One of the many unintended side effects of becoming a parent is that you're forced to develop a new relationship with the English language. I don't mean that you'll instantly gain an understanding of homophones, homonyms, and homographs— no such luck. What I mean is that you'll learn that "sit on the couch" can mean a multitude of different things, ranging from the traditional butt-on-seat variation, to many other more creative arrangements that could end with a butt placed in a number of surprising locations.
For example, I remember a time when I told my son to go into his room to put on a pull-up before bed. Well, he did exactly that. It wasn't until the next morning that I learned that what I should've said was "Take off your underwear, and then put on a pull-up."
When I was preparing Noah for kindergarten, I spent a lot of time talking to him about the importance of being "kind" and, of course, that required an explanation of what I meant by that. My initial explanation was probably something along the lines of "You know, like, nice or whatever ..." but when you really think about it, being nice and being kind aren't really the same thing, are they?
According to my old friend Merriam-Webster, to be nice is to be pleasant or agreeable. To me, this describes a behavior or a particular style of social interaction. Nice is something that can be turned on when you clock in at work and turned off the moment your shift ends. Nice is great for job interviews and first dates. Nice is common, but not necessarily always genuine. Politicians are (almost) always nice because being nice gets you votes.
Don't get me wrong, I want my son to be nice, but not nearly as much as I want him to be kind.
Old lady Merriam's definitions of kind include words like "helpful," "gentle," and "loving"—all words that fall right in line with the lesson I wanted to teach my son. "Nice" is a way to behave, whereas "kind" refers to the kind of person you are. Kind people aren't kind because it could possibly yield rewards, or because it's part of a job description. Kindness is a result of a genuine desire to help other people and do good. When my grandmother forces "soda money" into my pocket before I leave her home, she's doing it out of kindness.
Nice and kind are two words that are similar in definition, but far from interchangeable. Nice people aren't hard to find: go to any Starbucks or Chick-fil-A and you'll find dozens of them ready to provide you with the best dining experience possible. Truly kind people, on the other hand, are a little harder to find. These are the people who go out of their way to help others and do good, no matter the reward.
I think the best thing for all of us is to try to be at least a little bit of both. What about you?
How do you teach a child what kindness is and how to be kind? Seems like there's a lot of example giving in that one. How do you try to teach others how to be kind? How much of being kind is internal, like a personality trait?
Written by Justin Fantroy
You can let us know what you think by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
Tuesday, October 1, 2019
Tuesday, September 17, 2019
The Lies We Tell Our Kids
It's not intentional, really. We want to believe it's true when we say that they can be and do anything they want when they grow up. We want to believe that there's some relationship between that idea, and the need for them to perform throughout their teen years as if their lives depended on it.
We want to believe that there is no conflict between our urging them to "Follow your dreams!" morphing suddenly and abruptly into "What are you going to major in?" and "How are you going to support yourself for the rest of your life doing that?"
We tell them to do all the "right" things because we don't know what else to tell them, and we can't bear to tell them nothing. Or to let them fail. Or to let them veer from the prototypical success model-who knows where that might lead?
Maybe, just maybe, it will lead them slowly, and with some requisite turbulence, to themselves.
So if we really want to help our teen and young adult children, I'm thinking we should stop telling them that who they are is a series of grades and tests scores and titles and victories that must be accrued in a deliberate time and sequence-or else-and we should start telling them the truth, which, when you step back, I believe, looks something like this:
Between the ages of 15 and 25-give or take-you're going to want to learn some things, for example:
 What you like to do, and what you're good at, and if those are the same things
 What kind of people make you happy and what kind of people seem happy to be around you
 What it feels like to love another person and the delirious grace that comes from being loved back
 Whether or not sex is going to become a defining factor in your life
 How to dig yourself out of a hole
 How to throw yourself into an idea that is bigger than yourself and seeing what happens
 How to cook a meal, do your laundry, clean your bathroom, and live with roommates
 How to look someone in the eye when you shake their hand
 What it feels like to earn a paycheck and then pay for something with money you earned
 Whether or not you can make enough money doing the things you like and are good at to live the way you want to live
 Or if money is more important to you than spending your time doing things you like or love and what that choice will cost you down the road (this usually has to be learned later)
 You'll want to know what you believe in about Big Questions like God, and compassion, and why there's evil in the world, and if you think you're contributing to it, and how you feel about that
 You'll want to know how to learn new things-some of your choosing, some not
 You'll have to decide if your word will be your bond
 And to recognize those whose word is not
 It's hard to build a good life on a wobbly foundation so you're going to want to develop some confidence-if you're lacking in that area-or some humility, if you're not
 Do you know what makes you feel confident yet?
