Band-aid

And in a less than stellar parenting moment, when Amy AGAIN asked if a little sore spot looked like it was bleeding, because she thought it looked like it was bleeding (and our Band-Aid waste-avoidance rule is that they’re used only for bleeding stuff), I told her sarcastically that if she scratched it enough it would probably bleed.

Sarcasm — and the contempt that fuels it — is one of my worst parenting temptations, if not THE worst. It sure doesn’t help anything. I am glad that she sort of “gets” it — and fights back. She knows it’s mean and tells me so. 

Ribbon

The other day Amy and I went to the park. This park has a playground, a band shell, and some walking paths, and Amy had said she wanted to go for a walk before doing the playground. As we were walking by the playground, though, a little girl called out to Amy to come play with her and her little brother. Amy was uncertain at first but then was willing.

The little girl directed the play much like Amy tends to do — now this, now that, centering the script and action on herself. After a short time, Amy came over to me — I don’t remember the details, but the gist was that she wasn’t enjoying the play all that much, but agreed to stay a little longer. The other kids’ dad came over and apologized for his girl’s being “so social,” and I assured him that it was good for my little one to experience it from the other side, as she often does the same sort of thing.

They found their way into more mutually satisfying playing, now on the playground, now in the bandshell nearby, while the dad and I talked a bit (he’s a single dad, plays in some rock bands, his grandmother watches the kids a lot) and watched the kids. I’d brought my knitting, too.

Soon, they found two long (clean) floral ribbons, and played with those for a while, then decorated two bushes with them, moving on to other things, then later returned to them. The other girl went to move one of the ribbons — Amy cried out “No! you can’t!” or some such, and after a pause, the other girl burst into tears.

The dad tried redirecting, saying she wanted to go get some lunch — she cried and shook her head while he guided them along the path. Meanwhile, I’d caught up Amy and asked her if she knows why her friend is crying — she said it was because the girl wanted to move the ribbon and Amy didn’t want her to. At this point, the other family had come up the path to where we were, and I asked both girls if they wanted to try to solve the problem before the one girl left for lunch — she nodded.

I narrated what I’d seen and heard — “You wanted to move the ribbon, and Amy didn’t want you to; what can we do about this?”

They were both silent. “Do either of you have any ideas?” I asked again after a pause.

Then Amy enthusiastically said she had an idea — I forget whether it was to take turns with the ribbons or to have one ribbon for each girl — and the other girl accepted this solution. In fact, she came over to me and silently gave me a big hug. (I treasure that hug.) The dad said they could stay a little longer, and they were able to finish playing on a positive note.

It’s kind of surprising how two kids, who were at such a standstill before, with one stuck in crying and the other stuck in aggressive “No!” shouting, were able to come to a mutually agreeable solution with just a bit of supported listening and narrating. And how much more pleased they must have been, especially Amy, to have arrived at this (fairly obvious) solution instead of having it suggested or imposed by an adult.

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Amy bits

7/14/11
My child has a special occasion nightgown.

7/15
“I’ll help you wash the dishes!
What can I wash?
I don’t want to wash the dishes.
I wish I could wash dishes with you.”

7/29
“1+2+2 is 5, and that’s how many candles we’ll put on my cake for my next birthday!”

8/10
“One of my dresses is oscillating!”

8/14
Me: “Remember the story of the boy who cried ‘Wolf!’? I’m going to write a story called ‘The girl who whined so much that no one wanted to listen to her anymore.’”

Amy: “I want to read it when it’s written!”

8/17
Amy is making play mail — she used an old envelope, cut and glued on her own flap, and sealed it with old address labels. She’s so pleased with herself.

8/23
Today, Amy shot a deer, a bear, and a buckwheat hull.

8/30
We talked about God, pee, and other things on our way to school.

9/12
I am currently eating lunch at the computer because Amy, angry because she thinks I should have known that she doesn’t like peach puree, said she didn’t want to be with me today. 50% of the time, she wants the peach puree mixed with her yogurt. The other 50%, separate. She seldom lets me know ahead of time, and seldom keeps her opinion for more than thirty seconds at a time.

Just went down the hall to ask Amy (who’s using the bathroom) something, and saw her quickly hide a book behind her back. She said she’s reading in the bathroom, like Daddy.

9/15
Amy, playing all the characters:
“Knock knock…”
“Who is it?”
“It’s Maribel — do you want fourteen little girls?”
“Sure!”

