Priorities

I'm not sure who first coined the phrase, 'The Tyranny of the Urgent'.

Nor who first drew the distinction between the 'important' and the 'urgent'.

Nor do I even recall when I first had an 'aha!' moment as I understood, in my soul, the difference. Living in the twenty-first century, it seems that we are surrounded constantly by the 'urgent'. Emails, text messages, Facebook status updates, online forums, blogs to follow. The faster one comments or replies, the quicker another incoming message appears. I've mostly resisted Twitter, and hope to continue to do so, since it seems that one could spend one's entire life 'tweeting' (or reading other people's tweets).

When one has children at home, there are plenty of urgent demands, most of which are also fairly important. A baby needs feeding, or changing, and the best thing for all concerned is to meet the baby's demands at once. Gone, thankfully, are the days when mothers were advised to feed only on schedule, and leave the baby screaming if he was hungry at any other time.

There are urgent needs for older children, too. What parent hasn't dropped everything on hearing a piercing yell? Or to race to the bathroom, when their toddler announces, 'I need to pee'? As our children mature, we still structure our time around them and their activities; if combined with work outside the home, lives become even busier. We schedule meetings at school, or church; business dinners; and the endless rounds of shopping, cooking, cleaning up and laundry.

Some new parents remember to schedule a few evenings to relax with friends, or even the occasional 'date-night' with a babysitter left in charge. But as the 'urgent' seeps into every moment of the day, it's all too easy, when finding a spare half-hour, to collapse in front of the television, or scroll through social media. Or perhaps a mindless computer game. Anything to distract our minds from the busy-ness of the day, and the further demands that will no doubt take up our full attention again soon. Clichés abound: the rat-race, the treadmill, the daily grind.

Is this how life should be? Is this 'life in all its fulness' that Jesus promised those who love him?

it doesn't seem that way to me. I'm fortunate - or very blessed, depending on your viewpoint - in that I was able to give up work when our first son was born. When we moved abroad, twenty-five years ago, I started home educating our sons. Perhaps for the first time as a family we had time to pause, to think about the reasons for education, to establish some priorities. We read books together, sometimes for hours. We played family board games. Certainly there were days when we all got caught up in our computers, or 'urgent' tasks, and the boys were often busy with a wide range of activities. But we talked, and we walked, and we pondered, and generally slowed down.

My personal tendency is towards inertia anyway, rather than activity. So I loved this new, more relaxed lifestyle. As the boys grew older, and more responsible for their own activities, I needed to do less and less for them. Cooking and laundry continued of course, but with the help of my many electrical kitchen 'servants', they weren't too onerous, other than in the height of summer when the heat and humidity made anything difficult. 

And yet, how easy it was to get caught up in the online world - to check email every five minutes, to amass Facebook friends, and follow their links, and comment on their updates. To take part in online forums and discussions, answering questions - with the motivation of helping others - and to read endless blogs. There is so much at our fingertips, so much we can read, or learn, without ever leaving the comfort of our computer chairs. The urgent still pounds at our minds, and we don't even realise it.

What is the alternative? Whether working to earn money, or in a supported ministry, or raising a family, or even retired... is it possible to push aside most of the urgent demands and focus on what is important? How do we even discover what IS important? How can we prioritise our days? And if we do - if we start with the important, and then flesh out our lives with the urgent, how do we avoid burnout?

Jesus told us, nearly 2000 years ago, that we should love God, and love other people. We've heard this so often that it doesn't seem particularly radical any more. The first century people - mostly Jews - who heard this, were used to having to follow hundreds of regulations in the hope of meeting God's approval. Laws about hygiene, about eating, about what they could do on the Sabbath... some from Scripture, some rules established by their leaders. Jesus said that love was more important than any of them.

As Christians we don't worry about whether switching on a light is 'work' or not. We don't spend our days having to refer to hundreds or minor rules, in case we offend God. Instead, we get caught up in hundreds of distractions that don't, in themselves, lead us away from God, but which frequently make us forget about God altogether.

Love God. That's what matters. Do what we know God wants us to do, avoid what we know God does not want us to do. Tell God when we mess up, ask for forgiveness, make reparation if necessary, and move on. Listen for the voice of God, and follow our inner promptings. Take time during the day to pause, and reflect, and know that we are loved. Easier said than done, of course. 

And love other people. Our 'neighbours' as the older translations of the Bible put it. Our fellow human beings. Relationships should always be our priority. Not schedules, or organisations, or rules and regulations, but people.

For those who are married, the first priority (after God) must be their spouse. Children or work commitments may give more urgent demands, but it's vital to spend time with the person we promised to love for the rest of our lives. Having to schedule a 'date-night' just to hang out and talk is a little sad - we should be communicating and hanging out together regularly, at home. But if the 'urgent' demands of other people in the home make that difficult, then it's probably a good idea. God gave us our husbands or wives as companions, lovers, friends. There is no more important human relationship.

Children - if we have them - are next. We bring them into the world, and must guide them, encourage them, hug them, spend time with them, and - eventually - let them go.

