Weekly Links: Transfiguration, Advent, Memoirs, and more!

- "Can I Drag That Into Church?"  Good stuff to read on a Sunday morning:

Every week at church one of our pastors leads us through a time of corporate confession of sins and an assurance of pardon. This week my pastor Jason noticed the tentative way people were walking into church. “Are we allowed to come in like this on the clean wood floors? Is all the salt, slush, dirt, and powder too much of a mess for church this morning?” 

He pointed out that’s the way all too many of us walk into church every week: “Am I allowed to come in like this? Is this mess okay in here? Can I come sit in the pews with all the slush, grime, and filth from my life? Is this sin too dirty to clean up? Is my mess going to stain the carpet? Do I have to make sure I’m gotten every single speck off before I walk through the door?”

- "A Simple But Life-Changing Realization" - And this one is a good follow-up:

I came to understand that God’s commands are not suggestions. They are not vague notions of propriety. They are not tasks or to-dos. Not to the Christian, that is. To the Christian, God’s commands are promises. They are promises that you really can be this, you really can have this, you really can do this if you take hold of what he offers. God does not merely give the command and then leave you to your own devices. That would be impossible. No, God gives the command and offers the means to obey and fulfill the command.

- "More on Memoir": in my editing job, I see a lot of memoir proposals and queries. And this post hit home, more than I can say.


- Mere Fidelity podcast "Transfiguration": This episode is a great example of what I love about this podcast: intelligent Christians discussing approaching scripture and theology with great curiosity, knowledge, & love.


-And, finally, as this Sunday is the first Sunday in Advent, I couldn't let this go without an Advent link. So, take the time to head over to Anne's place to read about why Advent is a "Contrarian Celebration":

 The great looming temptation is to become tired and call it a day, to stop short at the end of the work, and miss the incredible mercy of what all the work is for.

Happy Advent!
Jessica Snell

the now and the not yet

photo credit: Betsy Barber

One of the reasons I love St. Francis de Sales so much is, well, his reasonableness.  Today's quotation is much about realism, about acknowledging what we are, and what we aren't, and being content with that:

. . . sometimes we occupy ourselves so much in being good angels that we neglect being good men and women. Our imperfection must accompany us to our coffin; we cannot walk without touching earth. We are not to lie or wallow there, but still we are not to think of flying. For we are but little chicks, and have not our wings yet. We are dying little by little, so we are to make our imperfections die with us day by day: dear imperfections, which make us acknowledge our misery and exercise us in humility, contempt of self, patience, and diligence, and in spite of which God regards the preparation of our hearts, which is perfect.

-St Francis de Sales, from Thy Will Be Done: Letters to Persons in the World

The Lord is pleased to have us be ourselves, and for those selves to be His.

Peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell

This post contains Amazon affiliate links. (See full disclosure on sidebar of my blog.)

Book Notes: The Little Leaf, by Adam B. Shaeffer

The Little Leaf by Adam B. Shaeffer
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This book is a short little parable for kids about spiritual formation.

I know that's a bit of an odd sentence - the book has a bit of an odd, unexpected subject. But, as Dallas Willard says, "Everyone has a spiritual formation". The question is, what kind?

And this book, in its simple little story, talks about the best kind: the kind where you put yourself in the presence of God, and let Him grow you. It's a bit of a lesson in what doesn't work, too: neither sloth nor self-driven effort are going to lead to maturity.

And points for the story never actually coming out and saying what it's about. It leaves room for the parent to ask the child, "What do you think that means?" and having the conversation that follows. (I do think, however, that you DO want to have that conversation with your kids after you read it, because kids still in that very literal-and-concrete stage are not going to get it on their own.)

In the end, this isn't a big story, but it's the kind of simple little tale that might end up sticking, and meaning something important to your kids later, when they're old enough to have personal experience to add strength to its simple metaphor.


View all my reviews

Peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell

Motherhood and Vocation: a second epilogue

This was supposed to just be a four-part blog, but as I was posting these this week, I realized I had just a bit more to say. Smaller things, but probably important.

