by Michelle Graves (9th Grade/Latin Teacher and TCS Parent)

Filmmaker Peter Jackson, of Lord of the Rings fame, has a “new” movie out called They Shall Not Grow Old. The movie is made out of footage from World War I, brought back to life after a century of storage in the Imperial War Museum’s archives.

If you stay in your theater seat past the credits, you will see a clip of Jackson talking about the challenges he faced in making the movie, dedicated to the memory of his grandfather William who fought in the Great War alongside J.R.R. Tolkien.

The original strips of film had shrunk, for example, so that the square holes dotting the edges no longer fit the sprockets of the first hand-cranked projectors. The footage had originally been filmed at several different frame rates, so that a man even strolling appeared to frenetically goose-step. All the grainy images were filmed in black and white, of course, and no sound was recorded with the pictures. The original cameras were too bulky to be carried into battle, so no combat footage survives.

Teams of computer wizards digitized, smoothed, and colorized these images. The frame rates were adjusted, by eye, so that the soldiers appeared to move gracefully, again, like living men. Much of the footage shows soldiers staring fascinated at or mugging for the new-fangled camera. They sing ribald songs, play musical instruments, complain about the food, and deride their officers. Many a grin shows the rotten teeth common in that day.

Forensic lip readers—one deaf herself—scrutinized scenes over and over to resurrect what those long-dead, silent speakers were saying. Often it was something like, “Hi, Mum!” But silent footage of a junior officer reading aloud a letter to his sombre troops, on the night before the first battle of the Somme, was able to be matched up with the surviving historical document sent by the commander of the 55th Infantry Brigade. For some reason, the most rousing part of this letter, “Success or failure depend on the individual efforts and fighting spirit of every single man,” was omitted in Jackson’s version.

A downplaying of heroics is typical of the movie. Jackson said he wished to show the human side of the war, as it was experienced by the ordinary “Tommy.” Though many young men—some as young as fifteen, though they claimed to be older—joined up hoping for adventure, the reality fell short of the glorious cavalry charges and single combats of their dreams. The film does convey, nevertheless, the nobility of these warriors. They kept their humanity even in the nightmarish life of the trenches.

Though the film, of necessity, shows no scenes of combat, the awful costs of war are not kept out of sight. Twenty million died in World War I, and Jackson showed hundreds of their corpses, piled high, with sleek rats scuttling among them. (The film is rated R, parents.) The men staring grimly at the camera in one scene, the filmmaker says later, would have been dead within minutes in the disastrous battle that followed. These are the ones who shall not grow old.

These are not the ones who lived to give the often rueful reminiscences selected for this movie’s soundtrack. There are detailed recollections of the warlike business of wounding and being wounded. This is where I make the connection to that early Great War, the Trojan War.

Homeric battle scenes depicted how each tender body part of a warrior yielded to the pitiless bronze, in scene after scene. Homer also pointed to the fate of Greek corpses left unburied on the battlefield, because of Achilles’ anger:

Rage—Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus’ son Achilles,
murderous, doomed that cost the Achaeans countless losses,
hurling down to the House of Death so many sturdy souls,
great fighters’ souls, but made their bodies carrion,
feasts for the dogs and birds.

Like the veteran narrators of Jackson’s film, the old men of Troy are divided on whether the war was worth the grief:

And catching sight of Helen moving along the ramparts,
they murmured one to another, gentle, winged words:
“Who on earth could blame them? Ah, no wonder
the men of Troy and Argives under arms have suffered
years of agony all for her, for such a woman…But still,
ravishing as she is, let her go home in the long ships
and not be left behind—for us and our children
down the years an irresistible sorrow.”

The Homeric rhapsodes, like Jackson, were keeping alive a tradition from the archaic past through their artistic striving after beauty, authenticity, and immortality. Jackson’s efforts to colorize the different khakis accurately by careful comparison with surviving uniforms—from his own collection of WWI relics—is comparable to Homer’s exquisite descriptions of the hero’s homelands or armor or loving cups. To capture authentic audio for scenes of howitzers being loaded and shot, Jackson recorded the appropriate vintage cannon from his own stash.

Although Jackson’s focus is on the Tommy rather than Homer’s elite lovers of honor, Achilles is also a warrior who shall not grow old. He ultimately chooses heroic death over long life and a return home. Achilles does achieve the glory he craved, in part through the poem we know as Homer’s Iliad. And Jackson’s heroes, however laconic, are honored in his film.

