A Slight Case of Cheating

I'm sure this happens to everyone eventually, but I was not prepared for it to happen to us. The Crafter cheated on her school work.  Here's how it went down.

There was a play that she disparately wanted to attend.  It was at night.  The Historian works at night.  Wild Thing and Sweetie do not do well being out past their bedtime.  The Crafter's best friend's mother graciously invited her to attend the play with them and to spend the night afterward.  We gratefully accepted the offer on the condition that the Crafter diligently complete her work for the week.  I even got organized and made a color coded spread sheet listing each assignment for each day.

Everything was going well.  The Crafter completed her work on Monday in only 3 hours—including piano practice.  The Historian and I strongly encouraged her to work ahead a bit.  Thursdays and Fridays are difficult school days because I teach at the college.  She didn't want to work ahead; she wanted to have extra play time.  Tuesday and Wednesday passed in a similar fashion.

Thursday was not good.  I wasn't here to stay on top of her work.  The Historian was busy with Wild Thing and Sweetie and couldn't help as much as he would have liked.  I arrived home and saw what was happening.  We gently reminded the Crafter that going to the play depended on getting her work done. She said she understood, but the diligence of earlier in the week was gone.  She messed around and spent two hours on math instead of the 30 minutes it should have taken.  She didn't finish Thursday's list. There was still time though.  Her Friday list was short with only math, reading, piano, and a spelling test. She could manage the undone items from Thursday and do Friday's work with time to spare.

If only she had asked for help with her math.  I arrived home to the Historian looking at some math problems or rather some correct answers to some rather involved math problems with no supporting work.  We knew some mischief was afoot.  We asked her to redo the problems and show her work this time. Thirty minutes passed with no math.  I point blank asked her if she had copied the answers from the answer key.  She said no.  After another thirty minutes, she began to cry.  The Historian finally got her to confess to copying the answers and then lying about it.

Daddy handled the discipline.  There would be no play, no spending the night with her friend, and she would have to apologize to her friend and tell her why their plans changed.  The Crafter shed many tears.  I believe that the toughest part of the punishment was when she actually had to confess her sin to her friend.   I pray that we handled this appropriately.  The answer keys are now in a less accessible area.  I hope this doesn't happen again.

Resurrection Sunday

He's Alive

by Don Francisco

The gates and doors were barred and all the windows fastened down;

I spent the night in sleeplessness and rose at every sound
Half in hopeless sorrow and half in fear the day
Would find the soldiers breakin' thru to drag us all away

And just before the sunrise I heard something at the wall
The gate began to rattle and a voice began to call;
I hurried to the window and looked down into the street
Expecting swords and torches and the sounds of soldier's feet

There was no one there but Mary so I went down to let her in;
John stood there beside me as she'd told us where she'd been.
She said "They moved Him in the night and none of us knows where;
The stone's been rolled away and now His body isn't there!"

We both ran t'ward the garden, then John ran on ahead;
We found the stone and empty tomb just the way that Mary said.
But the winding sheet they wrapped Him in was just an empty shell;
And who or where they'd taken Him was more than I could tell.

Well, something strange had happened there,
but just what I didn't know;
John believed a miracle but I just turned to go.
Circumstance and speculation couldn't lift me very high
'Cause I'd seen them crucify Him, then I saw Him die.

Back inside the house again the guilt and anguish came;
Everything I'd promised Him just added to my shame.
When at last it came to choices, I denied I knew His name;
And even if He was alive, it wouldn't be the same

But suddenly the air was filled with a strange and sweet perfume;
Light that came from everywhere drove shadows from the room.
Jesus stood before me with His arms held open wide;
And I fell down on my knees, and just clung to Him and cried.

He raised me to my feet and as I looked into His eyes,
Love was shining out from Him like sunlight in the skies
Guilt in my confusion disappeared in sweet release
And every fear I'd ever had just melted into peace

CHORUS
He's alive! He's alive, He's alive and I'm forgiven!
Heaven's gates are open wide:
He's alive, He's alive, oh He's alive and I'm forgiven
Heaven's gates are open wide
He's alive, He's alive, hallelujah He's alive!

An Escapee

Thursday, I arrived home to find the door dead-bolted. I was mildly surprised, but Sweetie recently mastered the doorknob and I figured that the Historian needed added security. He opened the door and immediately asked if I had heard the news. Uhh, what news? There was an escaped inmate in the neighborhood. The school closest to us was on lock down. Oh. Great. There's an escaped criminal hiding near my house!?  I wanted details. The Historian had none.