1) What if you have no other vocation? What if you’re “just” a wife and mother? (Or just a wife? Or just a mother?)

Well, in that case, my guess is there’s no “just” about it. Women like that tend to be, in my experience, pillars of the church and community. They’re the ones who take care of everyone behind the scenes, the ones who fill in the gaps – gaps that might seem small, but that end up making all the difference in the world. The old are comforted by them, the sick visited, the children watched, the sad encouraged, the extra bit of running around and paperwork done, the missionaries housed, the strangers welcomed . . . and piece by piece, this looks small, but honestly: the world would fall apart without these “mere” wives and mothers. And even if you think this superwoman isn’t you, take a closer look: you might be surprised by what the Lord is accomplishing through your hours and your days.

Or what He will accomplish. You might be in the middle of a time where you feel you’re not even enough to take care of your own household. It’s okay: serve Him there. Turn to Him; He will not forsake you. And remember that you don’t know what He has in store for you, and no more do you know what He will do with those sacrifices of yours that now seem so insignificant. We aren’t allowed to see what’s coming and we aren’t always allowed to see the eternal result of our work – and all our work is just gift, just grace, just superfluous goodness in the kingdom that is entirely dependent on His great virtue, not ours.

(Also, if you are in this place, and you find it a discouraging place, I urge you to go and read Milton’s great sonnet, which he wrote as his sight disappeared. Remember: “they also serve who only stand and wait.”)


2) Okay, this is the harder piece, because this is where I’m likely to get things thrown at me. But I felt like I needed so say it, especially after all my emphasis on the essential humanity of women: I think women and men are different.

Phew! I know, I know, it’s shocking, but hear me out: we are different. Man was created male and female, and what would be the point of that if we were exactly the same? Moreover, basic biology tells us there is a difference and I get so annoyed when people ignore basic biology.

(And that’s just the biology – I’m pretty sure there are some even less tangible differences between the sexes, but I really don’t think I’m up to articulating them – and I mean that literally: I doubt my ability to do it. But being creatures who are not just physical, but whose embodiment is part of our very nature, it would make sense that what we see in our bodies is reflected in our souls. We’re very all-of-a-piece.)

The thing is though – and the reason I hesitated to say anything about this – is I don’t have a worked-out, easily-stated philosophy of the difference between the sexes. It’s a difference I can see more easily in real life and in good stories than I can in coldly-stated philosophical statements. And that’s probably a fault on my part.

So, before I go on, let me state really clearly: These are my thoughts in progress. You know how you can have an opinion about everything (and probably do), but you hold some opinions more strongly than others? This is an opinion that’s a little weak. Not because I think I’m wrong, but because I know it’s a huge and complicated subject that I haven’t thought through well enough yet. So it’s an opinion I hold lightly, because it seems not unlikely that I have some of it wrong.

But, with that huge caveat, here's what I see when I think through it:

Women are more vulnerable than men. History teaches us this – sadly, the daily news teaches us this. When people are being virtuous, this vulnerability is no disadvantage. In marriage, women receive. In pregnancy, women nurture. In childbirth, women break themselves in order to bring forth life. Can men receive and nurture and so productively be broken? Yes, of course. But not in the very literal sense that women can. (Huh – though as I think of it – Jesus is the sole exception to that last one – His broken body produced more life than any woman ever could.)

And in good societies, in good marriages, in good families, these feminine abilities are great gifts. They’re uniquely feminine opportunities for virtue and growth and goodness. They’re great gifts.

In bad societies and families, they’re uniquely feminine opportunities for experiencing violence and victimization.

And this is just true. I hate it when people act like it’s otherwise. The very reason we need all the protections our laws afford women is because this is true. Are men victims of violence? Of course. But not in the same systemic ways women are, and that’s because, as a group, men are less vulnerable. (And that’s not even getting into the effect hormones may or may not have on our daily emotional experience – not that that might not go the other way, too: I understand men are much more likely to be sociopaths, for example.)

