"[The early Friends] made the discovery that silence is one of the best preparations for communion [with God] and for the reception of inspiration and guidance.  Silence itself, of course, has no magic.  It may just be sheer emptiness, absence of words or noise or music.  It may be an occasion for slumber, or it may be a dead form.  But it may be an intensified pause, a vitalised hush, a creative quiet, an actual moment of mutual and reciprocal correspondence with God."   

---Rufus Jones, 1937, Quaker Faith and Practice

Meet 9 week old Orion (Oreo for short, kid-vote being an important one), our new family member.  Even Jeff, feeling skeptical about the concept of a standard poodle in general, warmed right up. 
Sacked out on the mudroom floor after a few hours of playing with his new family, and then in the arms of Judah and myself:

 Yesterday's Family Ramble Here >>>>

We were going to go camping this past weekend, but the forecast called for rain.  Alaska's summer has been a joke so far.  It was over 60 for once, yesterday, and my kids all exclaimed their shock at actually "sweating" while in the car and claimed they would die unless I opened the windows.  A friend of mine said this is the warmest winter she's ever had.   

In leui of camping, we roasted marshmallows over candles and ate 'smores on the porch.

We are also now the owners of two small motorcycles.  I really hate that we have these because I know what small motorcycles mean: big motorcycles later.  That's the sort of thing that keeps nervous mothers up all night.  I just try really hard not to think about it.

On the animal front, this Russian Blue (under the tree in the picture) is my favorite hen.  She's plucky, looks more like a rooster, and acts more like a migratory bird than a chicken.  I can't believe how high she can fly! 

On a sad note, the day after I took these pictures, Magnet, and don't ask me how they came up with that name, our Baird Rock (black-and-white) hen, became fodder for a wildly undisciplined neighbor dog.  It was fairly traumatic for the kids.  Her head is still somewhere in the hay field. 

Other than that, having free-range laying hens has been absolutely wonderful. I catch myself staring out the window at them all the time.

Mighty actually went after the offending chicken-crazy dog, growling and biting, which was shocking because he never goes after anything but food.  His surprising protectiveness made me extra-love him. He was really sweet when one of our free-roaming rabbits died too (last month). He followed her out into the field and licked her and whimpered for her until she died. (Lesson to animal owner: do not apply tea tree oil to a rip on a rabbit's ear.  What is good for humans might be toxic for animals, this sad vet-flunkie now knows).

I like our dog. He has no idea a new puppy is coming on an airplane tonight and I wish there was someway I could prep him. Hopefully he’ll adjust okay. Hey, if he can put up with our three year old, he can handle a new puppy.  Speaking of the puppy, I’ve read four books on standard poodles this week and I’m dying of excitement!  Also, I’ve opted out of my plan to name him after my dad.  It appears he doesn’t feel that a poodle namesake would be an honor, though he did suggest I name the dog after my uncle.  My uncle then called and offered me money, some for not naming the dog after him, and some more if I’d name the dog after my dad.  Sounds to me like it’ll be safer to steer clear of this brotherly war.  But now I can’t think of a name.  Any ideas?

And what am I doing?  My six-year-old camaraholic just snapped me in the act of drinking coffee, in need of a shower and then another cup.  It may look like I'm not doing anything in particular in this picture, but actually I'm trying to coax my theoretical urge to organize and de-clutter into something that goes beyond theory before it's time to go pick up my older kids from Drama Camp. 

Note to Christian Culture Warriors:  It's your war, not mine.  This rambling treatise is just to say that I'm not in a war with my culture, so I'm dodging your draft.  No offense, but I'd rather Hillary Clinton be elected for president than your theocratic candidate.  Waaay less scary.  I mean, she's not pro-stoning, right?  See.  I'd vote for her. 

In my opinion, fighting against my "culture" doesn't do anything.  I did it for awhile. It just made me operate on high-alert, suspecting everything from the newspaper to the kiddie-playland at the grocery store.  Being in a Culture War made me suspicious of everyone, even those possibly in my own camp, from the friend who was a "Christian" and an artist (But, come on.  How can you be a true Christian if you aren't inserting Bible verses into your paintings?), to the sweet grandparents who would let the kids watch Sesame Street (Ack!  Bastion of liberaldom!) or a Disney (owned by new-agers and humanists) film when they babysat.  Being in a Culture War had me convinced that practically everyone and everything was out to get me and my family, put me on the defensive, made me shrill, quick to fight and slow to hear. 

Now bringing love, joy, peace, gentleness into the earth?  Absolutely.  Loving the unlovely?  Absolutely.  Releasing the captives, the trodden-down, the unwanted?  Absolutely.  But fighting my culture?  It's a lesson in missing the point of the Incarnation of Christ, for one thing.  He was born into a culture---on purpose.  Cultures, all cultures, have elements of good and elements of evil.  It's not the enemy anymore than it's the savior.  It's just the backdrop of the scene in which I play my small part of bringing Christ into the earth through my own humble hands and feet and smile.    

Besides, what happens if you win your war?  What "new culture" are you going to impose that will somehow be better than the one we're in?  Would, say, "modesty codes" fix all of our problems?  Okay, but how do you plan on enforcing them?  Are we going to get all Amish-ish and hold meetings over whether printed or plain cloth? 

Are you going to have police officers wear measuring tape next to their gun holsters, so that they can make sure my skirts are the appropriate length?  Required suspenders and an immediate ban on all saggy gangsta jeans?  Would you prefer a Taliban-like public beating for women who show their ankles, or would you like a quieter, though not necessarily cleaner, "modesty ticket" inserted into any and all exposed cracks? 

How about television?  Maybe a return to family values would be a positive thing, but who's "family values?"  Who decides, and how is it enforced? 

What are "family values," anyway?  Seems like for some people it's often a fancy way of talking about a much idealized 1950's era status quo.  Remember the 50's, right?  Unlike today's monsters, that was the era where children were obedient.  Like, if Daddy was "visiting" with you at night, you didn't say anything.  (Besides, if you did say anything, which is assuming you knew he was wrong and you were worth being protected, which is assuming a lot, no one would believe you).  Good old fashioned authority still existed then.  People knew their place.  Like women, blacks, children, and the underclass.   

Ah, the 1950's.  That was the era where stay-home mom's weren't odd---and neither was their deep and undefinable depression.  For some strange reason, these women weren't content staying home with their shiney kitchen appliances all day, dislocated from community, from challenge, from thinking.  Yes, the lovely fifty's, the era where a host of nice well-mannered grade-school children grew up to be the fire for a raging rebellion of young adults demanding the right to not accept the world only in terms of textbook/workbook questions and answers.   Funny, how they didn't seem to appreciate the decade of their childhood.  This is where stoning would come in handy. 

So if the fifties weren't perfect, maybe we should go back the the late 18th, early 19th centuriesto help us define Family Values.  Yeah, that time period was a real beauty.  Little boys chained to their factory stools for twelve hours without a bathroom break, upperclass women wearing corsets that deformed their bodies, no such thing as a "union" or "workman's comp" to protect the father when a cave-in at the ol' coal mine forever buried his left arm.  That's assuming he was able to survive getting it hacked off with no anesthesia or antibiotics. 

Okay, maybe not.  But some folks have an easy answer---they don't want to "return" to any era, persay, they just want to get into power and get laws passed that will reflect their values.  Though one problem with reflecting their values may include the fact that other people's values then aren't acceptable.  And let's just admit it: allowing freedom of expression means that your enemies get to freely express themselves just as much as you do.   

Which brings up some big questions.  Don't want anyone curtailing your right to preach your faith on the street corner?  Then you'd better stick up for the rights of the gay man who wants to hold his boyfriend's hand on that same street.  Because once you set precedent for restricting some people their freedom of expression, get ready to kiss your own freedoms goodbye. 

You might look with disdain at that kid with the multiple piercings and want pass a law curtailing his right to use his body as a vehicle for expression, fine.  But know that whoever looks at you with disdain will use that same logic to deny you the right to wear your cross necklace and your Christian t-shirts, just as soon as they get into power.   

"Oh, but this is different," you say.  "We're Christians.  We don't have to give those people equal rights just so that we can keep ours, because the humanistic satan-worshiping liberals aren't going to get into power!  We're going to get "back to the Bible," and rule this country God's way." 

Yeah, well, pardon me, but anyone who promotes a theocracy and wants to rule the nation "by the Bible," makes me want to move to another country.  Going "by the Bible" means a different thing to every person, and depending on who's doing the interpreting will decide everything.  Shall we be like the Taliban leader, no, wait, he wasn't a fundamentalist Muslims, he was a fundamentalist Christian Rushdoony and his Christian reconstructionist band (like homeschool peddlers, Vision Forum, etc) and advocate stoning sinners? 

