A new documentary, a renewed idea. I've written and thought and done a lot on the subject of minimalism over the years. The past five months have ramped it up a little, when we combined households with my mother-in-law. There is just not that much space and so, by necessity, we are scaling back.
I'm at the point where all the clothes in my closet I actually wear on a regular basis. I continuously cull the toy room (although I believe there is always more there - how sentimental I can be with the kids toys!)
Where I find myself now, however, is not that I don't use everything around me, but could I use less? I wear all 8 pairs of pants, but could I do with only 3? Everything is useful organized, but is it necessary? I still feel the clutter, I still long for those spaces where surfaces are clear and boxes don't pile up.
I don't buy things for the thrill, but why do new things become old and lose the lovely feeling they once evoked? That new sweater with which I was so careful eventually becomes something I throw on to clean. Why don't those beloved things remain beloved? With less, would they retain some of their wonder?
The only clutter I yearn for are bookshelves. Every time I see a picture of an airy room with shelves from floor to ceiling stuffed with all shapes and colour and sizes of books, my heart leaps a little. There is something about being surrounded by all those lovely thoughts poured out on paper that inspires me just by the presence of it all.
Wednesday, 4 January 2017
Friday, 30 December 2016
Primary
After three and a half years as primary president (and another year and a half before that as a counselor) I've been released from service in the primary at church. It's hard to wrap my head around it. I've spent five years watching about 100 kids learn and discover the scriptures and the gospel of Jesus Christ. I've challenged them, expected more, guided them, and watched them bloom. I've encouraged their questions and pointed them toward answers. We sang and read and talked.
I would say that the time was defined for me by Colin's class. I started when Colin had just turned seven. In a bit of an unusual move, I suggested we move Colin's class of 6 boys and 2 girls into the older division (senior primary) a year early. They were a class of first borns, children a little wiser than their years. Plus the junior group was huge and the move would make the two groups more balanced and easier to manage. The younger group has more songs and games and stories, and the spiritual concepts are presented in a simpler way. The older group we challenge more, have deeper conversations and encourage them to find their own spiritual way.
Over the next 4 years, I watched as Colin's class blossomed in unimaginable ways. Their questions and insights were remarkable for ones their age. And, as the oldest children in their family, we began to see their leadership emerge, to see the positive influence they were having over their younger siblings.
All of this culminated in their primary presentation this past November. Once a year the children have a chance to present what they have learned over the year to the congregation in the main service. Traditionally, the leaders have written little lines for each child to recite. A few children will read a short talk they had prepared during the year. And they will all sing the songs they have learned. But three years ago I wanted to change this. Colin's class, and the rest of the older group, were capable of so much more. So I released the writing to them. For those who didn't want to write a talk, I had them read a scripture passage. But everything that was read came from them. People told me it wouldn't work, but it did, and it was amazing. This past November I stepped it up once again. This time, I told the 8-11 year olds that they would run the entire presentation. I provided lists of the order of talks and songs, and they were in charge of doing everything in the right order. As leaders, instead of sitting up on the stand with the kids, we all sat in the congregation. And they did it. There was one glitch, but they even worked that out.
The past ten years have changed the way religion and spirituality fits in our lives. Religion used to be about providing answers to life's mysteries, but there are fewer and fewer mysteries out there now. In the age of information, a faith in God is really about accessing a spiritual element in our being. I wanted the kids in my primary to learn about God's word, to develop a prayer life, and to start to understand their purpose here.
This year, Colin's class will turn 12, and move into the youth program. To have seen this group through this stage of their childhood has been a privilege.
I would say that the time was defined for me by Colin's class. I started when Colin had just turned seven. In a bit of an unusual move, I suggested we move Colin's class of 6 boys and 2 girls into the older division (senior primary) a year early. They were a class of first borns, children a little wiser than their years. Plus the junior group was huge and the move would make the two groups more balanced and easier to manage. The younger group has more songs and games and stories, and the spiritual concepts are presented in a simpler way. The older group we challenge more, have deeper conversations and encourage them to find their own spiritual way.
