Congratulations, Papa-Bear Style {Friday Photo}

Ahhh, this moment, this moment.  Inside I cried from the tenderness and laughed from the surprise all at the same time.  David shook all the kindergarten graduates' hands as they crossed the stage this week, but when his little boy came across, he held out his hand then instead swept Reid into a big bear hug high off the ground.

This father stays up until the very wee hours checking math homework, enthusiastically recites Henry V, Act IV, Scene iii (we few, we happy few, we band of brothers!) alongside his child at the dinner table, voluntarily pours over school budget details at his office desk, conjugates Latin derivatives, adeptly sorting out genitive, nominative, and dative cases, and takes great joy in surprise bear hugs to say congratulations.  Papa Bear hugs are in fact just a small outward sign of the steady stream of his fatherly love.  Thankful.

Craft Like An Egyptian {Friday Photo}

My once acutely shy child finished her big school presentation on King Tutenhkamen (or, as she likes to call him, King Tutu).  From shrieks of  "You have to help me!" to "Stop helping me, this is my project!" to "Why aren't you doing anything? Don't you care about my grade?" to "Stop touching my mask--this is my work!", King Tutu's mask slowly and painfully emerged from his ancient tomb.  A+ little one.

Mother Bear For The Win

He won, HE WON!

Yes, Collin won 1st place at the regional math competition this morning.  Twenty-eight area schools, 500 kids in two grades, two hour-long tests, one combined individual score.

This pic says it all.  The math whizzes are looking nervously at their parents or the announcer while my son is amused by his kid brother picking his nose in the audience.  Really.

I had an out-of-body experience when they pared it down to 20 finalists on stage, then 19, and 18, then 17 and 16....then the final three....and then there was one.  I was tingly all over, the stuff dreams are made of kind of happy.  When a well-rounded boy who QBs his football team and happily helps pack lunches every morning and patiently throws pitch upon pitch to his little brother in the front yard comes out over the plethora of math-only, math-insane, math-obsessed nerds who show up at these events, well, you just gotta be plain old happy for a kid like that.

I cried a bunch today just thinking about it.

Because you know from this post that I've had to be a Mother Bear about his education.  I never expected it before I had kids, but now, on the other side, I realize that sometimes you have no choice but to fight for them.  You have to be tenacious.  You have to pipe up and be convincing and say your peace to try to make it better, challenge their hearts, play into their gifting, increase their preparation, and (most importantly) have unshakable faith that the end result will produce virtuous, thoughtful people who can make a difference in the lives of those around them.

I'm talking in abstract philosophies, so let me tell you a story instead.

When we saw the math problems we were having when Collin was in 1st grade, we had a conference first with his teacher, and then, not feeling anything might change, with the principal of our A+-rated school.

Sitting across the desk in her office, David calmly explained the situation: our son was intuitively good at math and for the moment still liked math, but if the school couldn't help us with a better math curriculum and/or challenge than what was being presented to him each day, then he would probably end up hating math.  We implored with her.  Please, give us anything to help us help him.  We aren't professional educators--you are.  Send the math home, we will work through it with him.

She looked at us like were were plumb crazy.  Like no parent had ever asked that of her before.

She calmly described their wonderful FCAT scores, how blue-ribboned their school had become, how stellar their gifted program was, and even refused our very simple request to at least switch teachers.

The more she went on, the angrier I felt.  Nearing the end, I lost it a little and blurted "I honestly don't care about your achievement scores.  I want you to go to bed at night and ask yourself:  Did Collin Roberts learn anything today?"

Uh oh, Mother Bear was roaring out of her cave, so David whisked me out of that place as fast as he could.

The next week, Collin switched to Christ Classical Academy, where they've allowed him to do math until his brain hurt and he's loved every minute of it.

But sometimes you gotta fight for your cubs.  So I cried a bucket today with sheer relief.  This moment in time almost didn't happen, and I knew it.  I cried with the vindication of a mother who stood up years ago at a time when it was painful, confusing, and costly.