Not just adulterers, but anyone who blasphemes God, is considered an "apostate," curses their parents or has sex before marriage.  That's just for starters.  Sorry if most of you fit that profile, but we're going back to the good ol' Old Testament law, baby, and cleaning up house is the first step.  Because Family is important.  Because Morality is important.  Don't you know, we're in a Culture War?  And the biggest thing that's caused all of these problems in the first place is that we made the mistake of letting people have the right to think what they want to think.  Thankfully, Andrew Sandlin of Chaldecon reminds us, 

  Reason itself is not an objective `given' but is itself a divinely created instrument employed by the unregenerate to further their attack on God." The "appeal to reason as final arbiter" must be rejected; "if man is permitted autonomy in one sphere he will soon claim autonomy in all spheres....We therefore deny every expression of human autonomy--liberal, conservative or libertarian."

Exactly.  So what is the real crux of the Culture War?  That if the culture warriors win, you and I aren't allowed to think in any way other than what the "new" State says is appropriate. 

Oh, sure, at first take it all sounds nice, especially because it's usually framed in sweet words and delightful images.  Who doesn't get warm and fuzzy (and have visions of Little House dance through their head) when someone talks about returning to the family---focusing on family.  And aren't the pictures sweet, showing us "just what life will be like" if we submit to their paradigm.  What could go wrong?  Gee, it's kind of like when you read the stories of how communism was introduced to the Russian school children.  Boy, it was exciting to be a member of the Young Pioneers and wear that pretty red scarf...   

Oh, don't worry.  We're not talking about evil Communism, we're talking about a good thing.  We're talking about upholding the fine Biblical vision of the family.  We're talking about valuing it as sacred, protecting it, putting it up on the pedastal it rightly deserves.  You don't mess with family.  As Reconstructionist Gary North once said,

"The integrity of the family must be maintained by the threat of death."

"Family Values," anyone?

Good grief.  ONE DAY of playing good hard volleyball and I end up having to go to the chiropracter to have my neck twisted back into the right spot and I broke something in my abdomen.  Apparently I'm no longer in my twenties...

On the bright side, I just did something terribly irresponsible but long-desired.  Whenever I get to thinking about this painful lump in my gut, I sit at my computer screen and zone out in front of this picture the breeder sent my way:

In my defense, it's not that irresponsible when you consider that they're normally $1,500.00 per standard poodle puppy, though and I've been wanting one for, like, forever.  Because of an unforeseen tragedy in the breeder's family (which I'm sad to capitalize on but happy only in the sense that I'd never be able to do this otherwise), they need their latest batch of pups to go, NOW.  So, for $500.00 plus shipping costs, this little bundle should be arriving at our house sometime in the next few days.  Okay, some might say it's an irresponsible way to spend the remainder of student loan money, but I say that there's nothing like canine companionship to take the edge off of trying to re-remember college algebra.   Really.

It's really hard to be an animal lover when you're allergic to everything with fur.  Chickens only snuggle so much, you know, and holding the rabbits means I'll have hives all over my arms for the next hour.  Mighty the Golden Retriever is a great dog, but everytime I pet him I have to run to the faucet to wash my hands, or I'll start sniffing and snorting and getting itchy eyes.   So what do you do when you're an animal lover who's body hates animals?  The only hypo-allergenic options are poodles or goats, and, well, Jeff draws the line at goats.  

At last, the solution.  I mean, isn't this standard "parti" (mixed-color) poodle pup the cutest ball of fur you ever did see?  You can call him William, if you want.  I feel bad that we never did name any of our boys after my dad, so I'm making up for it.  My father was so grateful to hear that he was getting a poodle named after him that he just stood there with his eyes winced up tight, making funny snorting sounds.       

Notice the cool new blog header?   Many thanks to Richard from By His Grace, For His Glory for sending me the above header, as well as a few more to choose from when I get the "re-arrange my blog furniture" bug.  Richard is the designer behind these graphics, as well.  Thanks so much! 

 On other organizational topics, I've also thoroughly cleaned up my blogroll, which was so old and disorganized that it was full of blogs that didn't even exist anymore.  Cleaning it cut the list of addresses in about half, but it was still so long that I figured it just deserved it's own special page.  In order to decide which blogs to keep and which ones to remove, I clicked on every blog in my roll and deleted those that didn't link back to me.  If I deleted you by accident, or if you'd like to be on my roll, please shoot me an email and I'll be happy to add you.  I also gave the blogroll it's own special page, which you can visit here or just by looking up top at the buttons above my header.  I'd been wanting to do that for awhile, so it was nice to finally get it done (it took a lot less work than I thought, thanks to cut-and-paste).   

On a Real Life Note, I just got back from the chiropracter, which is what you have to do when you're old and go play volleyball with a bunch of muscle-bound brutes.  I've been hoping my neck would unkink since Thursday, but it didn't, and since it's been keeping me up at night, I figured it was time to do something about it.  Sweet relief.    I also have a sad three year old on my lap, and a fight that I'm being called upstairs to help figure out.  If you came looking for deep thoughts today, my condolences.  

And don't bother give me the fuzzy wuzzy schpele about how blessed it is to fold your kids socks.  I buy socks by the bag, the one-size-fits-all sort of bags on sale, and we STILL manage to rarely have enough socks for everybody's feet at any given time.  How in the world is it possible to lose 200 pairs of socks?  I don't know.  I should have Unsolved Mysteries come and do a show.   

Kids are kids.  Yes, I love them and can't imagine my life without them (except for when they're all outside and I'm sitting in a comfortable chair with a warm cup of tea breathing deep the sounds of silence in a house that is actually clean...and even then, most parts of me still can't imagine my life without them).  But that doesn't make the boring repetitious jobs romantic, though.  More like tolerable. 

Kids breed dirty clothes, among other things.  They also breed Lego blocks, stuffed animals, and crumbs.  Running through the sprinkler, for example, seems like a simple enough request to make of a mom, particularly when you're a kid who hasn't had a day over 60 degrees F so far this summer (grump, grump), but not when the mom adds up five sets of swimming suits, five towels---and the sheets they pilfered from the shelves in order to make a covered fort on the front porch.  Good grief.  

If we lived out in the woods like we used to instead of next to a traveled road, I'd have had everybody under age 5 just run naked.  At least it would cut down on a few items to wash.  They run naked half the time anyway.  In Alaska, if it's over 45 degrees F, it's hot.   Last time I made a quick morning dash to the store on a cold morning, I drove home only to be greeted by five kids on bikes, the 6 year old in his pajamas, the 4 year old clad only in a pair of pants, and the 3 year old wearing only a t-shirt over his fat tummy, underwear and half of his breakfast on his face. 

I probably wouldn't have raised an eyebrow, but for the really nice looking truck that was ahead of me, driving slowly so as to not hit any of the unclothed little heathens, the driver openly staring with a huge grin.  Embarrasing.  I briefly considered driving right by the house, so that he wouldn't know I was their unfit mother, except for the fact that they were all waving happily at me and calling me mom. 

But I digress, which is pretty easy for me to do if the topic is laundry.  I'm sitting here at the computer waiting for the latest God Journey podcast to download, so I can put it on my ipod nano and go spend at least a half an hour in the laundry room.  I'm not sure what exactly to do.  Like, oh, probably Regular Maintanence and Upkeep would be the logical answer, but I refuse to accept that line of thinking.  My plan is to give all the t-shirts a vasectomy.  I'm thinking that might cut down on this madness. 

Speaking of madness, my blogroll and sidebar look a lot like my laundry room, but worse (as in, at least I get in my laundry room a few times a week, versus this blogroll that I've not cleaned up since this blog's inception).  My plan is to spruce up both sidebars and get this "place" a little more up-to-date.  Which reminds me, I know there are new readers here and I'd love to add your blog, so now is the time to tell me you'd like to be in my roll.  I've already got some cool new graphics added to the sidebar and plan to add some more fun features.  When I'm not scaling the heights of Mt. St. Laundry, that is.    

 I remember this winter, when I was in The King and I, how completely freaked out I was at having to go out and act in front of a big auditorium full of people.  I'm not afraid of a crowd and,  yeah, I've loved being on a stage ever since, well, since before my earliest memories or so the grandfolks tell me.  But still, there's something about going out in front of a bunch of people that makes even a natural ham get jittery before stepping out into the bright lights.  All the possible ways you might screw up the whole entire show go flashing before your eyes...  What's so weird is that the audience reading my blog every day is comprised of way more faces than there were in that auditorium this winter, but I never get nervous here.  Sometimes I think I should.    

For the musical, we worked and worked and worked to get to the place where we could put on a big production in front of a packed house.  Costumes, scripts, songs, props, running scenes over and over and over...  Whereas on this blog, I sit down and shoot out a rant muse, inspired by whatever is floating in my head at that very moment, and a "full house" hears it.  Maybe that's why I don't like to think about that very often. 

