Christmas Bells by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I HEARD the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men.”

Yesterday we spent four hours on public transportation to and from our homeschool co-op.  I’m all peopled out.  Plus, our coats are in the wash.  So, indoor crafts it is.

We’re making salt dough ornaments this year.  It’s an inexpensive thing to do.  Like the little birdies and things?  We made those using a Wilton mold originally intended for fondant and gum paste.  The brown bits were colored with cinnamon and clove, the blue, green, and red were done with paste food coloring, and the white is the natural color of the dough.  We also used cookie cutters and some free form sculpting.  Fun for the whole neighborhood!

But in truth, it takes an act of my own will to be nice to my husband when he is being unfair; it takes practice to be gentle to demanding, selfish children; I need to be reminded ever so often of the forgiveness I’ve received so that I can forgive others.

It is grace that makes me want to be good, but I still must work.  It is grace that makes me willing and able to work, but I still must work.    Is this the Catholic concept of cooperating with the Holy Spirit?

There is a hierarchy of wants and what I want right now is not always what I want most.  What I want most is to be loving and kind and holy, to please God and to be a blessing to the creation.  What I want right now is to be left alone.

Philippians 2:12; Romans 6:6; Colossians 3:9

(I’m referencing Isaiah 11 and Revelation 21.)

Now after reading another article like this one, I’m wondering if some of those people were secretly wishing our grocery store had child-free hours.  Apparently, those nasty, noisy, disruptive children must never be allowed to mingle with the adults, but must be herded into peer groups and confined in institutions where they will be monitored closely and from whence there is no escape.    An adult’s right to a noiseless environment trumps the right of a child to be treated as a person.  They have their fun and we have ours and never the twain shall meet.

They must not learn correct public behavior from  eating in a restaurant or grocery shopping or corporate worship, but must learn socialization from the other children with whom they are confined.  Does no one even consider that children might be lacking in manners because they never get to learn from real grown-ups in the real world?

I know that because I have children, I have less disposable income than some other folks, but I still do have a little cash and I am careful where I spend it.  I don’t go to Trader Joe’s because the lay-out of the store I visited did not allow a stroller to pass through easily.  And one day my children will be grown, but I will still remember  - with my heart, mind, and dollars – every snub from every store, restaurant, airline and church.  So nyah.

Since I won’t know for ten days whether or not the school district believes my form is in compliance with the law, it is perhaps premature for me to share my IHIP with the world, but Brandy has been writing about fulfilling California requirements and I’m anxious to share what we do here in New York.

So here it is, my Individual Home Instruction Plan.

We walked to the school district office to drop off our letter of intent to homeschool.

We walked to the recreation center to eat our packed lunch and to run and climb.

We walked to a store to buy new nozzles for the hoses because they don’t make ‘em like they used to.

We walked to the frozen yogurt store because I was the only one complaining and because the kids had eaten my pb&j “wraps” without batting an eye.  I have good children.

Our adventure lasted several hours.  We paused in the shade of nearly every tree.  There are a lot of trees around here.  We stopped once to watch a train go by, because my children are boys.  They watched the train and I contemplated the tree we were standing under.

It was a young tree and yet gave quite good shade.  It was probably only a couple of years ago that it would have been too small to duck  under.  I remembered reading something Wendell Berry wrote about how planting trees is an act of faith and a gift to the future because, in all likelihood, you will not live to see them grow to maturity – you are planting them for someone else.*  You do the work, but someone else gets the pleasure.  I’m OK with that, I guess, but what if, instead of passing on, you just move to a new home?  What if the person who buys your old house doesn’t like fresh figs?  Crazy, I know, but what if they rip out your blueberry bushes and put in … grass… or bricks?  ACK!

The only other thoughts I remember having involved frying eggs on the asphalt and the fashion choices of teenagers.  I know that once upon a time I occasionally sacrificed comfort for a “look,”  but the discomfort in my day was risking frostbite and the look was an unzipped, unlined white, fringed leather jacket.  The pictures were taken on film and I don’t own a scanner, so you’ll just have to use your imagination.  I had to learn the hard way – through experience –  that looking cool is just not worth being cold.  The great thing about being middle-aged is that I am now able to learn from the stupidity of others.  Case in point, the fashion knowledge I gleaned today:  any pair of shorts that requires constant hooch picking is too short and any pair of shorts that make one’s legs look like sausages and causes one to waddle in order to avoid chafing, is too tight.  Yeah, I said it.

*No, I don’t remember what work it was in  - maybe The Unsettling of America ??? – and no, I don’t remember the quote, and yes I did try Google, and yes, I’m probably butchering the thought.

In other news, my husband’s job burned down two weeks ago.  He’s been looking for work and has a couple of leads to potential part-time employment, but I just really want to blow this taco stand.  The taxes, the high cost of living, the ridiculous mortgage, the tiny yard, the I.H.I.P., quarterly reports and end-of-year assessments are all working together to make this an OK place to visit.  Where’s a nice place to live?

I’m sure it is a respectable word, from a fine, old family, long employed as a fit description for inane books, but the only other times I’ve encountered it, have been in the writings of and about Charlotte Mason.  Is Esolen a fan or is he trying to butter me up?

This whole book, so far, has been illustrating how the physical world is not merely physical, but impacts on the spiritual as well.  Esolen is not making the case that the physical is bad or less than the spiritual, rather he is elevating the physical by showing its importance – that it is part and parcel of whole of humanity and  of the universe.  There is power in the physical.  He is saying two things:  the physical, material world is good and interesting, and that there exists something more than the physical.  Though we are sometimes blind to it, the physical and the spiritual are so tightly bound together that they cannot be separated, except by God himself.  A man leaves his father and mother and is joined together, becomes one flesh with, his wife.  This is a great mystery.

Esolen wants us to know that love is real.  Love is not an “emotional itch” seeking only gratification, but is something which enables a person to see beyond himself.  I’d like to stop here and thank Dr. Esolen for giving me an earworm; “What a Girl Wants” is on pretty much continual loop in my head this week.

What happens when a person or persons are awakened to the truth of the interconnectedness of the spiritual and the physical?  Does it transform lives?  Is there baggage?

Cindy at Ordo Amoris is hosting a book club for Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child by Anthony Esolen, Ph.D.