Rich Man

I was thinking about the value of motherhood, specifically the value of my wife's work in the home as a mother and home educator, when I said to myself, "No, you can't put a value on something like that." Then my other self said back to my first self, "Yes, you can. In fact, you do it every year she stays home to teach your kids."


What my other self was thinking was something called Opportunity Cost.


Before Heidi started home-schooling full time, she was teaching in one of the area's higher paying districts. She had 11 years in when she quit. She would have had 18 years in by now. By not doing that work and taking on the work of home-schooling instead, she gives up $75k a year in income and another $15k in benefits. That's the cost incurred by me (and her, and the whole family) to have her stay at home. We're "paying" $90,000 a year--more than half a million dollars so far--for Heidi to home school.


But my other self wasn't exactly right because $90k is only the baseline opportunity cost. That's just what she would be making as a public school teacher. The fact is Heidi's a flat-out steal at that price. She works as hard as any corporate CEO and builds a product that will outlast anything any Fortune 500 company can put out. She's also great to the stockholders (I'm the majority holder), and the employees love her. In fact, she doesn't know this but I'd go a lot higher--a million a year, ten million maybe--to keep her at home doing exactly what she's doing. Maybe first self was right, maybe I can't put a value on something like that. But $90k doesn't even come close.

I need to keep that in mind because when things are tight--which is always--I'm tempted to look around and bemoan what we don't have. It's easy for me to forget that I'm surrounded by the very best of things. I have a beautiful, smart, loving wife raising my kids in the fear and admonition of the Lord. That makes me the richest of men.

Perspective

When I first started hunting, I saw deer everywhere. My vision--at the corners of my eyes, especially--was full of motion from deer running, deer jumping, deer fleeing my fearsomeness. Eventually I realized there weren't any deer in the woods around me. In fact, there was nothing moving at all, nothing except me. My eyes were deceiving me.

When you walk through woods, your perspective is continually changing so that every angle, shadow, patch of dark and light, is in constant motion and in constant change with relationship to the things around it. A snowy gap between two trees closes, and from the corner of your eye it looks like movement. The angle of one branch shifts along another as you walk, and it looks like movement. But it's not. It's just shifting perspective.

It's important when hunting that way that you not spend the whole day moving; in fact, most of it should be spent stationary. You only move to get to a new stationary perspective. And there, all the false movement of shadow and light stops. What's left is the real motion of bird and squirrel and falling leaf. And hopefully deer.

But to move constantly without stopping to fix your perspective is confusion. And foolishness.

Life's the same. We move constantly, and so the fixed things around us have the illusion of movement; the things that are really moving get exaggerated. In the woods I can stop, lean up against a tree, and look around me. But what do I do in life? How do I stop the whirl of time, the spinning of earth and stars? How do I see clearly when my vision is filled with the shadows of fear and chaos and calamity? In life, is there a place to simply stand and fix my perspective?

There is. In this life, the things around me appear as they truly are only when my feet are fixed upon the rock of God's word. It's the only constant thing in a world of changing perspective. It's solid ground when light and dark, shadow and substance threaten to confound me. In the woods, in this life, my eyes deceive me, so I have to stop often and just stand there. It's then that I see things as they really are.

"God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging."
~ Psalm 42:2,3

Rob Bell's Missed Opportunity

Maybe you've seen it. Most of the evangelical world has. It's an interview with Rob Bell on msnbc. The interviewer is Martin Bashir. If you haven't seen it, here it is. Be forewarned: the images you're about to see are uncomfortable...


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vg-qgmJ7nzA


Bashir's first question is one most Christians have heard before: Given the tragedy we're seeing in Japan, which of these is true: Is God all-powerful and not loving? or is he loving but not all-powerful? My reaction as I heard this was "That's an easy one. Ask him something hard!" Not only was it framed as a logical fallacy--either or reasoning--it's also an easy one for any good, thinking Christian to knock down because there's a clear answer, a 3rd option.


So I waited for him to knock it down.


And I waited.


