Homeschooled Freak

“You might want to take those off,” I said to my then 12-year-old son about the sunglasses he was wearing.  

“Why?” he asked, incredulous that I didn’t see the magic in his obviously amazing sunglasses (a roadside find from his paper route).  

“Well,” I said quietly, not wanting to hurt his feelings, “just because it’s almost dark, and you won’t be able to see your way around the corn maze.  You know, honey, when you’re homeschooled sometimes you don’t know what’s cool (yes, that’s what we said in the 80‘s and 90‘s) and what’s not so cool.  I’m just trying to tell you what I think before someone else tells you in a not-so-nice way.”  

Well, he pressed on and wore them as the sun was going down behind the horizon.  As he exited the car and joined a group of nearby acquaintances, I waited with the windows down, and I heard, “Why are you wearing those?”  

“Because...” he responded semi-confidently.

“Because it’s dark, and it’s stupid to wear sun glasses in the dark,” said one of the group of kids.

“I know,” he responded much less confidently as he returned to the car to put his beloved sunglasses back.  

It probably was about a year later when we had the same conversation regarding a pair of sweet, weight-lifting, fingerless gloves he was so keen on that he wanted to wear them to his first basketball practice.  He stubbornly insisted, once again, that my fashion sense was thoroughly outdated.  I was, once again, vindicated by “popular” opinion.  You know what?  Fingerless gloves and sunglasses are cool... under the right circumstances and in the right context.  

The strange part?  I wanted him to be able to wear those things, because I wanted him to feel confident and good about who he was and what he liked.  Why did I advise against it?  Aside from practicality and (in the case of the sunglasses) pure safety, I was afraid of the cruelty he would almost certainly encounter at the hands of his peers.  On the other hand, I find him truly peerless.  

I was not homeschooled, but I remember those kids.  The boys always wore high-waisted high waters, polo shirts with the tiny alligator on the right pectoral (yes, just call me a nerd - I love it), and penny loafers.  The girls (and moms) wore the t-shirt, long jean jumper, and white tennis shoes.  I could see them coming a mile away.  It was almost like a nerd uniform.  They came to the private school I attended for standardized testing and sometimes sports - awkward sports.  Their bizarre way of not even seeming to notice or care what everyone else in the whole world was wearing and how they were acting was great fodder for jokes.  While everyone I knew was wearing Air Jordans, Oakley sunglasses, B.U.M Equipment sweatshirts, Guess jeans, and Paris Sport Club anything, homeschoolers didn’t even seem to know that they could buy a pair of $70 jeans.  They were really missing out - poor things.

Enter these 17 (as my oldest son likes to remind me) years later, and I am a homeschooler.  My older sister became one fairly recently and started to head up a local homeschooling group.  When the former leader of the group handed her the reins, she said one thing my sister laughed about with me later, “Homeschoolers are rebellious by nature.  So don’t be surprised when they buck the system.”  She thought that was hilarious... “rebellious by nature”?  That was truly the last thing she said she would ever think about homeschoolers.  I laughed too, but, honestly, I’m realizing that we are!  I don’t want to do anything I’m told to do.  I like my flexibility.  I like answering to God alone.  I like freedom.

We recently welcomed a foreign exchange student from India.  We love him.  His name is Joel.  He rooms with our oldest son, and he is truly becoming part of our family.  A stipulation of the organization through which he came to the USA was that he would need to attend school somewhere.  I thought this would be good for all of us - getting in a normal school routine... getting a dose of another reality - one that most people already deal with if they have school-aged children (and for which I truly applaud them).  I’ve discovered something.  I.hate.school.  I’m trying to figure out why.  After all, I went to school.  Many schools are great.  Many teachers are amazing.  I think I just really am rebellious.  I don’t like being forced to do things about which normal people don’t even thing twice - like having a non-flexible schedule, baking cookies, volunteering for various school duties, raising funds, signing permission slips...  

One of the biggest questions I field (and so do all other homeschoolers) aside from, “Who monitors you?” (as if I and my kids are a danger to society if our educational style isn’t monitored) is “How do you get them properly socialized?”  Well, as new homeschoolers 6 years ago, my husband and I were very concerned with making that a priority.  After all, we didn't want our kids becoming home-grown weirdos like all of the homeschoolers we'd ever seen.  I remember reading an article at the time in which a man mocked the idea that putting uneducated people who lack impulse control with other uneducated people who lack impulse control (children with other children) would somehow make both groups of people smarter and better... that this somehow constitutes "socializing" children.  His argument was that the best way to socialize children for maximum maturity and sociability was with more mature and experienced people - people with more confidence in their identity - people less likely to be harsh and unkind with them - namely adults.  I saw his point.  In general, I find that children who socialize often with adults are more easily able and ready to talk with me and feel comfortable just carrying on conversation with me as peers would.  I have had some of my best conversations with our kids’ homeschooled friends.  

I wear makeup.  I have since I was 11 years old and noticed that my mom and all the other girls I thought were “pretty” were wearing it.  I am still scared to leave the house without at least some measurable makeup on my face.  My girls could not be less interested in touching the stuff.  We went to a bling store the other day at a local bazaar.    Claire and I browsed all the cute, shiny hair pretties, clothes, hats, jewelry, shoes, and other accessories.  Out of all the things Claire could have purchased with her long-anticipated birthday money, she chose a plaid pink, green, and purple golfer’s flat cap and a matching green velour purse in the shape of a big flower.  She wears these with some cargo capris, a t-shirt, and brightly colored Chucks, and the kid looks like a million bucks in an outfit I would never have chosen for her.  Most of the time, she’s still just a kid... a marvelously unjudged kid.  She’ll wear two mismatching hair ties in her tangled hair, hole-ridden (and not stylishly or intentionally so) pants that are too short, a t-shirt that’s two sizes too big, and shamefully dirty shoes (to match her often shamefully dirty face).  These types of things used to make me cringe.  “What will people think?” I thought.  I love to see my kids coming into their own.  My handsome 17 year old and his “piece” as he calls the soul patch under his bottom lip... my cute adolescent daughters with not a self-conscious bone in their bodies, my young’n’s who wear whatever is their favorite color or is the most comfortable.  (Tonight Violet wore an old pair of secondhand pink stretchy pants, a totally different color of pink and black shirt, and dirty pink crocs.)  Nobody is there every day to make them feel like freaks if they’re not clones.  I’m not pointing at anyone else’s kids.  I was that clone... the one to notice the freaks that didn’t fit in with the rest of “us” in the “real world”.

One of my favorite things about the very diverse group of homeschooled people we know and with whom we associate is that they are largely uninhibited by social expectations and are, for the most part, unabashedly original.  It’s not uncommon to see kids in the local group we attend who have pink or purple hair, amazing/fun/original fashion sense, or unbridled passion for nerdery.  When we go to a group meeting (which is relatively rare), we will see kids with disabilities, a wide range of backgrounds and ethnicity, people who don’t “fit in” elsewhere.  In the home environment, they have the luxury of remaining "safe" and unjudged most of the time.

