I came across this article this morning (it was originally published in 2001).
What a beautiful reminder. All too often I become overly practical when it comes to my children's ideas and they can never develop. Yet, the few times when I have made that extra effort to force a "yes!" to their ideas, what ensues is an adventure loaded and packed with learning opportunities that the kids eagerly soak up!
This leads right into the post I've been mentally writing for days now: My curriculum choice for this year.
Its amazing how many people (especially, but not limited to, strangers) have the prerogative to ask such personal questions upon hearing that we home school. "What curriculum do you use," they inevitably and immediately ask. Really, its none of their business, and yet I have struggled to come up with a clever enough answer. (Let me be specific here that I am NOT referring to innocent questions from people who are genuinely interested in what we do. I AM referring to people using this question as a sort of litmus test to put us in a box and categorize us a certain way, and perhaps, sadly, even judge us based on it). Whatever I say, it doesn’t satisfy them. I think what they WANT to hear is “oh we do _____ method and order _____ curriculum in a box, and we have mandatory school hours from 8:30-12 every day.” If I say anything different, the skeptical darts shoot forth from their eyes. The real true answer? “Life is our curriculum and we love learning in everything we do!” Hmmm…ya, that sounds pretty hippy I suppose. But we’re not hippies. We are faithful Catholics seeking to grow FIRST in love and service of God and then neighbor. We are a family, tight-knit and deeply bonded. We don’t subscribe to any pre-prescribed program with bells, whistles, and gimmics, that promises without fail that if you do it right (if you follow the rules of the teacher manual), then your child will be spit out at the end of the conveyer belt like any other product. No. Sorry. There is no pre-prescribed recipe for success since every child and every family is uniquely different. There is a proper use of boxed curriculum…but only as a means, never as an end…and only to support the natural learning of the child, never to force the child to fit into it.
Yet, I am human, and here I am, with 3 kids ages 5 and under, freaking out about what my answer will be when people ask me “what curriculum do you use?” Last weekend I sat down with my husband, lap top before us, carefully going over, comparing, and contrasting various methods of teaching reading, and deciding which we should order. We were convinced this was the answer to help us feel like we were successful homeschooling parents. We felt comfortable with the end decision, yet not completely satisfied.
Then, it happened. The event that blew me back on course (the course of natural learning that I embarked on early on). We were at the swimming pool and I was with our oldest in the pool. Last summer she had swimming lessons and made great progress. This year, however, when we try to get her to do the same exercises, she clams up. She’s afraid. On Monday, I cracked. I pushed her. I corrected her. I became frustrated that she wasn’t even trying (from my interpretation…little did I know she WAS trying, at the level SHE was at THAT particular day). All I could hear was the voices in the back of my head from other parents bragging about how their children could swim at age 3 or 4, and by 5 are on the swim team. What resulted was a timid 5 year old, curled in the corner of the pool, tears in her eyes, feeling like a complete failure, and afraid to even try AT ALL (why bother, she was failing anyway?). I took a step back. I had one of those out-of-body experiences where I saw and heard myself as she was seeing and hearing me. Did I really just say all that? Later in the day, and continuing into the next, I observed how she really did close up to me. It wasn’t intentional, she just subconsciously, felt insecure and afraid to take initiative. What happened to my endeavor to “respect where my kids are at” in EVERYTHING (swimming, reading, emotional ability, behavior, etc.)? I blew it. I let my high expectations get the best of me. And worse, I listened to other people's voices and expectations more than I listened to my own child.
I really had to dig deep after that and re-examine my intentions with beginning formal pre-prescribed “School” this year. This event reminded me of the mom I want, and feel called, to be. Patient, kind, respectful, gentle, NOT authoritarian, delighting in my kids and respecting the ebbs and flows of their initiative for learning (because learning is like growing, it happens in spurts).
Yesterday I read this, and was reminded that simpler really is better. I KNOW that. Sometimes I just get too caught up in wanting to please everyone around me (darn that vanity!).
Programs aren’t “bad.” Boxed curriculums aren’t “bad.” What is bad is feeling pressured to meet the system, instead of meeting my child. If we truly want to help our children to grow, learn, and blossom into the adults (saints) God is calling them to be, then we should be willing to come to their level, wherever they are, like God does to us, to raise them up little by little, with encouragement and support. Validate their fears, give them tools to face them, don’t make them feel stupid for feeling afraid. That will only have the opposite effect (as evidenced by my pool experience Monday).
