Off the Beaten Path

Vacation Recap

2014-08-11T01:28:00.000-07:00

Because we kicked off our summer with boxes and suitcases and all of the chaos of moving from one country to another, we decided to end it with a quiet vacation to Ninh Binh, a rural area about two hours from Hanoi. We have grown accustomed to cities having lived in Ho Chi Minh City and Singapore and now in Hanoi, but sometimes we all begin to feel a bit shut in by the concrete and noise.

Since I'm the vacation planner in our house, I decided to experiment with a "home stay" instead of a more traditional hotel or resort. Getting to the place was a bit of an adventure as the last 2km of road was little more than a rocky and pitted two-track through rice fields and poultry farms. In hindsight, we should have requested that the hotel provide transportation from Ninh Binh city, but these are the things one has to live to learn.

We spent our first two nights in a private, open-air bamboo bungalow on the shore of a fish farm. It was like camping without all the fuss of packing and hauling and cooking over a fire. The view from our "shack" was unbelievably beautiful. Even the boys were happy to just sit and soak it in (for a few minutes anyway).

After recovering from our hair-raising car ride through the rice fields, we decided to explore the "resort" property. The owners loaned us rubber boots and a lantern and pointed us in the direction of a nearby cave.

Did I mention that it rained that first afternoon? The rubber boots were helpful but even so, Nathan came back looking like this...

I went equipped with plenty of bug spray but there were surprisingly few mosquitoes. Maybe the fish take care of that. In any case, we were thankful for mosquito nets if only to keep the bats and geckos at a comfortable distance.

We were awakened by the sound of goats outside our hut in the morning and the scent of "fresh farm air." As much as I love being outdoors, I haven't really learned to appreciate goat droppings before breakfast.

The view more than made up for the neighbors.

Our early-riser enjoying hot chocolate and the sunrise at 5:45am.

Our not-so-early-riser still in bed around seven.

Once we were all finally awake and ready for the day, we borrowed bicycles and made our way back down the muddy, bumpy two-track. Nathan took a tumble along the way, but a row of shrubs kept him out of the wet rice paddy. He was good-natured about it and kept on going.

Eventually, we made it to Trang An. A waterway that flows around and under the granite mountains. We hired a boat rowed by a local guide and went exploring.

This first cave was the longest (320m) and the lowest (we had to duck in several places). Phrases like "the bowels of the earth" and images from Tolkein's Moria came to mind. I was glad the rest of the caves were a little less "thrilling" than this one.

Taking a break from the boat.

Then back on the bikes...

And we made it safely to our shack for one more night.

The next day we packed up and the "home stay" owners arranged a vehicle to take us to our next destination. On the way we stopped at Hang Mua, a famous cave and a place to climb to the top of a peak. After several hours on the water and in the sun the day before, we were all dragging a bit. We didn't make it quite to the top, but we went most of the way.

What goes up must come down. I think Nathan was glad to be back at the bottom.

After Hang Mua, we stopped off at Hoa Lu, an ancient capital of Vietnam.

I love the constant juxtaposition of "something old, something new" that we find in Vietnam.

Because I wasn't sure how our stay in the shack would go, I booked a room at Cuc Phuong Resort for the next three nights. Each of the villas (pictured below) had three rooms for guests, but we were the only visitors staying in ours, so it was almost like having our own house (and sharing a bedroom). After our hut on the fish farm, the resort was actually a little disappointing. The location was beautiful and the grounds were well-kept, but the resort felt a bit post-apocalyptic. A whole neighborhood of similar villas had been framed in and then left standing without roofs. Trees and grasses had grown up inside them. There was a soccer field that hadn't been mowed and a run-down playground covered in mildew. The restaurant was usually empty and they didn't have most of the items on the menu. The pool, which was what drew us to the resort, was mirky and grimy.

Thankfully, the boys were oblivious to most of these things. They enjoyed the pool in spite of my hesitation and later joined some kids playing a pick-up game of soccer. Our boys are not flexible or laid-back or easy-going by temperament (it isn't in the genes), but every now and then they take things in stride and I end up being the only sulky one. In the end it all worked out, just not as I expected.

The next day we went to explore Cuc Phuong National Park, starting with the primate rescue center and the turtle rescue center.

We rented a motorbike for what we thought was a short ride through the park to hiking trails. It turned out to be a 20km, uphill trail with four of us on a scooter. By the time we got to the trail head, the boys were too tired and cranky to hike. We ate fried noodles, drank cold Coca-Cola (which somehow always tastes better overseas), and got back on the bike for the 20km downhill return trip.

The park was filled with butterflies of all shapes and sizes and colors. They gathered in puddles along the trail and flew up in clouds when we passed by.

On the way down, we stopped to explore another cave. We rented flashlights and, of course, the boys instantly transformed into Jedi.

On the road again...

And back to the resort, which was looking much better after a long day on a motorbike.

We spent the last day and the following morning just relaxing. The boys enjoyed the pool and didn't contract any strange diseases proving once again that I worry too much.