As Joel started his first week at the local school, he was confronted with the fact that he did not have a cool phone.  Smart phones were everywhere... in the lunch room, in the classroom, on the bus, etc.  Partly due to this, and for other unknown reasons, he found himself very lonely there.  We don’t provide a phone for our own kids.  We haven’t needed them to have one until they were driving.  When Austin began to drive, got a job, and paid for his own addition to our monthly contract, he got a phone.  If he messes up, his phone is our phone.  We wouldn’t let him have a smart phone even if he paid for it himself.  The rest of our kids don’t have phones either.  We make the kids leave technology of all kinds in the living room when they go to bed at night.  We want them to associate with God and with other humanoids.  We want them to feel a little lonely or bored at night.  After all, that was always when I did the best reflection on my day and my self and prayer about both.  If they went to school, a phone would likely be more of a necessity... adding mega cost to our bill.  What they don’t know other kids have, they don’t miss.  We don’t find it necessary to waste money on brand name clothes they’ll outgrow in 3 months.  We don’t feel obligated to spend on electronics and toys they don’t know exist.  Not until recently did I realize how much money we save by having the kids here all day and not having TV to show them what they’re “missing”.  After only a week at school, it was clear that if Joel did not have a smart phone, buy school lunch (instead of taking his own), and wear what the others were wearing, he would never be cool enough to socialize - no matter how original or fun or friendly he was.  He would always be set apart - and not in a good way but rather in a “freakish” way.  This would likely not be his experience at many schools, but it was in the one he attended.

Please understand, I know that there are people in all schooling options who display this type of originality, and I know some that come to mind as I write.  I applaud the ability of those people to stand out - which is much easier for us to do in the safety of our own accepting home-environment than it would be for us if we were daily faced with the reality of not fitting a mold.  However, I am embracing the fact that, at least for awhile, their originality is being appreciated and is growing unhampered by negative comments, embarrassment, or criticism from the outside world.  They may not always be able to remain completely oblivious to what is expected of them from the standpoint of society in general, but they know what we expect of them... to be kind, to respect others, to forgive, to ask forgiveness, to laugh, to work hard, to be a friend... to be a kid.  The rest will come soon enough.  Is that sheltering my kids?  I hope so.

A few years ago, my son and a friend of his watched a movie that contained the line, “I’m not some God-loving, homeschooled FREAK!”  Since then, they laughingly call one another and their other friends variations of that line.  “You homeschooled freak” has become one of the staples around here in such a funny way that Levi (5 at the time), actually called one of his friends that attends regular school a “homeschooled FREAK” in a not-so-nice way during an argument they were having over a video game.  It was so hard not to laugh that I admittedly burst out laughing really hard and said, “Um, Levi... you’re the homeschooled freak here,” and then I made him apologize.  I called this boy’s dad and told him what happened, and he laughed about it too.  After all, I think normal people all feel like freaks sometimes.  We feel deep down that inadequacy:  We’re not doing enough.  We aren’t enough.  

The Psalmist said in Psalm 139:13-14 that God created us, knit us together, in fact, in our mother’s womb... making us “fearfully and wonderfully”.  These things make me realize that - just like the rest of creation - after God made me, He looked at me and said, “This is good.”  That was before I ever did a thing.  If He was happy with what He made when He looked at me, who am I to be unhappy with it?  If He was happy with what He made when He made my neighbor, my co-worker, my boss, my classmate, my friend, my enemy... who am I to say otherwise?  Can I ugly up what He made good?  Yes, and I do every day.  Maybe I am even doing it right now.  I hope grace covers me.

When confronted with the idea of having to shave his beloved facial hair for a school dress code, Joel balked saying that he would look like a girl without it.  We tried to reassure him that he would not and that it was very common to have a shaved face in the USA, but he would not be consoled.  Austin said, “If you have to shave, so will I.  And look, the dress code doesn’t say we can’t grow some sweet sideburns.”  “Yes!”  I added, “That would be awesome!”  Joel was not as buoyed as we’d hoped and responded sardonically, “Yes, because I want to look like Wolverine.”  I said, “I was thinking more James Dean than Wolverine.”  Neither of them knew the screen legend to whom I was referring, and then it was my turn to be disappointed.  However, I realized that every culture has its expectations for appearance and behavior.  Not all of this is bad.  It's in us to want to fit in with other people... to be part of a group.  Emulating what has been accomplished by others is an essential bent of humanity, but it's what has never been seen before that truly has the power to move the human heart.  That is why originality is so essential.  We live in such a marvelous day and age - in which we can instantly see, via the internet and television, the amazing things people do... from over-the-top marriage proposals, to amazing rescues, to musical talent...  These things can be so pervasive that we forget that merely being the human God created you to be is truly amazing.

I hope I am encouraging you to not just encourage originality in your own kids and the ones you love but to help your kids appreciate it in others too.  If we see a rainbow mullet at Walmart or a giant red afro walking down the street or some sweet lamb chop sideburns, we are the first ones to stop and let the kids admire it... take it in... love it, and maybe even tell the person so.  

Voice in the Hallway

I have been walking lately with a neighbor who has given birth to 11 children - 8 of whom are still at home.   I talk marriage and motherhood at length with this seasoned veteran of both, and it is a great blessing to me.  This morning in particular she laughed at how often she hears people tell her that she must be a “saint” for having as many children as she does - eleven, to be exact.  She said, “I always tell them I’m no saint!  I only get through my days by the grace of God.”  Time Magazine recently ran an article about how many young adults are now realizing that parenting requires too much self-sacrifice and are opting to “have it all” instead of having children.  They can travel, have job flexibility, have more “me-time” and “couple-time”, and basically be more selfish without children.  

Men often come across as obnoxious when commenting on the number of children we have (five).  They tend to say things like, “Well, haven’t you been busy?” or “You know how that happens, don’t you?”  Women are usually much more polite than men about the way they comment on the same subject.  They usually say something like, “I don’t know how you handle it,” or “I wouldn’t have the patience, but good for you.”  I find this line of commentary far more flattering as it puts me in the light of a lady busy about her job and doing it well as opposed to a woman wandering around like a cat in heat and tolerating the unintended results.  That being said, I am laid back enough to have these children without fretting, but that’s mostly because I must not worry.  Why mustn’t I worry?  Because A) God tells me not to worry but instead to pray.  B)  I don’t have ultimate control anyway, and C) The more children I had, the less capable I was of being able to manage the details of their lives.  I am completely incapable of micro-managing five people besides myself.  In fact, I am completely incapable of micro-managing just myself, and I am ME (most of the time, anyway).  I have no doubt that were I to have five more children, I would become less worrisome and more laid back than I am today.  I think that’s why God didn’t create more effective birth control.  Maybe He knew that if women had enough time to dwell intently on just a child or two, we might drive ourselves mad.  I know I used to do that.  Worry is a way of life for most moms.  

