Just One Word

The running shoes used by Britain’s Sir Roger Bannister when he ran the first sub-four-minute mile in 1954 lie on the grass at Pembroke College, Oxford, during celebrations for the 50th anniversary of the event on Thursday. Sir Roger was a 25-year-old Oxford University medical student when he recorded a time of 3:59:40 seconds for the mile on May 6, 1954.

I was asked to be the commencement speaker at two home-school high school programs today. Boy, was that stressful! This is the one I gave to the 15 graduates of Young Musicians of Virginia Class of 2007 [ link ].

By the way, several people came up to my family afterwards to find out who this opening cake story was about. I made up this story, just as I did with the opening story in my other commencement speech today, in order to try to illustrate my point.

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My message to you today consists of just one word. But first, I would like to begin with a story.

Once upon a time – about two years ago – a home-school student went to their mother wanting to make a cake to take to an enrichment class. Mom thought this was a great idea. But it would be much more than just a cake. This was a chance to learn!

They began by researching the history of cakes. Beginning with Neolithic cultures, they eventually moved onto the Greek and Roman era, ancient Europe and finally into the modern day. Mom was getting excited. The student was not. Two months had passed.

Next came the types of cakes. It turns out, there are five. Now five is such a simple number. But when you consider the various combinations of ingredients, you soon realize there are actually thousands of recipes.

Thousands is a large number.

Winter came. And passed.

At last, they settled on the cake they would make. Red velvet.

Red velvet. Such a deceptively simple sounding name, isn’t it? Until you come to that tricky first ingredient. Cocoa powder. Do you know just how much there is to learn about cocoa powder? Our home-school student does. Now.

Unfortunately, the second ingredient was just as bad. Red food coloring. This led to all sorts of studies, like the visible color spectrum, the Red Dye #3 scare of the early 1990s, and the attraction of hummingbirds to the color red.

There was a brief hope for cake success, except for two setbacks.

The first was when mom discovered that red beets were used as a color substitution during the early 1940s. This led to a slight detour in studies, better known to most as “World War II”.

The second setback came when the school year ended.

Having rested over the summer, new energy was poured into the cake project that September. Mom thought it would be best if they started light. So they began with the recipe’s urban legends, which took them from the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York, to Canada. All in all, not a bad start.

Even the student’s interest revived when they looked at . . . “Red Velvet Cake in Popular Culture”. Mom always did like that “Steel Magnolias” movie. And episode 21, in season 3 of “Grey’s Anatomy”, where the various choices for a wedding cake were explored – that was one of the student’s favorites.

Common ground had been found.

The subject of “salt” proved no match for this duo.

And “vanilla”? A breeze.

Now, truthfully, that one could have been tricky. But disaster was avoided when mom decided they could skip the history of Madagascar, where most vanilla comes from. She did, however, require a digression to cover geography and a study of the rain forest. After all, what’s another week?

Flour. Sugar. Shortening. Hope was in sight. There wasn’t even snow on the ground yet.

Then came the egg. Or, more importantly, that nagging philosophical question: “Which came first, the chicken or the egg?”

Together, they poured through books, online resources, DVDs. Providence even smiled on them with a guest lecture by a traveling philosopher. They did it all.

By the way, their efforts paid off. They did, once and for all, answer that question. But it’s not central to my story here, so I will leave that part out.

It looked like the cake was close to being made.

But two sinister forces conspired against them.

First, the home-school student was getting ready to graduate. This called for drastic action. It was decided that the cake project would become the cake served at graduation. Euphoria broke out.

Then, that other obstacle came. Baking soda. Do you realize how many kitchen experiments can be done with baking soda? Even if you cut that number in half, there just was not enough time left.

But mom was determined there would be a cake for her baby’s graduation day. Two days ago, she ordered one.

So, if you have store bought cake for graduation today, you will know who this story was about. My advice to you is, “Don’t say anything. Just enjoy it.”

All of this is a long way to come to the one word I want to speak to you about: “just”.

The student just wanted a cake.

Mom just wanted it to be a learning experience.

This word, “just”, is simple. But, at the same time, dangerous. To the one who uses it. And to the one whom it is used against.

You may have already been a victim of “just”.

“You’re just too young.”

“You’re just not experienced enough.”

“You’re just a home-schooler.”

“You’re just too small to ride this ride.”