Over the next 4 years, I watched as Colin's class blossomed in unimaginable ways. Their questions and insights were remarkable for ones their age. And, as the oldest children in their family, we began to see their leadership emerge, to see the positive influence they were having over their younger siblings.
All of this culminated in their primary presentation this past November. Once a year the children have a chance to present what they have learned over the year to the congregation in the main service. Traditionally, the leaders have written little lines for each child to recite. A few children will read a short talk they had prepared during the year. And they will all sing the songs they have learned. But three years ago I wanted to change this. Colin's class, and the rest of the older group, were capable of so much more. So I released the writing to them. For those who didn't want to write a talk, I had them read a scripture passage. But everything that was read came from them. People told me it wouldn't work, but it did, and it was amazing. This past November I stepped it up once again. This time, I told the 8-11 year olds that they would run the entire presentation. I provided lists of the order of talks and songs, and they were in charge of doing everything in the right order. As leaders, instead of sitting up on the stand with the kids, we all sat in the congregation. And they did it. There was one glitch, but they even worked that out.
The past ten years have changed the way religion and spirituality fits in our lives. Religion used to be about providing answers to life's mysteries, but there are fewer and fewer mysteries out there now. In the age of information, a faith in God is really about accessing a spiritual element in our being. I wanted the kids in my primary to learn about God's word, to develop a prayer life, and to start to understand their purpose here.
This year, Colin's class will turn 12, and move into the youth program. To have seen this group through this stage of their childhood has been a privilege.
Wednesday, 28 December 2016
2017
(The last few months have been empty - life is busy and my writing time is devoted to school work. Nevertheless the blog isn't abandoned, just infrequent.)
A new year is arriving, and although I'm in the throes of schooling, and in spite of previous posts about September always being the new year to me, my mind seems to be rolling about new year ideas. And so they will make their way here.
"Create" is my word for 2017. A friend told me that her goal as a school librarian and keeper of the school technology was to encourage students to create instead of consume. Her words have stuck with me. Our entire family has fallen into a tech zombie-like state. The constant demand on my brain of schooling has led me to want to completely veg out with my free time (ha - what free time?!) I've watched more mindless Netflix and played more video games (what?) than ever before. Similarly, I've been very lenient with allowable screen time for the kids. 100+ hours of school every week has completely changed how life is running in our house. I'm giving myself a bit of a pass for the 16 months or so I'll spend in school. But I still have some very pressing things on my mind.
Create, not consume. When was the last time my kids created something in their spare time? Voluntarily decided to use the talents they have to explore their own ideas? When was the last time I did the same? Do the kids even have the idea to do this? Do they see it being modeled around them?
Over the last couple of days I've offered to get out the actual real paint for the kids. Juliette and I co-created three different lovely paintings that hang in the wall on the play room now, and Caleb did one on his own. I've once again picked up my instruments (violin, flute, guitar and piano for right now) to create my own music. I'm writing again. I have an idea that the kids and I can write our own little book. It's so cheap to publish little photo books now that we could actually write and publish our own book, staring the kids, or featuring illustrations they have done. Juliette and I did some beading and make jewelry. That's about the end of my ideas right now, but I'm on the lookout for more.
The truth is, the kids will love and do the things they see around them all the time. When they see the love and passion that creating brings me, they will want to create also.
A new year is arriving, and although I'm in the throes of schooling, and in spite of previous posts about September always being the new year to me, my mind seems to be rolling about new year ideas. And so they will make their way here.
"Create" is my word for 2017. A friend told me that her goal as a school librarian and keeper of the school technology was to encourage students to create instead of consume. Her words have stuck with me. Our entire family has fallen into a tech zombie-like state. The constant demand on my brain of schooling has led me to want to completely veg out with my free time (ha - what free time?!) I've watched more mindless Netflix and played more video games (what?) than ever before. Similarly, I've been very lenient with allowable screen time for the kids. 100+ hours of school every week has completely changed how life is running in our house. I'm giving myself a bit of a pass for the 16 months or so I'll spend in school. But I still have some very pressing things on my mind.