But Bell just talked in circles (the circles would take up the next 7 minutes). Then I realized something--that Rob Bell wasn't going to knock it down because he didn't have an answer, and he didn't have an answer because his theology had eliminated the third option. So in Bell's case the either-or question is not a fallacy at all but a real question that can't be answered because he's removed God's Holiness and Justice as the third - and correct - option.


God is love, and God is all-powerful, but God is also holy. When God intervenes in human tragedies and relieves our temporal suffering, he's showing us mercy--undeserved, as any mercy is. When he leaves us to our suffering, he's showing us his justice--rightly deserved, as all justice is. And he is sovereign over both. That was the right answer, but I think Bell gave up right answers a long time ago when he gave up an orthodox understanding of original sin.


I used to listen to Rob Bell. I went to his church for a summer. He seems like a really nice guy. I sincerely hope that he doesn't have to learn about God's justice the hard way, that God will show him mercy instead. Not the Rob Bell kind of mercy that goes out like halloween candy to everyone, but the sovereign God kind that loves and saves its own.


But either way, God Wins.

Sports

My son wants to be a professional athlete. He's not particular about the sport - football, baseball, basketball - he'd take any job. I tell him that no one makes it to the big leagues except freaks (the ratio of pro athletes to regular folks qualifies them as freaks), but that doesn't make much difference.

My first instinct when he brings this up is to belittle sports because they're frivolous. They don't manufacture a product like the auto industry does or provide a needed service like a plumber. They don't serve anyone in meaningful ways like a doctor or teacher or social worker does. But then he plays his trump card. He says this to me...

He says, "But Dad, what about Tim Tebow?"

Tebow is to the you-shouldn't-be-a-pro-athlete argument, what dynamite is to rock/paper/scissors--nothing beats it. It's also not fair, just like dynamite.

The Tebow model for justifying a career in pro sports, in case you're not familiar with it, goes like this: professional sports provides a platform for Christian influence, ministry, and evangelism that no other industry provides. Just as look at what Tim's done with it! It has to be good and right! Right?

Like I said, it's unfair.

Here's why: Tebow's justification doesn't work as the justification for a career in sports because it puts the same Tebow expectation on any and every professional Christian athlete. Not everyone is called to be a pastor or teacher or evangelist. Not everyone is called to be Tim Tebow. Some are called to Jason Hansons. Quiet, steady, rock-solid Jason Hansons.

Would it be un-Christian to quietly go about your athletic career, working hard, working as unto the Lord, without praise, and doing it in such ways that only your teammates and coaches know anything about your faith? If the answer is no, if it wouldn't be un-Christian, then the Tebow model doesn't stand up as the justification for such a career. It may be his, but not everyone's, and not necessarily my boy's. If the answer is yes...well, the answer's not yes, it's no.

So there must be more to our choice of vocation than the potential leverage for proclaiming the gospel.

I look again at my gut objection, that pro athletes "don't serve anyone in meaningful ways like a doctor or teacher or social worker does." As I think about the nature of work, I realize that my perceptions of value here are arbitrary. My gut tells me that the work of a doctor is intrinsically more valuable than that of a mechanic, whose work is more valuable than that of a pro athlete, whose work might be just a smidge better than a Hollywood actor.

Why do I think that? I shouldn't think that.

If I work in a plant in Louisville producing baseball bats, will I be doing more valuable work than playing the game for a paying audience? Less valuable? Is writing code for an actuarial table intrinsically better than writing it for a computer game? If so, how does the line get drawn? If not, why do we find it so easy to draw such lines?

I've always thought, and so told my kids, that a career in professional sports is silly and beneath one's dignity. Now, I'm not so sure. Jobs have become so specialized and fragmented that it's hard to qualify one as noble and another as silly. There are extremes, of course, and those tend to be easier to classify. A farmer works hard and feeds people. That's a good job and a no-brainer, right? A drug-dealer or day-time talkshow host destroys lives--his own and others. No-brainer, again. But between the two, where most of us work, it gets difficult. And I think it's difficult because, extremes notwithstanding, it's a futile exercise. To try to assign some value to work based on its cosmic good, or whatever, is just silly. It breaks down as soon as you look closely at it.