Cherish that one, because one day you will hear, “You’re just too big to fit into those clothes any more.”

With just one utterance, the speaker limits the world.

For years, it was believed that a human being could not run a mile in less than 4 minutes. According to physiologists of the time, it was dangerous to the health of any athlete who attempted to reach it. “It just can’t be done.”

On May 6, 1954, a 25-year-old medical student at Oxford University, took the track before a small crowd. Nine years earlier, the world record of 4 minutes and 1.4 seconds had been set.

At the end of that race, when Roger Bannister finished with a time of 3 minutes, 59.4 seconds, a world record and a psychological barrier had fallen.

Over the next three years, 16 runners would beat Bannister’s record. Why? Because Roger Bannister was not willing to settle for “It just can’t be done.” And those after him did not settle for “It just can’t be bettered.”
The story is told of a well-established Canadian lumber camp that advertised for a good lumberjack.

A skinny little man showed up at the camp with his
axe and knocked on the camp foreman’s door. The foreman took one look at the little man and told him to leave.

“Just give me a chance to show you what I can do,” the skinny man pleaded.

“Okay,” the foreman said. “See that giant redwood over there? Take your axe and go cut it down.”

Five minutes later, the little man was back, knocking on the foreman’s door. “I cut the tree down,” said the man.

The foreman could not believe his eyes. “Where did you get the skill to chop down trees like that?” he asked.

“In the Sahara Forest,” replied the puny man.

“You mean the Sahara Desert,” the foreman corrected.

“Oh, sure,” the little man laughed, “that’s what they call it now!”

There is another danger in this word “just”. I want to warn you about it also. And that comes from the person who utters the word.

“My mom just doesn’t get it.”

“That’s just the way my dad is.”

“She’s just too old.”

“He’s just the son of a carpenter from Nazareth.”

You are at a point in your life where you are probably more apt to hear the word “just”, than to speak it. But there will come a time when those in your generation, like mine now, will shift and be speakers of this word, and not hearers only. Beware.

Today, I urge you to not be bound by this word.

Tomorrow, I urge you to be charitable in using it with others.

Do not be limited. Do not limit others. Few of us really see the greatness that is bound up in ourselves, or in others. Strive to be one of the few.

In Romans 15:7, the Apostle Paul expressed this hope: “Accept one another then, just as Christ accepted you, in order to bring praise to God.”

“Failure is an Option”

I was asked to be the commencement speaker at two home-school high school programs today. Boy, was that stressful! This is the one I gave to the 53 graduates of T.E.A.C.H. Class of 2007 [ link ].

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I would like to begin with a story.

There once was a mother, let’s call her Beth, who was concerned for the future and well-being of her children.

Entering the family room, there was clutter and chaos, that anyone could see. Anyone, that is, except for her children, who watched television and did not see, or care, about the disorder around them.

In the morning, she would call her children for school. And call them. And call them. Glaciers moved faster.

Hoping to change their behavior, and improve their education, she decided to home-school them.

The first day of home-school, an amazing thing happened. She called her children to get up for school. And called them. And called them.

Weeks later, she observed that the family room was still filled with chaos and clutter, while her kids watched television.

Although their grasp of subjects seemed to have improved, her hope of entering them in a spelling bee was still but a dream.

One day, Beth met with her best friend, Peggy, who was also a home-schooling parent. Over lunch, Beth poured out her frustrations. She shared how nothing had changed. Beth was discouraged, and blamed herself. She even confided that her kids seemed to be the least educated students in their co-op.

Peggy listened patiently. At last, she spoke. She reminded her friend that she had done a terrific thing in putting her children first in her life.

“Some things take a while,” Peggy reminded her. “Home-schooling is not pixie dust that we sprinkle over our children.

“As for their education,” she continued, “do you know what they call the person who graduates last in medical school?”

Peggy had leaned in. Her voice had dropped to a near whisper as she asked this question. Beth leaned in close too.

“No,” Beth replied.

“Doctor,” Peggy said.

It took a second or two for this “secret” to sink in. Then Beth laughed. And felt better.

By the end of the school year, things had improved, including Beth’s perspective.

Most of the time, the family room was clean. But, when it wasn’t clean, and her kids were just watching television, Beth realized she was just observing Newton’s Second Law of Motion: “Objects at rest, tend to stay at rest.”

And, in the mornings, when it took several times of calling, each time getting louder, the kids were learning Newton’s Third Law of Motion: “To every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.”