 Do you know how to express your thoughts and feelings?
 Do you know what you were put on this Earth to be and do?
Our kids will learn these things, and others, in no particular order, and often multiple times. No one will give them a certificate or a grade or a degree or a prize for them. But when they feel they've got a handle on most of these, they'll be ready to have a really nice life. Let's remember to tell them that sometimes.
Written by Heather Choate Davis
Nobody said raising kids was easy, and if they did, they weren't too bright. Do you have any time- and experience-tested truths you can add to the above list?
You can let us know by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
We want to believe that there is no conflict between our urging them to "Follow your dreams!" morphing suddenly and abruptly into "What are you going to major in?" and "How are you going to support yourself for the rest of your life doing that?"
We tell them to do all the "right" things because we don't know what else to tell them, and we can't bear to tell them nothing. Or to let them fail. Or to let them veer from the prototypical success model-who knows where that might lead?
Maybe, just maybe, it will lead them slowly, and with some requisite turbulence, to themselves.
So if we really want to help our teen and young adult children, I'm thinking we should stop telling them that who they are is a series of grades and tests scores and titles and victories that must be accrued in a deliberate time and sequence-or else-and we should start telling them the truth, which, when you step back, I believe, looks something like this:
Between the ages of 15 and 25-give or take-you're going to want to learn some things, for example:
 What you like to do, and what you're good at, and if those are the same things
 What kind of people make you happy and what kind of people seem happy to be around you
 What it feels like to love another person and the delirious grace that comes from being loved back
 Whether or not sex is going to become a defining factor in your life
 How to dig yourself out of a hole
 How to throw yourself into an idea that is bigger than yourself and seeing what happens
 How to cook a meal, do your laundry, clean your bathroom, and live with roommates
 How to look someone in the eye when you shake their hand
 What it feels like to earn a paycheck and then pay for something with money you earned
 Whether or not you can make enough money doing the things you like and are good at to live the way you want to live
 Or if money is more important to you than spending your time doing things you like or love and what that choice will cost you down the road (this usually has to be learned later)
 You'll want to know what you believe in about Big Questions like God, and compassion, and why there's evil in the world, and if you think you're contributing to it, and how you feel about that
 You'll want to know how to learn new things-some of your choosing, some not
 You'll have to decide if your word will be your bond
 And to recognize those whose word is not
 It's hard to build a good life on a wobbly foundation so you're going to want to develop some confidence-if you're lacking in that area-or some humility, if you're not
 Do you know what makes you feel confident yet?
 Do you know how to express your thoughts and feelings?
 Do you know what you were put on this Earth to be and do?
Our kids will learn these things, and others, in no particular order, and often multiple times. No one will give them a certificate or a grade or a degree or a prize for them. But when they feel they've got a handle on most of these, they'll be ready to have a really nice life. Let's remember to tell them that sometimes.
Written by Heather Choate Davis
Nobody said raising kids was easy, and if they did, they weren't too bright. Do you have any time- and experience-tested truths you can add to the above list?
You can let us know by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
Tuesday, September 3, 2019
Growing up White in America
"This teenager was arrested for not giving up her seat on a bus in Montgomery, Alabama ..." The emcee at the Dr. Martin Luther King workshop paused his cadence to let the audience think of an answer. I missed the teenager clue and mentally filled in the blank with Rosa Parks, when he continued into the microphone, "...nine months before Rosa Parks."
My smug smile washed away. In my mind, Rosa Parks was an anomaly, not part of a bigger movement. A young African-American man shouted behind me and interrupted my thoughts, "Claudette Colvin!"
