Friday, December 11, 2009

God the Geometrician


"I had been reading one of the driest passages imaginable from the Scriptures where Israel came out of Egypt and God arranged them into a diamond-shaped camp. He put Levi in the middle and Reuben out in front and Benjamin behind. It was a diamond-shaped moving city with a flame of fire in the middle giving light. Suddenly it broke over me:

God is a geometrician, He’s an artist! When He laid out that city He laid it out skillfully, diamond-shaped with a plume in the middle, and it suddenly swept over me like a wave of the sea: how beautiful God is and how artistic and how poetic and how musical, and I worshiped God there under that tree all by myself. " A.W. Tozer


I was never very good at geometry myself, yet the past several years I've been intrigued with the grand thought that God is certainly a geometrician. Tozer sites one evidence in his quote above, and it is a delight to keep a running list of other places His geometrical masterpieces are found.

Put snowflakes on the list. After our recent blizzard, it is only natural that we should be thinking on these little prismatic wonders! Each flake is a perfect hexagon, decorated with ridges, dendrites, and endless combinations of symmetrical artistry. Enjoy reading about them in the Guide to Snowflakes and take time to ooh and aah over the gorgeous photo gallery of snow crystals here.

Tuesday, December 08, 2009

Blizzard Blessings

A blizzard can be terrifying if you are in the wrong place at the wrong time, but if you are tucked safely inside, a raging blizzard can provide the backdrop for winter's finest perks. We've made some great memories the past 24 hours as a snowstorm has changed our normal routine. I feel once again that delicious pleasure I felt when I was a school kid and classes were canceled due to inclement weather. Hey, adults still need an occasional snow day! Here are some of the things we've done the past 24 hours that I have dubbed "blizzard blessings":

  • My parents spent the night with us rather than to risk driving in bad weather. This gave us a rare opportunity to spend some relaxed and fun time together.
  • We played games: Sequence (my favorite), Mexican Dominoes, and Wii
  • A late evening pancake dinner
  • Sledding
  • *Real* hot cocoa
  • Baked Christmas cookies
  • Decorated a gingerbread house
  • Watched "Christmas Carol" late at night
  • Listened to Christmas music
  • Puttered in the basement
  • Wrote letters
  • Read by the fire
  • Read with the family: Shepherds Abiding by Jan Karon
  • Talked
Perhaps snow days are God's way of slowing us down.
At this moment, I would not trade this winter interlude for the grandest beach side home!

Wednesday, December 02, 2009

Secrets of a Buccaneer-Scholar by James Marcus Bach


"A buccaneer scholar is anyone whose love of learning is not muzzled, yoked, or shackled by any institution or authority; whose mind is driven to wander and find its own voice and place in the world."


This is a deliciously dangerous book: delicious because it taps into the refreshing fountain of intellectual freedom and dangerous because it dares me to cut the moorings of the traditional educational system and launch out into uncharted waters.

Have you ever felt flawed because you could not corral your attention to a linear course of study? After reading this book, you will begin to see your mental wanderings in a new light. Capitalizing on the premise that "knowledge attracts knowledge," Bach pronounces those random and seemingly irrelevant nougats of learning desirable, enjoyable, and useful. Do you have 13 half-finished books on your nightstand? Do you read parts of them and then meander off on bunny trails somewhere else? No worries--give yourself permission to wander because somewhere along the way those disparate threads of knowledge will converge and connect.

Bach excels at analyzing the rhythm of his own unorthodox learning patterns, and in so doing he gives his readers the tools for wiggling free from constraining straight jackets of thought, such as: you must go to school to learn, it is imperative to get good grades, you must not daydream, you must be able to learn from a textbook, you must be able to pass standardized tests, blah blah ad nauseum.

No one can accuse Bach of inexperience as a buccaneer-scholar. From his youth he despised school and could not be cajoled into doing the "drudge work served with sanctimony." As an example, he loved physics--played with slide rules (remember those?) and calculated rocket trajectories for fun. Yet he earned only a 49% in the class. Why the "failure"? In his own words:

"The problem was the labs. (snip) A 'lab' was a set of instructions in a book and blanks to fill in. These were turned in to the teacher, so that he could check that the blanks were filled with the expected numbers. (snip) These labs were represented to us as "experiments," but there was no inquiry in them. They were just ritual for getting a grade. In practice, a few student performed the ritual to obtain the magic numbers; the rest copied the numbers into their own workbooks.

For me, the labs turned physics into a sham. I was told I would not pass the class unless I turned in my completed workbook. Instead, I turned in nothing. My workbook remained empty the whole year. I failed physics, but to this day I feel good that I took a stand for ethics in education."


At the tender age of 14, James moved out of his home and into a motel (!) He was not a runaway and his parents were not rejecting or neglecting him. They gave him a monthly allowance and kept in touch. His experience on his own reminds me of Ben Franklin's early years:

"I no longer felt angry all the time. I learned how to manage money. I discovered I could live for weeks eating only pancakes. Then for weeks more, I lived on spaghetti. One month I ran out of cash and couldn't afford food for three days. I ate white sugar to stave off the hunger (it just made me sick). I would not repeat that mistake."