When I type out a post, I picture a living room full of people, coffee cups in hand.  You know, a warm intimate sort of discussion.  Friends.  Those who agree and those who don't, of course, because you can't have good conversation if you're all sitting around nodding your heads at each other, but still----friends.  I watch my words joining the assortment of others, ideas swirling around in the safe hallowed circle of couches and easy chairs. 

I guess I'm just saying that I hope that's okay.  Sometimes I wonder if it is, and that thought, admittedly, makes me want to go crawl in a hole.  Words express ideas and ideas have consequences.  What if I'm totally wrong?  What if all of my questions are totally wrong, like, the not-allowed kind of wrong?  Speaking of which, I've had more than a few emails sent my way lately letting me know how totally wrong I am.   About what, I'm not exactly sure.  Just, in no uncertain terms, that I'm wrong. 

I'm not the type given to crawl under a rock at someone's disapproval, but I'm smart enough to know that ignoring negative commentary is not always conduscive to personal growth.  The trick is finding the right balance---the balance between not being crushed under condemnation (or someone's temper tantrum) while listening prayerfully and asking the Spirit if there are seeds of truth mixed in what feels more like gravel being thrown---seeds worth picking out.  Often, there are.     

I know that my forum for discussion here is large and, no, I don't particularly enjoy thinking about what that might mean if I'm way off in the deep end.  I'm, er, hoping everyone here is an adult and can think for themselves.  So far, and this will delight many in the displeased faction, it doesn't appear that I have any Molly groupies hanging on my every word.  I keep trying to get my kids to do that, but it doesn't work with them, either.  Dang.  

The goal here at this blog is to think-with-others.  I am in process.  I can't say that enough.  I blog for my own mental health, because so far, neither my three year old or my husband care to listen to me mull over whether substitutionary atonement is the main way to view the death of Christ (as per my kids AWANA books), or if it's just one facet of it or if it's altogether neither.  Their eyes, like, roll back in their head and I have to try and figure out if I should attempt a demonic deliverance on them or if I should just stop talking.  The deliverance would be interesting, but the possible demon appears to leave as soon as I stop talking so I've not gotten to try it yet.

This is the kind of stuff the three-year-old thinks is discussion worthy:

Aw, yeah. Baby, you haven't peed 'till you've done it on a Sponge Bob potty.

Hence, er, this blog.  This is just a place for me to wonder and talk and think in safety, because even if your eyes roll back in your head, at least I can't see you.  The thinking part includes musing over questions that don't have answers---or maybe don't have answers that you might want them to have.  Don't get me wrong.  Sometimes the questions don't have answers I want them to have, either. 

Anyways, do feel free to keep the emails coming.  But, if you're going to tell me that I make you mad, please take the time to specify what exactly it is that you think I'm way off base on.  That way I'll have an idea if it's something that I need to humbly hear and consider, or if you're just torked that I burned my club card to your favorite fringe of Christianity.    

[click to enlarge.  Thanks, Leah, for the picture].

1. Humans are fallen, or, as CS Lewis so aptly put it in his space trilogy, "bent" from their original design.*  This means, they will,

2. Turn astray from the path God created them to walk.  In fact, no matter how much God desired for them to walk it,** (which included punishing them for going astray at certain points, to help them get back on it),***

3. The Old Testament is one big story chronicling the fact that consistently and joyfully following God's path is not possible for humans to do in their own strength.****

God has made a way for us, but it is not through behavior management schemes (whether positive or negative).  It was by giving us Himself.  His life births in us the fruit of His nature, fruit we could otherwise not produce.  The way of Love***** is now attainable, but only through supernatural means. 

We fail when we equate the way of Love with outward performance standards, which is not to say that they don't have their place, but more to say that God judges the heart, not the outward show.  The rich put many coins into the temple treasury, but Jesus pointed out the widow woman's two pennies as an example of what God calls beauty.  In other words, the outward show can be helpful in determining what's going on in the inside, but it's not fool-proof and must always be used with absolute humility, the viewer aware that the human eye can only look at things superficially.  

Footnote comments:

* As soon as humans were bent, everything went off kilter.  Right away, one of the first siblings ended up dead in a murder fiasco (Gen.4:8), men began thinking of wives as property and as things to be ordered about (Gen.4:19, 23), and evil was so rampant, so un"fix"able (Gen.6:5), that God decided to make a clean slate altogether---and this from a God who is long-suffering and who gives multiple "second-chances," no less, so whatever was going on in the pre-Flood world probably made Hitler look like a cupcake. 

**Despite the fact that Israel experienced multiple supernatural plagues visited upon their enemies and were then miraculously set free, they continued to find trusting in Yahweh nigh to impossible (see Exodus).  Lest we make fun of them for struggling with what seems obvious (in hindsight), it appears they were demonstrating a patently human trait that pumps in the bloodstream of all of us: believe what you see, believe what you see, believe what you see.  

Working each afternoon in my family's greenhouse can sometimes provide a case in point.  In learning that a certain huge and mature flower basket is sold out, but that later-planted ones are available and will be in full bloom in 1-2 weeks, most people look at the green plant quizzically, shake their heads and decide on a different kind of flower basket.  They literally cannot believe that something that currently looks like a thick green bush will soon be covered with a million yellow flowers, UNLESS THEY can actually SEE IT covered in the flowers. 

That's not to totally decry a policy of believing only what you see.  It's not always bad, just bad when used always.  Sometimes waiting until you see something in full bloom is the best policy (I don't care how much someone claims they've changed and will no longer steal from you: believe it when you see it, and in the meantime, take cash upfront before they leave the store). 

***Read the book of Judges for evidence of the many times God had obedient children for a time, then eventually had to chastise, then had obedient children for a time, then eventually had to chastise, then had obedient children for a time, then eventually had to chastise, then...   

****If it were, then there would not have been the need for a Saviour to come and save us.  To claim that we can produce good little Christians through anyparenting method is to spit in the face of Christ, and if you think those words are too strong, you oughta check out what Paul said (Gal. 5:1-4). 

*****The Way of Love is summed up at various moments in the Bible and woven throughout the whole.  One of my favorites places it is clearly expressed is in Romans 13 when Paul begins quoting the 10 Commandments and then says something akin to, "yeah, yeah, yeah: basically, LOVE."  Though he puts it more like this,

"For this, 'You shall not commit adultery, you shall not murder, you shall not steal, you shall not covet,' and if there is any other commandement, it is summed up in this saying, 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.'  Love does no wrong to a neighbor; love therefore is the fulfillment of the Law."   

Trust must be in the right place, in Him, while we fallible humans blunder through doing the best that we can.  Think about it.  Nobody complains about being around someone who loves!  You won't find a crowd of people protesting that they were around people who were brimming with the fruit of the Spirit (love, joy, peace, patience, gentleness, kindness and self-control, see Galatians 5 for more info).  Sheesh, what's to whine about?  Now there's a parenting paradigm in a nutshell.  Yeah, but that's too hard.  Gimme the book that tells me how to control all these wacko's.  I mean, all of those fruits, interestingly, are the relational kind.  They are all things you can only do/be with other people.   I don't know about you, but I do a lot better at following systems (or hiding out, such as, er, on the computer) than I do actually having to relate consistantly and be nice about it.  

Nice to the almost-five year old who wants to ask me a million questions before I've had my second cup of coffee.  Nice to the three year old who leaps out of bed in the morning as if he drank my second cup of coffee.  Nice to the nine year old who wants to talk to me for a half hour about her latest yard-work business scheme that involves mowing lawns (which she's never done) and having someone drive her (hm, who would that be?) to all the various yards from which she's going to rake in a million dollars.  Nice to the seven year old who just wants me to sit and hug her and listen to her prattle, while all my eyes can see is that the dishes haven't been done all day.  Nice to the six year old who just took all the couch cushions and table chairs and half of the blankets in the house to make an "airplane" in the middle of the living room right before it's time to go.  Nice to the husband who just royally ticked me off and who I can barely look in the eyes, much less think about being nice to.    

On that note, this post about says it all, relating the widow's mite to family life.  Sometimes the things that look good aren't the things that matter and vice versa.   And not only can I not control any of these humans, I can't DO any of it in my own strength with anything resembling any glimpse of my Jesus.  Which is sort of the whole point of being set on God's good path in the first place.        

 "Not by might nor by power, but by My Spirit,' says the Lord of hosts." Zechariah 4:6

Is it true what some say, that the godly way for parents to deal with all disobedience (in outward action or inward attitude) is to promptly correct it through purposeful use of pain?  

First Time Obedience is quite a buzz word in some circles.  It means that when a parent tells a child to do something, the child should obey instantly and cheerfully.  In order to train for this, parents are taught to reward hesitation with painful physical chastisement until the child is conditioned to immediately obey his parent's command.  This training usually starts quite early, with most FTO proponents recommending that it begin somewhere between the ages of 1-2 (and some recommend starting much earlier). 