St. Peter talks about men treating their wives kindly, as weaker vessels, and I can’t help but think this vulnerability might be what he’s talking about. As if he’s saying, “recognize that they are vulnerable in a way you aren’t, that they are operating under hardships you don’t have to bear, and remember also that they are loved by your Lord, as His good creatures, just as you are, and so don’t take advantage – though you can – and don’t be unkind. They are the Lord’s, as you are, and so treat them well, as you would be treated if you were them.”

I don’t know. I don’t presume to know I understand everything St. Peter meant. But it seems to me clear that he was reminding men that women were “fellow heirs of salvation” because the men needed to be reminded, and reminding them to treat women kindly because we women need that kind treatment. If we’re called to be mothers, we’re called to a specific kind of purposeful vulnerability, in order that we might nurture our young, and in that vulnerability, we need the protection of good men.

And if you think that’s not true, you need to read some more history. Or daily headlines. But you’ll find them both pretty depressing. See what happens to women in cultures that haven’t been influenced by Peter’s stern admonition about women being treated kindly as fellow heirs of salvation (i.e., made in the image of God, i.e., humans). They’re squished, that’s what happens. Because they can be. And because nothing stops the men from doing it.


And I don’t want to leave you depressed, or with the impression that the weakness of women (because, in some ways, we really are weak) is all bad news. It isn’t. Like I said: it presents us with unique opportunities to grow in holiness. (I’m sure men’s strength provides them with unique opportunities, too, but that’s not my topic here.) God’s strength is shown in weakness – that’s so clear in Scripture – and so in some ways, we have a head start. Weird as it is to look at it that way. But we can't ignore our vulnerability. It shouts at us. Sometimes I think men can ignore their weakness (because all humans are weak and breakable) more easily than we can, and I can’t imagine that’s to their eternal advantage. Realizing you're weak when you always thought you were strong - that's a pretty rude awakening, and one we all must have, one way or another.

Strength in weakness; God’s strength in our weakness: it’s a glorious thing.

Our prime example of this, of course, is Mary, who represented the entire people of God – male and female – when she in her humility said, “May it be to me as the Lord has said.”

May we all be more like her. And as we’re more like her, by God’s grace, may we be more like Christ.

Motherhood and Vocation, Part 3 of 4

Have I mentioned I'm still in the middle of working this out in my own life? Ha, ha, and I was writing like I had all the answers, huh? Sorry. :)

But! I do have the beginning of an answer, I think. And this is just what I've gathered by observing the lives of the saints ahead of me - of the smart and loving women I know who are going through life using both their brains and their hearts.

The thing is, they do Have It All, sort of. They just do not Have It All All At Once.

(btw, one of the other answers I've seen lies in those exceptions I keep acknowledging: some women are called to the life of the mind and not the life of the home. Christianity has always held a high view of the celibate man or woman dedicated solely to the advancement of the Kingdom of God. St. Scholastica, pray for us.)

So, for those of us work-a-day sorts, for those of us called to the ordinary roles of wife-and-mother, what's the answer? What do you do, as Harriet Vane said, if you're blessed with both a brain and a heart?*

And now is when I'd invoke a different saint, if I did indeed pray to the saints, and say: St. Dorothy, pray for us. Because I think the answer lies in in the answer to Sayers' famous question: Are women human?

The answer is: yes. Yes, we are. And so, like men, we are called to worship God with all our heart and with all our soul and with all our strength and with all our mind.

God didn't call just part of us, He called all of us.

Here's the thing, though, about virtues: they are immutable and immortal and unchangeable. But, in their application, they are as various as the flowers of the field. Modesty is an eternal virtue. But modesty in Regency England looks different than modesty in 2013 Los Angeles. The application of virtues looks different in different lives.

Serving God with all your mind won't just look different in you than in your next-door neighbor, it will look different in the 20-year-old you and in the 40-year-old you.

The first thing, always, is to pray and ask the Lord, "what is my duty right now? At this minute? How should I obey you today? What do you want of me this hour?" And then obey.

And often, obedience looks like cooking dinner or doing the dishes or reading to your kids. If that's today's duty, be content. Christians have always - always, always - been called to be content in their current circumstances. Were you a slave when Christ called you? Serve Him there. Get free if you can! says St. Paul, but if not, well, serve Him there.**

Wherever we are, we are called to contentment.

