Faith

Do you know why Faith is a virtue?

I mean, as C.S. Lewis points out, if faith is believing it doesn't seem like it would be a virtue.  It doesn't seem like it would be voluntary, in fact.  If something is proved, it's proved.  If it's proved, you believe it.  If not, you don't.

But he goes on to say that this assumes that humans only stop believing because of insufficient evidence, or because of new evidence becoming available.  In other words, it assumes that we believe and disbelieve things based on rational proof.

And of course, we don't.

For instance, we all have days where we are depressed.  Sometimes this has a physical cause--like lack of sleep or hunger--and sometimes we've just had depressing circumstances happen to us.  Usually I start by losing faith in myself and then in the Husband.  The mental script goes like this:

You're a bad mom.  You're letting your kids eat dry Lucky Charms and juice for breakfast while they watch their fourth cartoon.  And you're still in your pajamas.

I should kill it right there.  I know I'm not a bad mom.  Maybe I'm not the world's best, but I'm not a bad mom.  But usually the script is subtle, so I combat it feebly at best.

Meh, I'll just read this one more thing online and then I'll get them some fruit.  I've screwed up my good mom morning opportunity, might as well take a little break, since I won't have any peace if I shut the cartoon off now.

Pretty soon my depressed thinking is being used by the Adversary for overt temptation:

You noticed, didn't you, that the Husband went off to play computer games as soon as you got up?  (Note: not true.  He might be playing computer games, but he greeted me quite kindly.  Should be my next red flag, when my thoughts are lies, that this is not all me.)  He's not acting very loving.  (Note: also not true.)  And can you blame him?  You're still in your pajamas.

Quickly, if I don't stop it with some pretty harsh language and immediately flee to prayer, the temptation moves from doubting myself and my spouse to doubting the Lord Himself:

Why can't the Lord arrange things so that your kids sleep more?  Or maybe He's trying to tell you you're not very good at this writing/mom/wife/whatever thing and that you should give up.  And yes, reading your Bible will be too difficult to accomplish this morning.  Look how distracted you are already.

Hear it?

The opposite of Faith is Doubt, and here's the thing about Doubt: it's a lie.

We like to confuse skepticism and the scientific tradition with Doubt, but Doubt is not rational.  Doubt is when we question something we already know to be true because of emotion or circumstance, not because of proof.  Doubt, I think, delights the devil because it's so painful--if you actually knew that what you feared was the case, well, you could do something about it.  I.e., if the Husband announced "I am unhappy with you and so I am going away for an hour", I could say, "Why, dear?"  And I would immediately feel much better, because I would have picked a direction.

(Yet another note: this is all hypothetical.  The Husband doesn't pull stuff like that.  Don't give him any dirty looks--I love him.)

Doubt is sheer wondering, clinging with each hand to different opinions, paralyzed in fear and indecision.

Faith is a virtue because Doubt is so easy.  Doubt puts me in charge of the universe and makes my experience the ultimate arbiter of reality.  Faith is hard, as hard as realizing that an optical illusion isn't real.  It means persevering through agony, and--what is sometimes more difficult--through day after day after day after day of sheer irritation.  It means repeating to yourself what you know is true: God is just.  God is holy.  God is love.  He is not surprised by your no-good, very bad, terrible, not-such-a-great-mom day.

Faith does not mean belief without reason.  It means refusing to make your own truth.

All of which is easy to say; obviously if I had a handle on consistently asking for more Faith and shutting down my temptations toward Doubt I wouldn't be writing this blog.  But perhaps writing it down will help me recognize the slide downhill faster next time.

And those are my thoughts, as we get on toward Sunday.

Cheers,

Breanna

Comes A Time

...when you realized you've entered the Lamness of Mom Land.

And you don't even care.

Like today, when I caught myself dancing around the living room, blissing out to "Polliwog in a Bog" by the Barenaked Ladies.  (Note: a band comprised entirely of fairly heavy and not terribly traditionally-good-looking guys, none of whom appear nude; the name is supposed to be a joke about their physiques.)  Seriously, geek Canadian bands rock the children's album market, in my opinion:



This obviously is their video for the song 789, because I couldn't find an official video for Polliwog in a Bog.  But if you have a parent you love who has musical kids but who hates albumbs of kid's songs that feature a choir of yelling middleschoolers on vocals and a synthesizer on everything else, get them Snack Time by the Barenaked Ladies.  They will hug you and give you cookies.

