Neighbors

by Janet Scouten

My family and I have been in Italy for less than a week now, and this place has already captured my heart. We’re staying in Siena, a beautiful city in the heart of Tuscany, where my husband will be studying for six weeks. It’s been a wonderful opportunity for our family on so many levels, but the most amazing thing we’ve encountered so far is the incredible community spirit of this place.

Let me just say, this is one of the most exciting times of year to be in Siena. A centuries old horse race—called the Palio—is run every July in the town square, which, in fact, is not a square at all, but instead a large shell-shaped public area in center of town.

This Palio is no simple horse race, as I’m quickly beginning to discover. The race dates back over 800 years and, in recent memory, has been run pretty much every year except during World War II. (Quite understandably, I must say.) The race is between ten of Siena’s contrada (pronounced “con-TRAH-dah”), or neighborhoods, and the winner of the race receives a flag (or “palio”) to commemorate the victory.

I have never seen a place with more neighborhood pride than Siena. Over the past couple of days, as the town gears up for the big race, we have been treated to the sounds of song rising up to our window from the streets below—groups of fresh-faced young men and women, their middle aged parents, and even their school-aged little brothers and sisters, walking through town and singing their hearts out. And they are singing about their neighborhood—or contrada.

Thank You

Budapest: Our Family, 2003

by Janet Scouten

In case anyone is wondering, I’m feeling particularly thankful these days. School is out—hooray!—and I’m getting to spend some good, lazy time with my boys instead of rushing them to get eat, rushing them to get dressed, and rushing them out the door to school.

I’m also thankful because our family has a very special summer planned. –I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned it before, but my husband is a teacher, and a very smart one at that. And part of his job involves teaching international studies, and sometimes he goes to international places to study. 

In recent years, he’s been to Ireland, Turkey, Italy, France, and I don’t even remember where else. Truth be told, I’m a bit more of a homebody than he is, so he usually travels alone.

Only once before have we traveled abroad as an entire family, and that was five years ago— the year we moved to Hungary.

Looking back, it seems utterly unreal. My older son was a toddling two-and-a-half year old, and my younger son was an infant—not quite three months old. And, more than once, I’ve looked back to that time and asked myself, “What in the world were we thinking?”

But, amazingly enough, that year turned out to be one of the best we’ve ever had. It was an adventure we’ll never forget, and lessons we learned there have made a lasting impact on who we are as a family.

For one thing, it made us realize that we can travel light. After a year with only a fraction of the STUFF we keep around in our regular lives, we developed a whole new perspective on the difference between need and want. Limiting ourselves primarily to what we found in our Eastern European furnished apartment, as well as the clothes, toys and books we could carry from America in our four measly suitcases meant that we had to re-examine just exactly what we need to get by.

And—you know what?—it turns out that little babies don’t actually need their diaper wipes to be warmed. And they only need two teething rings, max—not the eight hundred or so we kept on hand back home. Finally, babies can also wear the same four outfits over and over again—in fact, so can their mothers—and it’s really not a big deal. (Well, except for when the baby pukes on every single one of those outfits—his and yours—and your washing machine is the size of a small end-table and your “dryer” is a piece of rope strung across the backyard.)

But beyond learning that we can travel light through this life, just the act of living in a foreign country—particularly on such a temporary basis—really helped us understand we are in this world for just a short while. And while we are certainly called to jump in and really live the life we are given, it doesn’t mean we should lay up our treasures here, because this is not our ultimate home.

The fact is: pretty much everything we bought for our family’s use that year in Hungary, we ended up leaving behind. The hand-held blender to make baby food: left behind. The teeny-tiny European crib: left behind. The couch pillows we bought because I couldn’t stand one more minute of leaning against that rock-hard armrest: left behind.

Things big and small, all left behind—either given to a Hungarian friend who was expecting her first baby, or put in a cardboard box for the next American family coming through that apartment.

