We Just Got Here: About Those Scouts

When the news broke today that the Boy Scouts of America went "woke" by changing their name from Boy Scouts of America to Scouting America, opinions were quickly inked and aired - including perspectives from many people I respect and admire in church and Christendom circles. 

Their resounding opinion was something like:  "... a sad measure of society in this day and age."

As the parent of a recently enlisted Scout - that is - a 'girl' Boy Scout- I've had some thoughts and would like to preface all that follows with "We just got here."

I realize there may be more ramifications than a mere name change to simplify things. 

I understand where the mind goes; the fear of eroded foundations and slippery slopes. 

As my not-even-Tenderfoot-yet 'girl' Boy Scout put it: " If this would have happened a few years ago, before we got involved, we may have been saying the same things." 

She speaks true. 

But oh, the power of involvement to hasten understanding. The freedom found by leaning in - not towards Liberalism, but good, old fashioned L-I-B-E-R-T-Y. 

May I share our experience as a new Scouting family? 

Most everyone knows I am a single mom. Some even know my daughter barely stops short of auctioning me off in order to find a stepdad to do "dad stuff" with her - like skateboarding and fishing. 

So far, no stepdad, no skateboarding and no fishing - still,  she longs for those experiences and that connection. 

She's 13 and prides herself on being ambitious. 

She's also quite sentimental - whether she admits it or not. 

And resourceful, too. She's never let the lack of something stop her pursuit of a goal (ask me about the Moana oar sometime - or horses, or, well, lots of things.)

This year, Spring Community Day for her cyber school was hosted at a nature center. We didn't realize until we arrived that the location also serves as a Scouting headquarters, complete with Scout store. 

We looked with interest at all the old scouting relics in the lobby and, by the time we reached the store, inspiration had settled over my twiggy little ambitious one. 

The first thing we saw as we walked in was a display of party goods to celebrate Eagle Ceremonies. I reminded Rye that her Papa is an Eagle... and somewhere along the line, the store attendant (and Scout Master) reminded her that, ever since 2018, girls can try Scouting, too. 

She announced her goal to get Eagle before we returned home -  it was, she said "you know, because of Papa" 

Don't get me wrong - she is all about girl bosses and equal rights and such.

Heaven help us, she's a Swiftie. 

 But when she decided to embark on this journey, it was to follow in the footsteps of her Papa. 

Can we please just let her have that? 

                                       ⚜

We were as green as her olive uniform skirt when it came to getting started, but we found a very welcoming community in our Troop and have been enjoying getting to know them at our regular weekly meeting as well as special events. 

We learned that girls and boys have their own separate troops and handbooks (while younger cub scouts are integrated into co-ed packs) 

We learned that girl troops have girl leaders and boy troops have boy leaders. 

We learned that boys and girls don't share tents or compromise privacy for others. 

We learned that there are lots of rules in place to keep kids safe - not unlike in schools and churches.

 Volunteers must complete safety and mandated reporting courses. And now, having completed courses for both Scouting and Substitute Teacher, I can share without hesitation that Scouts have a more thorough and intentional syllabus. 

We learned that Scouts (male and female)  still aim to be: 

Trustworthy 

Loyal 

Helpful

Friendly

Courteous

Kind

Obedient

Cheerful

Thrifty

Brave

Clean

Reverent 

Scouts pledge to operate by a code of honor, moral uprightness, physical stewardship, mental sharpness and a duty to God and country; to be a help to all people at all times.  

(Remind me to tell about the time I was accidentally teaching all of my classes to become Boy Scouts without realizing it ) 

When we attended our first field event (geocaching around town ) we were warmly welcomed and received - there was no gatekeeping or hidden agendas. No cliques. Just a group of girls going geocaching - and - identifying trees, checking bird boxes and rescuing stranded Cicadas). 

Not unlike a youth group, perhaps- but possibly more friendly. 

Riley came home from Troop meeting last night describing the vivid pink her patrol (Paw Patrol)  is painting their patrol box. She showed me a list of 10 camping necessities we needed to get for her including a pocket knife. 