There are certainly some challenges to living and working outside of our own country, but one of the perks is being able to visit such amazing places. Now I just need to tackle a huge pile of muddy, smelly laundry before school starts tomorrow.

Revive Our Hearts

2014-07-24T21:26:00.000-07:00

One of my older posts was recently republished on the Revive our Hearts, TrueWoman blog. You can read that version by clicking here or read the original post. If you are visiting this blog for the first time, I'm glad you're here.

A Shocking Cross-Cultural Interaction

2014-07-20T01:33:00.000-07:00

We were in a cafe recently that had a replica of the iconic red phone booth one would expect to find along a street in London. I'm not sure why someone built a copy at a cafe in Hanoi, but there it was ready for globe-trotting tourists or imaginative locals to strike a pose and snap a photo. Caleb and Nathan were puzzled by it. Nathan wanted to know why someone had to go into a box to make a phone call. Caleb shrugged and said maybe it was to get out of the rain.

Later in the week the topic came up again. I attempted to explain the concept of a pay phone and in the process mentioned using a phone book. Both boys returned blank stares. "You know,"I insisted, "a phone book...the thing you use to look up a phone number." Still blank stares.

When my brothers and I were little, our first exposure to a phone book was through our derrieres. We used them as booster seats (along with Sears and J.C. Penney catalogs) at my grandma's kitchen table. At home there were always stacks of phone books on a table next to where our rotary phone hung on the wall. We used them as stepping stones across the living room carpet when we hopped from couch to love seat without touching the floor. Phone books were doorstoppers and bookends and ramps for Matchbox cars. Before the advent of the internet, phone books were our link to the outside world. What's playing at the movie theater? Look up the number and call. Where should I go to get a haircut or to repair a broken window? Flip through the yellow pages. How can I prop this up? Grab the phone book.

I think my most shocking cross-cultural interaction this week was between me and my kids. Imagine not recognizing a phone booth or a phone book when you see one! Now I know how my parents felt when I was bewildered by their collection of 8 track tapes. I guess you don't have to go far from home to encounter an entirely different perspective on the world.

Redeeming Play

2014-07-15T22:24:00.000-07:00

Try typing "unstructured play" into your Google search engine and you will turn up an impressive list of magazine and journal articles, blog posts, and research studies all claiming that unsupervised, free-time is the key ingredient to our children's health and happiness. A recent Atlantic Monthly article by Hanna Rosin titled "The Overprotected Kid" highlighted a new style of playground in the UK where kids are free to start bonfires, roll down the hill in a barrel, and build ramshackle forts all with minimal adult supervision. Adults observe passively and only intervene in worst case scenarios or, one would hope, when things descend a little too far into a chapter from Lord of the Flies. The benefits of unplanned, unsupervised play range from increased creativity and confidence to better decision-making skills and greater emotional resilience. In these articles, parents are routinely encouraged to back off and let play work its magic.

Allowing unsupervised play does not seem to require convincing among parents in Vietnam. Our alley is wider than most and has less motorbike traffic so it functions as central park for our neighborhood. Kids walk or ride their bikes here to play soccer or tag or hide-and-seek. Even four and five-year-olds have free run of the alleys. I've met a dozen or more children over the past weeks and only two moms (in passing when they came to call their kids home to eat). Instead of adult supervision, there seems to be some sort of age/size determined pecking order by which the older kids boss the others around and periodically thump the littler ones to prevent insurrection. Whichever child is biggest automatically assumes the role of chief and then relinquishes the title when someone bigger comes along.

Usually play starts out Norman Rockwell enough, but it often deteriorates. Caleb has been upset for weeks because he watched a group of boys kill a bird. Nathan regularly comes through the door indignant because kids pinched his cheeks. Recently the two of them came running up to me all excited because they met a boy who knew English. They dragged me to see and I was dismayed to discover that their friend's repertoire consisted of two unmentionable words and the accompanying hand gesture. Our boys had never heard this expression before and were quite impressed that their friend could shout it with such flare. I tried to convince them it wasn't really English.

A week ago, one little boy crashed his bike outside our front gate. He was brave about it, but pretty scraped up. I brought him in and patched him up as best I could. I gave him something to drink and sat with him in the kitchen. Another boy followed us in and must have wanted a little TLC himself because he started showing me his own injuries, a dime-sized burn on his chest from his dad's cigarette and bruises up and down his legs. I thought I must have misunderstood him, so I asked him to tell me again how he had been hurt. The boy got embarrassed and ran outside.

This is where we live. This is where our boys play. There are days when I want to lock the gate and cut power to the doorbell. I want to gather my boys and retreat to a place that is safe and ordered and clean. Oddly enough, the boys themselves prevent me from doing this. They insist on being out in the alley. They have persisted in getting to know a few of the other kids and consider them friends.