The crowd congratulated the young man's answer, and the emcee continued with the next quiz question, but I didn't hear it. I was lost in my own internal dialogue, weighing the newly-exposed depth of my Whiteness. Growing up White in America meant I knew relatively few names from Black history. What's more, referring to it as "Black history" is an acknowledgement that the vast majority of the history I learned is implicitly another color:
Mine.
But growing up White in America was an education that extended far beyond the classroom.
Growing up White in America meant the way I spoke at the dinner table was the same dialect I used in the classroom. I never had to learn how to code-switch if I wanted to ascend through school or business. The pastor at my church and the news anchor on TV interpreted reality for me with the same tongue I used.
Growing up White in America meant I went on road trips in college without fearing how I would be treated at a small-town gas station. The language of a green book never echoed in my car.
Growing up White in America meant I was startled when a room wasn't a White majority. Conversations with the description, "we were the only White people there" was code for dangerous. Or poor. Or uneducated. And when I was a minority in one of those dangerous hospital waiting rooms, I knew it was only temporary. The story would resolve when I returned to the safe, prosperous place which happened to be dominated by my skin color.
Growing up White in America meant I could go through my day without thinking about my race. I could wake up, drive, shop, eat, study, watch TV, and sleep without ever being reminded that I was different than the world around me. Band-Aids were always my skin type; hotel shampoos were always my hair type; food aisles were always my food type.
Growing up White in America meant that I could walk in public with four of my fellow teenaged friends without judgment. Store clerks rarely watched us judiciously. Women never switched their purse to their other arm when we walked by. Fathers never shuffled their children to stand behind them when we were close.
Growing up White in America meant that I looked like those in positions of highest influence. Scientists were overwhelmingly White like me. So were programmers. And doctors and lawyers and CEOs. White-collar professionals (pun intended) were disproportionately White like me.
I was on Mount Rushmore, not their slave ships. I was on my currency, not their auction blocks. I was on the cover of comic books, not their mug shot tabloids. I conquered. I legislated. I enforced.
Learning about Claudette Colvin didn't erase my history, nor was it redeemed. But I did grow in awareness, which is a much better meaning of growing up White in America.
Written by Chris Paavola
You can let us know what you think of this blog by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
My smug smile washed away. In my mind, Rosa Parks was an anomaly, not part of a bigger movement. A young African-American man shouted behind me and interrupted my thoughts, "Claudette Colvin!"
The crowd congratulated the young man's answer, and the emcee continued with the next quiz question, but I didn't hear it. I was lost in my own internal dialogue, weighing the newly-exposed depth of my Whiteness. Growing up White in America meant I knew relatively few names from Black history. What's more, referring to it as "Black history" is an acknowledgement that the vast majority of the history I learned is implicitly another color:
Mine.
But growing up White in America was an education that extended far beyond the classroom.
Growing up White in America meant the way I spoke at the dinner table was the same dialect I used in the classroom. I never had to learn how to code-switch if I wanted to ascend through school or business. The pastor at my church and the news anchor on TV interpreted reality for me with the same tongue I used.
Growing up White in America meant I went on road trips in college without fearing how I would be treated at a small-town gas station. The language of a green book never echoed in my car.
Growing up White in America meant I was startled when a room wasn't a White majority. Conversations with the description, "we were the only White people there" was code for dangerous. Or poor. Or uneducated. And when I was a minority in one of those dangerous hospital waiting rooms, I knew it was only temporary. The story would resolve when I returned to the safe, prosperous place which happened to be dominated by my skin color.
Growing up White in America meant I could go through my day without thinking about my race. I could wake up, drive, shop, eat, study, watch TV, and sleep without ever being reminded that I was different than the world around me. Band-Aids were always my skin type; hotel shampoos were always my hair type; food aisles were always my food type.
Growing up White in America meant that I could walk in public with four of my fellow teenaged friends without judgment. Store clerks rarely watched us judiciously. Women never switched their purse to their other arm when we walked by. Fathers never shuffled their children to stand behind them when we were close.
Growing up White in America meant that I looked like those in positions of highest influence. Scientists were overwhelmingly White like me. So were programmers. And doctors and lawyers and CEOs. White-collar professionals (pun intended) were disproportionately White like me.