And so, another long talk with my husband later (he had been coming to similar conclusions in his own prayer), we both decided that the curriculum we will use this year…is…a big dose of chill.
Ah, a load has been lifted. Now back to delighting in the learning of our every day life. In case you’re wondering, that is pretty easy. I don’t spend time planning learning goals(because if I set my expectations, it isn’t accepted as readily, and becomes forced learning). But I do plan opportunities, and try to be constantly aware of opportunities that arise. We pray together (and are always identifying virtues in real life that we see), read…A LOT (and the kids spend a lot of time in their beds just looking through books, studying the words, observing the curious and mysterious code before them), watch the occasional documentary (which inevitably leads to interest in something new to get from the library- last night we watched “Hubble IMAX” and now the kid want to learn about the planets and space), we cook together (the kids measure, and are henceforth learning fractions and division), we play (puppet shows, free-play, dolls, ballet dancing, dress up, role-playing), we use play dough (coordination, manual manipulation development), we clean (responsibility, order, categorizing), we create (art, sculptures, paper, glue, markers), we garden (science, soil, agriculture, the water cycle), we visit friends (social interaction, practice sharing, mommy gets adult time), we go on nature walks (collecting interesting things, viewing with magnifying glasses), we seek opportunities to serve others (bring meals to other families in need, even when we don't have the money to feed ourselves that week), our oldest is learning the violin, and is teaching it to her 3 year old sister (music, posture, reading notes, rhythm, meter), we have a lot of “down” time where we pursue our own duties or interests (necessary to mommy’s sanity), we learn about the saints and have feast-day tea parties, we…live. And we will continue to live. I might throw in a computer game to help the 5 and ½ year old learn the phonogram sounds in a fun and non-forced way…but we’ll see. Only as a tool to support her and her initiative to figure out how to read. We can’t teach babies to walk. We can’t teach children to read. We can give them tools to help them figure it out.
There is plenty of time for her to learn how to read, write, excel at arithmatic...but not now. Now is the time of childhood. Now is the time for living life so when she learns the dry rules she has a real living context to attach it to.
I know every family is different, and they should be. That is the amazing thing about God's creation and the family unit. Every soul is unique, every person deeply and inherently created for the same thing, but with different talents, usefulness, and abilities (many parts, one body, as St. Paul tells us). I respect what others are choosing to do in their own home schools. And I don't expect, nor do I want, everyone to agree with what I'm doing (that would contradict the beauty of God's creating everyone unique)...but I boldly step forward on the special and individual vocation of serving my very unique family.
And the lack of confidence I've been feeling? I know that comes from not praying as much as I should about these things. If I was truly rooted in the Lord, there would be nothing but peace. Yesterday, I took all of these concerns and struggles about school decisions to prayer, begging Our Lady to guide my husband and I to raise our children so that they will increase in love of the Lord and grow to serve Him. And then it came...peace. "Come to me all you who are labored and burdened, and I will give you rest" (Matthew 11:29- from last Sunday's Gospel). With His big loving arms he drew me close, reassured me of my convictions, and focused me again on His will for us. He's the one who put gentle schooling in my path. He's the one that brings me back to it time and time again. We feel truly at peace with this. We are not closed to different methods of schooling, but we are renewed in our efforts and confidence to do what we discern is best for our family...and proceed in faith. And, of course, detach with love from other people's skeptical opinions and comments.
To wrap up, my B-HAG for today is to discover what my children's B-HAGs are. This should be interesting...I can't wait! Let the adventure continue!
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Encouraging words...
So many thoughts, no time to write. But here is my latest inspiration, source of calm, and refreshing tidbits to refocus. In other words, here's what I've been pondering:
From last Sunday's Gospel: Matthew 11:29-30
“Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened,
and I will give you rest.
Take my yoke upon you and learn from me,
for I am meek and humble of heart;
and you will find rest for yourselves.
For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.”
This quote from The Holy Father, Pope Benedict XVI: (a dear friend shared this quote with me when our 2nd daughter was going through her surgeries):
"Even suffering is part of the truth of our life. Thus, trying to shield the youngest from every difficulty and experience of suffering, we risk creating, despite our good intentions, fragile persons of little generosity: The capacity to love, in fact, corresponds to the capacity to suffer, and to suffer together."