Plus, who can not love an album with lyrics like this:

There are things that make me mad

You are not one of them

There are things that make me sad

But you are not one of them

There are things that make me Dad

You seem to be all of them.

Cheers,

Breanna

(P.S.  Yes, like everyone else I love the song "If I Had $1,000,000", but I have to say my loyalty to the band has dated from the Christmas album which includes a version of "Deck the Halls" to which the only lyrics are "Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young".  Sing it.  It works.)

Some Practical Suggestions - Quiet Bags

Today Buddy, Miss Boo, and I painted (dried) salt clay sculptures, read several books, and now those two are happily engaged with a cardboard box filled with such of the Husband's tools as seem to hold the least possibility of gouging out eyes and the remnants of a broken phone, an old doorknob, and an adding machine.  They are "fixing".

With two little people who are this busy, all before 11am, you can imagine that the contents of a quiet bag might have to be kind of varied.

I did an internet search for "quiet bags" and surprisingly, most of the ideas are from Mormon sources.  This, in my opinion, is a bit sad; without further ado, here are the things that I think are the best of the best:

These cloth books.  We ordered some, and for the money they are a lot of entertainment, and difficult to make noisy.  They are obviously made in China, if that bothers you; I also think they'd be dead easy to make, but we're assuming you have little kids and no time to sit for the hour it would take at the sewing machine.  But if you're a grandma, or a ladies' Bible study group who wants to make quiet books, they would be very simple and would require, I think, only some 4-for-a-dollar felt sheets from JoAnn's, some of those little circles of velcro, a bit of interfacing, and some fabric pens.  (I wouldn't put the letters in applique like the purchsed books do, unless you really want to.)

This cloth Bible.  Helps maintain the point that this is a church quiet bag.  Again, I think if you could purchase the felt from JoAnn's (they would probably order it), that this would be easy to make, but I am at such a point in my crafting abilities that I pretty much can only sew when the kids are sleeping.  And then I would like to be sleeping.

These markers and paper--the markers won't mark on anything but the paper.  A bit too spendy, likely, if a church was putting together complimentary quiet bags, in which case I think you'd want to go with crayons and tiny half-sheet-type coloring books, but good if you've got a little person who thinks markers are WAAAY cooler than crayons (i.e., Miss Boo).

I drew on the 4-for-a-dollar felt sheets from Jo-Anns, cut them out, and made something similar to this felt face guy for $8, only we have 4 base faces to choose from and it doesn't take up so much room.  Don't pay $48 for Mr. Fuzzy Felt Face; if I can, with Miss Boo's help, sit with a Sharpie and create something that they find just as fun, then you can too.  Keep the bits in a ziploc bag, or sew a felt pouch if you're really feeling creative.

Miss Boo has a tiny dolly that sometimes works in our quiet bag, and Buddy sometimes likes toy cars, but these are going to be judgement calls based on what your kid likes; I wouldn't necessarily include them in a church quiet bag.

You only want three or four things in the bag at once, and you want to have a lot of other things in reserve that you can put in and take out, so they're never sure what's in the bag.  For instance:

-Sandpaper cut into shapes like a star, circle, etc., and different lengths of different-colored yarn that they can stick to it.

-Pipe cleaners or leather lacing and large beads in shapes that won't roll (i.e., square, stars, etc.)

-Stickers and a small notebook to stick them in (note: will not work if your kid thinks the pews really need stickers.

-Playing cards you don't feel are sacreligious.  I do think that it might be inappropriate to start playing stud poker during the sermon, but Miss Boo's method with her Dora playing cards is to line up six of them then put them back into the box, and then repeat.

-Some people recommend finger puppets, but to me, what fun are puppets if you can't make them talk?  If your kid will go for silent finger puppets, by all means get them some.  Our finger puppets always have to have noisy adventures.

-Bendaroos are good but sticky--pack wipes.

