A Bike Ride with Nathan
by Donna-Jean Breckenridge
I took a bike ride with Nathan tonight. It was after dinner on this late-summer night - still light but
without the brightness. My five-and-a-half year old son rode in his haphazard, all-over-the-road
way, helmet slightly askew, talking as he went, about how upset he was that his buddy Tommy
had stopped playing with him earlier. I explained that Tommy was older, and was taking a turn
with his other friends.
We got near the brook that runs under our road, and suddenly, I spied it down by the water - a
beautiful tall cluster of a blue wildflower I had never seen before.
"Did you see that?!" I asked him, not waiting for a response, as I hopped off my old-style red
Schwinn that we had bought at a yard sale while at the family cottage on Lake Ontario some years
back.
The brook - called Beaver Brook on a map - runs under our dead-end street. It is usually shallow,
though on occasion a heavy rain can cause it to become a rushing current. Tonight its depth was
only a few inches.
"This is where me and Tommy caught the crayfish yesterday," Nathan announced, referring to the
six-inch water creature they carted home in an old spackling bucket.
At the side of the road is a concrete landing with a steel railing. There are two horizontal bars
which extend on either end of the vertical side posts. Many times we have stopped at this railing
while on a walk or bike ride in order to stare down into the brook. How often we have played "Pooh
sticks," dropping an autumn leaf or small twig off one railing, to run to the other side to see if the
current carried it through.
In order to pick that lone cluster of blue flowers, I needed to climb down the side of the concrete
landing toward the brook. Nathan told me to watch out for the copperhead that lived under the
bridge, and I wondered what in the world Tommy had told him. "But it might be a Ring-Neck," he
added, seriously. "Or a garter snake."
"There's no snake down here, " I muttered, as I stepped ever so lightly onto a dark mound of
damp, decomposing leaves.
I reached up and put my hand on the rounded end of the railing. A quick memory raced back. I
was about eight years old, spending Good Friday afternoon at my aunt's while my parents were at
our church's service. My aunt and uncle also live on this street, and have since I was about four
years old. I had walked this same path down to the brook with my cousin Gayle - only on the way
up I clunked my head on this very railing. I ran back to my aunt's house, screaming, crying, and
bleeding. Only one stitch was needed - but it was enough for my younger brother to joke about "
the hole in my head," and for me to feel silly when the tiny bit of hair they snipped began to grow
back in that spot, and stand straight up. I made a mental note to be more careful this time when I
climbed back up.
"Do you think I can get it?" I asked, as I held on to the railing edge with one hand and placed a
tentative foot on a large rock nearer the flower. I began to lean over and reach as far as I could.
"You can do it, Mama!" he replied.
"I'm- almost...I'm - nearly..." - even my voice sounded stretched. My fingertips just grazed the
small petals.
There flashed into my mind the image of Edith Holden. She was an Englishwoman at the turn of
the last century whose illustrations of nature graced many books, including her own "Country Diary
of an Edwardian Lady." This naturalist met a sad end, however, when she died by drowning in the
Thames River while reaching for buds from chestnut trees. This was not where and when I wanted
to end my life - but it was becoming more likely that I would instead end up a soaking wet, muddy
mess.
I decided it was worth it. I really wanted to find out what this flower was and draw it in my new
"nature notebook." After all, I might never see it again, I thought.
There was nowhere else to put my feet except the water, and the bushes going up the bank were
too thick for me to attempt to get the wildflower from there. So I planted my feet a little firmer on
the rock, extended my reach as far as I could, and -
"I got it!"
Once I got my got my treasure, it seemed the excitement was over for Nathan. He was putting his
helmet back on, getting ready for another adventure. He acknowledged my conquest and looked
at it for just a moment before mounting his bright green two-wheeler.
"Come on!" he cried enthusiastically.
I could hardly hear him as I hurried to catch up.
When I got alongside him he looked over. "Riding bikes with Tommy is special," he said, speaking
once again about this ten-year-old idol. "But riding bikes with you, Mama, is even more specialer."
Later that night, after placing the blue wildflower in a vase, I set out in the final quiet moments of
the day to identify and draw it. The field guide called it a "Great Lobelia." As I attempted to copy
its striped buds and odd-shaped flowers, I marveled at my discovery...but my thoughts were
focused not on this lovely blossom, but on the times I spend with my son. They're worth the effort,
I realized. They're worth reaching and stretching for, because - like the last chance to catch a late
summer wildflower - they will never happen just like this again.
Copyright 1998, Donna-Jean Breckenridge (Liberty and Lily Ministries)
Good Days and Bad Days
By Donna-Jean A. Breckenridge
I have been thinking a great deal about the subject of 'Good Days and Bad Days' lately. When
homeschooling moms get together there is an immediate division between those enthused over
their good days, and those struggling through their bad ones. The moms on the 'good' side speak
of their child's latest science project, elevated test scores, or obvious improvement in overall well-
being since they began homeschooling. Those on the 'bad' side commiserate over their children
'not getting' a math concept, the mess the house is in, and how their children are expressing
loneliness for their old friends. A few proclaim this loudly, matter-of-factly, while others stay quiet
and wonder if anyone else feels quite as much of a failure as they do.
