they rose up to play

Somehow managed to push play on the bible without really being awake and so climbed into a partial consciousness as Israel was eating and then drinking and then rising up to play in the presence of a little gold in the shape of a calf. No big deal. Except then Moses and the Levites were killing anyone with the sword that looked crossways. (That's just my own early morning paraphrase.)

Obviously it is very stupid to be that idolatrous so soon after seeing God's rescuing power but it is the usual human way. We have the staying power of fleas and love to worship whatever we can find as soon as we can possibly get our grubby mitts on it.

The part that jumped out at me, again, was 'rose up to play'. I have a whole gaggle of lovely new little people in my Level One Atrium (Sunday School, Catechesis of the Good Shepherd)--two and sometimes three little boys, and five little girls twirling in their pretty dresses and shouting at each other. My first and main task, apart from the lesson and the singing, has been to develop a culture of Work. The child walks (not runs) into the room and fixes on something to Work with. Sometimes a child will walk in and stand about not landing on anything and then I come along on my hands and knees (feeling very old) and say, "Let me help you find some work. Would you like to work with the Good Shepherd? Would you like to polish? Would you like to trace? " and I run down the whole list of everything in the room that was put there especially for the child. It takes two months, usually, to get children to stop saying 'Play' and start saying 'Work' (longer for grow ups) but the difference is important.

Adam was given useful work in the garden. Useful, that is, for him. The work was prepared for him ahead of time. But the people of Israel rose up to play. They were hanging around not doing what they were supposed to do, and they landed on play. The atrium is supposed to be more like the garden then like Mount Sinai. The child gets to the mountain eventually, but when he is little, the garden of work is prepared specially for him. 

Of course, children should play. But even I know that the playing of children is useful for them as they grow. Their play is a kind of important work that sets them up to do real work later on. But now, in our culture, it is so hard to get anyone to stop playing and do any work. Even me, I chafe to think that I feel like I am always working and never playing. But there, in Exodus, the people were given work and rest, not work and play. But they didn't work or rest, they played. And they worshipped other gods.

This is, I am sorry, an incomplete sketch, but I have to go work so it will have to do.  

blessed art thou

Now that Marigold is four she is doing and saying so many things that four year old children do--like obsessing over death and using language to express herself. So now in Sunday School (Catechesis of the Good Shepherd) instead of wandering around breaking things and rolling on the floor and whining and making me wish she was still in the nursery, she is breathless and engaged and often flapping her arms with excitement. All the lessons are hitting her little soul like a tuning fork and she can't stop talking or pause for breath or contain herself. Indeed, she doesn't speak here at home all that much, but in the atrium my whole hour is taken up with saying things like, " Please be quiet Marigold, it's my turn to talk. Shh. Let's be still for a minute and listen to Jesus." And so on and so forth. 

Last week we did the Annunciation, this week the Visitation. First off, as we gathered in a circle, Marigold was shouting and flapping, "Where is the Angel? Where is the Angel? "

"There is no Angel this week," I said.

"Mary is in the forest. Where is the Angel?" shouted Marigold.

"She's not in the forest," I said. 

I told the story, lit the candle, read the story, used the material, asked the wondering questions.

I wonder how Elizabeth felt when she heard the sound of Mary's greeting?

I wonder how Mary felt when she heard Elizabeth's beautiful words?

I wonder how Elizabeth's baby knew and recognized Mary's baby?

General silence.

"I don't know," said one of the boys.

"Have either of you boys ever been around a new tiny baby before?" I said, trying to get the boys to care. 

"Oh yeah," said one of them, "I have a baby brother."

"What do babies do?"

"They cry and stuff" he said.

"Do they know and recognize you when they are tiny like that?" I asked.

"My brother knew me."

"Did he know you before he was born?"

"Nah," he said.

"I wonder how John knew Jesus?" I asked again.

Bored Silence.

"Maybe somebody told him," said the other little boy.

"That's a very good thought," I said and then broke all the rules. "I'll tell you who told him, The Holy Spirit told him."

General silence interrupted by Marigold flapping and breathing heavily and muttering about Jesus and the Angel and Mary and the Cross.

Then she shouted, "Jesus came forth from Mary!"

I fell back in astonishment, "that's very true. Would anybody like to pray?"

Marigold launched right in. "Thank you for the candles and Jesus dying on the cross and thank you for Baby Ermintrude who is a baby who cries. I'm not a baby who cries. Thank you that I'm not a baby like that baby over there," she continued," that baby who cries."

st. nicholas and other matters

As I lie here, nursing a foul headache and a throbbing thumb, I can hear Elphine squishing the packages in her shoes by the front door. She has been up since 4:30, blast her. Indeed, she nearly caught me fussing over the shoes. I heard someone rumbling round upstairs (her) and shoved my bag of candy into a bookshelf and went back to bed and a minute and a half later I heard her crinkling the paper. I thought she was a baby come down to eat the chocolate and got up to yell and found her there, worshipfully kneeling before all that The Lord has done for her.

I managed to snap a picture on my way out, but it wasn't the arrangement I really long for. 

Last night they all wrote notes and discussed the existence of St. Nicholas and his relationship to Santa.

"There is no relationship," I said. "Santa is some kind of fairy or elf and St. Nicholas is a bishop."

"Is he too old to come?" Gladys wanted to know.

"Maybe he died and God lets him out of heaven to come here once a year," postulated Romulus.

"Go to bed," I said, "or nothing good will come to you."

You can see the light in her eye here--Elphine. She looks determined and, if you don't mind me saying, slightly crazed.

Anyway, back to the headache and the throbbing thumb.

The headache is from waking up at 3:30 to do the shoes because of none of the children going to sleep right away and so not being able to do it at a reasonable time like 11pm.

The thumb is from trying to beat my way into a can of tomato whilest cooking for Shepherd's Bowl.

Here I am trying to be tell enough for the pot and the stove, adjusting the flame from atop my ridiculous stool.

The soup

compared to the ghastly flesh colored satanic brew of last time turned out pretty well. Onion, garlic, carrot, green pepper, broccoli, cabbage, chickpea, lentil, ground beef, tomato, peas and curry powder are a better way to go than revolting ground turkey, kale and potato. God had mercy on me. The soup was delicious. Not delicious like any of the soup that Matt makes, but hearty and edible.

And so we come to the end of a long week. 

What with the basement slowly being emptied out, and that moment in every Homeschool Person's Life when you have to clean out the school room or you will die, and the beginning of Advent, 

[All the Prayer Cards required for three levels of Cstechesis--all the old ones mended and freshened and new ones made.]

and the sudden pressing need to eat lots and lots of salad as a way of recovering from all the pie and turkey and bread and pie.

