Hearts of the Children

Bryan, Sam, and I have been watching The World at War. This series on WWII was made for TV in the 1970's. As a result the producers found many people who could tell their own stories for the cameras, both Axis and Allies. Watching episode after episode is brutal and sobering, sometimes inspiring, and certainly not for the younger set.

In an episode on Hitler's Germany there were these words:

When an opponent declares, "I will not come over to your side," I calmly say, "Your child belongs to us already... What are you? You will pass on. Your descendants, however, now stand in the new camp. In a short time they will know nothing else but this new community." Adolf Hitler - Speech November 1933

 The Hitler Youth Movement had 100,000 members in 1933. The Nazi propaganda films show beautiful girls in shorts running, playing ball and tug of war. Boys swim, race and wrestle. One smiling face after another turns toward the cameras, laughing, the sun on their faces. There are shots of them sitting down to eat, served a healthy lentil stew, nourishing a strong and rugged Aryan race. Every image deceptively idyllic. By 1936 there were four million Hitler Youth members, then in 1939 attendance became mandatory and numbers soared. But those numbers don't tell the truth.

I see the smiles and bobbing blond hair over and over again. I also see the tears in the eyes of the mother who refused to let her son join the Hitler Youth. I hear of the ways he was made fun of by his friends, and punished by his teachers. I hear the fear. Yet she was steadfast; steadfast for the heart of her child, steadfast in her conviction of right.

For the youngest children, the Hitler Youth Movement wasn't outright evil, it was outdoor fun and healthy bodies and a subtle tug to capture the hearts of the children. I think about my own children and their activities. This complicates matters. The question becomes far more complex than whether one activity is morally right or wrong, it becomes a question of the heart. Who will influence their heart? And in the end who will own it? Will someone ever turn to me and say "What are you? We already have your children."

Giving Good Gifts

     I've finished my Christmas shopping, all except one small gift.  Why do I mention it?  Certainly not to make you feel bad if you haven't started, nor allow you to feel smug if you finished in October.  I still have lots of work to do on my handmade gifts.  I just want to share our simple way of giving gifts to our kids.  Now, I know, some families don't celebrate Christmas, some don't give gifts, and some just go shop at the dollar store, and they all probably spend less than we spend.
     Our gift principle is based on the basic fact, as Jesus acknowledged in the gospels, that a father does love to give good gifts to his children.  We love to see their smiles as they open their gifts.  Just as God has lavished His love on us in Christ, we lavish love on our little ones and a Christmas gift is a small tangible way to love.  Yet, our children have so very,very much "stuff," that in truth they don't need anything at all.  Our compromise has been to give each child one gift at Christmas.  (We also do stockings, but don't do Santa, with very small items; and gifts between siblings.)
     Twelve years ago, when Ally was one, we bought her a $10 Bible story book.  Back then it was all we could afford.  But we used that little book through four babies and she was happy.  By the time we factored in gifts from Grandparents and Great Grandmothers there were more than enough gifts.  Then as the years went by, we just stuck with our one gift principle, even in years when we could afford more.
     A month ago, Bryan and I sat down and wrote, on paper, the one gift we wanted to buy for each kid.  We try to think of really useful things.  Things they'll use long term, but seem interested in at the time.  We try never to buy toys with batteries.  The principle isn't just about the lowest cost, we pick high quality items that we'll be happy to have around.  We pick toys that allow open-ended play, think of Legos or dolls.  Then armed with a thoughtful, specific list, we begin shopping.  This is sort of like making a list before going to the grocery store; it keeps us from getting carried away.  Now, this is a little flexible.  Our girls are getting new bedding this year, and we let them choose it with us, so strictly speaking, there is more than one item.  Someone else is getting more than one item - but I can't reveal why.  But all in all, it's pretty simple around here.
     We don't buy the popular toys, or the gift of the season.  We don't shop Black Friday.  In fact, I make it my mission to hardly go to the store at all in December, not even for groceries.  I hate the crowds and the Christmas displays.  Best of all, we don't pay for those Christmas gifts in January, or February, or for the next three years, in credit card payments.
  

Genuinely Ordinary

     After yesterday's post, a little follow up is appropriate.  I didn't get everything accomplished.  Yesterday's clean laundry is still folded and in the laundry basket.  Truthfully, though, sloth and laziness aren't measured only by the outcome, but by the attitude of my heart.  Just ask the mother of a two year old how hard she works compared to how many tasks she finishes in a day!  Heart examination is called for.  Yesterday I was willing to push myself a little.  Work a little longer.  Think a little more deeply.  Now I'm praying I can do it again today,  that God changes my heart from the inside out, bit by bit, over time.
     So the truth: it  never all gets done here.  I might write about that.  But I want my blog to be irrepresibly cheerful and hopeful.  I'm such a pessimist, a little optimism will do me good.  I want to remember the good.
      I live in an adult world, but I'm writing words I want even my seven year old daughter to read.  I won't be dishonest, but I'll filter so that what's found here is the good, the true and the lovely.
     No perfect people live here.  Wouldn't it be nice if they did?  But then I wouldn't fit in at all.  I won't write about their weaknesses.  Here I'll filter their lives through a lens of love.
     When I post pictures of my house, I won't show you the mess, the dishes in the sink or dust bunnies on the floor.  We have that here, in abundance.  Again, I'm looking for the lovely.  Focusing the camera in a little closer and finding the ideal.
     I'll be real.  Honest.  Genuine.   I won't exaggerate, I'll look for the good that's already there and showcase it.  But if you meet us in real life, we are so very ordinary you'd hardly notice us.

Why I Write

     I've resisted blogging for years.  I'm convicted you ought to do all things well.  No half-hearted, shoddy efforts.  Although in real life I get by with a mediocre effort, because that's real life and I'm exhausted at the end of every day.  If so many people were blogging, and some so well, I didn't want to disappear into the uninspired, unread masses.
     Bryan, however, kept enouraging me, telling me I have wisdom to offer, searching for time in my days to sit and type out my ideas.  The crux of his argument was that I like to write, and so I should write regardless of the outcome.  I do like to write.  If you could get inside my head you'd find me composing sentences, and reworking the words, ten or a hundred times over.  I ponder how to describe the quality of autumn light, sun warmed hair in the garden, or golden sun on the honey floor and how it reminds me of the blessings of heaven.  It's my secret life.
     I decided to blog, not for my audience, but for myself; for the pleasure of setting out line by line the thoughts that fill my days.
     Yet, as soon as my first words were on the screen, I did have an audience.  An audience I had to shoo away, "You are not allowed to read over my shoulder."  Not because of the content, but sometimes a mother needs a little space.  When the words are done, I move aside and let my lovely girl, who's watching my life so closely now, sit and read.   Then three more excited faces crowd in, though one only thinks he can read.  And Bryan comes in the door and asks, excited, "Did you blog?"  I have an audience.  You, if you read this, are welcome, but I'm writing for them.
     Like so many other things in my life, I thought I was doing this for myself.  Instead, I'm doing it for my family.  That is just the way it ought to be.