Anita Mathias: Dreaming Beneath the Spires

Anita Mathias's Blog on Faith and Art

It is I. Why are you Afraid? Matthew 14, Day 43, Feb 12, Blog Through the Bible Project

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Matthew 14

Prophets Without Honour: Jesus is rejected, John the Baptist is beheaded; 

1 At that time Herod the tetrarch heard the reports about Jesus, 2 and he said to his attendants, “This is John the Baptist; he has risen from the dead! That is why miraculous powers are at work in him.”

 3 Now Herod had arrested John and bound him and put him in prison because of Herodias, his brother Philip’s wife, 4 for John had been saying to him: “It is not lawful for you to have her.” 5 Herod wanted to kill John, but he was afraid of the people, because they considered John a prophet.
Truth-telling can be dangerous.

 6 On Herod’s birthday the daughter of Herodias danced for the guests and pleased Herod so much 7 that he promised with an oath to give her whatever she asked.8 Prompted by her mother, she said, “Give me here on a platter the head of John the Baptist.” 9 The king was distressed, but because of his oaths and his dinner guests, he ordered that her request be granted 10 and had John beheaded in the prison. 11 His head was brought in on a platter and given to the girl, who carried it to her mother. 12 John’s disciples came and took his body and buried it. Then they went and told Jesus.
ESV–Herodius steps in to eliminate the accusing voice of John the Baptist, a threat to her husband’s reign.
Jesus Feeds the Five Thousand
 13 When Jesus heard what had happened, he withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place.
Jesus is practicing what is called “Living with Margins.” He is taking some downtime to process this sad news.

Hearing of this, the crowds followed him on foot from the towns. 14When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them and healed their sick.
But people appear in the middle of his downtime, and he has compassion on them, and heals their sick.
 15 As evening approached, the disciples came to him and said, “This is a remote place, and it’s already getting late. Send the crowds away, so they can go to the villages and buy themselves some food.”
 16 Jesus replied, “They do not need to go away. You give them something to eat.”
He is a Can-Do Jesus. The God of Possibility.

 17 “We have here only five loaves of bread and two fish,” they answered.
   18 “Bring them here to me,” he said. 19 And he directed the people to sit down on the grass. Taking the five loaves and the two fish and looking up to heaven, he gave thanks and broke the loaves. Then he gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the people. 20 They all ate and were satisfied, and the disciples picked up twelve basketfuls of broken pieces that were left over. 21 The number of those who ate was about five thousand men, besides women and children.
Be optimistic. Act in faith. Expect miracles. Be surprised. If necessary, start small.
This is the only miracles recorded in all four Gospels. The crowd is stranded in a desolate place. This recalls God’s provision of manna in the wilderness in Exodus.

Jesus Walks on the Water

 22 Immediately Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead of him to the other side, while he dismissed the crowd.

The majestic figure of Jesus is able to MAKE (the Greek word means compel and suggests a crisis) the disciples get into the boat, and is able to dismiss a crowd of perhaps 10,000 (including women and children.) He was a compelling, magnetic figure of great charisma and authority.

 23 After he had dismissed them, he went up on a mountainside by himself to pray.

Again we see the use of margins by Jesus, the bracketing of his life by prayer. Prayer before a demonstration of power. Prayer after it.

ESV note, In preparation for his mission into Gentile regions, and with his trials in Jerusalem impending, Jesus spends the evening and night in concentrated prayer with his Heavenly Father.


Later that night, he was there alone, 24 and the boat was already a considerable distance from land, buffeted by the waves because the wind was against it.
 25 Shortly before dawn Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake. 26 When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. “It’s a ghost,” they said, and cried out in fear.
 27 But Jesus immediately said to them: “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.”
And these are great words he speaks to us in our crises, “Take courage. It is I. Don’t be afraid.”
ESV note, It is I, in the Greek, Ego Eimi, I am, recalls Yahweh’s voice from the burning bush (Exodus 3;14) 

   28 “Lord, if it’s you,” Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.”
   29 “Come,” he said.
Okay, we dream big. We ask God to bless our dreams. We sense he is doing so. And now what? Now, we need to step out of the boat and walk on water. Start acting on what we have prayed for.

   Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. 30 But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!”
And Peter begins stepping out in faith. But then he sees the obstacles, and realizes he is doing what, humanly speaking, is not possible. Once fear overwhelms him, he is no longer able to do what he was doing before. He begins to sink.

 31 Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. “You of little faith,” he said, “why did you doubt?”
Once he starts doubting the power of Jesus, Peter can no longer do what he did before. Jesus mercifully helps him, while rebuking him.
Oh Lord, strengthen my faith so that I may not be rebuked by you.

 32 And when they climbed into the boat, the wind died down. 33 Then those who were in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”
It is hard to realize the majesty of Jesus. And now those who saw them 24/7 realized afresh exactly who it was that they were dealing with.
ESV notes–By walking on water in a furious storm, Jesus demonstrates that he indeed is the Lord over all creation, and so there is no need to be afraid,or to doubt. The only fitting response is to worship Jesus and to acknowledge that truly he is the Son of God.

34 When they had crossed over, they landed at Gennesaret. 35 And when the men of that place recognized Jesus, they sent word to all the surrounding country. People brought all their sick to him 36 and begged him to let the sick just touch the edge of his cloak, and all who touched it were healed. 
It was their faith which healed them, not the cloak, of course.  

Wikio

Prayer and Lists

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The iPhone of course has a prayer list app






I have of late been suffering from what Zen Buddhists call “monkey mind” when it comes to the time of prayer. It’s not that I don’t pray, or don’t switch off screens and sound;it’s just that my mind strolls or darts from thing to thing, and I am finding it harder to focus.


This is annoying as I often get much refreshment, comfort and guidance from prayer.



I am reminded of what Richard Foster wrote, “At times, prayer can seem not just a waste of time, but a waste of self.” When your mind is distracted, and it’s harder to focus on Christ, it can feel like waiting at an interminable red light, or queue. And the green light is when the timer goes off. 


I was brought up Catholic in a boarding school run by missionary nuns, who were regular in prayer, which was timed. They believed (and I believe this is a Catholic belief) that to sustain a spiritual life for the long haul, one should not prolong prayer when it seems sweet, or cut it short when it seems dreary. So I set a timer for half an hour (to be followed by an hour of reading, meditating and sometimes blogging on the four Gospels, in order), and sometimes as I finally get calm and focussed—the timer goes. Drat. I linger a bit longer, of course, but not long.
                                                                       * * *


Prayer Lists. I used them as a new Christian, and then, as I became better friends with Christ, abandoned them. Imagine sitting with my husband, Roy with a timer (We do sometimes use a timer when we are busy, and want to chat—or when we are mad at each other and want to give each person 3 uninterrupted minutes to explain why they might have married the worst person in the world. But if it’s a rendezvous we’re enjoying, we often ignore the timer, and if the other person gets all his facts wrong (pronoun used deliberately) in a epic fight, we sometimes ignore the timer too.) 


However, imagine using a list in a conversation with Roy. Adoration- Roy, you’re handsome. I love your beard. Contrition–Sorry, not up to much of late. Thanksgiving–Thanks for cooking roast duck last night. Supplication–Please sort out the garage. Sorry, can’t go on, there goes the timer.


Actually, it doesn’t sound too bad. And these things need to be said. I had abandoned lists because they seemed mechanical and boring. However, we were talking about it in pastorate last week, and people said that it was the only way they could pray faithfully about things. They talked about staggered lists, different things for different days, as the way to not get bored when you need to pray persistently for people/things/situations.


So that is what I am going to do: have a list, different for each day, so that I do get to pray and move intractable situations in my own life, in the lives of those I care for, and in my world.  

My Needs are many, but my Supplies are Infinite–Thought for the Day

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Irene in New ZealandA salutory reminder of the streams of living water.

 

My needs are many, but my supplies are infinite

Jesus is the Fountain of grace and mercy.
He alone can give to his people the assurance of hope, because none but He is infinite in power, and infinite in grace. Hear his own declaration, ‘My grace is sufficient for you.’
With this promissory note in my hand, ever payable on demand, when presented by faith and prayer in the name of Jesus, I need not despond. I shall receive in return what will supply my every need out of the fullness which is in Christ Jesus. Out of his fullness, I shall receive, and grace for grace.
My needs are many, but my supplies are infinite. Though millions of weak, tempted, persecuted, dying believers, have been invigorated in every age by this living water, yet its streams are undiminished; it still remains as it ever was — Grace Sufficient!
Sufficient to relieve the needy, to strengthen the weak, to pardon the guilty, to sanctify the unholy, to support the disconsolate, to comfort and save all, however vile and worthless; who sincerely, fervently, and perseveringly seek for it, through faith in Christ.