Parents, friends (on or offline), next-door neighbours, colleagues, needy acquaintances, people on the supermarket checkouts, beggars in the street... all these are people whom we are also supposed to love. And since we don't have the time or emotional energy to deal with all of them every day, then we must listen to God, trusting each day - each moment - that we will know where we are to be, whom we should relate to, what we should do.

I wrote the bulk of this post twelve years ago, and couldn't find a way of concluding. I've updated a little, to take account of the passing of the years. But I don't know that I've got any better at working out what's important. There are fewer 'urgent' demands on my time, but more ways to get distracted.  

I read recently a helpful distinction between what's primarily important in general terms (love God, love other people), what principles we should always follow (truthfulness, generosity, kindness and so on), and what specific things each individual should be doing, day by day - and it's the last one that will vary from person to person. But it's also the hardest thing (in my view) to determine .

When I turned 50 I quipped that I still didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up.  More than a decade later, that's still the case. 

Rules, Regulations, Laws and Principles

Chatting with a friend, nearly a decade ago, the topic of rules came up. She said that the one thing that made her uncomfortable with the Harry Potter books was the way that the 'good' guys seem to break rules regularly, and never suffer any kind of consequences. My comment was that this is pretty common in the British 'school story' genre in general. There's an understood difference between rules (which are fine to break, at times, so long as one is prepared for possible retribution) and general principles of loyalty and sportsmanship, which should always be adhere to.

I put this down, at first, to growing up in British culture where we see almost everything in shades of grey rather than strict black vs white or right vs wrong. In many cases, the ends justify the means, in my view. So if Harry and his friends sneak out at night under the cloak of invisibility, knowingly breaking school rules, it's fine from a moral standpoint, because they are doing it for a higher purpose: seeing a lonely friend, or rescuing a condemned animal, or finding something out that will save many lives.

I then started pondering on the differences between rules and laws. Googling the two suggests that the difference is essentially in the consequence of breaking them: lawbreakers may end up in jail, or with hefty fines. Rule-breaking is less of a problem. Other definitions are perhaps more helpful: a law is something passed by the government of a country for the protection of the people. Rules are for specific situations, more arbitrary and may much more easily be changed.

We don't always distinguish them so clearly; we talk about 'rules of the road', for instance, when we're referring to laws governing the behaviour of drivers. And yet there's a sense in which they are arbitrary. It's a convention to drive on the left (or right) of the road, to stick to specific speeds in different situations, to overtake on one side rather than the other. 

These rules are drawn up for the safety of the drivers, but on occasion it might be safer to drive over the speed limit (if a dangerously fast driver is too close on a motorway and there's no way to move), or to drive on the wrong side (if an out-of-control driver is weaving around the street where you should be, and nobody else is coming). The principles of safety and avoiding accidents are more important - at that moment - than the official rules.

And that's a third abstract term, one I referred to in the first paragraph: principles. In most cases there are no laws or rules saying that people should be kind, or loyal, or generous. We could call these things morals or ethics. They may come from Christian or other religious beliefs, or from general humanitarianism. I believe they are part of the 'law' which the apostle Paul spoke of as written on everybody's hearts (Romans 2:13-15).

I take as a starting point that there are broad 'good' principles which we are all aware of intuitively from an early age. Parents are expected to be loving, to provide for their offspring's needs, to comfort them when they are hurt. A toddler knows when something is 'unfair', or when another child is 'mean' (even if he, in his turn, is equally unfair and mean; toddlers are, after all, naturally self-centred). Jesus summed up the Jewish law in two overriding principles: love God, and love other people. 

I have written at length about how so many Christians seem to ignore these commands. I wonder if this may be due to the confusion between principles, laws and rules. Love is an overriding principle. Loving God, doing good and keeping healthy are the main reason for most of the original laws and commandments in the Hebrew Bible.

But not everybody likes following general principles. There are those who want to know exactly how far they can go before they are veering away from it. What does it mean to keep the Sabbath holy, or not to bear false witness? Thousands of tiny rules and regulations were drawn up by priests, in Old Testament times, to ensure that the Sabbath was kept holy and free of work. Jesus blew that apart: the Sabbath was supposed to be a day of rest, to remember God; not one of worrying about whether or not it was 'work' to pick a grain of corn, or heal a man's hand.

When we have small children, we have to make specific rules to keep them safe. A two-year-old might be told he must NEVER go into the street without holding an adult's hand. Do we really mean 'never'? Of course not. By the time he's five or six, he will have learned to be more careful. Perhaps, on quiet minor streets, he is permitted to cross by himself. By nine or ten, depending on his awareness, he may be free of street-crossing rules. They are there to serve a purpose, to protect the child; they may be queried at any time, and may be discussed or changed as the child matures. Rules are not absolutes, nor are they guarantees of safety.

Back to the fictional Hogwarts school situation: in any institution there must be general principles of care for others. So it makes sense to have rules about not running in busy corridors, for instance, or curfews at boarding schools, to ensure all students are safely indoors at night. In order that all students are able to study and learn as they wish, it makes sense for teachers to expect quiet conditions with students sitting in their places during lessons. Some schools allow more discussion than others; a few have the freedom to attend or not attend classes.