-A sketchbook and a pencil for you, if you are artistic; I've found this idea from Edith Schaeffer does really work if you happen to have a visual kid.  Miss Boo can watch a sermon illustrated; Buddy absolutely cannot and keeps grabbing the pencil.  So if you can tag-team with a spouse or a friend, or if you've only got one kid to keep occupied, the idea works better than otherwise.  However, it seems like a neat way to transition to listening to a sermon without aids.

Whew.  That should be enough to go on with.  Of course if you've got little kids you're also going to think of the tiny container of Teddy Grahams (they make less crumbs than goldfish crackers or cheerios), the sippy cup, the wipes, the blanket, the binky, and anything else essential, right?  Those go in your diaper bag or purse, not necessarily the quiet bag.  I mention them here so that the grammas and the ladies' Bible studies that might be perusing this list can keep in mind that little kids might need to eat and drink at 11:30, even on Sundays, even in the sanctuary.

Cheers,

Breanna

A Clarification

A reader whose comment got eaten by Blogger pointed out that some parents need clarification on what exactly appropriate church behavior looks like.  In one sense they should be able to learn this the way humans learn all social skills--by watching what the big kids do--but we are living in a world where there isn't a reasonable assurance that the big kids know any better.  I don't want anyone to think I'm advocating turning the baptistry into a ball pit and letting the kids run around like it's Chuck E. Cheese.  (Actually I don't think it's even a good idea at kids' parties to have them run around wildly, but that's another rant.)

So here's an idea about acceptable church behavior for kiddos, so you understand what I'm asking for:

1. They will sometimes burp, toot, fill their pants, ask for a drink of water, or state "I HAVE TO GO POTTY."  They will sing when the songs are done.  They should shush when told to shush or be taken out.  They might make noise as they leave; I think this is part of the learning process and acceptable as long as Mom and Dad are clearly trying to teach "be quiet" and/or get them out of the sanctuary as quickly as humanly possible.  Not acceptable is a kid standing on the pew singing "I want to be a sergeant major!" while Mom and Dad blink sweetly around, pretending nothing is happening.  But let's face it; sometimes there is going to be an occasional kid who wants to try this, and Mom and Dad have to just throw a coat over his head and hustle him out of the sanctuary to meet his doom in the foyer.  (And there should be doom.)

2. Ideal behavior is a kid singing during songs, and then sitting and quietly occupied with something non-messy until they are old enough to start listening to the sermon; once they understand there's something there to listen to, they still might require visual aids like coloring pages or Mama "illustrating" the sermon.  (Drawing it like a comic book.  Miss Boo is almost able to sit for this, but Buddy makes it a trick for me to do.)  And because church services happen during naptimes and mealtimes for little kids, they might need a blanket or a sippy cup of something too.  Inappropriate would be to bring a pillow and stretch out across a whole pew, snoring.  But holding a blankie and sitting on Mom's lap, I think, is pretty much the best you can hope for when the subject is 20 months old.

3.  It's my responsibility as a parent to provide my own quiet activities, like it is to provide diapers and wipes.  However, if the nursery provides diapers and wipes as a kindness, a couple of church quiet bags might be a good thing.  (They are easily supplied from the dollar store and can be made bright orange and emblazoned CHURCH NAME--and the parts emblazoned with a labelmaker--if you are worried about them walking out the door.)  This is just an idea to prove that you welcome kiddies; I wouldn't fault any church that didn't do this.

4. The easiest way for clueless parents to learn about what good parenting looks like is for those of us who have an idea to demonstrate good parenting, without getting in anyone's face.  But, like I said below, we don't get the opportunity to demonstrate good parenting if we're encouraged to just hide our children in the nursery or basement until they're adults.

5. The goal of having kids in church is to teach them to sit in church reverently and pay attention/enjoy the service.  It's like potty training.  If you can put in a few weeks and months of effort, you're repaid by a lifetime of essentially hands-free church.  And like potty training, it's just made more difficult if everyone insists you're doing it wrong.

Now, I haven't had a chance to chat yet with the reader who started the clarification, and she may have some more good ideas that I'll share with you later, but her comment did have a point--so I put this out there, for the parents who are wondering whether there's anything wrong with the talking Scooby-Doo doll or letting their kids play with the Communion cups.  Yes, yes there is. ;)

Cheers,

Breanna

Kids in Church - A Plea to the Grownups

The concept should exist, right?

