Escaping the Homeschool Matrix ....Follow this link!

Hi there, everyone!

I just found out that Nancy Carter of The Old Schoolhouse Magazine mentioned me in her e-mail. Some of you may have landed here, expecting to find the story. This is just my personal blog. If you're wanting to skip to the story,

It's actually right here, TOS: Escaping the Homeschool Matrix, 

or here, the original with artwork.

Thanks for reading! If you're interested in what else I have to say about homeschooling, or whatever else is going on, please make yourself at home! 

I'll be lion around here if you want to comment in.

Can We Park Here Or Not?

If you Google images like Funny Street Signs, you'll find all sorts of genuine bureaucratic boo-boos, mistakes, and botched jobs. I ran across my own where I live. When we were looking for a handicapped parking space, my wife and I noticed something was a little ...off.

It wouldn't be so bad if this wasn't a city crew's paint job. I guess with the recession, they're having to freehand it.

A Celebration Of Life, Of Memories, and Of Love

Writing, it seems, makes thoughts stick.

My dad is 70, as of August. His own dad never made it to 70. Perhaps as a celebration of sorts, he is writing his memoirs. And he's doing so with the patient help of my mom. I'm very proud to know he's doing this and more than a little excited! His memories are parts of my own history, and more importantly, a legacy that I can pass on to my own children and their children's children. That is, if Jesus doesn't come back before then, which is one of my dad's favorite caveats. He's anxiously waiting for Him, and so am I.

Still, if He does delay, I will have the memories of my dad long after he passes on, in the earthly sense. I say "in the earthly sense," because my dad really won't die. Sure, his body may stop living, and I will be very sad to see him leave. But he's going somewhere special. ;-)

A friend lost her uncle, in the earthly sense of course, last week. She's sad and we talked for a while, but like Paul said, we don't mourn like those who have no hope. The more I think about death, the more I am convinced it doesn't exist for the Christian. Again, we see the body they leave behind, but it's uncanny how many times I have heard relatives, after they've viewed the body of their loved one, state that their loved one isn't there. Call it a "death mask," or whatever, but based on my own experiences, I can confirm that the body is a shell that we leave behind and that dying isn't the end.

So, if Jesus does not return before I die, I have my dad's writings to help me remember and hold onto the good. And if that isn't something worth celebrating, I don't know what is! Whether with a camera, a paintbrush, or a pen, it is a good thing to make memories stick. Death cannot claim them if we are sure to make them last.

Thanks For Reading Patiently

Wow! You're still here! Thank you!

Sometimes I'm amazed anyone reads my stuff or hangs in there long enough to read when I do actually post. For these people, I am truly thankful. And maybe I can offer an explanation of where I'm at.

Picture blogging as farming. There are some massive producers out there. Everyday, or even every few hours, some blogs produce a new post. It's as if they're a large co-op, delivering from a silo on demand. I'm more like a simple family farm, delivering as harvests come available. Sometimes, I need to let land lie fallow as well, because of my disability or other shortcomings. I harvest when what He plants has ripened enough. I sell it from a little stand, and I don't worry about much except what God wants to do next. I trust Him for the growth and the increase.

Thanks again for being patient! I hope to produce the quality worthy of His name.

Wisdom And Artistry From Unexpected Places

My youngest has such a unique perspective! She's definitely the artist in the family. Last night, after a particularly hard day, I was about to lead the whole family in prayer, but then Shiloh asks, "Can I lead?" I was so taken off guard, the improper English didn't even register!

"Sure!" I said.

"Dear Jesus, please put the five pieces of our puzzle back together again ...and you be the board that holds us all together. Wow! Now I have two word pictures of God!"

To quote The Cat In The Hat, That is not all. Oh, no, that is not all.

Earlier in the conversation, before I even arrived, my firstborn was having a very real, teen-in-crisis moment when she confessed that she didn't see her purpose in life. This is a very honest question that I dealt with myself. Shiloh's answer, though, was one I'd never heard before.

"Kylie, I am so glad you're here because if you weren't, then Keegan and I would have to share a room. And we would have an empty room," she said, referring to the room they shared.

It didn't dawn on her that she would have had her own room just for her, or if it did, it didn't show. She's the one that's capable of sensing other's emotions and adjusting to the moment. That's a good foundation for an artist, or a counselor.

It's so good that we have her here at home with us! I'm certain beyond any shadow of doubt that putting her in a schoolroom would have negatively affected her, possibly to the point of ruining her wonderful, sensitive, kind, and loving spirit. I am so grateful for the gift of my young lady Shiloh!

Teething Bling?

Having child care in your home provides an opportunity to come across new and unusual products. A friend recommends this for moms of newborns to 24 months. I was fairly impressed by how simple an idea it is. Beats the real keys and other stuff some folks hand to their kids. Speaking of, graphite's not toxic, is it?

Dads, this might be a good "just because" gift for your wife if you have a teether. Can you believe we survived without this stuff? And no, I haven't tried this product personally, from either the mom or baby side.

