For my New Jersey readers: I found this this wonderful list of history sites in New Jersey. This is a great time of year to explore all our state has to offer us in terms of living history and historical sites.
And we don’t have to travel far; only battle (oh, a history pun!) against the traffic.
As a mother, I’m always vigilant for these situations. This is a story from last night’s 4H meeting. Birding club.
I had three of my kids with me, my boys, 10 and 7, and my eldest girl, 12 years old next week. The night’s project was making bird feeders. A dad passed out the supplies: wood pieces, screws, metal sheeting for the roof and demonstrated how to put it together. Simple construction, easy.
The dad had two electric power drills, one by-hand screwdriver. Ten kids waited patiently.
“Why don’t you help her?” Dad said to his son, a boy well versed in power drill. The boy had just finished using it on his own bird feeder. He picked up the screw and began drilling into my daughter’s bird feeder to attach the base.
My daughter watched.
On the other side of the room, another boy, another girl, same scene.
She said nothing, watching as he began to work on her bird feeder project.
I know how to use tools. I’ve used electric saws, table saws, lathes, jigsaws. I took wood shop in 7th grade when it was required. I took wood shop as an elective in high school. I built ramshackle forts in my backyard. I built a skateboard out of old metal wheels and rough wood. I came home in tears from freshman year wood shop due to the caustic remarks from the male teacher. I never took wood shop again.
My daughter is not me. As far as I can tell, she is not interested in carpentry, power drills or building with scraps of wood. She’s more rubber spatula, cake pans and flour. But this was an easy project. All you had to do was screw straight down four times; plus I think everyone should try a tool when given the opportunity.
Make no mistake – I made sure I was gentle, yet firm.
“Wait a minute. That’s her bird feeder.”
“Excuse me. That’s her project. Let her do it.”
I had to repeat myself several times, my voice raised a bit louder each time. Eventually those boys gave way and the girls used the drills by themselves.
Moms, encourage your daughters to try the new, the unfamiliar.
Tell your sons: help doesn’t mean you do it for a girl. Show her, demonstrate. Then hand the tool to her.
Speak up for your girl so she has a turn to try.
I’d be asking you those tough questions. You already know the questions. The ones that we ponder in our hearts and we want so desperately to ask, but we are afraid of hurt feelings or overstepping into that private place that says Do Not Enter or Keep Out. These are the most important questions, yet we hesitate. I am guilty of remaining silent far too often only because I fear the response. Those sign posts again.
If I was your true friend, then I would ask you:
How is your spiritual life?
Are you praying? Reading your Bible?
How can I pray for you today?
What are your struggles? Hopes? Dreams?
Past friendships never heard me ask those questions, when I knew I was supposed to ask them. Now I see these women struggling, drifting away, falling into a place I’m sure they never dreamed they would go. I stand at the shoreline of our friendship and they have drifted so far away. I wonder if they are happy. I am not happy for them.
Slowly I am learning to cast aside the fear, to speak up. To run after another crying girlfriend who just walked out the church door.
If we were friends away from the confinements of this cyberworld, then I would be having you here for dinner or coffee. I’d have your kids play with my kids, especially on a day when you needed a break because raising kids, especially if you homeschool and are with your kids more than usual, is exhausting work. Our husbands could hang out by the grill, we ladies would no doubt be in the kitchen. I’ll wash, if you dry. We would laugh together, cry together.
I hope you would answer the tough, difficult questions with honesty because if we are truly friends, then we shouldn’t have to fear.