We should not forget there is another kind of epic hero than the mighty warrior Achilles, another “Best of the Achaeans.” Odysseus has his own claim to fame that doesn’t involve dying young. Odysseus, after a massive struggle, makes it home safe after the Trojan War, unlike Achilles, unlike Agamemnon. Odysseus is the hero of disguise, persuasion, trickery, the community.

In his video postscript Jackson marvels that his own existence is due to his grandfather’s having been wounded by a German early on in the war. The result was that he sat out the rest and survived to marry and father the filmmaker’s own father. J. R. R. Tolkien also, “invalided” because of a war wound and chronically in poor health, survived the Great War, although all but one of his friends died. Both of these artists, like Homer, resurrect the memory of heroes whose sacrifices give life, images of our Savior.

By Catha Jaynes (TCS Parent and Administrative Director)

Over the last several years, TCS parents have come together and started book clubs for the students in each grade level. There are several objectives in forming these book clubs.

1. We want to foster reading for pleasure in our students.
2. We want to promote thoughtful discussion among friends.
3. We want to provide a social gathering that strengthens unity within the grade – for the kids and for the moms.*

These book clubs have also been a great place to introduce a diversity of great books in addition to the books provided on the TCS Treasury.

This February the first grade boys’ book club is reading and discussing The Story of Ruby Bridges by Robert Coles. It’s a true story that happened in New Orleans in 1960. Ruby Bridges was the first African American student to attend an all white elementary school in the south. As those of us with any knowledge of U. S. history know, this first step to integration in public schools did not go well. The white people in the community protested her attendance and even threatened her life. She was six years old, just like most of the boys in the first grade book club, and she had to be escorted into school by U. S. marshalls. The parents of white children refused to send their children to school. Only one teacher was willing to teach Ruby.

The story goes on to talk about how her family dealt with this unprecedented situation. They persevered. They sought prayer and support from their church. Ruby herself prayed twice a day for those opposing her.

Please God, try to forgive those people
Because even if they say those bad things,
They don’t know what they’re doing
So You could forgive them
Just like You did those folks a long time ago
When they said terrible things about You.**

Ruby never gave up. Eventually all schools in New Orleans desegregated, and Ruby went on to finish high school, got married, and had her own children. As an adult she began to see a need for bringing parents back into the schools to take a more active role in their children’s education. In 1995, Ruby launched her foundation to promote the values of tolerance, respect and appreciation of differences. ***

Ruby’s story is incredible. It’s important for our children to see that a six-year-old girl can make a difference. Who they are now matters. They don’t have to wait to grow up to do big things. Perseverance, courage, prayer, and relying on God’s strength can quite literally change everything.

We read and discuss these books to show our children a world outside themselves. We introduce them to the truth of history, even the ugly parts. We teach them to know the past so that we do not repeat it. We challenge them to keep doing better.

And like Ruby Bridges, as parents we see a need to have an active role in our children’s education. May we teach our children the same values that Ruby worked to instill.

*Natasha Tracy, TCS Board Member and Parent
**The Story of Ruby Bridges, by Robert Coles
***https://www.biography.com/people/ruby-bridges-475426

written by: Dr. John Scholl

 Foam                                                                                                                             rides a darkened sea                                                                                                 becalms its bitter storm                                                                                                 laps against porcelain coasts.

This is the single extant stanza from a poem I am trying to write. Of course, I have been toying with the words. “Blankets” is the main alternate to “rides,” and “roasted” to “darkened.” Should I reveal the subject more bluntly by describing the foam as “milky”? For several months, the fourth line read “circumscribed by porcelain coasts,” but “laps against porcelain coasts” preserves the sentence structure of the previous lines. The real problem, however, is that I’m stuck. My great argument, my favorite line, “Michelangelo in a cup,” has not yet made it into a stanza; rather, it is sitting in a pile of unformed thoughts at the bottom of the page.