While I was talking to my neighbor, she lamented that young women never ask questions of older women anymore - that we instead rely on Facebook, forums, blogs, and chat rooms to find mothering wisdom and advice.  Our autonomous society caters to our way of thinking and parenting by allowing us to never really have our ideas challenged about anything.  I rarely repost sayings on Facebook, because I often find them sickeningly trite.  The other day I read a post that said that there is no wrong way to parent because parents are as varied as children and we’re all a rainbow of different parenting styles to form-fit our unique children and blah, blah, blah.  This from the same site where a parent question the week before pertained to a “26 year old child” (and drug addict) who was still living with her parents... no job... no help with chores... no life... no sign of wanting one.  Believe-you-me, there are wrong ways of parenting.  I fight those ways every day.  The urges to overindulge my children, foster selfishness in them, and allow for (or contribute to) their laziness are all things that threaten to render useless my efforts to grow adults.  Those are wrong ways of parenting.  They don’t lead to the point of my children becoming productive members of society.  They lead to my children becoming entitled, spoiled, and useless... people of which the world already has an abundance.  Yes, my children are somewhat unique amongst themselves and require small tweaks in parenting methods within a greater general framework, but to assume that I know it all and require no advice from seasoned veterans in the field would be ridiculously narcissistic and hopelessly narrow-minded.  

My generation (and those after) do seem to generally feel most at-ease in front of a computer screen when seeking parenting advice.  However, let’s face it, Facebook parenting is not reality parenting.  I have friends who are on completely opposite ends of the "Facebook parenting" spectrum.  Some of them are kind of like “honor student bumper sticker” Facebook parenters.  Every status reads like a Christmas letter... every photo is with a trophy or report card.  Then there are "Debbie Downer" Facebook parenters.  Every status is about a massive headache/backache/heartache, children who are excessively needy, or housework attempts gone awry.  Honestly, those are harder for me to read than the other type, but I also respect the honesty and transparency therein.  I guess I fall into an “everything’s funny” Facebook parenter category.  Maybe my type are annoying to others too, but I find that sometimes parenting is either a “laugh or cry” kind of gig, and I prefer to laugh, and when others are laughing with me it’s that much easier for me to laugh.  Any of these styles (and more) are unrealistic pictures of the daily workings of the home - Honor parenters leave out the negatives.  Downer parenters leave out the blessings.  Funny parenters leave out the not-so-funny.  A combination of those things would give the most realistic picture of what all parents inevitably face.  The thing is, even if I did want to open up on Facebook and talk about a parenting problem, it would not only be inappropriate (and potentially humiliating to the child) to do it in such a public way, it would end in a variety of opinions and no hugs.  Hugs and tears are what women used to do together on this marriage/parenting journey.  Commiserating without the humanizing element of being near to raw emotions and response is not fully nourishing at best and is careless and unsympathetic at worst.  In other words, if you need to vent, want some advice, or just need a shoulder on which to cry, talk to a humanoid - preferably an experienced one.

“The Bible says that ‘women are saved through child bearing’,” this same sweet friend said to me this morning - referring to 1 Timothy 2:15.  Then she added, “What do you think that means?”  After a moment of silence, I replied, “I don’t think it’s talking about being saved from sin and death.  That’s what Christ accomplished for us on the cross.  No, if I had to say how childbirth has ‘saved’ me, it would be that it has saved me from myself.  It has saved me from being so self-centered and self-focused.  It has saved me from my 'self' more with each child who enters my life, and it doesn’t have to be by birth but more by interaction with children.”  She said, “Yeah, so, like women who haven’t actually given birth to a child can be preserved from selfishness by being a part of the lives of others around them who need a motherly figure in their lives.”  We agreed that child-rearing and involvement have changed us for the better by reducing our control-factor and boosting our go-with-the-flow factor.  

Please understand that I’m not saying that women who don’t have children aren’t blessed this way.  Being a woman, in and of itself, is a blessing.  Being a “bearer of life” isn’t necessarily a physical act.  It is a state of being.  It is a way of life.  I used to resent being female... especially in high school.  I hated all of the “special” aspects of being a woman.  Even in my younger years of marriage, I resented being saddled with the responsibilities of child-bathing, diaper changes, late-nights/early-mornings with cranky or sick babies.  I didn’t naturally gravitate toward a love of motherhood like some of my friends seemed to do so easily.  No.  It’s been a journey for me.  However, even just within the last month or so I have come to increasingly appreciate my position.  Women of all stripes are cursed with the desire to control our circumstances and those around us.  We want perfection for ourselves and others.  Look to any media outlet, movie, political organization, church, etc. and you will find women grasping for power.  We want to be president.  We want to preach.  We want jobs with equal pay.  We want the right to choose for ourselves and those around us.  We want... want... want POWER, and we won’t stop at “equality”.  I see women bossing their husbands and boyfriends constantly... and trying to control their friends and family.  The most common reason for mother-in-law/daughter-in-law conflicts?  Both are trying to exercise control over some aspect of their own/each other's lives.  Neither mother nor daughter are surrendered, resting, and at peace with their past, present, and future.  

I will submit to you, now that I’ve recognized it in my own life, that motherhood is powerful.  It is the most powerful position a woman can hold on this planet.  I am the hub of our household.  I call myself “home base”.  The household activities and people in it revolve around my presence.  I don’t plan it this way.  If I’m at the computer and the rest of my family starts to watch a movie or decides to go on a walk, they won’t do it without my involvement.  Wherever I am, someone is always looking for me... to bandage a wound... to find a lost shoe... to tell them “what’s for supper”... to listen to a silly story... to bask in the beauty of a stick-figure art project... to hum a bedtime tune... to detangle and braid a doll’s plastic hair... to talk through a broken heart... to stand up to an injustice... to sew a patch on a favorite pair of worn-out jeans or un-stain a “lucky shirt”... even (for my boys) to be willing to be protected from perceived (or imagined) harm.

We had a "corn party" this week with my whole family.  Here in Illinois we have corn - a lot of corn.  Sometimes towards the end of summer we will get a large batch of sweet corn to shuck, boil, cut off the cob, bag, and freeze.  We spent two days this week completing this process on approximately 1400 ears of corn.  There was a lot of talking, laughing, "corny" jokes, and even some singing, but amongst it all there was a special conversation.  My sister and I began talking about the thoughts we had both had about adoption - specifically about special needs international children.  As a few of the other family members voiced doubts and concerns about the prospect, my sister said, "Well, isn't motherhood a lifetime commitment?  It's not just something you ever stop doing."  We agreed.  Motherhood is eternal.  Once I became a mother (even an expectant one), it isn't something I could have ever "unbecome".  I was immediately changed.  I would always be someone's most comforting presence.  I would always be someone's "home".  I would always be someone's most recognizable face and voice (for better or worse).  I would maybe even get to be someone's favorite face and voice.  I might even get to be the person someone is most comforted to see and hear in the whole world.  

