And then the last one was gone, and the house fell silent, except for the sound of the dog snoring.

When they are younger, we crave the silence. Once we have all the silence we want, the thrill can wear off quickly, depending on the day. We have a strange new relationship with the silence.  We get used to it, so that when they arrive for holidays with their laundry and their buddies, it feels so loud. We can't believe we're kind of glad when it's quiet again; and yet, two days later the silence is screaming again.

The silence can also be a time when our hearts may revolt on us a little. We begin to replay things in our minds, second-guessing ourselves, wondering about the choices our kids are making. Did we do everything to the best of our ability? Recrimination loves the silence. The silence is a time when comparison creeps in. We may indulge in a little online comparison with the current young mothers of the day:  "Wow, did I ever botch things!" Our kids didn't hear the catechism in utero!  We just wanted to get through the day, mostly. It's stupid enough to compare ourselves to women we know right now; there's an even more profound stupidity in comparing our former selves. What can we do but trust God?

In the silence, we think, "Why didn't anyone ever tell us it would be this difficult?" We thought that once they could do up their zippers on their own, cut their own food, and tell time, life would magically take on the perfect rhythm. We thought that as long as we homeschooled them and utilized the right Latin curriculum we would have perfect children.  In the silence, we are reminded that if we teach a child to think for himself, he will do that, and we may just not like that, not one little bit.

The silence is a time when we can become discontent with where we have been. It's a teribbly destructive game to play, this game of looking over our shoulder and fearing the future. The grass is always greener somewhere else, and it can be tempting to play at a little revisionist history, wishing for those halcyon days when the biggest problem of the moment was the peanut butter and jelly stuck to the plates. We often have short memories and forget how physically exhausting it all was.

It is often in the silence, after the children leave, that women feel shaken to their core. What does this mean for me? For a woman like me, one with no elaborate career to return to, I have occasionally wondered if I am now faced with re-inventing myself. I know that's a ridiculous notion, because I believe in God's sovereignty, and I know that He wants to fulfill His plans in me. I have no worries about being given something to do. However, those moments of being shaken can seep in when the silence has lasted perhaps a bit too long.

This time when there are no children at home and no grandchildren to play with is an uneasy one for me. I have a lot of time on my hands, but what to do with it? Serve God, but how? He has given me so much freedom to serve. How to best accomplish that? There is the lure of trying to make a name for oneself pitted against the understanding of the beauty of the quiet life. There is a restlessness that wants to do something, those somethings I didn't have the chance to do when the silence was a precious commodity.

I am reminded of these words in Psalm 62:

For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence,
for my hope is from him.
He is my rock and my salvation
my fortress; I shall not be shaken.

Whatever each day holds for me, my goal is to remain unshaken. I have had my moments in these years of my nest emptying when I have had pale glimpses into what it would be like to fall. I don't want that. I want to be firm and unshaken. I'm thankful He is the one to keep me from being shaken.

Once out of homeschool and into public school, my kids all began to see that reality. Whether it was the classmate whose mother smoked weed, the kid whose father left the family for a younger woman, the one whose kitchen cupboards were consistently empty, or the kid whose mother didn't care where he was at midnight, my children were introduced to families completely unlike their own.  

I know there are those who would shield their kids from such things. In homeschooling circles, I was a traitor for allowing my kids into the system, thus taking them out of the hothouse. While there are things about public high school I found frustrating (mostly in the quality of education provided), I think it was not a bad thing that my kids were introduced to what broken looks like up close and personal.

Kids who grow up in church are not always exposed to bad things. Some are, but many aren't until they leave home. We are all broken deep down, but often, in the more santized environment of the church, we don't always see that. We can take them for a day of street evangelism or a work project in a developing country, and those are good. But having them live side by side with needy people who look just like them is not a bad thing, either. The reality is that the ones with serious family issues walk among us. 

My youngest  child, especially, knew a lot of people with lives that were heart-rending. He was friendly with them, talked to them, and invited them over to eat molasses cookies. When I expressed a little concern about him spending time with these kids, my husband reminded me that God could have been putting this young person in our midst for a reason. 

