Bonus Day

My wife and I officially dubbed December 23 this year, “Bonus Day.” Often we don’t get off of work for Christmas break until the 23rd, making our Christmas stay with my family a mad dash of present opening and event hopping. We arrive, have to rush to fit everything in, then rush to leave to go see her family and rush through it all once again. This year, however, our last day of work was the 22nd. We were able to take the 23rd and simply relax at my parents house: no agenda, no schedule, no gifts to open. It was magnificent. I loved Bonus Day.

We got a Bonus Day at Emily’s family’s house as well on December 26. We opened presents on the evening of the 25th, but the 26th had no schedule at all. It was another great day.

My two Bonus Days got me thinking about how and why humans gather with the people they love. Usually, especially with the distance between families and friends in today’s culture, a special occasion is required for people to get together. An event needs to be planned, like a wedding, a funeral, or Christmas present opening. These are incidents that we make priorities, and we should. They are celebration-worthy.

However, I don’t think we have enough bonus days. We need to make more room for them, make them priorities, find ways to gather with absolutely nothing on the agenda. Weddings are busy - so often the bride and groom and their families lament that they wish they had been able to talk to more people there. Christmas can be hectic, especially when trying to make room for present-opening, church services, and other traditions that are important but fill the schedule.

Essentially what I’m trying to get at here is that I’ll probably have way more memories from my two Bonus Days this year than I will from the actual Christmas events. I’ll remember a spirited game of Wii bowling, my 4-year old leading an exercise workout for all of us requiring invisible kettlebells, and competing to see who could get Jeopardy answers out before the others in the room. I’ll remember the multi-category cooking contest put on by my wife’s family, listening to my daughter laugh while throwing rocks into the river to break the ice, and the random conversations with a family friend around the table. All of these things were possible only on Bonus Day, on unscheduled, uneventful, unplanned time together.

On Friday night several good friends will be staying with Emily and I for one more Bonus Day. The only thing on the schedule is dinner at 8. For the rest, we’ll see where the wine and the conversation takes us.

I love Bonus Day.

How?

Watching the news, following politics, or just watching ordinary people and their actions, it's difficult to avoid the question of how? How will our weak-minded excuse of a Congress ever get anything done? How will the economy ever recover? How will I get disinterested teenagers to care about their education? How can I send my daughters out into the world and hope for the best? How will the college football world ever fix the BCS bowl mess?

Okay, some of these questions are more important than others, but it's tough to have hope for whatever one wants to hope in without seeing how something might be done. It's easier and more logical to be cynical. I have relationships in my life that I'd like to be better, but I can't see how that will ever be possible. I love to dream big with my life, but some of my dreams come with no "how" map. I want to believe that the public school system will be better, that our government will be better, and that small towns and small schools in Iowa have a bright and growing future. I just don't see how. Without the "how," there's no real hope.

I've lost hope in a lot, and I don't believe unreasonably so. Facts are facts: it does no good to delude myself into embracing impossible utopias in the name of being a "positive person." It's important to keep searching for "how's" with the really important stuff - curing cancer, overcoming hunger, that sort of thing - even when the answer is so hard to come by. But sometimes a spade is a spade is a spade.

I was reminded, though, on Christmas morning, that the answer of "how" to so many questions can be answered quite simply. The text in church was from Isaiah's prophecy in Chapter 9:

"For unto us a Child is born,

Unto us a Son is given;

And the government will be upon His shoulder.

And His name will be called Wonderful Counselor,

Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. . .

The zeal of the Lord of hosts will perform this. (9:6-7)

In an impossible time, among a people desperate for something different and something better, Isaiah tells them it's going to fine. How? The zeal of the Lord. If it is his will, it will be done. Virgin mother? No problem. Betrayal? Easy. Ridiculously ineffective religious leaders? Who needs them. A little omniscient zeal works every time, in all times, with all peoples. If you're going his way, if you've got a kingdom agenda, "how" is a much easier question to answer.

How will I reconcile a hopeless relationship? How will I find the energy to pray? How will I be forgiven for the black deeds in my life? How will I, in all my weaknesses, become who God has designed me to be? How will I lead my children through the minefield of a me-first American culture hell-bent on handouts and hubris?