However, these are all rules - guidelines for behaviour, to enable everyone to learn. They are not laws; nor are they principles. The main principle at stake here is one of respect for everyone else. There are greater principles too; if somebody collapses suddenly, or has a fit, it would be entirely appropriate for a student to run as fast as possible through the corridors to fetch help, or to call out to get the teacher's attention.

Rules are not 'made to be broken', as the old saying has it; but they are subject to higher principles and guidelines. A child raised in a loving, respectful and open home will know when to query rules and when it's appropriate to put them aside. They should also start to assimilate the guiding principles of morality: it's not just against the rules to take things from Mum's purse or Dad's wallet, it's morally wrong to steal in general. 

There's a law against stealing, in almost every country, with legal consequences for those who are caught contravening the law (in some cases quite harsh). The law forbidding stealing is an example of the principles of ownership - of being entitled to one's property. However, that should balance the principle of generosity - that those who have a lot should find ways of sharing or benefiting those who have nothing. If the principle of love for other people was fully understood and observed, we wouldn't need laws (although rules, in some circumstances, would still be needed). 

Normality and judgement

I once said, semi-jokingly, that I don't feel judgemental about anything much, other than people who are judgemental. I can tolerate anything except for intolerance. I suppose it's part of my built-in personality type that I tend to look for common ground with everyone, and am always interested to see alternative viewpoints. My concepts of 'normal' are inevitably coloured by my upbringing and culture, and I find it interesting to learn why other people do things differently.

When moving to another country - or returning to one's home country after living abroad - it's all too easy to make negative comparisons, but when one is fully adjusted (as far as that is ever possible), it becomes clear that most of what people do in public is neither right nor wrong - it's cultural. Table manners are an obvious (and, I hope, non-controversial) example. How we set the table, what implements we use (if any), how we eat... these are not moral issues, but conventions which vary, sometimes within a country as well as when living abroad.

But if someone criticises this kind of thing, I become quite defensive. And yet, feeling critical about differences is basically another kind of personality trait; perhaps grounded in insecurity, but not necessarily wrong. It may be based on ignorance - a misunderstanding of 'normal', or an over-blown sense of 'right' in this sort of context.  So if someone comments that X is using the 'wrong hand', or 'eating messily', I want to stand up and explain that in their culture it's quite acceptable, even normal, and that the person making the criticism is equally weird to people from elsewhere.

That's not a particularly helpful attitude on my behalf, but when the issue is table manners, it's minor. If I can point out, gently, that we all have our own cultural expectations and conventions, it may help someone to be a little more aware of the wider world. Then again, it may also make the other person defensive, or even cause them to feel that I am criticising their culture or choices.

Still, most people can accept - and perhaps experiment with - different foods or styles of eating. If we move to another country, we may even adopt something that feels awkward at first (chopsticks, perhaps, or dipping bread in a communal bowl) but which soon becomes second nature.

But 'normality', to each of us, is far more than conventions at mealtimes. We have worldviews about - for instance - rights and privileges, medical care, education, nutrition, the origin of mankind, discipline, religion and faith. We may learn these overtly from our parents, we may absorb them from our environment, we may learn them at school, or from our peers. They change, as we grow and mature, too; or as different circumstances prompt us to re-think where we stand, what we believe in.

A few weeks ago, for instance, I wrote a post about home education. I tried to keep the post balanced, but inevitably, due to our experiences here, I am generally positive about home education. I am aware that it does not work for everyone, and that a few people may use it as a cover-up for nefarious activities or neglect. However, my worldview on the whole promotes education at home.

It wasn't always that way, though. When we moved to the US in the early 1990s, I had never come across home education (other than the governess/tutor style in historical novels). At that point, I assumed that institutional education was not just normal, but right - that parents needed to be involved in schools, to be sure, but that teachers were the professionals and that children needed peer interactions, group discussions, and so on.

I went to school, after all, and - on the whole - liked it. When challenged, I did admit that a lot of it was a waste of time, and that fifteen years later I didn't remember much of what we learned. But still.. school was, in my worldview of the time, 'normal'. And, I thought, that was right and good. The people we met in the US who 'homeschooled' spent a lot of money on private curricula, and the parents could never take a break. Surely, I thought, it would be a disaster....

Yet the homeschooled children I met were actually normal, likeable young people with a lively interest in learning. Gradually I developed an admiration for parents who would do this, and mild envy that they could afford it. I was still convinced that a curriculum was necessary, that teaching had to be formal, that only the most compliant children could satisfactorily learn in this way. My husband - who hated his schooldays - felt that since he had to suffer school, his children probably should, too. How else, he asked, could they learn to deal with the tedium of adult work? It was an odd, false logic, but I was too unsure myself to insist, despite our older son having a terrible time (and learning almost nothing) in his school.