And wouldn't you know it, God is so good.  Did He have a hand in that very principal sitting there today watching Collin on stage, as he edged out her school's students at 2nd and 3rd?  It's possible.

And I hope she goes to bed knowing Collin Roberts learned something today: exactly what it feels like to be not just good, but truly great, at something God has gifted you to do.

His mama learned a little something, too.

3 Words Every Roberts Must Know {Friday Photos}

One.

Two.

Three.

Good luck to my secondborn as he works some heftier numbers
in a math competition this Saturday.

How the Brain Trainer became a Faith Trainer: Life Lessons for a 12 Year Old

My oldest daughter is quite an intense young lady.  She is seriously in love with all things learning, and fortunately learning comes rather easily to her.  I admire her from afar and wonder if we have very much in common at all because I can't recall what I was like at that age, except that I did love me a good grade or two.

So last year, in 5th grade, when their class was asked to write a 5-paragraph essay on any topic for a district competition, she thought about it intently for awhile, going back and forth on what the audience would enjoy, what she would enjoy, what could fit into five paragraphs and the three-minute time frame, which is in my opinion a dreadful format but the one required in this situation.

She decided to "save" her favored topic, classical education, for 6th grade so that she could showcase it at district and, in her limited mind's eye, evangelize the public school crowd about the merits of the classical approach.  Instead, her speech for that year was entitled "Three Typical Recurring Themes in Disney Princess Movies," which was a breakdown of the consistently missing parent and other pretty deep motifs.  She figured it would be intellectual yet entertain the kindergarten crowd at the same time.  In the candy pink fluff of Disney princess, she wrapped quite a meaty meal.

So when this year's competition rolled around, she was a loaded gun, having thought about her "classical education" speech for a full 365 days with a brimming eagerness that I think (mother's opinion here) is her trademark.  She read some tough material in the research stage, only to write and rewrite it multiple times.  The challenge: to fit a very complicated subject into a mere 3 minutes.  It's tougher than one might think.  And I suspect that while she crafted an excellent speech, she came under the duress of the strict time limit when competition day dawned, and alas, "Classical Education: The Brain Trainer" came in third in our school behind the winning speech, a magic-themed effort entitled "Abracadabra".  No opportunity to take it to the "masses" at the district level.  The eagerness crushed, the spirit doused as the road led to a dead end.

When I say there were tears, I mean THERE WERE TEARS.  On and on and on.  She wanted to win for all the right reasons, and when she didn't, she really couldn't reconcile the loss in her mind.  Didn't God want people to know about this amazing system that honors our minds as "fearfully and wonderfully made?"   "Why put in the work and see it not pay off?" She begged me for an answer. And the heartwrenching question lingering in her mind: "If God put this desire in my heart a year ago, why did it come to nothing in the end?" 

Ah, the age old question. Why, God, why?

There is a happy ending to these mama ramblings.  Our school's open house was this week, and she was asked to deliver her competition speech before a near-full house.  And, conveniently, because of the original parameters, it spanned merely three minutes--just the right amount of time.  We had a whole bunch of new families visiting the school that night, in addition to a majority of our current parents. It was an important and sort of magical moment.

She rose to the occasion, walking up to the microphone in her navy blazer and pleated plaid skirt without a nervous bone in her body.   The speech was a rousing success. Seeds were planted. People laughed, they engaged, one or two were possibly humbled that a 12 year old understood and could confidently articulate the very thing they were trying to learn about by coming that night. 

Even if one mind or heart was moved, it was more meaningful and effective than giving it before a dry crowd of fellow competitors and their nervous parents at any competition because, on this night, the words went out, sunk in, and took root in listening hearts.  The act, caliber, and delivery of the speech itself was a testament to the effectiveness of the very classical education she described.

