Prairie View

Monday, August 17, 2015

I Never Promised You a Rose Garden

Sue was right.  Ben Schlappig is the professional flier featured in The Week--not my nephew, Hans Mast.  I posted it because so much of what described Ben could have applied to Hans as well, and I thought it would have been fun if The Week really had written about Hans.  Too bad The Week hadn't heard about him.  The people who guessed Hans as the person being described confirmed for me that others saw it as I did.

If I had quoted the little article completely, the fact that it was NOT Hans would have become apparent.  Here is an example:  "Schlappig first got involved at 15, when his parents would drop him off at the airport on Saturday morning and return to collect him on Sunday night.  Now he earns hundreds of thousands of dollars blogging about what he calls the Hobby, and averages six hours a day in the air."


Hiromi sometimes warbles this line from a song:  "I Never Promised You a Rose Garden." I don't think he knows any of the other words, or at least he doesn't sing them often enough for me to have learned them.  He might feel compelled to sing it again if I ever start pining for a rose garden of my own like the one I was in last night.

LaVerne and Rebecca invited us over last evening, and we spent our time in the "Anja Miller Memorial Rose Garden" in their backyard.  It was a lovely evening in a lovely place.

The garden was Kathy T.'s brainchild, I believe, and Judy M. and Jo Y. helped mobilize the effort to create it.  Interested people donated money to buy the roses, structures, furniture, supplies, and utilities.  Others donated ideas and labor.  People in their small group from church and students in the Home Environment class at Pilgrim helped.

Laverne and Rebecca, of course, worked the hardest of all (and probably paid the most) to create the garden.  It's been almost two years since their 18-year-old daughter Anja died instantly in a car accident.  For people who were close to the family, 9/10 is the new 9/11--a day of disbelief, horror, and grief.  This year, however, for the first time, people who wish to remember Anja can go somewhere besides the accident site or the cemetery--at least if LaVerne and Rebecca are up to having guests.  They can go to a rose garden.

The garden is located in the spot that used to be the vegetable garden--southeast of the house.  It has a wide-open view to the sunrise all year round, and, for most of the year, a view of the sunset as well.  LaVerne and Rebecca usually spend early mornings in the rose garden.

The transformation from bare ground to rose garden has taken place entirely since last winter.  To the Home Environment class, LaVerne supplied a drawing of the dimensions of the area to be developed, and located within it the site for the gazebo that someone had offered to donate.  He and Rebecca also informed us of several other features that people had offered to contribute--a garden bench, and a fountain.  The class then began experimenting with designs for locating plants, paths, and various other features within the garden.  LaVerne and Rebecca decided on one of the student-submitted designs that I had modified only slightly.  It was a four-sectioned "wheel" with a path around the perimeter, a fountain at the hub, and four paths dividing the wheel into quadrants.  The main path through the garden led directly from a spot on the perimeter of the rectangular garden area, through a path circling the fountain, and straight ahead to the entrance of the gazebo.  The other paths in the wheel created right angles to the main path.

Since Rebecca is partial especially to pink and red roses, we designated pink as the main rose color in two opposite sections of the wheel, and red for the other two.  A few white roses are interspersed with the other colors, and a few pinks appear with the reds, and vice versa.  Outside the wheel are sections for other colors--purples in one, yellow with the mums in the corner facing the road, and peach, orange and coral behind and around the gazebo.  Climbing roses are planted at the base of trellises on opposite sides of the octagonal gazebo.  The back "wall" of the garden is formed of redwood lattice--fairly tall--and fronted with pampas grass.  Other grasses and perennials and a few small shrubs are mixed in with the plantings outside the circle.  The beds are mulched with attractive organic material--shredded bark, maybe.  The paths are surfaced with pea-sized rounded-off rocks in the lovely mixture of colors they come in straight out of the gravel pits along rivers in the area.

One fairly sizeable gravel-covered area contains a fire ring.  Thick marble slabs collected a long time ago by LaVerne's father are to form benches around the fire ring.  A lattice-covered entry structure has been added since I last saw the garden.  The gazebo has low-voltage lights hidden at the top of the walls, creating a soft light inside the structure after dark.  The fountain spills water over huge limestone rocks, and it disappears into river stones--larger than the stones in the path.  The rocks are contained within a border of limestone.   The fountain bubbles only when a switch turns it on.  The whole garden is watered by drip lines.