— Thomas Reade Christian Meditations

How Strange to Think of Giving up all Ambition!

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Our Aylesbury ducks, Buttercup and Daisy who HAVE given up all ambition

            


           How strange to think of giving up all ambition!
          Suddenly I see with such clear eyes
          The white flake of snow
          That has just fallen in the horse’s mane!


‘Watering the Horse’  by Robert Bly       




         Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly,
         Asleep on the black trunk,
         Blowing like a leaf in green shadow.

         Down the ravine behind the empty house,
         The cowbells follow one another
         Into the distances of the afternoon.

         To my right,
         In a field of sunlight between two pines,
         The droppings of last year’s horses
         Blaze up into golden stones.

         I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.
         A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.
         I have wasted my life.


 ‘Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota’ by James Wright



Robert Bly, and James Wright, two ambitious and successful American poets have a moment of just being, and “see with such clear eyes” “The white flake of snow,” “the bronze butterfly,” the chicken hawk floating over. Wright looks back at his life of anxiety and toil and ambition, and, in this moment of stillness, feels that he has wasted it!


Ambition, according to Milton was “the last infirmity of noble minds.” Shakespeare, no stranger to ambition, one presumes, makes his dying Wolsey regret it.


Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition:
By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by it?
O Cromwell, Cromwell!
Had I but served my God with half the zeal
I served my king, he would not in mine age.




I have been thinking about ambition since reading Amy Chua’s piece on the fierce ambition instilled in her by her Chinese parents, which she has, in turn, fiercely instilled in her children.
Here are my musings on it:
On Tiger Mothers, Distracted Mothers, and Just About Good Enough Mothers

Both Roy and I were brought up to be ambitious, Roy, by a tiger mother, as I have mentioned in the post, I, by a father, who desperately wanted me not to waste my life, but to do something he could be proud of. 


Around last Christmas, I think we decided that enough was enough, and like Bly thought about giving up all ambition–and, what’s more: Roy did it.


He was quite a high-powered mathematician, and he took early retirement, which, of course, was the biggest change in our family’s life. Sometimes, we can hardly believe we’ve actually done it!! 


It’s now the seventh month of his ambition free life, and we love it. It takes a while to get adjusted to life without adrenalin, stress, the pressing weight of papers to write, papers to referee, books to read, and books to write–and to realize that one now actually has time to do all the things one would do if one had time. It takes a while to realize that you now have time to do the fun creative healthy things that were a waste of time before–fresh pressed juices, gourmet cooking, bits of interior decoration. And it takes time for one’s pulse to return to a slow beat–but we are enjoying the process!!
                                                   * * * 


And for me, I still love writing, write, and want to write. But somehow–I don’t quite know how–after years of trying to slay the idol of writing ambition, I have done it. I am writing for the joy of writing, hoping to find readers, but am content if I do, content if I don’t. I haven’t quite reached the level of surrender  mentioned in this blogger’s prayer, but you know what, I am getting there.


What helped was taking a 3.5 year break from reading and writing to establish a publishing company. And when I came back, I wrote in a different style, more transparent and easy to write compared to the pretzel like, contorted style of my earlier writing (see essays at anitamathias.com). I am wondering if those desert, wilderness years broke the idol of ambition, and returned my writing to me as pure joy, as it was in the beginning, in the land before ambition.  