My mother was quite involved at the small, private school I attended from pre-school to twelfth grade.  She coached sports.  She taught PE.  She was on PTA.  She was a presence in the building often.  I can still remember that, even as a high schooler, I could hear her laughter ring through the hallways, and it made me feel safe.  I felt home when I heard her voice.  I can’t explain it.  I don’t know why, but hearing that voice in the building brought me security.  Did we always get along?  No.  Did we always agree?  No.  Did she always love me?  Yes, and I knew it.  

I am that "voice in the hallway" for my children... for better or worse.  I have more influence over their lives and destiny than any one humanoid ever will.  I was there before their first breaths.  By God’s grace, they’ll be there for my last breaths.  They seek me out for approval, for nourishment and sustenance, for identity, for affection, for advice, for knowledge, for friendship, for help, for everything.  That is power and not to be taken lightly.  The daily question is, “How will I use that power?”  There is a fine line between influence and control, and I want to be very careful not to cross that line.  How could I go a day without asking God to help me know what they need and to give me the grace to give that to them... to give them freedom and accountability... to give them stability and adventure... to give them wisdom to make their own best decisions... to give them my prayers for God’s direction and then leave them in His capable hands.  God gave me power when He gave me babies, and He expected me to give it back to Him in the form of people who are prepared to and who desire to give Him glory.  

Look Down

A few weeks ago I actually read most of a Time Magazine article (yes, I wasn’t just covering up a People magazine with a Time magazine so people wouldn’t see me reading trash) that was discussing the newest generation - people who were born after 1994 I think.  What follows in italics are excerpts from that article:  

This article entitled, “The New Greatest Generation - Why Millennials Will Save Us All”, went on to say, “...in the 1970s, people wanted to improve kids’ chances of success by instilling self-esteem.  It turns out that self-esteem is great for getting a job or hooking up at a bar but not so great for keeping a job or a relationship.  ‘It was an honest mistake,’ says Roy Baumeister, a psychology professor at Florida State University and the editor of Self-Esteem:  The Puzzle of Low Self-Regard.  ‘The early findings showed that, indeed, kids with high self-esteem did better in school and were less likely to be in various kinds of trouble.  It’s just that we’ve learned later that self-esteem is a result, not a cause.’  The problem is that when people try to boost self-esteem, they accidentally boost narcissism instead.  ‘Just tell your kids you love them.  It’s a better message,’ says Jean Twenge, a psychology professor at the University of San Diego, who wrote Generation Me and The Narcissism Epidemic.  ‘When they’re little it seems cute to tell them they’re special or a princess or a rock star or whatever their T-shirt says.  When they’re 14 it’s no longer cute.’  All that self-esteem leads them to be disappointed when the world refuses to affirm how great they know they are...”

“What millennials are most famous for besides narcissism is its effect: entitlement.  If you want to sell seminars to middle managers, make them about how to deal with young employees who e-mail the CEO directly and beg off projects they find boring.  English teacher David McCullough Jr.’s address last year to Wellesley High School’s graduating class, a 12-minute reality check entitled ‘You Are Not Special,’ has nearly two million hits on YouTube.  ‘Climb the mountain so you can see the world, not so that the world can see you,” McCullough told the graduates.  He says nearly all the response to the video has been positive, especially from Millennials themselves...”

“...Millennials are also stunted, having prolonged a life stage between teenager and adult...The idea of the teenager started in the 1920’s; in 1910, only a tiny percentage of kids went to high school, so most people’s social interactions were with adults in their family or in the workplace.  Now that cell phones allow kids to socialize at every hour - they send and receive an average of 88 texts a day, according to Pew - they’re living under the constant influence of their friends.  ‘Peer pressure is anti-intellectual.  It is anti-historical.  It is anti-eloquence,”says Mark Bauerlein, an English professor at Emory who wrote The Dumbest Generation:  How the Digital Age Stupefies Young Americans and Jeopardizes Our Future (Or Don’t Trust Anyone Under 30).  ‘Never before in history have people been able to grow up and reach age 23 so dominated by peers.  To develop intellectually, you’ve got to relate to older people, older things:  17 year olds never grow up if they’re just hanging around with other 17 year olds.’ Of all the objections to Obamacare, not a lot of people argued against parents’ need to cover their kids’ health insurance until they’re 26.”

The article went on to say that, as a result of the things mentioned above, the newest generation is the most self-centered, egomaniacal generation yet with the lowest levels of social intelligence and intellectual development (because of being over-socialized with their peers and under-socialized with their elders).  They lack empathy and compassion for others on never-before-seen scale.  It can be summed up to say that we, as a society, have done a disservice to our children by babying them well beyond the ages they would have, in days gone by, been expected to have been matured to the point of adulthood.  We have socialized them with peers to the point of social retardation.  

I disagree with one thing about the above article (aside from this one thing, I think the article was right on the money).  I don’t think the narcissist generation started with those born after 1994.  It started well before that.  It gets worst with each passing generation of late, but I think that my generation has the fewest clues on how to raise well-rounded, caring, selfless individuals that will make for a better society because so few of us were raised that way. 

Even secular magazine articles declare that “self-esteem is a result, not a cause”, that self-esteem is a deterrent to long-term success.  Would it follow then that low self-regard and humility would be the optimal self-image for one to assume in order to become a contented, caring, successful individual?  I would argue an emphatic, “yes”. Humility, according to my computer’s dictionary, is: “a modest or low view of one's own importance; humbleness”  

Even more interesting to me were the synonyms in the thesaurus for humility:  modesty, humbleness, meekness, unassertiveness, lack of pride, lack of vanity; servility, submissiveness (emphasis added)

Proverbs 15:33 - “The fear of the Lord is the instruction for wisdom, And before honor comes humility.”  

Proverbs 18:12 - “Before destruction the heart of man is haughty (proud), But humility goes before honor.”

Proverbs 22:4 - “The reward of humility and the fear of the Lord are riches, honor, and life.”

(emphases added) 

Where does kindness begin?  Humility.

Where does honor begin?  Humility. 

Where does exaltation begin?  Humility.

Where does success begin?  Humility.

There's a difference between feeling unworthy of Christ because of my sin (a usually false and ironically self-focused pseudo-humility) and feeling unworthy to approach the throne of Deity because of His utter holiness - his awe-inspiring, jaw-dropping betterness. He is infinitely better than I can comprehend. That is all I need know or say to Him. That is all He wants me to admit and, more importantly, of which he wants me to keep constant sight.  

People complain about the factions of Christian belief - the liberals, the conservatives, the denominations, etc.  These things are so humanity-focused.  The moment we start to think that we know who the true God is based on our personal experience, based on our inner knowledge, or based on some human-derived revelation, we have utterly lost the enormity of God.  A true Christian can know only one thing - that God is so enormous that He won’t be contained by anything - much less the tiny human mind and existence... which can’t possibly contain a fraction of Who He is.  Our strivings are dust.  Our righteousness... filth.  Our best efforts... worthless - every, last one of us.  Yet we still find a way to point a judgmental finger at the one next to us.  In a land where every person is equally irrelevant... equally unable to save self, we still strive to feel superior.  It would be as ludicrous as a banana peel in a garbage heap comparing itself to the sorry, worthless orange peel next to it.