For a while, I thought the poem would be written if I just kept drinking cappuccinos (the subject of the poem) as often as possible. So I sacrificed myself for art. In the Scholl house, a cappuccino is the result of a fifteen-minute process; espresso made on the stovetop, blanketed by milk, warmed too on the stove and then frothed. To experience a cappuccino on workdays, I woke up earlier and then paused over breakfast just a bit longer–that I might sip instead of barbarically gulping. Yet the poem did not grow, not because the moment was missing, but because, even pausing to sip, I did not stay long enough to write. Often, I read the Bible in the mornings, and certainly that time grew with a lengthier breakfast. But after reading the Bible, I consumed the final dregs and then launched into the first item of the day. Perhaps, it would be more accurate to say that I am considering, rather than writing, a poem.

Thus far, the fragment suggests something about intention. The historian may wonder what the tower rising from the field was intended to do or to communicate; in this case, the architect has not completed his work. He consumed plenty of cappuccinos, found more space to read his Bible, but rarely slotted pieces into the envisioned structure. How can I create something beautiful, if I do not choose to work on it?

But the poem is supposed to be about something else: a study of something beautiful that is vouchsafed to me, placed for a moment, in my hands, at my table, for my enjoyment. Thus, the line “Michelangelo in a cup.” One thinks of great works of art as being public. The Sistine Chapel is the property of the Catholic Church, but because the Church so generously shares it, Michelangelo’s works seem to belong to no one and to everyone. Museums around the world do the same, and public libraries imply the public ownership of Augustine, Dickens, Cooper, and all their comrades. In the movie National Treasure, Ben Gates wisely recognizes this truth; he cannot keep the Templar treasure because “it belongs to the world, and everybody in it.”

The cappuccino, however, reveals a different aspect of beauty. The Vatican Museum sells a copy of Michelangelo on a cup, but the cappuccino is different; it is not a copy of a work of art, it is the work of art itself. While many can be made, each is authentic and can be mine or yours.

I have been marveling recently at the love of God: that He loves us, of course, that He enables us to love and to receive love from others. Surely, beauty is another aspect of His love. He created the concept of beauty–how amazing that He created not only things but even concepts–and then enabled us to enjoy it, as a community but also as individuals. Mr. Anderson often encourages parents to enjoy their children, to look in on them when they are sleeping and simply to be thankful. The cappuccino is a tiny example of a deeper truth. So much higher and better than items of food, God has vouchsafed to us His beautiful works, children a great example, and given us the privilege of enjoying them at our tables, in our lives. How generous and loving He is!

By Theresa Tarn, Primer Academic Director and Grammar School Art Coordinator

Are you one of those crazy people who sets up the Christmas tree before Thanksgiving? I am.  Perhaps it’s my love of Christmas songs that puts me in the mood early. Or the little girl in our household who asks me about it every seven minutes. Or maybe because Target got the jump on me and I feel like I need to catch up. No matter the reason, we usually have everything red-and-green set up weeks in advance, which then sets us up for what feels like a really long waiting period. Waiting for gifts to fill up under the tree. Waiting for relatives to arrive in town. Waiting for the last day of school.

Well, Waiting and I are no strangers. This last decade has been marked by a deep longing for our family to grow in number, only to be disappointed month after month. Countless prayers have been met with the agonizing silence of God. Many of you have been stuck in a waiting game since Harvey, dealing with permits and builders while being displaced. Some TCS families have been anxiously waiting for our first batch of graduating seniors. And I know I can’t be the only mom out there waiting for the laundry to fold itself! The truth is that we are all waiting on something. The Lord has set eternity in our hearts and as believers, we are in a state that is described as “already but not yet” — Christ has won the victory over sin by dying on the cross, but has not yet come back for his own. What, then, are we to do with this kind of heart-aching waiting? How do we fill our souls with hope while waiting on the Lord?

Reading through Luke 2 in preparation for the Advent season, I am reminded of faithful saints like Simeon and Anna, who serve as great examples of what it means to wait well. They waited their entire lives for the consolation of Israel (v. 25) and for the redemption of Jerusalem (v. 38). And God honored their faithfulness by allowing them to see the long expected Messiah. But the birth of Jesus not only fulfilled Israel’s longing for a king, it also initiated God’s redemptive plan to fulfill every longing heart with everlasting joy. John Piper suggests in his sermon,

“If there is a longing in your heart today for something that the world has not been able to satisfy, could it not be God’s Christmas gift preparing you to see Christ as consolation and redemption, and to receive him for who he really is?”