Fast forward to Cyprus, and we not only started home educating, we learned to love it, to see the value of both formal and informal learning, of curriculum where appropriate, and unschooling/eclectic education the rest of the time. I'm now a tremendous advocate of home education and it's hard, sometimes, to remember that many (perhaps most) people are at the stage I was twenty years ago. And it's not that I'm 'advanced' in my education worldview. I also know of people who at one point were adamant that home education was the only way, but who gradually discover that their children (or at least some of them) flourish in a classroom environment.

That's just one example of core assumptions; of what we perceive as normal and 'right', but which can change - even reverse - as circumstances dictate. When we are open-minded, we can listen to people whose views differ, perhaps learn from them, and perhaps teach them something too. Unfortunately, human nature in general is inclined to keep tight hold of whatever is our current normality, and try to impose it on everyone else.

It's a fine line, and one which I'm still thinking through. We're experimenting with vegetarian eating during Lent (with exceptions on Sundays and other 'feast days'). I'm inclined to be veggie anyway; if I lived alone, I doubt if I would ever eat meat. But my husband has - as so many others do - some kind of built-in need to eat meat. This isn't just craving, say, a steak, or some tandoori chicken, and it's not dislike of beans or lentils. It's the feeling, after two or three days of veggie food, that meat (ANY kind of meat) is needed.

I don't have this need at all. Two weeks into Lent, I have no inclination to eat any kind of meat, even on Sundays. Worse (from the perspective of the family) I find myself almost taking on board some of the things that veggie or vegan friends have been saying about meat-eating for years, which I have previously pushed aside. Vegetarianism is already feeling more 'normal' (because I like it) and suddenly I have an urge to distribute recipes, to experiment with different ways of cooking beans and lentils, and - not so good - to discover all the potential disadvantages inherent in meat-eating, so as (I suppose) to consolidate my position.

Yet, I recognise that there are many people who, apparently, need to eat meat. After Lent, I will no doubt start cooking it again, and will probably eat it too, since I don't want to make life difficult for the various meat-eating family and friends who will entertain us in future. So, right now, I'm doing all I can to subdue the veggie agenda in my mind.

Then there's church.

Yes, that hot potato, that topic that keeps recurring on this blog, and in the writing of so many other people, in books and online. I've been attending weekly church services recently, and finding them fairly benign; I quite like the songs, I like seeing some people who I don't see anywhere else, and I like the walk on a Sunday morning. As a child, I took church-going for granted. As a young adult, I assumed it was essential for all Christians to belong to a particular local church. I don't think I was legalistic about it: to miss a service was acceptable due to illness, or exhaustion, or even on occasion having to do something else. But on the whole I liked going.

Nowadays I still acknowledge that we are part of the church (both universal and local), and that the purpose of the church is to encourage and build each other up, to exercise our gifts, to reach out to others who are part of the Body. And, of course, we should offer ourselves continually to God. I just don't find Sunday morning services to be a good place to do these things. I find the proximity of other people quite draining, the monologue of a sermon rather annoying (and sometimes sleep-inducing) and the singing of familiar songs, more often than not, means that my mind is miles away.

But still, so many people - particularly church leaders - insist that it's important, even vital to be present at these weekly gatherings. They put them on a par with prayer and reading the Bible...and I don't get it. I don't mind church services. I'm happy that other people benefit from them. I recognise that for many, communal singing is a form of worship, and that a sermon may teach them something about God, or inspire them to be closer to him during the week. That's great. But these things don't apply to me (or only rarely). I would feel like a misfit, were it not for the many others around the world feeling the same way, expressing their views far more vocally than I do.

And I want to stay open. I recognise that church gatherings - like school education - can be good, and right. Maybe for the majority they are a good thing. I just wish they would not try to impose them on those who find God to be closer outside of church gatherings. Guilt-tripping about anything - whether church meetings, or nutrition, or politics, or morals - makes people angry and inclined to rebel.

At least, that's how it works for me.

Thoughts on home education

This post - Homeschooling and Bigotry - from a long-term email friend got me thinking again about our reasons for home education, and how I see the whole educational process, from my current perspective several years after our sons have grown up.

I too find it sad that there's sometimes bigotry (often founded in ignorance) about home education, but then some home educators are equally negative and judgemental about schools. I think the problem is that each 'side' (if there must be a side) can feel threatened, needing to justify their own decisions which - in many cases - apparently means taking a negative viewpoint towards those who think differently.

This kind of thing happens in all kinds of circles and relevant to a wide range of topics... I've seen Baptists condemn Anglicans and Anglicans condemn Pentecostals and Pentecostals condemn Catholics, and (here in Cyprus) Greek Evangelicals condemning Greek Orthodox... and Greek Orthodox condemning pretty much any Protestants. Much of the rhetoric is based in ignorance, and - inevitably - the occasional truly negative example of whoever it is they are arguing against this week. It makes no sense to me that, we can't all agree to differ on doctrinal issues and love and respect each other as Christian brothers and sisters with different preferences in worship, and different understandings of some doctrines.