And so we're called to patience. We're called to peace.

But we're not called to complacence.

We're mothers: growth is our business. We know what it looks like; we watch it happen every day in our children.

And adults are supposed to grow and mature, too. Our growth isn't as dramatic, awkward, and startling as growth is in children, but stagnation is pretty ugly in grown-ups.

Children grow, and their growth makes room for us to take up our old pursuits and passions.

But to take them up peacefully, calmly, maturely. We're given the gift of finding ourselves again and finding that we're new people. The refining fire of motherhood has knocked off a lot of our hard edges. The long nights and days and toil in obscurity have taught us patience.

It's a gift. I'm saying: motherhood is a gift. And it's a gift in this completely unexpected way, because it gives you yourself back, after you'd given up completely any hope of finding that person again. You sort of wake up slowly, and it takes you awhile to realize that you're still there.

But you are. And you're whole. And you can do work, more work than you ever could when you were young and selfish and naive. You didn't know what work was then.

(In the first draft of this post, I had a screed here about dealing with male condescension. And, well, maybe there's a place for it somewhere, sometime. But not here, not now. Because the truth is: men have their own trials and temptations. And what they are isn't my business, any more than the single woman's trials and temptations are my business. Besides, that screed doesn't apply to good men and, frankly, good men are the ones I care about and who care about me, so for the jerks, who cares? God bless them; may they find their way home.)

But: work. Mothers know how to work. Oh, do we ever. And what a gift! Would you have ever learned the lesson of work quite so thoroughly if you hadn't been forced? I know I wouldn't. The tide of need that comes with children washes you over like a flood and you swim and you swim and swim so that you don't drown.

But then the tide goes out, and sometimes they still need you urgently and sometimes they still need you constantly, but they don't constantly need you urgently . . . and, those swimming muscles you built up? They're still there. And you're free to use them for something else. For something extra.

For your work. Your work. Your proper work. Your human work.

Because women are human. We're human first, and we're women second. The first thing you notice about a person may be their gender, but it's the first thing you notice about a person.

What screws us up here is that, in temporal terms, our gendered work comes first. Motherhood doesn't end till you die, I don't think, but biologically it's the job of youth. If you're going to have kids, you're likely going to have them in your twenties and thirties.

And because we often have to do it before our careers - or as an interruption to our careers - it feels like that's all we are. No. That's just what we are first. It's what we are always. But it's not all we are.
It's okay to be a mother and to take the time to be a good one. It's okay, it's good. It's okay to want to be more than a mother.

It's okay to live for a time - even a long time - with those two desires in tension. It's hard, but it's okay.

Desire delayed makes the heart sick . . . but there's still a place for patience. For resignation. For contentment.

And it's okay to reach beyond your first vocation when the time is right.

And it is always, always, always good to bring all these desires and conflicts before the Lord in prayer. Because this isn't going to look the same for every woman and He knows and loves you better than anyone.

Wait on the Lord. Take heart, and wait on the Lord. And He will give you the desires of your heart.

And desire fulfilled is the tree of life.




*Read Gaudy Night by Dorothy L. Sayers. Read it now.
**1 Corinthians 7:21.

Motherhood and Vocation, Part 1 of 4

Want to sit down and have a cup of coffee? - because any blog that has "Part 1" in its title ought to come with coffee. :)

(And I want to say at the start: this blog series isn’t comprehensive, not in any sense, and I’m not pretending it is.*)

In this series, my focus is on what many of us experience: getting married and having kids. This is the path a lot of us take, and so it's worth looking at it. Most of us marry rather than burn, and the result of sex is kids. Fairly often, anyway.

Given that, what does that mean for Christian women? It means that our primary vocations, often, will be that of wife and mother.

And this isn't a bad thing. 

In fact, this is a normal path for sanctification. Marriage and child-rearing require self-sacrifice and that's good. It doesn't feel good, but it is good.

I'm not sure I know another way to say it . . . I just know it needs to be said. Yes, it's hard. Yes, you have to give things up. Yes, you get an infinite return.