The prophets understood this.  In a post Old Testament world... one in which Christians think the Tora is irrelevant and oppressive, we have lost the bigness of Deity.  Isaiah 64 says (in part), 

“Oh, that You would rend the heavens and come down,

That the mountains might quake at Your presence - 

As fire kindles the brushwood, as fire causes water to boil - 

To make Your name known to Your adversaries, 

That the nations may tremble at Your presence!

When You did awesome things which we did not expect,

You came down, the mountains quaked at Your presence.

For from days of old they have not heard or perceived by ear,

Nor has the eye seen a God besides You,

Who acts in behalf of the one who waits for Him...

“For all of us have become like one who is unclean,

And all our righteous deeds are like a filthy garment;

And all of us wither like a leaf,

And our iniquities, like the wind, take us away.”

My righteousness is filthy rags in comparison to His innate inherent nature. My greatest strivings and finest acts are childish scribbles on a scrap of tattered notebook paper in comparison to a Being altogether perfect by just existing. I can't even come close with all of my doings (believings, sayings) to what He attains merely. by. being.

The enormity of the plague, plight, and agony of humanity's error and condition is much too vast to be solved by a trite persona - a "friend", a "prophet", a "teacher", a "gentle character". "Sweet Jesus", "Precious Moments Jesus" might be enough to save a soft person... a "good" person... a nun perhaps or a docker-wearing accountant or a planet-conscious vegetarian.  He is not, however, enough to deliver the likes of me, one prone to darkness and consuming passions... let alone the desperate whole of humanity which I represent so thoroughly - the humanity that screams and groans for something strong and fervid - wildly consuming... ardently pursuing humanity in a way so profound that wildest human imaginings are incapable of capturing it.  And not only to deliver me but to liberate those same passions and fervor in me for one purpose - to give them back to the One Who granted them to me in the first place.  

I can't be satisfied by "hipster Jesus", despite his popularity.  He does not consume my waking moments.  As I watched some of the History channel's adaptation of The Bible, I found their winsome portrayal of Jesus attractive at points, but as he gently overturned a table or two in the temple during passover and wept so quietly about the state of "His Father's House", I was turned off.  Gentleness didn't lead Him to the slaughter; passionate purpose did.  His silence wasn't because of weakness but because of strength.  Every Christian song I hear makes Him sound grieved yet helpless in light of the sins of men... like a pleading weakling who begs me to do the right thing to others.  My greatest offense, however, I can't help but believe, is that I have no passion for Him.  I have no strength in my pursuit of His character.  I have no desperate desire to hold on for the ride of where He takes me and trust that 100% of what happens to me is His plan and that I should not only trust it but embrace it.  How can people have a passion for a dispassionate or weepy or mournful or whiny Jesus?  If I was owned by passion for Him and His Word, the natural result would be goodness, love, mercy, patience, kindness, gentleness, faithfulness, etc.  As it is, many cannot find a passion for a God who isn't dangerous, strong, full, gripping, and desperate to be glorified.  "If He isn't all about me and my worth and my self-esteem and my happiness, then I don't think He really loves me" is our silent attitude.  

To be perfectly honest, I have written this blog with much trouble.  The first part flowed, but there was more.  I woke up in the middle of the night, one-finger typing on my tiny iphone keyboard, the details of the other parts that consumed me at 3:00 AM.  I sit here adding the final touches tonight after watching a documentary on Francesca Woodman - a miserable American photographer who killed herself after not receiving the recognition she so desperately had searched for throughout her short, tortured life.  I am rent in two as I consider my own neediness and the neediness of humanity in general... the need to have something greater than self in which to invest our very lives.  The end of self-love, as Francesca Woodman found, is misery and wonder at why others do not see our obvious value.  The One Who assigned us our value, and the only One Who will ever truly appreciate and recognize it, is the one who bids us cast our worth at His feet so that He might finally be given His due.

Deprive Your Children

A few weeks ago I saw a Facebook post from Proactive Dads, and it said something to the effect of:  “Everyone talks about leaving a better planet for our children.  What about leaving better children for the planet?”  That statement has run through my head quite often since that day.  

Tonight we were on our way to my dad’s parents’ house - just like we have been every Monday night for probably about 18 months now - to bring them supper.  My dad is an only child.  Therefore, my sisters and I are the only grandchildren that my dad’s parents have.  That was pretty sweet - growing up (next door to) with grandparents who had nobody else to spoil but us.  Now we are the ones left to care for them.  

All of our grandparents did so much with us.  We saw them almost daily, and they never missed a birthday, holiday, or sporting event that involved us.  They have been a constant in our lives - for the absolute best.  My grandma is dying.  She has been dying of ALS for a couple of years now.  She is my first close family member to have a terminal illness.  As she is approaching what will likely be her last few weeks on this earth, we have been forced to confront what grief might look like for our family.

I have said this before, but my parents - especially my mom - made us spend a lot of time as children in nursing homes, hospitals, and the houses of less fortunate or invalid persons.  We helped with programs like Meals on Wheels - which my grandma who is dying spent some 40 years of her life, I believe, doing.  We helped with funeral dinners at church.  We visited shut-ins.  We spent Sunday afternoons visiting Great Aunt Lena in the local nursing home.  We did all these things and more, and I’d like to say that we enjoyed it, but we pretty much hated every minute of it.  What kids want to spend hours with boring adults anyway - much less if those adults look scary and want you to hug them?

My parents weren’t wealthy, but my dad did have a decent job.  We never drove a new car, and we rarely went to restaurants.  The year the Cabbage Patch Doll made it’s debut, we opened our Christmas presents excitedly only to find not-so-authentic-looking, hand-made replicas.  Where was Xavier Roberts’ signature??  I’ll tell you where - on the butts of the dolls of the kids who were actually getting what they wanted for Christmas.   We have laughed remembering that on those rare occasions when we did go to eat at McDonald’s, sharing was dad’s way of creating sibling love amongst us.  We got to share fries and drinks three ways.  I had heard lore of something called a "Happy Meal", but we were told we should be happy just to have a meal.  We were well-fed.  We were well-cared-for.  We were loved.  We were most importantly not particularly spoiled.  When we asked for something we were told “no” at least as often as “yes”.  

I just realized on the ride to town tonight:  I’m so grateful for having been deprived of many of the things I wanted as a child.  I’m so grateful for having been forced to do things for others that I didn’t necessarily want to do.  I think these might be the essential contributing factors in our desires to care for our aging loved ones.  We might have had the desire to do so - because of the love we received from them or from guilt feelings, but I doubt that desire would have given birth to action on behalf of my grandparents had we not been familiar with the concept of self-sacrifice and what it requires.  I’m thankful that my grandparents are being cared for in their later years by family members.  My sister and I were in the hotel room with my grandma and in the U of Madison doctor’s office when she received the diagnosis, and we cried until we hadn’t a tear left on the way home together.  My other sister lives away, but if she didn’t, I know she would have been right there with us.  