Creating this garden was a very good idea, and I'm especially pleased that high school students can claim a part in having helped to create it.  A real, hands-on project such as this makes every landscaping lesson we covered far more memorable than it would have been otherwise.  Maybe someday these students will be the ones to initiate the blessing of another grieving family with a place of beauty to retreat to--having acquired skills and experience in this project.

Thursday, August 13, 2015


Today was the funeral of Faith Bontrager, who was born here over 53 years ago.  During her entire lifetime she functioned much like an infant, and was totally dependent on others for care.  Nevertheless a great deal of drama centered on her life, and her story sounds stranger than fiction.  Ultimately, her story is a powerful tale of redemption, and for whatever encouragement that can be, I'll sketch it out here.  I hope I can do so while conveying the care and respect I feel for all who were impacted by the events of Faith's life.

Faith was the middle child of three severely handicapped children born to her parents.  Five bright and healthy children also were interspersed with the handicapped children.  During the years of grueling and unrelenting child care, when things could no longer be managed at home,  Faith and her handicapped older sister were placed in a state institution in Winfield, about two hours distant.  This was a heart-wrenching decision, but in most ways things seemed to be working out well whenever her parents visited.

Until one day. . . A small group of officials from the institution showed up at the Bontrager home to deliver devastating news.  Faith was pregnant by an institution employee.  What an unthinkable horror for Faith and for her family, to say nothing of representatives of the institution.  Never was a rape victim more innocent than Faith.  The crime was reported in our local newspaper, without names, except for the perpetrator, and many of us read the news account initially without realizing that the victim was one of our own.

The employee was reported to law enforcement and was subsequently prosecuted and sentenced to a prison term.

Terminating the pregnancy was recommended.  Instead of allowing that to happen, members of Faith's family immediately made known their desire to care for and claim the expected child as their own.  In due time, the baby arrived, perfectly normal, and became part of the family of Faith's brother.  Today that baby is almost 24, a man of God with a powerful testimony to the goodness of God in his life.  He tells his story readily when invited to do so.

Within the last year or two, birth father and son have met.  I don't know many details of their meeting except that I know the son felt that God blessed, in answer to many prayers.

Faith lived and died, apparently with no cognition of how her life fit in with God's purposes.  We don't claim to know all those purposes either. but in a tall handsome Christian young man who's making good choices, redemption has begun.  For Faith, ultimate redemption came this week, when she passed from this life to the next.    


Faith lived long enough to transition to a much-improved setting for care.  At the state's direction, large institutions such as Winfield were dismantled, and smaller community-based facilities were promoted.  Unfortunately, no such facility was ready in this area, so Faith's parents teamed up with parents of other residents at Winfield  and arranged something satisfactory in El Dorado, a town between here and Winfield.  A group of female residents were cared for there by a female staff.  A number of staff members attended Faith's funeral today.  I don't know all the details about who funded the care-giving, but private pay and state aid were both involved, as I recall.  Faith lived there for about 20 years.


Sorting out who is responsible for caring for people like Faith isn't easy.  In her case, it was the family and the state who did so, with the church relatively uninvolved.  I think the church should probably have been involved, but I don't have a clear sense for how it should or could have happened.  In any case, the state's role looks both noble (for helping lift the family caregiving burden) and reprehensible (for the abuse that occurred on their watch).  Gratitude and diligent watchfulness both seem like part of a sensible stance where the state is involved in the care of the innocent.

Guessing Game

Here is a quote lifted from The Week, August 14, 2015, page 10:

" . . . is obsessed with getting free trips out of airlines, said Ben Wofford in Rolling Stone.  A 'travel hacker,' . . . is the star of a small community of people devoted to taking advantage of airlines' frequent-flier schemes, and spends his life flitting between first-class cabins, luxury airport lounges, and five-star hotels. . . . He finds ways to rack up air miles in every way imaginable, including using dozens of airline-affiliated credit cards and flying incessantly on sharply discounted flights."


I wish I could offer a prize for anyone who can insert the correct name above without looking up the article, but as it is, we'll all have to settle for having a fun guessing game--and glory and honor for anyone who guesses correctly (such as is available from this humble blog's audience).  After what I deem an appropriate number of guesses, I'll reveal the correct answer.  

Sunday, August 09, 2015

The Newest Family Member

Cedric Blake Iwashige made his first appearance yesterday between 5:00 and 6:00 PM.  He is Shane and Dorcas' third son, our 4th grandson and 6th grandchild.  Cedric and his mother are both doing fine--a great blessing considering Cedric's 8 lb. 12 oz. birth weight and his mother's petite frame.  Cedric's two older brothers were both at least a pound lighter than he, at birth.

