Dressing up

Clothes do not make the man, but they do proclaim him.


Proclaiming color.


Proclaiming valor.


Proclaiming humor.

Work in Progress

Hello, my name is Sarah, and I have made an idol out of being right.
(My sister probably could have told me this a long time ago.)

Shortly after I was married, I attended a women's retreat where I was introduced to the idea that an idol is anything that is too important to you. An idol is anything that you replace God with in your life. I was surprised to discover that approval was an idol of mine. That realization made so many different parts of my like make sense. I've been working since then to weed out the approval idol and trust the Lord instead.

So when a recent Sunday school class had a list of questions to help us identify our idols, I was reasonably sure that approval would still be there to some extent. The questions asked what we feared most? What could we not stand losing?

Yes approval was still there, but it didn't cover all the responses I made. Then it struck me, I have made being right really really important to me. Realizing that has made so many parts of my life clearer to me.

Symptoms that Being Right may be an Idol
I hate being wrong. Hate it.

I will beat myself up for telling somebody information that turns out to be wrong.

I take it as extreme censure if someone tells me that I haven't put the chairs back right after a MOPS event at church.

I have a lot of trouble relating to people with whom I disagree. I either have to stay on "safe" topics, or avoid that person. What, your theology differs from mine? You've chosen an alternative life style? Stay at arms length!

I try to be consistent with my kids, but my parenting changes based on who is around me and what I think that they think is right.

I hope that if I make all the right decisions, my children will turn out to be good people, and won't go into rebellion.

I think that if I make good choices, people will like me better.

I think that if I make right decision, my career and finances will be safe.

I believe that if I have my theology right, God will deal with me more graciously.

I think if other people are wrong, I need to show them the err of their ways.

My worship of God often degenerates from enjoying his presence, to imagining that I am debating somebody about God's character.

I waste time imagining arguments about God and religion. I always win those arguments. Funny that.

I really enjoyed Quiz Team in high school.

Uprooting the Idol
I had a lot of trouble wrapping my arms around this problem. I mean, we are supposed to try to be right, right? Isn't being right a virtue? I work in a profession where being correct is important (who doesn't?). I attend a church that places a high value on biblical accuracy, study, and sound doctrine. My initial reaction to being shown that "being right" was an idol was to ask God to help me fix it so that I could stop being wrong and be right again.

Even writing this blog is a little dangerous for me because it feeds my desire to say, "Hey look! I was wrong. But I'm better now."

Here is the thing -

I am a lousy evangelist if I can't embrace people who I think are wrong. Really embrace them. Love them. Enjoy spending time with them.

I cannot really enjoy God if the only part of God I am concerned about is the knowledge of God.

I am a poor parent if all I can be concerned about is whether I am raising my children "right".

So I am learning to be okay with being wrong.
I am learning to be okay with letting people whom I respect think that I am wrong and that I have made bad decisions.
I am learning to be okay with people whom I think have wrong ideas.

I am also having a new conversation with God. It goes something like this-

God: Sarah, you are wrong. And I love you.
Sarah: What !?! How am I wrong, Lord?
God: You can't even count the ways. Sarah, you are wrong. And I love you.
Sarah: Well let's start fixing it, right away. Where do I start? What is the first thing I'm wrong about?
God: Just where you are, just as you are, I love you.
Sarah: But can't we start making it better? You know - sanctification and all that?
God: Sarah, your condition is wrong. And I love you.
Sarah: You love me, Lord? Just as I am?
God: I have the scars to prove it. Sarah, you are wrong. And I love you.
Sarah: Let me always dwell in your love.

Big adventures for little people

On Saturday I was able to make good on my promise to hike through the woods. Steve stayed home with napping Petra, and I took Paul and Julia to one of the local state parks.