I am thankful that my Intense One received such an early and powerful life lesson about how God's plan for her is often going to be different than the plan she anticipates, but that it's important to trust that He "who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think" (Eph 3:20) WILL ACTUALLY DO IT according to his own perfect timing and design.  The key, I told her, is to be willing---for instance, to take a year-long desire, put the necessary hours of work and brain power into the effort, and focus on creating excellence.  Without knowing the future, she must come to the place she is called with preparation, eagerness, and best efforts.  That is always going to be her role.  The results or how He uses the fruits of her labor are out of her hands, but through faith she will consistently find that His purpose will always be far greater than anything she might hope for or imagine.

The point is not to desire her efforts to be honored, but to focus on bringing Him honor by her efforts.  Amen.

I caught the moment with my smartphone from the back, so the audio is low and the lighting is bad, but if you'd like to hear the actual speech, it's worth a three-minute listen to "Classical Education: The Brain Trainer" by Madeleine Roberts.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QV3Ns8e4JAE

Costume Roundup

By golly, the past three months have been so riddled with costumes that you would think our household resembled a Disney parade, a Halloween-themed sitcom, or a highly trained improvisation team with a specialization in historical characters.  Yes, it was a banner few months at the Roberts casa, with the Amazon Prime guys working overtime to facilitate the needs of the costume crack we regularly consume, much to the aggravation of Kate Middleton (the dog, not the princess. Ooooo, brain flash!  Next UPS box might need to be a royal doggie costume!)

The highlights: my husband wore leggings and a kettle suit in front of thousands of people (Tallahassee Democrat said 30,000, but gentle readers, you must err on the side of skepticism when it comes to the Democrat), my son went completely gray, and my daughter swapped candy with Abe Lincoln.

Lest you think I am exaggerating, I present for your viewing pleasure the Costume Roundup of Fall/Winter 2013:

Tom Sawyer Day, early October: We eased into it with a red gingham shirt and braided pigtails.
To quote City Slickers: "Scoop o' chocolate, scoop o' vanilla. Don't waste my time." 

Fall piano recital (don't let the guitar fool you): dress up required for this occasion. 
We went with the free, go-to costume for all red-blooded
American moms with blonde-haired daughters. 

Halloween was just a drop in the bucket.  As mentioned here, M followed the theme du jour: Scarlett O'Hara.

Boys went all-star--Star Wars that is--complete with little Yoda (green Eeyore? Shrek baby?)



And---BOOM---historical worlds collide!  Who knew that Scarlett
was head and shoulders taller than our tallest president?

Turning the corner to November: okay, not my people here, but I DID shop for this rad gladiator ensemble. Veni, vidi, vici!

Reidy's kindergarten class had the cutest pilgrim hats. If he had been my firstborn,
I would have preserved this getup.  As I recollect, it got squashed in the dark recesses of the car.

December, bring on the candy-themed fun.  The whole Roberts gang participated in the Winter Festival Parade in rockin' downtown Tallahassee.  I innocently asked M if she'd be willing to wear a gingerbread outfit.  She pictured facepaint, her sassy MK Shetland boots, and a puffy pen-decorated T-shirt. I deviously pictured Gingerbread Man from Shrek.  (insert wild laugh here).

All night, kids asked to have their picture taken with Ginger.  She hated loved it!

My cute cookie working the local crowd.

Which brings me to the once-in-a-lifetime chance to see Hubs dressed up
as Red Kettle Man (or, as folks in the crowd shouted, "Hey Mr. Cupcake!  Red Guy! Bucket Dude!")

The entire SA gang just before the parade began.  Note that Ginger's little sister (green pants, center) got to wear the very ensemble that Madeleine was denied.  (insert second wild laugh here, this time by AM.)

And introducing our artist-in-residence, Andy Warhol, who created a to-scale masterpiece for the 4th grade exhibit of the (Mini) Metropolitan Museum of Art.  If you want to chat about Pop Art,  50s feminism, or Warhol's raison d'etre, Collin's your guy.



In honor of Charles Dickens, M used her stash to purchase this lovely green-and-red, fur-lined, plaid-accented getup to attend a Victorian Christmas Party.  Perhaps she can save it for next year's Winter Festival and pass Ginger off on her unsuspecting brother?