Create, not consume. When was the last time my kids created something in their spare time? Voluntarily decided to use the talents they have to explore their own ideas? When was the last time I did the same? Do the kids even have the idea to do this? Do they see it being modeled around them?
Over the last couple of days I've offered to get out the actual real paint for the kids. Juliette and I co-created three different lovely paintings that hang in the wall on the play room now, and Caleb did one on his own. I've once again picked up my instruments (violin, flute, guitar and piano for right now) to create my own music. I'm writing again. I have an idea that the kids and I can write our own little book. It's so cheap to publish little photo books now that we could actually write and publish our own book, staring the kids, or featuring illustrations they have done. Juliette and I did some beading and make jewelry. That's about the end of my ideas right now, but I'm on the lookout for more.
The truth is, the kids will love and do the things they see around them all the time. When they see the love and passion that creating brings me, they will want to create also.
Tuesday, 20 September 2016
Tears
Today I have been thinking about tears. I saw a beautiful video about honouring those who fought and died for our country, and I saw a grown man, a soldier, an elder, with tears streaming down his face as the national anthem played. Little droplets fell ran down his cheeks and dropped off of his chin. I wondered if he wanted to move his hand from his heart to wipe them away, to erase the evidence of such emotion. His hand did not move. Perhaps he didn't feel shame. Perhaps the pride and honour overwhelmed any embarrassment.
I have had more than a few moments these past weeks where I have lost everything in a torrent of tears. I've right now is more overwhelming than I've ever experienced to this point. And each time I've locked myself away, alone, to allow the release of the tears in private. Afterwards I've slipped away into a bathroom to splash my face, or I've willed myself to stop so that the redness can fade away, or I've covered the sniffle with a Kleenex and a "cold." I did not want those tears to become public.
Today I sat and thought about the design of crying. When we are overwhelmed with sadness inside, we cry in the outside. We cry on our face - the very place where people look when they connect with us. There is little we can do to stop those tears when they come. They stream down and tell others "she is sad!" Sadness could have been designed to stay internal, but it's not.
In other words, when we are sad, we are designed to communicate that sadness to others. Somehow, it is important for people to know that we are hurting. They are meant to see the wetness of the tears in the moment and even the echo of sadness through the lingering redness in the eyes. Maybe it's hard to hide that we've been crying so that we don't hide it. People can see it and reach out, connect, love. Sadness is not something to tuck away, but a way for love to be extended and communication to flow and connection to increase.
Maybe next time I won't hide away when I cry, and you might see me and be what I need in that moment.
I have had more than a few moments these past weeks where I have lost everything in a torrent of tears. I've right now is more overwhelming than I've ever experienced to this point. And each time I've locked myself away, alone, to allow the release of the tears in private. Afterwards I've slipped away into a bathroom to splash my face, or I've willed myself to stop so that the redness can fade away, or I've covered the sniffle with a Kleenex and a "cold." I did not want those tears to become public.
Today I sat and thought about the design of crying. When we are overwhelmed with sadness inside, we cry in the outside. We cry on our face - the very place where people look when they connect with us. There is little we can do to stop those tears when they come. They stream down and tell others "she is sad!" Sadness could have been designed to stay internal, but it's not.
In other words, when we are sad, we are designed to communicate that sadness to others. Somehow, it is important for people to know that we are hurting. They are meant to see the wetness of the tears in the moment and even the echo of sadness through the lingering redness in the eyes. Maybe it's hard to hide that we've been crying so that we don't hide it. People can see it and reach out, connect, love. Sadness is not something to tuck away, but a way for love to be extended and communication to flow and connection to increase.
Maybe next time I won't hide away when I cry, and you might see me and be what I need in that moment.