Today I think we're going to make ugali and sauce in the afternoon and in the evening Matt is speaking at Intervarsity on the relationship between the old and new covenants. And tomorrow more basement. And a birthday party. Thus and so is December. You think you're going to sit around drinking eggnog and decorating cookies but really you hurtle through the month from one event to another eating other people's cookies and telling yourself you'll get back on your diet tomorrow. Oh...and I need to aquire unto myself a donkey costume for the pageant.

Have a great weekend!

7 quick takes

one

We've been trying to finish watching Ben Hur for nearly a whole month. And we had to re-rent it each time. And every time the internet caused Matt to resort to frantic profanity, except the one section when a friend happened by unexpectedly and providentially and showed us how to make the internet go farther, as it were. And every time we turned it on, all the children would start shouting at the screen. One of the loudest, most fraught movies I've ever had to endure.

The thing that impressed me most, besides Charleston Heston, was how an ordinary American of today, excepting everybody at Good Shepherd because even the youngest among us are biblically literate, would not be able to follow the plot of the movie. Jesus is alluded to all the time, but only at the end does he come into focus. And you have to know about the regulations surrounding leprosy to know what the problem is there. So much knowledge is assumed to make the movie go forward that we in the church today don't assume any more because so few people have any of it.

Of course, there were varying levels of interest in our own small family attention abilities. Romulous felt like there should have been some actual fighting. Elphine couldn't handle even the illusion to the crucifixion and had to leave the room. Gladys and Alouicious just chattered away all the time.

Marigold and Fatty Lumpkin raged with excitement at the end, screaming and shouting and jumping, 'JESUS IS DYING ON THE CWOSS. JESUS IS DYING ON THR CWOSS.'

two

Last Sunday I did the Sign of the Cross in Catechesis and Marigold in particular wrestled profoundly with the wonderment that Jesus isn't any longer on the cross. At first she thought I was kidding, but then she went back over it and over it. Last year it was Gladys who surprised me. In the simple sign--Father, Son and Holy Spirit--she gathered up the two natures of Christ, the Trinity and the Atonement and said them all very simply to me as she made the sign. As an idiot adult, up to that point, I hadn't really gotten the point of this particular presentation because, well, who knows, I'm a Protestant, I only do it on Sunday morning, I don't think carefully about everything I do, and also I hadn't been in with the three to six year olds before so I hadn't had a chance to see what all the fuss was about. As Marigold made the sign again and again on Sunday the waves of foolishness washed up once more against my shadow shore. 

three

I think it's time for The Baby to have a proper blog name. I believe I'm ready to retire Fatty Lumpkin, much as I have loved it. She's just not Fat any more.

 

But nor does she fit under the Lady Elaine I had played with previous. Right now I'm leading towards Edna of CinderEdna, the neighbor of Cinderella. CinderEdna, or Edna for short, tried sitting in the cinders but got bored and so went about earning some extra pocket money cleaning bird cages and mowing people's lawns so that when it was time to go to the ball, she had already put a dress on layaway and had the presence of mind to take the bus. We'll see. I'm going to try it out for a bit, reserving the right to change my mind as she grows and changes.

four

The past many weeks I and a few others have been doing odd little jobs to "beautify" the Parish Hall at Good Shepherd in light of the the glorious new wall and Children's Area or Department or whatever it is we might end up calling it. I say Odd Jobs only to refer to the work that I myself have done. The work of others is much weightier and involved. The people painting all the trim, for example, and the lovely Lady who worked from 10 in the morning, last Saturday, to 10 at night covering these bulletin boards to make them all go together. 

And then a very kind and wonderful person drilled through the concrete wall so that they could be beautifully hung. None of these things was I even a tiny bit equipped or talented enough to undertake and I'm so grateful for all the care and vision and interest and hard work of everyone who does anything in the church. Its extraordinary how many people you can find at any given hour, in the church, doing something interesting and clever.

five 

Speaking of the opposite of that, interesting and clever I mean, today I'm just going to be cleaning my house. As is so often the way, while I have been over fussing at church, my own house has vomited out the contents of all it's cupboards and everything has to be put away or we will all be buried and die. The children won't enjoy this, tragically, but they will have to help a little, as breaks from the toil-some labor of learning stuff out of their school books. What a miserable existence they enjoy, they will tell me, how they suffer. 

six

But, as I said before. The Bishop is Coming! The Bishop is Coming! Should I make a pumpkin pie or have Elphine make an Apple Cake? If only the garden hadn't frozen over and all the flowers died. I will say nothing more of the weather, so great is my bitterness and despair. 

seven

Here is Gladys' rendition of me sad about the weather.

Have a great weekend (if you want to, if you like that sort of thing, don't let me tell you what to do) and go check out Jen.

monday morning haze

The children are gently squabbling in the kitchen over their vats of sugar cereal. Matt is uploading the sermon and class from yesterday. I'm trying to recover from the day's Bible Readings which included the King of Israel killing all the sons of Ahab, all the friends of Ahab, all the people who ever even knew about Ahab (possible hyperbole but not too far off) and then every single man in Israel who identified as a worshipper of Baal. From thence it went on to the killing of Athaliah. So much violence. Why is the Bible so full of violence? I frequently wonder to myself. But then I run across creeps like this

and I remember that it's a wonder that any of us get to go on at all. God is so merciful to sinners. Better to suffer the wrath of the world than to be standing anywhere near the above man when he suffers the just wrath of God.

Anyway, I'm praying for a week not full of idolatry and violence. Instead of that, a possible library moment today, preferably one where Fatty Lumpkin doesn't pee on the floor in the children's section while Marigold deliberately and methodically removes all the books from a shelf in one section so that we are forced to depart in hurried shame. Then I probably need to cut everyone's hair. For the bishop. Just kidding, obviously the bishop probably doesn't care if the children's hair is properly cut but it's helpful to have a deadline to get things done. Would be funny though. 'Here, your Grace, are my children. Observe their properly groomed hair and the fact that they are clothed.' Hee hee hee. I'm probably the only one who gets that joke. Sorry.

Later in the week is The 113th Good Shepherd Harvest Dinner. Wednesday 5-7. I know the cooks and I highly recommend you all come.