I was on Mount Rushmore, not their slave ships. I was on my currency, not their auction blocks. I was on the cover of comic books, not their mug shot tabloids. I conquered. I legislated. I enforced.
Learning about Claudette Colvin didn't erase my history, nor was it redeemed. But I did grow in awareness, which is a much better meaning of growing up White in America.
Written by Chris Paavola
You can let us know what you think of this blog by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
Tuesday, August 20, 2019
What I Didn't Know I Needed to Know
Like many others, I wasn't able to escape the craze surrounding Hamilton: An American Musical that has swept America in the last few years. Whether it's the shock and novelty of rap in a major musical, the celebration of an unsung American hero, the brilliant character development, or the themes that keep recurring in unexpected places, it seems to be finding its way into American hearts on a host of levels.
And even though I can't resist getting into a good hip-hop song, I think my favorite thing about Hamilton is the way you're invited to empathize with so many different characters. You can relate to the heroes and the villains. In fact, some might say there aren't really clear heroes or villains. There are just humans ... all of whom made some poor choices and some heroic choices. History tends to flatten these individuals as good or bad, and Hamilton brings those characters back to life and gives them dimension. Makes them all relatable. Makes you ask if you might have made the same choices in the same circumstances ... makes you question things you thought you knew about yourself.
This is really what I appreciate about any good musical, when I give myself the chance. What do I not know about the world, or myself, that I can discover by seeing through this or that character's eyes?
I've observed recently that the opportunity exists to use movies and music in the same way—to invite them to expose me to different perspectives—but I typically don't. I typically listen to music that celebrates the things I already think and feel. I typically like movies that celebrate the kind of stories I already value or paint the world in a way I already see it.
And I've realized I don't like that about myself. I am missing the chance to see the world through the eyes of the artist or director—and in doing so, to learn and to grow. To bump into ideas and experiences and perspectives I wasn't aware of. To learn things I didn't know I needed to know.
I say I don't like to spend time around ideas and people that reinforce what I already think, but I don't always act on that. Sometimes it might be that I don't know where or how to look for those artistic expressions outside the circles I already walk in. But I appreciate contemporary art in all its forms as something that can break through my current viewpoints and stretch me farther.
And I'd like to do that more—I'd like to invite more art into my life with the purpose of letting it show me things I didn't know I needed to understand.
Do you use art to expand your mind? Or to reinforce what you already think? Or do you invite art into your life for a totally different purpose?
Written by Megan Panarusky
You can let us know what you think by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
And even though I can't resist getting into a good hip-hop song, I think my favorite thing about Hamilton is the way you're invited to empathize with so many different characters. You can relate to the heroes and the villains. In fact, some might say there aren't really clear heroes or villains. There are just humans ... all of whom made some poor choices and some heroic choices. History tends to flatten these individuals as good or bad, and Hamilton brings those characters back to life and gives them dimension. Makes them all relatable. Makes you ask if you might have made the same choices in the same circumstances ... makes you question things you thought you knew about yourself.
This is really what I appreciate about any good musical, when I give myself the chance. What do I not know about the world, or myself, that I can discover by seeing through this or that character's eyes?
I've observed recently that the opportunity exists to use movies and music in the same way—to invite them to expose me to different perspectives—but I typically don't. I typically listen to music that celebrates the things I already think and feel. I typically like movies that celebrate the kind of stories I already value or paint the world in a way I already see it.
And I've realized I don't like that about myself. I am missing the chance to see the world through the eyes of the artist or director—and in doing so, to learn and to grow. To bump into ideas and experiences and perspectives I wasn't aware of. To learn things I didn't know I needed to know.
I say I don't like to spend time around ideas and people that reinforce what I already think, but I don't always act on that. Sometimes it might be that I don't know where or how to look for those artistic expressions outside the circles I already walk in. But I appreciate contemporary art in all its forms as something that can break through my current viewpoints and stretch me farther.
And I'd like to do that more—I'd like to invite more art into my life with the purpose of letting it show me things I didn't know I needed to understand.
Do you use art to expand your mind? Or to reinforce what you already think? Or do you invite art into your life for a totally different purpose?