The waiting experiences that God gives us, however frustrating they may be, serve as training grounds for how we ought to wait upon Christ for his second coming. So as we decorate our homes with trees and lights for the Christmas season, may this time of observing the first Advent be a reminder that waiting can actually be a gift. Give thanks to God for the mercy of waiting on things not yet received. And then let your heart be weaned from them, so that you are better prepared to receive our coming King – the only one that can truly satisfy our deepest desires. Come, thou long expected Jesus. You are the joy of every longing heart!

“Come Thou Long Expected Jesus” by Charles Wesley, 1744. (Red Mountain Music)

written by: Kyle Bryant

Have you ever taught someone how to ride a bike? If you were to create a “how-to” guide for bike-riding, what would it say? What instructions would you include? Most people know how to ride a bike, but where does that knowledge come from? My guess is that, despite all the paper instruction we could give, one learns how to ride a bike by riding a bike. The ritual of getting on a bike, pedaling, balancing, falling over, and getting back up again teaches us, over time, how to ride a bike. We do, so that we may know. And once we know—deeply, truly, instinctively—we never forget. This is the power of ritual to instill knowledge.

In his book “Knowledge by Ritual,” author Dru Johnson argues that the deepest knowledge of God comes not through study, but rather through the continued practice of rituals that God has established for us as a people. Philosopher and author Esther Meek says something similar: that knowledge comes to us through a “covenant relationship,” with its attendant ritual dimensions.

The Bible is full of examples of this ritually-imparted knowledge. When God called Abram out of Ur and promised that his offspring would bless all nations, Abram instinctively wondered “How shall I know that I will possess the land?” (Gen. 15:8). God responds with instructions for a covenant ritual: “Bring me a heifer three years old, a female goat three years old, a ram three years old, a turtledove, and a young pigeon.” (Gen. 15:9). Likewise, the recurring ritual of the Sabbath (Ex. 31:13), and dwelling in booths (Lev. 23:43) were established so that God’s people “may know that I, the Lord, sanctify you.” And Israel participated in the Passover each year, so that fathers could teach their children that the Lord spared their houses from destruction in Egypt. (Ex. 12:27).

At first this may sound counter-intuitive in our rationalistic culture. If we want to know something, then we should study it with our minds, right? Scripture tells of a different way. In God’s providence, he has made us in such a way that doing leads to knowing.

The purpose of ritual, then, is to impart some sort of lasting knowledge. But the knowledge imparted does not merely reside in the head; ritualized knowledge permeates one’s entire being, such that we instinctively “know.” Think once more about riding a bike. It requires a tremendous amount of balance, concentration, and coordination. But once we have “ritualized” the bike-riding process through error and repetition, we could probably ride a bike with our eyes closed. How does this happen? The ritual teaches us comprehensively what it means to know bike-riding all the way down. Bicycle mechanics become second nature, and we are freed to enjoy the riding: the breeze flowing through our hair, the cool air against our face, or the rigorous climb up the hill. Ritual trains us to understand and appreciate.

The same is true of rituals that train our affections and knowledge toward Christ. If man’s chief end is to glorify God and enjoy him forever, then rituals serve to impart knowledge in a way that makes glorifying and enjoying God possible. This is why, at TCS, we place a high importance on school liturgies—everyday rituals that orient our hearts and minds towards the truth, goodness, and beauty of Christ.

Think about the rituals in your own life—in your home, church, and at school. Are they geared towards imparting a knowledge and enjoyment of God and his world? What we do with our shared experiences every day shapes and molds us in ways that mere study cannot. In other words, daily routines matter. And if the daily routines and rituals of life seem monotonous, take heart! God has ordained these means to enable us to worship and enjoy him rightly. Every hymn, every scripture, every sound-off, and every opening prayer serve to impart a deep knowledge of God that we wouldn’t otherwise have. Armed with the instinctual knowledge of truth, we are freed to enjoy—truly enjoy—the glory of God and his world in its multifaceted ways. So pay attention to the rituals around you, and ask God to help you grow in knowledge through the use of godly, truth-imparting, Christ-exalting rituals.

written by: Joseph Christopherson

It was dark, and the whole neighborhood was settling down nicely for the night. I lived just outside the town so it was quiet and dark. My sister and I were not tired, though. We were ready. At any minute my grandpa would be pulling up in his camper, and we would be off to New York. Of course at the time, being so young, I did not know that it was going to be a long trip. Fort Collins, Colorado to New York, New York is a formidable trek in a camper with your family. It didn’t hamper my spirits, though. I was excited.

