Educational Toys

"Why do you think I'm so strong, Momma?" After various promises to shoot me an elk or bear and make a rug with the head still on it, Jack dreams of being a man. He and Jane spend hours hunting game in the play room, out in the yard.

Last January we loaded all their toys into bins, even the new pop-guns. We meant to make an impression. And then they hardly noticed. Five bin-fulls. A few tears, then nothing.

Months went by, half a year, never did get around to giving the toys back.

It's dinner tonight, "My high today was playing in the playroom with Jane." It's always a game of high adventure; most times they nearly die. In the end one or another saves the day. Even Lulie knows the rules. Between of stacks books and wadded islands of blankets, high honor, valiant risk, our drab playroom transforms into a universe. They weave stories without thinking -- and play.

Isn't that where it all begins, there in the playroom without toys? They play. And almost without my noticing, a life-long learner emerges, a playing child that moves on to words and numbers and long strands of ideas, literature, physics. They play, invent the whole world.

Sort of makes me afraid to buy them any toys.

Learning to Read

First it's Jack, "That's an A," his smudgy finger pokes an A in a sea of words. Then it's Jane paging through one book and another, another and another for little brother. Her sing-song voice strings together pictures and plot, "See Jack, he's jumping in the water!"

A tiny miracle.

So I tell her, "Honey, if you can learn to read you can learn to do ANYTHING." Gramma used to always say that and she could do practically anything.

Jane opens her eyes up real big. "You mean like how God can just SAY it and it HAPPENS?!" I can see her picturing God, Let there be LIGHT!

"Oh, no." I grin. "That'd be neat, huh?" Her head bobs up and down bouncing blonde curls and a splashy flower. "No, it's more like you can read ABOUT anything to learn how to do it!" (Except not the speaking and it happens thing.)

Later that week she informs us that my hideous sewing debacle is no big deal, "'Cause, Momma, you know how to read so you'll be able to figure it out."

And she's right!

Write Them on Your Gates

So keep my words in your hearts and minds. Write them down and tie them on your hands as a reminder. Also tie them on your foreheads. Teach them to your children. Talk about them when you are at home. Talk about them when you walk along the road. Speak about them when you get up. Write them on the door frames of your houses. Also write them on your gates. ~Deuteronomy 11:18-20 (NIrV)
























"Are we gonna do that?" She's looking at our gray fence. I'd paused long enough for another question to edge in between paragraphs of scripture. She's matter of fact: There are the words, there's the fence, grab a pen! Am I really thinking, Oh well, He doesn't mean that? And, what does he mean? We are Christians, not bound to the legalism of the Old Testament, but I am drawn to her boldness. A conundrum.

"Honey, it's sort of just a way to train ourselves to know God. Sort of how I sometimes give you treats when you do something hard, but just to help you learn." She takes this in. "Do you think we should do it?"

She smiles, hand already poised to present. "Well, maybe we could write it on the gate with a marker or with paint so it won't come off when it rains." All of the sudden I understand why my dad said yes to displaying a six-foot kid-made cross in our front yard when I was ten (to commemorate Mr. Big Toad, of course). My weak dribbles of faith sustain me bland as toast. And I pray to be so bold.

Morning School

The children laugh and shout. In the other room they bound off the couch, rolling bundles of ankles and elbows. After morning school and carefully tracing the letter "U" all their stillness unzips into mirth. They are throwing their papers into the air. When I stop to listen, I realize that for a while now, Janie has been calling out, "The glory of God is coming! The glory of God is coming!" She whips her paper of wobbly "U's" up over her head, "Come everyone! The glory of God is coming!"

"Glory, glory, coming!" Jack can almost keep up.

When I told them "up" began with "U" I didn't realize it would end in parade.

School

Most days we do school. Maybe the best question I ask myself is, what appetites do I want my kids to have? Not everything we like is good, and many good things are not yummy at first blush. My momma has a quote in her office, "Feed what you want to grow stronger."

If only self-discipline could be setting our appetites free. How do we teach kids to point desire in the right direction? How wonderful to actually want the very thing they should do. Is there a moment when we learn to grow the good, the honorable, and starve off, shrink down the wicked?

Taste and see that the LORD is good. I suppose, maybe, then we gain an appetite for him.