And while we truly loved and enjoyed our year abroad, we never for a moment forgot that our situation there was temporary. And, as Christians, learning to embrace that feeling of temporariness is something we now apply to every day of this earthly life.

As C.S. Lewis puts it so eloquently: 

“Our Father refreshes us on the journey with some pleasant inns, but will not encourage us to mistake them for Home.”

Finally, our year abroad made us incredibly thankful. It made us thankful for the opportunity to experience a new country. It made us thankful for our cozy home back in America. It made us thankful every small thing we experienced in that strange new language and culture. –Thankful we didn’t get lost on the way to the store. Thankful for American friends who sent care packages across the ocean to cheer us. Thankful for Hungarian friends who helped us take a sick child to the doctor. Thankful for everything.

And since my Hungarian language skills were so very, very wretched—particularly during those first few months—it was appropriate, I think, that Thank You was pretty much the only thing I knew how to say: Köszönöm.

Köszönöm. –It was my go-to word. When my mind went blank and I couldn’t remember how to say Good morning, I’d say Köszönöm. When I bumped into someone and forgot how to say Excuse me, I’d say Köszönöm. When I handed the cashier my money, but couldn’t remember how to say, Here you go: Köszönöm. Even instead of saying Goodbye, I’d say Köszönöm.

I said it so often that I worried that store clerks who saw me coming to would say to themselves, “Well, here comes ‘Thank You Lady’—Get ready to be thanked: Thank You, Thank You, Thank You.”

But, I guess if you’re only going to learn how to say one thing, Thank You isn’t the worst thing you could pick.

After all, “In everything, give thanks.”

But getting back to my big news about this summer, it looks like it’s time to turn my Thank You dial back up to the max. –Yep! My husband has received another grant to go overseas. And this time, it’s not just him, but our whole family that’s going. And this time, it’s not to Hungary—it’s to Italy! And—no—not for the entire year, but for the summer, which works just fine by me!

It’s an incredible opportunity for every member of our family, and Thank You doesn’t seem nearly adequate. But—all the same—I’ve started practicing early, and I know I’ll be saying it often: “Grazie.”

“Grazie. Grazie. Grazie. Grazie.”

A summer in Italy will be an experience like no other, and I plan to keep you up to date on all our adventures and misadventures. Trust me: traveling with young children is never uneventful or terribly glamorous. –I can personally guarantee you that we will trip and stumble our way across that beautiful boot in the Mediterranean, but we will be grateful and thankful for every single minute of it.

And I’ll definitely keep you posted.

Grazie!

On the Other Side of Grace – A Grandson

by Jan Kaneft

The Old Testament book of Ruth tells the story of Naomi, a woman who blamed God for the disappointments in her life.  A severe famine in Judah forced Naomi, her husband and her two sons to leave Bethlehem, their home.  Traveling down that dusty road to a foreign land, Naomi bid farewell to her community and the consolation of familiarity.  While in Moab, tragedy struck Naomi’s life.  Her husband died, her sons married Moabites, and after ten years both sons died.  When the famine ended, Naomi returned to Bethlehem with one daughter-in-law, Ruth.

Devastated by her losses, Naomi re-entered Bethlehem a changed woman.  Her appearance stirred those who had previously known her and compelled them to ask, “Can this be Naomi?”  Angry and bitter, Naomi responded, “Don’t call me Naomi.  Call me Mara because the Almighty has made my life very bitter.  I went away full, but the Lord has brought me back empty.  Why call me Naomi?  The Lord afflicted me; the Almighty has brought misfortune upon me.” (Ruth 1:20-21) 

Like so many of us who submit to bitterness, Naomi succumbed to a victim mentality, stuck in the deception that misery would always be her fate.  Because she believed this lie, Naomi was unable to see God’s loving provision through her daughter-in-law, Ruth.  Ruth’s devotion to Naomi was unparalleled.  She literally and spiritually saved Naomi’s life.  You see, Ruth was a part of God’s plan for Naomi.  Even though Naomi was blinded by bitterness, God did not give up on her.  He chose a tiny miracle to break the spell that had hardened Naomi’s heart and mind—a grandson.