That's a whole other issue, of course, quite irrelevant to home education. But if even those claiming to follow Jesus (supposedly known by our love for each other) cannot speak nicely and with respect about those with different viewpoints, I don't think there is much chance for the mostly secular world of home educators and school adherents. Yes, I know that in the US many of the pioneers of homeschooling were fundamentalist Christians, but in the UK the reverse is true - most are, for want of a better word, secular.

So, looking back on our years of home education, and pondering on the people I've met, I suppose I can make a few general statements, but they're mostly just my own opinion - anyone is free to disagree.

Research regularly shows (and yes, I read a couple of articles very recently) that young children learn the most through positive interactions with parents, and a wide range of play activities. In countries where formal schooling does not begin until children are six or seven, with minimal homework, they almost invariably do better academically in the long run.

(See, for instance, 'Give Childhood back to the children'.)

Sadly, in the UK and elsewhere, the emphasis seems to be on school at a younger and younger age, with increased work to do at home in addition to seven hours in the classroom. When my first son started school, aged just five (22 years ago now) there was no expectation of pre-school or nursery education. He had been to playgroups, and did actually go to an informal nursery school when he was four, but it was only a couple of hours each day, and the focus was very much on learning through play.

The school he went to was small and friendly; the Reception class was mostly play-based too. They were assigned reading books based on their interests and abilities, and the classroom teacher did short sessions of phonics, or handwriting, or basic number/shape skills during the day, but they also did a lot of guided play - handling play money in a toy 'shop', for instance - and plenty of art, craft, music and sport. The teacher or classroom assistant read aloud to them regularly.

Nowadays children are expected to go to a nursery school - often full-time - from the time they are three, and National Curriculum work begins almost at once. Yes, there's some play but it's much more guided, and there's little time for imagination and free play - things which, in my view, children should be having at home, not in a classroom environment.

All of which is to say that, when parents decide to keep their children out of school for the first few years, I would support them wholeheartedly. There is absolutely no reason for any kind of rigid structure at this age, or formal learning. A few years ago my younger son started training as a classroom teacher in the UK... until he discovered some of the idiotic ideas the government are now imposing on classroom learning, with today's children as guinea-pigs. If there is an involved parent (or grandparent) at home, a variety of books and construction toys, and access to a library, pretty much any young child will learn a vast amount and probably learn to read (etc) without any formal instruction.

Note again the last sentence of the previous paragraph. A great deal depends on the parents and the home environment. If there are interested, involved parents, and if the child gets good food, and has time to play at home, and has adults or older siblings who answer his questions, then he will most likely do well, wherever he is educated. Parental involvement is hugely important at every stage of a child's life. Sadly, many parents are not involved, either fobbing their young children off with electronic devices (even tablets such as iPads, apparently) or sticking them in front of TV/DVDs.

I heard of one inner-city school where children started, aged 4, unable to form a complete sentence. Most of them had never been read to; some had hardly ever been spoken to. I suspect this is not a unique situation to this school. It seems intuitively obvious that children from educationally neglectful homes of this kind should benefit greatly from school. Indeed, few parents of this genre are likely to consider home education anyway. Yet, as someone working in the school commented, most of the children have no motivation, no interest in learning, no reason to care. If their parents were living on benefits, sitting around all day watching TV, why would they want anything different?

So that particular school provided breakfasts, and basic teaching of spoken language, meaning it was constantly 'behind' as far as the National Curriculum was concerned. The teachers did a very difficult, stressful job with few rewards. The small minority of children from what we would consider 'normal' homes found it very difficult indeed to learn anything, and were also be in danger of bullying - or worse. By the time these children were eleven, many of them were already sexually active - and there was immense pressure on those who were not.

So, while it's undoubtedly a vast generalisation, it seems to me that bright and motivated children and teens usually come from families where there is plenty of parental interaction in the early years, and lots of support throughout the growing years. Whether the children of loving, involved parents go to school or are educated out of school, they will probably do well.

However, it is vital to take a child's needs into account, at every stage. Everyone is unique; each family is different. Schools, too, have a tremendous variation from excellent through to appalling. Some children are well-suited to classroom education and structured learning; others are not. Some learn easily from reading and listening in groups; others do not. Some develop roughly along the government expected paths; others learn in different ways altogether.

I know of rigid home educators who 'protect' their children in a hot-house way, and I know of relaxed, encouraging home educators whose children blossom and flourish. Thankfully the latter seem to be the norm, at least in the UK, but they are far less likely to be singled out for media attention. I know of several families who choose to educate their children at home until they're at least seven or eight and who then use good schools (where they seem to integrate happily, without problems). I know of others whose children go to friendly local primary schools until they are 11, and are then educated at home for the teenage years, so they can follow their interests and avoid the negative side of peer pressure.

Rightly or wrongly, the home education movement is growing, at least in the UK. I'm on several mailing lists and Facebook groups, and get the impression that home educators are roughly divided between those who choose the lifestyle from the start, and those who remove their children from school due to serious problems; often this is bullying, but sometimes the child just isn't suited to a classroom environment.