And I have to repair the little flags for the Raised Surface Map which Marigold mangled in Catechesis yesterday. And the jar of 'Polish' was shattered so I have to find a new one. Can I just say, for those of you with small people who are wandering around with nothing to do, Children Love to Polish. And by 'Polish' I mean baking soda and a little water, a sponge cut into little squares, something made of brass, and then a vigorous scrubbing of the item with the sponge and the baking soda, strewing it around, covering everything with white grainy pasty baking soda and then me taking everything home and washing it and polishing it with real polish so that it really does shine. So wonderful and fun. I just love organized religion.

I don't hear anymore squabbling. Only silence. I find that ominous and so I think I will arise and seek a cause for a quiet house in which dwell so many young children. Have a lovely day and Thank You to everyone who has so faithfully and bravely a served this country in times of war and peace. 

in which i complain about work i actually enjoy doing

I think I mentioned off hand last week that I'm supposed to be spending every waking minute writing Sunday School Lessons for the fall, which I believe for all practical purposes, starts today. Blech. Fall. 

Just kidding, I love Fall. I love all the pictures of cute children with their cute backpacks and their Euphoric Parents leaving them off on bright sunny mornings with nice looking teachers. But the official total start of school signals the beginning of Regular Sunday School and that means getting my mind and my life in order enough to let life go on smoothly for others. And that means actually writing all the lessons in my head for which I've made materials, and also actually writing down all the edits I've made in my own mind but which cannot be known to any mind other than mine (and God's) if I don't take the trouble write them down. It all comes, said Eeyore or someone very like him, of taking a theologically coherent (but unfortunately erring) program that's nevertheless lovely and wonderful for children and trying to make it theologically "better", although that is not the word for which I am flailing about. 

Which is worse, writing out new lessons from scratch or coloring over in heavy marker the existing offending lines and scribbling in the margins, I do not know. I'm suffering under a heavy dose of both. My new teachers will hopefully let me know forthwith. But it exasperates me that so many things for children, and I'll just go ahead and say that here I mean Godly Play, can on one hand be so well made (the actual materials are beautiful) and on the other hand be so horrifically heretical. And along side that, because, you are asking yourself 'why is she messing around with Godly Play?' why can't Sophia Cavaletti be just a touch less catholic? I'm just kidding. She may go along being herself, and I will go along struggling to use her beautiful work as best I can as a devotedly Reformed Protestant. 

Enough with all the kidding. All you Anglicans out there, you who love a little of the Catholic and a little of the Protestant and are tired of the stupid coloring pages, if you take up the strange brew of Godly Play and Catechesis, come complain here and say how you are making it work. Or commission me with some cash on hand, or prayer or candy or something, to write up the beautiful lines I can say with no problem as I adjust on the fly, but which if they were written down, might be more helpful. Just kidding, I don't have time. But wouldn't it be wonderful if I did? Oh the dream.

work, it won't save you but it's still a good idea

I've been mulling over the Christian concept of Work over the past many weeks, not least because we do so much of it around here, but more really because of our Sunday School program, Catechesis of the Good Sheperd.

My own children have all come through Catechesis, Elphine, as in everything, paving the way. Way back then, I didn't have any expectations and didn't have time for anything either and was just really grateful for her to meet Jesus, the Good Shepherd, in a special and beautiful space and to 'work' with so many materials made particularly for her and the other children. I count her current love of Jesus as the fruit of that time in the 3 to 6 year old Atrium and I am so so grateful for it. So also with all who have followed her. The teachers and the space and the time have been such a huge gift to their spiritual lives.

And then at the beginning of this year by the strange and seemingly incomphensible organization of God, I landed in the 3-6 year or Atrium myself, not as student, you will be relieved to know, but as Catechist. And so I have over this past year, finally, seen the "work" of the youngest child, so often read about but never observed first hand (by me).

So, knowing academically what was supposed to happen, I rigorously followed the steps laid out, establishing a culture and method of common life in the space--walking quietly, talking quietly, rolling and unrolling mats, working on something and then returning it to its place before the next thing, watering the plant, carpet sweeping the floor, and so on.

 Having Marigold, who was cumbered in her speech at the beginning if the year, flower in contentment and joy particularly through the Work has been so interesting. She is 'at home'. She is restful. She gets out her folder and her mat and  pastes and colors and then she puts it away and pours beans and then she might arrange flowers and then she takes all the little switch on 'candles' and lines them up and turns them on.

That she is not this restful at 'home' is also very interesting to me. Here, she beats and shouts her way into doing things she wants to do, many of them destructive. It's a clutter and a jumble here and even when there is 'work' for her that she wants to do, usually someone else is coming in and trying to ruin it for her. I don't feel particularly bad or guilty about this. We are a lot of people doing all our own things and the little ones, as far as I am concerned, are welcome to beat their way into everyone's attention, as long as they don't literally beat each other. I'm making it sound worse than it is. Right  now, for example, Marigold is industriously coloring in her school book while everyone else also works. But still, there's a definite edge to her chin as she goes about it.

Unfortunately for all of us, this is just going to have to be Part One because I myself also have actual work to do and I haven't completed my own thought. But do not despair, I'll probably back to this subject sometime again before we all die.

Rearranging the Furniture

I seriously overdid it yesterday and ended up in a rocking chair, at the end of the dining room table, grimacing and closing my eyes every few seconds while everyone else ate supper and asked repeatedly, 'what's wrong, Mommy?'
'I didn't drink enough' I said over and over, chewing on ice cubes, 'and now the baby thinks it should be born right now.'
'Ew' said Alouicious.

I never can get used to this last stage of pregnancy. After this many babies, or so my doctor tells me, your body knows how to give birth and sets itself up to be ready to every moment of the day and night. So you feel, for weeks and weeks, like you're about to kick into labor, but you never do. That's the key. You Never Do. You just go on being pregnant until Jesus comes back. And of course, God is patient and merciful, abounding in steadfast love, not wanting any to perish but all to gain eternal life and so He Doesn't Come Back. Day after day he waits.

I exaggerate, only a little. This pregnancy has been the best, probably, of all five (except for being seriously nauseated for 6 months). Matt pointed out yesterday, when I was whining, that usually by this point and I am affixed to the couch eating lime popsicles and moaning. Instead, for reasons I cannot fathom, I am vacuuming almost every day, maintaining an organized and orderly house, cooking immense pots of soup and getting in full days of school. And This Week (I can barely contain my excitement) I'm hoping to move all the contents of two atria into two beautifully constructed rooms built for this vary purpose in the parish hall. I have Never Had three separate rooms for all three levels of Catechesis. The rooms are going to be painted a cheerful and holy yellow and then I'm going to putter and move furniture and make lists.