If Joe works in a factory producing picture frames, does he need to discern the empirical value of picture frames in society in order to determine the value of his work? We don't need picture frames, not really. They're nice but not necessary. But if Joe stops his thinking there, then he's sunk. He's living a wasted life. On the other hand, if Joe remembers that he's providing for his family through "honest" work, that God hasn't prohibited us from making picture frames (not that I'm aware of), that he's exercising dominion over the earth by subduing raw materials and creating something useful, then Joe has a career to be proud of. One of the leading Christians of the church in Philippi was Lydia, a seller of purple. Does anyone really need purple? No, but God made purple, so it's good. There's no scriptural prohibition against it, and as far as we know, God left her alone to keep selling it.

So maybe the criteria for work's value is not an empirical quality of the service or product, but something in the act of working itself. But that begs a question: what is the something?

The answer to that helps me draw my lines clearly. The something is faith. Paul says in Romans 14, "whatever does not proceed from faith is sin." And what is faith? Believing that God's word is true and that it's our only guide in all of life. If my son's choice (should he have the opportunity) to become a pro athlete proceeds from that, genuinely proceeds from that, then who am I to stop him?

Of course, he'd have to play on Sundays.

Hmm...maybe I need to check my gut again.

Children are a (very practical) Blessing

Children are a blessing from the Lord in many ways: they're cute when they're little; they'll take care of us in our old age; they'll give us grandkids and anniversary parties and lives to live vicariously through. They'll contend with us in the gates (i.e. they've got our backs). All this is true. But what I've been thinking about lately is the very practical aspect of having kids who can handle responsibilities.


Now that's a blessing.


My two older ones, Charlie and Lewis, are evidence of this. They more than pull their weight around the house: they babysit, haul wood, shovel snow (I spared them this last time and sprang for a plow truck, but they know how to shovel), clean the kitchen and bathrooms, vacuum acres of carpeting. The youngers are right in the olders' footsteps, fully immersed in "blessing" training. No, we're not breaking child labor laws--it's just chores--but regular chores have proven an integral part of running a well-ordered home (H will roll her eyes at that, but I know better). Sure, they grumble in their minimalist, slope-shouldered way, but I'm convinced they feel a greater sense of being vested in the home through the work they do here. It might be hard to confirm that until they're much older and can look back with some perspective, but that's how it feels to us now, and that's what we've been hoping for all along. It's one of the key reasons we chose homeschooling: that we'd be in it--in all of it--together.


Occasionally, when I find myself in conversation about how many kids I have (and I only have "a lot" in certain circles), I'll say something like, "There's a point where you have an economy of scale, and the older kids start taking care of the younger ones." Then I'll say, "So you may as well have a dozen." The other person will then laugh and say, "I don't know how you do it." And while the whole conversation comes off as a joke, the economy of scale thing, thankfully, is really very true.


So I'll let Heidi know we can have six more.

"Christmas" Letter Brainstorm

It's not a Christmas letter, but that's what we still call it. I think of it more as a 1st quarter letter. This way the letter's not late; I just have to get it out by end of March.

But I'm not waiting until March. I'm writing it today, and since I haven't blogged in a while I thought I'd post the brainstorm session and kill two birds with one in the bush. Now, Heidi can't say, "you were supposed to start the letter and you blogged instead?!" Pretty smart, huh?

So here goes. I'll start with the kids...

Charlie - he's getting tall. I can almost wear his shoes, and since his tend to be newer and in better shape, he won't be tempted to wear mine. It'll be a good arrangement once it gets moving. I used to steal my brother's clothes all the time. He had better fashion sense. I figure by next year I'll be looking quite nice in Charlie's sweaters.