I was musing recently and realized that there can be merit to all of the things the boys are experiencing, but like all of life, play is tainted by sinfulness. Kids are broken, relationships are broken, play is broken. Redeeming play requires prayerful engagement as a parent not passivity. I may not plan activities for the rabble outside or monitor every interaction, but I need to be aware of what is happening and ready to respond to Caleb and Nathan when they want to know why the other boys are being cruel to an animal or shouting vulgarities and expletives. I need to intervene when my children are in over their heads. I need to exercise wisdom as a parent and an adult when my kids lack maturity and wisdom themselves.

I have been reading the book of Proverbs and realized that the creativity, confidence, problem-solving skills, and resilience we want for our children all fall under the umbrella of wisdom. Our alley has certainly become wisdom's classroom. In the past weeks, alley interactions have spawned conversations at home about valuing and protecting God's creatures, guarding our words, keeping our bodies safe and private, loving our enemies, and being thankful for the the difference grace makes in our lives when we try to follow Jesus. I find myself praying for wisdom and growing in wisdom as I help our boys learn to redeem play.

A Newsy Update from Hanoi

2014-06-29T01:00:00.001-07:00

We've been in Hanoi four weeks already and it's fair to say that the dust has settled (and been swept up, and settled again, and been swept up again). While we still do not have a predictable daily routine, we have moved past the "eating out and setting up" phase to the "eating in and settling down" phase of transition. We still do not have our belongings from Singapore, but we did get our things from storage in Saigon. After five years in a semi-open room, everything was covered in dust and grime and rat urine. We had to sort out what was still useful, hose it down, and then clean it with soapy, bleachy water. It's a job I hope to never do again.

The good news is that our tabletop oven from storage still works. After one charred cake, I've recalled how to actually bake in it. Unfortunately, our boys (and their appetites) are much bigger than they were five years ago. Now I'm puzzling over how to cook enough volume with a glorified toaster oven and a two-burner stove. I'm resigning myself to not having leftovers for lunch.

Daniel has had a student here for the past two weeks so he has been happily plugging away at some projects that were basically shelved during our stay in Singapore. The second edition of the Handbook for Theological Terms (a Vietnamese/English theological dictionary) is nearly ready to go to press and a couple translation projects are progressing. Daniel was feeling a pressure to start preparing for his fall classes, but as it turns out he may not be teaching the courses he was initially assigned. He's decided it's generally best to know what he will be teaching before making the syllabus.

The boys are already thick with the neighborhood kids in spite of the fact that they have no clue what anyone is saying. They attended a birthday party last night complete with cuttlefish snacks and firework candles. Both boys have been doing remarkably well navigating without knowing Vietnamese, but I'm hoping to get them started on lessons this week. Hopefully, in time, I will be called in less and less frequently as translator and referee.

Partly because I'm busy helping our boys negotiate life and relationships in a new place, I've been thinking about values, and virtues, and parenting in a cross-cultural context. These thoughts are still percolating so I won't start pontificating yet. I'll sign off on this newsy update and save that for another post.

Welcome

2014-06-10T04:45:00.000-07:00

As you can see, it has been a while since I've posted. If you are a new visitor, you probably found your way here through a recent article that was republished on the Revive Our Hearts, True Woman blog. Welcome!

Our family is in the midst of moving countries and settling into a new home, so posts will be sparse for a while longer. I'm hoping to begin blogging again in earnest once the dust settles.

Until then, feel free to roam and read.

Heather

The Stuff of Christmas

2012-12-02T05:13:00.002-08:00

This is the blog post in which I am supposed to say that the "things" of Christmas don't really matter. The tree and ornaments and nativity set and icicle lights and holiday CDs and snowflake cookie cutters are just trappings. The heart of the holiday is celebrating Christ. I ought to say this because it is true--mostly.

We reminded the boys tonight at dinner that today is the first Sunday of Advent. We explained to them the tradition of the Advent wreath and talked about lighting the prophecy candle. We explained these things because we don't have an Advent wreath or candles. They are still packed in our boxes on a ship somewhere on the Pacific Ocean. Normally, we would start reading an Advent book tonight, but that too is packed away. We tried to buy a Christmas tree yesterday, but Ikea was completely sold out of fake ones and we haven't found them anywhere else. It doesn't really matter, because our ornaments are with the Advent wreath in the cargo container.

This is where I am supposed to pontificate on the frivolity of Christmas decorations and embrace a simpler approach to the holidays. I've tried all day to write that post. Alas, it is not to be. The truth is, I want a tree and our ornaments and an Advent wreath. Somehow they are important.

I've observed as we've been attempting to home-school our boys for the past four months, that routine is critical. On the days when I stick to a schedule (ignoring the phone, the dishes, and the something smelling rotten in the vegetable drawer) things sail along like a semi-seaworthy boat in choppy waters. When I get distracted or decide against my better judgement to throw in a little variety, we're sunk. I may as well hang up my chalk and pull out the Legos.