As is often the case with baby number three in terms of personality, this baby has some characteristics in common with each of his older brothers.  He has features like Tristan and coloring like Carson.  That is to say that he inherited very dark hair like Carson (unlike blonde Tristan), so maybe he'll end up looking more like Shane than either of his two brothers.

So far I've observed him as being alert, calm, and hungry, with fairly undemanding vocalizations.

Today is Shane's 29th birthday and Shane and Dorcas' wedding anniversary.  They were married seven years ago, in 2008.  The celebration in the Iwashige household that began 29 years ago at this time of year is set to continue for a long time to come.

Sunday, August 02, 2015

Sunday Wrapup--August 2, 2015

Since Cecil the lion is on the mind of everyone in the media world the past week, let's talk about him and get that out of the way.  As many of you know, Cecil was shot (first being wounded with an arrow 40 hours earlier) in Zimbabwe by a Minnesota dentist after ranging slightly outside the boundary of the national park where he lived.  The dentist paid at least $35,000 for the privilege of making the kill.  Cecil turns out to have been quite famous and well-loved, and a host of people are vilifying the dentist for having committed such a dastardly act.  Many Christians are rightly noting the moral inconsistency of finding this lion killing so deeply disturbing while the same people often morally justify the killing of unborn babies.  No argument here against that logic.  

As do some who are raising an outcry, I find fault, however, with the idea that killing lions for sport is a "nothing."  It's a $35,000.00+ expenditure, in this case.  That's not nothing.  It's an inexcusable waste of money, in my opinion, an outrageously expensive "cheap thrill."  Arriving at the kill site no doubt took a lot of travel time and money.  That's not nothing either.  

Hunting, per se, is not the biggest problem with the Cecil incident.  If Cecil had been threatening the livelihood of native herdsmen, or if people's safety around their own homes was at risk, the king of the beasts would have needed to be dethroned.  Killing Cecil for money in a guide's pocket, and for one individual's adrenaline rush and subsequent bragging rights is quite another  matter. 

As I see it, all hunters who do so purely for sport are guilty of the same vices that drove the Minnesota dentist.  I don't know anyone who has enough money to indulge the vice to the same extent as Cecil's killer, but when hunters take the life of an animal just because it's there and because the hunter has a weapon in hand, it's safe to say that worship of the Creator is not uppermost in the mind of the hunter.  Something far more selfish than that is operative.  

I can identify with the restorative power of spending time outdoors while hunting is happening.  I can identify also with the need to protect one's domesticated animals, and to put food on the table.  I can even identify with the desire to preserve the memory of a good experience (as trophy hunters may wish to do). What I feel revulsion for is the hedonism that sometimes finds expression in trophy hunting. 

The dentist would have done better to preserve his memories by shooting with a camera, given the fact that Cecil posed no threat to his family and pets in Minnesota and he certainly wasn't planning on serving him for dinner.  If he had stuck with using a camera, his money might still have been wasted, but Zimbabwe would not be seeking his extradition, and his dental practice would still be open.  

Killing is always a messy business. Only those who have been hardened almost beyond hope will deny this.  If we're meat eaters (as people in Bible times were), or if our gardens are being wasted we usually grit our teeth when killing is necessary and do what we have to do.  Neither trophy hunting or killing unborn babies is a necessary bit of messy business, gritted teeth or no.  It's an outrage.  


In our local newspaper, I read an excellent piece by Michael Gerson about the prospect of Donald Trump leading the GOP.  In the title, he predicted that if this happened, the party would fail and deserve to do so.  The entire column can be read here.  

One Trump supporter is quoted as saying "I don't care what his actual positions are.  I don't care if he says the wrong thing.  He says what's on his mind.  He gives honest answers rather than prepared answers."  

Gerson wisely comments on such a viewpoint by saying "This is the cult of spontaneity taken to its logical conclusion."   He counters Trump's communication style by asserting that ". . . incivility is immoral and dangerous to democracy.  People of faith in particular are called to speak and act on the assumption of shared human dignity.  This does not rule out vigorous disagreement, but it forbids the cultivation of contempt and the issuing of threats."

The "cult of spontaneity" is a phenomenon not limited to Trump and his followers.  It's an affliction  that can be disproportionately visited on (or joined by) far less bombastic individuals than Trump, who nevertheless seem quite in love with themselves.   To such people, utterances and actions need not be logical or defensible or right--just present in a flit across the mind, paired with an open mouth or a handy keyboard and an audience.  Well-developed sentences and coherent communication are optional, and disconnected thoughts are expected and even celebrated.