This, from John Holt, "How Children Learn:"
The point is that if it takes a long time to develop a good habit, it will take just as long to develop a bad one. The idea that we must work hundreds of hours to make a good habit, but can make a bad one in a few seconds, is nonsense. And the point of this to us as teachers is that we don't always have to be in such a big hurry to correct children's mistakes. We can afford to give them time to notice and correct them themselves. And the more they do this, the better they will become at doing it, and the less they will need and depend on us to do it for them.
(This last quote hits me like a big whammy...as I had a very bad mommy moment yesterday...I plan to write more about this later, but for now, let's just say I over-corrected, and as a result, now she won't even try).
From last Sunday's Gospel: Matthew 11:29-30
“Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened,
and I will give you rest.
Take my yoke upon you and learn from me,
for I am meek and humble of heart;
and you will find rest for yourselves.
For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.”
This quote from The Holy Father, Pope Benedict XVI: (a dear friend shared this quote with me when our 2nd daughter was going through her surgeries):
"Even suffering is part of the truth of our life. Thus, trying to shield the youngest from every difficulty and experience of suffering, we risk creating, despite our good intentions, fragile persons of little generosity: The capacity to love, in fact, corresponds to the capacity to suffer, and to suffer together."
This, from John Holt, "How Children Learn:"
The point is that if it takes a long time to develop a good habit, it will take just as long to develop a bad one. The idea that we must work hundreds of hours to make a good habit, but can make a bad one in a few seconds, is nonsense. And the point of this to us as teachers is that we don't always have to be in such a big hurry to correct children's mistakes. We can afford to give them time to notice and correct them themselves. And the more they do this, the better they will become at doing it, and the less they will need and depend on us to do it for them.
(This last quote hits me like a big whammy...as I had a very bad mommy moment yesterday...I plan to write more about this later, but for now, let's just say I over-corrected, and as a result, now she won't even try).
Saturday, June 25, 2011
The Dance
When I was a dancer (ballet, by trade), many hours were spent in a stuffy studio, sweating, working endlessly under the direction of the choreographer to perfect my art. It was hard work, often times excruciating. Injuries or no injuries, I was expected to perform. To push. To work. And if I fell? I got up and tried again. Dancing was my passion. There was something exhilarating about working so hard for so long to produce a beautiful dance. So much was involved, and so much was required, but it was so worth it.
Those days, I learned a lot about life and purpose. I suppose you could say that my career as a student, apprentice, dancer, and teacher was a school of virtue for a bigger and better dance that at the time I had no idea I was already dancing.
In the great scheme of life, like dance, there are highs and lows, lifts and falls. There are moments of laughter and pure enjoyment, and moments when you have to look for the joy. There are times when we fall (and oh, does it hurt). And we find ourselves in that place, wondering where we can muster the strength to get back up again. Maybe we just want to lie there, and wallow in our self-pity. Perhaps we want to declare defeat and resolve to make no resolve at all except failure. And then, after a few moments (hopefully only a few), we realize that its pretty boring down there on the ground, and so we stir to stand, one limb at a time. Half way up, a Force grabs us and lifts us the rest of the way. And we dance again, knowing if we fall we can get back up again because we have a merciful and loving Father there to help us. All he asks, in the words of St. Paul, is that we love the fight, and not the fall.
And so we really can dance through life, finding the pleasure in each and every step, knowing with the Lord's guidance when to leap and know He'll catch, when to be still and know He's speaking, and when to find the rhythm again.
I think I'm at a point in my life when I'm realizing, more than ever, that I'll always be working on that fight. There is no "just get to graduation and then life will be easy" (as I foolishly thought about 11 years ago). Marriage takes work. Parenthood takes work. Apostolic endeavors require constant patience and virtue. Housekeeping takes...something (I can't even go there right now, although I'm sure virtue has something to do with it!). Every day presents new opportunities to learn a new step, to perfect my art in this perpetual and ever exciting dance that is my life. An artist is never finished learning. But I am not the main artist. There is a bigger and better Artist that sees the finished dance far clearer than I can. He sees it and He loves it, for He choreographed it! I pray that I will not disappoint my Choreographer, but that I will dance, and rise, and rise again, until graceful step by step the dance of my life is complete, and (I pray) just as beautiful as He intended. If I disappoint, or think my own ideas are better, He will make adjustments, but the final dance won’t (can't) be as beautiful as was originally envisioned. He is there to pick me back up, to encourage me on, to tell me when I need to rest, and to help me work when I am weak. He is patiently there...whenever I seek Him.