Proverbs 3 19–22

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19 By wisdom the LORD laid the earth’s foundations,
   by understanding he set the heavens in place;
20 by his knowledge the watery depths were divided,
   and the clouds let drop the dew.
 21 My son, do not let wisdom and understanding out of your sight,
   preserve sound judgment and discretion;
22 they will be life for you,
   an ornament to grace your neck.
23 Then you will go on your way in safety,
   and your foot will not stumble.
24 When you lie down, you will not be afraid;
   when you lie down, your sleep will be sweet.
25 Have no fear of sudden disaster
   or of the ruin that overtakes the wicked,
26 for the LORD will be at your side
   and will keep your foot from being snared.
 27 Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due,
   when it is in your power to act.
28 Do not say to your neighbor,
   “Come back tomorrow and I’ll give it to you”—
   when you already have it with you.
29 Do not plot harm against your neighbor,
   who lives trustfully near you.
30 Do not accuse anyone for no reason—
   when they have done you no harm.
 31 Do not envy the violent
   or choose any of their ways.
 32 For the LORD detests the perverse
   but takes the upright into his confidence. Pro

Made to Crave: Satisfying Your Deepest Desire with God, Not Food

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I came across this idea on Ann Voskamp’s blog, Holy Experience. I don’t think I will buy the book because my stack of unread books is looking dangerous, but I like the idea.

I have used chocolate and crisps and fudge to deal with stress for years.  Though it is a short-term solution which creates long-term problems. Weight, health, annoyance with oneself for succumbing. No long term good at all.
Finally, in despair at my lack of fitness, I started working one on one with a holistic trainer in September. I have shed about 9 pounds, but more importantly, as far as I can tell, seem to have shed the chocolate and sweets addiction. For the first time in my life!!
I think reading books on just how bad sugar is for the human body helped.
Now, I need to retrain my reflexes. If I am stressed or depressed or very low, I need to remember not to reach for chocolate or crisps to raise my blood sugar. Instead pray, or exercise and pray.
I like mid-life. The biggest discovery of this decade for me has been that it is never too late to learn new things, and it is never too late to change.
Anyway, there is an excerpt from the book
His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.” (Lamentations 3:22–24)
 
The term “portion control” took on a whole new meaning for me one day when I read the response that God’s people had after Moses led them out of slavery in Egypt.
 
God had performed several sensational miracles to help them escape their captors. Yet they panicked when food became scarce. They even asked to go back to slavery in Egypt where food was supposedly abundant. But God planned to use their desire for food to teach them about daily  dependence on him.
 
As Israelites traveled through the desert, each morning God would rain down exactly what they needed for nourishment—a provision called “manna,” which I imagine was something like little, sweet, potato flakes. They were to collect just enough manna for the day. They couldn’t gather extra, except before the Sabbath day of rest, or it would rot. This daily process was intended to put them in the habit of dependence on God, and only God.
 
However, the Israelites began to grumble and turned their hearts against God. So He took them on a detour. Instead of heading straight to the Promised Land of freedom, they wandered in the desert for forty years while they learned how to truly depend on God.
 
I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to spend the next forty years of my life learning this lesson.
As we apply this same process to our struggles, we can find that God is the perfect portion for everything we need, every longing we have, every desperate desire of our soul.
 
God is there when my husband and I have a big argument, my kids are unruly, a business deal doesn’t go as planned, or the bills start piling up. Instead of grabbing a tub of ice cream or ordering pizza, I can ask God to be my daily portion in these tough times. 
For example, if your boyfriend breaks up with you, instead of inhaling a big bowl of chips and dip, ask God to be your daily portion of companionship in this lonely time. “God, I hate this rejection and hurt. Sometimes I feel like the loneliness is going to swallow me alive. I can’t deal with this on my own. Will You be my portion of healing and companionship just for this day?”
 
Or, when your kids are driving you crazy, instead of chowing down three pieces of chocolate cake, you might pray, “God, I so desperately want to be a patient mom. I don’t know if I can be a patient mom the rest of my life. But with Your portion of strength I can rely on You in this moment and not try to medicate my shortcomings with food.”
 
 Whatever your situation, ask God to be your daily portion of companionship, provision, and patience—over and over.
 
Soon, you’ll find yourself walking in victory over those things instead of looking back over tears and a pile of cake crumbs.