Spontaneity isn't all bad, of course.  When paired with truth, genuineness, maturity, humility, and concern for others, spontaneity is delightful.  Giving the idea cult-like adulation and affecting it in one's manner, however, are not pretty or worthy of cultivation or admiration. 


In the natural world, I'm seeing evidences of abundance of many kinds, and I'm faithfully noting each occurrence in my nature journal.

The other evening after we had a 1.5 inch rain, the air overhead in the evening was full of dozens of dragonflies.  Above them several Common Nighthawks circled and wheeled and glided and vocalized in pursuit of insects.  I heard them again the next morning, and the next evening counted four doing a repeat act.  

Cucumbers and tomatoes are coming on strong in the garden.  

Row crops look good in the fields, and the nearby alfalfa field that really struggled after one abundant cutting of hay has recovered within a few days from its paltry cutting a week or so ago.  It's green all over.  

 Today's news reported that the highest yielding wheat field entered in a statewide contest produced 108.5 bushels per acre.  It was a very small 8-acre plot of no-till dry land wheat (non-inrrigated).  I thought the 90-bushel/acre wheat I heard about locally was phenomenal, and it was, but this farmer averaged 60- 90 bushels per acre overall this year.  

The prize-winning field was located in McPherson County, but the farmer who entered the contest lives in Hutchinson.  He farms with his father in the next county.  The farmer had sprayed twice for fungus, but had fertilized conservatively, based on the advice of a crop consultant who had tested the soil.  This year everything was right for that farmer and that field.  The same field had produced only 16-18 bushels per acre in 2014 when it was affected by drought.


Someone who attends church in Pennsylvania with my brother Caleb told me today that I talk "so much" like him.  I don't think I've ever heard that before.  

Another guest in church was Susie, whose first husband was Mahlon N. from here.  She is unfailingly sweet and capable of making everyone she meets feel special.  

The Ed Nisly family is having a reunion here this weekend.  


Grandbaby number 6 is scheduled to make an appearance within the next few weeks.  When the baby arrives, their (Shane's) family "shape" will look like ours did when our boys were young.  


I'm doing a flurry of fall planting and am thoroughly enjoying it.  The spring planting was largely derailed by school and surgery, and I'm loving this second chance.  


Arlyn N. preached a wonderful sermon today on the "loser" at the pool of Siloam, and made appropriate but sometimes unsettling applications.  It will be available at some point at, although I haven't checked to see if it's there yet.  

Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Nature, Children, and Words: Regrets and Hopes

I had almost forgotten how intense summer heat can induce the feeling of eyeballs steaming in their sockets.  I've felt it again recently.  My glasses have steamed over too when I've gone outside from an air-conditioned space.  We're having triple-digit days and we really need rain.  Dust clouds in the backyard from the lawnmower and from the hay rake in the adjacent alfalfa field provide obvious visual clues about how dry the soil is.


I wonder if other people obsess as I do  over things I wish I had said, or things I wish I had said differently.  In teaching a Sunday School class last Sunday and in conversations with at least three different people over the weekend, I have subsequently re-hashed and regretted what happened.  These things are not really big enough to follow up on and correct, but they could have been softened, or could have been said more  precisely or more completely.  Dwelling unduly on such things is fodder for craziness, of course, and the matter is best left to God to sort out and redeem.

Writing instead of talking does not prevent all such problems, but it does have the advantage of allowing more reflection in the act of communicating.  Reflection is usually a good way to "cut off at the pass" a great store of potential for later regrets.


Later . . .

It's raining!!!!!  I can hardly take my eyes off of it long enough to go on typing.  The day is still young, and in the quiet before Hiromi gets up I listened to a short video clip by Richard Louv.  Earlier I listened to an NPR interview with Louv, and some day when I have an hour available I  might listen to  the talk on nature, creativity, and health here.  (Update:  I couldn't resist, and did it as I was starting my day's work.)