Your sphere of influence will be abruptly contracted and so will your choices. You chose this one thing (and in our culture, it was your choice - now there's a mercy and a judgment!) and that meant you didn't choose every other thing in the world.**

And you have to be faithful to the vocation to which you've been called. Yes, called, even though you chose it. Did you really know what you were choosing? No, probably not. We never do. We're human, which means we're finite. Which means we're stupid. (Cosmically speaking, anyway.)

You didn't know it would be so hard, and that you'd be so tired, and that you'd be so angry, so often. So, so often.

But it happens to men too, it happens to single people too, it happens to everyone. Everyone chooses one thing and not every other thing. Everyone has to deal with the consequences of their choices and the loss of freedom that follows.

But there's a new kind of freedom that comes after the choice: the freedom to be faithful. Once you know what you're supposed to be doing, you're free to do it well. You're freed to do it with your whole heart. You're freed to do it faithfully.***

Which is just glorious.

So, that first: being a wife and a mother is normal and good. Your biology is destiny, in one way. You were made to do this. You were made to bear and to nurture. You were made to give of yourself. You were made to be the strong and sturdy trellis these baby plants could cling to as they grow towards the sun. You were made to provide structure and peace around their nutty energy. You were made to soothe and comfort and feed and protect. This is normal. This is good.

And when people say it's not, they're lying.

Yes, you can't do everything you want. You can't have it all. Being a mother means that where you're going to spend the majority of your time and energy for the next twenty years is now determined, and you don't have the potential you used to, and you can't "have it all".

But no one can. No one can.

And motherhood, if you receive it as from the Lord, if you take it as from His hands, will give you opportunity after opportunity to grow in holiness. It will give you practice in giving grace - over and over - and in opening yourself up to receive it in turn. It can teach you the practice, the constant practice, of turning your face towards the Father to receive from Him the love that you need. And then you can turn and give it to your children. And then receive again - because you don't have enough of yourself, and motherhood teaches you how finite and small and fragile you are - how much you need the Lord.

And how much He gives of Himself to you. How He is ever-present, ever-sufficient, ever-kind. How He loves you through His own presence, and through the presence of your husband, and of your family, and of your church, and of your friends. Christ in every face that greets you with kindness. Christ being formed in your children. Christ when you are in tears for fear of their lives or of their souls. Christ when you're so tired you wish you never had to wake up. Christ always present, always.

This is a grace that I am sure is available in every vocation, but that I know is present in motherhood.

It should not be despised.


(Stay tuned for Part 2, tomorrow . . .)




* My experience is that of a married woman who didn’t struggle with her fertility. I know that means there are a lot of people this series of essays just can’t address. I'm writing under the assumption mothering is one of the normative vocations for Christian women. But there are other paths; those other paths exist and they matter and many good people who are not me are writing good things about them. (Try this blog, or this one, just as a start.)
**I learned this from Elena.
***This is what discipline does: it allows for freedom. Think of how working out regularly allows you take a hike in the gorgeous fall weather without getting out of breath. Think of how practicing scales gives you the freedom to interpret a piece by Bach. It is the boundaries of discipline and choice – choosing “this” and not “that” - that allow for freedom!

Wow, that's so me

Adam and I were doing some reorganizing today, in the wake of Christmas, and I ended up moving some old papers - mostly stories written while I was a teenager - from one huge plastic bin to another. Of course, I couldn't just move the papers, I had to dip into them and read some of these old forgotten-yet-familiar words, and see what exactly I was thinking about half a lifetime ago. Here's what I discovered:

-boy, my stories had a lot of kissing in them. You'd think I was a teenager or something.

-man, my poetry had a lot of anxiety it in. You'd think I was a teenager or something.

-This. I present it without comment:

It's funny. Now that I'm a senior and now that I'm valedictorian and now that I've been accepted to college and now that I have definite friends and status; now that I have a thoroughly defined position, I feel like I can stop and look around me and no one will think it's odd, because they'll see all those things they think I am, and I can actually do as I please unobserved.