Written by Megan Panarusky
You can let us know what you think by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
Tuesday, August 6, 2019
"Take a Chance on Me!"
A friend of mine who is in the job market just shared a bit of frustration with me: almost every position that is advertised, he said, is requiring 3-5 years of experience. My friend looked me in the eye and asked, point blank with a bit of despair, "How am I supposed to get any experience if I can't get hired in the first place?"
A good question.
My friend's experience brought back my own memories of job hunting over the years. I had faced the same problem. Thankfully, at various times, people took a chance on me, and I was able to get that precious on-the-job experience.
Requiring 3-5 years of experience seems like those who are hiring are really looking for candidates who won't require a lot of handholding, on-the-job training, or a significant amount of oversight. In other words, it sounds like the those who are in leadership—the ones to whom the employee would directly report—are aiming for some level of certainty and control. After all, were they to hire someone who couldn't hack it, their own position might be threatened due to a failure of leadership.
But what if leadership of the best sort is just the kind that leaves a lot of space for failure? What if leadership means leaders take on a significant amount of responsibility for raising up those around them to meet the demands of the job? What if "a job well done" in this context is the job that is accomplished collaboratively, by people who are relying on each other because they form a network of gifts, talents, and skills that are shared among everyone, even if everyone does not possess the same ones as all the others?
Leadership in this sense would be a kind of weak leadership. The leader, whoever that person is, would know what needs to get done and what it takes to do it. He or she would know they are incapable of doing the job alone. Perhaps this leader could only do just a facet of the necessary tasks to complete the job. That makes him or her vulnerable, putting them in need of others. It seems to me that this would prompt a different approach to leadership—something like leading weakly.
Leading weakly is just a name for what I think good leaders really do. Good leaders know their weaknesses, deficiencies, gaps in their learning, understanding, and abilities. They also know that they need others to make up for these things. Furthermore, as leaders, they know the abilities that others have, and they encourage, promote, upbuild, and direct those they lead so that, as a network or team, whatever challenge is set before them can be accomplished.
I'm struck here by a unique story about Jesus. He was a leader of a band of disciples. He knew full well that what the future held for Him, so He commissioned those disciples to carry on His work. But the striking thing is that He commissioned a bunch of inexperienced, untrained, feeble, and mistake-prone humans to do something that it seems like only a God could do. Interestingly enough, however, He did it without worry or concern. He was not some kind of micro-manager who interfered at every level of the process to be sure things got done His way. Rather, He was really quite hands-off.
I'm reminded in this sense of a quote my wife likes to use, the origins of which I'm unaware: "God does not call the qualified; He qualifies the called." It strikes me that this perspective offers a leadership principle that pictures leadership from a weak, rather than strong and confident, perspective.
What if, as we find ourselves in positions of leadership, we reflectively spend time knowing our weaknesses and our needs, hiring those who have the potential to supplement our deficiencies, and build teams that are made up of people who have complementary gifts, skills, and talents? Then we could spend our time as leaders supporting them, investing in them, caring more about their success than our own, and working together with all of them to achieve mutually beneficial goals.
I'm astonished when I'm reminded of it, but it seems as if this is exactly what Jesus did. If you believe He's Lord of the universe and Creator of all things, well then, He doesn't need any help getting His mission accomplished. Yet He chose to involve others, none of whom had 3-5 years of experience. And they changed the world.
Can we learn something from His approach?
Written by Chad Lakies
What's been your experience with leaders and management over the years? Were there any standouts for you—men or women who proved fully capable and yet were interested in seeing you grow as an employee?
On the flip side, have you had people over you that left you scratching your head, wondering how in the world they got to that position?
You can let us know what you think by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
A good question.
My friend's experience brought back my own memories of job hunting over the years. I had faced the same problem. Thankfully, at various times, people took a chance on me, and I was able to get that precious on-the-job experience.
Requiring 3-5 years of experience seems like those who are hiring are really looking for candidates who won't require a lot of handholding, on-the-job training, or a significant amount of oversight. In other words, it sounds like the those who are in leadership—the ones to whom the employee would directly report—are aiming for some level of certainty and control. After all, were they to hire someone who couldn't hack it, their own position might be threatened due to a failure of leadership.