After all, "Let the little children come unto Me."

Also, I have another argument.  Remember when Nehemiah read the entire law to the nation of Israel?  They pass out refreshments afterward to everyone, including "the little ones", which I discovered means kids of about three years old.  So everybody should be in church services.

The problem is that, at least the way that most churches do business in the United States, it's very awkward to have your kids with you in church.  Notice I said "with you".  Not, "in nursery".  Not "in children's church."  Because here's my theory, a very simple one, really:

"How on earth are they supposed to learn to sit in church and listen if they're in nursery from birth to age four and then in children's church from ages four to ten?"

Age ten is too late to start learning to sit in church.  By age ten the kid can already be mouthy and refusing to go to church, if you don't watch out, or at the least sitting pouty and bored and kicking at the back of the pew.

Now, *cough* if my children ever get mouthy or kick at the pew unrestrained may I get the pox, but the principle holds.  I want my kids with me in church, both so I don't have to trust random nursery workers' ideas of discipline, nutrition, and safety and so the kids actually can learn to enjoy a church service.  I learned to enjoy a church service when I was little, so I know it's possible.  I want them to look at church as something desirable and necessary, and not a boring chore that they used to get out of, but now that they're 10 their parents make them do it--like cleaning hair out of the shower drain or turning their socks right-side-out before throwing them in the hamper.  (Accompanied by mental mutterings of "When I'm a grownup...")

This is all great, of course, except for when it comes to other people.  They're well-meaning, but it's incredibly discouraging after a service where you've taken the kids out three times and have tried (in vain) to keep the 18-month-old from answering the pastor's rhetorical questions, to have someone come up and say, "What lovely children!  We have a great nursery, did you know?"  (Bends down to look at children.)  "WANNA GO PLAY IN THE NURSERY WITH THE KIDS?  THEY HAVE FUN TOYS!"  (Kid recoils in fear.  Grownup looks at Mama.)  "They always told me my kids only fussed for the first five minutes."

It's already embarassing when the kids make noise--especially the time when Buddy had a (very) audible blowout right as they were getting ready to serve Communion.  We KNOW that they are not sitting quietly with folded hands, and we are trying our best to keep them quiet and occupied. 

We have (see above) strong feelings about our children remaining with us; if the Biblical argument wasn't enough, we also have had a bad experience in a church where nursery supervision was lax and a known sex offender was granted active membership.  (We weren't harmed, but it just reinforced my innate refusal to leave my kid sobbing and terrified in the nursery in the care of workers who believe "all kids have to cry a bit" and "moms have to leave".) 

For us church is a choice: we can either make it terrifying for our children or embarassing for their parents.

It's really, really hard for us to go to church.  If we didn't think it was important it would be on the list of things like Gymberoo classes and library storytime to which we say, "Nah."  First of all it's a trick and a half getting everyone ready and out the door on Sunday mornings, but we can do it.  Second it's not like we get to sit and immersively enjoy the music and listen attentively to the sermon, but it's important to us that our kids learn to sit in church, so we can sacrifice our own ability to worship as deeply as we'd like to.  But thirdly, when our natural embarassment is so amplified by the reactions of others, it makes us seriously question whether the juice is worth the squeeze.  If we're going to go and kill ourselves to make something happen, and then be told we shouldn't have bothered because the kids aren't welcome anyway, well, it becomes a lot easier to just stay home, have Bible stories and songs with Daddy, and be able to watch the Steelers game.

So help me out, huh?  When someone's got happy-but-talkative kids, or kids who are not talking but making noise with their dolly, or kids who keep singing when the songs are over, please just extend them some grace, smile at them, and don't say anything about the nursery.

I don't care if your kids did fine in nursery.  Mine don't.  Period.  Isn't it possible that not all kids can tolerate it?  What if I had a special needs kid?

I'm sorry if the sound of crayons on paper interrupts your worshipful thoughts.  I truly am, and we'll dispense with the crayons as soon as possible.  But perhaps you ought to question why it is that you can listen to music, text, and drive, but you find absolute silence a necessity for prayer and worship.