Louv grew up on the edge of Kansas City, so he's a mid-western native, and as a fellow-mid-westerner, I'm proud to claim him.  I also really like how he does not ridiculously romanticize nature, he does not rail against activities many children engage in instead of playing outside (although he expresses regret), and he recognizes that some benefits of connection with nature are deeply spiritual.  Last Child in the Woods:  Saving our Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder has a section near the end of the book that would have fit in perfectly with our philosophy statement in the science curriculum document we created.  It's part of a quote from a Christian homeschooling mother.  Spirituality begins with a sense of wonder.  That may not be an exact quote from Louv, but it's close.
Louv notes that the same two decades that saw a huge spike in enthusiasm regarding organized sports also saw the greatest increase in childhood obesity and attention deficit disorder.  Concurrently, school-day play spaces began consisting predictably of level, surface-altered outdoor spaces (often paved) or even  more drastically-altered and climate-controlled indoor spaces.  In these kinds of play spaces, those who usually dominate are physically strong or athletically able--certainly not those with a well-developed sense of wonder.  In the worst case scenarios, bullies are born and life becomes more and more miserable for those at the bottom of the pile.

Team sports mania that in other places has become highly commercialized can sprout and grow in places such as gyms and ever-so-carefully-prepared ball fields.  What is sacrificed in such play spaces is the ability to be creative and the ability to build skills that are useful in a cooperative community (in contrast to a competitive one).  Louv and I both believe that this results in out-of-balance childhoods, and that the results are not typically laudable.  Louv somewhat playfully but also dead-seriously describes the results with the words "deficit" and "disorder."  

For about ten years I have been pondering Louv's insights on the importance of keeping alive and nurturing the connection between children and nature.  In the intervening years his ideas have become self-evident to me, and I dreamed often about how schools could help re-establish this connection.  The dreams have nearly died many times, as internal change seemed very hard to come by, and as one by one the choices for our new school seemed to move us farther away from these connections.

In recent weeks I have revisited those ideas in more detail again as part of the discussion about the science curriculum at our Christian school, and I am daring to hope again.   In our teaching of science at the grade school level, we are being very intentional about incorporating weekly times of direct observation and interaction with what is present in outdoor environments.  It takes a lot more "doing" than it would in a less developed area, but we're working hard at finding or creating "pockets" of natural places our children might be able to access. We're not going as far as the school I heard of where students spend six hours in natural areas every Friday, but we're doing more than was done here before.

Credit goes to several past teachers whose efforts I applaud, although I'm sure I haven't heard about all that was done.  One mother told me that when Dwight taught her son, incorporating a lot of nature observation into the time at school, school became manageable again for him.  Before that she was on the verge of pulling him out in favor of homescooling, even though she had no vision for homeschooling.  She saw it as a rescue operation.  Will's own enthusiasm for interacting with nature influenced his students positively.  For several years my set of field guides lived in his classroom as much as they lived on my shelves.  Betty occasionally took her students across the road to play in the shelterbelt, and reported that they did amazingly creative kinds of play in that environment.


Richard Louv is a journalist.  My years of helping guide students in researching current events and issues have given me a tremendous respect for good journalists.  I can't imagine all the difficulties that such a profession might entail for a Christian, but I have caught a small glimpse of the good that might result from having Christians in such a profession.  I would be very pleased if someone who started their academic training under the Pilgrim umbrella became a journalist.  From what I've learned from Louv, I suspect that this will be more likely to happen if children and nature are firmly connected throughout childhood.  Confidence (coupled with appropriate humility born of wonder), creativity, and good health are great preparation for such a profession, or any other.

Sunday, July 12, 2015

Sunday Wrapup--July 12, 2015If

I'm afraid the little snippets you'll encounter here won't sear themselves into your psyche as the outdoor atmosphere is searing itself into the physique of our state's residents today.  We're under a heat advisory, and at 7:00 PM the heat index still stands at 103 degrees.  By contrast, we'll all be fortunate if the snippets reach a comfortable 70-degree mark.


Mrs. I has a new camera, and she's bumbling through figuring out how to use it.  Nature photography is one of the main goals for this camera, but it's certain that many birds and insects will come and go while she's still working on deciphering the instruction manual.

It's not a DSLR, so all the photography snobs will know right off that this camera does not hold a candle to the really good ones.  It is, however, far more sophisticated than anything Mrs. I encountered in the book on photography she bought and mostly understood some decades ago.

OK.  Back to first person.

The zoom mostly didn't after I finally got that adorable little fledgling located inside the viewfinder yesterday.  I located the zoom button after I returned to the house.  The little lever by the shutter button had produced only minor results.

In aiming the camera, I reminded myself of Tristan learning to use the binoculars I keep by the patio doors.   Up and down and from side to side.  For way too long, this sweeping action produced only views of leaves.  I kept thinking I should put the camera up to my face to get the view focused, but rational thought prevailed and I went back to the tilting action.  I wasn't quite ready to do what Tristan eventually does.  He looks through the binoculars backwards, delighting himself with the novel perspective.