The zeal of the Lord of hosts will perform this. . .

A Servant to Emulate

Pregnancy can be a scary ordeal. Perhaps "anxiety-inducing" is a better term. Regardless of situation, the topic of pregnancy produces anxiety, both good and bad. I remember various stages of "pregnancy anxiety" over the course of my marriage. Early on I remember an unplanned situation in which we thought Emily could be pregnant (she wasn't). Anxiety. I remember the intimidating process of deciding when we were "ready" to try to become pregnant. More anxiety. I then remember learning that she was pregnant, then experiencing difficulties, and later successes, and later children that were all of a sudden here and mine and full of smiles and needs. Major anxiety. And now I have conversations with friends of similar ages and circumstances, all centered around the topic of, "Are you done? Do you think you'll have another? What's your plan?"

Becoming pregnant, avoiding pregnancy, planning pregnancy, and experiencing pregnancy are all situations that are loaded with emotions, life-altering decisions, and careful consideration. It's not something that people in our culture like to be surprised about.

When I remember that Mary was a real person, a young, unmarried female with real goals and aspirations and plans, the account of the events before Jesus was born are fascinating. And most fascinating of all is that she had to respond to being an unwed virgin mother. She didn't plan for this; she couldn't even conceive (no pun intended) of the possibility. Then all of a sudden an angel shows up and says, "By the way, you're pregnant. Ready to be a mom? Oh, by the way, the child is not normal. You've heard of the Messiah? Yeah, good luck raising him. Don't screw up, okay? And tell your fiance not to worry."

Anxiety. Big anxiety. I'd have a few words for the angel if I were Mary. I'd ask a lot of "Why me?" questions. I'd complain loudly and rush out to tell other people how I got screwed over and it wasn't even my fault (one of my all-time favorite things to do when tough times are thrust upon me). I'm sure Mary had anxiety. She even had a few words for the angel. But they are rather unlike what mine might have been:

"Behold, the servant of the Lord. Let it be to me according to your word." (Luke 1:38)

Mary's whole world has been changed. Everything she grew up envisioning for herself is likely never going to happen, and she knows that. Her personal aspirations are dead. And her response to God? "Thy will be done."

Mary recognizes what I have so much trouble remembering - my life is not my own. I don't exist to be comfortable, nor do I exist for my own plans. The death of self is crucial in the life of a disciple of Christ. Anxiety-laden times reveal the character of people. The young virgin had it all figured out. She is a servant to emulate.

Philosophy 6: Knowledge is Fluid

Here is my sixth and final post in a series of brief personal philosophical statements stemming from my graduate course final. This is my second writing dealing with epistemology (What is knowledge? What does it mean to know?). I hope you’ve enjoyed the series.

Philosophy position #6: Knowledge is fluid.
What I know is constantly changing. That doesn’t mean I was wrong before or that I didn’t truly “know” something; it simply means that I can know it better or more thoroughly now. The concept of love is perhaps my favorite example of this. When I told my future wife that I loved her when we were eighteen, I knew what love is and I meant it. Three years later on our wedding day, my knowledge of love was stronger. Now, ten years, two kids, and three moves later, I shudder to think about the difference between what I know now and what I knew then. Again, I wasn’t wrong before; I just know more thoroughly now. When it comes to love, I fully intend to know exponentially more in twenty-five years as I do now. This is true for love, God, basketball defensive theory, and Transcendental literature.

Because knowledge is fluid, I can’t fully “know” if I don’t keep pursuing this knowledge. I can’t follow the crowd and embrace an “ignorance is bliss” approach. It’s a tempting road to take. New knowledge, or better knowledge, carries with it consequences. To add to knowledge and know more fully requires living according to the new or better knowledge. That equates to change. At the cost of comfort. But comfort kills. Therefore, I can accept that I know something now and that I still need to pursue deeper knowledge.

Philosophy 5: To Know Requires Time

Here is my fifth post in a series of brief personal philosophical statements stemming from my graduate course final. This is my first writing dealing with epistemology (What is knowledge? What does it mean to know?).