Please note that I'm not saying my kids should be allowed to run screaming up and down the aisles, throw food, talk and jabber, or sit and scream.  I'm just asking the churches of the nation for tolerance for the occasional peep or crayon that rolls under the pew, without assuming that I'm a clueless mom who has never heard of childcare.  You're the grownups--you have the ability to concentrate.  Please?

I promise I'll give you back the same grace when your kids/grandkids, wound up from bouncing off the walls in nursery and children's church, run shrieking through the parking lot without watching for cars, and I will refrain from running them over.  Ok?

Phew.

This was a rant, and I'm sorry; it's a frustration that has been building since my daughter was born and decided that the umbilical cord never should have been cut.  I actually have some positive strategies for keeping kids quiet in church that I'm excited about--I found a felt Bible story set, for instance--but I had to get this off my chest first.  Thanks.

And now back to our regularly scheduled blogging.

Cheers,

Breanna

Fall Means School

I have the somewhat ego-inflating but also tricky problem of being the mama of a three-year-old who is bored by preschool.

You know, shapes and colors?  Circle time?  "Farmer-in-the-Dell"?

All that is so six months ago.  We are raring to go for numbers (of which she recognizes the numerals up to 10, which is tricky since it's a 1 AND a 0), letters (of which she has a suspicion that V is just A turned upside-down) and reading (of which I don't do enough, according to her).  She even suspects that Dora and Deigo might be patronizing her.

Buddy, meanwhile, is learning colors, but pretty much just would love to eat the tips off the markers.  (Non-toxic.  Every art supply that comes into this house has to be non-toxic and washable.  Sigh.)

Here is a picture Miss Boo drew and had me label.  It's a picture of Daddy (I didn't help draw it).  You  notice he has a mohawk.  However, she was very particular that we label his beard.  I don't know what the blob to the south of him is.

Here is another picture we made him, with a message Miss Boo composed and I wrote.  She chose the leaves from the yard and told me how to glue them on the paper  She's got an eye for size and color, doesn't she?

Here are her freehand pictures, with her own "writing" (see the pothooks and scribbles?  They say, "I love you Daddy, I really do" and "Good Morning, Eddie".)

I figure it's time to move to this book, since preschool has become blase.  I am using the preschool one still for Buddy, but Miss Boo looks at him pityingly.

Here's his book of choice.

Whaddya mean, I'm not supposed to suck on the marker caps?

"Letters, Mama, LETTERS!  I made LETTERS!"

Ah, October.  It's nice having school in my life again, a lovely excuse to go every year and buy new pens.  I missed it, when I realized I had graduated college but didn't have any children to buy for.  It's difficult, when you love notebooks and pens and hate scrapbooking, to come up with a reason to buy school supplies.

School aisle here we come, armed with the list from "What Your Kindergartener Needs to Know"!

Cheers,

Breanna

Things I Thought I Would Never Say

There are all kinds of things that, before I became a mother, I just never pictured myself saying.  For instance:

1. "Are you poopy?  Well, are you poopy?"

2. "Don't play in the dog water."

3. "Don't take your sister's potty chair seat!"

4. "Don't eat playdoh."

5. "Please stop hugging/riding the dog--he doesn't like that."

6. "We don't let bugs in the house, it's okay, they won't get in your bed.  Yes, we put them outside and they will fly back to their families.  Yes, in their bug houses.  Yes, they have little tiny bug potty chairs.  No, they don't want to use our potty chairs.  Their bottoms are too small."

7. "Don't eat dirt."

8. "Yep, Mamas go potty too.  Yep, and Daddies.  And Pat-pat.  Yes.  Doggies have to go potty outside.  Yes, on the grass.  Can Mama finish going potty now?"

9. "Don't paint with your pickles, please."

10. "DON'T TOUCH THAT!!!!"


It seems like there's an amazing number of "don't"s on that list.  Hmm.  I promise I don't spend ALL day saying No; it's just that you forget that little brains that haven't even been on the planet for 2 years don't realize that some things, like the equality of man and not bathing in a hot cup of coffee, are self-evident.

Cheers,

Breanna