Beatitudes

"Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled" (Matthew 5:6).

I have a full heart today as I work on memorizing the Beatitudes, my first step towards memorizing the Sermon on the Mount. Last week my oldest daughter Karina asked me if I would memorize it with her, so we have discussed and read verses in the car and copied them into our journals. Her "hunger and thirst after righteousness" fills me with gratitude. When I became a mother I had no idea that the greatest reward of motherhood would be the privilege of helping and working closely with fine people. Suzuki writes, "We must try to make [our children] splendid in mind and heart also." I have tried and am trying to do this, but I always end up feeling like I have contributed little to minds and hearts full of splendor from the beginning. I feel that each human life contains nobility and we only have to keep from destroying it to allow it to blossom.

On Accompanying

Karina and Katie performed in a voice recital Tuesday night with me accompanying them on the piano. My years of practicing and taking piano lessons have culminated in playing accompaniments, which thefreedictionary.com defines as "a vocal or instrumental part that supports another, often solo, part." If I do that job well, I will scarcely be noticed, I will follow the singer's lead and enhance the performance in an inconspicuous way. I have no time to sit back and enjoy the music. Last night several people told me Katie looked so enthusiastic while she sang, but I missed it, with my eyes on the score and my ears following her lead. What I gained was a feeling of involvement in the music, of losing myself for the benefit of another and finding my abilities strengthened in the process. I love supporting my daughters as they sing. A parent's most noble job, in my opinion, is to provide the support and the scaffolding her children need to climb to greater heights. This requires and enhances every ability I have gained in my life. Like my accompaniments on the piano, motherhood involves few times to relax and enjoy. The songs I am creating form only the background of my children's lives. However, I find purpose in supporting, a vocation suited to me for the present time, until I will once again be the soloist.

Weep to Have

I feel poetry but lack the power to make my words profoundly beautiful like my thoughts. This month while reading Jane Eyre, I found that Jane felt the same about her artistic ability. When Mr. Rochester asked her about some of her paintings, she said, "I was tormented by the contrast between my idea and my handiwork: in each case I had imagined something which I was quite powerless to realise." Sometimes a particular poem strikes me because it captures my feelings in a way I am "powerless to realise." This week I encountered Shakespeare's Sonnet 64 and feel new awe at his power.

Impermanence and inevitable loss are his themes. He begins:

          When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced
          The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age;
          When sometimes lofty towers I see down-razed
          And brass eternal slave to mortal rage;

Amid monuments to the dead, the poet laments time and weather's slow destruction of our attempts to remember them.

The next four lines show the effect of the tides:

          When I have seen the hungry ocean gain
          Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,
          And the firm soil win of the watery main,
          Increasing store with loss, and loss with store;

I feel a faster progress of decay and visualize a child's disappointment at the loss of his "kingdom of the shore," a sand castle.

Viewing ruin all around him, he thinks:

          When I have seen such interchange of state,
          Or state it self counfounded to decay,
          Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate
          That Time will come and take my love away.

Because nothing is permanent, we will inevitably lose even those we love. His concluding couplet mourns the having because of the fear of losing:

          This thought is as a death which cannot choose
          But weep to have, that which it fears to lose.

I feel this as I witness and participate in my children's inexorable march to adulthood. I know my goal as a parent is to eliminate my position so that one day they will all leave my home, but I still dread it. When my mother visited a couple of years ago, she swept my floor after lunch one day, and I complained, "My floor has to be swept after every meal."
  
She replied, "My floor stays clean, but my house is empty."

I "weep to have" because I fear for the empty house, the loneliness I know I will some day feel. One day at church I sat between my eldest daughter, Karina, and my youngest, Helena, the beginning and end of my cycle of motherhood. I remember Karina as the baby in my arms, but she stands taller than I am and will leave for college in only three years. I try to grasp that remaining time but the "firm soil" increases "store with loss" and runs right between my fingers.

Some day I will ask myself where the years went, but I will know that I lived them. I am grateful that in the midst of a busy life I can spend each day with these children, to help them, know them, relate to them. The days and stages of their childhood dissolve like sugar into the syrup of my life, sweetening it but in an elusive way I find difficult to distinguish and savor. One day I will have the time and solitude to savor it and the sweetness of my memories will remain.

Sonnet 64

When I have seen by time’s fell hand defaced

The rich proud cost of outworn buried age;

When sometimes lofty towers I see down razed,

And brass eternal slave to mortal rage:

When I have seen the hungry ocean gain

Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,

And the firm soil win of the watery main,

Increasing store with loss, and loss with store:

When I have seen such interchange of state,

Or state itself confounded to decay;

Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate—

That Time will come and take my love away.

This thought is as a death, which cannot choose

But weep to have that which it fears to lose.

A Thinking Love

I am a stay-at-home mother, a chef, a nurturer, a seamstress, a musician, an educator, a baker, an accountant, a writer, a wife, a student, and a lover of the arts—all without pay. I am not a housekeeper, a maid, a chauffeur, or a laundress, although at times I do the tasks necessary for those roles. I am also a feminist who worries that by embracing these roles I appear to be an unliberated housewife who has attenuated herself into a mere outline of her husband and children. This life satisfies me even as I visualize an imaginary feminist despising me for my unliberated life.