9/18
“She’s trying to kill them by saying MEAN THINGS!”

9/23
“Is ‘pothead’ a nice thing to call someone?”
She likes to attach all sorts of words to “head” as a silly teasing nickname… we told her “poophead” is not nice even when you’re not saying it or intending it in a mean way, and now she asks about all the other variations — pretzelhead, pantshead, and so on. She was lounging on the floor in the kitchen when I got out a pot, in the process of making dinner, and then she asked the status question.

9/24
“I’m going to have a lot of money when I grow up. I’m going to get $92 — no, I’m going to get $100~”

“She’s not dead at all!”

“This is my automatic kisser!”

9/25
Amy: (playing with a knitting needle) “My stepmother killed my first cat.”
Me: “Are you knitting a new one?”
Amy: “No, I’m making a fur coat from the fur.”

There is a lot of politics involved in explaining words to your kid. Today’s word was “plump.” It’s nice when you’re talking about raisins, not so nice about a person, but better than “fat,” and on and on.

9/26
Snow White (calling the police): Hello?
Police: Hi.
Snow White: My mother is mean. Can you take her away?
Police: Yes.

More politics — Amy’s interested in the handicapped, the foster system, the police… she made a separate Lego “cooling area” just for the handicapped, which then meant the handicapped were not allowed in the “regular” cooling area… And yes, she made wheelchairs by sitting a person on a set of wheels. I helped her make a brake so the wheelchair could stand up. She made a handicap accessible desk in her Lego school, too.

9/28
“Dear Jesus, thank you for bank, button-sewing, and handwriting. Amen.”

Bank: Amy takes an empty tray and basket to the teacher, who asks for, say, five ten-bars, or three thousand-cubes, or seven unit beads, or some such, and she goes and fetches the items and returns, and the teacher counts them, and then she puts them back and fills another order.

Button-sewing: On a bit of fabric in an embroidery hoop. I imagine the teacher gets the button started, and the student sews extra stitches.

Handwriting: They teach a somewhat italic script that is sort of between printing and cursive. She started with quite a list of letters — I think eight or so. She has been writing her name for about a year — usually it looks like H mmmmmmmmmmm x, but recently the top of the H has closed to become a real A. And the other day she copied “The End” rather well. This stage is so exciting.

10/2
Mark to Amy (playing Barbies): “That doesn’t go with her dress.”

10/10
Amy’s second thing she has learned to write: The End.
We do a lot of book-writing around here. She draws pictures and tells me what to write down. And one day she copied my “The End,” and then again, and again. She also spelled “apl” on the fridge today. (Apple, of course.) And “and.”

10/14
Amy, eating leftover chickpeas masala: “I feel the strong smell of coriander.”

10/15
At the thrift store today, Amy wanted to try on: 1) a black and leopard print velvet dress, 2) a purple sparkly leotard, 3) a hand-made old-fashioned dress with fussy lace neckline and hem, and 4) an exquisite pale blue and dark brown gown.

10/23
Unintended consequences of reading the Bible with your child:
She accidentally staples her thumb, and when you suggest she suck on it to help it feel better and stop bleeding, she insists she can’t — why not? “The Bible says you can’t drink blood!” I don’t even remember when we ever read a part that says that.

Further explanation — she saw a picture of Pharaoh’s daughter pouring out a bucket of blood — so there we go. She was confused about the plagues on Egypt.

My child, asked what she wants for her fifth birthday, replies with a long list of books and cds, and, oh, a purple marker, and a blue one.

10/24
Amy, drawing: “This is a football player. She’s a princess.”

10/26
Amy read a book to me today. (The “Dot” book from Bob Books.)

11/6
“Amy, are you allowed to climb over the back of the couch?”
“I thought you didn’t see me.”

This morning, Amy was very pleased to show me her pee can. It’s a can you pee in at night, and then you dump it out in the morning. Her own invention. I was less pleased than she expected.

11/9
“Mom, I think the house is a camel. Because it holds things.”

Amy: My booty is going so high.
Me: What is your booty?
Amy: My chewing.

11/11
Amy (singing): The loaf of bread that Jesus made… and he gave it to his disciples saying “This is my body…”

“Good morning everyone! These are the Ellens, Ellens, Ellens…”

Today Amy let me watch her do her neti pot. She tilts just until it starts to drip through, then stops to blow her nose, then repeats. I’m so proud and pleased.