This observation is not in any way groundbreaking. It's the stuff of countless parenting books and the common sense our moms and grandmas could tell us if we'd ask. What's new to me is the realization that we don't outgrow this need for predictability and structure and order. I'm making a bit of a leap here, but I think routine and traditions are closely linked, and we need both. We structure our days around work schedules, school schedules, to do lists, play dates, and errands. We structure our weeks by weekdays and weekends. We structure our year by seasons, and school, and holidays, and family vacations. We do it instinctively, but we also need to do it intentionally. This is where traditions come in.

We impose traditions upon routine as a reminder of what is important to us. Putting a six foot tree smack in the middle of the living room and wiring it with blinking lights can't help but get one's attention. The tree, the wreath, the candles and lights, the cookies, and even the bell jangling Santas remind us that something noteworthy is happening. They help us to pause in our routine and reflect for a moment. If done well, these traditions (even the silly ones) can point us to Christ.

It's quite possible that I'm saying all of this simply to justify my impatience for our shipment to arrive. Nonetheless, I'm sticking to it. It's important that things feel like Christmas. I'm pretty sure the first box I'll be unpacking is the one marked "holiday stuff" because sometimes stuff does matter.

Blueberry Travels

2012-11-25T15:56:00.000-08:00

Nathan, who just turned five, has a stuffed bear named Blueberry (because he is blue, of course). Blueberry is a world traveler. He has logged in an impressive number of air miles from Nathan's backpack. Now he is traveling on his own. A few days ago Nathan informed us that Blueberry had just gotten back from a trip to Egypt. He visited the tombs of the Pharaohs and built sandcastles--lots of sandcastles (because that is what you do in Egypt). Most recently, Blueberry took a jaunt to China to see KungFu warriors. He came back with a bag full of weapons (best souvenir ever). Now Blueberry is recovering from jetlag and shaking off all that sand from Egypt. We're all curious to see which place he will explore next.

Home

2012-11-20T18:50:00.000-08:00

Even the sparrow finds a home,
and the swallow a nest for herself,
where she may lay her young,
at your altars, O Lord of hosts,
my King and my God.
Blessed are those who dwell in your house,
ever singing your praise!

Psalm 84:3-4

We all long for a home. The image that comes to mind when I say that is, of course, different for each of us. For me “home” conjures up a spread from Better Homes and Gardens or Martha Stewart Living. I imagine a sloping driveway, a brick edifice, soft lighting, thick carpets, shining hardwood, a crackling fire, walls lined with books, throw pillows, brightly colored rugs, a broad green lawn in front and a flower garden in back. Obviously this is not a description of my home now or at any time in the past.

Since getting married twelve years ago I've lived in nine homes. Our first home in Vietnam had a little garden, but also rats (big ones). We borrowed a home in the States that had a fireplace, but we had to leave after one year. Our home now is a tiny apartment on the Bible college campus where my husband is teaching. We have one window in the living/dining room that looks straight into classrooms in an adjacent building. The boys can play outdoors on a concrete basketball court from 4:30-7:30 each evening. If we want to be outdoors at other times we must walk three-quarters of a mile to a public garden. The walls are white plaster, the floor is white tile, and the lighting is fluorescent. I feel a little bit like a mouse in an observation cage. This is home for the next year or two.

How do I reconcile the home I daydream about with the home where I live? How do I settle once again into a place that is not the home I imagine? How do I remain content while I wait for that perfect home that never gets dirty or worn and that never loses it's value in a bad economy? I come back again and again to Psalm 84 for the answers.

Psalm 84 reminds me (in a nutshell) that I need to set my sights higher. I need to go bigger than Martha Stewart. I need to want more than bricks and bookshelves. The longing that lies beneath my itch for a comfortable house is a desire for the courts of God himself. That is where I belong. It is meant to be my home. It makes me think of the Corduroy story that I've read to our boys at least a hundred times. Corduroy is a stuffed bear who is purchased from the department store by a little girl named Lisa. When she brings him to her apartment he says, “So this is home. I've always wanted a home.” Then when Lisa fixes his missing button and gives him a hug, Corduroy says, “So this is a friend. I've always wanted a friend.” That's what heaven will be like. We will wake up to find ourselves home and in the embrace of God, our Father and Friend. We will never have to leave that home and it will be more splendid than we can possibly imagine.

In the meantime, I get to enjoy a foretaste of that home when I dwell in the Lord's house singing His praise. Like the sparrow and the swallow of verses 3-4, I can make a nest for myself and my children at the altars of the Lord. We can find our home in Him even now as we pray and praise and pursue his kingdom (see v. 5). Regardless of a stark apartment or a heavily mortgaged, falling-down home or the “desert places” of Psalm 84, we can go from strength to strength as we dwell in God's presence, enjoying Him even now with glad and grateful hearts.