-Actually, I will comment on that: that's so me. Accomplishment for the sake of detachment. I . . . I really still can't quite tell if that impulse is altogether bad. It's certainly not all good.

-I used to think sixty was old.

-I had a real faith in Jesus even then.

-Seriously, my stories had a lot of kissing in them. Man, teenagers are horny. Even chaste ones. Golly, that's going to be an interesting time in parenting when we get there. Lord, have mercy. (I have reason to think He will be, praise Him.)

Peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell

Life Hacks: Making Your Future Self Happy

When I was in high school, I knew that I was a teenager and that teenagers were stupid. I knew that their brains were basically a construction zone complete with hazard signs and pitfalls and electrical connections that weren't hooked up properly yet.

So I decided that the best way to make decisions was to not let my teenage self make decisions. Instead, I invented a hack. I decided to live not in the way that would make my teenage self happy; I decided to live in a way that would make my thirty-year-old self happy.

I imagined that thirty-year-old self and what she'd be like and thought, "what will she wish she'd done when she was my age?" Or, honestly, adolescence being what it is, I thought, "what will she wish she hadn't done when she was my age?"

How did it work? Honestly, now that I'm in my thirties, I can look back and say: it worked pretty well. It kept me from very basic disasters like getting pregnant or getting arrested, and it also put me in a good position to handle college academics and not go into debt (because I worked hard at school and at my job. Because I had a job.) It kept me close to the Lord.

So, though I can look back and say, a bit fondly, Idiot, of some of my teenage thoughts and feelings and actions, honestly, I'm very grateful to that young girl who took her adult self seriously enough to safeguard way before she was in possession of her.

And now that I've reached the once-far-away-land of my thirties, I find myself more and more thinking of my forty-five-year-old self. And my sixty-year-old self. And even a little, if God grants me years, of the happy woman I hope to be in my nineties.

What will those women want? What will those women hope that their thirty-year-old self did? And didn't do?

I know for sure that that forty-five-year-old Jess will want most to have done a good job mothering her kids and wiving her husband and following her Lord. Mostly she'll want to have had a solid fifteen years in relationship with those few most important people. And then a few important others. After that, she will want a lot of novels under her belt. Just, you know, a decade and a half of solid work.  I don't think she'll care if she's in the best shape of her life, but she'll want a body in shape enough that it's a help and not a hindrance in her daily life. She'll want to have been kind. She'll want me to not have wasted my time.

That's what I've got after just a few minutes of thinking about it. I want to think about it more in these waning weeks of the year, because it could use some refinement.

But I recommend it to you as a useful technique for even the smallest decisions of life. In the morning, when you're having trouble deciding what to do first, ask yourself what your evening self will want done, in those few precious hours after the kids are in bed and before you are. On Monday, ask yourself what your Saturday self will hope your week looked like. At the beginning of Lent, what your Easter self will be glad to have read and thought and prayed.

And ask it a few decades out too. I promise you'll find it illuminating.

In the End, it is all about our Easter selves.

Peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell

links!

First up, James M. Kushiner's post "Discretionary Saving" is about what it means to be a saint, and it's good reading for Lent. He says,
Since holy means “set apart” for God, it follows that our thoughts and actions that are negotiable, or what we describe in monetary terms as “discretionary spending,” should be given over to divine things. You could say that our discretionary time should be spent “laying up treasures in heaven,” or what we might call “discretionary saving.”
He goes on to talk about what those "divine things" are: not just prayer and Bible study (though certainly those), but also "corporeal works of mercy", like feeding the poor, and he talks about why those acts of mercy are part of becoming a saint.

It's a very good and challenging post.

And then, more on holiness, is Quotidian Moments' post "Duties of My State in Life". After pointing out that introverts might be tempted to escape their duties not by doing a million outside activities but rather by reading and writing and praying too much (ouch!), she says,
Every once in a while, I used to search online to find exactly WHAT were the duties of my state in life. But the answer is simple -- it is my husband and children, my parents, and more generally, the practice of a Christian married life. I think I was probably searching to find the minimum so I could check off "duties done for the day." I suppose I was also looking for a way to feel good about myself -- sort of a grading scale. I did that and that and that, which adds up to holiness! But it's not so easy, when St Augustin says quite clearly the Church's teaching that we don't "earn" God's help nor can we expect to please Him by trying to get by with a passing grade.
The rest of the post can be found here.