11/13
Amy, singing: “I can’t believe you changed your house into a church…It was just a silly wimple… but you know who that belongs to…”

11/21
At dinner tonight, Amy read, almost without help, “Great Value Woven Squares Whole Grain Snack Crackers.”

1/3/12
Amy is wearing sweatpants and a magnifying glass. And socks.

1/6
“Sometimes I just want someone to go with me [into the music room]. I’m not afraid of a silly well pump [noise] anymore.”

1/12
We had the Talk today. Yeah, that one.

It all started with “But how do the sperm get to the egg?” and “They travel up the Fallopian tubes” wasn’t adequate — “But the man makes the sperm,” she protested… I’m impressed with how long she was able to know about sperm fertilizing eggs without wondering how they got there. I prefaced it with “This is something people talk about privately” — usually she’s pretty good about that. So far she hasn’t blabbed about Santa either!

And then we had a long conversation, I mean monologue, about how she was going to grow up to be a princess, live with her grandparents forever, and have dresses with puffy sleeves and puffy skirts, and other dresses with straps, and others with Snow White sleeves, and, and, and.

Amy (whining): “I want this to be glued at some point today.”
Me: “I will do it when I am ready to.”
Amy (whining): “It’s taking so loooooong.”
Me: “Yeah, it’s hard for you that I’m a real person with my own ideas of what I would like to do.”
Amy (whining): “Yeaahhh…”
Me: “You have plenty of toys you can control.”
Amy (brightly): “Mm-hmm!” (Leaves the room.)”

1/15
Amy: “Sheets and towels, sheets and towels…”
Me: “*You’re* a sheet and towel.”
Amy: “No, I’m not, I’m just a little comforter.”

1/16
Amy is going back and forth between the Hallelujah Chorus and the national anthem, sung with “meow” either way, while she plays with the dollhouse.

1/20
Working with play-doh, Amy says “Look, I made a worm shedding its skin!”

1/25
Amy has set up the scrabble board and put letters in all four holders, and is now building words. She started with “U. S. Mail” which she read on a truck on our commute this morning. She says, “Mom, is scrabble like homeschool?”

1/30
Someone is really volatile this morning…

Sits on my legs. Gets off. Mom, may I sit on your legs? “You already did. It’s fine.” You didn’t say I could. “You can.” Whiiiiiiiine. “You may. *looks at her gently but steadily*” Nearly crying whiiiiiine. You said it too many times… “Oh. Okay. I’m sorry.” … suddenly cheerful. Mom, look at my knee — it’s almost gone (referring to an old scab). … silent thumb-sucking…

Oh, and then there was the mustache. We had reached something of an impasse working on chores in her room, and a little paper mustache was on the floor so I put it on and played Daddy for a while… humor sometimes doesn’t work for me but it often works for her…

2/2
Amy: I feel like you’re not really nice.
Me: Really? Why is that?
Amy: Because I don’t like peach puree in the morning and you always give it to me.

Except for the fact that we rarely have it. And when we do, I usually eat mine with yogurt, and she wants hers separate. In all the myriads of times that I have not served peach puree, I have not been alerted to any best mom notices. And in the times when I have served hers mixed with yogurt, I have been subject to scathing denouncements.

2/6
This afternoon, we had another gracious leave-taking — Amy said to her friends, “I have to go now. Bye!” And left the room.

2/16
As I, the fairy godmother, waved my wand over Amy, Cinderella, she described how her clothes were being transformed — the leggings became beautiful ballpants. You know, analogous to ball gowns.

2/17
Even though she missed the bubble-blowing, Amy did not explode; and even went to bed peacefully. (So far.) Happy birthday, Ella!

3/3
Amy played checkers with me today. She had a good time and was just starting to understand a little of the strategy.

3/6
At the library Amy picked out a Mozart music box CD called Sleepytime, then listening to it in the car proceed to fall asleep with one hand in the peanut butter half of her sandwich and the other hand in the jelly half.

3/7
Amy picked out a parsnip and a turnip to try. Wondering what I will do with them.

(I’m going with roasted — since we just got one of each, I cut up some carrots to go with. Tossed with olive oil and salt and pepper and a few sliced garlic cloves. The verdict is that we all liked the parsnip, and none of us cared for the turnip, although it was okay. Mostly a texture thing.)

Amy seriously just lay down next to me, watching me check email and such, and just fell asleep.

3/9
Nothing like a rude voice proclaiming loudly “No! Those are MY responsibility to take care of!”