The best part? He loves my dance. He is not critical of me, nor does he desire to change me into someone else. He is forever intimately and deeply in love with me. How could I not seek to please this patient and loving Creator?
And so, now I dance not for an audience, nor for any human person, but for my amazing Creator. I dance with joy, with abandon, with power, and emotion. Every moment, of every day.
My oldest asked me the other day if I miss being a dancer. I told her that I never stopped. Inquisitively, she looked at me. I told her the best decision I ever made was quitting the dance career so I could start a family, and that my life now is the best dance of all, and I am loving every single moment.
Those days, I learned a lot about life and purpose. I suppose you could say that my career as a student, apprentice, dancer, and teacher was a school of virtue for a bigger and better dance that at the time I had no idea I was already dancing.
In the great scheme of life, like dance, there are highs and lows, lifts and falls. There are moments of laughter and pure enjoyment, and moments when you have to look for the joy. There are times when we fall (and oh, does it hurt). And we find ourselves in that place, wondering where we can muster the strength to get back up again. Maybe we just want to lie there, and wallow in our self-pity. Perhaps we want to declare defeat and resolve to make no resolve at all except failure. And then, after a few moments (hopefully only a few), we realize that its pretty boring down there on the ground, and so we stir to stand, one limb at a time. Half way up, a Force grabs us and lifts us the rest of the way. And we dance again, knowing if we fall we can get back up again because we have a merciful and loving Father there to help us. All he asks, in the words of St. Paul, is that we love the fight, and not the fall.
And so we really can dance through life, finding the pleasure in each and every step, knowing with the Lord's guidance when to leap and know He'll catch, when to be still and know He's speaking, and when to find the rhythm again.
I think I'm at a point in my life when I'm realizing, more than ever, that I'll always be working on that fight. There is no "just get to graduation and then life will be easy" (as I foolishly thought about 11 years ago). Marriage takes work. Parenthood takes work. Apostolic endeavors require constant patience and virtue. Housekeeping takes...something (I can't even go there right now, although I'm sure virtue has something to do with it!). Every day presents new opportunities to learn a new step, to perfect my art in this perpetual and ever exciting dance that is my life. An artist is never finished learning. But I am not the main artist. There is a bigger and better Artist that sees the finished dance far clearer than I can. He sees it and He loves it, for He choreographed it! I pray that I will not disappoint my Choreographer, but that I will dance, and rise, and rise again, until graceful step by step the dance of my life is complete, and (I pray) just as beautiful as He intended. If I disappoint, or think my own ideas are better, He will make adjustments, but the final dance won’t (can't) be as beautiful as was originally envisioned. He is there to pick me back up, to encourage me on, to tell me when I need to rest, and to help me work when I am weak. He is patiently there...whenever I seek Him.
The best part? He loves my dance. He is not critical of me, nor does he desire to change me into someone else. He is forever intimately and deeply in love with me. How could I not seek to please this patient and loving Creator?
And so, now I dance not for an audience, nor for any human person, but for my amazing Creator. I dance with joy, with abandon, with power, and emotion. Every moment, of every day.
My oldest asked me the other day if I miss being a dancer. I told her that I never stopped. Inquisitively, she looked at me. I told her the best decision I ever made was quitting the dance career so I could start a family, and that my life now is the best dance of all, and I am loving every single moment.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Savoring moments
In one day there are billions of moments. Moments that develop in real time, and moments that are never allowed to develop because we squash them before they can grow. With 3 young children in our house, A LOT of moments, or opportunities, rather, come about. Opportunities for quality time, for affection, for personal attention.
How rare is personal attention these days? How often do you talk to someone, and they look you in the eye (if at all) for but a moment before they peak at their cell phone to text someone. How busy we have gotten in our daily life that the PERSON (especially those little ones that matter the most) is overlooked. Is ignored. Or...worse, is pushed aside with a "uh huh" from you, eyes on your computer, mind elsewhere. I say this is worse because you respond as if you care, but the very smart child knows when he's the less important factor.