It was a great comfort to me, then, to discover this post this morning. I know Matt (and probably the whole vestry) wonders why I am always in the atrium, rearranging stuff and fussing. And I know my own children wonder why, when we arrive at CC on Wednesdays, the first thing I do is rearrange All the tables and chairs even though there's no real practical reason to do so. Obviously, its because I'm such a godly person (ahem). It couldn't be any other reason, like being overly perfectionist and hung up about inconsequentials.

But this morning, still being sore and shattered by my own stupidity, I am going to lie here and continue to eat ice.

teaching a child in the way he should go

Thank you all for interesting and encouraging comments of last week. As is so often the case, I didn't set out to write anything in particular on Friday, other than Something more interesting than, we all ate breakfast and worked and worked all day until we fell into bed.

One comment in particular from an entirely different thread I thought I would pick up in a whole post. Otherwise today would just be Another weekend in review (like the fact that Gladys got into my very precious tin of Nivea cream and rubbed it all over her face and through her hair, using the Entire tin. She smells so pretty. And that we discovered a bat in the kitchen, the second one in the church in two weeks, and carefully deposited him outside, half the congregation making frequent trips outside over the course of the morning to see how he was getting on. And that we were reminded that our wedding anniversary is this week, so we unearthed and watched out wedding video again which was just as wonderful as when I saw it 7 years ago.)

Anyway, I'm grateful to this commenter's invitation to express more of an opinion, just want the internet needs.

“But meanwhile I'm glorying in the satisfaction of having so many useful and obedient children. “
I usually love reading your blog, Anne, but I was struck by the above words. I just hope your children have time to be, well, children.

This was a very helpful thought because I have been worried, of late, that All We Do Is Play. Its like a carnival circus around here most of the time, as far as I can make out. Of course, we haven't officially started school yet, but even then, as hard as I try to make us all serious, Everything seems to turn into a game. This is unfortunate for me, as their mother because I've always really disliked playing games of any kind. I'm getting over it, slowly. Particularly, I've discovered that cleaning should always be in a race against each other. We each get a room, whoever finishes first wins, except that I always have two or three rooms and so its Not Fair, heh, and I never win. Which is why I hate playing games.

The commenter goes on.

I think, when I was growing up, my chores were age appropriate. I did not start doing laundry until I was in high school, and I certainly did not feed everyone breakfast, empty the dishwasher, or clean the kitty box at such a young age. I just wonder if you truly know how odd it is to see written 'useful' and 'obedient' used when describing one's children. It's not the first words I would want to use to describe my children, or how I think of them. However, I may be interpreting your words in the wrong way. But I might use those ajdectives to describe my housekeeper (if I had one), but I'm not so sure I'd use them when it comes to my children.

My thought on this matter is guided by three different sources.
First, my parents would never have bought into this idea. I grew up with the understanding that I had been born to do dishes. That was the purpose of my existence. Naturally all this dishwashing developed into being able to cook really very well by the time I was in high school and college. I can't tell you how many people have appreciated this gift and skill over the years, not least of all my husband and children.

Second, as I've said before, Matt and I read very early on Standing on the Promises by Doug Wilson which has revolutionized our home life. Basic principles that we have incorporated from this book include 'delayed obedience is disobedience' and that really we have One main household rule. That rule is 'Honor and obey your Momma!'. If this wasn't firmly fixed in place, we would not be able to homeschool and I would be tired all the time. Respectful obedient children are happy children. They don't have to organize your life and their days and so they have time to play and think and learn without worrying about who is in charge and what should happen next. This is really the opposite of what we learned in seminary (why there was any parenting advice in an Episcopal Seminary, I don't remember). There we learned that 'the child's word to you is no'. HAHAHAHA. Au contraire. The child's word to me is 'Yes Momma, Right away Momma'.

And third, on the matter of work and school, we have been guided by a wonderful website called Trivium Pursuits. Here is what they say about the work of the child. I've bolded my favorite bits, but the whole long quote is really critical to the way we organize our house.

Develop in your child a love for work and service. From the time a child is able to walk and talk he should be given regular chores to perform. We do not mean simply feeding the dog and making his bed. A five year old is quite capable of putting the dishes away and folding the laundry. A ten year old can prepare simple meals from start to finish. Children of all ages can clean and straighten the house. The mother should not be picking up things from off of the floor. Your goal should be that by the time a child is in his teens, he is able to take over the work of the household, from cooking to cleaning to caring for his younger brothers and sisters. This not only teaches them to appreciate work while removing some of the burden from the parents, but it is good training for when they have their own households.Do not do for your child what he can do for himself. We need to reject all of this popular "self-esteem" stuff. The world’s problems can be summarized in one simple expression: too much self-esteem. Too many people think they are too good for what they get in life. They think they deserve better. And among the things which foster such notions is parents fawning over their little children. For the first year of his life, you pretty much need to do everything for him. But after that, the situation should begin to change rapidly. He can learn to do many things for himself in the next couple of years. He can clean up his own messes. An important corollary to this is: Do not do for yourself what your child can do for you. Your child needs to esteem himself lower than others, beginning with his parents. He can gather the clothes for laundry, and he can fold the laundry. Then he can do the laundry. He can set the table and wash the dishes. Then he can help fix the meals. He can vacuum the floor and dust the furniture. Then he can wash the windows. If you do all of this for him, then he will get a notion of self-esteem: "I am so important everyone ought to do things for me." But if he learns to do it for himself, then he will get a notion of self-confidence: "I can do it myself." And if he learns to do it for you, then he will get a notion of self-usefulness: "I can be helpful and I am needed around here."

Wonderfully, this understanding of the child is very like that articulated by Maria Montessori and Sophia Cavaletti. In Catechesis of the Good Shepherd, the work of the child and the work of the hands is the center of atrium life. The children don't 'play' with the beautiful materials, they work with them. The work is the critical element in internalizing the gospel. Likewise in the home. We were created by God to work and that is where we will find personal satisfaction, where we best glorify God, and are best made into the image and likeness of his Son.

And finally, the commenter writes

I'm just wondering if Father Matt might help out with some of those chores, or maybe he does???

I've said this many times on this blog, but Matt bears an incredible burden of household work. He does half the cooking, all the vacuuming, all the laundry, and up to this point, all the kitty litter. He takes the garbage out (a HUGE job) and keeps the household finances, as well as pastoring a growing church in the midst of a storm. My personal goal is to have him do as little around the house as possible which I fail at every day. That is why the two oldest are learning to do some of his work, as well as mine. At this age, amazingly, they love it. Every morning there is a fight over who gets to do the kitty litter and who gets to do the dishwasher. I know this attitude will not always persist, but I'm enjoying it for now, and looking forward to the day when they can manage this house as well, or better, than we their parents do.