I reviewed the shots I had captured, even before I left the little bush which was the site of the filming, thanks to a quick little check in the manual before I ventured out.

Early on, I decided that my modus operandi with this camera would be to "just do it."  With that surge of confidence, I first attached the neck strap to the camera body and attached the lens cap "string" to both the lens cap and the neck strap.  That lens string is very clever, and appropriate for the likes of absent-minded me.   Hiromi helped me find the battery compartment on the bottom of the camera, after I had first misread the manual and activated the pop-up flash on top instead.

No memory card came with the camera, so I didn't snap any photos at first.  What I did next was set the date and time on the camera.  By following the directions carefully I got everything perfect in that department, except for one small problem:  The PM should have been an AM.  Try as I might, I could not highlight that notation in order to change it.  Silly me.  All it took was advancing through the "hour" settings till I passed 12, at which time "AM" popped up.  I kept going till the hour was right, and it was all set.

I still have no clue what many of the markings on the screen and on the "settings" dial indicate, but now I can make that lens zoom in and out like pro.  I regularly give thanks that I live in the post-film-camera era, and I don't have to pay for developing each terrible picture I take.

I look at it this way:  Everything I try will help me understand whatever help I'm offered as time goes by.  Four miles south of here and four miles north of here reside three teenage nephews who are experts at this nature photography business.  Check out this link for evidence.  Farther north and a few miles east are more nieces and nephews who are expert photographers.  At this point, I really don't know what to ask them.  I haven't even tried uploading the picture to the computer (more manual time needed) or I'd send them a copy of the bird pictures I have--on the chance that they could help identify it.  None of the panicked adults fluttering around looked like what I thought the fledgling looked like--a Western Kingbird.


I am embarking on regular expotitions.  If you don't know what expotitions are, your Winnie-the-Pooh repertoire must have gaps in it.  He went on an expotition to the North Pole.

My expotitions take me on a route around the perimeter of our three-acre property, with many forays into the interior.  I carry a little pad of sticky notes and a pen.  On it appear many notes and drawings.  As each paper is filled, it gets stuck on the back of the notepad.  On the first expotition I also had a pair of binoculars.  I'll be taking the camera on future expotitions.  The focus is on life in the outdoors.  When I get back inside, I record it all in a Word document.

I have some trepidation about the next expotition because of Hiromi's diligent weed-whacking activities over the past week.  His purposes and mine are at odds in this matter.  The untidy edges of the property are the most interesting and diverse parts of the landscape, and I'd like them left alone--out back, in the fence row especially.  Where he sees weeds, I see diversity and abundant life.  I know fall grasses, but what are these in bloom now?  I suspect the clumps I saw last week fell to the string trimmer.

The expotitions are a help in meeting many of the goals I have for this sabbatical year.  All of them fall under the general goal of being restored in every part of my being--equipped and empowered again to serve.

Physically, I feel "better than ever."  Dr. Morgan, the surgeon-oncologist who worked me over on May 13, has now released me to the care of my family practice physician, whom I will need to see for routine exams every three months for now.  I have no restrictions on my activity.  Right after Dr. Morgan told me that, in a flash of good humor, she said that if there is anything I really don't want to do though, she'll be happy to proscribe it for six months or so.  I couldn't think of such a thing, and we laughed together at the joke.  I'll be happy to recommend Dr. Morgan to anyone who needs the services she offers.

Being in nature restores my soul.  It's where I feel most alive and worshipful. By way of the expotitions, I'm grateful for being able to piggyback on this love of nature several other goals I've had for a long time.

I want to establish some regular exercise habits.  I want to develop something other than a "grind-my-teeth-in-frustration" relationship with Microsoft Word.  So far, WordPerfect has my heart, and I can hardly tolerate Word, but Hiromi says I have to learn to use Word, and so I'm trying to do that.  Doing it by way of a nature journal is helping to make it tolerable.  Ditto on camera use.  Using it for a nature journal is helping provide motivation to get this under  my belt.  Buying a camera now was Hiromi's idea, so this opportunity feels like a gift.

Since I don't have to leave home on most days, my early-morning quiet times are leisurely and spirit-strengthening.  I don't set an alarm, but I still usually wake before 5:30, eager to get up and get to my devotions chair.

As part of the work on the curriculum review committee, my brain is getting a workout.  I've been re-reading Last Child in the Woods:  Saving our Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder by Richard Louv.  This seminal book on children and nature is absolutely convincing.  I purchased the book soon after it was published in 2005 and have read it several times since then.  Most recently, I read it right through exactly one week ago, and took notes well into the morning hours.  Reading it again reminded me why I risked being on the "wrong" side of earlier community decisions regarding education--because of Louv's ideas that had become instinctive with me by then.