I checked the local news. A 16 year old boy being taken into custody when he ran from police. He was already in handcuffs. Then I saw his name. We knew this kid. He used to be our neighbor when we first moved here. He had been to our house countless times. He played in our backyard with 3 of his older brothers. The Historian took those boys to the movies and for walks in our woods. They would show up nearly every day looking for something to eat and to see the Historian. They eventually went to church with us and attended youth nights at the Christian Youth Center.

Without going into major details, it is not surprising what happened. There was no father in the home. The mother usually looked like she was under the influence of something. An older brother was already in criminal trouble when he was 5. They moved further away about 7 years ago and we rarely saw any of that family. I haven't really thought about them in years.

Until the escape. The Historian calmly stated "I don't think he would hurt us." I don't think he would either, but he might hide near us. I don't like the thought of bumping into him under these circumstances. The command center for the search was about .5 miles from our house. As of this moment, he hasn't been caught.

I hesitate to even bring this up, but with a serious threat to homeschooling in California, I will. This kid was public-schooled from the time he was 4. The family was on public assistance. Why did all of the "professionally trained” teachers and case workers allow him to become a statistic? Shouldn't all of that supervision and oversight prevented him from turning to crime? Had this child been homeschooled...well you can imagine the headlines. I will stop now.

Please pray for this boy.  Pray that he will turn himself in.  Also pray for his soul.  I know that he has heard the Gospel. The seed was planted when he was younger. Pray that it will sprout and grow. He still has time to turn his life around.

First time parents can be so funny.

My brother-in-law will probably not be pleased that I share this, but it is too funny. My 2 month old niece has been having a lot of trouble with spitting up.  My mom and I both suggested that a little rice cereal in the bottle might help. (Before you comment about breast feeding, my sister tried for 4 weeks and her milk never came in.)  My sister would not try rice until the doctor said it was OK.  He did.  So she sent my brother-in-law to the grocery store for rice cereal.  He comes back with a huge bag of puffed rice. My sister asked, “What in the world do you have?”  Brother-in-law said, “I figured we could eat what the baby doesn't.” 

Silver

I do not know the original author, so I cannot give proper credit.

Malachi 3:3 says: "He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver"

This verse puzzled some women in a Bible study and they wondered what this statement meant about the character and nature of God.  One of the women offered to find out the process of refined silver and get back to the group at their next Bible Study.

That week, the woman called a silversmith and made an appointment to watch him at work.  She didn't mention anything about the reason for her interest beyond her curiosity about the process of refining silver.

As she watched the silversmith, he held a piece of silver over the fire and let it heat up.  He explained that in refining silver, one needed to hold the silver in the middle of the fire where the flames were hottest as to burn away all the impurities.  The woman thought about God holding us in such a hot spot; then she thought again about the verse that says: "He sits as a refiner and purifier of silver"

She asked the silversmith if it was true that he had to sit there in front of the fire the whold time.  The man answered that yes, he not only had to sit there holding the silver, but he had to keep his eyes on the silver the entire time it was in the fire.  If the silver was left a moment too long in the flames, it would be destroyed.

The woman was silent for a moment.  Then she asked the silversmith, "How do you know when the silver is fully refined?"

He smiled at her and answered, "Oh, that's easy--when I see my image in it."

If today you are feeling the heat of the fire, remember that God has his eye on you and will keep watching you until He sees His image in you.

Valentine's Day

Not exactly what you would expect for Valentine's Day is it?  On Valentine's Day we are supposed to express love and show appreciation to those we love.  So what do we do?  We make heart crafts and go to parties.  We send cards and flowers.  We buy gifts and eat treats.  I am not condemning any of these things.  I do them myself.  I enjoy doing all of these little things for those I love.

But on this Valentine's Day the Holy Spirit posed this question:  Have you expressed love for your Saviour today?

No, not really.  On a day set aside for love, I have barely acknowledged the greatest act of love ever.

Why is He beaten and bloody?  Love.

Why is He nailed to a cross?  Love.

Why is He dying?  Love.

Love for sinners like you and me.

Isaiah 53:4-5  Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted.  But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed.