When I just can't resist the urge to interior decorate, I can always daydream about furnishing my room in the house of the Lord (John 14). I'm thinking floor to ceiling bookshelves with one of those ladders on wheels, a fireplace so big a person could lie down in it, oriental rugs, armchairs, Tiffany lamps, and a canopy bed. Or maybe a sun-room painted white and filled with fresh flowers. Then again, Jesus said he would prepare it for me. I'll wake like Frances Hodgson Burnett's little princess to find my cold attic room transformed into a luxurious chamber filled with all of my daydreamed delights and more. Now that's something to imagine!

The Fun Part of Homeschooling

2012-04-19T11:35:00.000-07:00

One of my projects over the past few weeks has been to assemble everything I'll need to teach two boys at two different levels for at least two years with no public library, no homeschool co-operative, and no Amazon.com (since shipping overseas + customs fees = not an option). Now that I think about it, the whole thing sounds like a reality show challenge or a middle school math teaser. Remember the one about the cannibals and the missionaries getting across the river?

I've spent hours reading and researching and talking to other mom/teachers. I've spent at least that long browsing Amazon and various homeschooling websites searching for just the right curriculum and books. I've scoured the local Good Will and other resale shops for deals. It's amazing what one can find for re-sale in a place where homeschooling is popular. These are good fields for gleaning! Finally I took the plunge and ordered the last of what I think we'll need.

It's been like Christmas around here with boxes arriving from FedEx and UPS. They usually come in the mornings while Caleb is at kindergarten, so Nathan has been helping me open packages and inspect everything. One morning he paged through a book about the Greeks and Romans and insisted that we make him a Roman helmet out of paper towel rolls and red felt. (It didn't happen.) When the math and science materials came, he laid on the floor for an hour or more building guns and swords out of the gram/centimeter cubes.

It's been great entertainment. Now the trick will be to make the schooling part actually happen.

Waking Up

2012-04-12T12:19:00.000-07:00

Spring is in full bloom here. The boys decapitated our tulips during an Easter egg hunt and brought me most of the daffodils in limp and fading fistfuls. Our beds are bare, but I'm enjoying the splashes of color in other people's yards. Maybe someday I will have a tulips of my own...with a fence around them...a high one.

With all of nature waking up and stretching toward the sunshine, it seemed as good a time as any to bring this blog out of dormancy. We are nearing the end of our sojourn in Wheaton. In just two weeks Daniel will defend his dissertation. Assuming all goes well, he will graduate in May and we will head back to Vietnam in July.

The boys are already marking our move to Vietnam in the same way that most of us mark the new year. Nathan has several resolutions. He insists that once we get back to Vietnam he won't play rough anymore and he won't demand sweet drinks. However, until we make the move both vices are in fair play.

I hope that in the coming weeks and months this blog will once again be a place for us to share our lives with you, our family and friends. We look forward to sharing snapshots of our journey "off the beaten path." Thanks for reading along.

The Things We Say

2011-03-07T14:09:00.000-08:00

Surely, every mom-blog has one of these posts, but I can't resist. I keep hearing myself saying things I never imagined uttering before kids--particularly boys--entered my life. Here is a random list of quotes from the past couple days.

"No thanks, I don't want your booger... No, really, I'm good."

"You can be Superman, but you have to wear more than underwear."

"C'mon guys, one bath a week isn't going to kill you."

"Ok, put your shirts back on. No more boxing until Dad gets home."

And my favorite...

"No, absolutely not. You can't take a gun to church."

A Boy's Take on Valentine's Day

2011-02-15T06:58:00.000-08:00

Somehow I ended up with five little boys running around our house yesterday. Two were my own, one was invited, and the other two wandered in from the neighborhood. Being surrounded by little men on Valentine's Day, I got an interesting perspective on the holiday. Here is what I could glean about a boy's take on Valentine's Day.

On a Big Date:
Nathan: "I'll get a job and work lots and lots. Then I can take you to the 'bending machine' at the YMCA."

On Playing with Girls:
"We're no match for girls. C'mon guys let's guard our palace!"

On Decorating Valentine Cookies:
Boy #1: (dumping a pile of red sprinkles on his cookie) "Wow, check out all these sprinkles."

Boy #2: "It's my turn. Look, I have more sprinkles than you."

Boy #3: "Nuh uh, I have the MOST sprinkles. Look at this..." (finishes off the red sprinkles)

Boy #4: (too busy eating cookies and frosting to bother with sprinkles)

Boy #5: (waits ten minutes until the others have lost interest and goes chair to chair licking up the leftover sprinkles)

On Girlfriends:
"Ewwwwwww, gross!!!"

Top of the Pile

2011-02-01T07:31:00.000-08:00

I didn't post our "top of the pile" choices last week, because I was too busy dispensing Tylenol, changing bedding, and cleaning up after very sick children. So, without further ado, here they are in no particular order.

Snipp, Snapp, Snurr and the Yellow Sled by Maj Lindman. Caleb had mixed feelings about this one, but he asked to read it several times and was disappointed when I returned it to the library. It is part of a series of stories about the adventures of triplet boys (there is a similar series about triplet girls, Flicka, Ricka, and Dicka). The books were written in the 1930s by Swedish author Maj Lindman. In The Yellow Sled Snipp, Snapp, and Snurr agree to work for two weeks to earn a new yellow sled. They do everything their mother asks (not without a mishap or two) and she takes them to the store to buy the sled.