Now anyone who has children knows that children have a billion brilliant ideas every day. But listen (and even engage) to just one, and watch their eyes light up before you, an energy seeps through every fiber of their being. They are filled up with the satisfaction of knowing that they matter. And furthermore, that their ideas matter (even if they seem silly and insignificant to us). And even more than that, they have the inner confirmation that they, too, are capable of thinking, processing, planning, and executing (something they see is valuable in our society, and natural to their human person). I will insert a small disclaimer here that I am not declaring that every child's spoken idea should be acted upon. Its simply not possible, or realistic. But I do believe that a child's spoken idea should at least be considered, reflected upon, or even given an interested nod of "wow, you're excited about this" (regardless if you can't act on it now). There is a balance, because its good for our kids to learn that the family has needs, and everyone has to be considered. But...lets be honest. More often than not, I, for one, tend to the side of thinking more of the inconvenience something causes me, than the learning that could potentially happen in the meantime. And so...
I have been keenly aware of these such moments lately. The moments when an idea is burst out, with affirmative tone, so sure that it is bound to be something mom and dad will see as a "good" idea. So the question is: does that moment become a passing failed opportunity, undeveloped, and leave the child feeling inadequate...or does it evolve into a collection of moments worth savoring?
This was our "savored moment" yesterday. The room became dark as the storm clouds rolled overhead, and thunder roared loudly. Knowing that the kids have been afraid of such storms lately, I announced with as much excitement as I could muster, "Hey, lets have a tea party guys!" Now I must admit that the excited tone I took was somewhat forced. You see, I had had a long day and was exhausted (what day am I NOT exhausted by 6pm? What day am I not exhausted by 2pm, for that matter?). I was quite proud of myself for even suggesting a tea party under those circumstances. I thought to myself, "we'll keep is simple. No china, no snacks, just some tea." And of course, as I'm learning the kids always do, I was immediately challenged to expand on that moment. My oldest, 5 and 1/2, jumped up and down and squeeled, "I KNOW! LET'S HAVE A TEA PARTY IN THE CAMPING TENT IN OUR LIVING ROOM WITH COOKIES AND MINT TEA AND FANCY TEA SET!"
My immediate internal reaction was to think, Oh no, I don't feel like setting that old thing up. That's too much work (really, its not). I'm too exhausted (aren't I always?). What have I started? That will be so messy, how will I keep things from breaking? I don't like tight spaces...how will we all fit?
I remembered that I've been wanting to seize more moments like this and stop waiting until I'm "not exhausted"- because that won't happen until my kids are grown and its too late. Then, almost through my teeth I forced a "yes, let's do that."
What henceforth transpired was a delightful, not too messy, very creative and fun family tea party...in a small tent...in our living room. Nothing broke, nothing (much) spilled. And as for feeling cramped? I looked at my husband and he looked at me, and without words we said to each other, "THIS is our family, THIS is our life, THIS is totally worth it. Breath it in. Savor it. Someday it will be gone"
Someday our empty house will ache and beg to have young kids in it once again, teaching us to seize and savor these very precious, and ever fleeting moments in time.
In this moment, we...lived.
How rare is personal attention these days? How often do you talk to someone, and they look you in the eye (if at all) for but a moment before they peak at their cell phone to text someone. How busy we have gotten in our daily life that the PERSON (especially those little ones that matter the most) is overlooked. Is ignored. Or...worse, is pushed aside with a "uh huh" from you, eyes on your computer, mind elsewhere. I say this is worse because you respond as if you care, but the very smart child knows when he's the less important factor.
Now anyone who has children knows that children have a billion brilliant ideas every day. But listen (and even engage) to just one, and watch their eyes light up before you, an energy seeps through every fiber of their being. They are filled up with the satisfaction of knowing that they matter. And furthermore, that their ideas matter (even if they seem silly and insignificant to us). And even more than that, they have the inner confirmation that they, too, are capable of thinking, processing, planning, and executing (something they see is valuable in our society, and natural to their human person). I will insert a small disclaimer here that I am not declaring that every child's spoken idea should be acted upon. Its simply not possible, or realistic. But I do believe that a child's spoken idea should at least be considered, reflected upon, or even given an interested nod of "wow, you're excited about this" (regardless if you can't act on it now). There is a balance, because its good for our kids to learn that the family has needs, and everyone has to be considered. But...lets be honest. More often than not, I, for one, tend to the side of thinking more of the inconvenience something causes me, than the learning that could potentially happen in the meantime. And so...