Rye: "I'll have to ask Fisher or Papa about the best type to get. Even though I'd really like a Batman one, it probably needs to be more serious and functional than that. I'll ask Papa - he has more wisdom on it." 

And when she let Papa know she was going to be needing a pocket knife, he gave her the one from his pocket right there on the spot. 

He showed her how to open it carefully and demonstrated all the fun features like a toothpick and scissors. I teased her a little about taking the man's knife but she explained as we drove home that she had really hoped he meant she could keep it because it belonged to him 

(See? Sentimental) 

This morning, she came into my room bearing a peeled and quartered apple on a paper plate: "It works! I’ve got to tell Papa it works! "  

She wouldn't hear of me not eating some of the apple in celebration of the apple being cut…& peeled! As I chewed, she informed me the knife had also cut paper, some little wood decor in her room and "other stuff." 

She spent most of today looking for opportunities to help others with her new tool, even the corkscrew... 

At the gas station: "Mom, I was going to say we should get one of those bottles of wine instead of water, so I could, you know, open it.  Maybe there will be a chance to use this corkscrew in a church or something, you know- for communion wine?" 

Probably not at our church, but she might get lucky now that we're hanging out with 'woke folk'  ;) 

A Scout By Any Other Name 

As we've shared her new adventure with others, one of the trickiest things really has been the name: 

"We've got a girl... I mean boy... well, girl boy scout meeting tonight." 

There is a distinction between being  a Girl Scout and a Boy Scout. Namely, and according to Riley, the advantage of being in Boy Scouts is that one can earn rank, and become an Eagle, and do cool stuff... like Papa. 

And thankfully, Papa never made rank in the Girl Scouts. 

Though he did help Riley make cookies once upon a time ... 

Some of the articles I read today pointed out the need for BSA to rebrand, refocus and recover from abuse scandals and financial lows.  Again, this is not entirely unlike a church or any organization containing more than two people. 

Life is messy and just because one troop failed does not mean the entire organization represents the same moral lapses. But it does seem fair to point out that the lapses occurred long before the girls showed up. 

My 'girl' Boy Scout and I talked about the name change on our way to youth group tonight, about how some may liken the change to other current news items involving transgenderism. But, it's really more like when girls asked for the opportunity to join Augusta National. The private club had the right to tell women no, but they met and voted and  decided the time had come to invite women in. 

We also did a little math, my "girl" Boy Scout and I. 

Boy Scouts of America was founded 114 years ago - in February of 1910. 

That's a whole decade before women were  allowed to vote. 

So - things have changed a little since then... and change can be scary, but change isn't implicitly bad or evil. 

We can, with the courage of a Scout, forage ahead with cheerfulness. 

For whatever other reasons the change has been made or for whatever other changes may occur in time, this particular name change will truly simplify terminology for the families of active scouts. 

Not unlike a woman, taking her husband's last name. 

It will still be the same entity it has been all along, now with more concise vocabulary. 

Mightn't it encourage more girls to 'go for Eagle' ? 

It mightn't. 

But, will that really be so bad? 

As for my 'girl' Boy Scout and I, we vote no - it’s not a bad club to encourage at all. We really don't think so. 

Not at face value, anyway  - which is all we have to go on at this point. 

If a slope grows too slippery, we have the power of choice. 

Meanwhile, it is wrong to call what is good evil and vice versa. And what we have been experiencing in Scouting America has been reverently good. 

If you haven't recently, I invite you to lean in a little closer. 

Pick up a Scouting handbook for either gender  (or read a virtual version here  ) and see if you don't think we could all use a little more 'Scout's honor'  in our lives. 

⚜

The Lawnmower Chronicles

 

My buddy Delton is a good storyteller with a keen eye for the humor of simply being alive. He’s the kind of friend who listens between the lines and offers the gift of presence. 