On Tiger Mothers, Distracted Mothers, and Just About Good Enough Mothers

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Here’s Irene, her prize, and Grandmaster Aaron Summerscale 

So I flick through Amy Chua’s  book, The Battle Hymn of the Tiger-Mother, and feel I have failed as a mum. (This, of course, is the reaction the sassy book was intended to evoke–and the reaction which has propelled it to best-sellerdom.)
“Zoe and Irene,” I say dramatically. “I have failed as a tiger-mother.”
Zoe snorts. “You never were a tiger-mother, Mum. Especially now. You spend too much time with imaginary friends on your blog.”
“Zoe, cyber-friends. NOT imaginary friends.”
She, “Whatever.”
Irene nods absently. She is playing a game on her iPod. Thus highlighting my failure as a tiger mother!!  I have a strict rule : Only educational games, but, apparently, the word educational has multiple meanings. Who would have thought?
                                                              * * *
Amy Chua, however, is not a failure as a tiger mother. Her article at The Wall Street Journal subtly and modestly titled, ” Why Chinese Mothers are Superior,” commences as it continues,

“Here are some things my daughters, Sophia and Louisa, were never allowed to do:
 • attend a sleepover
• have a playdate
• be in a school play
• complain about not being in a school play
• watch TV or play computer games
• choose their own extracurricular activities
• get any grade less than an A
• not be the No. 1 student in every subject except gym and drama
• play any instrument other than the piano or violin
• not play the piano or violin.”
                                                                       * * *
Oh dear!
Readers are either impressed or disgusted. I am not impressed, though I have, off and on, attempted to be a tiger-mother, insofar as my spirited children will let me. However,  my list would be closer to a Western parents’ than to Chua’s.
All I have in common with Chua is that my kids have never watched TV in our house, since I passionately believe in the virtues of silence and reading and creative downtime. And they do treasure long hours of silence to read or do their homework or “chill” and have never asked for TV, –surprisingly. We do, of course, watch lots of carefully chosen DVDs, and watch movies on family dates.
Computer games were banned for Zoe, and reluctantly permitted for Irene, the rebel, in limited quantities. However, her joy in these games equals our joy in our work, and when we retreat into our zones of private joy, she retreats into hers. A battle is being waged, for her mind and heart and conscience and intellect, and  I think we might be winning. Fingers crossed.
Chua says it is selfish careless parenting to allow your children to waste time on computer games and Facebook. I agree with her on that, and try not to. Facebook is banned for my younger daughter, who is under-age according to FB’s policies. Zoe didn’t want one, and, in fact, after I had accepted friend requests from her friends, I thought it was time she had one, and set it up for her. She now uses it somewhat sparingly, as I do mine.
                                                                           * * *
Chua’s parenting is incredibly unbalanced, as she knows, no doubt. The goal is success. To work very hard as a child to get a pleasant job as an adult later. 
This is a common attitude in Asia, among middle class Africans, and among immigrants to the West.
There is something to it. The Polgar sisters were pulled out from school and made to practice chess for 8 hours a day, 50 hours a week. All of them became grandmasters, I believe. They say, and I write from memory, “We worked hard as children and now have more leisure and opportunities and fun as adults. Our friends did not work as children, and now work hard as adults.”
If one does not factor in inherited money, there is some truth to this. Hard work as a child can give you a pleasant, gratifying job with less work and more opportunities as an adult. My husband worked really hard as a child, as he had a few goals: he wanted to win a three year all expenses paid scholarship to Cambridge University (the Girdlers’ scholarship), to win a Rotary scholarship for a year in Japan learning Go and other Japanese things; and to be a mathematician. He achieved all these goals, and the latter did provide him with more free time and travel, and fewer hours at his desk than most of our friends had. 
                                                                        * * *
What annoys readers, and the flaw in Chau’s parenting, is its obvious egocentrism. When she won a second prize at a school assembly, her father was furious. “Never ever disgrace me like that again,” he said. 
Sorry, disgrace whom? Chua’s parents came to America as poor immigrants; apparently, they attempted to achieve their dreams of success through their children. She says, “Knowing the sacrifices they made for us makes me want to uphold the family name, to make my parents proud.” Was it impossible for Chua’s parents to do something themselves of which they could be proud? Why burden her with having to bring them honour or disgrace?
Chua has been condemned to a treadmill in which she is a disgrace unless she does something spectacular so her parents can be proud. She condemns her children to the same treadmill–20 practice tests every night if they ever get the second highest grade, three hours of violin practice every evening. She condemned them to a life of having to be the best, compensating for any deficiences in intelligence by hard work, and more hard work. 
And what if they encounter another tiger cub, who is naturally smarter, and works equally hard? Sounds like a recipe for a nervous breakdown to me. 
The flaw in the plan is that her children, who are not allowed playdates, sleepovers, gym, drama, TV or computer games, will naturally do better than children with equal intelligence who lead a more balanced life. They will therefore get into a better university than they would have–with smarter children, who have led a balanced life. And then the relentless treadmill of overwork to keep pace. 