Homeschooling appears to be a fragile condition - not only for those wondering why they ever took
it on, but also for those destined to have a dreadful time when the pendulum swings the other
direction. What keeps most homeschoolers going is the tally: if your good days outnumber your
bad, that's the indication and motivation to continue.
I have had good days and bad days in my now over 8 years of "official" homeschooling. By the
criteria mentioned above, I have had the "good" side of successfully teaching my oldest child to
read, seeing her do well on an achievement test, and feeling pride in her growing confidence in
different areas. Along those same lines, I have had days when the house is (for me, anyway)
relatively straight, the meals are all planned out, and I know where I'm headed in my lessons. I
have also had the "other kind" - times when I have feared that my child will hate a subject forever
(and that it's due to my faulty presentation), times when I'm sure I've forgotten some vitally
important part of education, and times when I seemed to have lost direction in how to teach even
the basics. I've had days when the kitchen looks more like a site on an archeological dig, I've just
dropped a dozen eggs on the floor with no alternative in the cupboard or refrigerator for breakfast,
and the plan I worked out all summer for our schedule isn't working at all and has to be tossed in
favor of a totally new one.
I've had days when I've been organized and days when I could scarcely find the math book. I've
had days when I looked (well, almost!) like I've stepped out of the pages of a magazine, and days
when I resemble a tragic "before" picture in a beauty makeover. I've had days when my kids and I
are in harmony, and days when we seem to clash at every turn. I've had days when I've
accomplished nearly everything in my lesson plans, and days when I wondered if it should even
count as school. If I added up the good days and bad days, there have been years when the bad
days won. In fact, this first month has definitely not gone according to my plans, and now that all
three of my children have come down with strep throat, I already know tomorrow won't be so great
either.
It's not that I don't try to be organized, to have a schedule, to plan meals, to set educational goals,
to have a clean house. I do work at that constantly. Sometimes I'm successful, sometimes I'm
not. Then why would I want to continue?
I continue in homeschooling - despite "bad days" - for three reasons. The first is because God has
called this family to homeschool - and we are obeying that call. When we first began, we always
told people we were taking it "one year at a time." Now we tell people we are committed to
homeschooling all of our children, all the way through. For us, the "one year at a time" gave us a
back door, a way-out when things got tough. Our children now need to know this is how this family
operates, and there is no Plan B. (I think of the mothers on my street who send their children up
to the bus stop each morning. If their child has a bad day - or even a bad year - they don't provide
that child with another option! They just have to learn to deal with it and make the best of it.)
The second reason is because my children have not been shielded from real life. They have seen
their parents work through problems on a daily basis. They have watched our struggle, seen our
tears, and felt our frustration. They've learned that we keep going when we're tired, that people are
more important than things, and that Mommy has to apologize sometimes, too.
But the third and perhaps most important reason I continue homeschooling is because of a lesson
God has taught me. Over the years of homeschooling, God has met me and my children many
times and in many different ways. I can pull out several cameos of memory - like the time my
daughter, disappointed beyond words that her Daddy's back problem prevented our driving to
Chicago to visit her beloved cousins, found out two months later that (due to a gift from a friend,
and a sudden airline deal) we would get to fly this time - and she rememberd our lesson from
Genesis about Joseph and said, "See Mommy? We thought it was all bad, but God meant it for
good - just like with Joseph in Egypt!" ... I remember the day my son and I looked at my aunt's
tiger lilies and I explained their short time to bloom, and he said, "They have just one day to praise
the Lord, Mama!"... And as long as I live, I'll never forget the day my oldest, when she was just 6,
after studying Rembrandt's "Raising of the Cross," painted on her easel a thick black cross with a
dying Saviour - and beside it, a stick figure with long blonde hair, tears on her face, and a sword in
her hand. Rembrandt's expression of his own part in the crucifixion had reached across 350 years
of human history and had spoken to the soul of a very little girl and helped her understand Jesus
died for her, too.
I don't remember what I wore on any of those days. I don't remember what was for dinner, or if the
stairs were free of clutter. I only know God met us in unusual ways on those particular days, and
that's what matters most to me. Not every day bears a harvest like that. Many days involve the
planting, watering, pruning, the "just being faithful" to explain the Biblical account, to take the
walks, read the books, show the artwork.
So for me it's not about good days or bad days - it's about important days, about redeeming the
time, about being faithful, and about having the courage and humility to recognize God's "holy
moments" in my life.
May you have an "important day" tomorrow...
Copyright 1998, Donna-Jean A. Breckenridge (Liberty and Lily Ministries)
Discipline
By Donna-Jean A. Breckenridge
I'm not as disciplined as I would like to be.
There. I've said it - in print, for all to see.