Delton’s lawnmower is his “thinking chair” and these chronicles a storehouse of contemplation across the years   

Pull up a porch chair and sit a spell with Delton … 

The Lawnmower Chronicles 

irrelevant, your honor

irrelevant

your honor 

your honor is irrelevant

imaginary, non-existant 

no honor due

On my honor…

 

On my honor 

I will do my best

to do my duty 

to God and my country

and to obey the Scout Law;

to help other people at all times;

to keep myself physically strong,

mentally awake, and morally straight.

Pretty Good Patheos Problem

I recently let my friends at Patheos know I was turning "The Pretty Good Report" out to pasture.  

To quote my teenage daughter's favorite anti-hero: "It's me, hi! I'm the problem, it's me." 

I first encountered Patheos as a young-ish blogger, many years ago, at a time when I was also making my faith and life my own.  I explored a lot of new ideas by the authors-of-then.  I met with fresh perspectives and thought-provoking challenges; it was a season of growth and growing up.  

As a result, I held Patheos with kind regard and the chance to join their ranks seemed like a good reason - perhaps even motivation- to write. 

But the opportunity to write for them arrived in a different, more rooted season. 

It is curious to look back and see how tall we've changed, how thick our bark. 

"Further up, further in" as the Unicorn was heard to say. 

I realized along the way that this whole journey is a continual forward motion until we reach the river's crossing.  So, these days, with that established, unless someone asks, I have little worth a pitched-tent-stay. 

Oh, I love to describe my own journey - the birds that are singing, the beauty around me. 

Like journaling. 

Writing for clicks and curating SEO put me in a different frame of mind - my words felt stilted and more "talking at" than "talking with" . . . more pontificating than sharing ... with more pressure to wrap endings up in pretty spiritual bows, too.  All that to say, less natural. 

I suppose my words @ Patheos will live on in the root-cellar-recesses-of-words-gone-by until the archives need sweeping to make room for new authors. And it is just as well. I have never felt it was my best work. The darker the dungeon, the better sometimes. 

Meanwhile, I've opened the windows and scrubbed the baseboards on two or three of my many-fractaled blogs and will continue to offer field notes from there  - whenever nature calls, without word counts or deadlines nor the pressure to package my words for optimal ad based revenue.  

To write is to express myself - occasionally to run the levee dry.

 I want to make much of living, if not much of a living. 

You'll see my tip jar for coffee - but I've got to tell you the truth: even if it only fills with cobwebs and  wooden nickels,  I will continue to buy my own coffee and write words with wild abandon.  

Because I do both for me, and share either freely with you. 

Dear Me: Sympathy

I was grieving something I couldn't explain, so I bought a sympathy card. 

I didn't write in it for some time. Mailing was further delayed by a literal drenching rain. 

But what kept it pinned to my bulletin board long after it dripped-dry was the emptiness that follows calling Grief by name. 

And then one day, post-marked months before, my words arrived. 

Here is what I said to me (and now, to you, if need be ): 

                                                                                                    November 12, 2023

"It is okay if you don't have words for what and why you are grieving.
It's okay if all you know is "I'm sad" or "I wish it ended differently."
When your world has imploded -- or exploded, when your life has experienced a catastrophic event... it is okay to hold a new funeral for each new piece you pick up along the way...it is okay to mourn the pieces you cannot find or name.
It is okay to take your time. It's your time. All of it. You may use it in as many ways as you need.Or you can use it in as few...to rest. Be kind and gentle to you."
                                                                                                    ~k

Crossing the Divide

::: all hyperlinks contain secret messages ::: 

PEW, PEW, PEW

The *old wooden pews in the Nazarene church I grew up in required a sort of sidewinding to maneuver one’s way out.

But it wasn't just Nazarene pews that demanded this certain sort of leg-bumping-hymnal-rack-dodging-side-shuffle to reach the aisles. The pews in other churches worked much the same way - regardless of padding or denominational affiliation.

This led many of us children to slide-scoot on our bottoms, down the pew towards the ornate end pieces that led to wide-stanced freedom.

Sometimes, when long-winded adults stood like talking roadblocks in our way, one might high-step a hasty trot down the pew seats themselves, clearing stacks of hard-back hymnals and leather bound pages of the Good Book like so many hurdles in a race. 