Some arguments make strong cases for why FTO is of vital importance in the Christian home, in matters of practical and spiritual value (see here and here and here and here and an interesting conversation here, for just a few examples).   

Frankly, I used to be a huge proponent of first-time obedience.  To me, the main argument was that if we train our children to obey parents instantly, it will be easy for them to obey God instantly.  I certainly wanted my children to obey God quickly and cheerfully, and to not have to suffer as I had in coming to Him. 

I never really questioned the theological underpinnings of my first-time obedience concept beyond accepting the verses given by the popular parenting teachers, primarily because of the way I viewed authority made first-time obedience be a natural conclusion.  Obedience to God's delegated authorities was something I had learned in Bible College: the idea that God has set up authorities to represent Him, and in order to obey God, you obey His delegated authorities instantly, without question, and cheerfully.  See here for a primo example from the textbook of this sort of teaching, and, what I would only later consider while slowly crawling out of it, here for why I eventually left it) fit well with the teaching.   

First Time Obedience is really all about authority.  Parental authority is not be questioned, ever, but instantly obeyed.  Proponents of FTO will always talk heavily about authority, as they consider anything but FTO as sinful rebellion.   

Ted Tripp, popular parenting author, says this in his book, Shepherding a Child's Heart,

“When your directives are met by a discourse about why what you have asked is not fair, your children are not obeying. When you are met with excuses or explanations, they are not obeying. When they refuse to respond at once, they are not obeying. When you say to your child, “Dear, I want you to go to bed now,” there is only one appropriate response. It is not, “I’ll go after I finish coloring this page.”

There is only one obedient response. It is to go to bed without delay. If you accept any other response, you are training your children to disobey. You must challenge disobedience and persevere until the lessons of submission are learned. Victory does not come to the faint of heart. Never allow your children to disobey without dealing with them [through physical chastisement-added by Molly].” pg. 139

Okay, then.  Strong words. The only way we can examine such authoritative teaching about godly parenting is to take it to something more authoritative, the Scriptures, and see whether or not it passes the test.   

In order to be godly parents, does Scripture tell us we must deal with our children's  bad-behaviour/attitudes swiftly and instantly?  Does Scripture tell us that good parents demand first-time obedience and start said training early on?  Many leaders (Tripp, Ezzo, Pearl, etc) tell us that it is bad parenting to not enforce FTO.  They say that doing something like, say, promising future negative consequences if behaviour doesn't change---and then giving children an opportunity to make that change---is an ungodly way to parent.   

It would appear that God forgot to read such parenting advice.  For example, in Jeremiah 18:11, to those under the Old Covenant Law (certainly a performance-based system), the Lord threatens consequences and then appeals to His people to change their ways. 

"...Thus says the Lord, 'Behold, I am fashioning calamity against you and devising a plan against you.  Oh, turn back, each of you from his evil way, and reform your ways and your deeds!" 

 Before God sent punishment in the Old Testament (and I'm purposely choosing pre-Cross situations here) He often first sent prophets who exhorted and pleaded with His people to change their disobedient behavior.  This applied to God's "children," Israel, as well as His non-Covenant children. 

Consider what Jonah was sent to do.  The prophet went because God sent him to the evil city of Ninevah (well, the prophet went eventually--note the non-first-time obedience, ahem, and note that even with God's firm correction, Jonah's heart was still unchanged, though many parenting teachers say that a godly parent must chastise until the heart attitude of the child is truly changed).  Jonah was sent specifically to give a warning of consequence in the hopes that the consequences would not have to be met.  When Ninevah repented, God did not punish them for their sins but rejoiced at their change of heart (Jonah 4:11)!

Often, God waited (longer than I would have!) until the wickedness was very severe before He brought consequences.  The Isrealites would be in the throes of terrible wickedness (injustice and violence to the poor, the widows, the orphans), something I'd want to stomp out FAST, and yet God would plead,

"Say to them, 'As I live!' declares the Lord God, 'I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that the wicked turn from his way and live.  Turn back, turn back from your evil ways!  Why then will you die, O house of Israel?'"  Ezekiel 33:11

To a very evil Israel, God appealed for change a long time before bringing down punishment:

"Wash yourselves, make yourselves clean; remove the evil of your deeds from My sight.  Cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, reprove the ruthless, defend the orphan, please for the widow. 

Come now and let us reason together, says the Lord.  Though your sins are as scarlet, they will be as white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they will be like wool. 

If you will consent and obey, you will eat the best of the land.  But if you refuse and rebel, you will be devoured by the sword.  Truly, the mouth of the Lord has spoken."  Isaiah 1:16-20

God did not require physical punishment before receiving their repentance.  Instead, he pleaded with them to change their ways so as to avoid the consequences that He did not want them to experience.  He did not demand first-time obedience.  In fact, when Yahweh pleaded with Israel above to reform, they were already pretty far gone (see Isaiah 1:2-4, 21-23 for a few details). 

So even under the pale of the demanding performance-oriented Old Covenant Law, God still did not always parent the way the first-time-obedience-or-get-spanked teachers say is God's way. 

It is wise to seek ways to teach our children to follow God's good paths.  But in so doing, it's not wise to make authoritative statements about how God wants us to do that, when God Himself did not do it that way with His own children. 

This doesn't get into some of the other inherent dangers of training for FTO.  Do we want our children to obey human authority without question?  Just because someone has a badge of authority does not make them worth instantly obeying.  An abusive parent, a sinful king, a sex-offender, etc, all gain power to act out their evil hearts because people obey them instead of politely but firmly refusing obedience.  I recall three teen-age boys who respectfully refused to obey a certain power-hungry king---a hesitation and rebellion that God honored by meeting them in a firey furnace, no less... 

More picking around under the pebbles of Scripture to come. 

For a thought-provoking muse about the first-time obedience, check out this. 

Fascinating stuff.  I am flat-out dying to discuss some of what I'm hearing, so hurry up already, download this and then let's talk about it. 

Speaking of good podcasts, Steve Brown Etc., just did an interview with William P. Young, author of The Shack, that I thought was well worth the listen.  Since Chuck Colson just said stay the heck out of The Shack, I thought the author interview was timely. 

I don't really care if someone doesn't like The Shack, but get some better arguments, puh-leaze.  For example, Colson complains that Young "has a low view of Scripture" because a character in the story beats a kid using "a belt and Bible verses."  Uh, hello---Young was not saying that the character was doing the right thing.  In fact, it was patently obvious that the author was saying the exact opposite.  Stating that some people misuse Scripture is not taking a low view of Scripture.  Good grief. 

And what's this business about telling Christians what they should and should not read?  Read between the not-so-subtle lines:  "Christians: you do not have brains, and if you do, we request that you not use them.  Critical thinking is reserved for leaders only, who will tell you what is on the approved reading list and what is not." 

Urgh. 

"Jesus therefore was saying to those Jews who had believed Him, 'If you abide in My word, then you are truly disciples of Mine; and you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.'"  John 8:31-32

This verse is usually used to remind all "us good Christian folk" to engage in a daily Bible reading time.  I know that's what I learned in Bible college: "soak in the Word, soak in the Word."  By that, they meant to spend a lot of time reading your Bible.  We had Bibles everywhere.  Other people's back-pockets might have had a Copenhagen wear mark, but ours had Pocket New Testament lines, compliments of the Gideon's.  I read and I read and I read, and when I wasn't reading the Bible, I was listening to it on tape. 

This post isn't to downplay reading the Bible.  It's just to say that I don't think it's what Jesus was talking about.  Jesus had just been talking to a crowd of people and many came to believe in Him, so when He said, "Abide in My word," He wasn't talking about reading the New Testament or about having a daily quiet time, because there was no such thing then, on both accounts.  He was talking about the words that He had just said. 

I'm thinking He was saying something along the lines of, "Keep yourselves rooted and grounded in what I am telling you (don't become indifferent to my words, don't leave them).  That's how you'll know you belong to Me.  This stuff is for real---I'm brimming with true Life---and the power of that Life going to loose you from every last lie-forged chain that's keeping you down." 

The Kingdom of the Truth-bringer is a lot like a tiny tree root eventually cracking the concrete sidewalk.  The Government of the Chain-breaker is sort of like what happens when you plant a little thirsty shoot into a big bucketfull of rich loamy dirt.  His words are life, power, breath, not because there's something the phonetic syllables themselves, or a magic spell inserted between every chapter and verse indention, but because what He says comes straight from Him.    

While I've been writing this post, I've hollered at my kids twice.  See, it's really easy to write about Him, just like it's really easy to read about Him.  And that's the point.  He wasn't saying to read what He said.  He was saying to eat, drink, and breath it---to be in it.  The postmoderns are partly right in their damnation of modernity's lust for "absolutes," for truth was never meant to be thought of as a mere collection of facts.  Facts don't set one free (though they don't hurt).  Jesus does.          