My husband is what I like to call a “bad sharer”.  I have rarely met a more selfless man in most areas of life.  However, when it comes to sharing - specifically food items - he has no talent for it.  We have a couple of friends with whom we regularly spend time.  They get absolutely giddy when we discuss the possibility of sharing something at a restaurant.  They think it’s hilarious to watch.  It probably is.  I, on the other hand, am a veteran sharer.  That’s what we did... and NOT voluntarily.  We did, however, figure out what was fair and how to negotiate.  A few months ago, Mark and I decided to share a meal when with our friends at a local restaurant.  Our meal came with a salad.  As I was talking to our friends, Mark had started (and later I determined - nearly finished) with the salad.  From the “ashes” of what had been quite a large and delicious-looking salad, I looked down to find a cherry tomato, a leaf of lettuce, and a cucumber left for me.  I can’t say I was surprised.  After all, Mark - who is “not a dessert person” often likes to tell me that he doesn’t want dessert but that, “I’ll just have a bite or two of yours.”  Fair enough.  I usually try to order something that is large enough for us to share.  I ordered a cookie sundae once, and when it came I looked up to find that he had scraped the ice cream off to the side (for me) and eaten 3/4 of the cookie.  If I wasn’t selfish myself, these things would not bother me a bit.  However, I am selfish and competitive... not an ideal combination for sharing bliss.  So we rarely share anymore.  I’m hoping we’ll mature out of that.

Human nature is selfish at best.  It starts at birth, and it is a beast that needs taming till the day we die.  In the earliest days of a child’s life selfishness is a biological necessity.  In my estimation, one of the primary and most essential roles of a parent is to make a child aware of the feelings and needs of others and equip the child to make self-sacrifice a way of life.  However, we live in a self-service world.  The root of most of the crime, evil, and pain experienced in this life is selfishness and lack of empathy.  When I don’t think how my actions will effect someone else, I will always make choices that could and will potentially hurt someone else.  In the positive, when I do make that uniquely human decision to think about how my actions will effect another person, I could potentially become a blessing in the life of that person, but I most likely will not become a source of hurt to that person.

With all of these new parenting types that seem to crop up regularly these days, one of the most interesting to me is one in which parents avoid using the word “no” at all costs.  It’s perceived as a negative word that might somehow damage self-esteem or short-circuit self-actualization.  I’m all for positivity.  I’m also all for saying “no” to a child in appropriate circumstances.  I have met parents who seem to do nothing but say “no” to their children.  In that case, they seem to frustrate the child and become a “noise” in the child’s ears.  On the other hand, I have seen children permitted to color on the bodies and clothing of self and peers with magic markers because their parents would not say “no” or take the marker away from the child.  

My children are by no means angelic.  They have naughty, selfish streaks like anyone else.  I used to be much more controlling and fearful in my parenting.  I see mothers - especially newer moms or moms with just one or two children - freaking out about things I would not consider the least bit concerning.  I think a lot of that has to do with how the parent was parented.  I’m no longer very concerned with most foods consumed off of floors, higher tree climbing, and other things that used to drive me to distraction.  Last Sunday afternoon, Levi (6) took a letter opener off our desk (not particularly sharp but pointy at one end) to the porch and was trying to whittle a stick with it.  I didn’t see it until he already had it outside.  I looked out the window and said to Austin (16), “I don’t think he should have that outside alone.”  He said, “Mom, he needs to be able to be a boy.”  I thought, “Yes - a boy with both of his eyes.”  I said, “Would you be able to go outside, sit with him, and give him some safety tips on how to carry and use it?”  He said he’d be happy to do that, and he did.  I think it’s especially important with boys to let them feel a little dangerous.  It has so much to do with how God made them.  He is full of strength, passion, and zeal.  Writer John Eldredge says in his book Desire, “But he is called the living God. ‘It is a dreadful thing,’ the writer of Hebrews says, ‘to fall into the hands of the living God . . . For our 'God is a consuming fire'’ (10:31; 12:29). And what is this consuming fire? His jealous love (Deut. 4:24). God is a deeply, profoundly passionate person. Zeal consumes him. It is the secret of his life, the writer of Hebrews says. The ‘joy set before him’ enabled Jesus to endure the agony of the Cross (Heb. 12:2). In other words, his profound desire for something greater sustained him at the moment of his deepest trial. We cannot hope to live like him without a similar depth of passion.”  I believe that to rob my boys of their dangerous selves would be to rob them of the passion they will need to be the men God intended for them to be... strong, free, protective, able.  I have a lot more to say on that subject, but I have to try to stay on track here. 

The importance of denying our children many of the things their heart desires cannot be overstated.  For one thing, Jeremiah 17:9 and Mark 7:21 (Ps. 119:36, Prov. 4:23, Isa. 59:7 and 13, Jer. 16:12 and 17:9, Mat. 15:19, and Col. 3:5) state that the human heart is evil and wicked and “desperately sick” - desiring bad things for self and others.  So why would I want to give my child every thing their heart desires - even from me.  Can I meet their every need?  Can I comfort their every ache?  No.  I don’t even know all of what they need or want all of the time.  Even if I was present 24/7 and waiting to meet their every need, would that be healthy for them?  No.  Can I introduce them to One Who created the desire in them and knows exactly how to meet it?  Yes, and I should, because the only thing I can guarantee my children with regard to my presence in their lives is that I will not likely be there for them forever.  Even when I am, I will likely fail them.  I can, however, give them God’s guarantee that says, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Deut. 31:6, Josh. 1:5)  Never is a long time.

Another reason for denying our children would be to help them recognize that there are other wills out there that matter - other wills that are stronger or more deserving or more needy than their own.  In order to break hearts full of our own self-importance, our parents often reminded us of the needs of others and put us in a position to try to meet those needs.  Empathy is only learned by similar experience.  How can a child who has never experienced disappointment or a broken will relate to the real world experience of the rest of humanity - who experience those things on a daily basis.

Lastly (and most importantly from a Biblical point of view), we cannot truly follow after God if we do not deny ourselves.  We cannot deny ourselves if we have not learned the skills required to do so.  In Luke 9:23-24 Jesus says, “If anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross daily and follow me.  For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake, he is the one who will save it.” (emphasis added).  Self-denial is essential for Christian walk and behavior, and it does not come naturally to anyone.  It is a taught/learned skill.