Before I could see anything outside of the window, I heard a loud, clanking noise. The kind of noise that means “something is broken.” The noise grew louder until I finally saw the camper come around the corner. Brownish yellow with brown lines running along the sides, my grandpa was finally there! My excitement grew. My parents, however, were not so thrilled. I now know that my parents did not know of the condition of my grandpa’s camper before he pulled up. It was bad. I do not know how it actually ran. It must have been around 20 years old, at the time, and it had already made the journey from Houston to Fort Collins. It was now expected to get to New York and back!

To top it off: my grandpa informed us that we had to keep it running. If we turned it off, the camper would die. For some insane reason we still embarked on the journey. And yes, we kept it running for the entire trip to New York. We drove through storms that later turned into tornados, and we went long stretches where we didn’t know if we would have enough gas to make it to the next station. But, we made it to New York in one piece.

My grandpa had a lot of flaws, but I learned so much from him. When I think of him I think of persistence and intentionality. He did not sit back in his life. I think this is important because it can be easy to fall into a routine and lose intentionality in your life. This can even happen with healthy and good routines. Reading the Bible is extremely important. However, if you merely read the Bible because it is “that time of the day” and when you finish you put it down and simply move on, what are you actually getting out of it? Routines are important. It is good to establish them. Let’s not forget why we establish them, though.

The difference between being intentional and not being intentional can easily be seen in conversations. Listening to someone is quite different from hearing someone. Listening leads to understanding, and it takes intentionality to properly listen. Proverbs 2 discusses this. Reading this passage you will see many different calls to be active. Words like ‘receive,’ ‘treasure,’ ‘call out’ or ‘raise your voice’ require us to be intentional.

The book Love Does by Bob Goff discusses this idea as well. Throughout the book, he tells stories of his life and about lessons that he learned, and it all had to do with love being intentional. We cannot be ambassadors of faith if we are not actively looking for ways to tell others about Jesus. Loving others and showing God’s love for all requires intentionality!

My grandpa was good at this. In fact, one of the things that I inherited from him was his Bible. It is full of markings and notes and underlined passages. One of the underlined passages was James 1:22-25:  

But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves. For if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man who looks intently at his natural face in a mirror.  For he looks at himself and goes away and at once forgets what he was like. But the one who looks into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and perseveres, being no hearer who forgets but a doer who acts, he will be blessed in his doing.

Doers and not hearers only. Of the many things in the passage, one thing that stands out is the distinction between someone who hears but forgets and someone who listens and acts. Let’s be people that act.

To close the story. We made it to New York mostly because my grandpa was a doer. He had no money, but he wanted to be there for my uncle’s West Point graduation. He found a way to get there, and he brought us with him. When we got to the RV site we could not turn it off! It ran all night until at some wee hour of the morning, with the loudest bang you can imagine, it died. It stayed dead for a week past the time that we were supposed to depart for home. When my grandpa finally got it running again we left. It died almost every day of the trip home. My grandpa, though, got it fixed and running each time, and we made it home. I loved the trip. What elementary kid wouldn’t?

God calls us to be active followers of Him. Let’s help each other be active and intentional together.

written by: Neil Anderson

I remember select moments of my first day of middle school perfectly–particularly one. I hope none of you had the displeasure of shopping at Weiner’s as a child. It was a discount clothing clothing store in Houston. No junior high kid who cared an ounce for his reputation would be caught dead in there. I wore my hat low and peered down aisles before entering to make sure the coast was clear of peers. Even though my back-to-school wardrobe consisted mostly of clothes from that store, somehow I still felt really confident about my first day of sixth grade. I thought I looked great. I ranked high on the social totem pole of my elementary school so I felt solid about that translating into a good start for middle school. I was moving up to the new campus–the place where I had heard you could use your lunch money to buy slushies and candy bars and no one would do anything about it.  