Like Naomi, I too have lived the greater portion of my life angry with God, blaming Him for the weak spiritual and emotional heritage received in my formative years.  Feeling unloved, unaffirmed, and deeply insecure, I fell prey to self-absorption, spending most of my time trying desperately to replace the huge missing pieces that, I thought, would make me into a whole person.  This lens of self-absorption and bitterness so corrupted my vision that I failed to see God’s loving provision in my husband and in particular, my sons.  The mental image of the mother I wanted to be was blurred by my own victim mentality.  But God had a plan.  With the help of a good counselor and empowered by God’s grace, my vision changed.  I realized that GOD was the missing piece I had been searching for to form the whole me.  Now, on the other side of grace, God is giving me a do over, a time to love and repair my son’s heart through a tiny miracle—a grandson.

As Naomi rocked and cared for Obed (Ruth’s son, the great-grandfather of David in the lineage of Christ), God renewed and sustained her life.  Naomi was given a do over, a blessed time to re-entrust herself to God as she watched His plan unfold.  In just two short months, a new baby boy will resurrect the hopes and dreams of my heart.  With God’s grace, I pray that the mental image of the mother I wanted to be will be revived in the reality of a grandmother!  Perhaps my sons will see that God makes all things new.

 

Painting: Emile Levy, “Ruth and Naomi,” 1859

Every Good and Perfect Gift

by Hope Lanier

Especially given some of the negative and naive perceptions I once had about missions and missionaries, it seems kind of ironic that I’ve grown into quite a mission buff. Growing up, I didn’t know any missionaries, but always imagined them to be people who were just a little bit “different.” From my perspective–as one of three kids in a suburban station wagon kind of family–it always seemed a little bit crazy that there were people who traveled to the darkest corners of the earth to live among native tribes, largely untouched by the modern world, in an effort to compel them to Christianity and save their mortal souls. The way I figured things, missionaries didn’t live “among us,” and they certainly weren’t “like us.”  

Growing up in the 1980s, I am not sure how much my thoughts were shaped by things like the PTL scandal that so unfairly blighted Christian ministries, or popular movies like Footloose where the antagonist was a headstrong preacher who handed out heavy doses of hellfire and brimstone. But even beyond missions and missionaries, the whole notion of evangelizing or even the candid sharing of faith just sort of rubbed me the wrong way. Sure, the goal of evangelists to help make us all better people was undoubtedly noble, but being “that kind of Christian” also seemed to mean making life a lot less fun.

To be fair, I should also tell you that I cannot recall a time when I was not surrounded by people putting good works into action. Whether by adopting families at Christmas, teaching Sunday School and Vacation Bible School, making casseroles and cakes when people were sick, and including shut-ins at holiday family gatherings, those opportunities to be good Christian servants were just a regular part of life at our house. Somehow, though, those opportunities to serve never struck me as “mission work” or opportunities to demonstrate God’s love as much as they just seemed like basic things good Southern families did.

Apple Dumpling Gang

by Janet Scouten 

On my birthday weekend, the family and I made a daytrip up to the mountains of North Carolina to go apple picking. Aside from the fact that I had turned (ack…ack…) 36, it was an absolutely glorious day.

As we drove to aptly-named Sky Top Orchard, following signs up the steep, narrow, twisting and turning road, our kids yelled gleefully from the backseat, “We’re going to the top of the sky! We’re going to the top of the sky!”

But when we finally reached our destination—not quite the top of the sky, but close—the number of parked cars, minivans and SUVs was almost beyond comprehension. In my mind, a huge crowd didn’t bode well for a cozy family day of apple picking. Instead I imagined a mosh pit of kids, grownups, apples and baskets, with elbows and knees flying as everyone scrambled for the last available apple.

Thankfully, I was wrong.