I wrote this:

Ah, thank you so much.  You rock.  :o)  

I came out of a very strict patriarchal background (the Douglas Wilson, "Reforming Marriage," Vision Forum sort of type, where we were taught that "Biblically" a husband is the husbandman/farmer, and the wife is his field wherein he decides what to grow and when to grow it, blah blah blah).  What can I say?  We were fundies.  We took Scripture "literally."  A lot.  (Uh, alot more literally than it was ever meant to be taken).    

 Long story short, the first 8 years of my marriage were in that sort of paradigm and as such, I'm a little sensitive in that area.  Coming out of that sort of bondage was no picnic.   (That particular movement is, unfortunately, growing like a bad weed in the conservative homeschooling world). 

So I really appreciate your response and your perspective---and do see where you are coming from.  Whereas my world had males taking on waaay more authority than any human should take (setting themselves up to be idols, often with good intentions!), your world sounds like it's got the opposite problem.  That said, I would still (humbly!) ask you to please reconsider the use of the word, "priest" in the future.   It does connotate a sense of mediatorship (the dictionary definition reads as such), and yet, as you know, the NT does not teach us that males mediate for females (or husbands for wives).   It does, however, teach that Christ has made all of us priests.  Which I think is pretty cool, and I know that you do too.  :o)  

Thank you for everything you do.  You are truly a treasure.  Thank you for being a voice for Him.   

Warmly,
Molly   

To which he responded with this:

    The wife is a field?  You’re kidding, right?

 

    If I were a wife, that would turn me into a serial killer.

 

    Good point on the priest thing.  You’re right that it seems to imply that the “priesthood of all believers” is a male thing. 

 

    Nothing, of course, could be further from the truth.

 

   You rock, too!!

 

   Bless,

   Steve

www.keylife.org
www.stevebrownetc.com

 

[Edit 5/9 to Add: Steve Brown wrote me, that gracious man, and emphasized that he did not mean anything of the sort with the word priest---that by priest, he meant to encourage the many men who think that spirituality is for women, NOT to encourage the patriarchal model as taught by Vision Forum, et all.  I really appreciated his response and have a feeling we're pretty much on the same page, though I would still request a different word would be better suited to do so, as "priest" carries with it the connotation of mediation].   

[Edit Later in 5/8  to Add:  Thanks to some of the illustrious comments here, it has come to my attention that what I think of when I hear the word, "priest," is not what Zacharius or Brown may be thinking of.  To which I would add, what is a Biblical definition for the word priest?  A typical dictionary definition reads: one authorized to perform the sacred rites of a religion especially as a mediatory agent between humans and God.  So, okay, I suppose if folks want to use the word, "priest," so be it, but I admit it is a very confusing word to use if they are not intending to advocate for male mediatorship.  And, yes, EVEN though Steve Brown is a Calvinist, I still like him anyway.  I'm a very gracious person, considering my severe allergy to TULIPs.]  :)

---------------------------------------------

The title of this post is a fair question (though my Protestant leanings are obvious), considering the commonly held notion that the husband is priest of the wife.  I recently listened to a clip where Ravi Zacharius (someone I respect) said that as a man, he was "the priest of his home" (this while also advocating mutual submission). 

That very same day, my favorite Bible teacher, Steve Brown, said, in a podcast I was listening to (in the Scandalous Freedom series, the "Punishing Plagues of Putting People on Pedestals," to be specific), that as a husband and father, he was "the priest of his home" (while at the same time advocating that no one put an earthy authority in the place of God and that to do so is to be in idolatry).

I enjoy both of these teachers and intend to continue to do so.  But the fact that they both used the word "priests" to describe males (meaning, do they believe and teach that men are priests over women, by virtue of gender) is something that struck me as surprising.  The fact that this concept is pretty mainstream in conservative circles is something I'd like to talk about.  Is this "male priesthood" a Biblical New Testament concept?  If so, then where does the NT specifically say that husbands are priests for their wives? 

I feel pretty comfortable with my Bible, as a student of the Scriptures for some time now, yet I can't locate any verse that says anything about men being priests for women (please correct me if I'm wrong).  And if the Bible doesn't say that, how has this idea become so mainstream that even more egalitarian-leaning teachers still believe that men are priests. 

To get more specific, let's talk about what a priest actually does.  Where does the NT say that a man stands before God as a priest of his wife?  Where does the NT say that a man stands before God on behalf of his wife, or that a man stands before God to hear instruction that God wishes him to pass to his wife?  Where does it say that God wishes to speak to a wife through her husband, or wishes a husband to speak to God on behalf of his wife? 

And what about the implications to the gospel itself?  Are we really okay with saying that one human mediates before God for another in a God-ordained role of priest?  Was the sacrifice of Jesus not enough for us?  Do we still yet need a mediator?  Why do Protestants so quickly revile the priests of the Catholic and Orthodox traditions, yet so easily accept an extra-Biblical teaching that husbands are priests over wives?    

"But He, having offered one sacrifice for sins for all time, sat down at the right hand of God...for by one offering, He has perfected for all time those who are sanctified."  Hebrews 10:12, 14 NASB

Was the song to the Lamb referring only to men here, when they sang,

"And Thou hast made them to be a kindom and priests to our God; and they will reign upon the earth."  Revelation 5:10 NASB

Is the mediation of Christ not enough for me, because I am a women?  Do I need an earthly mediator to make up for what Jesus lacks?

"...And to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant..."  Hebrews 12:24a NASB

I was going to write a brief brag about the fact that I've just potty-trained my fifth kid.  Don't you think there should be a medal or something for this landmark achievement?  Though, admittedly, I've become a big slacker compared to my early days.  I mean, my first child (at 16 mos) got a potty chair for Christmas!  Shoot, I was ready to go before she was even born.  Potty training before age two or immediately thereafter was practically a moral issue.  That's what happens when you take a triple-alpha over-achiever and let her be a mother.     

Well, let me be frank.  The only reason Jireh just got potty trained is because I shamed myself into it.  I mean, he's turning three this month and has been begging to "go on da potty" for almost half a year now (while I've been trying to convince him otherwise).  That, combined with the fact that I just ran out of the huge super-saver box of diapers... 

Surprisingly, the potty training went super quick.  I guess that's what happens when you wait until they have, like, a full vocabulary, can put on their own underpants, and have been wanting go "like brothers do it" for a while now.  Gee.  I wish I would have learned this approach before the fifth kid. 

Nonetheless, I was still feeling a bit pleased with my son's quick adaptation to toilet life, until this morning when, while wanting to help him get dressed, I couldn't find his thick little cotton training pants.  I asked him where he'd put them and he proudly informed me that he "flushed 'em down da potty."  I took a deep breath (and tried to remember the fact that it really was funny, all things considered) and explained to him that we don't flush our undies. 

One hour later, he peed again.  And flushed his undies.  I found out right away, because of the loud panicked screams eminating from the bathroom area.  Rushing in, I found an almost-three-year-old trapped on the top of a toilet that was, shall we say, overflowing it's bounds.  After rescuing him and getting him washed up (and the floor), he seemed to understand a little better about why we don't flush undies.  At least, I hope.

Item #2 of family news is that our family has grown!  Check out this move-able chicken coop my husband built for us!  It's for four gorgeous laying hens, which we bought from a friend (so we could get eggs NOW, instead of raising them from chicks), but they became free-range when the Blue Russian escaped and flew up to a spruce tree, whereupon she yelled at us voraciously, in that highly offended way that only an upset hen can do.  She succeeded in winning them their freedom.  They enjoy pecking around the farm house fields, scratching and picking at all the little green shoots that are just starting to appear.  The chickens always come back to the coop at night to sleep and to lay eggs during the day, and, so far, the bald eagles haven't eaten them. 

 The dog is doing just fine with the chickens, which was more of a concern to me than the eagles are, what with the demise of two rabbits we let loose a couple years ago.  To be fair, I never did *see* him do it...  But he has this thing for fur over feathers, I've learned.  The reason I bring this up is because good friends of ours just passed on a brother and sister rabbit to my girls.  Hopefully the injuction against incest doesn't apply to bunnies, because I sort of didn't get the wire seperating the cages fastened as tightly as it apparently needed to be.  In fact, I didn't get it tight enough three times in a row. 

I finally went out and nailed a board inbetween them, so all is well, other than the fact that my kids know what the phrase, "breed like rabbits" means now.  And what a male rabbit's organ looks like.  Might as well learn some science while we're at it, I figure... 

I'm betting you didn't know that rabbits could be leashed.  I didn't either, but my girls dragged me to the feed store and each bought themselves a "rabbit harness."  Note the dog's hungry look.  Rosemary and Basil got loose yesterday (which happens almost every time the girls put them in the harnesses) and it took us the rest of the day to catch them.  When I finally got Basil, I noticed quite a collection of dog slobber on his back.  Looks like we can't let the rabbits go free-range until Mighty the Dog gets arthritis or something.  It's just as well.  Who needs hay fields full of genetically-stupid bunnies? 