I sprung early from a restless night as you do before the first day of a new school year. I threw on my Georgetown Hoyas shirt with its repeating bulldog face pattern. Super cool. Check. I found some Girbaud shorts at Weiner’s–the equivalent of getting a Ken Griffey Jr. rookie card in a ninety-nine cent pack of Topps baseball cards. It was one of the few things Weiner’s was good for. Every once in while you could get name-brand stuff that seemed like it came from the cool store in the mall. I laced up a pair of black suede Nikes with a purple swoosh, not Nike Air because adding the air was too upscale for Weiner’s. It was just black rubber between my feet and the ground. I spent a good bit of time perfectly pasting down my bangs in a diagonal across my forehead to barely cover my right eye.

I don’t know if any of you can identify so far, hopefully not, but up to this point I may have avoided the social suicide of that first day of school if not for the next move. I stood in front of the mirror in order to finalize the fresh look and that’s when the demonic instinct came over me to reach down and create a nice… clean… roll in each leg of my shorts. Yes, you read that right. I rolled the shorts up the height of my lanky sixth grade legs. It’s painful to talk about. It was irrational. Unforgivable. But it seemed so right in the moment. I take full responsibility for my sins, but there were at least two people who I know saw me before leaving for the bus stop, thus my relationship with my mother and older brother are still strained.

All it took was the first moment of encounter with an eighth grader for the winds of confidence to turn on me and make my sails sag. I won’t repeat what he said to me, but he said it in front of my peer group and alongside his posse who chimed in with their derivative versions of the same insults. They worked me over from the bangs to the airless shoes but the pant-roll was the main target. The boys just emptied their ammo on me, holstered their weapons, and rode away whooping and hollering. I don’t remember much of anything about that day, but I sure remember that moment. And I will remember that boy’s name forever. Jaime, if you’re out there, God bless you, brother.

Kids are mean. You are mean. I am mean. I’m not too worried about the student at TCS who was made fun of on the first day of school because someday she’ll write about it in a light-hearted way on a blog post. She’ll be better for it. Don’t get me wrong, I hate, hate, hate seeing kids get made fun of, even more-so with other kids than my own. I experience the table-flipping wrath of Jesus about it. Why? Because part of what it means to grow in wisdom is to grow in our ability to see just how precious God’s image is in its varied manifestations. This includes the topic of economic, cultural, and ethnic diversity we hit on at Vision Night this year. The fierceness about it comes from a place of love. I know all my colleagues at TCS feel the same way. We walk the halls of TCS as adults/leaders/ministers and feel a fierce love for each type of student in those hallways, with all their quirks and quips. They are all equally and abundantly endearing and precious. Beloved.

This creates an intense desire that the kingdom of God would come upon our kids and speed up the learning curve. Why can’t they see the beauty in each other? Why can’t they see that it’s the little things that sting, that the tongue is a sharp sword? Why is it so hard to realize that they are ALL struggling to accept some aspect of how God has made them? Every arrow strung and shot comes from a quiver carried for defense. Shoot in order not to be shot. Shoot early and often. Avoid being shot. Here is a sentence I find myself using more and more these days when talking to the student who has been hurt. “They hurt you because they are hurting.” I think it’s always true. We do tend to be mean people. But even more, we are hurting and insecure. So the prayer is that the heart of Jesus would manifest through the presence and power of the Holy Spirit towards the end of healing the whole situation. Because Jesus heals the insecure heart. And the healed help others to heal.

God bless the cocky kids with the hairspray and rolled-up jeans. Bless the freckles and the crooked teeth. God bless the guys that are “too-short” and the gals that are “too-tall.” Comfort the lanky and the portly. Take care of the brash and the bashful–the bad haircuts and the cracking voices. God, make varied skin color and ethnic attributes to be the loveliest of things in all your creation. Holy Spirit take hold of these students at a young age. Make them drop their weapons in the presence of your holiness. Make them meek. Tame their tongues. Minister to their insecurities. Heal them with your indiscriminate love. Please, God. Amen.

written by: Marian Anderson

As we begin Trinity’s tenth year, I am reflecting on some things that I have learned, and actually continue to learn every school year. I wish I could check these off the list like fact drills, but the truth is I am still learning the implications of each of the points below on a daily basis. In no particular order…

1.  I am learning that I don’t have to master all the curriculum.

I am learning that it is impossible to know everything that I need to know to teach my kids. For example, at TCS, we divide history and literature into four time periods. Our kids are spaced out out so that each is in a different historical time period. That means that, every year, I have to teach from creation to current events. It is impossible for me to know every date, every ruler, and every implication to every war. Much less apply it to our current life and spiritual journey. There are opportunities every week to learn alongside of them, and even be taught by them. We just finished our fourth time through Story of the World, and I learned something every single time we read it. I am learning that my interest in and willingness to learn about what they are studying is more important than already knowing the lesson I have to teach.