Tuesday, 5 July 2016
Colinism
We are in the throws of soccer season again, and loving it. All four kids have game day on Wednesday, including two kids traveling out of town. It's tough to schedule, but we're managing each week with the help of friends and family. I have to say, I love that I am expanding village. Instead of closing in, keeping to ourselves, and piling in our own van and shuttling everyone around, this introvert is stepping out and talking to more people, asking for help, and deepening friendships.
I love to watch Colin play. He's so quick on his feet and adept at handling the ball. When he's passed the ball, you can watch him run and deke and be down the field before you know it.
A couple of weeks ago, they played on home field against a really good team. It was a close game, but our boys eked out a 5-4 victory. Colin had some great assists on goals, and was his usual quick self darting up and down the field. At the end of the game, during the congratulatory handshakes with the other team, the opposing coach took Colin aside and told him in a thick Scottish accent "It is a real pleasure to watch you play."
It's true. Colin is the smallest player on the team, often a full head shorter than teammates and opposing players. But his speed and agility and ability to handle the ball usually brings out some real compliments from the parents on the sideline. It's lovely to watch him do something so well that he loves so much.
I love to watch Colin play. He's so quick on his feet and adept at handling the ball. When he's passed the ball, you can watch him run and deke and be down the field before you know it.
A couple of weeks ago, they played on home field against a really good team. It was a close game, but our boys eked out a 5-4 victory. Colin had some great assists on goals, and was his usual quick self darting up and down the field. At the end of the game, during the congratulatory handshakes with the other team, the opposing coach took Colin aside and told him in a thick Scottish accent "It is a real pleasure to watch you play."
It's true. Colin is the smallest player on the team, often a full head shorter than teammates and opposing players. But his speed and agility and ability to handle the ball usually brings out some real compliments from the parents on the sideline. It's lovely to watch him do something so well that he loves so much.
Sunday, 29 May 2016
Benjaminugget
Benjamin is at a most wondrous age right now. His red hair falls into his eyes, around his face, and gives him an impish look that matches his personality.
He has an aura of wonder about him. He has a tie to bugs and critters and animals and "all creatures of our God and King." He was the first kid to be able to coax our cat into the open during the day; Ben's little body that is always moving stops and rests as he gentle strokes her back. The other day Ben arrived home from school and announced he had a new pet: Catty the caterpillar. He opened his hands to reveal the pet he'd found at lunch and had secretly tended through the afternoon of school. We took off, the two of us, to the store to find a small bug container, which he filled with sticks and leaves and flowers for his beloved pet. (Alas she lasted but a few hours before an "outing" ended with her falling through the deck boards.)
He also has a special tie with the husband and wife, Tom and Shelley Wolf, who were his Sunday school teachers when he was 2 and 3. Even at this young age, I can see that these are Ben's kind of people. They are vegans; Ben already doesn't like to eat meat. They love all things earth and natural and off the grid - they live in a home built into the ground lined with tire walls and heated by woodstoves; Ben loves to be in the wild and woods. Tom is a musician (drummer); Ben has a natural musical ability in a little sweet soprano voice. They ride a motorcycle; Ben is in awe and wants and orange helmet so he can ride on the back. Tom and Shelley took to Ben, our little rascal; Ben always sits with them on Sundays during the main service, and now and then they take him out to see a movie. While I know James and I are the main influences in Ben's life, I strongly desire other people to be in our village to help our children grow. Tom is definitely this for Ben.
While there are endless shenanigans, and unending bouts of teasing of Juliette, he has a grin that melts hearts. He loves to cuddle and read with me, and his daddy is his hero. Ben loves to have that one on one time with either of us. We love this little guy with everything in us.
He has an aura of wonder about him. He has a tie to bugs and critters and animals and "all creatures of our God and King." He was the first kid to be able to coax our cat into the open during the day; Ben's little body that is always moving stops and rests as he gentle strokes her back. The other day Ben arrived home from school and announced he had a new pet: Catty the caterpillar. He opened his hands to reveal the pet he'd found at lunch and had secretly tended through the afternoon of school. We took off, the two of us, to the store to find a small bug container, which he filled with sticks and leaves and flowers for his beloved pet. (Alas she lasted but a few hours before an "outing" ended with her falling through the deck boards.)