The first trail we tried was blocked off, probably due to high water. We explored a pond and watched a child catch a crayfish (which Paul had spotted and announced, “There’s a LOBSTER in the water"), then played on a play ground for a while. The park surrounds a man-made dam, and the kids and I went to the outlet at the bottom of the dam. It was a dam outlet. I wrote that sentence just for Steve, who thinks it is funny.

The water was thundering through the outlet. When we had been by the pond, I tried not to fuss at Paul and Julia about staying back from the water. I figured if they fell in, we would have to cut our trip a little short, but it was no big deal. But when I saw the brown river churning along I gave them several warnings to stay back from the water. The river was swollen and fast. It made my heart beat a little faster.

We walked up the stairway alongside the dam outlet. Paul and Julia ran on ahead of me. The water was roaring and would periodically throw a 20 foot plume of spray into the air. There was a fence so that the children could not possibly have fallen into the water, but it was still very intense for me. I almost cried with relief once I topped the stairs.

The side of the dam is a grassy slope and we walked all the way to the top. I was so proud of both of them. Paul and Julia tried rolling back down the slope, but discovered that it is not so easy to roll that far.

Then we found a trail through the woods, just about a mile long – perfect for my undisciplined little nippers. I think we may have entered the twilight zone on that trail, because it seemed like Paul and Julia’s spirits temporarily switched places. Julia was galloping ahead of me and I had to keep calling her back. She really wanted to be the first one to the bridge at the end of the trail loop. She looked magnificent while she ran. Paul, on the other hand, was dawdling along and stopping to look at the bare tree branches and rocks. He chatted with the other people on the trail and was soaking in the details.

It was so good to get out and stretch our legs.

Fridays with my girls

I took Julia and Petra to the park Friday morning. I had to keep my eye on Petra all the time or else she went exploring farther away than I liked. I’m not sure how I’m going to keep up with her this summer with the parks are more crowded. We might need some tethers.

At one point, Petra wandered to a part of the park that was open and empty. I let her rove for a while because I had a clear view of her. Eventually she meandered back, but I had moved from where she had last seen me. There is something profoundly satisfying about seeing a toddler scanning the crowd just for you, and then seeing her whole face light up when she finally makes eye contact and knows that all is well with the world because mommy is there.

I have been enjoying Friday afternoons just with Julia. Petra took a super nap after our outing to the park, so Julia and I had a few hours to ourselves. Julia dressed up in her back pack and ball cap. She went exploring in our yard. She would purposefully march up to a tree or flower and then look it up in her field guide (which was actually a fairy tale book from the library.) Then she would announce that it was a “Masseemappee tree” or a “Masseemossee” flower. She talked about wanting to go hiking in the woods and camping and roasting marshmallows.

I said, “Julia, smell the air.”

She sniffed and replied, “It smells yummy.”

“It smells like something burning. Somebody is burning wood and the smell is reminding you of campfires. That is why you are thinking about roasting marshmallows.” And I told her that we would try to take a hike through the woods soon.

Smarter than we think

Petra. Have I mentioned that she is brilliant? And busy? About a month ago I tried asking her to bring me a sippy cup so I could give her some juice. She started to fuss, so I coached her through walking to the drawer, pulling out a cup, and bringing it to the refrigerator. (Emptying that drawer for no reason at all is one of her favorite pastimes.) Then I asked her to close the drawer without coaching her. She did. And to my delight, she now gets her own sippy cup when we ask her. It makes me wonder what else she could do if we just asked.

Last week she was playing with a toy soldier. Steve said, “Petra, can you make the man sit on the duck?” He was curious to see how she would respond. Sure enough, she placed the toy soldier on the rubber duck’s back.

She really likes being outdoors. Thursday evening Steve, Paul and Julia were bringing groceries in from the car while I was cooking. Steve came in with one load of groceries and said, “Petra snuck out the door.” With the next load of groceries he said, “Petra is halfway down the steps,” and with the final load he told me, “Petra is rounding the juniper bushes.” She had on one sock and one foot was bare. She might have made it further down the driveway before Steve caught her, but Maggie kept tripping her.

