and tried to explain the facts:  Mommy could give you another brother, you know.  What would his name be? 

"I'm not having a brother, I'm having a sister.  And HER name is Sarah."

Then one day in January there was a concern that I might possibly go into early labor.  I didn't, and there was no real cause for alarm, but that day we had a sonogram done.  Which revealed that we were having a boy.

I had caught Nathanael's excitement, and was eagerly anticipating my first daughter.  I was never more disappointed in my life.

I explained to Nathanael that doctors have this machine that can take pictures of a baby before it's born, and that those pictures showed that our baby was a boy.  We would be calling him Christopher.  He listened patiently, then patted my shoulder to assure me:

"It's a girl, Mommy.  Her name is Sarah."

A month later, labor started for real.  In the middle of the night we woke the boys and rushed them to the babysitter's house.  Then we rushed to the hospital, running several red lights in the process.  We got there barely in time.  I was in the hospital maybe 45 minutes when with a loud SMATCH the water balloon broke and our baby entered our world.

"It's a girl!" Tom said, his face radiant with smiles.

I was incredulous.  "It's a girl?  It's a girl?  It's a GIRL?"

A girl.  A glorious daughter.  A dream come true.  A prayer answered.

Of course, Nathanael was not in the least surprised by this news.  Later that day he was heard speaking on the phone:

"It's a girl, Grandma.  The doctor said it was a boy, but it's a girl."

His voice clearly indicated his opinion that doctors are fools.

lonely moms of older children

This blog post struck a chord with me.  A couple of friends posted it on facebook, and some of the comments referred to young moms who think they've got it all figured out and how maybe it's better not to give advice to other moms.

I know what they mean--we really don't have it all figured out, we really don't have all the answers, we really aren't sure we're qualified to give anyone advice about anything related to child-rearing.  Young moms haven't gone through the whole gamut of parenting from start to finish.  Older moms wonder if you're ever really "finished" parenting.  Really older moms know you never will be.

My point is, no one, if they're truly honest, thinks they have all the answers.  No one feels qualified to advise or counsel someone else.  As a result, there are mothers out there who are searching for answers they can't find, struggling in the dark to make a go of things without any assurance they're on the right track.

Sometimes I'm one of them.  And yet...

I am in a position where I am expected to have advice ready when called upon.

I'm a grandma now, and my daughter has lots of questions about this 24/7 occupation called "motherhood."  Most of her questions start with the words, "Is it normal...?"

Yes, it's normal.  It's normal for nursing moms to want some time off.  It's normal for a baby not to want covered up, even when you're freezing.  It's normal for a baby to sleep all night one night, and then want to play for hours on end the next night.  It's normal to struggle with patience when you've been up all night.  It's normal to lose it, to make mistakes, to second-guess yourself, to cry in the dark wondering if you really are cut out for this job.  It's also normal to feel like it's the best job in the whole world, and to know that you never want to do anything else.

I'm a mother, with two daughters still at home who need me to guide them through this winding, twisting, confusing maze called "growing up."

You're becoming a woman.  You're going to have meltdowns for no rational reason you can think of.  You're going to be on cloud nine one minute, and in the depths of despair the next.  [Anne of Green Gables, anyone?]  It's okay to be friends with the guys and to be irritated with all the annoying remarks and insinuations from people who can't seem to comprehend the concept of "just friends."  It's normal to be annoyed with your little brothers and love them to pieces (not literally) at the same time.  Yes, I want to get out of the house and get away from everybody sometimes, too.

I'm a pastor's wife, and women often ask me marriage/family-related questions.

No, your child will not suffer from doing chores.  I'm sorry to hear about your son/daughter.  It's hard to stand by and watch your grown children make choices that lead to bitter consequences.  I'll be praying with you about him/her.  Yes, God says we're to love and honor our husbands even when they are dead wrong.  Remember Sarah and Abraham, and 1 Peter 3.

[By the way, surely I'm not the only person who thinks maybe Peter wrote verses 1-2 with a somewhat rueful smile toward his own wife?  What kind of amazing woman was she, anyway, to put up with his impulsiveness and his "open mouth, insert foot" tendencies?  How she must have believed in him, encouraged him, supported him, prayed for him!  1 Corinthians 9:5 suggests she must have traveled with him in some itinerant ministry, also.  It can be hard on a woman not to have a permanent home.]