But what if leadership of the best sort is just the kind that leaves a lot of space for failure? What if leadership means leaders take on a significant amount of responsibility for raising up those around them to meet the demands of the job? What if "a job well done" in this context is the job that is accomplished collaboratively, by people who are relying on each other because they form a network of gifts, talents, and skills that are shared among everyone, even if everyone does not possess the same ones as all the others?
Leadership in this sense would be a kind of weak leadership. The leader, whoever that person is, would know what needs to get done and what it takes to do it. He or she would know they are incapable of doing the job alone. Perhaps this leader could only do just a facet of the necessary tasks to complete the job. That makes him or her vulnerable, putting them in need of others. It seems to me that this would prompt a different approach to leadership—something like leading weakly.
Leading weakly is just a name for what I think good leaders really do. Good leaders know their weaknesses, deficiencies, gaps in their learning, understanding, and abilities. They also know that they need others to make up for these things. Furthermore, as leaders, they know the abilities that others have, and they encourage, promote, upbuild, and direct those they lead so that, as a network or team, whatever challenge is set before them can be accomplished.
I'm struck here by a unique story about Jesus. He was a leader of a band of disciples. He knew full well that what the future held for Him, so He commissioned those disciples to carry on His work. But the striking thing is that He commissioned a bunch of inexperienced, untrained, feeble, and mistake-prone humans to do something that it seems like only a God could do. Interestingly enough, however, He did it without worry or concern. He was not some kind of micro-manager who interfered at every level of the process to be sure things got done His way. Rather, He was really quite hands-off.
I'm reminded in this sense of a quote my wife likes to use, the origins of which I'm unaware: "God does not call the qualified; He qualifies the called." It strikes me that this perspective offers a leadership principle that pictures leadership from a weak, rather than strong and confident, perspective.
What if, as we find ourselves in positions of leadership, we reflectively spend time knowing our weaknesses and our needs, hiring those who have the potential to supplement our deficiencies, and build teams that are made up of people who have complementary gifts, skills, and talents? Then we could spend our time as leaders supporting them, investing in them, caring more about their success than our own, and working together with all of them to achieve mutually beneficial goals.
I'm astonished when I'm reminded of it, but it seems as if this is exactly what Jesus did. If you believe He's Lord of the universe and Creator of all things, well then, He doesn't need any help getting His mission accomplished. Yet He chose to involve others, none of whom had 3-5 years of experience. And they changed the world.
Can we learn something from His approach?
Written by Chad Lakies
What's been your experience with leaders and management over the years? Were there any standouts for you—men or women who proved fully capable and yet were interested in seeing you grow as an employee?
On the flip side, have you had people over you that left you scratching your head, wondering how in the world they got to that position?
You can let us know what you think by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
Tuesday, July 23, 2019
If I Identify as a Christian, Does It Have to Be 'All or Nothing'?
Some people associate an "all-or-nothing ultimatum" with identifying as a Christian: "You believe the entirety of the Bible and take it as fact, or none of it. There isn't room to pick and choose."
This is a big challenge for people who—by contrast—identify as Christian, but take more of a middle-ground approach on many of the issues the Bible raises.
On one hand, I get it. Religion isn't Chipotle: you don't get to customize your order and get something completely different than the patron behind you ... or do you?
Like most children who grew up attending church, I took all of what I was taught as fact. The stories of apples, snakes, arks, and crowns of thorns swam around in my thoughts. As I closed my eyes each night, I drew comfort from these stories.
As I got older, I was faced with contradictions between what I had come to believe and what I was experiencing. I began to doubt. In all honesty, this doubt brought along with it an enormous amount of guilt.
The first time my faith came into question was during a 6th-grade mythology lesson. As a society, the ancient Greeks had created gods to help make sense of the unknown. These gods were blamed for misfortune or worshiped for blessings. The idea of creating tales to help cope with unexplained events brought comfort into a situation that was previously frightening.
The concept of stories explaining the unknown was a part of my own faith background, too.