There are some very worrying trends in today's internet-savvy youth. Negative peer pressure and bullying show no signs of decreasing; teenage depression is on the rise, teenage suicide higher than ever. I'm very sympathetic to parents who care enough to pull an unhappy child out of a toxic environment in the hope of providing something better.

However, I'm more of the mindset of those who see home education as a positive option rather than a last resort, even if there are good schools around. We rather fell into it when we moved to Cyprus; I had to overcome many negative preconceptions to see that education is far more than a school curriculum, and that it's entirely possible to learn all one needs to know without structure or formal 'lessons'.

One deeply-held misconception about home educators is that they are socially incompetent. There was actually some research done in this in, I believe, the 1990s; the result surprised even the researchers, as it showed that on the whole home educated children were MORE socially able than their schooled peers. They got along well with people of all ages, backgrounds and cultures and did not have the need to 'fit in' or be part of the 'in-crowd'. This meant that they were more comfortable in their own skins, and better able to make a good, natural impression.

Obviously there are always exceptions. Some children are naturally friendly and get along with everyone; some are natural loners, or socially awkward. I have met some of the latter who went through school, often badly bullied. Classroom 'socialisation' did not help them at all; it may even have made things worse for them. Asperger's Syndrome is more widely recognised than it used to be - and there are quite a few Aspies who are home educated, often because they had such a difficult time with school. To blame home education for their poor social skills rather misses the point.

Over the years we have met many home educating families, most of whom we have liked very much. We don't always understand or agree with all their methods, but we absolutely respect the right (enshrined in UK law) for parents to decide, preferably in conjunction with the children, how education should take place. I am firmly of the opinion that home education (at its best) is a wonderful option. But it's not for everyone. There are some excellent schools and many children thrive in them.

We parents have a difficult, often stressful job, and all we can do at any point is attempt to find what is best and right for our children at each opportunity as they grow up. I find it very sad when we can't all support and encourage each other, no matter what educational choices we and our offspring make. Let's not pass judgement on each other, based on a handful of negative experiences; just because you happen to know an awkward, ignorant home educated child (or, indeed, an awkward, ignorant schooled child) does not mean that he is like this simply because of the way he is educated.

The problem with the 'knowledge of good and evil'.

Sometimes, reading a book that may - or may not - be generally quite interesting, a sentence or paragraph will leap out at me. A lightbulb clicks on in my mind; I have an 'aha!' moment. Another little piece in the vast jigsaw of life slots into place. Or, at least, a possible place.

One such moment occurred this week, while continuing to read 'The Adventure of Living'.  Here's what I read:

This is in fact the meaning of the account of the Fall (Genesis 3): The fatal error of men is this very aspiration to be like God, "knowing good and evil," wanting to have a moral code, so as to be able to act on their own, without any further need of God to enlighten them step by step. This autonomy was the very thing which God refused to give to man, despite all the spiritual insight with which he endowed him. Autonomy is his undoing. When he claims to know of his own accord what is good and what is evil, he deludes himself and goes after success instead of seeking God. 

(The Adventure of Living, page 151, Highland paperback edition) 

You might ask what is so profound about that insight.  Of course the Fall was about mankind wanting to be like God. 

Years - probably decades - ago, someone asked me, with genuine confusion, how Adam and Eve could have known that it was wrong to disobey God, if at the point before they ate the fruit they had no knowledge of good and evil. Wouldn't that mean, I was asked, that they actually didn't know that it would be wrong to disobey God? 

I had no answer to this paradox.

Over the years, I've seen the story more as a metaphor than literal. Even if Adam and Eve were the actual two first humans, created as described in Genesis, the stories were passed down over many generations before they were actually put in writing. Some details may have gone astray, I thought, or perhaps there was something that hadn't translated quite right into modern English. 

I don't have a problem with difficult questions or paradoxes, although I no longer enjoy debating them quite like I did in my teens. God is God, and details of Adam and Eve's mindset before biting the fruit are long gone in the mists of time. Even if I could resolve this question, I didn't think it would make any difference to me, or to anyone else.

But here's a throwaway paragraph in a book putting it in a new light. It wasn't that Adam and Eve were entirely innocent, with no idea about good and evil. Those concepts are planted in the human mind from birth; while some conventions are of course cultural, we are all created in God's image. We know intuitively that some actions or thoughts are wrong. A child of about a year old knows perfectly well what he's doing when his mother says, 'No, don't touch' and he reaches out a hand, slowly, while looking to see if she's watching. He doesn't know why it's wrong, to be sure; but he's well aware that he ought to do what his mother says. In the same way, Adam and Eve  - who walked in the garden with God, and knew him intimately - were well aware that if he said 'Don't touch', then it was very important to do what he said. They didn't even have the excuse of being immature babies. 

So - according to Tournier - what the tree of the knowledge of good and evil represented was not just a general understanding of right and wrong, but a detailed knowledge that spelled out every single possible instance of right and wrong living, which would enable people to live without God. 