Although her children never entered any spelling bees, when they graduated and went on to further their studies, she was proud of their accomplishments.

And the day her son was accepted to medical school, she had a good laugh. Because she knew one day, no matter what, he would be a doctor.

Now, your family and friends are here today to wish you great success in your future. I hope you will have failures. Let me explain.

I think that for many of us are success is seen as God’s blessing, and failure as His curse. Yet, the Bible records stories of struggles, setbacks and defeats.

Consider, for a moment David, as he faced Goliath the giant. You know the story. Goliath had been harassing and intimidating the army of Israel. David, the young shepherd boy, tells King Saul that, “The Lord who delivered me from the paw of the lion, and the paw of the bear, will deliver me from the hand of this Philistine.”

The Bible goes on to say that David “chose five smooth stones from the stream, put them in the pouch of his shepherd’s bag and, with his sling in his hand, approached the Philistine.”

You know what happened next. David grabs a stone and knocks Goliath down, then slays him with his own sword.

My question is this: “Why did David choose five stones?”

He knew what God was capable of. He testified to God’s deliverance of him in the past. And he boldly foretold what God was about to do to Goliath through him. And David was right.

So, why five stones?

I think the answer is simple. David knew, from experience, that sometimes the first one misses. Sometimes, you have to try a second time. Or a third. Or even a fifth. Faith required one stone, but experience gathered five.

I am reminded of the salesman who was visiting a farmer. The salesman noticed dozens and dozens of arrows, sticking in the side of the barn, each one smack in the middle of a bullseye target. He complemented the farmer on his great marksmanship.
“It’s nothing,” the farmer replied modestly. “I learned a long time ago it’s easier to shoot the arrow, then draw the bullseye around where the arrow goes.”

Today, I fear we are too much like the farmer, and not enough like David. In wanting only success, we miss out on what can be learned from failure.

During the space race of the 1960s, between the Soviet Union and the United States, the world watched America’s successes, and failures, live on television. But the Soviets taped everything. The successes were broadcast. The failures were never seen.

In the 1990s, after the fall of the Soviet Union, some visiting Russian scientists told their American counterparts that America’s willingness to broadcast live always impressed them. Privately, these scientists yearned to live in a country that was not afraid to show its failures.

When Albert Einstein left Germany and came to America, establishing himself at Princeton University, he was asked what he needed for his work. “A desk, a chair, some paper and pencils,” he replied.

And then he added, “Oh, I will also need a big waste basket, for my mistakes.”

After Thomas Edison’s seven-hundredth unsuccessful attempt to invent the electric light, he was asked by a New York Times reporter, “How does it feel to have failed seven hundred times?”

Edison replied, “I have not failed seven hundred times. I have not failed once. I have succeeded in proving that those seven hundred ways will not work. When I have eliminated the ways that will not work, I will find the way that will work.”

More than 2,300 additional “successes” were to follow, until Edison finally found the one that worked.

Charles Dickens wrote, “Every failure teaches a man something, if he will learn.”

The sad irony is that the home-school could be the perfect place for learning from failure. In a loving, nurturing environment, beyond the sounds of peer ridicule found elsewhere, we can create a world where our students – our children – are encouraged to try, without ridicule for failure.

Like a giant safety net, far beneath the high wire, we can urge our children to the top, and across.

Do not be intimidated by the prospect of failure. There is so much to learn there.

When you approach the end of your days, do you want memories? Or dreams?

In the epilogue to “The Brothers Karamazov”, Feodor Dostoyevsky wrote this:

“You are told a lot about your education – but some beautiful, sacred memory, preserved since childhood, is perhaps the best education of all. If a man carries many such memories into life with him, he is saved for the rest of his days. And even if only one good memory is left in our hearts, it may also be the instrument of our salvation one day.”

The only way I know to have more memories than dreams, is to have had failures. Because failure, by its very nature, implies attempt.

The Bible says this, in Proverbs 24:16: “… a righteous man falls seven times.” Consider that. A righteous man. One with God’s favor. Falls seven times. But then it adds this, “and gets back up again.”

In the future, get back up again. But be willing to fall – even seven times.

May the Lord bless you in your falling down, and your getting up.