I have been keenly aware of these such moments lately. The moments when an idea is burst out, with affirmative tone, so sure that it is bound to be something mom and dad will see as a "good" idea. So the question is: does that moment become a passing failed opportunity, undeveloped, and leave the child feeling inadequate...or does it evolve into a collection of moments worth savoring?
This was our "savored moment" yesterday. The room became dark as the storm clouds rolled overhead, and thunder roared loudly. Knowing that the kids have been afraid of such storms lately, I announced with as much excitement as I could muster, "Hey, lets have a tea party guys!" Now I must admit that the excited tone I took was somewhat forced. You see, I had had a long day and was exhausted (what day am I NOT exhausted by 6pm? What day am I not exhausted by 2pm, for that matter?). I was quite proud of myself for even suggesting a tea party under those circumstances. I thought to myself, "we'll keep is simple. No china, no snacks, just some tea." And of course, as I'm learning the kids always do, I was immediately challenged to expand on that moment. My oldest, 5 and 1/2, jumped up and down and squeeled, "I KNOW! LET'S HAVE A TEA PARTY IN THE CAMPING TENT IN OUR LIVING ROOM WITH COOKIES AND MINT TEA AND FANCY TEA SET!"
My immediate internal reaction was to think, Oh no, I don't feel like setting that old thing up. That's too much work (really, its not). I'm too exhausted (aren't I always?). What have I started? That will be so messy, how will I keep things from breaking? I don't like tight spaces...how will we all fit?
I remembered that I've been wanting to seize more moments like this and stop waiting until I'm "not exhausted"- because that won't happen until my kids are grown and its too late. Then, almost through my teeth I forced a "yes, let's do that."
What henceforth transpired was a delightful, not too messy, very creative and fun family tea party...in a small tent...in our living room. Nothing broke, nothing (much) spilled. And as for feeling cramped? I looked at my husband and he looked at me, and without words we said to each other, "THIS is our family, THIS is our life, THIS is totally worth it. Breath it in. Savor it. Someday it will be gone"
Someday our empty house will ache and beg to have young kids in it once again, teaching us to seize and savor these very precious, and ever fleeting moments in time.
In this moment, we...lived.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
I will not forget you
Dear Soldier,
It is with a heavy heart that I write this letter. I cannot express, adequately, what a complete misfortune it is to hear of your struggles on your home turf. Here you are, fresh from fighting for MY safety, finally home...and unemployed. When did Americans become so ungrateful for what you do that we cannot even offer you a job after your time of service is at an end? Does your skill, expertise, and intense training in the military mean nothing anymore? My heart aches when I imagine how this must make you feel. You literally signed your life over to a cause, a very noble cause, to defend a country you believed in. You left your friends and loved ones, parents, brothers, wives, children, to endure intense training. You spent time overseas in battle more horrific than most people want to believe. Why? So that us here at home can LIVE.
I want to express my heartfelt and deepest appreciation for your service. Because of you, I am able to live a quite peaceful and safe life at home with my family. Because of you, I do not live in constant fear of walking out my door. Because of you, we can live. You have laid your life on the line time and time again. My, what love that is! To lay one's life down for a stranger! I am forever and deeply grateful.
And yet, after all of that, your time comes to an end and then...nothing. You search for a civilian job, but can't find one. There is barely any value for the knowledge and expertise of your previous life. What was noble and valuable then, doesn't matter anymore. And no one seems to care. You fought for our life here, to come home to a life where you cannot provide for your family...where you are denied the basic human right of WORK.
I am so sorry.
In return, though it seems to meager, I offer you 4 things: 1) I will pray for you and for your family. 2) When I meet you or any veteran I will make sure we do not part ways without you feeling every ounce of my gratitude for your service. I will also express gratitude to the current military when I see them. 3) I will teach my children about the REAL LIFE super-heroes that are our military. 4) I will teach my children the pledge of allegiance (never mind that some 90% of illegal immigrants, who are seeking immigration, haven't even bothered to learn it themselves- they want to join our country, they use our colleges, benefit from our taxes, but don't know the pledge? This is a great misfortune for our country). I will teach them to honor and respect those men and woman who courageously and unselfishly laid their lives on the line, and who many lost their lives, so that we can have a comfortable life here.
Has everyone forgotten that there is still a war? That people's husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, children, are losing their lives EVERY DAY still so that we can have our comfortable life here?