Speaking of hay fields, here's a picture of the three boys going for a walk.  Life is good.   

[Off-topic: I remember one time we went to a anabaptist-ish "revival" meeting.  Even in my denim jumper (which I found out still wasn't okay---it  had embroidery on it, and it was denim, which is a masculine material, and I didn't make it myself), I royally flopped at fitting in.  They were really nice to me, though.  The other ladies had their hair up and under white coverings.   I had my long hair up in one of those black scrunchy things, and when I popped that out to rewind my hair, I thought the sweet lady I was talking to might pass out.  For her part, she gasped in an exceedingly gracious (and inadvertant) way, though I'd at least enough sense to realize that I did something REALLY wrong.  Later, when I heard their teaching tape on how a woman's hair is a sexual thing and to be reserved for a husband's eyes only, I sort of figured out where I messed up, similar to what I'd think if someone ripped off their clothes in the middle of the grocery store.  Like I said, she handled it really graciously!]. 

Though I've heard that homeschooling was started by secular and religous forces alike (and at one time it was a very bonded community, despite the huge differences in philosophy and practice), that tight community would later to be destroyed by a "Christian" coalition calling for all "like-minded" homeschoolers to remove themselves from the "worldly" homeschoolers (and/or kick them out of your local and state organizations) and "take back homeschooling for the Lord." 

But I attended a (secular, though full of Christians) homeschool fair last week and noticed during the breakfast that many of the people in the room looked just like me. Yes, there were still the moms with long braided hair and dresses. But they were a welcome part of the group, not the dominant force in the group.  There were faces (dad's, too) that represented just about every aspect of economic class, family size, and clothing styles.

And instead of talking about how great our particular curriculum choices were and how wonderfully everything was going at our home, brag, brag, brag, a lot of us had fellowship over the fact that it's really hard to homeschool sometimes and to feel like you're doing a good job with everything---how it's hard not to get completely burned out (which is, actually, why a friend and I are starting a co-op next year).  It was a neat experience.     

“The weakness of a woman is that she needs a head."

“...No daughter of Eve should follow the path of Eve and lead to tragedy by entering into the forbidden territory of rulership that was intended for man.”

“...And the intent of what the Word is saying here is that a woman needs protection, that she has a certain vulnerability. She was designed with the need for a head. She was designed for the need for a leader. She was designed with the need for a protector and a savior.”   ----John MacArthur, from this sermon

Head means leader?  Head means savior?  MacArthur teaches his people that a woman's male "head" is her savior.  It's not so far fetched.  After all, I've shared before that patriarchy taught me exactly that: that a woman needs a male mediator.  It's part of what made exiting patriarchy so hard---the thought that stepping out from "headship" and thinking for myself meant that I was wide open to Satan and under God's wrath. 

This concept of "male as mediator" is taught by groups like Vision Forum who teach the gospel of federal headship (the male "head" represents his family to God), who apply it to church announcments and recieving the Lord's Supper [males  must give it to females, a son to his mother if the father is not there, etc], but it's not just taught by fringe groups.  Johnny Mac is pretty mainstream, sad to say, and that implies that the teaching quoted above isn't all that odd. 

Consider these musings on the meaning of kephale/head: Grudem and kephale,  CBMW, Grudem, kephale,  Household: Head as Origin or Source, or Household: Household Code Lost in Translation, Kephale.   This is not to say emphatically that kephale cannot mean authority.  It is just to say that there are good and valid reasons to doubt that it does. 

John MacArthur's quotes help dilineate for us just what happens when we think that women are designed by God to be under male authority.  A system of mediation begins to flourish, much like the Levitical priests mediated for the OT Israelites.  At which point we have to ask, did the work of the Cross truly form us all into prophets, priests and kings, or are those roles still partitioned off, only accessible to those who are able to be circumcized on the outside?  

Before Christ, the mark of faith was truly a male-oriented mark.  Circumcision was available to the female only in so far as she appropriated the circumcision of her male leader.  God never said that the Law would save us from the male-rule prophesied in Genesis 3:16, so we shouldn't be shocked when we find patriarchy after the Fall.  There was One promised, though, who would break the chain of the Fall's destruction, who would crush the head of the serpant. 

After Christ, the mark of faith was changed.  No longer a cutting of male-only flesh, the mark of faith became something accessible to all believers.  Baptism was and is available to Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female.  The mark of faith no longer demands that you identify with a certain cultural heritage, or belong to a specified gender or economic status.  

So bringing back male-mediation to women makes me think we should get rid of baptism and go back to circumcision---or maybe, to make it a little less painful for all the non-circumcized men out there, we should just stop baptizing females.  After all, I don't need to be baptized, if John MacArthur is correct.  All I need to do is obey the leadership of my husband.  Hey, I was designed to be saved by following his lead, right?  So isn't baptizing women a waste of a hard-working male pastor's time and energy?  Just baptise the mediators---they can get dunked for the rest of us.      

HT to Cindy Kunsman, at Under Much Grace, taken from this post.   If your blood pressure can hack it, feel free to read the whole post, if you would like to experience a larger selection of quotes like the one above.   

10. A man’s place is in the army.
9. The pastoral duties of men who have children might distract them from the responsibility of being a parent.
8. The physique of men indicates that they are more suited to such tasks as chopping down trees and wrestling mountain lions. It would be “unnatural” for them to do ministerial tasks.
7. Man was created before woman, obviously as a prototype. Thus, they represent an experiment rather than the crowning achievement of creation.
6. Men are too emotional to be priests or pastors. Their conduct at football and basketball games demonstrates this.
5. Some men are handsome, and this will distract women worshipers.
4. Pastors need to nurture their congregations. But this is not a traditional male role. Throughout history, women have been recognized as not only more skilled than men at nurturing, but also more fervently attracted to it. This makes them the obvious choice for ordination.
3. Men are prone to violence. No really masculine man wants to settle disputes except by fighting about them. Thus they would be poor role models as well as dangerously unstable in positions of leadership.
2. The New Testament tells us that Jesus was betrayed by a man. His lack of faith and ensuing punishment remind us of the subordinated position that all men should take.
1. Men can still be involved in church activities, even without being ordained. They can sweep sidewalks, repair the church roof, and perhaps even lead the song service on Father’s Day. By confining themselves to such traditional male roles, they can still be vitally important in the life of the church.  

I have shamelessly cut and pasted the hilarious above-quoted post from Serving Bread, and was made aware of the post by Helen from Conversation at the Edge.  We talk about women's issues here a lot, since exiting the bowels of patriarchy has been a huge part of my life these last couple years. 

I know that those of you who were once, like me, fully invested in all the "godly" and "Biblical" and "logical" reasons for subjecting women will truly appreciate the above quote.  Good grief.  Men wouldn't put up with this stuff.  I could never sucker my husband into believing the above.  So why did we women ever sit quietly and buy it?  Why do many women I know today still sit quietly and buy it----an argument no less foolish than the one above? 

I only have one answer and it's found in the prophetic words of Gen. 3:16, since no other explanation makes any shred of sense.  It wasn't supposed to be this way.    

It's hard to try to explain the daily schedule at Hephzibah House.  Daily life was about so much more than just school and chores.  Each day was like a journey; you never knew which way the wind was going to blow.  It might be your lucky day, and the staff ladies would all be in good spirits, chores would be done successfully, and we would get a decent meal.  But on the other hand, the staff could be in a bad mood, none of your chores would pass inspection, and it would be the same dinner yet again (not that you would even get to eat it if your chores didn't pass).  [Click here for full article]. 

In 1974, Ron Williams began Hephzibah House as a home that would provide "live-in rehabilitation and discipleship for women and girls."     Being an independant fundamental seperatist Baptist means that Williams probably has vastly different ideas than you do about what constitutes rehabilitation and discipleship. 

The dictionary defines rehabilitate as, "to restore to a former state."  One must wonder what "former state" is Williams and his staff discipling girls into?  For example, former Student, Susan Grotte, writes:

 My name is Susan Grotte. I am writing to state officially that I was abused at Hephzibah House from February, 1981, to July, 1983. I realize that this is far in the past, and nothing can be done. However it has come to my attention that girls are suffering under the same cruel conditions right now.

The state of Indiana investigated while I was a student at Hephzibah House, but we were hidden in a dark church while they came through. A few girls who were coached and intimidated were allowed to stay and speak to the investigators.

 I was beaten with a paddle until I was black and blue. My skirt was pulled up, and I was laid out on the flour. One adult sat on my back and tightly held my arms, while another sat on my feet to keep me from kicking... A third wielded a paddle and beat me. I was beaten nearly every day for the first three to four months when I was there. After that time, I was sufficiently broken and docile, thus only receiving two to three per month. These beating were so severe that they left blisters, hurt my back and twice I fainted. I still smell that carpet and feel it against my face.