  

Happy New Year to you all!  Sorry I can't offer any Deep Thoughts in honor of the big day--I'm still fried from all the (mercifully costume-free) Christmas festivities!  2014---here we go!



My Anniversary Card

Today I celebrated my 17th wedding anniversary.  There was no fancy dinner, no roses, no quiet hand holding.

Instead, today was a day of action, and it reminded me vividly of the “why” behind those 17 years.

Our special day started at 6am, when we bounded out of bed to head into the cold dark to finish the setup for a youth adventure race that our kids’ school was organizing as a fundraiser.  Although unquestionably a huge team effort, David was an integral part of the race, having spent many hours figuring out the nuances of the course, creatively naming the obstacles after the classical theme of the event, staking and taping off the 1.2 mile route, assembling the best playlist in the history of amateur races, and generally problem-solving a 200-person, 10-obstacle, slightly dangerous and logistically challenging race involving children as young as age 2 that had never taken place before. 

He was into it.  Why?  Because he believes in the fundamental mission of our school: to raise intellectuals for Christ.  He is passionate about our children knowing Jesus and one day being the most well-spoken, well-educated people in the room, able to defend and articulate their faith.  The school is all about such goals, and this race was designed to support its mission.

But for David, it’s not enough merely to have a sound opinion about something.  He doesn’t believe in things politely, stand aside, and leave it at that.

He is a person of innovative ideas and trustworthy actions. 

He spent his time today (and many days prior) dedicated to working with the team and making that race a smashing success.  And it was phenomenal.  We had children from all sorts of origination points—public school, private school, homeschool, our student body.  As he released coordinated 2-minute wave after wave of age groups banded with the color coding he set up, running through stakes that he personally had buried to define the race course, listening to tunes he had thoughtfully selected (Aaron Copland, Toad the Wet Sprocket, U2), his fingerprints were all over this event, and it was a resounding accomplishment. 

There is no doubt that David is a doer in the utmost sense of the word. 

But this just takes us to 10:30am on our 17th wedding anniversary.  For my husband also chairs another board, which he doesn't take lightly.  He rushed off to change in the race parking lot, Superman-style, and head to the public ribbon-cutting ceremony for the new 37,000 square foot Salvation Army headquarters that has been in the praying, purchasing, fundraising, and renovating stages ever since he joined the board. 

So, imagine David at 11am, wearing slightly wilted khakis and a button-down that I half-pressed last night and standing in front of around 100 folks in dark suits and tie-pins from the mayor’s office, numerous Salvation Army officers in their full-dress uniforms from chapters from Atlanta to South Florida, various members of the press and dignified officials and businessmen.  As he set aside the thoughts and concerns of the race earlier that morning, his clothing ceased to matter as his words connected with the crowd and he delivered from the podium on the gleaming front steps of that building a rousing, inspiring, call-to-action-type speech.  “Jesus tells us to serve the poor and needy, and this building is not only a place where the poor and needy can turn to be served, but a place where those desiring to serve Him can come and live out those words.  If you desire to serve Jesus, come here—do it here (gestures to beautiful new building).”  His words, spoken with great emotion, caused many (who pastor their own SA churches and speak regularly) to seek him out afterwards and thank him heartily for expressing what was in their hearts.

Looks neat and tidy, but we still have mud spatters on our faces from the race.

Would I take this man to be my lawfully wed husband, to have and to hold from this day forward?  I am thankful that on my 17th anniversary, by lunchtime, David reminded me many times over exactly why on November 9, 1996, I said yes and continue to say a resounding YES to that question.  Why I can't help but respect and admire him more every single day.  His thoughtfulness about faith, service, parenting, business, relationships, education and every matter that has any importance always translates into real-life execution of his ideals.  There are not enough people like that in the world.

And I’m here to testify that there is something magical about waking up with a godly man of action.  You know that the days with him will have meaning greater than your wildest hopes and dreams, and they will be an adventure ordained by God, satisfying beyond measure.

So a quiet day, some roses, and a restaurant dinner are always nice, but somehow David took this day and make it into a vividly illustrated, live-action card painted in broad and living strokes with this bold message:

I love the Lord my God.