For the Children's Sake is another book that has heavily influenced my thinking on education.  Susan Schaeffer Macaulay's ideas in that book (based on Charlotte Mason's ideas) are compatible with Louv's and form another part of my instinctive ideas by now.

Interacting with other educators outside of a small school staff also helps keep my brain occupied.  Email is a convenient way to do this.


As preparation for studying the final chapter of Daniel today in Sunday School, Rose asked us to come back this Sunday with an idea on who the character in Daniel 11 refers to.  I'm not sure if she said it or if the question morphed into something different in my mind because of a heading in my Bible that referred to this person as the Antichrist.  So I set out to learn about the identity of the Antichrist--because I thought that was what I was supposed to do.  I learned today that Rose's source suggested that the Daniel 11 character was a prophecy concerning Herod--of birth-of-Christ fame.  That actually seems to me to make some sense.

I don't gladly delve into prophecy controversies, and I quickly became disenchanted with what seemed like a very strong bias in the two study Bibles I use regularly.  So I switched tactics and looked at the verses in the Bible that actually use the Antichrist term.  Jesus used it in Matthew 24, Paul used it in writing the second letter to the Thessalonians (or terms very similar), and John used it in his epistles--especially in I John 2.  To my knowledge it does not appear in the book of Revelation or in any Old Testament prophetic writings.  

The name Antichrist is often thought to apply to the Beast of Revelation 13.  I need more evidence before this identity "leap" seems right to me.  I feel the same about the prophecy in Daniel 11.

Antichrist is clearly sometimes used as an adjective in scripture.  It's used as a proper noun far less frequently, and I'm wary of professed knowledge about this character's identity beyond what is revealed in scripture.

In the meantime, we do well to be informed about what Jesus, Paul, and John tell us about those who are antichrist.  They lie, in an effort to deceive.  Some will show great signs and wonders in a further effort to deceive.  They don't believe that Jesus came in the flesh.  The Father and Son are denied as well, as stated in I John 2: 22--“Who is a liar but he who denies that Jesus is the Christ? He is antichrist who denies the Father and the Son.” They may claim to be the Messiah and desire to be worshiped.

In contrast to the speculative and disturbing interpretations of both Daniel and Revelation, what I learned from reading other NT scriptures about the antichrist gives clarity and hope.  Here are some objective measures by which we can learn whether a person is antichrist.  I also really enjoyed what surfaced in our Sunday School class as people shared about what they understood from the study of Daniel.  None of what they said sounded anything like the strident "lid down over everything" treatment of Daniel I found in my study Bible.  I like our Sunday School class treatment of the study best.


We're studying Romans next in Sunday School.  I hoped for studying Nehemiah.  I read it earlier this year and, surprisingly, lessons of leadership leaped from its pages.  I was expecting to find something else.

Some people can't wait to get out of the Old Testament back into the New.  I am not like that.

I don't have the best memories of the last time that I taught Romans in Sunday School.  It had a lot more to do with my state of health and mind at the time than of the content of the book, I'm sure.  I did not know yet that I was suffering from low thyroid function, and I remember really struggling to get beyond a surface understanding of the book, and then struggling to remember it long enough to pass it on.


Today in church Floyd and Dorcas were present with their beautiful infant daughter, Kyra Jubilee.  She joined the family by adoption as a newborn, seven years after her parents' marriage.  


Can anyone tell me something about how to use cedar wood in outdoor structures, or do I have to bother Jay Yoder to tell me?  I'm talking about nearly-30-year-old dead trees that are still standing.  These windbreak trees died in the drought of 2012 and following.  I'm eyeing those straight trunks and limbs as potential gateway arches or arbors or trellises (Help me out here.  None of these terms seems quite right).

I've learned that the sap wood decays quickly--which explains why Jay always peels this off.  Compared to Osage Orange, it seems light-weight, and it's hard for me to imagine it being as durable outdoors as some say it is.  Does it need a finish?  If so, what?  What we have available is Eastern Red Cedar.  It's a lot easier to work with than Osage Orange, so that's a benefit of cedar wood.


This past week was the funeral of Dan Schrag, who was 93.  If you have a chance, read the poetic thoughts written by Dan's daughter Ann.  They were read at the funeral.  It consisted of a series of "You see . . . I see . . ." comparisons between what others saw of Dan in his last years after dementia had set in, and what Ann knew of her father's earlier life and capabilities.  The thoughts were beautifully crafted and very poignant.