Odds and Ends

I've already been derailed by Gladys sprinkling sugar carefully into my printer, so who knows how the day will proceed (although I'm sure we can all make an educated guess). In light of this fact, I'm scrapping a beautifully written post (constructed blissfully at 5:30 in bed while Gladys tried to strangle me with her milk and mighty little arm--she slept the whole night across my neck, screaming whenever I tried to move her over slightly. Romulus settled himself carefully on my shins and wouldn't be moved either. Isn't this what we always dreamed of as conjugal bliss? Two large children, two cats and a husband? Actually, I only ever dreamed about the husband. The children and cats are a surprise) about the providence and grace of God and the graciousness of his order in our lives in favor of a list.

1. PLEASE pray for my mother who is having a medical procedure done this evening (it'll be Kenya time). She is having to be admitted to the hospital for what is normally an outpatient procedure because of insurance issues. Please pray that everything goes smoothly and we find that she's Perfectly Healthy!!!
Here are the flowers I gave to all the mothers on Mother's day. They're for my mother really but I somehow missed posting on Mother's Day.



2.Here is the 'material' I invented for my 'level 3' Sunday School class. I'm using scare quotes because even though it is in the spirit of Catechesis of the Good Shepherd, its my own invention and by no means a sanctioned material.


I'll try to take some better pictures again this Sunday, but basically I wrote prettily on cards, all the resurrection appearances (the references only) and laminated them. I made the cards a reasonable size and then on tiny strips (again laminated) I wrote names, places, times of day, and items of interest. For a quick example of the strips I have: Mary Magdalen, Mary the Mother of James, tomb, stone, spices, Emmaus, two men, two men in shinning apparel, Jesus (although I forgot that card and had to go back and make it, heh), Peter, John, fish, 153 fish, boat, Galilee, Jerusalem, etc. etc. For the actual presentation, you lay the first card down, read the story, (after distributing the strips) and then everyone lays down the strips that they heard. I also printed pretty and famous art and they had to decide which pictures to lay down. Then we read the second account and they moved the strips which applied and added any new ones. As we progressed through the resurrection accounts, you could see, visually, what was the same in each and what was peculiar to each. Its taken us a long time, because we've been repeating, quickly and briefly, each previous story before adding new ones. Every week I think we're going to finish but we never do. The discussion about the details has been instructive and interesting, and amazingly, this whole process seems to be hitting them exactly where they are (9 to 12 on the ages scale). Its been very helpful to have a visual and its interactive. Its been so good that they've asked if we can do the same thing for the 'End Times' or rather 'Parousia' as we say in the atrium. I'm not sure how I would put that together, but I think it could be cool. Anyway, if you're interested and you want a better explanation, email me. For heaven's sake, if you REALLY wanted it, I'd make it again and sell it for a small and reasonable price.

3. Chicken BBQ this Saturday!!! You all better be there. 11-3.
4.Having babies is a huge consolation in times of difficulty. I've noticed, lately, that Matt, who has been under ENORMOUS stress, visibly relaxes while watching Gladys and Romulous. He can just sit and watch them being ridiculous, and they're so cute and basically pleasant (I say that with obvious reservations). I can see his shoulders relax and his brow unfurl. Of course, I recommend having older children as well, but as a pure stress reducer, if you find life especially difficult, gather yourself up a baby. It makes all the difference in the world.




5. And finally (although by this point I'm Practically doing 7 Quick Takes), here is the very nice Tea/Coffee I served to our departing students (those graduating and leaving) in the middle of their week of finals. I was forced to make brownies from scratch, being unable to locate a box, and they were delicious. We will miss the students very much and hope they will visit us periodically. One is on her way to China to do short term work, one to Korea to be in the army before returning to resume his studies, one is on her way to Cornell, and one to grad school in NYC.

And that, as they say, is that.
See you at the BBQ!!

Sunday was made for...Jesus

It has been on my mind for some time to describe for you an average Sunday. Many years ago there was an advertisement on TV showing comfortable middle class people, probably a couple, sitting at a comfortable kitchen table drinking designer coffee and eating something healthy and reading…the New York Times, back, assumably, when people read the New York Times. There was probably some comfortable music in the background and then a voice coming through the TV announcing to all us schlops who didn’t know yet that ‘Sunday was made for the New York Times’.

Our Sundays are so far opposite of that commercial that it’s hard to believe that we’re on the same planet, certainly not of the same world view.

So here’s how it normally shakes out, starting, of course, with Saturday.

Saturday morning Matt and I are always under the mistaken impression that we can sleep till 7. We desperately hang on, fending the children off with bananas and bottles of milk, but eventually its just not worth it and we all give up and, well, Matt gets up while I drink tea. Then suddenly, inspite of having woken up so early, I’m late for Bible Study and flinging myself and two or three children into the car to get to church. It is Always my intention to print off the bulletin after Bible Study, but instead I usually hang around gabbing and then decide, foolishly, that I’ll “come back later in the afternoon” because “I just need a small lunch” and a chance to “do a few things”. All of which means that I come home, eat some delicious sandwich that Matt has invented, fall asleep on the couch or get stuck catching up on blogs I missed during the week. About 3 or 4 in the afternoon I suddenly realize that the house has become wrecked and supper is almost upon us and that “it would be better just to get up early on Sunday and run over to print”. Matt recklessly agrees to this idea almost every Saturday afternoon. As supper is in progress I generally simultaneously start making some new item for the atrium, organize clothes and shoes for the morning, make various lists, trim bangs and do baths (although sometimes I’m able to manipulate Matt into doing the baths). Then I’m up late painting little wooden people, or finishing up flash-like cards, or gluing bits of things together, all for the atrium. Matt and I fall late into bed.

So you can see what kind of morning we are set up to have. There’s no “reading the paper” or “enjoying a cup of coffee” or “eating breakfast”.

Matt wakes up at 4 to practice and fine tune his sermon. He always has milk all lined up in the fridge the night before and when he brings me tea at 5 or sometimes 6 when he forgets the time, the tray is laden with milk for all the kiddos. Milk in the morning, for children, is like coffee for grown ups, if it’s not the first thing, the day starts off Very Badly. More often than not, its 6, not 5, at which point I am in a total panic, lying in bed under the pillow, staring at the clock and thinking, ‘if I don’t get up in the next 3 and a half minutes, I’m going to be in serious trouble’. I manage to fend of reality as long as possible by pouring one saucer of milk for Frances (E’s cat), sleeping while she drinks it, pouring a second saucer of milk for my cat, sleeping while she drinks it (because I wouldn’t want to disturb either cat by pouring my own milk), drinking my own tea, and then running around hysterically waking up and dressing all the children. Meanwhile, instead of calmly and reasonably finishing up his sermon, printing it out and getting ready for church, Matt often rewrites whole sections, or stops to admire and play with the children so that very often 7:30 has come and gone and we are Not in the car breaking the speed limit to church but rather still finding collars, collar buttons, hair bows (because I picked the wrong one out the night before and everybody is crying), lists and Sunday school material. And of course, when I haven’t printed the bulletin the night before, and haven’t gotten up early, I’m madly and desperately printing and folding while the 8 o’clockers arrive.