And if they succeed, and get an academic job at a leading university, as Chua has–again the treadmill to keep pace with those smarter than themselves who have got there while leading a balanced life. 
It seems a pretty pointless life, dominated by fear and pride. 
                                                  * * * 
All this comes close to the bone with me, as with most mothers who read it.
Roy, my husband, was unusually gifted at math and chess. He was the national high school chess champion in New Zealand where he grew up. Both our daughters are good at both these, as well as being very verbal. 
We taught Zoe chess somewhat late, at 8, after she was housebound after breaking her leg in a freak accident. (A massive branch fell on her, and just her, as we went on a family walk. I believed board games are a waste of time compared to reading, but she was housebound and sad, so we taught her chess.) Irene at 3 watched us play, played against herself, first, then with us, and emerged as a fairly formidable player by 5. At six, coaches noticed her talent. She has played at a city, county and national level, and has won prizes in all these, about two shelves of prizes, 50-60 of them. For several years, she was among the top two girl players of her age in the UK, and among the top handful of all players her age.
She loved chess when it was fun, just loved it and lived it. When, however, she reached the stage at which it was estimated to take 1-3 hours a day of practice to be competitive at a national level, and when, 6 or 7 days a week, she was spending her evenings at chess clubs or tournaments, and was away most weekends at tournaments around the country, she began to lose interest. She did not want to practice as much as she needed to.
Chess is brutal. The games were three hours long at the level she was playing at. A momentary flicker of concentration in the end game, and you could lose a game you had so carefully played for three hours.
Your opponent can take up to 15 minutes to think–or more–and this is torture for a quick-thinking, mercurial child. 
And she loves reading. She has a stable of books she knows almost by heart–the entire Little Women series, the entire Anne of Green Gable series, Harry Potter, Alice, some George Macdonald, Narnia. She has read and re-read them, and listened to them again and again on her iPod. Reading was being compromised for chess. I was sad about that.
We fought epic battles over chess. I thought she was instinctively preternaturally good at it, judging by her success with very little practice. I thought chess was part of the story God was writing in her life. I did not think an extraordinary talent should be so lightly given up.
We rowed, shouted, screamed, cried, both of us. And eventually she won. By default. Because after having taken 4 years off creative work to establish a publishing company, I now wanted to write again, and when I write, I go under, and forget deadlines for tournaments, entry forms and all that. And now that I was working intensely again,  I needed Roy to hold the fort, and keep our family’s life running–laundry, meals, homework, organization–and could no longer surrender him to chess weekends. We kept “forgetting” tournaments. 
And so with much sadness on my part, and no doubt, some sadness on Irene’s part, we surrendered something which had been part of her identity, life, friendships, self-image for 6 years. And only because that was her desire, I hasten to add, assuaging the last of my tiger-mother guilt.
                                                                 * * *
It is very hard to both be a tiger mother and do your own life-work. Most tiger mothers I know are living their lives through their children, forcing achievement for bragging rights, seeking brilliance from their children so as to impress their own peers, and be the envy of mouse-mothers. 
I am still in my forties, so haven’t seen the end of the story–seen what happens to tiger cubs and their mums when the latter grow up.
My mother-in-law, who was a highly successful tiger mother, didn’t know what to do with herself once the children grew up, and attempted to continue tiger-mothering after her three sons married tiger wives. Well, one doesn’t need a degree in psychology to predict how that worked out!
                                                         * * *
 What about the tiger cubs I knew in my own generation? I read English at Oxford, and knew lots of tiger cubs.
I can’t say with Allen Ginsberg in Howl, “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving, hysterical, naked,” but of the high-achieving people I went to Oxford 
with and was friends with, one had a breakdown while at 
Oxford, due to overwork and later committed suicide; another has had depressive illnesses, I myself have had a long burn-out (and have completely recovered); chronic fatigue and
adrenal fatigue are not uncommon; some have earned a 
Ph.D and are now home, tiger-mothering. Some still tread the paths of glory.
                                                                        * * *
So, what’s my conclusion? Chua is partly wrong in my opinion. The best gift we can give our children is not to
 be the best at whatever they do. They may meet a more 
naturally gifted Siberian tiger, who also puts in the necessary hours, and so let competitiveness and jealousy poison their
 existence.
I honestly believe the best thing we can do for our children as Christian parents is to give them a solid, durable faith, and to introduce them to a personal friendship with God.
Apart from that, the best thing we can do is probably to help them discover life-work which they love, enjoy and are good at. And for this, if our children are academically inclined, we need to ensure that they are competent at academic tasks of ever-increasing difficulty, so that they have broad choices later on, and get to do the work they really want to do. 
I more or less agree with Solomon, “There is nothing better for a person than to enjoy the work at which he toils at under the son.” (Ecc 3:22).   And good mothering will help children find work they really enjoy. And I really hope my two do so.

