Today the boys decided to have their “boy’s club” again and locked Blythe out of their room: “she’s always jacking with [their] stuff.” Normally, I don’t allow it, but today they were playing “climbing up and sliding down” game (Chutes & Ladders). Blythe would most certainly disrupt them, so I allowed the door to remain shut. Blythe, apparently having some rendition of Twisted Sister in her head, decidedly picked up Bear –that’s Liam’s bear, the one that he so creatively named Bear, the one that he’s slept with, rubbing the tag (appropriately located on the Bear’s butt) against his upper lip for the past 3 1/2 years– and plunged him to his (hopeful) death in my toilet. Watch out boys. Fortunately, the toilet was empty and recently cleaned, so I was able to resuscitate Bear and wash him conveniently with the laundry.
While at the beach, Mark received a copy of Crazy for God by Frank Schaeffer (son of the infamous Francis and Edith Schaeffer). I’ve almost finished reading it and am loving it — maybe it’s due to the break in a fantastical marathon that I’ve recently been on of C.S. Lewis’ myth ‘Til We Have Faces and Prince Caspian followed by Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinke in Time. (All of which I heartily recommend for varying reasons, even if only a swing back to childhood.) Nevertheless, this book is a memoir of Frank Schaeffer’s life (and as he lets you know early on, he uses the term “memoir” loosely). Likewise it’s a provocative and insightful commentary on religion, “professional Christianity,” American culture, parenthood, and the human soul wrestling against pride/egoism, even when masked in religious overtones. Schaeffer’s authenticity wrapped up in his excellent story-telling ability introduces an entirely different dimension to the L’Abri culture — and one of the reasons he received so much grief for writing it. He forfeits the altruistic tendencies of religious writing to pull back the curtain of his life (and subsequently all those intimately involved, including major Christian evangelists). It’s caused me to laugh and cry, and of course speculate/self-evaluate. While I could understand an uprising of bitter sentiment toward Schaeffer for demeaning good things, immaturely taking things for granted, or whatever other million reasons you’ll discover upon reading the book, it actually made me appreciate him, his parents and L’Abri all the more. They’re real. God-loving people suckered by lies the same way we are. Refreshing. Read it.