We women need other women.  Wives need other wives.  Mothers need other mothers.  Grandmothers need other grandmothers.

Which means someone needs me, and I need you.

I've learned not to put on a know-it-all front, because I really don't know much.  Pride turns to hypocritical condemnation faster than you can blink.

But I can point to what the Lord has told us in His Word, one of which is that the older women have this God-given list of things they are supposed to teach to younger women.  Which means that if I am older than you, I have the responsibility to show you the way on this journey of wife-hood, motherhood, life.

I can share what worked for me in any given similar situation, and I can also tell you a lot of stuff I tried that didn't work.  I can put my arms around you and tell you how I made a lot of sad, sorry mistakes and I don't know how to fix them, and I know how you feel.  I can tell you how I learned to trust my Saviour all the more through the hard times--how I learned to praise Him in the dark.

I can tell you about being so sorrowful of soul that no words come in the prayer closet--only heart-broken, heaving sobs.  I can tell you about turning hymns into prayers over a kitchen full of dirty dishes and squabbling children when there's no time or space for getting alone with God.

I can teach you how to be sober (which means to be self-controlled, and not moody--even during "that" time of the month).

I can teach you how to love your husband, to make him brownies and chocolate chip cookies and liver and onions, to be quiet when you've said enough (or too much).

I can teach you how to love your children, to change their diapers, to hug them at the odd times of the day or night when they seem to randomly need a hug, to home school them without "losing it", to spell love the way they do: TIME.

I can teach you how to be discreet (which is the same Greek word as sober, above--God knows we need to be told more than once to be self-controlled).

I can teach you how to be chaste in your heart and with your body, with your behaviour and with your clothes.  And I can help you understand why that is so important for the guys' sakes.

I can teach you how to be a keeper at home even when you're dirt poor and your husband has to take part-time work on top of his full-time work just to barely make ends meet--and how to keep your marriage strong when your husband works 60+ hours a week.  I can teach you how to keep your house clean, cook healthy meals, sew clothing, make quilts, knit mitts and scarves and hats, crochet pot holders, cross-stitch pictures with Bible verses for your walls.  How to manage your time wisely, and manage your children's time as well.

I can teach you to be good (which means, among other things, to be cheerful, useful, kind, honorable).

I can teach you to be obedient to your own husband, and how to appeal your case when you think he's being unreasonable.

And I can teach you how all those things I've listed are soooooooo necessary so that we don't cause the word of God to be blasphemed by those who are watching, wondering whether there really is anything to this thing we call Christianity.

I have been young, and now I'm getting older.  I'm more often being called upon to be the teacher....

BUT....

....at the same time desperately needing to be the student.

Yesterday I had a melt-down.  It wasn't pretty.  And mine weren't the only tears flowing.  I thank God my children are so forgiving.  I was mean.  I said hurtful things.  If I had taken time to bite my tongue and walk away, I would have seen that I was tired and frustrated.  I would have remembered that when I'm tired and frustrated it's better that I don't talk.  Because so often I don't talk when I'm that way.  I yell.  I cry.  I lecture.  I scold.  And with escalating intensity.  And people--usually my children--get their feelings and emotions hurt, crushed, stomped on.

I need someone to teach me.

I need you to get in my face about some stuff, to let me cry on your shoulder, to be excited about stuff I'm learning, to hug me when I'm down, and to show me by example how to praise God in the storm.

I need you to teach me how to be sober (which means to be self-controlled, and not moody--even during "that" time of the month).

I need you to teach me how to love my husband, to make food that will keep him strong and healthy, to be quiet when I've said enough (or, more often, too much).

I need you to teach me how to love my children, to be patient with their messes, to hug them at the odd times of the day or night when they seem to randomly need a hug (even when I'd rather be left alone), to home school the whole bunch without "losing it", to spell love the way they do: TIME.

I need you to teach me how to be discreet (which is the same Greek word as sober, above--God knows I need to be told more than once to be self-controlled).  I need you to keep me accountable in my eating habits.  I need you to teach me how to say just enough but not too much, and to do it calmly.

I need you to teach me how to be chaste in what I watch or read, and I need you to remind me to be careful about what my children watch or read. 