Joyful or no - it was a bad idea to make the horsey sounds out loud. 

Other times,  we could escape by army-crawling  under the length of pews until we reached **White Knuckle Row and the double swinging doors that opened to the lobby and Sunday school hall.

Beyond that lay front porch freedom and all the games our well-starched church clothes would allow.

RIGHT & LEFT

The two rows of pews were flanked by narrow aisles to either side, with one central aisle commencing at the Common Table   (This Do In Remembrance of Me ). 

The narrow aisles to the left and right of the pews allowed late-comers to slip in or children who’d played too long at the water fountain to slip out (and commence playing with hand soap in the bathrooms.) The side-wings were favored by guest speakers and special musicians making their way forward and toward amplified speech and song.

 

The wide center aisle allowed silvered-saints to be wheeled in and parked near the front row. It provided an ample avenue for “Brothers” and “Sisters” from the neighborhoods of Left and Right Pew to lay aside their rivalries and mingle in one unified-double-wide-church-family stew.

 

Left, right or center, all aisles led to the Cross, the Bread and the Wine. 

 

RIGHT & WRONG

Oh yes, there were rivalries - with mild mannered, unassuming names like “Visitor’s Drive”, where each side competed to bring more new visitors, winning the right to cut the other side’s tie.… if you know, you know. If you don’t, ask me sometime.

Back then, those who sat on the ‘Other Side’ were akin to Larsen’s characters from “The Far Side” to me - kinda the same and obviously, kinda weird; funny looking, even.

Those with positional opposition to me shared common ground and uncommon background, not unlike the Bride and Groom sides at a wedding.

How must one have been raised  to be sitting over there?! 

Not in a godly home, that was for sure.  :: author jests :: 

Since then, over the years, and in different congregations, I’ve seen the kind of rivalries arise that are unkind.

Disagreements across the aisle - divisions and dishonesties - none meant to outdo each other in love. (Rom12) 

As in our mortal units, cobbled together with well-intended vows, we sadly find dysfunction in our Kingdom family, too.

SCREWTAPE & WORMWOOD

C.S. Lewis invites us to watch as Screwtape and Wormwood  oil that center aisle into a slippery-slope-slip-and-slide. 

SCREWTAPE (1):When he goes inside, he sees the local grocer with rather an oily expression on his face bustling up to offer him one shiny little book containing a liturgy which neither of them understands… When he gets to his pew and looks round him he sees just that selection of his neighbors whom he has hitherto avoided. You want to lean pretty heavily on those neighbors. Make his mind flit to and fro between an expression like "the body of Christ" and the actual faces in the next pew. It matters very little, of course, what kind of people that next pew really contains...Provided that any of those neighbors sing out of tune, or have boots that squeak, or double chins, or odd clothes, the patient will quite easily believe that their religion must therefore be somehow ridiculous.

At his present stage, you see, he has an idea of "Christians" in his mind which he supposes to be spiritual but which, in fact, is largely pictorial. His mind is full of togas and sandals and armor and bare legs and the mere fact that the other people in church wear modern clothes is a real-though of course an unconscious-difficulty to him. Never let it come to the surface; never let him ask what he expected them to look like.

SCREWTAPE (2): …if the patient knows that the woman with the absurd hat is a fanatical bridge-player or the man with squeaky boots a miser and an extortioner-then your task is so much the easier. All you then have to do is to keep out of his mind the question "If I, being what I am, can consider that I am in some sense a Christian, why should the different vices of those people in the next pew prove that their religion is mere hypocrisy and convention?" You may ask whether it is possible to keep such an obvious thought from occurring even to a human mind. It is, Wormwood, it is! Handle him properly and it simply won't come into his head. He has not been anything like long enough with the Enemy to have any real humility yet. What he says, even on his knees, about his own sinfulness is all parrot talk.

At bottom, he still believes he has run up a very favorable credit-balance in the Enemy's ledger by allowing himself to be converted, and thinks that he is showing great humility and condescension in going to church with these "smug", commonplace neighbors at all.