Young people often have a sense of entitlement. It's easy for us to condemn others for their lives while we sit comfortably fed each night, in a well cared for home, with a father and husband who arrives home sober every night. Not every family lives like that. When I was in youth ministry and I would hear the teens talk in disparaging terms about some of their unsaved friends, it bothered me a lot. There was only one thing separating them from being exactly like those kids they bashed: the grace of God.

There are so many things we as Christian parents want our children to learn. I think mercy needs to be up at the top of the list. We were shown mercy; we must show it to others. We must show compassion for the lost, not condemnation. They are, after all, condemned already. Learning mercy is assisted by teaching gratitude. The reality is that my family has what it has because of God and nothing else. We live a privileged life. Our kids live privileged lives.  That privilege should make them thankful, and merciful to others who are struggling. 

The clarity of Scripture means that understanding is possible, not that it is easy. Redeeming the text does not mean reconciling all interpretive conflicts. The clarity of Scripture is neither an absolute value nor an abstract property, but a specific function relative to its particular aim: to witness to Christ.

The clarity of Scripture in other words, does not mean that we will know everything there is to know about the text, but that we will know enough to be able, and responsible, to respond to the subject matter. The clarity of Scripture is not a matter of its obviousness so much as its efficacy; the Bible is clear enough to render its communicative action effective.

The source of strength is the knowledge of God, recalled, reviewed, refocused, thought through, and applied to the matters in hand.

J.I. Packer, A Passion for Faithfulness: Wisdom From the Book of Nehemiah.

A young friend of our family, about four years ago, confided to me that it must have been easier for young people his age to pick a career in the days when there was little choice.

"Everyone just did what their father did. It was so simple."

I thought that was a wise insight from an 18 year old. Well, now he's graduated from college, but I think of his observation as he pondered his future career plans.

Choice is a luxury. It's not a right. Here in North America, we think it is. We're people of entitlement. When our internet slows down, or heaven forbid, stops working altogether, we feel like we have a right to its restoration immediately. When we decide we hate our internet provider, we can choose another. Well, some folks have more choice than others. Here in my little town, I have two choices. I'm just happy we have cable internet here.  I know people who have to pay for satellite service, and I guess they're happy about that, too.  My cousin is still on dial-up. She lives from day to day quite happily.

The thing that whittles away at our attention span is more than just the internet.  Here's a little scenario:

Suppose that blogs were not free to read. Suppose you had to pay a fee every time you read one. How many would you read? I finally trimmed my blog reading list to 20 blogs, and even that's a lot on some days. I know people who read hundreds. I just don't have time for that, nor the inclination, because actually, after a while they all run together in my head. Sometimes, they're all saying the same thing, anyway. It is an enterprising blogger who finds a varied content. I know a few like that, and I'm thankful I can follow them and get their suggestions rather than mining them for myself.

Okay, so blogs have to be paid for. We would read fewer. Maybe we would read them in their entirety, as well. This is a common scenario as well:

Okay, here I am reading this blog entry.... it's pretty good ... oh dear, it's getting kind of boring ... hmmm... I don't think I need to finish this .... next blog, please.

We don't have to sustain much attention at all, really, when we read blog posts that are usually no more than about 500 words. And if one is just droning on past that 500 word mark, we can go on to something else. We can do this with the newspaper, too, assuming we're old school enough to actually hold one in our hands (I am). I can skim the article and never finish it. There was a day when newspapers did not come out daily; sometimes, they only came out monthly. I bet they were read from cover to cover.

Choice can be a burden or it can be a boon. What we have to remember is that choice is not a right.  It's a luxury that many people don't have.  And there are even people here in North America who don't have the same choices open to them as others, whether it's socioeconomic reasons, health reasons, or geographical reasons.

Next time you click away from that boring article, be thankful for the choice you have to read another. Better yet, finish the whole thing.

I was thinking about influence in marriage, and I asked my husband if he thought I had influenced him. He said yes immediately, but he didn't have an explanation of the specifics, because he's never sat down to evaluate that reality.