Moth, Rust and Exogenous Events

By


Ithaca






I started seriously investing in the stock market again last summer for the first time since I had children, and have enjoyed conversations with other investors, reading the business pages off and on again, and following the ripple effects of politics and the economy on the markets.


So I look at my portfolio on Saturday, and blink. What?


 What happened was what the New York Times called an exogenous event— “a sudden political or economic jolt that cannot be predicted or modelled but sends shockwaves rippling through global markets.”


The turmoil in Egypt has spooked the markets. The price of oil and other commodities have surged, and a sustained increase might choke growth in the US. The unrest may spread to more countries in the Middle East. 


 Then there is “the rising risk of food inflation, interest rate increases in China, and sovereign debt troubles in Europe.” said Sam Stovall, chief investment strategist of Standard & Poor’s Equity Research.


“But as is usually the case, a boxer never gets knocked out by a punch he’s looking for,” he said. “This could be what triggers the decline. Geopolitical events are very, very hard to model.”
Egypt is one of a handful of spots classified as World Oil Transit Chokepoints by the Energy Department, and events there can have an outsize impact on global energy prices.
The immediate impact of any interruption would be felt primarily in Europe, which relies heavily on jet fuel,  heating oil nd other distillates refined in the Middle East and shipped via the canal and pipeline.
 “The key risk to Asia — most notably to India — is if social unrest and economic disruptions in Tunisia and Egypt spread. The direct negative impact on Asian growth would be through weaker exports, but indirect effects through higher commodity prices on the trade, inflation and growth should not be underestimated.”
Egypt is a major player in the global grain market, importing more wheat than any other country. Some analysts have speculated that Egypt and other Middle Eastern countries might increase grain purchases to placate angry consumers, which could eventually push wheat prices higher.
Given the confrontations with the authorities in Cairo, Alexandria and other cities, many analysts expect oil prices, and global markets, to remain volatile in the coming days.”
Okaaaay.
I have been blogging through Scripture and am frequently impressed by how contemporary it is, by how it speaks to my life.
Do not let your treasure– the energy and intelligence and passion of your heart–be invested in anything which can be taken away by moth, rust, thieves or exogenous events.  
I think I might slowly withdraw from the drama of the markets, and put my energy into something which offers joy in the journey. Something which is worthy of attention.
I love this poem by Constantine Cavafy about joy in the journey, about the journey being as, or more, important than the destination.
ITHACA

When you set out on your journey to Ithaca,
pray that the road is long,
full of adventure, full of knowledge.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the angry Poseidon — do not fear them:
You will never find such as these on your path,
if your thoughts remain lofty, if a fine
emotion touches your spirit and your body.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the fierce Poseidon you will never encounter,
if you do not carry them within your soul,
if your soul does not set them up before you.


Pray that the road is long.
That the summer mornings are many, when,
with such pleasure, with such joy
you will enter ports seen for the first time;
stop at Phoenician markets,
and purchase fine merchandise,
mother-of-pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
and sensual perfumes of all kinds,
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
visit many Egyptian cities,
to learn and learn from scholars.


Always keep Ithaca in your mind.
To arrive there is your ultimate goal.
But do not hurry the voyage at all.
It is better to let it last for many years;
and to anchor at the island when you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting that Ithaca will offer you riches.


Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage.
Without her you would have never set out on the road.
She has nothing more to give you.


And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you.
Wise as you have become, with so much experience,
you must already have understood what Ithaca means.

Constantine P. Cavafy (1911)