Failing Into the Kingdom

Being a kid with unusual sensitivity and creativity was a sure-fire recipe for disaster back in the 1980s classroom. Combine that with a learning disability and even the nicest set of boys and girls can turn hostile. Coming around to Facebook and renewing friendships from that era has taught me that most people learn more grace and accommodation as they age. I'm relieved that old injuries heal with time, and most importantly, that God can heal the most stubborn wounds with time and prayer.

Yet, perhaps the worst enemy we face growing up and into our adult lives is our own flesh. Our natural desires to protect ourselves, become independent and control your environment were cultivated in that same 1980s classroom. Those desires can be a true liability when our lives get turned upside down. Can I truly protect my family? Can I control what happens to them, or to me? Can I maintain my independence when pain robs me of the ability to walk, stand or even wash my hair?

Yes, I can't wash my hair without causing my shoulders and back to flare up with arthritic inflammation. And Fibromyalgia just loooooves that inflammation! It was so hard to ask for help with that. In fact, when it came down to it last week, I couldn't. I actually found myself protesting, "No, let me do that. You don't have..." Then I found my heart asking, "Then who's going to do it? You?" And that's where I found myself, quietly crying while my wife washed my hair. It was a picture of God's grace that was itself almost too much to bear.

It's hard to ask for help. Yet God isn't calling me to protect myself, become independent and control my environment. In fact, it seems that the enemy of my soul is the one voicing those thoughts of protection, independence and control. If I were in that mindset, I would have been absolutely beside myself with our car situation today. With one dead and one fainting at the sight of a ignition key, it's called for prayer, grace, and trust. Sure enough, God comes through with a loaner vehicle, help from a stranger, and a part cheaper than we expected.

How can I impugn a holy and righteous God who never fails? It seems that in all things, He wants to grow us in prayer, grace and trust. even when we grew up thinking that such things were for the desperate. Maybe that's why God has to make us desperate in the first place. Maybe He wants to show us a life far better than we could make it.

Letting God Work, Even In Loss

I posted this comment to my friend Marsha's blog called Other Such Happenings in response to her post, "They didn't know him..."

Dear Marsha,

Great point, and one we need to let the Holy Spirit work into each of us to let him speak through us to those who don't know Jesus personally. Let me comment on one part you brought up. 

I believe that your "non-reaction" to mentioning Christian isn't an indication that you love him any less or that you have gotten over the loss. I think it's just an indicator that the pressure exerted on your heart by the loss has been accommodated. It just happens. The wound is not fully healed--nor can we expect it to be in this life--and your priorities and desires have not changed. But you have changed in order to fit this very uncomfortable fact into your existence.

Let the Creator of your heart help you see what's happening and what to make of it. I think there's some comfort in knowing that He's working in you and your heart is being changed daily by his care.

I don't dare compare our griefs, but I do know that loss is painful. I know looking at what I've lost in my abilities is hard. I don't want to accept certain facts, but I know that He has seen this from the beginning and He is authoring in me a new chapter full of his miracles, big and small, and his beautiful redemption and ultimate triumph. Letting Him have mastery over my heart and mind is my challenge. Letting deprivation, pressure, stress, joy, hope, and living desire shape them without losing sight of His love is the essence of my life in Him. Comfortable? No. Needed? Yes.

Can I accept this? Do I have to do it? Only if I want to reach the prize He has for me in the end. For that reason, I subject myself fully to His will, whatever the cost. Can I endure this? Only He would know. But I want that prize. I hunger for it constantly.

Thank you, Marsha, for giving us a window into your grief and the process of moving through it. You are His daughter. I can see it. ;)

Steve

It's very difficult to accept loss. My gradual loss of abilities is something I've had to confront the last five years and try to accommodate in my life and my desires. For a guy who once played midfield for his high school soccer team, climbed the heights of Colorado's mountains, and fully engaged life as it came, I live a humble, inactive, estranged life that grinds me up sometimes. I feel very understanding of the author of Psalm 38 with the maladies he describes, and, just like him, I look to God for my deliverance, whether today or when I come into my inheritance. He will be with me through all of this, and in the end, I will have Him! I look forward to that day soon!



PS: Here's some good reading (NIV) (MSG). It's one of my favorite chapters.

Grumble, Grumble, Toil and Trouble

Let's see.

We have one vehicle, namely the van used to carry my wheelchair, down for repairs after it died just before entering the Eisenhower Tunnel (CDOT, Wikipedia). The hills approaching both ends of this tunnel have killed more vehicles than I care to count! Currently, our beloved van sits outside my house while we mull repair versus replacement. Repair is winning, but the price of $4,500.00 is just a bit outside our comfort zone. Anyone got a Chevy 350 small block in their pocket?

The Power of the Pen

It's another night, another weird day in Fibromyalgia. After sleeping through dinner, I went upstairs to sleep in earnest. I couldn't keep my eyes open, so I figured I'd make the best of it. When my wife came to check on me, I had lower back pain that wouldn't go away. I tried massage, I tried stretching, and I tried different towel rolls. Nothing would make it go away enough for me to sleep through until morning. Sitting up somehow makes the pain go away.