I need you to teach me how to be a keeper at home, to be frugal, to make a penny buy a dime's worth.  I need you to teach me how to make my home look home-y: tastefully decorated in a simple, uncluttered style that reflects who we are as a family, one that welcomes children but isn't constantly trashed by them.  I need you to teach me how to manage my time wisely so that I can slowly ease in a home business that adds to our income and the children's practical real-life education, but doesn't take me away from my other responsibilities, and manage my children's time as well.

I need you to teach me how to be good (which means, among other things, to be cheerful in attitude and to be kind in speech).  How to find the right balance between ministering to my family (top priority) and ministering to others on the "outside" (also important).

I need you to teach me how to be obedient to my own husband, and how to appeal my case when I think he's being unreasonable.

[By the way, pastors and pastors' wives are human, just like everyone else.  We aren't up on some "look at us, we've arrived" sort of pedestal.  We sin.  We make mistakes we bitterly regret.  We need grace and forgiveness.  We need hugs and encouragement and prayer.  We need people to hold themselves to the same standard they want to hold us to, as long as it's a biblical standard.]

And I need you to remind me how all those things I've listed are soooooooo necessary so that I don't cause the word of God to be blasphemed by those who are watching, wondering whether there really is anything to this thing we call Christianity.  I need you to encourage me to keep at it, no matter what the world, or even other Christians, think.

We need each other.  We do need to respect our children's need for privacy and not put a lot of personal stuff on facebook or in blog posts, or even in private e-mails.  Hey, I'm even careful about what I write in my journal.  But we also need to be vulnerable for the sake of encouraging others who are going through the same struggles we are, or that we have been through.  We need to teach our children that we're not in this life just for ourselves, but that we are here for each other and for the glory of God.

The blog post I linked to at the beginning of this post is titled "Dear Lonely Mom of Older Kids."  Let me remind you that God puts the lonely in families (Psalm 68:6).  We're in this together.  If you're lonely, reach out to someone around you who can walk with you.  If you know someone who is lonely, offer yourself to them.  There's no reason (other than selfishly shielding ourselves from vulnerability) not to.

{{{{hugs to all the lonely moms out there}}}} :)

response to home school apostacy

I just finished reading this article: The Homeschool Apostates  It's a lengthy article, but please take the time to read it before reading the rest of this post.

This was a hard article to read.  Although most of the home school families we've associated with have not gone to this extreme, we have known some who were following a dangerous path, with the very real risk of losing their children.  Some already had, but still couldn't see their own fault in the matter.

I myself had been influenced strongly by a lot of the extreme ideas described here.  Some of these ideas were originally biblical, but were distorted and twisted by controlling, ultra-authoritative people (mostly re-constructionist men, I'm sorry to say).  The overriding mindset behind the distorted extremes is the over-emphasis on the child's outward appearance and behavior, and the failure to adequately shape--and treasure--the child's heart.

This article represents the dark side of home schooling, the side that gives all home schoolers, especially Christian home schoolers, a bad name.  Thankfully, not all Christian home schooling families are like this.  Some of us hold some convictions dear, but realize they can't be forced on our children.  Some of us have figured out that the more you try to force your child to believe something, the more likely they are to run as far and as fast as they can to get away from it.  Some of us have discovered that having your child's heart is far more important--and more rewarding--than making sure they dress and act "correctly" in public.

The fundamental theological error that is at the heart of the kind of extremism described in "The Homeschool Apostates" is patriarchal reconstructionism.  I'd rather not give a detailed description of this doctrine, but in a nutshell, the basic gist of it is that Christians have the ability and the responsibility to "bring in the Kingdom": to prepare the world--particularly the "chosen" land of the United States--for the coming of Christ.  They believe they can do this by saturating society with their own ilk, putting their people in all levels of society, especially in politics and Hollywood.  They hinge their hopes on their children, grooming their sons to take leadership positions in law and politics, and training their daughters to marry reconstructionist men and raise as many reconstructionist children as possible.

These ideas in and of themselves are not necessarily wrong.  Scriptures are rife with passages extolling the blessing of family and exhorting believers to be salt and light in the culture at large.  It's the motivation behind the reconstructionist ideal that is flawed.  The idea that we can set up God's kingdom on earth is, in fact, unbiblical.  Even if you are not a premillenienialist (as I am),  you cannot deny the Scriptures which describe the destruction of this world at the end of time, and which state that God (not people) will create a new heaven and a new earth.  While people are redeemable, this current world system is not.  Reconstructionism is not a new idea, but it suffered a severe setback after "Armeggedon" (a.k.a World War I) failed to bring about lasting world peace.  Those who have spurred a Reconstructionist revival have not learned from history, and continue to try to make a flawed-at-heart system become heaven on earth.