John 3:16  For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

Thank you God for loving sinners like me.  Thank you for not sparing Your Son.  Thank you Jesus for loving me.  Thank you for taking my punishment.  Thank you for dying for me.  Thank you for saving me.

Wordless Wednesday

Guess what the Crafter found on her leg after playing outside this afternoon?

Can you believe we have ticks in February?  Fortunately it hadn't seized yet.

Hay Sings and Cow Poke

Or reason #242 why I homeschool

     Since I fell off the history wagon sometime in November, I thought that it would be a good idea to read back through The Story of tlhe World Vol. 2 to where history dropped off the schedule.  I read a chapter aloud to the Crafter every day.  Wild Thing has been listening in--more or less.  I'm wasn't sure if he was getting anything out of it. Yesterday we read about the Battle of Hastings.   The Crafter and Wild Thing listened.  When the story was over, Wild Thing ran from the room.  He usually runs from the room as soon as his required listening is over, but this time he came back with his toy knights.  He set up his red knights up on a stool and his blue knights on the floor. 

Me:  What are you doing?

Wild Thing:  Playing Hay Sings

Me:  What army is on the stool?

Wild Thing:  Harold is on the hill and William is on the floor.

Me:  Who gets the dragon?

Wild Thing:  William gets the dragon and Harold gets the Cow Poke.

Me:  Cow Poke?

Wild Thing:  This.  (holds up toy catapult)

The Crafter:  (laughing so hard she can barely get the words out)  It's a Cat-a-pult, not a Cow Poke.

Wild Thing:  Cow Poke. (flies toy dragon to the stool and knocks down Harold and his army)

Back to Work

     I have to face facts--vacation is officially over.  We got back from our annual trip from Myrtle Beach yesterday--just ahead of the Republican Presidential debate.  We had a good time.  The weather was warm enough for the children (not the parents) to play in the ocean.  We spent a lot of time at the indoor pool and lazy river.  Myrtle Beach in January is great.  There are no crowds.  The resorts are Motel 6 prices.  Most of the touristy, waste your money, stuff is closed.  Nothing to do but play with the kids.

     Bradford Academy is slowly, but surely getting back into full swing.   The Crafter covers the basics daily.  The extras are suffering, but that's usual.  Wild Thing is beginning "preschool" which consists of about 10 minutes of letter/sound practice and a coloring page or worksheet of some sort each day.   He also has to listen to the read-aloud part of history.   Actually working with two students while dealing with a 2 year old is proving more challenging than I thought.  How does a mom of many manage?

     I go back to college teaching tomorrow.  I have 2 chemistry labs this semester.  I am not particularly looking forward to teaching this time around.  No matter how many times I do it, I dread the start of new classes.  I always get over it.  I hate writing the syllabus and meeting the first class.  Once I get going, I'm fine.  I did manage to do a decent job of teaching math to motorcycle mechanics last semester, but that is another story for another post.

Bye Bye Bop Bop

My girls were both pacifier addicts. The Crafter enjoyed hers until age 3.  She named her pacifier Bop. The name stuck. The Christmas after she turned 3, we informed her that Santa Claus was taking her bops to the neighbor's new baby because he needed them and she didn't because she was a big girl. The bops disappeared and everything was fine.

When Wild Thing came alone, we discovered that he was a strict thumb man. No pacifier would pass his lips and how dare you even suggest such a thing. Fortunately, he quit thumb sucking as his teeth came in.

Now we move on to Sweetie. Sweetie was a die hard bop addict. She even went so far as to call her pacifiers “Bop Bop” rather than Bop to indicate the strength of her affection. But when Sweetie turned two, it was time to phase out Bop Bop. We started only allowing bop at nap time, bedtime, and on really long trips. Somehow she would manage to find a bop, no matter how many I took away. I am convinced that there is a layer of pacifiers buried in the strata of junk in this house.

But last Sunday, the last bop mysteriously disappeared. I don't know where any are. We had 4 last week. Anyway, I have put Sweetie to bed bopless for the past 3 nights. Guess what? She sleeps just as well without it. She doesn't need it anymore.

Oh, she looks longingly at pictures of babies happily sucking their pacifiers and says “Baby Bop Bop. Me Bop Bop?” 

I reply “No Sweetie, bop bop is gone. I can't find it.”

Sweetie says “All wite.”

My baby is growing up.