Save your contempt. I don't despise you in return. The Mommy Wars have always mystified me. I do not need to justify staying at home by persuading myself that my children will surpass those of the career-balancing mother in every way because I sacrificed my identity on the altar of motherhood. I chose this life and think other women should be free to choose theirs. While Eric works, I have the freedom to help my children grow, to watch their identities unfold. I also choose to consider it my calling, not my job.  I do not need or want a salary for my work because I love it for itself. Renumeration would only cheapen my motivation. My worth as a person and my identity do not center on what I receive money for, which I consider a hollow way of valuing a person. I think Eric sometimes envies me my freedom to pursue my interests with my children.

Homeschooling has given me my greatest purpose. Through home education I believe I can give my children an individualized education superior to any they could receive in school. I have not lost myself in the process, but instead it has led me to utilize more of my mind than anything else I have ever done. Pestalozzi said:

The mother is qualified, and qualified by the creator Himself, to become the principal agent in the development of her child; . . . and what is demanded of her is––a thinking love . . . . God has given to the child all the faculties of our nature, but the grand point reminds undecided––how shall this heart, this head, these hands be employed? to whose service shall they be dedicated? A question the answer to which involves a futurity of happiness or misery to a life so dear to thee. Maternal love is the first agent in education (Charlotte Mason, Home Education, 3).

I give a "thinking love" to my children not through the suppression of my individuality but by using all my faculties and abilities to tutor them as I work with them daily. Every mother is an expert in her own children, and I try to use my expertise to help each child develop uniquely. Suzuki wrote: "The word education implies two concepts: to educe, which means to 'bring out, develop from latent or potential existence,' as well as to instruct" (Nurtured by Love 86). As much time should be spent educing children's humanity as instructing them. Coaxing out their latent qualities requires much time and the knowledge of and love for each individual that I alone possess. In the process I realize my own potential.

Reading, accompanying a choir, writing, singing, teaching, explaining math concepts, directing a play––my week consists mainly of these activities, all of which benefit both me and my children. Sometimes I think that feminism in the 20th century could have taken a different path, that envisioned by Charlotte Mason at the century's start. She wrote:

We are waking up to our duties and in proportion as mothers become more highly educated and efficient, they will doubtless feel the more strongly that the education of their children during the first six years of life is an undertaking hardly to be entrusted to any hands but their own. And they will take it up as their profession––that is, with the diligence, regularity, and punctuality which men bestow on their professional labours (Mason, Home Education, 3).

Educating my own children is my professional labor. It takes diligence and more of my intelligence than anything else I have ever attempted. Every day I learn a little more about the value of each child, of the difference a good education can make, and about having a large impact on a few people as their latent qualities develop. I am living the life I have chosen. In the middle of the daily chaos I find myself, no mere outline but fully fleshed, a complete woman. And yes, a mother.

Everyone has Parents

"Thomas Jefferson, Patrick Henry, John Adams and your children all have something in common – Parents. You can make the difference."

When I saw this advertisement for a seminar, I thought to myself:

"Adolf Hitler, Benito Mussolini, Hirohito and your children all have something in common: parents."

Right now I find my responsibility and influence for good or bad in my children's lives overwhelming. Suzuki said, "A child improves depending on his parents." The bible reads, "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it" (Proverbs 22:6). When a person goes bad, the parents usually get the blame. Last week I read an article about Tiger Woods that placed the blame for Tiger's lack of moral character squarely on Earl Wood's shoulders. The author, Jason Whitlock, wrote:

After his press conference in February, I wrote a column comparing Woods to Michael Jackson. No one blamed Elvis Presley or Quincy Jones for Jackson's fall from grace.

We blamed Joe Jackson, Michael's father.

Is there a difference between Joe Jackson and Earl Woods?

Both focused on raising entertainers more than human beings.

When I read the article, I was ready to blame Earl Woods. I even thought of blogging about it. Of course I am trying to raise caring human beings with character. Shame on him!

This week I'm not so sure. I'm in a Christian, forgiving mood. As a homeschooler, not only do I get the blame if my children are poorly behaved or delinquent, but I also get the blame if they lack knowledge of history, times tables, reading, writing, penmanship, nutrition, science, spelling, grammar, and algebra. Have I missed anything? My husband Eric kindly and quickly pointed out to me mid-rant that I also get the credit, but at that moment I didn't care. It's just not fair!

My Christian mood might not be strong enough. The person I can't forgive is me. Sometimes I get tired or sick and I realize that I am not consistently working with my children on the skills I want to help them develop. In my view, consistency is the hardest thing to be consistent about. Today when I walked in my children's rooms, disgusted with the mess on their floors, I felt angry. When I walked in my own room, disgusted with the week's worth of laundry baskets full of clean clothes on the floor, I felt shame.

Shinichi Suzuki said, "Practice only on the days you eat." How impossible that seems to me! Some days we miss math, on others instrument practice gets skipped, we don't do a little Spanish homework every day no matter how many times I set that goal. When I'm in a dark mood, I conclude that THE thing wrong with my life is me. I lack pretty much everything.

Excessive guilt and discouragement are unproductive feelings. I realize that perfect parents don't exist. I do, however, give some priceless things to my children that no one else can:

• I love and want each individual child.
• I spend lots of time, both quantity and quality, with them. Benjamin Franklin wrote, "Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of." I believe that by giving them what "life is made of," it shows that I value my family.
• I know them better than any other teacher could.
• I never give up (for more than the length of a pity party).
• I seek improvement.  

My religion also gives me comfort. A speaker in my church referred to the effort to be like Christ as "attempting the impossible." As a mother, I'm sure that all my attempts are exactly that. However, if we lay our efforts on the altar, Christ accepts our sacrifice, our heart and our spirit, and we can be given beauty for ashes. That is a grace, a strength, a promise I can rely on, because everyone has parents, and we can all also be the children of Christ.