While the triplets wait outside, they meet a boy younger than themselves who is very poor. The little boy is looking at the sled and crying because his family could never afford it. Snipp, Snapp and Snurr confer with their mother and decide to give the little boy their sled. Their mother agrees that they can work for two more weeks to earn another sled. This was the point in the story that upset Caleb. He didn't think the boys should give up the sled and was convinced that their dad (who does not figure prominently in the story) would be mad at them. Apparently, generosity is not an instinctive virtue. Ah well, that is why we read stories like this one.

Bread and Jam for Frances by Russell Hoban, Illustrated by Lillian Hoban. I tried reading the Frances books to the boys a year or so ago and they were completely uninterested. I suppose it helped to reintroduce them on a gray and frigid week when we were all feeling too rotten to go anywhere or do anything. In any case, the boys can't get enough of Frances. We've read and re-read Bread and Jam. When I went to the library this week they asked me to get Bedtime for Frances and A Bargain for Frances as well. Bargain is easily my favorite. The boys got all fired up at the injustice of Thelma's tea set deal and cheered Frances when she came up with a creative solution. Very well written and fun to read!

The Logic of Little Boys

2011-01-31T09:02:00.000-08:00

A telephone ringing is, in our house, very much like the bell in a boxing arena. The minute our boys know I am on the telephone, they commence punching, wrestling, kick boxing, sword fighting, and whatever other form of violence happens to grab their fancy.

The other day I was talking on the phone to a neighbor and half listening to the ruckus downstairs. When Caleb began shrieking in genuine pain, I got off the phone and dashed down to the basement. By the time I got there, both boys were crying.

"What happened?" I demanded in my most threatening tone.

"Nathan bit meeeeeee!" Caleb wailed.

Biting is absolutely off limits in our house, so Nathan knew he was in for it.

"Nathan, did you bite Caleb?" I asked.

"Yes," he sobbed.

"You know that's mean and wrong."

"But," he cried, "I was soooo hungry!"

In a Rut

2011-01-30T08:34:00.000-08:00

At the dinner table last night, we were talking about Caleb starting school. Nathan looked bewildered and asked, "What about me?"

"Well," I answered, "you and Mom will get to have a special date. What should we do on our special date?"

Nathan thought for a moment. "Go to church!"

Now it was my turn to be bewildered. "And what will we do at church?" I asked.

Nathan looked at me as if it should be obvious, "Go to meetings."

Daniel and I laughed. Apparently we need to get a little more creative with our "dates."

Orphan Care--Adoption and Beyond

2011-01-29T12:33:00.000-08:00

"Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world." James 1:27 (ESV)

Earlier this week I came across this testimony from the Haines family who, in the process of adopting a young girl from Ethiopia, began to wonder if there was something else they should be doing to care for orphans in parts of the world stricken by poverty. I was thankful they shared their story. Adoption is a loving and often necessary way to intervene on behalf of abandoned and vulnerable children. In adopting, parents model God's adoptive love that takes us from our sin and self-destruction to make us his children. Adoption is one way to reenact the gospel. It is one solution for orphaned children. However, as Seth and Amber Haines demonstrate, it is not the only solution.

My closest friend in Vietnam is not able to have children. Instead, she and her husband have been blessed with an ever growing ministry among the poor. A few years ago, my friend called one evening and told me that something completely unexpected had happened. They had just brought home a newborn baby. The baby boy had been born prematurely to drug-addicted parents who were living on the streets of Ho Chi Minh City. A mutual acquaintance asked our friends if they would intervene and care for the baby at least for a little while.

When I first met him, Binh was so tiny I could barely hold him against my shoulder. With one hand under his bottom and the other patting his back, my elbows stuck out perpendicular to the floor as if I were playing the violin. He was small and wrinkled and his chest sometimes sucked inward indicating that his lungs were not functioning exactly as they should. My friend and her husband cared for him around the clock. They got what medical help they could without a birth certificate or any form of identification. They fed Binh and bathed him and loved him and prayed for him. Without even meaning to, they became his parents.

Every week they met Binh's birth parents at a local shopping center so the couple could see the baby and play with him. Some weeks they seemed to be really taken with their child. Other times they were barely interested. At some point, the dad disappeared and was later arrested and jailed for drug trafficking. Binh's mother admitted that she was never entirely sure who the real father was. Our friends tentatively began to suggest the possibility of adoption.

Binh's mother moved back in with her parents who encouraged her to give the baby up. Instead, she entered a drug-rehab program and found a job. In spite of several failed attempts to stay off drugs and months of ups and downs, she eventually made progress. She even began to get involved in a church near her home and was later baptized. During all of this, our friends kept Binh and cared for him. They desperately wanted to adopt the baby who had become in so many ways their own, but they also recognized that this mother loved her son.