I have to admit, his parents were gutsy. His father, the author of the book Jonathan Livingston Seagull, provided a lifeline of support and maintained a strong long-distance influence via the telephone. It was he who finally encouraged James to "quit school and take care of your own education."

That he did. James holds no formal degrees, yet he is an expert in the field of computer software testing. His list of accomplishments -- from Apple Computers to Silicon Valley and many places in between--is truly remarkable.

I loved this guy's honesty, integrity, and gutsy passion for learning. I was a typical "good girl" on my journey through schooling, but have entered into the world of intellectual freedom and learning outside of the box as an adult. Much of this has been learned as I've had the opportunity to shepherd my four children through 13 years of homeschooling (and still at least 7 years more to go!) As he shared his life as an autodidact, I could relate so some of the ways that he has learned and I certainly share his enthusiasm for the subject.

Our early years of homeschooling provided structure and a certain level of discipline and routine. But I'm sensing a shift in my approach as the wind changes during the teen years. I covet "real" learning opportunities for my children and have noted that when those opportunities present themselves the fruit far exceeds any contrived lessons I might assign for them. A partial list of their experience would include:

  • Planning a retreat for other teens
  • Serving as a photographer at a wedding
  • Teaching guitar lessons
  • Choosing their own books for homeschool
  • Recording an original CD of instrumental music
  • Watching every single episode of Star Trek and picking apart the philosophy
  • Traveling to Israel
  • Decorating their own bedrooms

When I take my hands off and risk losing control, I gain influence. I become a valued coach who can enjoy the journey with them. I think one of the most common weaknesses of homeschool Moms is the desire to control. Let's face it, we enjoy charting their course! It's been great
choosing books and planning field trips. But at a certain point we must take the risk and relinquish that control.

It is amazing what young people are capable of doing. My 10 year old daughter recently painted her own bedroom--walls and woodwork--without a speck of help from me. She did a perfect job.

Guess what? I NEVER would have released my older kids to do that when they were ten! This is just an example of how I've changed and relaxed my grip. Maybe I could call myself at this juncture a buccaneer-unschooler? I like the ring of that!

James Marcus Bach has a website, including a learning video here.

Friday, November 20, 2009

A Couple of Movie Recommendations


We have a movie night at our house about twice a month, a la Netflix. I am the official family movie selector and have picked my share of duds. I'll spare you the details on those ☹ but will gladly share two recent stand-out movies that I can unreservedly recommend for family viewing.

Good Night Mister Tom is a Masterpiece Theatre movie (1999) made for television. It is a war story filled with heartache, tenderness, and unexpected love. The crusty Mr. Oakley does not wish to care for a London waif, but capitulates to the duty of sheltering a boy named William in his country home during the bombing sieges of WWII. He uncovers the fact that the boy has been badly abused, and seeks to provide him with the simple elements of a healthy life. The old man's ability to love has grown rusty, but is fully revived when he perceives the boy's deep emotional hunger. The young man is able to express himself as an artist, while Mr. Oakley dusts off the organ and rediscovers his musical gifts. Oh yes, and there is a beloved dog in the story--the cherry on the sundae. ★★★★★



Gifted Hands: The Ben Carson Story is a medical drama, a biography of the famous neurosurgeon who is best known for separating Siamese twins. Our family had recently finished the book by the same title and we were delighted to follow up by watching this new (2009) movie featuring the Oscar winning Cuba Gooding Jr. as Dr. Carson. This is an inspiring rags-to-riches story and the movie managed to capture the heart of the autobiography. Ben Carson grew up in a lower class neighborhood in Detroit, the son of a hard-working, nearly illiterate young mother. He never knew his Mom was illiterate because she preached reading, reading, reading to her two sons. Somehow she grasped the fact that television was keeping them dumb, so she laid down the law and limited her boys to 2 hours per week. In addition, she assigned them to read two books per week--books of their choice obtained from the public library.

Their transformation was amazing. Ben rose from being the lowest in his class to the highest. The intellectual discipline he achieved enable him to fulfill his lifelong dream of becoming a neurosurgeon. He is arguably the greatest surgeon of our time and serves as chief of neurosurgery at Johns Hopkins Hospital.

Ben Carson is a fantastic role model for young people, a real life hero that makes pop culture icons pale in comparison. ★★★★★

Sunday, November 01, 2009

A Mighty Fortress

Listening to this hymn is a great way to end a Sunday evening. Thanks to my friend at Gumbo Lily for sharing it!

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

The Maytrees: a review of Annie Dillard's book


Is Annie Dillard a philosopher? A poet? A naturalist? Or a storyteller?
It's difficult to determine by the reading of her most recently penned novel, The Maytrees. Of those four distinctions, Annie's storytelling seems to be the weakest, apparently used only as a vehicle by which she might display her other gifts.