Dan and Betty first came to our church when their family was young.  They lived in the Hesston area at the time.  Dan was a welder at what was then Hesston Corporation.  AGCO is the current name.  It's a big farm equipment manufacturer.

For a time, they had attended a Holdeman church in the Hesston area, but they eventually found their way to our church, which they preferred--I'm told--because they sensed less exclusivity with us.

When their children were old enough to help on a farm, Dan and Betty moved, first to Wisconsin, and then to New York, where they bought a dairy farm.  After about ten years, in 1993, when the children had left home, they moved back to Kansas and built a retirement home in the Pleasantview area.  They've been part of Center ever since.

Dan and Betty made a wonderful contribution to our church.  They attended church activities faithfully and seized many opportunities to pray with others, to attend special meetings, and to learn by attending seminars, etc.  They studied scripture and shared it in letters to members on the mission field.  Dan was on the committee that selected Labette County, KS as the location for a church outreach.

Betty was one week younger than my mother, and she and I share a June 9 birthday.  In the earlier years of  my teaching at Pilgrim, Betty and I walked together most afternoons.  She was 75, and a wonderful walking companion.  One of Betty's specialties was making cards.  They were real works of art.

A week ago today, Dan and Betty were sitting side by side and holding hands while Betty read aloud from Psalm 34.  Betty felt Dan's hand relax and she thought he had gone to sleep.  Waking up in heaven must have happened right then.  I can't think of a more peaceful way to die.


Friday, July 10, 2015

Science on My Brain

When time between blog posts stretches out longer than usual, one of several things might be going on.  I might be in a paralyzed funk of feeling overwhelmed and tired and slow-brained.  Usually though it's something much more healthy--like being busy with people I love, or having most of my cognitive and creative juices flowing in other directions.

Of late, the explanation is mostly the healthy and "juicy" one.  In a project that is spanning several years, the past several weeks have been heavily scheduled with meetings to work on reviewing the science part of the curriculum for Pilgrim grade school.  The documents are finally ready for review by the school board.

Arlyn is leading the effort, and Harry and Melody and I are assisting him.  Before this project, I've never worked closely with Arlyn and Melody, but I attended college with their two older sisters Sheryl and Jana, and taught for three years with their brother Wendell.  Harry, Wendell and I taught together for three years.  Suffice it to say that our committee's history didn't start yesterday, but includes years of family and school connections.   That helps us get down to nitty-gritty details without first spending a great deal of time in relationship building.  It also allows for some iron sharpening iron activity without the overall effort being derailed.

Hardly anything pleases me more than having interesting and challenging things to think and learn about.  The other three on the committee share that addiction.  Teaching has allowed us to support our habit, and this curriculum review requires that we indulge it.  We probably all fit into the "word wonk" category too, which calls for pummeling each sentence till it takes on exactly the right shape.

Thinking about curriculum matters does not always restore my soul, but this committee's effort does.  It's wonderful to feel free to allow into the light of day ideas that have often had to be "stuffed" because they didn't fit with what I had to do,  or because I couldn't even think where to find common ground in order to start communicating with others about them.  Even now, recalling some of these frustrating times is painful.

Deep inside, I knew they were not stupid ideas.  People far wiser than I have fleshed them out and tested and "proven" them--and written about them. Incorporating these ideas within the confines of a classroom schooling approach is a major undertaking which requires tugging and stretching the typical boundaries into some strange and unfamiliar shapes.  If it actually can be accomplished, I believe something hopeful might emerge in that system .

In formulating the Philosophy and Purpose parts of our documents, what other committee members bring to the table expands and deepens my understanding of God as creator.  I learn more about how man must relate to the creator and to the creation--humbly, yet confidently, always with a heart for serving others.  I see how vast is the number of people who have invested deeply in discovering and documenting and sharing what they've learned, so that others might benefit.  Bringing the students alongside us in these understandings requires also bringing alongside the adults involved--parents, teachers, board members, etc.

If none of it mattered, all of us could certainly find better things to do with our time than ponder things related to science.  We have homes to keep and jobs to perform, and relationships to establish and maintain.  But a right relationship with the creator and the creation does matter, so the effort to consider how to  "do science" well is worthwhile.  

More work needs to happen on science curriculum matters before school starts.  For now, however, a little breathing space has opened up, while others evaluate what has been done so far.  I'm glad for the break, but will be glad to pick up the task again when it's needed.