May you live…

I was asked to be the commencement speaker at the 2005 graduation for Young Musicians of Virginia, a home-school enrichment program in Virginia Beach, Virginia, that emphasizes music [ link ]. Below is the address I gave to the graduating senior high school students. I didn’t have a title for it, but I suppose I would have called it:

“May you live…”

I could give you practical advice and tell you that there are only two things you will ever need in this world: WD40 and Duct Tape.

“If it doesn’t move, and it should, use WD40.”

“If it moves, and it shouldn’t, use Duct Tape.”

Or I could give you profound advice and warn you that “life is a cruel teacher, because she often gives you the test first, and teaches you the lesson afterwards.”

But, instead, I would like to tell you a story….

Once upon a time there was a man and a woman who, for reasons not necessary to this story, decided they would remove their children from the government school and teach their children at home. Mom read books and magazines, attended conventions, conferences and seminars, did her research, and then took the plunge.

It had been a while since she had these subjects in school. And her oldest was a senior in high school. Soon after starting the first home-school year, the children saw her working on things at the kitchen table. They thought she was grading their papers. And she was. But, she was also reading ahead for the next few days so she could better understand the subjects she was teaching.

Her husband volunteered to help.

At her insistence.

But there were some early signs of trouble.

“What’s a corollary?” she asked her husband one day.

“Isn’t that the same thing as a heart attack?” came the reply.

The next evening, the children saw both of their parents working at the kitchen table.

In an attempt to meet all of the requirements for graduation, Mom soon learned to get creative with some of the credits:

Dad’s attempts at making dinner counted as science experiments.

When the kids talked back to either parent, they got credit for language arts. Then they were punished.

Once, while Polly’s bird cage was being cleaned, Tiger, the cat, grabbed Polly and ran through the house, with everyone in hot pursuit, trying to stop the cat and save the bird. The chase counted as P.E. credit. The poems read at Polly’s funeral counted towards English.

During lunch at fast food restaurants they would pick up the cards with the nutrition information and get credit for health.

One day, mistaking his thumb for a nail and hitting it with a hammer, dad let loose with a string of new words – stunning the others into silence. The children got credit for foreign language. After promising to never repeat the words they just heard.

Through fits and starts, bumps and grinds, stresses and pleasures, and a little creativity with class credits, the day of high school graduation for the oldest finally approached. Mom wondered if she had done enough. Did this home education thing really work? Had she equipped her oldest for his new life, outside the home? Or had she ruined him for life? Did they do the right thing?

She gathered the papers and report card for the year and went to add it to the others she kept in her Hope chest. Her eyes fell on an old photograph album. Flipping through the pages she jumped back in time 40 years. There were pictures of her, as a little girl, helping her dad. They had renovated the kitchen. Remodeled the bathroom. Enclosed the back porch. On each project, she was at her dad’s side. She could faintly hear his voice: “Measure twice. Cut once.” “Water always runs downhill.”

She remembered learning about speed squares, plumb bops, levels, hammers, wrenches and screwdrivers. The “before and after” pictures reminded her of the great accomplishments they had done together, as a father and daughter team. And that’s when it hit her. Like her father wrapping his big, burly arms around her, she suddenly had peace and security. Her doubts vanished. Everything would be okay.

And, indeed it was. Graduation went off without a hitch. Perhaps twenty years from now the smiling pictures taken afterwards will look somewhat staged. But they were heartfelt. And sincere. Though the future was still uncertain at that point, they moved forward.

And they lived . . . happily ever after.

The ending of this story – “and they lived happily ever after” – is probably well known to you. It ends many of the fables, fairy tales and stories you first heard as a child. Regardless of whether or not you have children or grandchildren of your own one day, I urge you to buy a complete set of the stories by Hans Christian Anderson, the Brothers Grimm, Aesop and others.

I enjoy these stories now when I read them to my children probably more than when I first heard them as a child. So many of these tales have very obvious and direct Christian message. Others, more hidden and subtle. But the Christian message is there. And nowhere is it more obvious than in these six words: “and they lived happily ever after”.

There are two phrases in the New Testament: “everlasting life” and “eternal life”. According to one translation the words “everlasting life” are used 16 times, and the words “eternal life” are used 30 times. Each time, the author, either in quoting Jesus, or writing on his own, wants to convey a distinct thought.

We think in three time frames: past, present and future. “Everlasting life” and “eternal life” conveys two time frames: present and future. I regret to say that most Christians emphasize, or dwell on, the future time. Evangelistic crusades, TV preachers, movies, books, sermons – so many of them tell you only about the life, and judgment, to come. But that is only part of the story. The “happily ever after” part.