The second time I examined my identity as a Christian was near the end of college. I attended a church that was a different denomination than the one I grew up attending. They still used a Bible though. So how different could it be? I left in shock about not only how differently the sermon was approached, but how the meaning in the words had changed for me.
It became apparent that the Bible was being interpreted in a number of ways to fit a purpose, or even a specific agenda.
As a consequence of this experience, I found it difficult to see the Bible as factual. My opinion was a fact is not interpretable. You shouldn't be able to read the same passage and draw individualized conclusions from it.
Overwhelmingly, I had the urge to find fault in all of it.
As the years have passed, I still find comfort in the faith I had as a child. I have allowed myself to accept the Bible for what I believe it is: a wonderful guide for life, yet still subjective to the reader.
After openly talking with others, I have found I'm not alone. People might not use the phrasing "pick and choose," but they have found other ways to meet in the middle when it comes to the Bible and its rich selection of narrative.
I have found my own way to believe. I personally don't need the approval of other religions or institutions; I need only the approval of God. I will find what I think is good, and in the good, there will be God or whatever he/she may be called.
I think a middle ground can exist. It just takes people realizing their own way can't always be 100 percent right. Finding faults in other people and their interpretations is easy, but taking the time to understand each other's thoughts and ideas—and recognizing that just because they're different doesn't necessarily mean one of us is wrong—would leave us all much better off in the end.
Written by Alisha Wittstruck
Interesting. What's your take on the Bible and inerrancy and literal and figurative meanings and how we read it and what it means to believe in it?
You can let us know what you think about this by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
This is a big challenge for people who—by contrast—identify as Christian, but take more of a middle-ground approach on many of the issues the Bible raises.
On one hand, I get it. Religion isn't Chipotle: you don't get to customize your order and get something completely different than the patron behind you ... or do you?
Like most children who grew up attending church, I took all of what I was taught as fact. The stories of apples, snakes, arks, and crowns of thorns swam around in my thoughts. As I closed my eyes each night, I drew comfort from these stories.
As I got older, I was faced with contradictions between what I had come to believe and what I was experiencing. I began to doubt. In all honesty, this doubt brought along with it an enormous amount of guilt.
The first time my faith came into question was during a 6th-grade mythology lesson. As a society, the ancient Greeks had created gods to help make sense of the unknown. These gods were blamed for misfortune or worshiped for blessings. The idea of creating tales to help cope with unexplained events brought comfort into a situation that was previously frightening.
The concept of stories explaining the unknown was a part of my own faith background, too.
The second time I examined my identity as a Christian was near the end of college. I attended a church that was a different denomination than the one I grew up attending. They still used a Bible though. So how different could it be? I left in shock about not only how differently the sermon was approached, but how the meaning in the words had changed for me.
It became apparent that the Bible was being interpreted in a number of ways to fit a purpose, or even a specific agenda.
As a consequence of this experience, I found it difficult to see the Bible as factual. My opinion was a fact is not interpretable. You shouldn't be able to read the same passage and draw individualized conclusions from it.
Overwhelmingly, I had the urge to find fault in all of it.
As the years have passed, I still find comfort in the faith I had as a child. I have allowed myself to accept the Bible for what I believe it is: a wonderful guide for life, yet still subjective to the reader.
After openly talking with others, I have found I'm not alone. People might not use the phrasing "pick and choose," but they have found other ways to meet in the middle when it comes to the Bible and its rich selection of narrative.
I have found my own way to believe. I personally don't need the approval of other religions or institutions; I need only the approval of God. I will find what I think is good, and in the good, there will be God or whatever he/she may be called.
I think a middle ground can exist. It just takes people realizing their own way can't always be 100 percent right. Finding faults in other people and their interpretations is easy, but taking the time to understand each other's thoughts and ideas—and recognizing that just because they're different doesn't necessarily mean one of us is wrong—would leave us all much better off in the end.
Written by Alisha Wittstruck
Interesting. What's your take on the Bible and inerrancy and literal and figurative meanings and how we read it and what it means to believe in it?
You can let us know what you think about this by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
Tuesday, July 9, 2019
When Your Parenting is Put to the Test
In a few weeks, my son will be on his way to college. At such a time, lots of parents take stock. (Just Google "tips for parents of college students," or look for online essays on the topic).