I love our children.

And I love you.

How I Got Schooled: Goodbye Public

When our firstborn, the unfortunate guinea pig that she is, came of school age, we thought we were good to go.  We had purchased our home in an A-rated district, had a bright child, and had four college degrees under our mutual belts.  We felt prepared and had confidence we were doing the right thing.  But as her first grade year went on, we saw an ordinarily extremely peppy, outgoing, and bright girl wilt a bit before our eyes.  She was learning a very average amount—nothing exceptional—but seemed swept over by a combination of the large school environment, the extremely varied home environments that her peers were emerging from each morning (read: behavior problems abounded), and frankly did her smarts did not work to her advantage because there wasn’t much teaching that was being directed at her (individualized learning), much less challenging her.

It seemed day by day through my intuitive mama eyes that she was changing, that her sweet spirit and eager curiosity was being caged in and unwittingly cut at the quick.

Soon after, her brother entered the same school, and having tested gifted in Pre-K, was put right away in the K-2 gifted program alongside his sister.  This experience consisted of 20-30 minutes each morning of board games and group competitions intended to stimulate their minds.  Fun, but I couldn’t help think—wait a second, ya’ll!  Is this ALL there is to learning?  Shouldn’t it be more?  I watched them go from mind games to random writing prompts (in preparation for FCAT) to black history month instruction to my favorite time-waster, Guidance (that's my job, public school).  Isn’t there a rhyme or reason to all this random and piecemeal stuff you are putting before them?

Hush, hush, I thought, as I assured myself that we had done our absolute best for them.  Here they were, in a roundly-perceived “good” school, in a gifted track—but folks, it was just blah.  It wasn’t interesting.  They were spending precious days with not much to show for it.  Collin’s only goal as he understood it from the teacher was to “get a marble in his jar.”

I was bothered that they were apart from me for all their best hours, when they were the most alert and energetic, and yet there was nothing productive going on.  In many cases, they were sitting around waiting for others to learn what they already knew.

What was the breaking point for me?  Was it the crying on the playground as former preschool friends teased Madeleine for her good grades?  Was it the fear she felt at a tender 7 years old of the self-described “gang” of three mean-spirited, rowdy girls in her class?  Was it the way she placed into the highest reading level of Accelerated Reader, which catapulted her into books in the library that no young child should be reading, and caused her to experience confusion and frustration in her reading as the teachers only rewarded the volume of books read (and AR points gained) and disregarded quality of content as long as they had a black dot on their spine?  

I think the writing was on the wall when Collin came home with a simple single-digit addition worksheet that he had essentially failed (I admit I can’t recall the exact grade but there were red marks all over it).  I asked the teacher why he had a poor grade since the numeric answers were spot on.  Her reply was that he had to draw little bubbles for each digit and bubbles under the answer, which, as she explained it was “how they were starting to teach math under the new national standards.”  She didn’t want to see any exceptions to how she was teaching the math, either.  Now, this was several years ago, and Common Core was very slowly being rolled out in Florida, so this was the first I had heard of it.  But I tell you what, every parenting instinct I had told me to turn around and run.

Time to insert a visual here.  The following picture is a (different) math worksheet independently completed by my son, in which all the answers are “wrong”:

So, tell me, how many ways CAN you subtract from 3?

Isn’t 3 minus 100 negative 97?  Isn’t 3 minus 400 negative 397? 

According to Collin’s logic here, there is an infinite number of ways to subtract from three. THIS KID KNEW MATH INTUITIVELY. He was all of five years old when he did this worksheet by himself.  What was this federally mandated approach to math going to do to his natural skills?  When someone instantly knows 5+13=18, are you really going to make them draw bubbles to correspond to the numbers? 

Doesn’t this kill the fun of math for a little kid, possibly for good?

Another great example of the dangers of one-size-fits-all education was the computer challenge lab that allowed students to work above their grade level through a program that monitors correct and incorrect answers.  This lab works as a placebo for mothers like me who fear their children are not challenged during the day.  “Well, at least they’ll get some tough questions in Challenge Lab.”