 I was so hungry all the time. The Williams ate very well, while they denied the girls sufficient, healthy food especially considering the energy we expended. I lost nearly 40 lbs in four months-- dropping from a normal 128 pounds to a mere 88. This in spite of the fact that we were not allowed to turn down any food offered.

I was menstruating normally before arriving at Hephzibah House, but ceased until I left in 1983.

 I did heavy, back breaking labor. There was emotional abuse in the form of humiliation and isolation. Hephzibah House denied any form of contact with the outside world including media and notice of my grandmother’s death, as well as censoring letters from my parents. The rare phone calls from home were tightly monitored. Communication with other students was supervised and very limited.The saddest part is that the Hephzibah House staff managed to convince me that they loved me. They taught us that we would go to hell if we ever would betray them, or "rise up against God's man."

 Williams recently contacted me. I was shaking when I heard his voice. He asked me to write a letter to his lawyer stating that I was never abused, nor had witnessed any abuse while I was a resident. He was asking me to lie for him. I step forward now to defend these poor girls who cannot defend themselves.Hundreds of girls have suffered because I did not have the courage to speak up then. This clear violation of normal human rights should not still be happening, 25 years later, in America.

 

It is important to point out that I had never shown any aggressive or violent behavior, had never experimented with drugs or alcohol, never been with a boy. My crime was never disclosed to me. I never had a trial, I never had a voice. I was 15.

 In Christ alone,
--Susan Grotte

 

Many parents in using the rod of correction on their child do so with an obvious lack of vigor and often stop short of the child's will being completely broken. Manifestation of this error is illustrated in countless homes as a child gets up from his session of correction still spouting rebellious words and giving willful looks at his discouraged parent. The parent has no one to blame but himself for this problem since he did not completely break the will of the child during the session of correction. A child who is still willing to resist the authority of his parent after having received the rod of correction is still in need of more of that same rod.

Both my wife and I have often remarked that it is good that one of our children was not our firstborn. This particular child who came along later in our family was extremely willful and rebellious toward our authority and would often require sessions of correction lasting from one to two hours in length before the will would finally be broken! Had this child been our first, we may well have been tempted to despair of the grace of God.

...To put it another way, the one who does not Biblically beat his child, in a loving and consistent way, in a very real sense predisposes that child for hell and even has a direct part in sending him there!   

...  When should a parent start using the rod of correction on a child that the Lord has brought into the family? There is no clear and specific answer to this very good question. However, it is my opinion that the correction of children should start as soon as the need for that correction is made manifest. Every discerning parent who has been blessed with a little child in his home realizes that his initial impression of the sweetness and the innocence of the child is in reality an illusion. A child very quickly demonstrates his fallen, depraved nature and reveals  himself to be a selfish little beast in manifold ways. As soon as the child begins to express his own self-will (and this occurs early in life) that child needs to receive correction.

My wife and I have a general goal of making sure that each of our children has his will broken by the time he reaches the age of one year. To do this, a child must receive correction when he is a small infant. Every parent recognizes that this self-will begins early as he has witnessed his child stiffen his back and boldly demonstrate his rebellion and self-will even though he has been fed, diapered, and cared for in every other physical way.      [Click here for article in full]

 It's hard to believe that the Hepzibah House is alive and kicking after years of abusing young women, but it is and has been since 1974, despite an investigation here and there.   As you read this blog post, there are girls at the House at this very moment, experiencing "rehabilitation" treatment like Susan's.  After reading story upon story from girls who survived this hellish "home," I want to do my small part to see it's doors shut for good.  If you would care to join me, here is some contact information provided by Gabby, a former Hepzibah prisoner. 

Randy Bowman and Paul Schmitt
Winona Lake Police Department
http://www.winonalake.net (574) 267-8622
***they are currently our contact people, but i don’t have much confidence in either of these two men.***

http://www.guidestar.org
copies of HH tax returns
(i found the last 5 years of HH returns on this site)!!! you can see the millions they make each year in donations (which is separate from the monies that the parents send monthly).

Mayor Ernie Wiggins (Warsaw, Indiana)
ewiggins@kconline.com (his direct e mail)
(574) 372-9595 (you will initially get his assistant Michelle)

State Rep. David Wolkins
Statehouse: (800) 382-9841 In District: (574) 269-2639
***He is from Winona Lake, Indiana***

Governor Mitch Daniels
Phone: 317-232-4567
http://www.in.gov/apps/afss/afss2
the web address is the contact page if you want to send the governor an e mail

Hepzibah House has 2 addresses that they use, so it is kind of confusing b/c all the officials seem to want to pass the buck and say HH is not in their jurisdiction.
508 school street…winona lake, indiana
is the addy that they advertise with; however, this is a residence that they own and it is the office for Hepzibah House.   2277 E. Pierceton Rd. Warsaw, Indiana
is the actual address of where the girls are held. These 2 addresses are literally 5 minutes apart, but they are in different towns.  The church is on the same property as where the girls are kept.

Gabby recently sent this email to State lawmakers, and attached this article of Ron Williams to her email.  I am planning on contacting these people as well, but think it would be helpful to get ahold of some media, too.  Since I'm in Alaska, far from Indiana (obviously), I am not sure which direction to go in regards to media.  Anyone have any ideas and/or numbers and addresses?     

Hat Tips: I would like to thank True Womanhood blog and the post, Parenting Models in the Church, that allowed a conversation about Hepzibah House to take place, and Cynthia Gee, of Common Sense blog, for bringing it up in the first place.  But even more than that, I would like to applaud former Hepzibah House inmates for having the guts to step forward and tell their stories, and to encourage them to keep on speaking out.     

We were big tithers.  Tithing a tenth of our income to our local church was on the same page as commandments like, "Do not commit adultery."  We have always tithed.  And we never complained about it, either.

We still practice the fine art of giving away more money than we should because, well, we are rich (even though we're currently poor by American standards).  Let's face it, by the standards of history and by the current standards of most other countries of the world today, we're rolling in the hog fat.  Plus, we love giving.  Like, really love it.  In all likelihood, that love has come straight from the grace of God, which is more likely than saying it's from our noble generous souls, but regardless, giving is sort of an addictive thing and once you get used to it, doesn't hurt a bit.   

But I just can't handle the idea of giving to a local church right now.  That could change, in years to come, particularly because it's not like we're really settled into a local church at this moment, and because I've not really fully processed the "why's" of my deep-seated urge not to give that direction.  If I had to be honest, I think my deeply intellectual thought process goes something like this: "Gee, pay the light bill for a big cushioned building, or save the life of a starving baby?"  (This is one of those times where having a few annoying WWJD bracelets actually would come in handy). 

I'm a huge fan of World Vision, particularly because they spend an incredibly low amount on administration.  Right now, most of our "give-it" money goes straight to the poor and the hurting.  (An aunt of mine works for WV, and part of her job involves flying to different parts of the world, making sure the donated funds get where they're supposed to.  She has some pretty incredible stories). 

If you have the time and have some extra funds, I would highly recommend tooling around on the WV website, especially their Global Justice page.  I'm also a fan of giving money to the poor in my own neighborhood, ones that I know face to face, needs that I find out about because I'm in relationship with the person.  But I'm taking a break from paying my fair share of a church building's electric bill.  Maybe if we ever get involved with a particular group again, that will change.  But so far, I'm really happy about it.         

[Edit to Add: Our previous income came 100% through tithes.  I am not saying that giving money to a church community is a bad thing.  Though I should probably let him speak for himself, I'll wager my husband appreciated being able to concentrate "full-time" on the youth and on music, thanks to a congregation that chose to tithe some of their money so that he could.  Personally, I see nothing wrong with providing an income for someone so that they can concentrate fully on serving others.  That idea is Biblically supported. 

Sometimes I wonder, though, if the way we approach ministry here is actually the best use of our money.  I have a lot of questions about the typical evangelical church set-up in my country.  Also, our current situation is one of not really having a church home.  We attend places.  But we haven't really "landed" anywhere, so to speak, and that partly on purpose (we're trying to take a Sabbath year off, and the quickest way to ruin that is to "join" a church that will want you to serve in every program they have, etc).  So not tithing to a particular church makes particular sense to me right now, since we don't really have one.  

The tithes to a church, though, seem like they should be spent primarily on serving the needy and to those working to serve the needy--at least if we are going to use the Bible as our guide for giving.  Sometimes I think that the tithe money most churches recieve is spent on the opposite.  If I were to begin tithing to a church community again, it would only be to one that puts the needy and those serving them first].           