At one point, they stopped suggesting adoption. They began to leave Binh with his mother for longer periods of time and shifted their energy to helping the mother learn how to care for her child. My friend spent countless afternoons in the tiny, ramshackle house where Binh's mother lived helping her play with her son and understand his needs. I remember many conversations with my friend as she went back and forth about what would be best for Binh. In the end, they made the very hard decision to give him back to his mother.

Adoption is one way to rescue orphans and children whose parents can not or will not care for them. It is one way to live out the gospel. Intervening in a desperate situation to lovingly restore a broken family is another way. I do not want to minimize the important role of adoption, but I think the American church can benefit from stories like Binh's and that of the Haines family. Orphans around the world are not always parent-less, but they are powerless. They need our wise and loving care demonstrated in myriad ways.

To Make a Mom's Day

2011-01-24T08:01:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago Daniel and I went to a meeting at some friends' house. Because they didn't have a lot of extra space, we hosted all the children and two babysitters at our place. The babysitters often help out with these get-togethers and they have watched our boys several times. When they arrived, one of the first things they said was, "We LOVE watching your boys."

Given that some days I don't want to watch my boys, this was astonishing. I was rendered speechless. Now that I've had a few weeks to savor it, I've realized that the straightest route to encourage a mom is to enjoy her children. Compliments are nice, but genuine enjoyment is harder to dismiss. When people tell me that one boy is smart or the other is sweet, I am grateful that the pair managed to cooperate for the ten minutes that the person spent with them. I do think the boys are smart and sweet (thinking that is part of my job description), but I also know they are quite capable of being a host of other things. When a person spends an hour or more with the boys and can't wait to see them again, I am encouraged.

So, if you know a young mom and you spend any amount of time with her kids, the best way to bless her is to love her angels. When they wipe jam on your pants and sneeze in your coffee, when they throw themselves in the middle of the floor screaming because Mom said "no," when they take twenty minutes to find their shoes and put on their coats, do your best to grin and bear it. When they crawl up in your lap with a picture book or bring you their favorite toy to "share," enjoy the moment. You love a mom when you love her kids.

The Wife

2011-01-20T06:46:00.000-08:00

I've been pondering the following poem by Emily Dickinson but am still not sure exactly what to make of it. It is interesting that the unspoken sense of loss in stanza 2 produces pearls AND weeds in stanza 3. Who is "himself" in the last stanza? I assumed the husband, but it isn't made clear. Is this a tribute to wives and the marriage relationship or a critique of those things? What do you think?

The Wife

She rose to his requirement, dropped
The playthings of her life
To take the honorable work
Of woman and of wife.

If aught she missed in her new day
Of amplitude, or awe,
Or first prospective, or the gold
In using wore away,

It lay unmentioned, as the sea
Develops pearl and weed,
But only to himself is known
The fathoms they abide.

"The Wife" by Emily Dickinson. Found in Favorite Poems of Emily Dickinson published 1978 by Avenel Books.

Cowboys and Indians

2011-01-15T12:07:00.000-08:00

The Fort and the Encampment

Strategizing

When the boys tired of playing plastic cowboys and Indians, they became cowboys themselves. Caleb, always the boss, ordered Nathan to "round up the horses." Once the horses were successfully rounded, the cowboys joined efforts to lasso snakes which they proceeded to roast in the "oven" (my linen cupboard). Nathan insists that roasted snake tastes just like strawberries. I'll have to get his recipe.

Top of the Pile

2011-01-12T13:15:00.000-08:00

Every week the boys and I go to the local library and trade in one stack of books for another. The books typically end up in a precarious sort of pile beneath the table next to my bed. Our favorites migrate to the top of the pile and we read them over and over again until they are due to be returned.

Since I know many of you share my love for books in all shapes and sizes, I've decided to give a rundown each week of the two or three books that are currently on top of the pile. Eventually I may include books from my own pile (on top of the bedside table), but for now these stories are from Caleb and Nathan's pile (under the table).

How I Became a Pirate by Melinda Long and David Shannon. I must confess that I love reading this book as much as (or maybe a little more than) the boys like listening to it. How often do we grown-ups get to say things like "Shiver me timbers!...We must have taken a wrong turn at Bora Bora" or "...just run the Jolly Roger up yonder pole"? I believe I'm perfecting my "Arrgh!" and my pirate snarl.

In summary, the story is about a boy, Jeremy Jacobs, who goes to the beach with his parents and finds himself recruited by pirates. He loves everything about the pirate life--no carrots or spinach, no please or thank you, no bedtime--until he discovers that there is also no bedtime story, no being tucked in, and no being comforted when things get scary. There is nothing profound about this story, but it is fun, and isn't that really the chief reason we read.

Doctor De Soto by William Steig. This is a clever tale about a mouse who is a dentist. When he finds himself compelled to treat a fox with a rotten bicuspid, he must come up with a crafty plan to avoid being eaten. Our boys have been running around the house all week saying, "Frank oo berry mush."