The novel is billed as a love story, the romantic history of Lou and Toby Maytree. Dialogue is spare, almost non-existent. In its place we are invited to share the inner ruminatings of the poet Toby and the quiet Lou as they seek their entire adult lives to make sense of love, the shortness of life, and the big questions: How do we make our brief moments count? What is it we are meant to do? Does love come as a gift, or is it an act of will?

I could follow some of the philosophical threads in the story but kept feeling that I was not grasping enough to make sense of it. Is beauty enough? What happens to our cache of knowledge and experience when we die? I felt unsatisfied when the main characters did not come to any final conclusions. The threads of thought seemed never to be woven together, but were left to dangle so that at the end I was left with a big question mark.

The story line was not compelling, the characters were not fully developed, the philosophy was tangled and enigmatic. So what kept me reading this story?

I suppose in the end it was the love of words that kept me reading, because while Annie lacks as a storyteller, she more than compensates as a wordsmith. Her descriptions of the Cape Cod beach, the flora, the fauna, the night sky, the dunes--paint a multi-layered work of beauty, stroke-by-stroke. She has an unusual way of turning words, rather poetical, which for me required slow reading and focused attention.

I'm including some of the quotes that stood out to me.

Will I read more of Annie Dillard? I might read her almost classic Pilgrim at Tinker Creek because I know that to be her thoughts on nature, where she truly excels as a writer. But another novel? No.

The quotes:

Of Lou, the quiet woman:

"After their first year or so, Lou's beauty no longer surprised him. He never stopped looking, because her face was his eyes' home."

"Her mental energy and endurance matched his. She neither competed nor rebelled. Her freedom strengthened him, as did her immeasurable reserve."

Of Maytree, the poet:

"He endorsed Edwin Arlington Robinson's view that anthologies preserve poems by pickling their corpses."

Other:

"What gave adults the cheer to tolerate their hypocrisy? Even his mother praised generosity and hoarded; she preached industry and barely worked. Perhaps every generation passes to the next, to hand down to yet more children, an untouched trunk of virtues. The adults describe the trunk's contents to the young and never open it."

On beauty:

"In her last years Lou puzzled over beauty....She never knew what to make of it. Certainly nothing in Darwin, in chemical evolution, in optics or psychology or even cognitive anthropology gave it a shot. (snip) Philosophy ...had trivialized itself right out of the ballpark. Nothing rose to plug the gap, to address what some called 'ultimate concerns' unless you count the arts, the arts that lacked both epistemological methods and accountability..." -------->

This last quote makes me so thankful for the gift of faith. My faith "plugs the gap" and although some would call it simplistic, I'm grateful that it keeps me from the tortured mental gymnastics that must weary great minds devoid of faith. Keep me simple.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

So, Let Us Drink a Cup of Tea

Sugary by paulamills

I am a newcomer to the world of tea.

Being the daughter of a full-blooded Dane, my DNA is programmed to appreciate coffee. Yet there is an undeniable mystique about tea that made me feel as though I was missing out on one of life's great comforts, and so I have tried green tea, black tea, white tea, and a wide array of herbal teas. Never once did I desire a second cup.

Until PG Tips.

Our military friends, who had been stationed in England, introduced me to this distinctly English tea a couple of years ago and now I keep it in my own cupboard. Somehow, it fits the bill on a rainy afternoon or a chilly fall evening. It will never replace coffee but it has a mystique and an appeal all its own.

As a newly initiated tea-drinker, I loved this passage from my current read, The Elegance of the Hedgehog:

"I pour the tea and we sip in silence. We have never had our tea together in the morning, and this break with our usual protocol imbues the ritual with a strange flavor.

Yes, this sudden transmutation in the order of things seems to enhance our pleasure, as if consecrating the unchanging nature of a ritual established over our afternoons together, a ritual that has ripened into a solid and meaningful reality. Today, because it has been transgressed, our ritual suddenly acquires all its power; we are tasting the splendid gift of this unexpected morning as if it were some precious nectar; ordinary gestures have an extraordinary resonance, as we breathe in the fragrance of the tea, savor it, lower our cups, serve more, and sip again; every gesture has the bright aura of rebirth. At moments like this the web of life is revealed by the power of ritual, and each time we renew our ceremony, the pleasure will be all the greater for our having violated one of its principles. Moments like this act as magical interludes, placing our hearts at the edge of our souls: fleetingly, yet intensely, a fragment of eternity has come to enrich time. Elsewhere the world may be blustering or sleeping, wars are fought, people live and die, some nations disintegrate, while others are born, soon to be swallowed up in turn-- and in all this sound and fury, amidst eruptions and undertows, while the world goes its merry way, bursts into flames, tears itself apart and is reborn: human life continues to throb.

So, let us drink a cup of tea."