In Sure And Certain Hope

A good friend of mine, named Kimberly, was in a fatal car accident Thursday morning. I know only a few details. She wasn’t feeling well, but drove to work any way — she wouldn’t have wanted to let her employer down by calling in sick unless she was too ill to stand. There was ice on the road, and she swerved. Someone in an oncoming car hit her (he was taken to the hospital and is expected to recover). She was killed instantly.

I had one of my regular posts all planned out, but I couldn’t write it. I couldn’t just pretend everything is normal. It’s not. This kind of accident could happen to anyone, but it didn’t. It happened to Kimberly.

Kimberly was a peacemaker who loved to help people, and she seemed to attract those who needed her. She often wondered why friends, acquaintances, and people she had never even met would seek her out to share their problems. I think I know at least part of the reason why. They knew she would listen to them. If you needed to talk, you could trust that Kimberly was listening. And once you were one of Kimberly’s friends, she wasn’t just content to listen and not do anything. She could recognize when people started rehashing grievances in an unhealthy way, and she would challenge you to change. If your life was falling apart, Kimberly would help you re-build it.

A picture of us as children. My sister, I, and Kimberly are in back. Kimberly's sister and my brother are in front.
A picture of us as children. My sister, I, and Kimberly are in back. Kimberly’s sister and my brother are in front.

I can’t really remember a time before I knew Kimberly. I know such a time existed because I vaguely remember her family moving to Ohio, but I don’t have distinct memories of a time before she was my friend. As I grew up, I lost touch with most of my childhood friends for various reasons, but not with Kimberly. If you had asked me just a few days ago who I would have as my bridesmaids in a hypothetical future wedding, Kimberly is one of only four girls who would have instantly come to mind.

In the past few years, mainly because of distance and college and work schedules, we did not see each other as much as I wish we had. I have a very fond memory of going to see Tangled with her and my sister, then eating lunch at Applebees. Why didn’t we do the same for Frozen? I’m sure we could have managed to find a day that would have worked, but everyone is so busy and we have all the time in the world, right?

She was 22 years old, and very close to graduating from college. Her degree would have been in computer science engineering. When she and my sister started talking about engineering, math, or science, I couldn’t follow even half the conversation. I’d just sit there wondering how two people could be so enthusiastic about discussing equations that would send most people into a panic if they were asked to solve it. She also wrote poetry, which I could never convince her to let me read.

There’s a phrase that keeps running through my mind: “in sure and certain hope of the resurrection into eternal life.” It’s from the funeral service in The Book of Common Prayer. I think I’ve probably heard it more in films than in real life, but for some reason that’s what keeps popping into my head.

earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ; who shall change our vile body, that it may be like unto his glorious body, according to the mighty working, whereby he is able to subdue all things to himself.

On Thursday night there were three passages of scripture I turned to: “…the Father of mercies and God of all comfort…” (2 Cor. 1:3-7); “…even so God will bring with Him those who sleep in Jesus…” (1 Thes. 4:13-18); “…now Christ is risen from the dead, and has become the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep…”(1 Cor. 15:12-56). Paul says, “If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable” (1 Cor. 15:19, KJV). I would hate to try going through something like this without the hope and peace that God is ready to pour out in us — this is miserable enough as it is. For Kimberly, the next thing she knows will be a glorious resurrected life with God. For us still here, we hurt. And we miss her.

Please pray for Kimberly’s family — her father, mother, and younger sister, as well as aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents.

100th Blog Post

Today is less of an article and more of a collection of random ideas that popped into my head while wondering what to write for my 100th post. I actually wasn’t going to commemorate the 100th post, but I needed a topic today other than panic about how I’m going to finish this novel before the end of the month. My deadline is actually 5:00 pm on November 29th, since I don’t write on the Sabbath and I’m spending the evening of November 30th at my cousin’s house for a Sherlock marathon where she intends to win me over to tea-drinking. It started as a “Marissa must drink tea” intervention, and I suggested that such a thing must be accompanied by British television.

