Raising Kids in the Creation/Evolution Divide, Part 2

CreatonBlakeContinued from yesterday

At the time of our children’s young-earth themed Vacation Bible School, I was in the midst of writing a poetry collection on Paul and his letters. While I’m no theologian, I can discern one theme that permeates the epistles like nothing else: unity.

Paul prays continually for his brothers and sisters, even the ones who drive him crazy. He tells the Corinthians to live without divisions, “perfectly united in mind and thought.” He exhorts the Ephesians to “keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body, and one Spirit…one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all, and through all, and in all.”

Unlike the creation account, this passage doesn’t present too many differing interpretations. The bond of believers is vital to the health of the church.

What message would we send to our children if we pulled them out of the program? That our family was somehow too good for these loving teachers who stood on stage first thing every morning singing songs with silly hand motions? Did we see ourselves as smarter, more sophisticated, more enlightened?

That night I went online and discovered that the VBS curriculum was developed by the Answers in Genesis organization. According to the IndrediWorld page, the next morning our children would explore this central question: Can your view of creation affect your view of the gospel?

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Raising Kids in the Creation/Evolution Divide, Part 1

VBSTwo summers ago,my husband Jeremy and I decided to cancel our family’s cross-country road trip just days before departure. Our bank account had taken a beating with some unexpected bills. We suddenly found ourselves looking for staycation activities for our children, who were devastated to miss out on hiking the national parks and splashing in the ocean with their California cousins.

Fortunately, several churches in our area offered Vacation Bible School programs,so we immediately set to registering Lydia, 9; Becca, 7; and Samuel, 4. You can’t go wrong with snacks, scripture, and slap bracelets for less than $15 per kid. Later in the summer, I was delighted to find yet another VBS in a neighboring town that offered a curriculum different from those of the previous weeks.

The program was called IncrediWorld Amazement Park: A Thrill Ride Through God’s Creation.  Still pining for Yellowstone’s geysers and Black Canyon’s 2,000-foot, Precambrian drop,the kids welcomed a nature-themed week.

When we dropped our kids off, Jeremy and I were struck by the warmth of the staff and volunteers. While the other VBS programs funneled children into the appropriate groups right away, this church stationed the pastor at the door.

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Better Red(head) than Dead

VanGoghSelfPortrait1889-90OrsayAA webOne day my mother came home from the interior decorating shop where she worked, very upset about a young man who had come into the store with his mother.

“You wouldn’t believe what his T-shirt said!” my mom cried. “‘Better Dead Than Red!’”

I asked her what it meant.

“He’s making fun of redheads, of course!” she lamented, her curly, fiery hair aflutter. “Why would anyone wear such a thing?”

It was the early eighties, in the thick of the Cold War, but I had yet to learn about Communism. It didn’t occur to me for another decade or so that the shirt that would pierce her to the core was merely calling for the demise of Soviets. But that memory has always defined my mother and her abiding personal connection with her hair, something the rest of the family would never fully understand.

I didn’t inherit the red but passed it on to my middle daughter, whose hair stops people cold in grocery aisles and brings elderly Irishmen to tears. We have fielded questions about her hair since she emerged with the carrotty fuzz nine years ago. Almost without exception, it’s the first topic of discussion when she meets someone new. It’s made for some pleasant talk but also some awkward situations, such as when she is praised as rare and beautiful just inches from her brown-haired siblings.

Not long ago I asked my daughter what she thought about her hair, and she said, “I like it. In the sun, it’s shiny, and underwater it looks all coppery. But talking to everyone about it gets annoying.” [Read more...]

How to End an Era

runyanWe’re supposed to shake our heads when Daisy Buchanan, considering a summer solstice celebration on her East Egg porch, turns to Nick Carraway, and asks, “‘What’ll we plan? What do people plan?’” But I get her helpless bewilderment all too well.

I grew up in a family that doesn’t mark life’s transitions with much ceremony. My mother visited a courthouse for all three marriages, no pictures to show for it. When her parents died, she and an uncle or two I’d never met threw ashes in the ocean. Funerals were silly when a person’s spirit no longer resided in the body.

As if funerals are for the dead.

Even my move to college was completed without fanfare. I packed my car, drove to campus by myself, and set up my bed and shelves in less than an hour. When I watched the other students emerge from the dorm lot flanked with camera-toting parents and siblings, I smirked. You can’t even move into a small room without your parents’ help? I thought. This is college!

It wasn’t until I talked with a therapist ten years later that I understood I was the odd one. “It’s not that they couldn’t move into a room themselves,” she explained. “The parents came to mark the event.” I stared at her. Moving into the dorm was supposed to be an event? That had never occurred to me. [Read more...]

Your Life Doesn’t Mean What You Think It Means

minecraft-chicken-hatchingOn the last night of Image’s Glen West Workshop earlier this month, after a moving concert by Over the Rhine and all manner of sniffling and hugging, Father Richard Rohr invited us to make spaces in our souls for worship.

“How you live this moment is how you live your life,” he said. “How you do anything is how you do everything.”

His words nailed my heart to the floor.

I like to think I am “good” at worship. I often prepare myself by opening my hands, a posture that helps me focus. But my mind has a way of hairline-cracking within seconds: Do these people like me? Have they noticed my discolored tooth? On a scale of one to ten, how much of an idiot have I made myself today?

I like to think I lose myself in the beauty of God, but as my mind splinters and my prayerful hands go numb, I have to acknowledge that this moment of unrest reflects a life of unrest.

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