In truth, you will only have a few “happily ever after” moments in your life. Hopefully, you have already experienced the first one: accepting Jesus as your Lord and Savior. The moment when you realized, and acknowledged, that the Gospel story – Jesus lived, died, and rose again so that you could be reconciled with the eternal God – was not only Truth, but also True.

Today — graduation from high school — is perhaps your second “happily ever after” moment. There are only a few more:

- Graduation from college, if you go that route.

- Finding your lifetime mate.

- Having children and grandchildren of your own.

- And then the grandest “happily ever after” moment of all – living with God for eternity.

But that is all. Just a few. They are intense. They are specific. They are pin-pointable moments of time that are easily identified.

But there is more. There is more to the Christian life and there is more to the children’s fable. In both cases, we tend to gloss over the other part. The larger part. In the children’s story, we forget the first part: “and they lived”. The Christian often neglects the present tense of the “everlasting life” promise. This is the part that fills our life before we reach the “happily ever after” part. It is vast, immeasurable, and mundane. But it is also the largest portion of our life.

Jesus’ promise of “everlasting life” and “eternal life”, carries with it not only a future reward, but a present one as well. It is the value of a life lived well. Unlike some, I will not tell you that there are guarantees of happiness, harmony, wealth, health, safety or lack of troubles. That may be the experience of others, but it has not been my experience.

Rather, my experience has been this: the faithfulness and consistency of God.

“He is there”.

When things have the appearance of going well or going badly: He is there.

When there’s more money than bills, and when there’s more bills than money: He is there.

In a hospital room or on a white sand beach: He is there.

Through the drama of death and at the silent moment of birth: He is there.

In public school or home-school, on the first day of class and during finals week: He is there.

During all of your “and they lived” moments, as well as your “happily ever after” moments: He is there.

It is this foundation, this firm foundation, stretching from past to future, that to me represents the present-tense joy and hope found in the “everlasting life” and “eternal life” promises.

The home-schooling mom in my story was reminded that Education is formal, but also informal. When she found that photo album, she realized that not all education takes place in a school room. Or even a home. We learn from others, and from teaching others. Opportunities for education are all around us. If you just know to look for them.

Sometimes, as home-schooling parents, we have put the emphasis on the formal aspect of your education. Forgive us. In trying to validate or defend the concept of home-schooling to family members, friends or neighbors, we have focused on that which can be quanitifed:

- “Home-schoolers score above average on tests.”
- “Home-schoolers can win spelling bees.”
- “Home-schoolers win geography bees.”
- “Home-schoolers can read at better-than-grade level.”

All of that is true and can be statistically defended. But that is not home-schooling’s crown jewel. Your greatest achievement as a home-schooler — what I like best about you — is your informal education. You relate well to others beyond your age group, at both spectrums. I can watch an 18-year-old home-school student play and interact with my five-year-old son and, two minutes later, be engaged in a conversation with a 65-year-old man.

We have been homeschooling for 13 years now. Early on, it was not widely known. When someone asked why your kids weren’t in school, you had to take 5 minutes to explain what home-schooling was, how it was legal, what the differences were in their education, how you had to comply with laws that government school students did not have to comply with, etc. They weren’t being mean. They were curious. They had to be educated. Now, people either do not ask, or you can just answer with a simple: “they’re home-schooled.”

We can take 15 home-school teenagers out to my teenage son’s birthday party at Pizza Hut and not have to apologize to anyone for their behavior.

The home-schooled student is immersed in education. Most of it, I would submit, informal. Your education is like water. Something to drink, for a person. But an environment, to a fish. You swim in your education all the time.

You suffer through the object lessons we constantly bombard you with. A newspaper article about a house burning down in our area is just sad news, to most. For me, it is always an opportunity to go over evacuation plans, fire safety lessons and maybe even a lesson about oxygen, combustion and fuel for good measure.

Your education is both present and future.

Your education has been, and will be, both formal and informal.

We gather here today to celebrate and acknowledge the formal part of your education. But I celebrate your informal education. I think it is your greatest strength. You get no diploma for it. It is not a “happily ever after” moment. But nothing can compare. It will carry you through all of the “and they lived” moments of your life. And there are many of those.