I have likely told this story before, but when I was younger I was a scrapper.  Physical fights were not uncommon for me.  I once (at the age of 10 or so) beat the living daylights out of a boy at the swimming pool of a campground we frequented.  He was two years older, about a foot taller, and had a lot bigger mouth than I did.  He had been taunting my friends and I and threatened us with physical harm if we didn’t leave what he said was his pool.  After several minutes of his threats, I was blind with rage and threw him across three deck chairs, pounced on him, clawed his skin, and pummeled his face until he ran out of the gate as fast as his legs could carry him.  He later rode by the pool with a campground employee in a golf cart - bleeding from his face - and was coerced to apologize.  The boy yelled, “Sorry, but you didn’t have to go psycho!”  Well, he was right.  I had apparently gone psycho.  I barely remembered the encounter, but my sister (who had pulled me off of him) and my other friends all told and retold it for years afterward.  I do remember going back to the campsite afterward expecting that my mom would be happy that I had defended our rights to swim in that pool.  She said, “I can’t believe you would do that.  You are going to apologize to that boy.  You will do it first thing when you see him tomorrow.  End of story.”  I remember trying everything I could possibly do to manipulate my mom out of making me do it.  I couldn’t imagine approaching him and the friends he was always with to apologize for something I felt I had been right in doing.  There was no getting out of it.  Mom forced me.  I remember that the boy I had battered was in the hot tub with his arm around a girl when I approached him and said I was very sorry for having hurt him.  I didn’t qualify it.  I didn’t say any “buts”.  I just said I was sorry for hurting him and hoped he would forgive me.  He said it was fine - no hard feelings, and we spent the rest of that vacation playing with those kids without another cross word spoken.  Had my mom not forced me to see the error of my ways, feel some empathy for my “enemy”, pray about my wrong in it, and do the right thing, I would not have learned a valuable skill and life lesson.  I don’t always do it well, but it’s always right there with me.

Please understand that I would never advocate denying children anything related to basic, essential needs. In the emotional realm, unconditional love is a basic need.  In the material realm, food, clothing, and shelter are basic needs.  Mostly I’ve been thinking about people who think “no” is a bad word to use with children or who bend over backward to make their children happy at all costs.  Spiritual life is full of “no”, “wait”, and “change your behavior” moments.  God doesn’t always pat me on the back and tell me that I’m awesome, amazing, and can do no wrong.  He always loves me, and because of that He sometimes breaks my heart with the wrong I’ve done (or am doing) to another person or to Him.  Sometimes He is heavy on me to ask forgiveness... to stop... to go the other way... to change.  I can hear Him, because I heard my parents tell me those things.  Their voices tender but clear, “You are wrong here.  Go ask forgiveness.  Stop.  No.  Because I said so.  I don’t have to tell you why.  You just need to obey.”  When we think we are even close to perfect, that we can do no wrong, or that we are entitled, we are unable to worship the only One who is Perfect, Right, and Entitled to all that we could ever give and more.  Self-esteem impedes God-esteem. 

Hawaii 2012 - Part 2

This is part 2 of the blog detailing our Hawaii 2012 trip.  When I finished part one, we were biking down from the Haleakala Crater - 26 miles - after sunrise at the top of the volcanic mountain.  (Click here to read part one of this blog.)  So I'll get right back into it.  We stopped at Kula Ranch for breakfast and had a delicious breakfast overlooking the rest of the Maui.  This is one of the photos we took on the way down the mountainside.

view of Maui as we biked down Haleakala - Molokini is the islet to the left off the coast of Maui.

This is a photo we took on the way back to our Kipahulu paradise,   where we took a shower, napped, and made a spaghetti dinner - which we ate on our deck while the sun went down over Maui.

More Hana Highway Beauty

Our Thursday started with sleeping late, cooking, and eating breakfast at Ala'aina'.  After that, we went to the Hana side of the Haleakala National Park and hiked up to Waimoku Falls - which was arguably one of the most beautiful sights we saw on Maui.  It was a one hour hike past ancient trees,  through a bamboo forest, through streams and rapids to a breathtaking waterfall.  

upper side of the Seven Sacred Pools (Pools of 'Ohe'o)

Seven Sacred Pools (Pools of 'Ohe'o)

another waterfall on our hike from the Seven Sacred Pools up to Waimoku Falls

huge Banyan tree on the way up to the falls

some flowers in front of one of the falls 

 We started out our trip up to Waimoku Falls about 8:00AM, and that was plenty early enough to avoid tour buses that usually make their way over to Hana area around 10:00AM.  I think that we ran into two couples coming down the trail during our whole one-hour hike up the trail.  So if you want privacy, I recommend going up the trail earlier in the morning.  This next photo is kind of a joke between Mark and me.  One of the couples we met coming down as we were going up was a younger couple.  Mark usually approached younger couples who had cameras and asked them if they'd like to have him take their photo.  About the third time he did that, I asked, "Why are you always doing that?"  He said, "So they will feel like they have to ask us if we want them to take our picture."  After that I started calling him "The Lovers' Photographer".  So we have about half a dozen photos of the two of us together in Hawaii - thanks to my husband Mark, The Lovers' Photographer.

The next thing we saw on the way up to the falls was this bamboo forest.  As we learned from our guide on the bike trip, Koa, bamboo is an invasive species (as are at least 80% of all other plants and animals that are currently in Hawaii) and was brought there by Polynesians centuries ago.  It is bad for Hawaii because it grows at a rate of twelve inches per day and blocks light that needs to get to the rain forest floor to help the other plants to grow.  Invasive, yes, but it made the walk so much more beautiful!  It made for an almost otherworldly experience.

at the beginning of the bamboo forest part of our hike

And finally we got to Waimoku Falls!

the top 2/3 or so of Waimoku Falls.

Waimoku Falls was definitely worth the two-hour (round trip) hike up and back down the side of Haleakala.  I would suggest wearing good walking shoes that you can also get wet.  There was quite a bit of wading through rapids and deeper pools and puddles.  When you get to the bottom, you can explore the Seven Sacred Pools of Ohe'o a bit more.  We talked to the park guides for a good long time, and they were very helpful and informative.  We enjoyed that morning very much.  We stopped at a roadside food vendor and had our first Hawaiian "plate lunch".  It was delicious.  It consisted of any kind of grilled meat you liked (we had pork), white rice in a ball, potato salad, and beans.  It was delicious, and we watched a local man husking coconuts and prepping them for drinking as we were eating.

After we ate lunch, we headed back to the secret falls we had been to earlier in the week.  Since it had rained a little bit up in the mountains the day before, we had hopes that it would be flowing a bit more, and we were right!  This is how it looked during our second visit, and since we had already gotten our shoes wet earlier in the day, we just went in with our shoes on this time and had no trouble with the rocks on the bottom.  We spent awhile longer here that day, and we loved every minute.  We both did a lot more swimming than we had the time before this.  That's one off our "bucket list".

The next stop for a couple of nerds in Hawaii would have to be the churchyard where Charles Lindbergh was buried.  As we pulled up to the beautiful churchyard, it began to pour down rain.  So we went around from under one tree to under another tree - all over the yard, and it was fun.  We explored the grounds and marveled at how lovely it would be to be interred at such a serene location.  This churchyard is also right on a cliff overlooking the ocean.

Lindbergh's burial site

After that, we made our way back to Ala'aina', took another shower, and spent the late afternoon into the evening looking up everything we could about Charles Lindbergh - who truly had a fascinating, philandering lifestyle - a fairly tragic character, actually.  (Yes, the definition of "nerd", but it was nice to have time to actually do something like that.) We enjoyed another dinner cooked in the outdoor kitchen, and we ate it on the deck as the sun went down on another lovely day in Maui.

