Into the great wide open

I'm having some adjustment issues with the "home" part of homeschooling. So, I pat myself on the back with how proud Charlotte Mason would be, and we head outside.

We fed the ducks and went to the zoo on Wednesday. The Hermann Park ducks and geese were all looking a little rough, as though they might be trying to fit in with the homeless guys napping on the picnic tables.

I paid the extra money to walk through the animatronic dinosaur exhibit, because we hadn't done it all summer. The dinosaurs move and make noises and the kids giggled nervously and kept reminding each other that "they aren't really REAL because everyone know dinosaurs are extinct. Right?"

I caught a little bit of a movie called "Creation" about Charles and Emma Darwin last night. There was a scene in which their daughter Anna had to kneel on rock salt as punishment because she insisted to their local vicar that dinosaurs had indeed existed. It was thought provoking, and I might watch the whole thing at some point.

We took a break from the Great Church Hunt of 2012 (we've visited six different churches since we moved in June and I am all ready to just pick a place to settle. It's been encouraging to see the depth and breadth of the body of Christ, but the thought of putting forth the energy to build meaningful relationships with a whole bunch of new people is almost debilitating. So Sunday morning we got up and didn't quite make it out the door in time to make it to the church we've gone to the past two Sundays, so we decided to drive out to Brazos Bend State Park instead. We went to the woods because we wished to live deliberately, and all that. We saw an alligator in the river, and there were lots of these blue dragonflies. Harper and Hudson were allowed to carry their real knives on their belts. There was lots of Spanish moss draped on the trees. Helena was draped in Mardi Gras beads.

I am realizing some things about myself as we try to find a church. I remember reading a couple of years ago that Francis Chan's church worships in this outdoor pavilion thing (in part to avoid the exorbitant cost of a big building), an idea which pleased me greatly. Of course, that makes much better sense when one lives in San Diego (is that where his church is? It is someplace with Edenic temperatures year around, I'm pretty sure) and not Houston. But I love when a sanctuary is lit with natural light; when I can look outside and remember that we are a separate peace, but that we are still in the midst of the world. We don't have to worship in a dark cave. We are free to be seen and to see. I was listening to Rick Steves' radio show on NPR a few weeks ago and he was talking to some Europeans and asking them their thoughts on traveling in America, and one of them said our national parks are like our cathedrals. I think that's pretty profound. I think it's easier to remember what the heavens are declaring when you can actually see the heavens. God made alligators and Great White Herons and blue dragonflies and gigantic Cross spiders that are six inches across! He gave you eyes that can see and ears that hear and legs that hike and lungs that breathe deep. Sing halleluia! (Or maybe complain that you are tired of walking and that you wish we could stop in the gift shop. For a minute there, I was Ann Voskampian. Then my kids started talking and interrupted my ode.)

Anyway, if anyone knows of a liturgical church, preferably within walking distance to our house, with music that is heavy on cello and violin and ancient hymns, teaching that is expository and utilizes only original metaphors, people who are genuine, windows that are large (metaphorically, but also literally), ministry that is focused on the least...that about does it. Maybe you'll let me know? We are willing to surrender our weapons, if need be. Excepting our swords, naturally.