I finally sat in on the actual lab one day, and one question I will always remember:  “How many rectangles are shown?”  It was a series of overlapping rectangles and the student had to master the visual tricks and sort out the correct quantity.  Madeleine got it wrong.  I watched an expression of total confusion cross her face.  She counted again.  Wrong again.  She turned to me, “Mom, what IS the right answer?  I counted 13 but when you look at the rectangle surrounding the question, it’s 14!”  Well, she was right but how could I argue with a computer?  What means of discussion did she have to justify her answer? Was there even a teacher around on all the other days that she got the "wrong" right answer?  Such experiences end in tears and extreme frustration for children who care.

They certainly did with mine.

So I’ve laid out a the warning flags that I was getting as a mother: many times the instruction didn’t make common sense, it was completely segregated by subjects, there was no consideration of alternative patterns of thought or problem-solving, there was a labyrinth of social and behavioral issues to contend with each day, but worst of all—and this is the crux of Common Core--there was a one-size-fits-all mentality towards educating the wonderfully unique, creative, and one-of-a-kind minds that God had given to my children. 

Mother's instinct blared in my head with each passing day: this is wrong and I am allowing it to happen day-in and day-out to those I love best.

Public school and that first wave of Common Core seemed, at best, like a mediocre and generic path and, at worst, a poorly thought-through experiment in education that would squander my children’s gifts, abilities, and potential for the future.

And the fact is that regardless of where and how my children are educated, I remain personally the one accountable for their education before God.  They have been given directly and with specific divine reasons into our care, entrusted to our decision-making and supervision by the Lord Himself.  Am I going to say on that day of accountability that we were victims of the public school system and this Common Core was unavoidable stuff and gosh that principal was stubborn and the teacher cared but was too burdened by federal expectations to help, so hey now--what could we do?

Am I honoring my holy stewardship of these precious children with such wild justifications?

So, with all these things in mind, I prayed a whole, whole bunch and set out to find an alternative.  Because when we felt the door closing on something that had become unacceptable, Christ was faithful to guide us to the next step, one unknown to us at the time: to classical education.  Through the recommendation of a friend, I started reading The Well Trained Mind by Susan Bauer.  I saw my children's dilemma and such a brilliant opportunity for learning spelled out and explained throughout those first few chapters.

And, wouldn't you know it, there is an exceptional classical school right here where I live.  The tuition is low and the standards are sky-high. The deal was sealed, and we've never looked back.

Portrait of a Boy {Friday Photo}

'"So medicine, law, business, engineering...
these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life.
But poetry, beauty, romance, love...
these are what we stay alive for."
Robin Williams, Dead Poets Society

Short of Perfect

Super preggers--gimme a break

Dear Miss M,

You are my firstborn and I've given you love and given you orders and I've tried and failed and tried again to raise you according to His word in spite of my own sinful state.  

But there is one thing you need to know tonight.  I hear you crying in your room because you are stuck on an algebra problem set that's due tomorrow. You are only 11 and you want it all to be perfect, and I love that you constantly drive yourself to be the best you can be.  I've seen you in the zone, your brain on fire as you imagine things in three dimensions and come up with answers without knowing formulas.  You are an innovative thinker; you can focus and conceptualize and problem solve with a look on your face that makes me step aside and stay silent.

God's gonna use that one day.

We (meaning everyone but me) are a mathy people.

first district math competition--nailed it.

But this evening, dear child, I want to tell you something important:  there is no perfect apart from Christ. You're going to struggle with that fact because I surely have.  You desire perfection and push yourself to it--to the point of your tears--but, sweet child, we are broken people.  Broken. There will be days when you want "perfect" and you will have it right in hand, and you will celebrate.  But there will be other days when you shoot for perfect and fall short by a titch or sometimes by a million miles.  It will make you feel frustrated and you'll flail around trying to make it somehow different--but right now I want you to learn that sometimes you have to call it a day, pack it up, get on your knees, and ask God to bring you peace.