The noise of a pack of kidlets is a GOOD noise, don't get me wrong, but it's noise nonetheless.  Loud noise.  Only two quiet ones in the bunch, and that only barely.  I had an overnight hospital stay last month and came home feeling like I'd been to a spa.  I laughed with my husband as I described how refreshing and relaxing it was.  You know it's bad when those are the adjectives used to describe uncomfortable medical procedures and a restless night.  That's like when you look forward to going to the dentist. I can't tell you how many other mothers-of-littles I've had say how nice it can be to spend an afternoon laying back in a room of adults.  So what if one is poking your gum with needles and sawing into one of your teeth.  A small price to pay... 

I had no idea motherhood would prove to be so isolating until we moved up here with our little 8 month old and I sat in our apartment in a new area, pregnant with a second child, alone except for a fat-cheeked baby.  My husband worked ten hours a day (with our only vehicle), and the baby and I took daily walks, prepared meals together (she would sit on the kitchen counter with me and I'd talk about each item I was adding to the bowl, etc.  This would never have worked with any my little boys, mind you---the contentedly sitting still on the counter part).  One long dark Alaskan winter passed in a blur of cleaning bathrooms that were hardly used, putting mittens on fat little hands and looking out the window at a squirrel that I would make friends with, only to have him take all the food I would give him and use it to stuff up our dryer vent.  I had no idea that the vacant listless feeling in me was the sharp ache of loneliness.   

We've since moved up in the world---another vehicle, no more penny-to-penny existance, and the fat-cheeked baby is now an energetic fun-loving nine year old, with four younger siblings to boot.  All of that admittedly makes life easier.  Life has become almost too full.  But it wasn't like that then.  I remember the first time I discovered Discussion Boards.  I would feverishly type out my replies to another mother's questions while my one year old bounced happily on the bed behind me, or dig around in my closet trying on mommy-sized shoes.  It was like dining at a fine restaurant after a day of fasting, this orgasmic THING I'd discovered----like someone put an oxygen mask on a drowning person.  PEOPLE!  OH MY GOSH, there are Real Live People, at all times of the day!  I relished the hour or two I'd spend on the discussion forum, every topic as if it was of life or death import.  When the baby woke up, I'd cringe: time to shut off the computer.  It was like turning off a dear friend.   

That was then, of course.  Now, I find myself needing the internet community less and less, using it for enjoyment instead of survival.  My kids are getting older, and with that comes more time out of the house---drama practice, violin lessons, etc.  Plus, get this: I can go to the grocery store all by myself now.  (This is a big and wonderful thing---trust me)!  My oldest two are competent babysitters (they know my cell phone number, too), plus, now that we've moved into town, the store is only a few minutes away, as is Grandma's house.  (Yes, I do pay them to babysit.  I didn't give birth to them so that they could watch my little kids).  Not only that, but now I have friends, activities, businesses and a life that extends beyond motherhood alone.     

With the black-and-white world of fundamentalism behind me, I also find that I no longer have this overwhelming urge to share "the truth" with anyone and everyone who doesn't see life through my framework.  For one thing, a lot of what I'd thought was "truth" were really little bumps---certainly not hills to die on.  Simply differences of opinion, different ways of looking at the same thing.  

And I'm realizing (though I knew this in word-form before) that while sometimes Truth can be shared in the form of printed words, more often it is made visible through the real live fruits born of a branch abiding in the Vine.  My ears tune out a sermon: my eyes pop open wide when I see gentleness, patience, kindness, and self-control in real live action. 

Anyone can blab on and on about the way things oughta be.  It takes blood, sweat, and tears to live it.  I like writing about it better.  WAY easier.  But writing about God doesn't get me any brownie points with Him.  There's no quota to be filled, no performance bar to hit in order to make Him smile.  He doesn't work like that.  Writing an excellent sermon about worshipping Christ while snarling at your kid's clumsy milk spill just doesn't cut the mustard, you know?  Plus, you can't quantify things like grateful hearts, patient serving, and gentle answers.  I've realized that, at least for me, blogging and belonging to internet discussion groups are really a lot more about me meeting my need for interaction with other humans than it is about "a ministry" to others. 

Maybe I just tried to think of my internet time in terms of "ministry" because I felt guilty about it before.  If I couched it in spiritual terms, I felt a lot better about it!  But I don't really feel that guilty about internet community now.  It's just another form of community, another circle of friends---very legitimate, very useful.  The only reason to feel guilt about it is if I'm shutting out other communities begging for my time (like my kids), in favor of human interaction through a flat-screen mediator.  That said, anyone who thinks kids should have a full 24 hours of parent interaction every single day needs to go somewhere else.  I have NO problem taking an hour off of parent duty to chill out on the computer.  

But, ahem, mini clip games don't count.  Do you know that I've almost beat the hardest level of Canyon Defense?  My toddler sits on my lap and cheers for me, "Kill 'em, Mom! Kill 'em!"  I suppose it's counter-productive to muse about the relationship of pacifism to the Christian life while desperately trying to save enough money to buy one of those red guns that nail up to three enemies at one time (though nothing beats the laser gun).  But, hey, think about it.  If I don't kill them, they'll make it through the canyon and, well, there goes the little village I was supposed to protect.  Really. I shoot because I care.    

Skim-reading is a blessing and a curse. I love it when it comes to studies, test-taking, scanning articles, etc, but I hate it when I actually need to STUDY something. Reading philosophy is akin to torture, for example. In order to get what the author is saying, you actually have to slow down and ponder each sentence, or at least read it at the same speed it would take a person to say it. I find that art virtually impossible.

The speaker at the church-gathering we sometimes attend prints out his sermons and offers copies of them near the coffee table each Sunday morning. I generally love the sermons (which, um, isn't something I've been known to say very often in my life), but I discover that having them in print causes me to twist and wriggle as I fight the urge to read, to read the way my brain is wired to read. It's like a drug, it feels so good.

.
And that's about the time that my will-power goes South and, in less than a minute, I discover that I finished----yet it doesn't feel so good, because I know that now I have to sit there for 15 more minutes while the teaching is slowly concluded.

As I proceed to uncomfortably shift the bony protrusions of my gluteus maximus on hard gymnasium bleachers, I authoritatively instruct my inner self. "Next time, I'll wait." Okay, yeah, whatever.

Woman Gets Seriously DELUGED with Attention From Her Honey (who delivered flowers and chocolate EVERY SINGLE NIGHT the Play ran, and that is no joke, and yes, those really are three dozen roses)!  Whataman.  :)

Or, then again, perhaps this title might be better:

What Happens to the Downstairs of a Home When Mom is at Play Practice Every Single Night for Two Months Straight.

You don't have to click the picture, because all it will do is enlarge the mess, unless you want to feel good about yourself, in which case, go ahead and click it. You can leave house-keeping tips in the comments section, but I doubt it will do much good. I'm an ex-perfectionist accepting her limitations. Boy, do I have limitations. And, besides, the downstairs doesn't count (as long as the kitchen is clean).

Here I am being the wonderful and amazing mother that I am. Notice the hug---it's as if I give them fifty thousand times a day, isn't it? Did you notice the natural-ness of the pose (ignore the fact that I'm listening to a Steve Brown Etc. podcast, puh-lease---my mind was FULLY engaged with my child, I swear it!). And, well, that's because I am just that good. Yes, my children shall rise up and call me blessed. After a few psychotherapy appointments, of course, to work through a few issues, like, say, when their mother began frothing at the mouth yesterday over the fact that we've lost SEVEN pairs of mittens this winter (and the snow hasn't even melted yet!!!!$#%^&*)!!!!!!! Don't worry. I came out of fetal position...eventually.

Here I am posing in the costume/make-up room before getting into my opening outfit for The King and I. That, for those unenlightened, is what makes a hoop skirt into a hoop skirt. I never had to wear any hoop skirts for the play, and was glad of it (I can barely walk normally in pants, much less a big bell), but they sure LOOK cool. I can't believe that used to be standard fair for women. And corsets!? (Oh man, how could anyone have a working brain with that little oxygen going to it? Not that men haven't had their fair share of silly clothing articles, of course)...

And THIS picture...? This one is my favorite. Here I am expounding to my best friend, Lydia, (at an indoor pool party for one of her six kids) about what she should think about everything, and why. Note her look of admiration and complete adoration. This, my dears, is exactly why we are friends. (I, er, won't show you her facial expressions in the other pictures that got DELETED). She truly understands that a genius is in her midst, and responds accordingly. If I could find more people like that, I'd probably have more friends. So take note of that. You have a big opportunity in front of you. All it takes is recognizing me it for the wonderful chance it is.

And they said having a role in this play would go to my head. HA! I'm as humble as I ever was---maybe even more so.

I enjoyed this post by Et Tu?.  I think she helps explain the legitimate need for community in the life of a stay-home mother, and why the internet, when used moderately, can be a valuable life line.  I found myself whole-heartedly relating to her words, particularly a few years back (when everyone was a lot "littler"), but even still today. 

Mongoose Momis a brand new blogger, and from what I hear (from her "