I thought it was funny, and was glad I wasn’t the one being addressed, because I might have laughed. Anything to delay going to bed!

3/11
Amy just made her own Montessori bean-transferring work. There were two big spills complete with banging tantrums, and now both have been picked up and she’s working contentedly.

3/22
Amy says, “Dolly Parton, the littlest girl in the world!” That’s right — she’s never seen a picture.

Apparently she has named one of her Polly Pockets Dolly Parton… hence the little. She knows of Dolly Parton through one song, a duet she sings on one of Norah Jones’ CDs.

3/23
Amy, playing with Pollys or something — singing cheerfully as she narrates the action… “We don’t like you! We don’t like you!” Hmmm.

3/28
Glad that my girl didn’t seem horribly upset by being called a “boy-girl” by a classmate (for her short haircut), and for that reason excluded from a game… and yet, my opinion of that name-caller has dropped many points.

4/2
Today, Amy made her own breakfast. She got out the toaster, set it on the floor and plugged it in, toasted two slices; used a chair to fetch the butter bell from the counter and a plate and knife.

4/7
We’re going to the beach. She may or may not find the water too cold, but the sand will be fun to play in, and there’s the playgrounds on either side.

It was a little heartbreaking, actually, watching her chase one group of people after another, hoping to persuade someone to play with her. (I wasn’t up for playing today…) Sometimes she remembered more polite / winsome ways like “would you like to play” and other times she barged in (announcing “I’m drowning and I need someone to save me!” while next to the playground shaped like a ship) or otherwise tried more controlling tactics. Some folks did play with her — some did their own thing, some (like the local teens) gave her some half-attention, and others played but had to leave soon.

4/16
Amy mentioning her plan to marry a prince led to a discussion of forms of government… everyday conversations and ordinary life are learning.

Amy and I are enjoying the Handel station on Pandora today.

And now Amy has cut a piece of fabric and pinned a patch over it, and wants to sew the patch on. This could be interesting.

4/20
Yesterday Amy explained that she was wearing a “skin shirt” — she was wearing just a tutu and another skirt around her neck — I asked what a “skin shirt” was, and she said it’s made from people skin. I ask how, and she said “when there’s a dead giant, you take off the skin, get rid of the blood, and then make a shirt out of it.”

Amy: “I make pleasant music with my tongue.”

Also, when I was talking about how well-liked Mark tends to be (by students and colleagues), and said it’s like “there’s some part of him I don’t get to see,” she said, “Like his face?”

apology

Dear Amy,

I can see how disconnected and adrift you are feeling today. You’re unnerved by it, sort of scared, definitely out of sorts. And that’s the reason you’ve been lashing out.

It’s why you yelled at me “Why are you crumbling the biscuit that way! That’s NOT the right way to do it!” when I was preparing my own biscuit for gravy this morning. Your own needs loomed so large to you in that moment that you assumed I was ruining YOUR biscuit.

It’s why you’ve dug in your heels and stubbornly murmured defiant mm-mmm’s about just about everything this morning. Said you weren’t going grocery shopping, you weren’t going to fold laundry, you weren’t going to do anything, and you weren’t going to let me play with you anymore.

I get it. I know what it feels like, when you feel that your need for safe, warm, devoted nurture is a bottomless pit, full of sharp rocks — when you’re feeling so empty that you’re sure no one is good or kind or available. When you’re pretty sure you don’t deserve nurture anyway.

I know you’re not being a jerk on purpose. You’re not being mean out of cold hatred. You’re not being oppositional and defiant as if that were your fundamental essence. You’re not prickly and yucky by empowered authentic choice.

But sweetheart… I have to confess… while I understand what’s going on with you this morning, and I even understand what would help — I have to say that your behavior this morning had an effect on me, too.

My shoulders felt like trying to crawl into my ears. I wanted to shut the door, batten down the hatches, send for reinforcements, build up the walls. I felt almost physically pummeled — or attacked by a crawling insistent army of nasty ants. I kept quiet as much as I could. I expressed as much compassion as I could. I mirrored what I saw, telling you it seemed you felt you weren’t being taken care of enough. You latched onto that, of course — it was a possibility for connection, a resonance — and I wasn’t able to follow through. By the time you and Daddy were ready to leave for the store, I couldn’t keep myself from saying something really mean to you about how I was feeling about your behavior.

I wish I had been able to hold you and gently help you get out a big cry. Or to sweep you up for a romp around the house and get you laughing and feeling connected again. I didn’t feel strong and secure enough. I’m really sorry. I had a good loud cry myself after you two left. Maybe we’ll have another chance later today — maybe I’ll be ready and able then.