Lightning: A Cowboy's Colt by Bill and Bernard Martin. Illustrated by Edward Shenton. Found in Best in Children's Books published 1959 by Nelson Doubleday Inc. Nelson Doubleday published a series of books in the 1950s collecting the best of children's stories with full-color and two-color illustrations by some of the most well-known children's book illustrators (Does Ezra Jack Keats ring a bell?). I found two books from the series for 25 cents each at the library's used book sale a year or so ago. In hindsight, I wish I had hunted for more.

Lightning: A Cowboy's Colt is a wonderful short story for boys ages 5 and up (maybe girls too, but I am not an authority on that). Danny, the main character, is the son of a horse rancher. When his father returns from the annual round-up, Danny is allowed to pick a colt of his very own. Instead of choosing a colt, however, he is fascinated by a beautiful black mare and asks to have her. His father agrees but Danny is never able to "gentle" the horse or even get very near her. As Danny's love for the black mare deepens, a dispute arises between Danny's father and their Indian neighbors who insist the mare belongs to them. With no markings on the mare, the Indians cannot prove ownership and Danny's father refuses to give her up. The Indians retaliate by burning the family's barn which, of course, hardens Danny's father's heart against them.

One evening Danny goes out after dark to check on his mare. He finds her quietly nuzzling an Indian boy while the boy rubs her neck. The Indian boy explains that the mare was his. Danny can see that this is true by the mare's behavior, and he willingly gives her up to the Indian boy. Danny must tell his father about the mare the next morning and his father insists that Danny has been tricked. Danny responds simply, "Horses don't lie, do they, Daddy?."

The following summer the Indian boy returns at night with a surprise for Danny--a colt--the offspring of the black mare and the lead stallion from Danny's father's herd. The next day Danny asks his father to take him to the Indian camp so he can thank them for his colt. His father agrees and the story closes with the stage set for a reconciliation between the rancher and the Indians.

One of the reasons I love books is that they allow you to see virtue with its skin on. Honesty is a boy giving up something dear to him when he knows it belongs to another. Forgiveness is a rancher thanking an Indian chief. Love is Danny relinquishing a horse he can't tame. These are virtues I want my boys to embrace. How better to teach them than through story.

No More Excuses

2011-01-11T07:02:00.000-08:00

Since returning to the States eighteen months ago, I have not had a portable computer. I transitioned from a cranky, ready-to-retire laptop to a desktop that has been rebuilt more times than I can count. The desktop is still a good computer and suited to my needs, but it set up permanent residence in our basement. Accomplishing anything more than a quick scan of new e-mail required convincing or cajoling both boys to play quietly in one place for more than five minutes. It goes without saying that my computer usage plummeted in 2010.

After Christmas, we discovered that we had accumulated enough reward points on our bank cards (plus some cash from Christmas gifts) for me to get a new netbook! I am finally mobile again. It is small enough and has a long enough battery life that I can carry it easily around the house. While I wander after the boys keeping them from strangling each other or setting the house on fire, I can also write a quick blog post. Three cheers for multi-tasking! I won't be churning out the next great literary novel in this fashion, but at least I can post more frequently than once every five or six months.

A Creative Solution

2010-08-02T15:16:00.000-07:00

Nathan has reached that endearing stage when children discover their individuality and creatively assert their personal preferences. In other words, he is two.

After his third or fourth spanking of the day, I found him sitting on the couch with his arms crossed against his chest and a scowl on his face. The ensuing conversation went something like this...

Me: Nathan, what's wrong?

Nathan: I don't like Daddy.

Me: Why don't you like Daddy?

Nathan: I don't like spankings.

Me: You don't have to get spankings. What can you do so you don't get spankings?

Nathan: Put Daddy in jail!

Good Friday

2010-04-02T08:18:00.000-07:00

Taking a moment to remember that my peace and joy and life were not cheap. The love of Christ truly is amazing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dooif2-yAoI

I was bought at a price, therefore it is no longer I who live but Christ lives in me.

Perplexing Pronouns

2010-03-31T07:13:00.000-07:00

When we first started studying Vietnamese, I was baffled by the use of pronouns. There is no general "you" or "your." Instead, pronouns are specific. In order to use them correctly, you have to know your hearer's age and gender. You also must gauge the person's relationship to you, being careful not to seem too intimate or too distant. I was forever coming across as either flirty or snooty because I lacked the subtle understanding of culture necessary to define a relationship in each and every conversation.

It makes English pronouns seem like child's play. Our verbs may require complex conjugation, but our pronouns are a breeze. At least, they are for an adult. A two-year-old apparently finds them more puzzling. This morning, Nathan and I were singing together (roughly to the tune of "Where Is Thumbkin")...

Me: Where is Nathan?
        Where is Nathan?

Nathan: Here me are.
              Here me are.

Me: How I want to kiss him.
          How I want to kiss him.

        I can't resist.
        I can't resist!!!

Nathan: (giggling and fleeing)