That is the critical moment. If I can get all the bulletins done and the readings printed off, and the 10:30 bulletin humming out of the machine by 8am precisely, the service starts and calm rolls down like an ever rolling stream. The children ride around the parish hall in cars and push toys eating bananas, toast, the rest of the Friday Morning Men’s Breakfast, and strawberry wafer cookies. The best person in the world pours boiling water over 3 bags of tea as I emerge from the office, successful in my efforts. I fuss with my Material and eventually wander up to the atrium.

This morning, as I read ‘God Who Has No Hands’ to my class I listened to E and A arguing loudly with each other about the nature of the Good Shepherd. Their argument displayed perfectly the difference between a 3-6 year old child and a 6-12 year old child.
A: The Good Shepherd is a Boy! He is a Boy!
E: I know he is, but my friend Julia is like him.
A: No, because she is a girl and the Good Shepherd is a boy!
E: Yes, but she is kind, like the Good Shepherd, and she cares about many things.
A: No, she is a girl.
At which point the catechist intervened. E should really move to level two but she would be all by herself. I think I will read her ‘God Who Has No Hands’ this week.

After Sunday School I am told many things by many different people which I try to write on One piece of paper, so that will remember later. Things like: next Sunday evening I will need to go to church to help make 25 apple pies for the Harvest dinner, or one EM has had to stop that ministry for a season for health reasons and it would be really great if we could train the three new people who want to learn This Week sometime so that we don’t run into trouble, or everyone should go take as many well ripe bananas as they can from the church kitchen with which to make banana bread, if they want to. At the same time I am trying to hustle my own children into the service, make my way to sing with the choir, count the congregation, encourage Someone to turn on the heat in the building, get the tween girls sitting quietly in the front row poised to take notes for the sermon and make eye contact with Matt that we are all on track. This morning someone removed the healing oil away from its spot so that before praying for anyone during communion, I had to wander around looking for it, dragging an angry toddler behind me. I managed to sing half the communion hymn. After the service I am told many more things by many people but usually there is cake, and another blessed fresh pot of strong black tea.

We generally make it home between two and three in the afternoon. Today we went to visit a lady in the nursing home on the way home, all six of us. And then all the children stood on the fireplace and loudly sang ‘Jesus in the Morning, Jesus in the Noontime, Jesus in the Evening’ or something. They heard another chapter of the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe and went to bed. And now I’m lying here waving away fruit flies, stupid stupid fruit flies which are Everywhere in Every house in this town like some vile plague. I’m going to post this and go to bed. Sunday is not made for the New York Times.

Half of a post

For those of you who are getting tired of all the homeschooling chitchat, I'm sorry, as things settle out I'm sure I'll be able to think about many other things. Its just been on my mind for the last few weeks to comment on the strange juxtaposition or intersection (its Monday morning, I don't know what word I'm casting about for) between something like the Trivium and something like Catechesis of the Good Shepherd.

Catechesis is essentially Montessori based. Sophia Cavaletti, is inventor and founder, was friends with Maria Montessori and set out to fill out and provide the spiritual/religious element that Montessori herself never had time to. In other words, its all about 'Experience' and 'Prepared Environment' (I'm not being snarky with the scare quotes). The environment is key to the experience of the child as they meet God. The underlying most basic assumption of Catechsis is that the child already has an understanding of God, that God has already revealed himself to the child in creation, in love, in care. And that the child, especially at age 3 to 6, responds naturally and openly to God in prayer, thanksgiving and worship. Obviously, many things can happen before the age of three to interrupt or destroy a child's vision and experience of God, not least of them not being brought to church.

The prepared environment, or Atrium (entry way into full life in the church), sets the stage for the child to experience God and begin to gain vocabulary and meat and potatoes knowledge around that information. This is where it's so interesting, for me. There's no memorizing. There's no coloring of worksheets. There's no 'teaching' per say. The Catechists tells the stories of scripture (all carefully chosen) and uses various handmade materials to tell and retell the story and talk about, particularly 'wonder' about what God is doing, how the people in the story feel etc. The repetition naturally produces real knowledge of the scripture, and the use of the materials makes the connection between hands, heart, mind, and body. There's nothing more restful than watching a child speaking quietly to herself, moving little wooden sheep in and out of a green pasture, moving the Good Shepherd, opening and closing the gate.

Then I flip over to Classical Education, where I am not at all concerned (well, not too concerned) about the Religious Potential of the Child or their Experience of anything, my Main Concern is knowledge. So we are memorizing Everything-the Catechism, the times tables, the systems of the body, the Time Line, history dates and facts, Latin, language arts. They Are like Sponges. In three days of minimal repetition, they basically have the first week down.

About a year ago I mentioned to someone that we were thinking about Classical Education. The person I was talking to was a Montessori teacher, in a Montessori school. She was appalled, practically sick to her stomach. 'How can you do that? What about the Child? You're going to wreck the three year cycle!'

Well, we are on the three year cycle, the CC three year cycle.

Tuesday in Review

Summery of the Day
It’s the end of another long day. Matt is buying me a fancy glass of wine and holding the baby so that I can write for a little bit. I haven’t even had time to read what he has written, let alone that of anyone else. Today we have been entirely here in the hotel. The morning was taken up with worship, prayer, bible study and finally workshops. I am in the Marriage and Family workshop and Matt is in Bible Interpretation. They were both very good. Part of the work will be to help contribute to the general conference statement at the end of the week. The afternoon I meant to sit and blog but instead I sat and watched Matt blog, miraculously, thinking all the time that his computer was plugged in, when in fact it wasn’t. He typed for two hours without power on a battery that was nearly empty. Just another small miracle. I talked happily to GadgetVicar while we watched him type. In the evening we heard from Archbishop Nazir-Ali and then divided into provincial groups to discuss our hopes and expectations for our time at GAFCON. So that’s the breakdown of the day. And I’ve finally gotten the first slew of pictures off my camera. I’ll try to put a couple up this evening, depending on my internet connection.