Speaking of daily duties, one of the ways I find good books to read to the kids is by haunting the blogs of children's book authors, because they're always one top of the latest buzz in what is, after all, their own business. My favorite for this purpose is Melissa Wiley. She writes posts like this and all of the sudden we have our library list for the week. (I keep her post open in one tab and my library's website open in the other and flip back and forth, requesting, requesting, requesting.) From that specific post, I can definitely vouch for "Chalk", "Shark Vs. Train", and "Flora's Very Windy Day".
And, speaking of books, Semicolon's weekly book review linky is up, and it's a great way to find many, many things to add to your own TBR pile.
And through Semicolon's link, I found this excellent post, "The Truth About Homeschooling, Part I". An excerpt:
Socialization is probably the most hot button word in the homeschooling world. Just mention the word and homeschoolers immediately become defensive. First you’ll hear the argument that socialization and socializing are different. That is true. It’s also true that most people who bring up socialization really mean socializing but we know what they mean and we don’t win any points by splitting hairs over definitions. Then you’ll hear homeschoolers categorically deny that either of these is an issue. Type in “socialization and homeschoolers” on Google and you’ll get a bunch of articles and blogs and reports that all spout statistics showing that neither socialization or socializing or anything of the sort is, has ever been, or ever will be an issue for homeschooled kids.

The truth?

Socialization and socializing are issues for homeschoolers.
Reading something like that makes me give a slight sigh, Ah, and go on to read the rest, relieved to know I'm hearing a truth deeper than the party line, and yet something that's not depressed, but just clear-headed. Instead of saying, "This isn't an issue," this post says, "this is an issue, but if you don't ignore it, it's not an issue that lacks a satisfactory solution." Very helpful, to me at least.

twinfancy

If you hadn't guessed from my lack of posts, this twinfancy thing is kicking my butt. I've decided to call this period of my life "Santification Bootcamp" because that sounds better than "In Which Jessica Gets Not One Minute To Call Her Own And Hopes That By Submitting To It All She'll Become More Like Christ, That Is, Sometimes, When She Actually Remembers That She's Supposed To Be Becoming Like Christ."

And no, I did not even make it through typing that first paragraph without interruption. I don't do anything these days without interruption. Talk about learning not to call your time your own.

I remember a passage in Lewis (probably from Screwtape) in which he points out that if our Lord were actually physically present with us all day, telling us to do our daily duties, we would do it with alacrity, and if he gave us just one half hour at the end of the day and told us "do what you like with it", then we would be jaw-droppingly grateful for his generosity.

The trick is doing our daily duty with such joy and attentiveness even when we cannot see him. I am so working on this. Because He is still here.

So, in the meantime, here are a few links (mostly read while nursing the twins) that have got me thinking this week:

From Amy's Humble Musings, a post on Getting Real.

And from that weightiness, I give you something mostly amusing: A Dress A Day on Why Skirts Are Better Than Pants.

And this post, from Anthony Esolen, asking "Where Have All the B Movies Gone?" has me thinking about my favorite version of the B Movie, the Regency romance. I love that genre, and it is so very much a genre, with rules, with predictability, with the hero, the heroine, the villian, the happy ending. But there is something good about hearing the same story told over and over again in different clothes. It's not high art, but it's worthy nonetheless, I think. I want to publish a few myself, someday.

So, dear readers, what's your version of the B Movie? What's the medium in which you could hear the same old story told a hundred times? Pop romance ballads? Paperback Westerns? Pulp radio dramas?

May your day be filled with God's grace.

peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell

p.s. I hope it goes without saying, but when I mention my beloved Regencies, I'm talking about those in the classic Georgette Heyer style, and not the more recent p/rn-in-Jane-Austen-costumes style.

p.p.s. No, I didn't put the babies down on their tummies for a nap. They rolled over into those positions all by themselves. :)