Kite

Charlotte Mason Volume I Part II.VII-XII

VII: The child gets knowledge by means of his senses

Young children learn a lot just from watching what goes on around them, and exploring objects with all of their senses. They become familiar with common things, learn about form and distance and perspective and mechanics and seasons and so on.

It is possible to overtax a child with the wrong kind of work — but children don’t get tired of exploring new things; it’s the work they’re suited for in these early years. We should provide plenty of things to explore — and, when invited, supply the words for these things. In the early years, it is better not to use words as the primary vehicle for teaching, but things.

A sense of beauty grows from early experience in nature. A child observes naturally — as people get older, some retain this tendency while others lose it.

Mason tries to walk between too much structure or restriction on the one hand, and too much freedom or laxity on the other hand. Sometimes it sounds like she errs on one side or the other, or applies the concern where it doesn’t seem applicable. Like here:

Now, consider what a culpable waste of intellectual energy it is to shut up a child, blessed with this inordinate capacity for seeing and knowing, within the four walls of a house, or the dreary streets of a town. Or suppose that he is let run loose in the country where there is plenty to see, it is nearly as bad to let this great faculty of the child’s dissipate itself in random observations for want of method and direction. (68)

It’s especially the second sentence that bothers me — as if children can’t really benefit from being able to explore freely without someone guiding and building on their explorations. I think there’s a time and place for direction and method, and a time and a place for unstructured, barely supervised exploration.

VIII: The child should be made familiar with natural objects

Mason argues that the country is better than the town, because knowing which side of the street a store is on is not especially good for growing wisdom, whereas country objects are interrelated, members of larger systems, examples of whole species or groups. Kids don’t necessarily need to know all the technical terms for what they notice as they explore in nature — with enough exploration and observation they’ll make their own connections, comparisons, contrasts.

Kingsley writes: “in learning true knowledge they [scientific men] will have learnt also their own ignorance, and the vastness, the complexity, the mystery of Nature. But they will also be able to rule, they will be able to act, because they have taken the trouble to learn the facts and the laws of Nature” (71).

Mason believes that learning early to love nature will provide a child with “pure interests, absorbing pursuits, health, and good humor,” serving to deter him from sin. I suspect it’s just as possible to sin while loving nature — but likely enough there’s less chance of getting in trouble there.

IX: Out-of-door geography

Whatever can be found in surrounding nature can be compared to geography of other places — small trees and hills and ponds made analogous to great forests, mountains, lakes and seas.

While outdoors, children can be made acquainted with the various positions of the sun at various times of day, as well as the variations in weather. Both sun and weather can be opportunities to talk about things such as time and distance. Walking is another introduction to distance — a child can measure his pace, and use it to measure the distance of various parts of the outdoor environment. He can also measure how much time it takes to walk one of these parts. From there, he can calculate how much distance he would cover in a given time, or vice versa.

By observing the sun’s rising and setting, the various positions between, and the effects on shadows, a child can learn to use the sun to determine direction — first east and west, and if she stands with east on her right and west on her left, then north is before her and south behind. Then she can consider what things in the house, in the yard, in the neighborhood, in the town, lie in which directions. She can also notice the directions of winds, from smoke, waving branches, moving clouds, and learn that winds are named for the direction they’re coming from, not the direction they’re blowing.

Later, introduce a compass, and guide the child in observing its movements as he walks as straight as he can, or in a slow circle, or turns right or left. Introduce the idea of boundaries, such as a field being bounded by a hedge, another field, or a stream. Chidren can draw rough maps or plans of places they’ve explored, labeling the compass points; sometimes they can pace the place and draw their plan to scale.

X. The child and mother nature

In this section Mason makes clear that she does not expect all outdoor time to be occupied in direct teaching. Indeed, she argues that the greater difficulty for the parent is to keep herself from talking too much, and to limit the number of teachings in each outdoor excursion. Here’s a quotation that to me stands quite in contrast with the one above that bothered me:

…the child stares up into a tree, or down into a flower––doing nothing, thinking of nothing; or leads a bird’s life among the branches, or capers about in aimless ecstasy;––quite foolish, irrational doings, but, all the time a fashioning is going on… (79)

The mother can occasionally call attention to something she finds especially lovely in the landscape, even occasionally mentioning the pleasure God has in this thing he has made and in the pleasure it brings his children. Both should be shared as delight rather than as teaching or exhortation.