Petra loves snuggling with soft blankets. She will throw a blanket or cushion on the floor and curl up on it saying, “Nigh, nigh,” even when she has no intention of going to sleep.

She has been trying to hit or bite when somebody crosses her will. Yeah, we’ll be working on that. Fortunately for her, it is hard to stay angry with somebody so little and cute, who likes to hum the “A B C” song while mimicking washing her hands.

"Busy, busy, frightfully busy..."

When Paul was a toddler, one comment we heard repeatedly from people meeting him was, "Wow. He's busy."

Yes. Yes he was.

And still is. He goes exploring in the house and routinely finds things that I had forgotten we owned in places that I haven't looked in years. It can be rather exciting. He breaks rules I didn't know we needed. Such as - If you find a package of outdoor lights on the table, don't open them because if you get your fingerprints on the glass, then the bulbs will break prematurely. Or - If you find a spool of ribbon, please don't unwind all of it to raise and lower Lego men up and down the stairs.

Saturday was typical. He was exploring around our utility room. And he was quiet. Too quiet. And I knew I ought to go shew him out of there, because we store chemicals back on some shelves and there is lots of potential to make extraordinary messes with gardening or cleaning equipment. But I was tired.

I don't remember the exact sequence of events, but at one point he asked me to clear off our foosball table so he could play. At some other point I realized that he had moved the laundry from the washer to the dryer. (Hey, cool!) He had pulled the step stool over to the washer and was asking about how to adjust the settings for a new load. I peeked in the washer and found that his new load consisted mainly of the new socks we had bought for him the night before. I directed him to top off the load with some denims and helped him start the washer.

Some time later he started telling us that he had been giving Maggie some of her treats (also found in the utility room) for doing tricks.

"Really? Which treats?" The chicken treats. They are nice dog treats that are basically chicken jerky. "Really? How many?"

He started counting on his fingers and my eyes got wider and wider as he counted up to eight. Ulp.

"Okay Paul, you need to ask us next time before you give Maggie treats. That was too many. Maggie won't need to be fed any dinner tonight."

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You know, I don't remember Julia being that busy as a toddler. Maybe it is just because her toddlerhood started before Paul's was completely over and I thought that busy was normal. Maybe she was just content to let Paul do the busy work and she benefited from whatever bounty he uncovered. Maybe she has the same energy that Paul does, but much more of it gets funneled into verbal outlet. Her chattering can be like a force of nature. She is creative, talkative, imaginative and wonderful. Sometimes I desperately need a little quiet.



------------------------


And Petra?

She's busy.

Very

very

busy.

Pictures from Great Grandpa's Birthday Party

The youngest (7 months) member of the party with her Great Grandpa (90 years).



Steve and Julia enjoying some of the homemade chocolate cake my sister made. I don't remember what the name of the cake was, but I propose that henceforward it be called, "The Great Grandpa Decadent Chocolate Cake of Dizzying Proportions."




Paul getting a little loving from his aunt.



One of my cousins was brave enough to bring his girlfriend, Annie. She lavished some attention on my children after supper and earned a spot of honor in their bedtime prayers that night.

Mommy's Girl

When Paul was a baby, he stayed with our sitter friend, Jenny while I worked. He was pretty content to come or go to her. I remember one morning that baby Paul fussed to stay with me. Jenny showed him a helium filled balloon, and he forgot that I existed.

Julia, on the other hand, cried every time I dropped her off. It didn't last very long, but she felt it necessary to start crying again as soon as I showed up again.

Petra has not stayed with Jenny. When I go in to work, Petra stays with Grandma K. She likes Grandma K. In fact when Grandma K comes along, she drops me like a hot potato.


Petra with Grandma



Petra with mommy just after Grandma has left.

Cute kid.

Ash Wednesday Musing

Oh Lord, shall I weep
When old sorrows well up
Like the tide? And I,
Not drowning now, but
Covered to my breast bone,
Tread murky swells until
The moon releases me?