Philosophy Position #5: To know requires time.
Acquiring knowledge is earned. I don’t believe that I can just hear something and then know it. Instead, I’ve got to wrestle with it, turn it around in my head, experiment with the truth of it, talk about it, and reflect on it. Studying and reading are great; however, how often do we get things right the first time? How often do we hear a statement, get excited about its “truth,” share it with someone else as if it’s gospel, then forget all about it in a matter of days? No, knowledge must be handled and battled against in order to discover its strength. If the knowledge acquired isn’t tested, it is a weak, fleeting knowledge.

My knowledge about God continues to be something I wrestle with and seek to refine. Classroom practices are another example, as I don’t really know the quality of a strategy until I’ve tried it, usually multiple times. Good literature must be reread, questioned, and discussed in order to be “known.” People especially fall into this category. My best friends are the ones I’ve experienced life with. I earned knowledge about them by putting the time in and discovering more and more through experience. Those experiences are a kind of knowledge, perhaps even the best kind.

Philosophy 4: Keeping Score

Here is my fourth post in a series of brief personal philosophical statements stemming from my graduate course final. This is my second writing dealing with ontology (the study of what it means to be. . . a human, a man, a teacher, a citizen, etc). I’ve addressed this topic before in the blog, but I think it bears repeating.

Philosophy Position #3: Don’t keep score. What it means to be an effective person in relationships is to follow this advice. I heard this mantra from a fellow teacher in my community a few months after moving back to Iowa. I needed help on a home improvement project; he encouraged me to ask several of the guys who were on the staff. I did, they helped, and the job was done marvelously. Afterward I started talking about how appreciative I was and that I really owed them all. At that point my friend told me there was only one rule for using this help: don’t keep score. I was told to ask when I needed something, and just make sure that when somebody needed something from me that I was there. I haven’t paid for a home improvement project in years following this advice. We don’t worry about who owes who, about how many favors we’ve done for one person and when it’s going to be our own turn. We don’t worry about who bought the last round or the last pizza. Nobody owes anybody anything.

I’ve heard this given as marriage advice as well, and I try to apply it to that area of my life. It’s hard. During the summer when I’m home alone with my daughters all day, it’s easy to start counting up all the housecleaning chores I’ve done and the number of diapers I’ve changed. It’s easy for her in the dead of basketball season to count the number of hours I’m even home, let alone compare our workloads. However, we’ve gotten pretty good at not keeping score. There is no ledger of wrongdoings or service. When we’re careful about it, there’s just love. And if I did start to keep score, I would do an awful lot of losing. I think I’ll keep the scoreboard lights shut off.

See related post.

Philosophy 3: To Be a Teacher

Here is my third post in a series of brief personal philosophical statements stemming from my graduate course final. This writing deals with ontology (the study of what it means to be. . . a human, a man, a teacher, a citizen, etc). Though not religious in nature, my discussion below on education and being a teacher is one I feel all can benefit from or should at least consider. What is the role of our public schools and their teachers today? My thoughts on this trend away from the current educational approaches by governments and educational leaders alike. I fear the day when my approach no longer has a place in the public schools. I’d love to hear what you think:

Philosophy Position #3: To be a teacher means to provide opportunities for success for my students.

I emphasize the word “opportunities” here, as I don’t believe whether or not they decide to pursue that success is up to me. I can lead a horse to water, but I can’t make him drink. Metaphorically speaking, it’s my job to bring the horse to the water, explain just how good the water is, describe it’s nutritional benefits over the course of their lifetime, and maybe even splash some on them. Being a teacher means splashing in the water myself, drinking fully from it, and attempting to convince the horse just how thirsty they are. My job is to show them the way to success and make it as attractive as possible over and over and over again. It’s each student’s individual choice to go experience it.

Schools (like mine) love to flood their mission statements with phrases such as “ensure learning for all.” I’m a little too realistic for that. I can’t “ensure” anything. Nor should I. Kids have to own their knowledge, own their skills, and own their education. They have to have something invested in it in order for it to matter. If they don’t, perhaps we are irreparably weakening our democracy. Schools today are struggling because they are working harder than the students to get them to pass. Schools fear student failure more than students do. I refuse to join that camp. I will challenge students and teach them what they don’t want to know but need to. I will bring the learning to them. I just can’t make them take it.