Lewis - wrenched his knee in basketball this week. We definitely feel his absence around dinner time when he can't do his chores. Children are a very practical blessing, especially when they're old enough to clean the kitchen, haul wood, and shovel driveways. Lewis does all three well, and then some. (this is a brainstorm - I'll come up with warm fuzzy stuff later).

Max - coming along as a point guard, and his piano playing is starting to sound like Miss Cathy knows what she's doing. As always, Max is cheerful and quick to talk to the closest human. He's got my flakiness and a true man's inability to find whatever he's lost, and he loses stuff with the best of em.

Hudson - It will be interesting to see how living life in pursuit of a bunch of older, bigger kids will play out in Hud's development. So far so good; He can hang with anybody. And though he does get sat on more than anyone else, we haven't noticed any response or coping mechanisms that might call for therapy later in life. I can see some of Charlie's science bent, Lewis's perpetual motion, Max's good nature, and Heidi's cheek dimple.

Elizabeth - she's a great big sister. And though she tries to make up for Bennett's lack of comprehension with sheer, high-pitched volume, she seems to be one of the boy's favorites. She's definitely girl-wired. Her proclivity towards all things pink and princess-ish is continuing on in the same trajectory. If there's any tomboy there, we ain't seen it yet.

Bennett - kind of a pain right now. H and the boys are at enrichment day, and he reeeeally likes to be held. He doesn't do much either. No skills at all. I tend not to find much interest in my kids until they're at least one. I love them, of course. They're just sort of lumpish until then.

Work - same. I'm thankful to be employed. Heidi's thankful she can be at home.

Friends, family, church life, personal interest stuff -- saving all that for the letter. I'll post it here too when we're done. Probably some time this summer.

We Don't Need Self Esteem - We Need its Antidote

I heard recently about a report on US students' math and science scores in comparison with the rest of the industrialized world. Apparently we suck at both subjects, but especially when we're compared with Asian nations. That wasn't a surprise. Japanese and Korean kids go to school a bazillion hours a day, all year long - hardly an arrangement I want my kids trading up to.

What did surprise me was another stat. Apparently, US students did score higher than any other nation in one category - confidence. Our students think they're great at math. They feel good about themselves and their math skills and believe in themselves (whatever that means). In contrast, students from Asian countries--and this may surprise you--are not only less confident in their abilities, but they actually dislike math and science more than US students do. So how do we make sense of this? I think it's easy - our students don't feel like they need it - we've protected them from such feelings - while the rest of the world knows they need it.

The self-esteem nonsense we've been feeding our kids for a few decades now is bearing its fruit: Our kids no longer excel at math and science because they no longer have to. They feel good and fine right where they're at. And why shouldn't they? They're learners, and we've been teaching them that they're just fine since they were teachable. Unfortunately, in this respect we've done our jobs too well. We've taught them right out of teachability and into complacency. No one is teachable who thinks he knows it all. No one is teachable who thinks she doesn't need the knowledge. 


Of course, no teacher is telling students explicitly that they know it all, or that knowledge and skills are unnecessary. But if a student is told for years that his work is good when it's not, that he should feel proud of his efforts when he should feel shame, if he's been affirmed in things that should have been torn down, then his perception of ability and need will be skewed. In such a head, self becomes the determining agent, and all things, including knowledge, must submit to it.  In "teaching" our kids self-esteem, we've thrown out the one thing our students need most - the humility of a teachable spirit.

So how do we reverse course? Well, we don't just do the opposite. The remedy to being bit by a snake is not to bite it back, but to find an antidote. The opposite of self esteem is not self negation or self immolation or self anything. It's not an inward or even a horizontal perspective at all--it's vertical. The only way to reverse the damage that self-esteem teaching has done and is doing to our kids is to show them who they really are before a holy God. And then show them what God's really done in Christ. We need to teach them that they're not fine, that they're not ok, that they have nothing in themselves on which to base confidence. But we don't stop there. We also teach that there's a place on which to build true confidence that is much broader, much stronger than self. We teach them Christ esteem.

That's what I'll do with my own kids, but as a public school teacher, I don't think I'll be attending in-services on it any time soon.