On Friday, August 31st, we woke a little sad to be leaving the Hana side of Maui we had come to adore.  I, in particular, was not ready to be heading over to the Lahaina side - which is a bit more commercial than the rural Hana.  Hana felt like a true vacation - nowhere to go, no time constraints, no problems - just relaxation and rest.  

We packed up our rental car, and we headed back to Haleakala National Park to get one more look at the Seven Sacred Pools and to see if they were allowing swimming yet.  The water was running too high for swimming again that day, and we took a few more photos and headed to Hana Bay, a black sand beach, for a snorkel/kayak adventure tour with Hana Maui Snorkel and Kayak.  The owner was Kevin, and we happened to be the only ones he had booked for that day.  Kevin taught us how to ocean kayak... a first for us.  We both agreed that Kevin was an exceptional teacher and guide.  He prepped us, launched us, got us out in the bay, and walked us through the process of getting in and out of the kayaks and using our snorkel gear.  We had an amazing time learning from Kevin about snorkeling, the history of Maui/Hawaii, and about his life as a writer in Hollywood and his eventual retirement in Maui.  We both got a little seasick (Mark, in particular) from kayaking sideways alongside the surf, but Kevin led Mark over to a rocky cove and helped him get on the rocks to rest awhile.  In the mean time, Kevin had me follow his kayak (I - swimming behind) over to a huge, old sugar ship anchor that had long since sunk to the bottom of the bay.  I looked at it awhile, and I thought we had gotten several photos of it with our camera mask, but they didn’t come out right.  So that was a little bit of a bummer that Mark didn't get to see it, but he would later see something that I missed.  It was so neat to see all the sea life that had made a home in or on that old anchor.  The snorkeling in Hana Bay was perfect.  We enjoyed it immensely.  We would definitely recommend Kevin at Hana Maui Snorkel and Kayak.  He is very personable, and he only ever takes a maximum of 3 parties out at once to snorkel.  So it’s very intimate.  It was an ideal first snorkeling trip for Mark and me.  

Mark at the bottom of the Pools of Ohe'o' - where the fresh water meets the Pacific

more of The Pools

more of The Pools

We grabbed another plate lunch and some more coconut candy at Hana Bay, waved a melancholy goodbye to Hana, and we started our final Hana Highway drive back to the Lahaina side of Maui.

on the way to Lahaina

 The last portion of our stay was at Napili Surf condos in Lahaina.  It was a nice, quiet complex.  It was well-run and well-maintained.  It was perfect for us.  The best part of Napili Surf, we both agreed, was Napili Beach (pictured below) - in which the snorkeling was simply better than we ever expected.  We could grab our gear any hour of the daylight, swim out twenty yards, and see a plethora of sea life - from octopi to sea turtles to all kinds of brightly-colored fish.  We couldn't have asked for a better place to continue learning how to better use our snorkel equipment in a stress-free environment.  We spent our first evening in Lahaina restocking groceries at the local grocery store and unpacking our belongings.

The next morning, Mark spent the early hours out on the beach catching photos like this (while I was catching ZZZZZ's back in the room):

Mark's sunrise rainbow

During his sunrise walk, he saw this fantastic sea turtle right near him as he stood on the rocks with the camera.  I was seeing the insides of my eyelids at the time.  I’m sorry I missed the sight of the sea turtle, but I’m not sorry I missed 5:30 AM.  I was glad he got to see such am amazing sight.  He felt lucky.

his turtle "friend" swimming away

  
After I awoke, we spent that whole day shopping and sight-seeing in the Lahaina area.  We went to the Lahaina Whaling Village and Museum - which was perfectly fascinating.  We spent a good while there.  The museum especially was inexpensive and very well done.  We did quite a bit of shopping for souvenirs and for a dress for me for our upcoming luau dinner date.  We ate lunch at Lahaina Steak and Seafood and enjoyed that.

When I had booked the luau months earlier, I had looked specifically for the best luau experience on the islands.  Our son had spent a week in Hawaii earlier in the summer and had complained a bit about his luau experience - that it had been tacky and not very well done - in any way.  I stumbled across The Old Lahaina Luau because of Internet reviews.  It was said to be classy, historical in nature (giving a history of Hawaiian dance through the centuries), and extremely well done.  We found it to be all of that and more.  What a gem!  Going to The Old Lahaina Luau was the absolute best tourist entertainment we attended during our stay in Hawaii.  We got there early, and we were able to take advantage of several education stations they had in which they taught various Hawaiian skills (like wood carving, spear throwing, etc.).  I spent a few minutes making a bracelet of plumeria (beautiful and fragrant) for me to wear during the luau.

sun setting on the Old Lahaina Luau

my love and I at our table

the last photo I took as my phone camera died at the luau

Sunday, September 2 was our last full day in Hawaii.  Mark woke up early again, but this time he woke me up to go with him down to the beach for sunrise.  We did some beach combing and saw a lovely sunrise.  We ate breakfast in our condo and went to do some more snorkeling.  We spent that morning on Napili Beach.  

one of Mark's sunrise photos

a sunrise photo I took

and another sunrise photo

a photo I took of Mark as the sun rose over Napili beach (notice the moon)

 After lunch, we rested, packed a few things for our flight the next day, and got showered and dressed for our last night on the town in Lahaina.  We shopped again for some more last-minute souvenirs.  We ate another fine dinner seaside at the open-air Lahaina Steak and Seafood.  The highlight of our evening, however, was watching the sun set over Molokini.  Like so many other sights we had seen over the preceding 10 days, it was unusually breathtaking.  We snuggled on a sea wall next to the beach, took a few photos, and watched until the last ray of light sank behind the horizon. 

the sunset on our last night in Hawaii

 After the sunset, we made our last Coldstone Creamery visit in the Hawaiian islands.  We talked to the owner awhile and took our time walking back to our car.  As the salty, sea wind blew through my hair on the way back to our condo on that Sunday night, I felt unbelievably blessed to have been able to have the experience I had.  Although I know there are millions of beautiful places in the universe, I cannot imagine seeing one I am more in awe of than Hawaii.  From rolling pasture lands, to lush rain forest, to stark volcano craters, to majestic mountains, to rugged coastlines, to unique plant and animal life... I can't count the number of times I just put my hand up to my heart and all I could say was, "Oh... oh..." Sometimes there are no words adequate to describe an experience - and even trying to say words to describe it cheapen that experience.  I feel that with this blog.  I wanted to write it, but I didn't want to cheapen the experience.  We hope to return to Hawaii, but there will never be a time that could match (much less top) the time we had in 2012.  We were beyond blessed for having been there.  God couldn't have bestowed the grace of this trip on any two more undeserving people, but neither could any two people have been as completely awestruck and grateful for the blessing as Mark and I were.  

I hope the entirety of both blogs about our trip have been informative for anyone considering planning a similar trip.  As with the other, please feel free to ask any questions in the comment area.