2.  I am learning that I have to be flexible.

Homeschooling is kind of like having a newborn. Every time you find a routine that works, something happens and you have to adjust. Just like babies drop a nap or cut a tooth, schedules and needs change in homeschooling and I am learning to be flexible. I have often set up the ideal school room, only to find that the kitchen table works better. My perfect, prayed over, and printed schedule has often gone into the trash once I figured out that, yes, math takes that long. I am learning to always evaluate if our schedules, routines, and systems are a blessing to us or if they are stifling the joy in our days.  

3.  I am learning to focus on my kids’ academic weaknesses.

All students have strengths and weaknesses. When I am spread thin with many children, spelling lists, and historical time periods, I am learning that I need to spend my focused time with each student devoted to their weakness. I am learning to give them more freedom in the areas that they are strong.  

4.  I am learning to simplify.

I am learning that it is true, we have to say no to the good things in order to make room for the best things. If you fill your schedule with activities, be aware that it is costing you much more than money! I am learning that having peace in our home, knowing my kids’ hearts, and having time for reading, art, and worship means having to say no to some good things.

5.  I am learning to include our kids in this process.

I am too often guilty of viewing education as something we do to our kids, instead of including them in the philosophical and practical reasoning that we as educators understand. I am learning that explaining the trivium, giving the reason for rote memorization, why we have history pegs, and such things adds great value to their experience, and certainly goes a long way in helping them appreciate a classical education.

6.  I am learning that homeschooling requires sacrifice.

This lifestyle means that we are called to greater levels of personal sacrifice for a season. We are giving up our time in order to educate our kids. But I am learning that if I view it as “giving up” my time, it affects my attitude toward what I am called to do. When I signed up to homeschool, I did not sign up to be the best cook, or have the cleanest house, or be the most fit I can be. I signed up to lay those things down for the greater joy of investing in my kids’ lives. I believe that one of the the most important lessons our kids will learn from us is not taught from books, but from how we spend our time. There is joy in obedience–isn’t that what we want them to learn? I am learning that it is my joy to be with my kids.

7.  I am learning to share the curriculum as a family.

Every so often, something that someone is learning captivates all of our attention. Whether it is how World War I began, or a poem about Sequoias, or the retelling of a story heard on campus, these are some of many moments that break us out of our checking-off-the-list routine and initiate discussion as a family. I am learning to look for these opportunities and be intentional about sharing them at the dinner table or in the car. Getting excited and learning things as a family are some of our best memories. There is a difference between “homeschooling” and “doing school at home.” I don’t want my kids to simply accomplish the tasks assigned to them at home. I want our home to be filled with exploration and discovery, and that often means going a little above and beyond the assignments.

8.  I am learning to trust the process.

We have the luxury of going to a school that planned a K-12 scope and sequence. There are things we do in Grammar school that don’t bear fruit until Logic or even Rhetoric school. For all of you in Grammar school that cannot handle another dictation sentence, or another phonogram drill–take heart! There is a reason, there is a purpose, and the fruit is sweet. The classical approach means we focus on the foundations for longer than we are comfortable with and take more time to develop skills than most progressive methods.

9.  I am learning that my attitude affects my kids more than I realized.

This is applicable to any area of life, not just homeschool. If my kids hear me complain about and criticize our Latin curriculum, or a certain teacher, or the dress code, they will in turn without fail, do the same. I am learning that I have to acknowledge our struggles and define them in a Biblical perspective. (Yes, I occasionally mention children starving in Africa.) Gratitude does not come naturally to most of us, and the lack thereof is a breeding ground for discontentment and bad attitudes. I am learning to give thanks, and focus on the joy set before us.