I suppose I’ll take this opportunity to announce my plans for my 111th post coming up in mid December. Since it’s right before The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug is released, I thought I’d make my “eleventy-first” post a Lord of the Rings Myers-Briggs chart in the style of that Star Wars MBTI that has been going around Facebook. It harder than I thought it would be. Tolkein seemed to write an unusually high proportion of introverts into his stories.

Also, on a completely unrelated note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY DOCTOR WHO! Saturday was the 50th anniversary, and the airing of a very special episode called “The Day of The Doctor.” If all goes well, I’ll be seeing it tonight at the cinema. I loosely group the TV series I watch into “I like them” and “I’m a fan,” and Doctor Who is one in the later category (along with Sherlock and Star Trek).

Renaissance Faire …… Huzzah!

Albannach at the Ohio Renaissance Festival
Albannach called this kid on stage after seeing him Highland dancing in the audience.

A couple years ago when my sister and I were at the Ohio Renaissance Festival on Barbarian Weekend, we heard the sound of drums and bagpipes from the direction of Reveler’s Stage. Intrigued, we followed the music and saw Albannach perform for the first time. Since then, our goal has been to make it back to the Ren Faire on a day Albannach was performing, and this year we finally made it for Highland Weekend. We watched all three of their shows, so it was nearly three hours of awesome music. You can hear samples and buy songs on their website.

full armor joust at the Ohio Renaissance FestivalIn between Albannach’s second and third shows, we meandered over to the Arena of Champions for a full armor joust. It’s always a highlight of the Ren Fest, and this year we were treated to a tourney with four knights jousting instead of the usual two.  Usually it seems that when they divide the audience up to cheer for a specific knight, I happen to be sitting on the side that loses. This year, however, “our” knight won his joust, but unfortunately we couldn’t stay for the 5:00 joust to see the winners compete.Ohio Renaissance Festival

I was sewing like a mad woman last week so all three of us (my brother, sister, and me) were able to go in costume. Perhaps not quite the costume we were hoping for (my brother would have preferred noble man to peasant), but we’ll plan on that for next year. Only a couple of our pieces were new for this year, but I think the overall mixing-and-matching turned out rather well.

Breeding Red-Heads

Red-Head Complaints marissabaker.wordpress.com
my hair

I love having red hair. But there are times when I wish it wasn’t quite so unusual. No one walks up to other girls and says, “Wow, your hair is brunette” or “Your hair is so blond.” As if I didn’t already know I have red hair. Hair stylists tell me they have clients who would kill for my hair color (which is kinda creepy if you think about it– red hair isn’t that amazing).

The most awkward comments are those about how rare red hair is becoming. The first one I remember happened when I was only seven or eight years old and an elderly couple told my red-haired sister and me that we needed to marry red-headed men so we could preserve the red-head population. I’ve heard these types of comments several times since then, but the most awkward has to be the one we received last week.

My sister and three friends were about to jump out of a plane (don’t worry, they had parachutes). I convinced myself it was okay to be cowardly and tag along just to take pictures (after all, think how many books you could buy for the cost of a skydive!). We were all standing in the hanger, waiting on the instructors, when a guy who might have been in his 60s walked up to the desk. He looked over at my sister and I and commented on our red hair. But he wasn’t content to stop there, and continued by saying how rare red-heads are becoming.  I braced myself for the inevitable comment about red-headed babies, but wasn’t quite ready for him to shout, “You should breed!”

I think my face turned as red as my hair.

Of Kayaking and Love Languages

image from stock.xchng

In keeping with my decision to blog every day of the Feast of Tabernacles, I’m going to share a story from a previous Feast for today’s post. I originally wrote this account to read aloud in a creative non-fiction class in 2011. The only thing I’ve edited from that version is changing the guys’ names, and my sister asked for her name to be taken out.