And then, despite knowing this story, that's exactly what the Hebrew Pharisees built up over the years.

God gave his people plenty of laws, some about relating to other people, some about hygiene (very useful in the days before germ theory) and some which, I have to admit, seem quite arbitrary, even bizarre. Maybe some of those are mis-translated - I don't know. But the Ten Commandments, perhaps the best known, make a whole lot of sense. Jesus summed them up: Love God, and love other people. 

But that wasn't good enough for the Old Testament pedants, who wanted not just general principles but exact details of what they meant. So God told them to keep the Sabbath holy, to make it a day of rest. A great principle - but people wanted to know what was meant by 'rest', and how they could avoid 'work', and what exactly was meant by 'work' in any case. Instead of seeing the Sabbath as a gift to be enjoyed, to take time with the family, to enjoy God's creation, to worship in a relaxed way.. they wanted to know what they could get away with. So more and more details were written down, with restrictions and limitations that God never intended when he said, 'Take a break once a week'.  

Around two thousand years ago, Jesus was walking on earth, helping people get things back in perspective. He demonstrated in what he said and what he did that God's law is a law of love, not of pernickety detail. It's right to do good on the Sabbath, irrelevant of whether the good deed might be defined in some rule-book as 'work'. It's right to love our neighbour, whoever he might be, and to help people in need, even if they are 'unclean' in some way. 

So, we have the benefit of hindsight in the Genesis story, and in the Gospel accounts. Surely we should get it by now...

But, in the paragraph preceding the one I quoted above, Tournier says:

The Biblical revelation gives us no guiding principle for our conduct beyond a few very simple laws such as that of honesty or love.

He is making the point that, even in the 20th century when he was writing, Christians wanted to turn the Bible into a rule-book. 

I think some people still do. I once heard someone say that in every situation or problem he has encountered, there are clear and specific guidelines in the Bible about what to do. I didn't even try to argue. I could have asked what the Bible says about a corrupt hard drive, for instance, or even about children fighting in the back seat of the car. He would probably have thought that I was belittling the Bible, or being sarcastic, although I was genuinely curious about what he might have said. 

But actually, I think I have a higher view of Scripture in believing that it gives us general principles, and the encouragement to seek the Holy Spirit to give us guidance in our specific circumstances. 

That's not to say that I'm a relativist. I do think there are some actions which are always morally wrong (such as violence or stealing), and some which are always bad for us health-wise (such as smoking). But in the vast majority of the decisions we have to make, day by day, we're not actually choosing between clear right or wrong actions. We have brains and hearts and experience to guide us, and we also have the Holy Spirit. The Bible is undoubtedly important as the revelation of God's love, but it is not - and should not be treated as - the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. 

Sue F

Living as an Adventure..?

I recently managed to get hold of a copy of the book Adventure of Living by Paul Tournier, which I had been looking for - off and on - for some time. I think it was Philip Yancey who recommended this book, but I may be wrong. It could have been one of my other favourite Christian writers. I don't recall why it was recommended either, so I had little idea what to expect when I started to read it recently.

It's about adventure.

I suppose I should have guessed, but had I done so, it might have put me off. For I am not an adventurous type. When I have done those Internet questionnaire things, or the 'Big Five' (or whatever it is) personality test, I usually score approximately zero on any categories related to risk-taking or openness to adventure.

When people talk about things they hope to do before they die ('bucket lists') or places they want to see, or new activities they would like to learn, I listen, and ponder, and shrug... and nothing really appeals. I'm comfortable with who I am, and where I live. Anything that involves risk is a big turn-off, as far as I'm concerned. Moving to Cyprus 16 years ago was a huge adventure which I really did NOT want to undertake... I'm glad, in retrospect, that we did, but I have no desire to move again.

However...

Reading the book (and it's quite heavy-going in places) the author describes as 'adventure' far more than I would normally include in the term. He talks about creativity, and lifestyle changes, however small. He talks about passion, and doing things - particularly work - for its own sake rather than duty or routine. How sad it is, he says, that so many people find their jobs tedious, and have to do something exciting at the weekend, just to stay sane.

He describes his own excitement when he first took the risk of writing a book, and the thrill of being published, and the way that, as a beginner, he was cutting new ground. He says that he had a deep-set fear of getting stuck in a rut, of churning out books because he could, according to some formula that his publisher - and public - expected. He also looks at the way God calls people, in the Bible, and also today, and expects them to follow: any act of faith is essentially an adventure requiring risk of some kind.

When we're young, adventures happen anyway. New schools, new friends, new groups, new subjects to learn, new books to read, new games to play... we take it for granted. Then there's the adventure of falling in love, perhaps several times. Of going to university, perhaps, or looking for work; of applying, sometimes, for job after job, before finding a good match.  Then we have to find somewhere to live, and the huge adventure that goes with home ownership. And children - perhaps the most important creative adventure of our lives.

But when the nest is empty, when our children are grow and no longer need our creative input and care, when we're in a comfortable home with all we need and much of what we want - what then?