XI: Out-of-door games, etc.

There should be a brief lesson in foreign language, perhaps ten minutes for six new words and recalling previously learned words. The words may be related to something in the surroundings.

After lunch, the little ones may nap outdoors while the older ones play games, especially games that allow them to shout and move quite freely. These may include singing and dancing games, jumping rope, tag, ball, follow-the-leader, and also games that involve the discipline of rules, such as baseball and soccer.

Climbing, leaping, boating, and swimming are to be encouraged, not avoided. Children will learn “courage and caution from their own experiences,” and are more likely to fall, not less, when startled by a mother’s overzealous warning (84).

Obviously, children should be dressed appropriately for this kind of play.

XII: Walks in bad weather

An hour or so morning and afternoon should continue in winter, with all the same kinds of observations, notes in the diary, and language lesson.

Likewise, by all means go out in the rain — wearing breathable clothes rather than stuffy raincoats — save the raincoat for times when the child won’t be able to change clothes on arriving back home or at church or school or wherever.

Charlotte Mason Volume I Part I.VII The ‘reign of law’ in education

Charlotte Mason argues that all education should be conducted by an “orderly, regulated progress under the guidance of Law” (38). I love order, at least in some ways. I like to have things neatly and accessibly organized. I like clear expectations and a harmony between stated rules and actual practice in a workplace. And undoubtedly certain things go more smoothly, more efficiently, when done with a well-organized method — a good knitting pattern is a fine example.

On the other hand, the idea of all education being subject to relentless organization and rules bothers me. How much kids learn through free play without interference or any agenda… or how sometimes the messiest process yields the most beautiful and meaningful results. Things learned haphazardly, carelessly, through seemingly chance encounters and re-encounters, may well settle more deeply and usefully than the same things learned through someone else’s careful and concise summary.

And yet, I suspect that Mason does not intend quite the connotation her phrase brings to my mind. Or at least I have an impression that in some ways she appreciates the value of some spontaneity and freedom, and of the priority of principles, what she calls “method,” over against systems of orderly and specific instructions or steps.

She goes on to mention that the divine laws are sometimes more likely to be inferred by observing life than explicitly stated in the Bible. The Bible, wonderful book that it is, containing all we need to know concerning God and salvation, is not a manual or textbook for any other subject.

Mason notes a danger, not from the wickedness of the godless, but from their goodness, arguing that sometimes those who disbelieve in God nevertheless are more law-abiding, more moral, more ethical, more good in their living than some religious folks. She argues that her approach to education can help mitigate this danger.

I’ll note again that she seems rather classist in this; she describes the danger as not so great after all, because it is “one that parents of the cultivated class are competent to deal with, and are precisely the only persons who can deal with it” (38-39).

The next paragraph seems contradictory. On the one hand, matter and mind alike cannot do anything in disobedience to divine laws — on the other hand, those who ascertain and obey a divine law receive the particular blessing associated with obeying that law, and those who disregard or fail to ascertain and obey a divine law, miss that particular blessing. So… some divine laws of mind cannot be disobeyed any more than the divine law of gravity, whereas other laws of mind can be? Or is it that in some general sovereignty / common grace sense, all things are in obedience to general divine law although not every person at every moment is in obedience to all particular divine laws?

Her main point, at least by the end of the paragraph, seems to be that those who obey God’s laws without regard for God still receive the blessings of obedience, while those who love God but disregard God’s laws receive the blessing of the relationship with him but miss out on the blessings of obedience.

While the blessings of grace and relationship with God trump everything else, Mason argues that it is wrong to therefore dismiss everything else. Christians ought to endeavor to know what can be known about all kinds of things, including how the brain works, and how best to foster truthfulness, diligence, and any other virtue we desire to see in our children. It’s not fair of parents to expect and pray that their children develop such virtues, without making the effort to learn how best to help them do so.

I suppose I have seen something of this; some Christians do think that “grace alone” means to not ask questions, not look too deeply into certain matters, not read or trust or glean anything from any secular source (or from another denomination). Some rely solely on what they consider to be common sense and tradition and whatever interpretations of the Bible seem so obvious as not to be interpretations at all, instead of looking to learn how best to parent, educate, or do anything else. Sometimes it works just fine; sometimes it would benefit from more knowledge; sometimes the allegedly common-sense approach can be downright dangerous.

Protected: Mamatography Week 6

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