My husband and I do hold to some of the beliefs common to "fundamentalist" home school parents.  I won't list those specific beliefs here because that's not the point of this post.  But there is one key point in which we differ with the extremists, a point I alluded to earlier: each of our children must ultimately decide for themselves what they will or will not believe, and what convictions they will or will not hold.  They are the ones who will stand or fall when we are gone, so they need something more than "my parents said so" to stand on.  They have their own hearts to yield (or not) to Christ.  And it is He who will lead them in the path they will follow, which may be a much different path than the one their parents followed.  Our responsibility as parents is to train them to follow Christ, but we cannot force them to do this at all, much less in the way we ourselves do.

In other words, as our children work through adolescence and become adults, they will form their own convictions and make their own choices.  And we as parents must give them the space to do that.  We cannot live their lives for them, and we should not try.  Our children, both daughters and sons, know they are welcome to stay home as long as they want, but they also know we're not going to force them to.  We watch who their friends are, but they certainly are not isolated or secluded.  College is waiting for all of them (both genders) if they want it (and if they are able to pay for it themselves).  Higher education is neither required nor forbidden.  Of the two children who are or will shortly be married, both chose their own mates, then sought their parents' blessing and counsel.

Probably the saddest observation in "The Homeschool Apostate" is this:

I feel like at some point I had to choose between my family and my freedom," [Rachel Coleman] says. "I couldn't pick them both; I had to pick one. And I picked my freedom."

No child should ever be forced to make such a choice.  No child will ever be a carbon copy of his/her parents; no child should ever feel shunned because he/she is not.  In some ways our adult children are less conservative than we are, and in other ways they are more conservative.  One child has chosen a non-religious path.  All of them know they are welcome and encouraged to come home to visit, regardless of what they believe or don't believe.  And while there may be conversations about their choices (but usually there are not), there will not be heated debate or hostility.  There will be hugs and "I love you" instead of a cold shoulder or a refusal to speak.  There will be respect (though not necessarily agreement) for differences of opinion.  And there will always be an open door.

chosen bride

The moment Jael saw Joshua she knew she liked him.  She had heard about all the good things he had done for the community, and all that he planned to bestow upon the woman he would marry.  She saw that he was a man of integrity, that he was a hard worker who would provide well for his bride, that he had built a beautiful home for her.  He was wealthy, prominent, but not proud.  He was polite and kind to all, and ready to lend a hand to anyone who had need.  This was the man of her dreams, and she decided she was going to marry him.  He was a prolific writer, and she read everything he had ever written.  In this way, she learned so much about him, including all the things he desired in a bride.  She began to work hard to make herself into that person.  She also discovered where he liked to gather with his friends, and went there.  She introduced herself, and tried to talk with him as much as she could, so they could get to know each other.

Jael told everyone how much she loved Joshua, and she tried to do the things she thought he would want her to do.  She was so eager to marry him!  He never asked her to marry him, but she thought he wouldn't mind if she asked him.  She brought it up several times in their conversations, and talked about all she wanted in a wedding.  She was so interested in what she was saying that she scarcely noticed he wasn't really listening.  In fact, if Jael had not been so caught up with all the things she was doing, she might have wondered at the time Joshua spent talking with a young girl named Rachel.  But Jael didn't notice, and she continued her plans.  She asked him to settle on a date, but he didn't answer her.  She decided he would let her know when he was ready.

Jael was pleased one day to see an announcement on Joshua's website that he had chosen his bride, and had set a date for the wedding.  She was surprised he hadn't called her first, but at least now she had a date.  On the day appointed, she got herself all dressed up in flowing white.  She had her hair gorgeously arranged with pearls and gold and filmy white veil.  She arrived at the church in a limousine, but was a little disconcerted at finding no one outside.  No red carpet lined the stairs, and the doors were closed.