So give yourself a break.  Know that if you can't find the solution now, it will come to you later.  Or not.  But we see you and He sees you and we both know your heart.  Sometimes when you shoot for the best you're gonna hit it dead on and other days will end in disappointment. 

Those times, remember to stop and find rest in the only Perfect I've ever found.  

Mom's orders.

 "Casting all your anxieties on him, 

because he cares for you." 1 Peter 5:7

Role Reversal {Friday Photo}

 

So this happened in the wee hours of the morning....

 

First tie ever. Lookin' good, little man. Now off to work!

 

going old school

I guess I am going old school.  You see, I have books on the brain.  Just this week I stood in the mall with a very rare moment to myself, nowhere to be for two hours, and I found myself pausing, asking “Where would I be if I could be anywhere?”  Surprised by the answer: the library.

When I realized the desire, I couldn’t drive there fast enough. Up the steps and into my two bags flew the unforgettable Rebecca, The Door in the Wall, Black Beauty, poetry of Robert Frost.  It was a gathering of jewels; I departed with a collection of words that transformed those mere totes into brimming treasure chests of golden expression.  I was downright giddy as I fingered the spines of each title, driving away towards home.  (In the interest of full disclosure, this plunder caused me to officially exceeded the 50-book limit imposed by the powers that be.)

If you put a literary feast out for your children, they will begin to eat.  I witness the gluttony every day. We treasure evenings around the fire in our bedroom, with Dad reading his own book and the others laid out on snatched blankets and pillows, quietly inhaling every word.  The Odyssey by Homer, Helen Keller’s The Story of My Life, Treasure Island, even the classic Nancy Drew -- we taste and eat and find it is good.

I overheard a discussion yesterday about technology, about how schools simply must offer it starting at an early age (eek-- my preschooler tossed the iPhone out the open car window just last week) and how a lack of current Apple gadgets could somehow make our kids uncompetitive in this century. (The prevalance of apathy might lead to that outcome anyway.)

I think we may be missing something here.

Susan Bauer is a bit more eloquent: she emphasizes that education should be “language-focused: learning is accomplished through words, written and spoken, rather than through images (pictures, videos, and television).  Why is this important?  Language requires the mind to work harder; in reading, the brain is forced to translate a symbol (words) into a concept. Images, such as those on videos and TV, allow the mind to be passive.”  And my favorite part:  “when faced with the written page, the mind is required to roll its sleeves and get to work.” (The Well-Trained Mind, p.14)

I am not anti-technology; I am blogging after all.  Technology can strengthen education, but used poorly it seems a diversion from actual learning.  What good an iPad when children don’t have the attention span or vocabulary to read a good book?  What app will help them write well when they’ve never actually read great writing? 

Fill the storehouse of the mind with good things and there will be a harvest of wisdom.

I sit with the four and two year old, all cozy in their soft pajamas, and we revel in Charlotte’s Web.  There are giggles as Fern pushes baby Willbur in the stroller, as he breaks free from his pen for a moment of freedom.  The older two read in the flickering light of the fire: Boxcar Children for the first grader, his nineteenth book since Christmas, and the delightful All-of-a-Kind Family for the oldest.  The Wii is unplugged, the iPhone sits idle on the charger, the TV off, the computer sleeps.  These rich moments are worthy of pursuit; we lay the rails of expectation and they willingly fly down the track.

Why does it matter?  Because our days should not be filled with diversions.  God calls us to excellence.  Am I passing that calling along to my children, intentionally guiding them on this rigorous yet lively path?  For my children to strive towards godly excellence, they must be equipped to be well-versed, independent thinkers, and that will never happen if I serve them junk food (crummy books, loads of television, lots of gaming) or forget that training the mind for wisdom starts with the written word, not with early exposure to technology.   Reading the classics buys them a ticket to join in the Great Conversation of the history of western thought and helps them come to understand the subtle complexity of God’s world. 

Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.  Phil 4:8

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Galatians 6:8-9