May the Lord bless you on this day. Whether you go on to formal education next or not, may you enjoy your informal education the rest of your life. And…

“May you live . . . happily ever after.”

Making Edisons

[Originally posted September 4, 2003]

The thread on the home-schooling discussion forum was about giftedness. Is there such a thing? And, if so, how do you know if your child is gifted?

I had just finished reading “Sky of Stone” by Homer Hickham of “Rocket Boys” and “October Sky” fame. In this excellent book, Hickham looks back at the summer between his freshman and sophomore year of college. One of the connecting elements throughout the book is a painting his mother drew on the kitchen wall in their home.

This got me thinking about a painting my father drew on the hallway wall in our home outside of Pittsburgh, back in 1972, while everyone but him was out of town.

It was an “interesting” painting. You would never find it in an art museum. Then again, maybe you would. It’s hard to tell about art. But most people paint walls all the same color. Not my father.

Needless to say, it did not go over too well with the “art critic” he was married to. This prompted the rest of us to deride, rather than applaud, his work. The painting stayed on the wall until we moved. But it was frequently commented on. Our friends always thought it was “cool.” I thought they were crazy.

After reading this book, I sent an email to my father. I mentioned the wall. I applauded his courage and expression. I explained that I have a totally different perspective now than I did then. I am proud that he chose to express himself; proud that he included me in his audience. I should have encouraged him then. In a way, he set an example for his children. He weathered the criticism, the misunderstanding, the derision. But the painting stood.

Having five children of my own now, and home-schooling them, I try not to stifle their creativity, which often leads to all kinds of messes. I sometimes look around and just shake my head. “It will never be clean,” I tell myself as I survey the wreckage. Then I realize that’s not altogether true. One day, it will be . . . empty.

We don’t have pots and pans. They are building blocks for the kids to use. In the middle of the floor.

We don’t have boxes that can be thrown away. They are ships that must be sailed; across floors and down halls.

We don’t have sparkle-glue paint in bottles, where it is neat. We have it on the carpet, where it can sparkle in the afternoon light.

I have yet to find a single workable flashlight when I have needed it. All of the batteries have been spent on light-saber fights against bad guys.

My 16-year-old never knows where his drumsticks are. That’s because to a four-year-old they are not drumsticks, but rather swords, which must be hidden under bed pillows or in closets, because who knows when you will next need a sword?

More forks, knives and spoons have been lost in our backyard, digging for buried treasures, than went down on the Titanic.

We don’t have many of the things we could have. And what we do have is usually in the wrong place. For a grownup. But the right place for kids.

For a grownup, that hallway wall thirty years ago should have been left the color it was. For an artist, it was a canvas, not a wall. I only saw a wall.

“Every child is an artist,” Salvador Dali once said. “The problem is how to remain an artist after he grows up.” I only saw my father as a grownup, not an artist.

Thomas Edison has always been one of my heroes. Now that I am older, his parents, especially his mother, have become my heroes too, because they nurtured his inquisitiveness. They did not answer his thousands of questions with “Because I said so.” They answered each question, knowing that it would prompt a dozen more. But because they encouraged him our world is an incredibly better place.

I tell myself that we are making Edisons. We can try to have a neat and orderly house, or we can have a canvas for our kids to paint on. We chose a canvas. I partly blame my father for that.

There probably is such a thing as “giftedness”. But my father showed me there is also such a thing as “gift wrapping”. It is neat. It is pretty. But it keeps the gift inside. And wrapped gifts are never fully enjoyed.

I ended my apology email to my father with a suggestion: that he find another wall.

Blue and yellow make green

[originally posted August 28, 2005]

Matthew (our 17-year-old) had cleaned the bathrooms, and put toilet bowl cleaner dispensers in all of the toilet tanks – something we normally don’t do.

Shortly afterwards, Samuel, our six-year-old, came up to Nancy and said, “Mom, did you know that blue and yellow make green?”

“That’s very good, Samuel,” she said. “Did you learn that in art class?”

“No,” Samuel said. “I learned it in the bathroom just now.”

Samuel reminded me that new discoveries are waiting all around us, even in a toilet bowl. We can learn so much just about anywhere, if we will just open our eyes and our heart. But it always helps to have a six-year-old for a teacher.

“What gift has providence bestowed on man that is so dear to him as his children?” – Cicero (106-43 BC, Roman orator, statesman, philosopher and writer)