At two am this morning I wrote 3 blog posts in my head. Of course, I can’t lay my mind on them now, but I am going to offer various thoughts under headings. I just want to get them down before they’re completely gone.

The Peace of Jerusalem
Yesterday, on the Mount of Olives, during the open prayer time, someone prayed for the peace of Jerusalem, that all the various religious groups living side by side in the city would get along. I prayed along whole heartedly with the prayer but was troubled all the way down the mountain. What exactly do we mean, when we pray for the peace of this city? Why is it called the city of peace when that is not the actual state of this place, of being at peace? And then, as probably greater and more wonderful people than me have known for a long time, I realized and saw, looking out at the Dome of the Rock, that this is the nexus of disunity on the earth. This is the place, on earth, where division and sorrow is more manifest than any other place on earth. Indeed, there is ‘peace’, it is a place where people live side by side in uneasy toleration of each other. But the divisions between Christian, Jew and Muslim are perhaps the deepest of any division known on earth.

It was so unnerving, walking slowly down the mountain, or rather slipping down the road, so worn by the feet of pilgrims and residents that it is smooth. This, now paved road, was the road Jesus walked so many times in his life, perhaps every year for Passover, and then as an adult over and over. But the last time we walked that road he stopped and wept, perhaps a little for himself and the passion he faced, but more for the people in the city, the people of that city who were poised to ultimately and entirely reject him. Here was God, walking amongst them, loving them in the way they were created to be loved, giving his whole self to them, and they didn’t want him. In open defiant rebellion they killed God in the city where had chosen of all places on the earth to live, to make a name for himself, to dwell. No wonder then that in the same way that Jerusalem was so long the locus of God’s presence on earth, it is now the locus of all the division of the earth, all the strife, all the rebellion. And it will remain so until Jesus returns in glory.

Catechesis of the Good Shepherd and Jerusalem
Today I bought the wooden cut outs of a miniature Ark of the Covenant. At home I will snap it out and glue it together. I am trying to convince Matt to let me buy the temple—full replication. It would be so cool to have in the atrium.

On that note, I will say that working with the City of Jerusalem Material—painting it, drawing it on the board, making the little trees, and then using the material with the children—has made the experience of walking through the streets of Jerusalem…I’m groping for a word…there are no words. I’m just very grateful to have worked so much with that particular material.

The other very helpful visual has been the impact of shade. Talking about the greatness of the mustard tree, grown out of such a tiny seed, the need for shade, for the beauty of the tree will have much more depth for me in the atrium.

We are going to Bethlehem and Galilee on Saturday and I hope to gain much more insight and depth into atrium life there.

Those long promised thoughts on Parenting
Just as I was coming here, KA asked for a good recommendation on Parenting and I will take this opportunity to recommend our Favorite: Douglas Wilson’s Standing in the Promises. It has completely changed our lives as parents. I can’t recommend it enough for Godly, mature, high functioning parents. I wouldn’t probably recommend it so much for newly converted families or ones with serious problems. Here’s why I recommend it so highly.

So on the plane from JFK to Prague they lined all the babies up along the bulkhead—a total of 4 babies. The couple on my right had a four month baby whom they cuddled and doted over and managed to keep from crying nearly the whole flight. On the far left was a woman by herself with her baby, tired but in control. Then me, and then the Last Couple. Let me just say that the airline provided baby food for all of us and wonderful little bassinet things that fixed to the bulkhead of the plane so the babies could sleep, if they would. So, on to the Last Couple.

They were Czech, looking middle aged, very smiley and nice. They had two boys, maybe 5 or 6 and then one just under two, almost exactly the size and personality of my own R, and sensibly cute with fat cheeks, tree trunk legs, and a large gold cross affixed around his neck. This small guy, like the babies, had to be strapped to his mother for take off and landing. Not surprisingly, this was not in his plans and expectations and he screamed with the full force of his fat body to let us all know that. Instead of quietly telling him to stop crying, two things happened. First, the father did NOTHING. He sat back in his seat and gazed about him as if nothing was happening. And second, his mother succumbed and unbuckled the belt and put him down. This little process happened a total of 6 times before the plane took off. Each time his mother would pick him up, strap him in, he would scream, his father would do nothing, the mother would let him down and then a Flight Attendant would come, give the poor little persecuted guy a big hug, wiping away his giant tears, give him a candy, tell him to be good, and leave, only to have it all happen again in three minutes.

If you read the book, this poor couple’s mistakes will stand out like a Casino Billboard. First, it is the father’s responsibility to administer discipline. The second this little guy started wailing, his dad should have taken him from his mother, put the fear of God into his little unsanctified heart, given him a big loving hug, and strapped him on with firm instructions not to cry again. Second, his father having abdicated his responsibility to undertake to discipline him, his mother should have Won. You have to win Every Time, every time. One time of screaming, if you win, and the screaming is all done. Third, he shouldn’t have needed the outside aid and comfort of the Air Attendant because he should have known, through loving discipline, the boundary that he needed.

That’s the short hand. Hopefully, at a later moment, I will talk about dealing with sin and rebellion in children, a la Doug Wilson, and what a peaceful and joy filled home in produces. But onwards and upwards

The Anglican Communion
Is alive and well. I don’t have any idea what will be the substance and direction of this Council in the coming days, but this place is alive with Jesus through the power of the Holy Spirit. As part of the communion is dying, like the huge big gnarled olive trees of the Garden of Gethsemane, so a new shoot of Anglicanism, a vibrant healthy, strong church is being grafted in to replace it. I fully expect this to take one or two hundred years, but its going to be so great when it’s a full alive beautiful tree. In the meantime, watch and pray.

Being Here with Matt
Its 10:30. Matt is sitting here very nicely and boredly with me while I have my turn on the outlet. We haven’t had much of a chance to talk to each other, running from talk to talk, conversation to conversation, tepid tea break to fancy coffee, but its jolly nice to be here together. I’m having a thoroughly good time, and so is Matt, even though he is having to fork over the big shekels to be allowed to work out in the weight room every day, with the right shoes on of course, and is drinking unstrained coffee grounds every morning because I forgot to bring his French Press. We couldn’t be happier.

A Little Something

A long while ago (actually around Christmas) when I was trying to make Christmas presents. I got going on this and couldn't stop, not really where it was headed. I gave it away as a present but I managed to catch some pictures at the last moment.