I'm a bundle of nerves, sublimating my anxiety by buying sheet sets and collecting boxes for the car ride, one which will result in driving home without the boy who, now almost a man, was the second-grade "new kid on the block," the diligent Eagle Scout, and the senior high school student playing Macduff in "Macbeth."
As parents, we tend to second-guess ourselves a lot along the way to such transitional times. Did we give our kids the tools they need to succeed in work, in relationships, in the challenges they will inevitably encounter? What about the times we waved the white flag when we should have stood firm, or didn't give in and perhaps should have?
Whether you are a stay-at-home parent or have a career outside of it, you are likely to have the same question: Did I help my son or daughter navigate the rocky path to adulthood as best I could?
At such times, you might also remember how many other people and places have influenced-and will continue to influence-your child. There's the English course in junior high where he was introduced to a famous British poet for the first time, one he can't wait to study in college. There's the music class where she learned to play the trumpet: she's already signed up for marching band next summer.
Then there's the music he plays when he's hanging with his friends-and the door is closed. And let's not forget the friend who's grappling with drug addiction, the Cub Scout trip to the mountains, the Saturdays volunteering at the hospital, and the mission trip to Guatemala.
There are so many threads that weave the fabric of a person's life. As parents, ours is only one of them, though certainly one of the most important.
Your voice and influence won't cease to matter when they show up at their freshman orientation week. But they will be put to the test as perhaps never before. And in that way, the example you set may, ironically enough, be very important. Are you a person of your word? Are you generous-with praise, with money, with moral and psychological support? Are you a good friend?
Part of the fun (or so I'm trying to tell myself) of being the parent of a college student is watching what happens when you become the backbeat of your child's life, instead of the melody. I feel as though I'm cramming for a very important test ... and I'm not sure how I'll do.
Ask me in a year. I'll let you know how it goes.
Written by Elizabeth Eisenstadt Evans
A kid going off to college can be traumatic—for both the kid and the parents. If this has been an episode in your life, how did you handle it?
You can let us know what you think about this by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
I'm a bundle of nerves, sublimating my anxiety by buying sheet sets and collecting boxes for the car ride, one which will result in driving home without the boy who, now almost a man, was the second-grade "new kid on the block," the diligent Eagle Scout, and the senior high school student playing Macduff in "Macbeth."
As parents, we tend to second-guess ourselves a lot along the way to such transitional times. Did we give our kids the tools they need to succeed in work, in relationships, in the challenges they will inevitably encounter? What about the times we waved the white flag when we should have stood firm, or didn't give in and perhaps should have?
Whether you are a stay-at-home parent or have a career outside of it, you are likely to have the same question: Did I help my son or daughter navigate the rocky path to adulthood as best I could?
At such times, you might also remember how many other people and places have influenced-and will continue to influence-your child. There's the English course in junior high where he was introduced to a famous British poet for the first time, one he can't wait to study in college. There's the music class where she learned to play the trumpet: she's already signed up for marching band next summer.
Then there's the music he plays when he's hanging with his friends-and the door is closed. And let's not forget the friend who's grappling with drug addiction, the Cub Scout trip to the mountains, the Saturdays volunteering at the hospital, and the mission trip to Guatemala.
There are so many threads that weave the fabric of a person's life. As parents, ours is only one of them, though certainly one of the most important.
Your voice and influence won't cease to matter when they show up at their freshman orientation week. But they will be put to the test as perhaps never before. And in that way, the example you set may, ironically enough, be very important. Are you a person of your word? Are you generous-with praise, with money, with moral and psychological support? Are you a good friend?
Part of the fun (or so I'm trying to tell myself) of being the parent of a college student is watching what happens when you become the backbeat of your child's life, instead of the melody. I feel as though I'm cramming for a very important test ... and I'm not sure how I'll do.
Ask me in a year. I'll let you know how it goes.
Written by Elizabeth Eisenstadt Evans
A kid going off to college can be traumatic—for both the kid and the parents. If this has been an episode in your life, how did you handle it?
You can let us know what you think about this by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
Subscribe to:
Posts
(
Atom
)
Posts