Confused, Jael climbed the stairs and reached to open the door.  It was locked.  She shook it.  It didn't budge.  There were no windows, so she could not see what was going on inside.  She knocked.  No one answered.  She knocked harder, pounding with her fists, tears of panic pouring down her cheeks.  Finally she heard footsteps, then the bolt slipped and the door opened.

"May I help you?"  Jael recognized the tuxedo-clad man as a close friend of Joshua's.

"Oh, Gilchrist!  What has happened?  Why have I been shut out?  Where is Joshua?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The wedding...I'm here for the wedding..." Jael began to realize from the confusion on Gilchrist's face that something was terribly wrong.

"The wedding has already begun.  You are late.  Do you have an invitation?"

"An invita--  Gilchrist, I am the bride!  I don't need to be invited to my own wedding!!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you must be mistaken.  Joshua's bride is there."

Gilchrist opened the door wider, and pointed toward the altar.  To Jael's horror, there stood Rachel!  Her spotless gown shone like the sun, making Jael's appear gaudy, soiled, cheap.  Even at this distance, Jael could see the adoration in Rachel's eyes, the pure love in Joshua's, as they stood reciting their vows.

Jael let out a shriek and collapsed on the steps.  The guests sitting nearest the door turned, whispering among themselves, wondering who this delusioned creature was, dressed as a bride at someone else's wedding.  After glancing at her with embarrassed pity, they turned their eyes back to Joshua and his beloved.  Gilchrist shut the door, leaving Jael huddled, sobbing, outside on the step.

Soon Jael heard organ music begin to play, and footsteps drew closer.  She scrambled out of the way just as the doors began to open.  Joshua and Rachel came out, hand in hand, to the cheers of the guests.  For the first time, Jael noticed the carriage waiting for them.  But this was the wrong bride, surely!  What was this all about?  This was her day, not Rachel's!  Besides, everybody knew all the work she had done for Joshua, all the kindnesses she had bestowed in his name, all the changing she had done in her own life to make herself a fit bride for him!  Who was this Rachel, anyway?  She was nobody but a poor, miserable wretch who had spent most of her life with the worst people over on the other side of town, the place where respectable people never dared walk the streets by day, let alone at night.  How she ever got connected with Joshua in the first place was a complete mystery.  But now here she was, clean, radiant, with a love in her eyes that made Jael feel uncomfortable.

Jael knew she was running out of time.  She couldn't lose Joshua!  She had to make him see the mistake he was making!  In desperation she flung herself at him, hardly noticing or caring that she was making herself ridiculous.

"Joshua, what are you doing?  You were supposed to marry me, not this miserable tramp!"

The guests, stunned at Jael's outburst, gasped at her insult.  Joshua's face reddened.  "Who are you?  How dare you insult my bride?"

"Who am I?  Joshua, I'm Jael.  We were supposed to get married today!  I asked you to marry me!  I worked so hard to be the bride you wanted me to be.  I--"

"You asked to marry me, but I never said yes.  My love is for Rachel, and Rachel only.  I never loved you.  Now if you'll excuse us--"

But Jael refused to move.  She clung to Joshua.  "Never loved me?  But how--  I did so much for you!  I asked you to love me!  You have to love me!"

Joshua grew impatient, even angry.  "Gilchrist!"

As Gilchrist stepped forward, Jael's jealousy changed to unmasked rage.  She turned on Rachel and spat in her face.  Gilchrist just barely restrained her from clawing at Rachel.

Joshua became furious.  "Have this woman arrested!  She shall not spoil this day!  Away with her!"  Then, gathering his weeping Rachel in his arms, he stepped into the carriage.  Just as the driver pulled away, the guests saw him wiping away Rachel's tears, gazing tenderly into her face.

Jael was arrested, kicking, screaming, full of rage, and dragged away.  No one ever saw her again.

our home school journey

 Typical school day morning, September 2013




We began our home school journey in the fall of 1992 when our oldest was four years old.  We have learned a lot over the years, and our philosophy has changed with our growth.  When we started out, we lived in Ohio, where home schooling had only just become legal.  We felt obligated to "do it right" and use an established curriculum which we knew would be approved by the head of the local school board.  So I dutifully ordered all the brightly colored (and expensive) student books and teacher materials A Beka said I had to have for K4.  In due time, the box came, and one sunny September morning my son and I walked over to the church building next door (where I thought he would not be distracted) and we began.