Updates on Catechesis and Life Part Two

I was in the middle of long and elaborate posting here when I had to stop mid thought. Can't remember what that thought was any more, BUT, I do remember that I had intended to post some pictures of a project I got off track with. Instead of making materials, I spent a day and a half making these little boxes, one for each child in the atrium (and a few extras in case we had visitors that day)

which I gave out at Epiphany.

Updates on Catechesis and Life part One

Its been a long while since I've said anything about Catechesis of the Good Shepherd, the Sunday School Program we are using at Good Shepherd. For those of you who are not interested, you might as well not read on because I'm going to get technical and possibly a little whiny.

Way back when, I started this blog as a complaining space because I was in school to earn a second MA in theology specializing in Catechesis of the Good Shepherd. I did, I recall, two and a half full courses and then, finding myself pregnant with baby #4 and not terribly happy with the program, I dropped out. My unhappiness came largely from having been to seminary for an MDiv. The program turned out to be a review of everything I'd already done. So it was boring, and a lot of work, and not up to date, and not really about Catechesis of the Good Shepherd so it seemed good to me to drop out.

Also, it was hard to be in school and pregnant and trying to start Kindergarten with baby #1, who wasn't a baby any more. (I was pregnant with baby #1 my last semester of seminary, and I don't think I actually learned anything, I was so unwell and throwing up). Those of you early readers of this blog saw on the side bit the word 'homeschooling' which is no longer there. Baby #1 ended up going to school this year to a very nice private Christian Baptist school where she is really learning to read, instead of me going out of my mind while she explained to me, carefully, every morning, that she already knew how to read and so we didn't need to be doing what I thought we were going to do that day.

In the process of dropping out of school and dropping out of homeschooling and having another baby, I also dropped the ball on Catechesis. Not entirely. I had enough ground work laid that I have been able to get through almost a whole year of Level Two without making any new materials or doing any new presenations. But I had other hiccups this year.

First, I lost my excellent Level One helper (she moved away)
Then I lost my Junior High school teacher (she got married),
Then we hired a real live youth minister who needed space to teach Sr. High, i.e. the Library where the Jr. High had been meeting.

We basically only have 4 spaces for Christian Ed on Sunday morning (the parish hall where Matt does Adult Ed, the Library, and the attic with its small room and big room).

So I was faced with Level Two and Junior High in the same space.
My first move (in the heat of summer and 3rd Trimester) was to flip my atriums. I moved Level One into the tiny postage stamp Attic room and Level Two into the big room. And then to divide the space visually, though not in reality. I have all the Level Two materials in one half, and a plain table and posters in the other half with the prayer table in the middle. I've already posted pictures here and here. Trouble was, it was loud, and everyone was consistently really late, and I was handing off an album page to my helper for level two and then trying to handle the Jr. high without any curriculum (I thought we would do some Old Testament, and I thought they could paint some stuff).

I struggled along unhappily through the fall. But then, the first Sunday of Advent, for whatever reason (it went so well it must have been the Holy Spirit) I combined the groups at my big table, lit the first candle and asked if they knew what Advent was. They didn't. They didn't have a clue. And so, in the course of an hour, I shared the gospel straight out. We talked about Jesus coming the first time, and the second time, and what that might mean for them personally, and how then we ought to live. Of course, the second Sunday of Advent there was bad weather (or maybe it was good) and nobody came. And then they were back the third Sunday and we did Synthesis of the Prophecies, all together, and then the fourth week I had Jesus be born. In other words, since then, I've had the groups together and I always go in with an Album Page and most often a material to go with it, BUT usually I end up chucking the whole thing and trying to keep their attention for the hour.

And I haven't had any time to make materials, much to my unhappiness. ...got to feed the baby, but don't want to loose this so will just post it, agh, more in a few minutes...

Catechesis and its Arrangements Generally

Yesterday was the official launch of Catechesis of the Good Shepherd for the year. As usual I'm running desperately to keep up. For those of you who aren't doing a lot with children or aren't doing this program, the two posts below will not be that interesting. Right at this moment I'm trying to put my albums back together. I picked them up and ALL my pages fell out and got mixed up, so now I have to piece them all laboriously back together. Then I'm hoping to set out a good solid plan for the fall so that if I should, horrors, give birth over a weekend and miss a Sunday, someone will be able to fill in.

I miss the atrium over the summer. It was very restful and rejuvinating to be back into that life. I look forward to a fruitful and interesting year with all the kids

Catechesis and its Arrangments Two

This is the prayer table and Level Two area. I'm still filling in a lot of materials, but there's a lot of room to put things, so as I get them I'll have a place to put them. We ended up doing prayer together between the two groups this Sunday which didn't work that well, so that part is going to need some tweaking. As you can see, I have yet to put together my Blue Strip, so I have some serious work ahead of me.




This is a sort of shared bookshelf supply area that is shared.


This space is reserved for my older/junior high class. Techincally this ought to be Level Three, although they're a touch too old. But I haven't been trained yet and so essentially I'm doing an Old Testament survey. I only have girls in this group, so far, and they love to paint and make books, so they have each had to pick a person from the OT (they all picked women) to do a project on (make a book, sculpt something, do a box like they did over the summer etc). They will have half the class to work, and the other half we will cover some event or person, hopefully hitting all the main highlights over the course of the year. My class has no knowledge of the Bible and wasn't in Catechesis that long, so I'm basically starting from scratch. At Christmas and Easter we will take a break and cover those major events. Plus, I'll probably have them do some of the timeline work that Level Two will be doing, since they haven't had it.


Here is our plant/practical life area.

Catechesis and its Arrangements One

Here, as promised, are pictures of my atriums. This is the Level One Atrium. I used to have my Level Two in this room. We had a minimal amount of materials and mostly borrowed from Level One and also shared work space with them. But now I am doing two groups in the larger space, so the little ones are in this tiny postage stamp room. However, it has a lot of light and is very serene. Pictures of Level Two will be in another post above.

Rearranging the Furniture

I'm flipping my atriums.

I mean, I'm not buying a cheep atrium and fixing it up and selling it expensively, heh. I'm moving the 3 to 6s into the small room and the 6 to 9s into the big room. And of course, its like a sauna bath up there, the third floor of the church. I have two amazing and wonderful catechists who are there EVERY Sunday and who put up with my controlling and managerial attitude. So the three of us, and my mother, shoved book shelves and parables and infancy narratives around and I coerced my mother into looking at all the materials I've made over the last couple of years.

I'm deeply frustrated that my feet are so swollen so that I cannot run around and do all the shoving of furniture myself. So, both to comfort myself, and to become more holy, I'm going to start reading my mother's lovingly worn copy of Gold By Moonlight by Amy Carmichael.