I started thinking about tiny 'adventures' that I have actually had and enjoyed in recent years: little acts of creativity, little forays out of the tried-and-tested. Trying out a new recipe, perhaps. Painting a room a different colour.  Reading a book by a new author. Writing a different kind of blog post, starting a new website, writing a short story and submitting it to a magazine. Joining a new group. Inviting someone different over....

All those probably sound rather dull and unexciting to those of a different temperament who thrive on risks and serious adventure, but it was quite revealing for me to see that these small 'adventures' are, indeed, a big part of what gives life its flavour. Quite often I avoid anything like this: my procrastination is often related to something that could, potentially, involve me in a small amount of risk.

But if I take none at all - if I remove all hint of adventure and risk of any kind from my life entirely, I will - if this book is right - stagnate.

Sue F

The Problems of being a Bookworm...

It all started when someone posted an image on Facebook, which said: "Bookworm Problem no. 37: Pronouncing a word incorrectly because you've read it hundreds of times but never heard it said aloud." There was much discussion about words which I and some of my friends did indeed misprounounce for years: allies, meringue, superfluous, hyperbole, indict, epitome, vaseline... and many more.

Another important question then arose: If that is problem number 37... what are the other 36?

So, in an idle moment, and with help from a friend to bring the total to 40, I compiled this list. Much (though by no means all) of which is based on personal experience.

Beginning in the elementary/primary school years...

1. You believe that ‘reading aloud’ in the early years is a slow, sounding-out process that has no relation to real reading

2. You regularly lose the ‘correct’ place when doing group reading at school, because you are reading so far ahead on your own

3. You take more notice of what fictional parents say than your own

4. You regularly bump into lamp posts or trees because you were reading while walking

5. Your family hunt all over for you, and you don’t hear them calling because you’re up a tree, deep in a book

It gets worse during the secondary/high school years...

6. You believe completely in Middle Earth and Hogwarts, but sometimes wonder if China really exists

7. Your family panics when you vanish from sight for hours in a large and rambling second-hand bookshop

8. When you are assigned a classic for English homework, you're disappointed to find that you have already read it, probably more than once

9. You break up with your girlfriend/boyfriend because she/he isn’t interested in your favourite authors

10. You have to catalogue your books carefully or you forget which ones you already have

11. You have no idea what to give someone for their birthday when they don’t want any more books

12. You can’t actually figure out what is meant by ‘not wanting any more books’

13. You teach your young siblings the alphabet: A for Austen, B for Brontë, C for Coleridge, D for Dickens...

14. When you play Scattergories, you can find about twenty authors for any letter, but struggle with many of the other options

15. You can find all the bookshops in any town, but have no idea where restaurants are

16. Your friends call you geeky because you know so much

17. You’re puzzled when acquaintances don’t get the literary references you use automatically

18. You emerge, starry-eyed, from the end of a wonderful book only to discover that it’s morning, and you never went to bed

19. You are mystified when someone asks what you collect. Books, of course.. what else is there to collect?

20. You get depressed when you learn that around 200,000 new books are published every year in the UK alone, and you realise that you can never catch up

Adult life begins, but the problems of being a bookworm only multiply... 

21. You get into your first ever fight with your parents when you’re leaving home, and can’t agree which are ‘your’ books

22. You need new clothes, but books are a much higher priority

23. You forget to reply to your emails because you're too busy reading

24. You buy a Kindle so as to save space, and now you have a large collection there, but you still keep acquiring real books too

25. When you completely run out of shelf space, you don’t think of getting rid of anything - you have to buy a new bookcase

26. You become disillusioned, because nobody in real life lives up to your favourite fictional heroes/heroines

27. The only websites you ever visit are Amazon, Abe, Waterstones, Play and The Book Depository 

28. You frequently miss a bus stop or train station because you’re so engrossed in a book

29. You become frantic when the final book in a series is out of print and you can’t find it anywhere second-hand

30. You feel sad but remote from real life disasters, yet cry your eyes out after reading about Beth March/Walter Blythe/Dobby

Even when you have settled down with a job, house, and/or family, the problems continue... 

31. When you run out of room for bookcases the only option is to move to a bigger house

32. You take a job abroad for a few years, and fill all your boxes with essential books... then realise you have to take some clothes too

33. You can find obscure reference books in a few seconds, but have no idea where you keep the basil and thyme

34. You spend hours online when you should be doing something else, trying to find a copy of an obscure book you vaguely recall from your childhood

35. An old schoolfriend reminds you about a teacher, and you don’t remember if it was a real one or someone from a school story

36. You forget an important meeting with your boss because you’re so absorbed in a book

37. You pronounce a word incorrectly because you’ve read it hundreds of times but never heard it said aloud

38. You can't imagine getting rid of your 30-volume 1980s encyclopedia to save space, even though you know it’s out of date, and quicker to find things out online

39. Visitors worry that your marriage is in difficulties because you have 27 books about marriage on your shelves

40. You never get round to actually doing anything other than reading, because for any new interest or hobby you first have to acquire and absorb several books on the topic