I don't like to remember that day, or that year.  Before the end of two years, I hated home schooling, and wondered if there could possibly be another choice besides public school and (expensive) Christian school.

We moved to Texas in the spring of 1995.  I had basically suspended school during the upheaval of moving, and Texas was a gloriously free state with no enforced home school regulations.  The church there had its own private, members only, school, and I looked forward to placing my two older boys there in the fall. 

It never happened.  It's too long a story to tell here, but we decided to continue home schooling.  I did my research, and this time chose Bob Jones.  Only, Bob Jones was about a year behind A Beka in content, so for my oldest it was like repeating first grade.  We were all bored with the program, and schooling became a drudgery, something we all dreaded and despised.

The next fall, I began a form of "unschooling", though I had no idea that was really a term.  I just thought I was being lazy.  I made sure the children did their math.  I taught my daughter how to read.  Every now and then I had them turn in a writing assignment, and we used those to talk a little bit about spelling, grammar and punctuation.  I bought curriculum we only partly used before I astounded the children by burning it.  We watched a lot of educational programs on PBS, and we visited the library a LOT.  I looked over their books, making sure they had a good mix of fiction and non-fiction, history and science.  But basically let them read whatever they wanted.

Those two or three years were the best, but I didn't know that then.  I thought I was lazy and failing my children, but I needed that respite.  We were about to enter the lion's den.

In 1999, we moved to New York State, the second hardest state in the Union for home schoolers, at least at that time.  Due to all the rigid laws and my own inexperience, we returned--with dread--to A Beka.  Since our fourth child was still younger than the compulsory age of attendance in New York, I only had to deal with the first three.

The books came, and the light began to dawn.  My second son came to me, new history book in hand and disappointment all over his face.  "I know all this stuff already," he mourned.  So that's what all that free reading during the "lazy" years had done.  Slowly, I began to consider other options to the traditional sit-at-your-desk, fill-in-the-blanks, workbook-and-pencil type of curriculum. 

I sought out new catalogs, researched hands-on curricula, and read radical-sounding books.  My all-time favourite was, and continues to be, A Charlotte Mason Companion: Personal Reflections on the Gentle Art of Learning by Karen Andreola.  I found a kindred spirit in Mrs. Andreola, and read all her reviews in Christian Book Distributors' home school catalog.  I couldn't afford to buy all the stuff she reviewed, but I learned a lot just by reading about her experiences.  She blew a breath of fresh air into my weary soul, and a whole new world began to open up to me my children.

The year 2000 saw us packing up again, this time to move to Ontario.  Ontario's home school laws are even freer than those in Texas, which I didn't think was possible.  Every year after that, I continued to explore and change.  We rarely did the same thing twice.  The children learned a lot.  Our philosophy changed even more as we looked around at the sorry state of affairs in the public school system, and at the results they were getting.

As the older ones passed through high school, they gained an adequate education that they had to help earn by doing a lot of things on their own.  What they didn't learn at home, they learned in the work place and in apprenticeship programs.  One of them earned a bona-fide home school diploma.  Others chose to work through their teen years and get their diploma through an adult continuing education program.  All of them took time to choose what they wanted in life, and geared their learning experiences toward that end.

I still have five children working through home school.  We gather every morning and spend an average of 2-3 hours doing academics, but our whole world is one gigantic classroom.  Gardening, baking, cleaning, yard work, laundry, and a whole host of other home chores prepare them for real life in their own real families.  Interaction with family and friends of all ages at home and at church, on field trips and at the park, on vacation, and in other public places teaches them real-life social skills with a variety of people, not just with their own age-mates.

Our children are good workers who are in high demand.  The manager at Wendy's is a bit miffed that one of our sons has no interest in working there, and keeps trying to recruit him.  One man came knocking on our door saying what good things he had heard about our boys, and could we spare a couple of them to work for him.  One daughter is working for her piano teacher in exchange for more advanced lessons.  Even the younger boys work hard doing "man things" like cutting and stacking wood, mowing grass, remodeling the house, and processing chickens.

They are also polite and friendly to all.  Babies, toddlers and preschoolers adore them, and adults love having them around.  They have friends their own age, but also enjoy the company of those older and younger than themselves.

I say these things not to boast, but in awe and with great thanksgiving to our Lord for leading us on this journey, however reluctant I may have been at times.