Oh Lord, shall I weep
When kith bow low beneath
Tragedy’s heavy load
Of forever loss, or
Dreams deferred, or fractured
Fractious family ties?

Oh Lord, shall I weep
When I hear the wind keen
Over modern slaves, and
Desperate lives, hungering,
And hungry for a hope,
A living peace and a
Chance at a tomorrow?

Lord, shall I wring my hands?
Lord, shall I dine on fear?
Or, letting go of all,
Shall I follow you?
Surrendering my self
To release my tide’s night,
To comfort those in reach,
To relieve the stranger?

Oh Lord, show me your way.

And when all the grief of
This world has done its work,
And I see face-to-face
The glorious one who
Drank sorrow’s cup to
Make all things new,
Oh Lord, shall I weep?

A big year

90 years ago Warren Harding became the president of the United States of America.

90 years ago the Bolshevist Russia was sweeping across western Asia.

90 years ago Albert Einstein was awarded the Nobel Prize in physics.

90 years ago "Puttin' on the Ritz" was published by Irving Berlin.

90 years ago the discovery of insulin was announced.

90 years ago my grandfather was born!

90 years ago the University of California beat the Ohio State University at the Rose Bowl. (Sorry grandpa - inauspicious start.)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRANDPA!

See you Saturday.

Learning the hard way

In the very first parent-teacher conference that Steve and I attended for Paul, his kindergarten teacher said, "I have been teaching kindergarten for 6 years, and I've never had a student like Paul before."

Ah-hem. Yes. Well we Kuhlmans pride ourselves on being a little out of the ordinary. That teacher's comment wasn't censure, but it wasn't exactly praise either. You see, Paul had taken a literacy skills screening before the school year and he had done quite well on it. But his teacher would never have guessed how well he did on it, because of his performance in class.

And so we worked with him and made progress on practicing his writing. He was also behind his classmates with his phonetics skills. He had some small group intervention during school last year and we worked in a phonetics workbook over the summer. It made a big difference.

Fast forward to first grade. Last week was not one of Paul's better. He had some discipline issues at school which prompted a spontaneous parent teacher conference during the school day. I don't want to drag him through the mud, so let's just say that he made some poor choices and has been dealt some consequences at school and home.

He also brought home a less than glowing midterm report. His first grade teacher said that Paul is smart enough to learn this stuff, but his work ethic is so bad that his evaluations are coming back very low. ouch. Steve and I have known that Paul is not motivated to stay on task and do his work. He is not interested in writing well. But now we are trying harder to figure out how to instill those values in Paul.

We spent some time Saturday completing some of the incomplete work he brought home.

To do the work, I gave him what I considered a reasonable time limit and then restrained myself from reminding him to stay on task for that time. If he completed the work in that time limit with fair quality, then he earned 5 points. After he earned 20 points, I let him have a piece of candy with his afternoon snack. It's a start anyway. I plan to come up with some other rewards he can work toward.

We've also started putting a time limit on his meals. If he doesn't eat in that time, then the food is put away until our next regularly scheduled meal or snack time. We're hoping that a couple of hours of feeling hungry will help him self-motivate to do what he is supposed to do WHEN he is supposed to do it. Hopefully this is also good practice at focusing on a task. Either that or we are training him to shovel his food down and have bad digestion.

The news from Paul's first grade teacher wasn't all bad. She said that he gets along well with his peers. He is neither bullying nor being bullied in the classroom. She said that she and the other teachers like to ask him to sing his little song that he uses to help him remember how to spell his last name, just because it makes them smile. I'm glad she told me those things, because I was about to throttle him last week.

Paul had some good news on Sunday. Each week in Sunday school his class writes a bible verse down on lined paper. This week Paul's writing was pretty good. He had good spaces between most of the words and it looked like he had been paying attention to what he was doing. Yay! I told his Sunday school teacher that it was great because Paul needed some good news this week.