It was so hot in Panama City Beach that my glasses would steam up stepping outside from the air conditioned hotel. My family was there two years ago, in the fall, meeting with a church group that had chosen Florida as the location to observe the week-long Feast of Tabernacles, one of our annual Holy Days. Just a couple days into the Feast, my sister and I met two brothers, Quentin and Declan. Somehow, in the course of our conversation, the idea of kayaking on a nearby lagoon came up. Not entirely comfortable going anywhere with two guys we’d hardly known more than an hour, I was trying to politely refuse when Quentin suggested our whole family come. Well, surely he couldn’t be that dangerous if he was willing to include our Dad, Mom, and younger brother, so my sister and I agreed to the plan and invited the two brothers to eat lunch with our family in the condominium.

Of course, something had to go wrong. Mommy sliced her finger open on a can of pineapple, not too seriously, but enough to keep her from kayaking. Since she was laid-up, Daddy and my brother also stayed behind and my sister and I set out with Quentin and Declan. We split the cost of kayak rentals, but still, (or so my mother informs me) it was my first “date” as well as my first time kayaking. As it turned out, I enjoyed the kayaking part a lot more than the “dating” part. Quentin and I shared one kayak, and Declan and my sister shared the other. Both brothers had quickly lost interest in my sister after learning she was under 18, and I learned later that Declan and my sister hardly spoke the whole kayaking venture. By the time we got back to the hotel, I was convinced that lagging conversation would have been preferable to mine and Quentin’s discussion.

The kayaking adventure began promisingly. We watched pelicans ungracefully plop into the ocean and laughed at terns diving like missiles honing in on fish in the water below. The water was so clear you could look through the ripples and see fish swimming through snaky sea-grass while crabs skittered along the sandy bottom. Occasionally, a fish would randomly leap from the water, as if it was so happy to be alive that simply swimming was no longer enough and it had to take flight.

We had stopped paddling for a moment to take in the scenery when Quentin suddenly asked, “Have you heard of the book The Five Love Languages?”

I drew out my “Yes…?” like a question, which he took as permission to reveal that his love language was “Quality Time.” Then, as if the conversation were not awkward enough already, he went on to explaining that he particularly liked time spent with someone in a natural setting.

You mean like a lagoon in Florida, alone with someone you met just THREE HOURS AGO? I thought while mumbling something non-committal. Picking up my paddle, I cut short the conversation by steering our kayak back towards my sister’s and Declan’s kayak, vowing there was no way I was going to tell Quentin one of my primary love languages was “Touch”.

My Homeschool Socialization Story

An introverted homeschooler's views on socialization at school marissabaker.wordpress.com
a picture of a much-younger me

Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Marissa whose parents were worried about her going to kindergarten. She was going to be away from home all day, five days a week for the first time in her life. So her mother enrolled her in a summer school program where she would only be gone half a day, to help her get accustomed to being away from home.

Every time Marissa was dropped off at this school, her little sister would cry because Marissa was being abandoned. Years later, there are only two things Marissa remembers about this experience. One was that the teachers wanted her to take naps on a thin blue pad in the middle of a large room filled with strange people. She never slept because she was too nervous, but she had to lay there anyway. The second is hiding under the playset outside the school when all the children were sent outside so she wouldn’t have to face the other children (her mother says one of the boys hit her, but she must have blocked this memory).

One day, when Marissa’s mother picked her up from school, Marissa was crying. She asked, “Have I been away long enough? Can I come home now?” This broke her father’s heart, and he decreed that Marissa would never have to go back to school again.

After this short summer, I was homeschooled through all twelve years of elementary, middle, and high school. My sister also graduated from our homeschool, and my brother is currently finishing up high school at home. I’m one of those homeschooling success stories who went to college, earned better grades there than I did in high school from my mom, and earned my B.A. along with an undergrad research project that I’ve been assured could have gotten me into grad school and on track for my English PhD.