10.  I am learning where homeschooling begins and ends.

I am learning that we were a home before we were a school. And that home started with just two people, before they were mom and dad, and before they were co-teachers. Everything that is under our care: our home, our children, their education, our church involvement, is governed by our mutual, unified submission to Christ. Communicating with, investing in, and caring for one another is what makes all of this work. This home will be here long after we are done homeschooling and our children leave. All these years of homeschooling our children are meant to sanctify us and draw us closer together. The things that I am learning about my life as a homeschool mom also apply to life in marriage. After all, the goal of both is the same: that our children and marriages would glorify the living God, and that as we know Him more deeply our worship would increase and change the world.

by: Jessica Smith

artwork by: Jessica Adams

I do not know that I have ever waited for something for so long and with such
anticipation. Last February, I travelled to Rome, Italy as a part of Trinity’s junior trip.
Beforehand, people all around cautioned me, fearing that my enthusiasm was too idealistic and that I would be disappointed, but Rome fulfilled and exceeded my expectations. It was a trip filled to the brim with laughter and wonder, and we carried back with us a wealth of memories and inside jokes. I can’t think of anything that could have made our trip any better; we students were well prepared to enjoy all that Rome had to offer. Because there is not room to tell all of the stories from the trip, two of the best will have to suffice.

As our group of jet-lagged travelers approached Santa Maria Maggiore on our first day,
we did not know what to expect. What we found was a dazzling basilica from the 400’s AD: the ceiling was of gold brought back from the Americas by Christopher Columbus. The nave was lined with mosaics, each depicting its own Old or New Testament scene in glittering gold and bright colors. The triumphal arch was adorned with notable biblical figures, while the apse boasted a vast mosaic depiction of Mary and Jesus, joined on either side by such saints as Francis, Paul, Peter, John and Antony. I spent most of my time in that church standing under the apse with Dr. Mrs. Scholl, because just under Mary and Jesus was a Latin inscription, built into the mosaic itself. As we stood reading the dead language, I stepped back and realized, “I am reading Latin in a mosaic of a basilica in Rome from the 400’s!” Standing under the apse, I was thankful I knew Latin; I was participating in something in that church that people have been studying and enjoying for more than fifteen centuries. In my journal entry that night, I wrote, “I
know it’s only day one, but this is definitely on its way to being one of my favorite things.” It is my favorite even now because of that moment.

Several days later, something claimed second to Santa Maria Maggiore. It was the
Vatican museum, which includes the pope’s apartments and the Sistine Chapel. Walking through the Vatican Museum one joins a river of people, passing through the extravagant halls, admiring what’s displayed on the walls, whether tapestries or maps, but constantly flowing forward. The river’s course travels through the pope’s apartments, where one can take a distributary to view Raphael’s famous frescoes that cover the walls. One of the most famous, perhaps, is The School of Athens, which depicts such famous figures as Plato, Aristotle, Socrates, Euclid, and Ptolemy.  Had we not studied this painting in school, this room would have meant nothing to us, but
instead we were eager to see it in person. It did not disappoint. That room was our longest stop before we reached the chapel; we enjoyed studying the painting and pointing out who was who.  My friend even bought a mug later with The School of Athens on it. The mouth of the river, where it ends, is the Sistine Chapel. If the halls of the museum were rivers of people, the Sistine Chapel was a lake. If one can find a seat, it is a spectacular view. On the ceiling and altar wall are works by Michelangelo, including the famous Creation of Adam. Lesser known paintings, though admirable in their own right, line the walls and show biblical scenes, though they are a bit harder to decipher. The Sistine Chapel is the most beautiful room I have ever been in.  It is still hard to believe that in February I was in Rome with my classmates and teachers.  I remember the cobblestone roads glistening after it rained, the nuns and friars walking the streets, and SPQR stamped on every manhole cover. From walking around the seats of the Colosseum to walking on the Via Sacra through the heart of the Roman forum, from the Circus Maximus to the steps where Julius Caesar was assassinated, Rome put images to our understanding of history. It truly lives up to its name as the Eternal City.

If you have read, or at least heard of “The Lost Tools of Learning” then you likely know the name Dorothy L. Sayers.  Her essay describes the foundations of classical education and the benefits it offers to learning; however, there is much more to Dorothy L. Sayers and her writings.  Our own Dr. Lindsey Scholl wrote an article for the CIRCE Institute about the author and shows there is more to Ms. Sayers than her writing.  Get to know a few more layers of this fascinating woman by clicking on the link below.

https://www.circeinstitute.org/blog/dorothy-l-sayers-primer-woman-behind-essay