I tend to be more obsessive analytical about such things, so I've thought about it on and off lately. Here are some ways. Maybe they are similar to what other women have experienced.

Put a lid on those emotions. My husband has always encouraged me to resist the temptation to react with emotion. I tend to do that. Most women do. Of course, it has not always been a smooth ride.  There are times when I believe my emotions are truth, doggone it!  But he has always worked hard to remind me that truth and emotion are not necessarily synonymous, and I must be guided by truth. God has granted me success in that department, although it has come slowly.

Cease venting. Women like to vent. Men like to "fix" things. That occasionally creates conflict. While I have spent a long time helping him to understand that there are times when I just need to vent, he has taught me, that, ultimately, a solution must be sought. The analysis, agonizing, and worrying has to stop along with the venting, and a decision must be made. He is good at letting things go, whereas I am not. He has taught me that the venting often gets us nowhere, and it has to stop at some point. He's right about that.

Pressure-free friendships. Through my husband's friendships with men, I have learned a lot about how to conduct female friendships. I have always struggled with them, likely because of some great flaw in my womanly character. My husband has never let his friendships control him. Often, women let that happen to their friendships. Female friendships often have way too many expectations and pressures. If you ever want to know what a man feels like, get involved with a demanding friend, and you may get a glimpse.

Men have easier friendships. They don't get their knickers in a knot when their friend doesn't call or notice their new hairdo. I have learned from my husband the value in expecting less from my friends and not feeling pressured by them. I have also seen that having female friendship that are too intimate can actually interfere with the friendship with my husband, and that ought not to be. 

Be a big kid. My husband is a big kid at heart. Some day, he's going to be an excellent grandfather. My dad used to do the silliest, goofiest things for my kids; things my mother would never do (like wear diapers on his head), and my children loved him for it. Now, when my youngst son was 15, and I frequently could not tell who was leading whom, his being a big kid at heart was frustrating, but by and large, it's a good thing. It reminds me not to turn into more of a curmudgeon than I already am. I'm afraid I am by nature a more serious person than is necessary; sometimes, his willingness to remain 15 at heart is good for me.

Cynicism can be good. I'm afraid my husband is very cynical. Two of his more frequent cynicisms are "people don't change," and "everybody lies." Yes. Dr. House says those things, too, but my husband said them long before that television doctor came to be. He is very cautious; so cautious that he almost missed out in having me for his girlfriend, and eventually his wife. His cautious behaviour has been one of the most influential things in our marriage. There are times when I have seen that I am not cynical enough, that I am too quick to open up, and ultimately end up feeling exposed and vulnerable. Lately, I have found myself thinking that I need to be more like him in this area.

I know that there are a lot of women who would squirm and object to thinking that their husbands influenced them in any way. Does his mean I am a door mat? Or a fool? Or that I don't have my own mind? Just ask my husband if he thinks I have my own mind; he'll give you the straight story.

It is inevitable that married people will influence each other. We are, after all, one flesh:

Therefore, a man shall leave his father and mother and hold fast to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh. (Ephesians 5:31)

This is about more than the physical union.  The physical union is part of a deeper reality.  One flesh means that one affects the other. The question is not whether we're an influence to our spouses, but rather, what kind.

Yes, these are books about Canada. In addition to Justin Bieber and poutine, we have history. And it's okay to like it!

Canada:  A Portrait in Letters, Charlotte Gray.  This book contains a portrait of Canada through letters. From the Amazon description:

In Canada: A Portrait in Letters, renowned biographer and popular historian Charlotte Gray weaves together more than two hundred letters written by Canadians, both famous and ordinary. These priceless documents are accompanied by a visual narrative of one hundred illustrations, including maps, sketches, and photographs. Adding her own notes and commentary, Gray creates a captivating portrait of a country, rich in diversity and hope, once a backwater of the British Empire, that has matured to take its place among the world’s cultural and economic leaders.