Socializing Homeschoolers

The previous paragraph aside, my goal today is not to defend the academic merits of homeschooling. I want to talk about socialization. Last week, a friend shared with me a great blog post that covered everything from the hypocrisy of America’s talk about “diversity,” to the merits of homeschooling, to defending introverts. In this post, Matt Walsh addressed the frequent claim that we need to send our children to public schools so they can “be socialized.”

In fact, kids who are homeschooled tend to be much better in “social situations” because they learned how to socialize from adults, rather than aping the personality traits of their peers. Public school doesn’t make kids “sociable,” and I think you could more accurately argue for the opposite. The whole concept that we need to send our children to government facilities to be “socialized” makes me shudder. Our children aren’t animals, and I wish we’d stop speaking about them as if they were.

This is a common argument from homeschool families and homeschooling supporters. I don’t exactly want to argue against it, but I have to admit my experiences are somewhat different. While the homeschooled me was quite comfortable socializing with adults and people younger than me, I was never very comfortable in my peer group (a fact that hasn’t changed much, though I’m a little more confident around other young people since going through college). The flip side of this is public school kids I’ve met who ignore younger kids and make no effort to hide the fact that they don’t want to talk with adults. There are, of course, both homeschoolers and public schoolers who are comfortable socializing with anyone and everyone (I suspect this is a personality-type thing more than a where-they-went-to-school thing).

Introverts in School

In a book titled Introvert Power, Laurie Helgoe (who holds a PhD in psychology) discusses the pressures that introverts face in an extroverted society, including the public school system.

In an extroverted society, we rarely see ourselves in the mirror. We get alienating feedback. Alienating feedback comes in the form of repeated encouragement to join or talk, puzzled expressions, well-intended concern, and sometimes, all-out pointing and laughing. … Alienating feedback happens where neighborhoods, schools, and offices provide no place to retreat. Alienating feedback happens when our quiet spaces and wilderness sanctuaries are seen as places to colonize.

Unfortunately, I don’t have her book in front of me at the moment and can’t find the other quote I wanted online. I’ll have to make do with a paraphrase. In her discussion of the school system, Helgoe talks about how the emphasis on group projects and participation in class can sabotage introverted children’s efforts to learn. Her idea isn’t to completely do away with this kind of work, but that schools should cater to different learning needs instead of trying to fit everyone into the extrovert-ideal mold. In the absence of such an education environment, she suggest homeschooling can be the best environment for an introverted child to learn because it allows them to utilize their strengths and can more easily be designed to fit individual children.

My Experiences

An introverted homeschooler's views on socialization at school marissabaker.wordpress.com
from Pinterest

Though I did have friends my age while growing up — most through church, a few through homeschool groups — I did not really interact with a wide variety of people my age until I started college. There, I got a taste of what it might have been like for me to have gone to public school. After settling into life at college, I usually ate alone while reading, talked in class only when I was called on or had an idea I really wanted to share, and socialized with a few people one-on-one or in (very) small groups. And, in spite of the teacher who proclaimed that people eating alone was the most pathetic thing in the world because at heart we are (or should be) social animals, I was content with the level of socialization I enjoyed/avoided at college.

I don’t know exactly what would have happened had I been in public school instead of homeschooled those twelve years. If thrown into the social environment of public school while growing up, I might have made friends and “crawled out of my shell.” However, I suspect it would have been much more like my summer school experience and my first quarter of college, except without the confidence gained by twelve years of studying on my own and being told it was okay to be bookish. My basic personality would not have altered, but I would have felt pressured to hide my quietness and conform instead of being supported in my personal growth. Like Beatrix Potter says in this quote, “Thank goodness I was never sent to school; it would have rubbed off some of the originality.” The world doesn’t need cookie-cutter minions popped out of identical molds and taught identical things. It needs a wide variety of people who have been given the chance to shine using their individual talents. And that is something homeschooling is uniquely suited to do.