I've been known to procrastinate. I remember I was finishing my final paper on the final minute
of the final hour of the final day it was allowed for me to graduate from college. As I typed my
last word and quickly gathered the pages together to rush off to the professor's office, the skies
darkened, lightning pierced the sky, and thunder struck...a fitting end to my college career!
I've done better over the years. I no longer arrive anywhere 'fashionably late,' when I realized
that to my husband, arriving only ten minutes early is 'late,' by his calculations. My marriage is
too important to me to let my being late cause constant friction. I now write down all the library
books I check out along with their due dates, and post it on my calendar and on the inside of my
kitchen cabinet door - because I got tired waiting for the public library to name a new wing after
me, funded by all my overdue fines. And I regularly make lists of the things I need to do, even if
it means getting up in the middle of the night and writing something down so I won't forget. But
still I struggle with organization. (I asked my husband for an example of an area in which I was
organized. He is still laughing as I write this. I haven't decided when I'll speak to him again.)
My personal bookshelves reflect my desire and struggle to be organized. I've read Anne
Ortlund's "Disciplines of the Beautiful Woman", her "Disciplines of the Heart", and Elisabeth
Elliot's "Discipline - The Glad Surrender".
I've wondered how I can expect to teach my children habits of discipline when I still am working
on my own self-discipline. The answer for that comes easily enough. For although my wish
would be for the world to stop for a week or two (maybe let everyone be frozen in time, like in
_Sleeping Beauty_!) so I could catch up and be totally 'together,' the Lord's plan for me is to
learn alongside my children. As I learn and display my own sense of duty, my own background
of 'must' behind my decisions, as Charlotte Mason explains, my children will learn to be law-
compelled as well.
My life goes more smoothly when I am organized. When I have a plan, a schedule, even a
menu set ahead of time, it is easier to follow a disciplined life. But what about the times when I
get waylaid, when the schedule is altered, when the plan is set aside? This is where I have
struggled. Is it in the schedule to leave the dishes until later (throwing off the rest of the evening)
to catch a magnificent sunset - that just can't wait? Is it in the calendar to drop all my lesson
plans on the spot and pack the car and head 'down the shore' (as we say in New Jersey) to
spend a day at the beach? Or - perhaps more significantly - is it on my "to do" list to spend two
hours of my evening talking with my 12 year old daughter over those young womanly concerns
that weigh on her heart and need a mother's love, wisdom, and time?
Each time I have done those things - and many more - I have wondered where discipline fits into
spontaneity, creativity, hospitality, ministry, and just plain fun!
I find I am drawn back to the Bible - and to two women who, like me, are Christ-followers. Their
names are Mary and Martha. Mary, of course, is the one who is known for sitting at the feet of
Jesus. My father had a friend from India who was an evangelist. This friend invited my Dad to
travel there and preach, and I so well remember the five weeks he was gone, the deep ache of
missing him, the fervent prayer for his ministry, and the incredible slides and stories he brought
back with him. The friend's name was Yesupadam - and his name meant "At the feet of Jesus."
Martha is the one who is much maligned in women's devotional books, because she was the one
who complained and who didn't recognize that she, too, needed to be at the feet of her Saviour,
instead of working. She was the busy one. (My husband has told me that my problem is I try to
be Mary *and* Martha at the same time - and too often I end up being almost like Lazarus!
Lazarus, you remember, was their dead brother who had to be resurrected!)
The passage in Luke 10 is familiar to many, when Jesus reproved her, saying, "Martha, Martha,
thou art anxious and troubled about many things. But one thing is needful, and Mary hath
chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her." But there is another passage
that sheds further light on Martha's situation. In John 12 Jesus goes once again to see Lazarus
in Bethany (we named our oldest daughter Bethany because that was the place where Jesus had
friends - where Jesus felt at home. Our desire is for Jesus to be at home in her heart!). In verse
2, it says, "There they made him a supper, and Martha served." There is no complaint by
Martha, and no rebuke from the Lord. This time, her timing was right.
When I read through the Gospel accounts and trace the three year ministry of the Lord Jesus, it
seems He was often tarrying in one place, distracted by someone's needs in another place, and
detoured to still an additional place. To those who were healed of their diseases, whose dead
were brought back to life, and who found freedom from the bondage of demons, their meeting
with the Son of God was more than a side trip. It was a life-changing encounter. These seeming
interruptions were actually the exact plan God the Father had chosen. And the path Jesus took,
in the greatest example of all of self-discipline, led Him to be "obedient unto death, even the
death of the cross."
And so I'm learning that my example - my model - in discipline is Jesus Christ Himself. Some
days, being a follower of Jesus means serving Him as faithfully as I can, in a pattern of habit and
duty, teaching my children to do the same. But it also means listening carefully, watching
fervently, and waiting expectantly for the moments when He asks me to set aside my serving,
put down my quot;to do" list, and leave my schedule behind, so I can take the time to just sit at His
feet...in a detour that He had planned for me all along.
No, I'm not as disciplined as I would like to be. But I'm getting there. I've got a great
Teacher.
Copyright 1998, Donna-Jean A. Breckenridge (Liberty and Lily Ministries)