Mennonite Women in Canada: A History. Marlene Epp.  I had Epp as an instructor when I studied Mennonite history in university. I find the study of Mennonites interesting because it also touches on the history of immigration.  This is about women, a group that is often not represented in historical accounts. 

Making Ends Meet:  Farm Women's Work in Manitoba, Charlotte van de Vorst. I never knew my paternal grandfather well, and I wish I had. The ancestors on my father's side were immigrants to Manitoba from Belgium, and I've always been curious about their lives. Two years ago, I visited the location where my father's mother lived as a girl. I'm sure this book will give a little glimpse into what life was like for my great-grandmother. She had a short life, dying in childbirth when my grandmother was two years old.

Perspectives of Saskatchewan, Jene R. Porter, Ed. Saskatchewan is the place of my birth, and the place where my two sons were born.  Again, my mother's ancestors were immigrants to this country, settling into Saskatchewan from North Dakota on her mother's side, and from Germany on her father's side.  Survey books like this are an invaluable source of other reading material through the wonder of footnotes and annotated bibliographies.

As you can see, my interests in history are more along the lines of the social aspects, the people. Accounts of politics and accounts of war are many in histories of all countries, but it's these little details that interest me. And as you can see, I'm being modest in the number of books I choose. There is no way I have time to finish ten or fifteen books in the summer without sacrificing the nutrition of my family, the cleanliness of my home, and my marriage.

In his book A Passion for Faithfulness, J.I. Packer quotes a pastor, John White, with regard to the principle of work. He's giving this insight in relation to Nemehiah's work in rebuilding the temple walls.  The word "work" is frequently used in Nehemiah.

White says:

Sometimes we work too much not because the work is essential, but because we are driven by fear - rather than sustained by faith. Workaholics are driven. Work for them is not an expression of faith but a search for peace ... workaholics try to keep their consciences clean by working. Consequently, they work too much and become slaves to their own neuroticism. Workaholics cannot easily rest; they begin to look haunted when resting ...

The Scriptures do not encourage this sort of drivenness. "In vain you rise early and stay up late, toiling for food to eat - for he grants sleep to those he loves" (Ps. 127:2). Nehemiah ... was deeply aware that labor is fultile if it is not with the Lord. Nehemiah worked hard when hard work was needed because he knew God's hand was on him (2:8, 18), not because he suffered a neurotic need to achieve.

I love my father and he worked hard to provide for us, but there was quite simply an element of ambition behind what he did. He's not alone. Ambition is not a bad thing. As with any good thing, it can be taken to an extreme. I know people who work strictly to feed their ambitions, and I know people who work because it is good and because it's a vocation from God. There is a difference, I think.

A few days ago, I lamented on Facebook that I ought to scrap this blog and start a new one called "I Read Dead People," and limit my content to quoting dead writers. Of course that was just a rant that is quite typical of me when I've been online too much and probably need to ingest some potato chips or something equally salty and fattening.

I'm going to start compiling quotations of dead writers on the page called "I Read Dead People." You can find the link along the top of this blog. Some folks use Tumblr for such things, but the last thing I need is yet another user name and password.

Today's is a quotation by Jeremiah Burroughs, from The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment, which I have just started reading. 

I am thankful for the rain we've had.  We have needed it.  Yes, it can stop any time now, but I will be thankful, anyway, because at least it's not a tropical storm.

I'm thankful for a safe return home from my weekend. Thankful to spend time with my husband. The day before I went away, he went away.  The morning after I got home, he went away for another overnight trip, so last night was the first meal we've eaten together for a week. I'm thankful that for the most part, we eat together every night by 6:00-ish. Even though he works almost every night in the family room, he's home.  Occasionally, he comes home for lunch.  I'm thankful for that, and for him, my best friend.

I'm thankful for opportunities to travel within my beautiful home of Canada. Victoria is beautiful, and flying over Kelowna was absolutely breathtaking. I'm fortunate to live where there is so much beauty.

I'm thankful for snuggles from my dog when I got home.

I'm thankful for the work God gives me to do.  It isn't grand, but it's from Him, and that's good.