He also has a special tie with the husband and wife, Tom and Shelley Wolf, who were his Sunday school teachers when he was 2 and 3. Even at this young age, I can see that these are Ben's kind of people. They are vegans; Ben already doesn't like to eat meat. They love all things earth and natural and off the grid - they live in a home built into the ground lined with tire walls and heated by woodstoves; Ben loves to be in the wild and woods. Tom is a musician (drummer); Ben has a natural musical ability in a little sweet soprano voice. They ride a motorcycle; Ben is in awe and wants and orange helmet so he can ride on the back. Tom and Shelley took to Ben, our little rascal; Ben always sits with them on Sundays during the main service, and now and then they take him out to see a movie. While I know James and I are the main influences in Ben's life, I strongly desire other people to be in our village to help our children grow. Tom is definitely this for Ben.
While there are endless shenanigans, and unending bouts of teasing of Juliette, he has a grin that melts hearts. He loves to cuddle and read with me, and his daddy is his hero. Ben loves to have that one on one time with either of us. We love this little guy with everything in us.
Tuesday, 17 May 2016
On the way to school
I saw this fantastic documentary the other night. I turned it on because I couldn't sleep, but then I couldn't sleep because I was so caught up.
The film follows for children (about 11 years old) who, in order to get to school, must travel anywhere between 2 and 4 hours each way. Each journey is done on their own, or with a younger sibling. Each must walk through African desert, or Moroccan mountains, or from a remote South American outpost, or a far away Indian hut. Two young brothers no more than 6 or 7 pulled a makeshift wheelchair holding their older brother, trudging through sand and mud and rivers. A girl waited for someone to let her hitch a ride for the last leg of her journey.
I was struck to the core about how precious education was to these children and their families. That their parents would send out their children, so young, all alone, through a long, unmarked and dangerous journey every single day. That the student so valued going to school that there were no complaints about the rocky paths or charging herd of elephants. There was little more going on in the film that simply watching the long walk on the way to school; it provided a ripe endroit for pondering.
How much we take school for granted here, as students and as teachers. By the end of the film my heart was as full of passion as my eyes of tears. I cried out to no one (to my future students, a plea!) "Learn and dream and learn and dream and learn and dream then go and do something!"
These four children were asked why they went to school, and each dreamed of beautiful ways to change the world. I thought about myself becoming a teacher, and I admonished myself sternly. "Do not ever, ever, simply "phone it in." Look what education can do! I am not worthy of the position if I take it for granted. Do not think that I must fill empty heads with my own pride, but instead I must inspire them to find what it is they are meant to do in this world.
The film follows for children (about 11 years old) who, in order to get to school, must travel anywhere between 2 and 4 hours each way. Each journey is done on their own, or with a younger sibling. Each must walk through African desert, or Moroccan mountains, or from a remote South American outpost, or a far away Indian hut. Two young brothers no more than 6 or 7 pulled a makeshift wheelchair holding their older brother, trudging through sand and mud and rivers. A girl waited for someone to let her hitch a ride for the last leg of her journey.
I was struck to the core about how precious education was to these children and their families. That their parents would send out their children, so young, all alone, through a long, unmarked and dangerous journey every single day. That the student so valued going to school that there were no complaints about the rocky paths or charging herd of elephants. There was little more going on in the film that simply watching the long walk on the way to school; it provided a ripe endroit for pondering.
How much we take school for granted here, as students and as teachers. By the end of the film my heart was as full of passion as my eyes of tears. I cried out to no one (to my future students, a plea!) "Learn and dream and learn and dream and learn and dream then go and do something!"
These four children were asked why they went to school, and each dreamed of beautiful ways to change the world. I thought about myself becoming a teacher, and I admonished myself sternly. "Do not ever, ever, simply "phone it in." Look what education can do! I am not worthy of the position if I take it for granted. Do not think that I must fill empty heads with my own pride, but instead I must inspire them to find what it is they are meant to do in this world.
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