I have not forgotten. From the very bottom of my heart, I thank you for your service, your courage, your self-sacrifice. I am so proud of you.
Yours,
Jessica Ferrante
Just a US Citizen whose life you saved.
It is with a heavy heart that I write this letter. I cannot express, adequately, what a complete misfortune it is to hear of your struggles on your home turf. Here you are, fresh from fighting for MY safety, finally home...and unemployed. When did Americans become so ungrateful for what you do that we cannot even offer you a job after your time of service is at an end? Does your skill, expertise, and intense training in the military mean nothing anymore? My heart aches when I imagine how this must make you feel. You literally signed your life over to a cause, a very noble cause, to defend a country you believed in. You left your friends and loved ones, parents, brothers, wives, children, to endure intense training. You spent time overseas in battle more horrific than most people want to believe. Why? So that us here at home can LIVE.
I want to express my heartfelt and deepest appreciation for your service. Because of you, I am able to live a quite peaceful and safe life at home with my family. Because of you, I do not live in constant fear of walking out my door. Because of you, we can live. You have laid your life on the line time and time again. My, what love that is! To lay one's life down for a stranger! I am forever and deeply grateful.
And yet, after all of that, your time comes to an end and then...nothing. You search for a civilian job, but can't find one. There is barely any value for the knowledge and expertise of your previous life. What was noble and valuable then, doesn't matter anymore. And no one seems to care. You fought for our life here, to come home to a life where you cannot provide for your family...where you are denied the basic human right of WORK.
I am so sorry.
In return, though it seems to meager, I offer you 4 things: 1) I will pray for you and for your family. 2) When I meet you or any veteran I will make sure we do not part ways without you feeling every ounce of my gratitude for your service. I will also express gratitude to the current military when I see them. 3) I will teach my children about the REAL LIFE super-heroes that are our military. 4) I will teach my children the pledge of allegiance (never mind that some 90% of illegal immigrants, who are seeking immigration, haven't even bothered to learn it themselves- they want to join our country, they use our colleges, benefit from our taxes, but don't know the pledge? This is a great misfortune for our country). I will teach them to honor and respect those men and woman who courageously and unselfishly laid their lives on the line, and who many lost their lives, so that we can have a comfortable life here.
Has everyone forgotten that there is still a war? That people's husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, children, are losing their lives EVERY DAY still so that we can have our comfortable life here?
I have not forgotten. From the very bottom of my heart, I thank you for your service, your courage, your self-sacrifice. I am so proud of you.
Yours,
Jessica Ferrante
Just a US Citizen whose life you saved.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Rascal of a Baby
I have many ideas for a blog post swarming...but no time to write. Very quickly, though- pray for the 3 year old who had the surgeries...her recovery is progressing slowly but surely, but there may be more to her issues than we thought.
In the meantime, here's a laugh from my darling 1 year old:)
"Aw, Mom! Why'd you take that marker away? I was creating ART!"
"HeHe! I'm so proud of myself, catch me if you can!"
In the meantime, here's a laugh from my darling 1 year old:)
"Aw, Mom! Why'd you take that marker away? I was creating ART!"
"HeHe! I'm so proud of myself, catch me if you can!"
Saturday, May 28, 2011
The 'Making' of a Saint....sort of.
My favorite moments with my 5 and 1/2 year old rosebud daughter are after the other kids go to bed, on the rare occasion that happens early, and her and I can spend some quality time together. She comes alive! The other night was one such occasion. We read together, played together, and talked with each other. Then, when it was time for us to part ways, we decided to first say bedtime prayers together (a normal part of our routine).
"What would you like to say to Our Lord tonight," I asked her.
"Ummm...," she pondered. Then a twinkle and a spark. "MOM! Let's make up a NEW prayer!"
"Okay," I responded, reaching for a nearby notepad and pen.
She settled in her seat on the couch, scooting closer to me at the same time. She thought for a moment, wheels turning, then began, "Lord, thank you for my parents and for my sisters, _______, and _______."
I wrote. She continued.
"Jesus, even when we don't see you, you are still there." I instantly was moved and amazed by her insight.
Then she took a deep breath in and sighed, "I just love that part, Mom. That even though we don't see him I just know he's there."
"That's lovely, honey! Anything else?"
"Nope, that's it. I just love it," she concluded.