SCREWTAPE (3): It is not, in fact, very different from the conviction she would have felt at the age of ten that the kind of fish-knives used in her father's house were the proper or normal or "real" kind, while those of the neighboring families were "not real fish-knives" at all

FAMILY & FRIENDS 

I recently learned of church people who, due to a disagreement, are no longer friends, “only Family”

That is to say, they are stuck together in Christ, but do not plan to like it very much.

(Thanks a lot, Jesus!)

I think my friends have a misunderstanding. This is not what being family means.

My guess is they are far from the only ones, not only in my church, but throughout our global church family, too.

(All we blood-bought belong to Him, dontchaknow? )

If we took a survey this Sunday, we'd no doubt find all sorts of stories about why Believers under the same roof are sitting on opposite sides of the room.

Elephants and Donkeys come to mind, as do Israel and Palestine. 

JESUS: “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”(John13) 

And how will we know it is love? 

Love is patient, kind, unbothered and unfailing…  (1Cor13)

ORPHANS & JOINT-HEIRS

Growing up, whenever we “met in the middle” we would often sing the same hymn; the pianist would continuing to play as hands were shook and necks were hugged (not wrung!) in our brief interlude of fellowship.

If you know, you know…

….  the only permissible way to read this next part is in Bill Gaither’s singing voice. If you didn’t know, now you do. I don’t make the rules. 

Family of God by Bill Gaither 

You will notice we say "brother and sister" 'round here,

It's because we're a family and these are so near;

When one has a heartache, we all share the tears,

And rejoice in each victory in this family so dear.

I'm so glad I'm a part of the Family of God,

I've been washed in the fountain, cleansed by His blood!

Joint heirs with Jesus as we travel this sod,

For I'm part of the family,

The Family of God.

From the door of an orphanage to the house of the King,

No longer an outcast, a new song I sing;

From rags unto riches, from the weak to the strong,

I'm not worthy to be here, but praise God I belong! 

 

 

I am a daughter, sibling, and mom - all lending to my awareness that “crossing the aisle” is a big ask, but it isn't impossible.

Whenever I have been the Prodigal, the Proud or the Parent - the required measure of grace was only a mustard seed tall. A little has carried me a long way - even clear across that aisle.

I don’t reckon there is an easy-to-follow-step-by-step guide for this.

Unless, of course... there is:

 

JESUS: “Pray then like this: “Our Father in heaven…” (Matt6)

Perhaps, step 1 is simply acknowledging that - Left, Right or Wrong, we are all just a motley-crew-of-ragamuffin-orphans, walking each other Home. 

  ~end

* See Author’s Note below

** the back row , where sinners like to go   :: author jests, author jests! ::

Author’s Note:

The following conversation was a result of my research for this article (a.k.a. phone call to Momma)

ME: Why am I remembering both wooden and padded pews at the church in Martinez? MOMMA: I don’t know why you are remembering that, did you ever go to the North Augusta church?

ME: I don’t know if I ever went to the North Augusta church - I was just a baby. I’ve been told I played Jesus in a Nativity play but I don’t really remember.  

MOMMA: Oh, North Augusta was the Wesleyan church anyway. 

ME: It’s not really important which church they were in, I just remember time-smoothed wood that still seemed like it could leave a splinter but also padded pews - perhaps in the color orange?  

MOMMA: The Wesleyan pews were painted orange. I helped paint them and got some on my new outfit. Your Granny was mad, but I didn’t know why, I bought that outfit myself...I’ve never found that pretty color again…  

ME: Did we maybe get new pews at some point? Was there a mix of wood and padded?  

MOMMA: The orange Wesleyan pews were also wood, I remember being glad because I threw up in one of them. Brother Cooley was mad - but I don’t know why - it’s not like I planned it. He thought I could have made it outside, but obviously, I didn’t... You could call Mr. Rutherford to see if he remembers...

My nephews, who she was babysitting at the time, interrupted us then, with a squabble, a brother-slap and the refusal to have one’s diaper changed. With a smile, I let her go to attend their assorted needs. 

Church. Family. Indeed.