Hey, Ya’ll!

by Hope Lanier

Have you ever played the “what if” game? You know, asking yourself “what if” I could go anywhere, do anything, or meet anyone. “What if” I could choose any way in the world to dedicate my time and talents? “What if” God challenged me to step back and consider how to balance my life to better incorporate His plans?

In the past few weeks, I have gotten the distinct feeling that I might be missing the boat on some opportunities to open important new doors in my life. I began considering “what if” I started really looking out for one of those instances of clarity that we so often drown out with the distractions of life. When I did, I found myself face-to-face with a “burning bush” moment of sorts, clearly and directly challenged to re-think my “calling” and find a way to live it in an everyday way. 

Let me stop to introduce myself. My name is Hope Lanier. I am 39 years old, single, and have lived in Columbia for just over two years now. Professionally speaking, I am a political consultant, representing a variety of clients before the South Carolina General Assembly. 

Even as I write to you through this Family Life Blog, my immediate family doesn’t look much like I thought it would at this stage of my life. While I have the support of two wonderful parents, whom I am fortunate to talk with regularly, they have been likewise blessed with two very sweet, furry “grand-dogs.” Hadley is my beautiful and headstrong Scottish Terrier and Gracie is my sassy white Westie that was rescued after eight years–and fourteen litters–as a breeder dog in a puppy mill. 

To the extent that good friends become the family you pick–and I truly believe they do–I have an incredible and extensive network of “family” that literally spans this country and reaches around the world. From the Carolinas to California and Washington, DC to Africa, I have been so fortunate to discover such deep, amazing, supportive and time-tested friendships with people I admire and respect. 

Little Golden Families

 

“Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”

-Leo Tolstoy

  

by Janet Scouten

Tolstoy, that master of big, thick Russian novels, knew better than anyone that if you needed enough story to fill an 800-page book, you should start with an unhappy family. There’s nothing like an unhappy family to create the kind of long, complex drama that takes generations to resolve, with plenty of conflict and intrigue to keep a reader turning pages right up to The End.

In contrast, a happy, loving family just doesn’t have the same kind tumult and upheaval required of a sweeping literary epic. And, yet, there are books about happy families in my house that, although they don’t have quite 800 pages, I know for certain I’ve read through them at least 800 times. And every time it’s been with one or both of my little children sitting on my lap.

Children adore books about happy families. They absorb every detail of them, noticing that Bobby has a blue juice cup and Carol has a red one. They notice the round buttons on Mommy’s coat when she’s pushing the baby carriage for their daily walk. They notice Daddy’s brown jacket when he sweeps his little boy onto his shoulders as he walks in the door. They notice everything. And they want to read it again, and again, and again.

 

“Nice to meet you…”

by Janet Scouten

Have you ever found yourself heading down a road and wondering where in the world you were going, only to end up exactly where you needed to be at the exact moment you needed to be there? Well, I have. And I’m not talking about my uncanny knack for getting completely and utterly lost on the streets of the city I’ve lived in for the past 12 years. (At least, I’m not talking about that today. We’ll save those stories for another time.)

I’m talking about the road of life, if you will, and how things tend to work out in ways you never would have imagined. In my particular case, the road I’ve been traveling on has led me right to the doorway of the Palmetto Family Council. And, though I didn’t plan any of this, I am certain that this is the exact place I need to be, and this is the exact moment I need to be here.

And, so, with that being said, let me take a moment to introduce myself. My name is Janet Scouten. I am the new Director of Research at PFC, and I am thrilled to be here. On paper, the path I followed to this new position now makes perfect sense. My degrees are in Political Science and Public Policy Analysis, with a Master’s in English on the side. In my professional life, I’ve been so thoroughly steeped in research and statistical data that I compile spreadsheets in my sleep. And, try as I might, I have never been able to shake this wildly nerdy interest I have in all things government.

On a personal level, however, I am still fairly amazed to find myself in this position. I certainly never set out to be the Director of Anything for an organization that fearlessly and tirelessly works to defend and strengthen the families of this state. In fact, looking back, I don’t think I ever could have imagined what it was I was working so hard to become.