"Great," I said, assuming our time was finished I shuffled the papers and started to rise, proud of my daughter the little saint with a profound faith.
"Now, mom."
Oh, we're not done? I sat back down. "Yes?"
Then she spoke rather deliberately, "I was thinking, you know, to write how I did it."
I blinked a few times, trying to understand what she was saying.
"You know, like in Beauty and the Beast, on the DVD, when they tell you HOW they did it, you know?"
Then it dawned on me, "OH, you mean when we watched 'The Making' of Beauty and the Beast?"
Sitting up straight, she responded quite sure of herself, "Yes. I thought it would be neat if now we did that for my prayer."
Unable to hold it back, a giggle came out as I said, "You mean like a 'Making of the Prayer?'"
"Uh huh! Can I do that? Write it down."
It took all my strength to try not to laugh! I suppose she wouldn't be my daughter the saint with the profound faith unless she had a little bit of vanity to overcome, I mused to myself.
I grabbed the notebook again, and below the prayer I wrote 'The Making of the Prayer.'
Seeing I was ready, she began:
"I thought in my mind how I wanted to do it. One part I really liked, when I said, 'Jesus, when I didn't see you, you were still there.' This is an anytime prayer. I really like making up prayers."
I glanced at her, waiting in case there was more.
She looked right back at me and said, "That's it, Mom."
"Okay," I said, smiling.
Overcome with pleasure at her creation she exclaimed, "I just LOVE it! So we can do this EVERY DAY now, okay?"
"Absolutely!"
"This is our new prayer! And after it we can tell how I did it!"
Trying to hold back the laughter that was bubbling up inside of me, I responded, "Sure thing, babe!"
So now, every day, she recites her new prayer quite respectfully. And afterward, she lights up and she says with a perk, "Okay, guys, ready to hear the 'making' of it?"
"What would you like to say to Our Lord tonight," I asked her.
"Ummm...," she pondered. Then a twinkle and a spark. "MOM! Let's make up a NEW prayer!"
"Okay," I responded, reaching for a nearby notepad and pen.
She settled in her seat on the couch, scooting closer to me at the same time. She thought for a moment, wheels turning, then began, "Lord, thank you for my parents and for my sisters, _______, and _______."
I wrote. She continued.
"Jesus, even when we don't see you, you are still there." I instantly was moved and amazed by her insight.
Then she took a deep breath in and sighed, "I just love that part, Mom. That even though we don't see him I just know he's there."
"That's lovely, honey! Anything else?"
"Nope, that's it. I just love it," she concluded.
"Great," I said, assuming our time was finished I shuffled the papers and started to rise, proud of my daughter the little saint with a profound faith.
"Now, mom."
Oh, we're not done? I sat back down. "Yes?"
Then she spoke rather deliberately, "I was thinking, you know, to write how I did it."
I blinked a few times, trying to understand what she was saying.
"You know, like in Beauty and the Beast, on the DVD, when they tell you HOW they did it, you know?"
Then it dawned on me, "OH, you mean when we watched 'The Making' of Beauty and the Beast?"
Sitting up straight, she responded quite sure of herself, "Yes. I thought it would be neat if now we did that for my prayer."
Unable to hold it back, a giggle came out as I said, "You mean like a 'Making of the Prayer?'"
"Uh huh! Can I do that? Write it down."
It took all my strength to try not to laugh! I suppose she wouldn't be my daughter the saint with the profound faith unless she had a little bit of vanity to overcome, I mused to myself.
I grabbed the notebook again, and below the prayer I wrote 'The Making of the Prayer.'
Seeing I was ready, she began:
"I thought in my mind how I wanted to do it. One part I really liked, when I said, 'Jesus, when I didn't see you, you were still there.' This is an anytime prayer. I really like making up prayers."
I glanced at her, waiting in case there was more.
She looked right back at me and said, "That's it, Mom."
"Okay," I said, smiling.
Overcome with pleasure at her creation she exclaimed, "I just LOVE it! So we can do this EVERY DAY now, okay?"
"Absolutely!"
"This is our new prayer! And after it we can tell how I did it!"
Trying to hold back the laughter that was bubbling up inside of me, I responded, "Sure thing, babe!"
So now, every day, she recites her new prayer quite respectfully. And afterward, she lights up and she says with a perk, "Okay, guys, ready to hear the 'making' of it?"
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