Many years ago, Aileen and I made the decision to enroll our children in the local public school. This was a decision we made as carefully and thoughtfully as we knew how to at the time (which was way back in the early 2000s). We decided we would take the approach of “a child at a time, a year at a time, a school at a time.” But even as we kept options open, we never felt the need to change course. Neither did our kids. A lot of time has gone by and two of our children have graduated those public schools while the third has completed as far as tenth grade.

After Nick wrapped up his high school education, I did a little interview with him. I wanted to hear about this experience, whether he felt public schooling had been good or bad, wise or foolish, and what he intended to do if the Lord granted him children. You can read that here. I recently asked Abby the same questions because I wanted to her take on it as well. In both cases I really encouraged them to be as honest as possible without any fear of offending their parents. Here are Abby’s unedited answers.
What do you think were the benefits of being in public school?
I think that one of the main benefits to public schooling is that I learned very early in my life about the brokenness of the world and about the people who are living apart from the Lord. I was still young enough that I saw what was going on around me and I could return home and talk to my parents and older brother about it who would explain the brokenness to me and point me back to Christ. As I explain a bit later on, seeing this brokenness is a large part of my testimony. 
Another benefit is that I learned how to be friends with non-believers very early on in my life. I started public school in junior kindergarten and continued all the way until I graduated high school. I was around unbelievers constantly, and most of my friends were not Christians. While this also proved to be a challenge, it allowed me to learn how to be a loving friend to them, and also provided me opportunities to share my beliefs (looking back I wish I had taken more of these opportunities). Now that I have graduated high school and moved out of the area, I still have some of those friendships and can still minister to my unbelieving friends as we continue to get older. 
Are there ways in which you think public school may have harmed you or otherwise been a negative force or influence?
I don’t think public school harmed me. However, I do think there were negatives to my experience. The negative influence of public school came more from the people I was around than public schooling itself. I knew what I believed and by God’s grace I was not swayed. However, being in the world and being around so many people who were living unrepentantly in sin weighed heavily on my heart. By the time I graduated highschool I was ready to be in a Christian environment, surrounded by believers. However, through this I learned how to pray for, serve and love those unbelievers in my life. 
Did you find it hard to be a Christian in public school?
Yes and no. For the most part I did not find it terribly difficult, especially when I was younger. Most of my peers did not care about my religion. I grew up in a very multicultural area so a lot of people identified themselves with one religion or another and I was just another one of the religious kids. However, I think it was more difficult as I got older. There was the pressure to be and live like everyone else. Being around unbelievers constantly and hearing about their sin weighed heavily on my heart. It was also hard when I was expected to complete assignments or read material that I did not agree with. I found that most of the difficulty came from teachers and the pressure to agree with what they were teaching even when I knew I did not. 
Did you feel pressure to conform to a non-Christian standard?
Yes. I think that the pressure I felt came the most often from the teachers I had throughout the years and less from my peers (although I did experience this as well). When I was younger (young elementary school age) this pressure was less intense. The older I got the more of this pressure I felt. Multiple times there were assignments I was expected to complete, books I was supposed to read or movies I was told to watch that were thoroughly against what I believed. Specifically in classes like Canadian Law and English class. I was expected to debate or write papers defending subjects that I disagreed with. I was expected to agree. This is where I found the most pressure to conform to a non-Christian standard. Not agreeing could have serious consequences and I felt the pressure to conform heavily. 
In terms of my peers, I found that they for the most part, did not care much about what I believed. I did have to choose my friends carefully however, and I lost a lot of them as we continued to get older and found we had less and less in common. While they did not understand, they did not pressure me to do things that went against what I believed. However, as I started to get older and my opinions and beliefs on major issues (abortion and discussions of sexuality) differed so fundamentally from many of my friends, these pressured increased. I found myself avoiding the subjects more often than not. Avoiding subjects like this is where I think I found myself succumbing to pressure the most amongst my peers. 
Do you feel like your faith would be stronger if you had been homeschooled or Christian schooled?
No. I think that the Lord used public schooling and the experiences I had during my time there to show me the brokenness of the world. A large part of my testimony includes seeing the way that the Christians in my life were living their lives dependent on the Lord, and in contrast, watching the non-Christians that I had grown up with fall deeper and deeper into sin while at the same time becoming more and more miserable. I think that seeing this contrast first hand every day strengthened my faith, and it made me realize that I wanted no part of the world that my friends were living in. I also had to learn how to trust the Lord with my friends. 
Are there ways in which you think homeschooling or Christian schooling would have been a more positive experience for you?
I do not feel like public schooling was an overall negative experience for me. However, had I been homeschooled or Christian schooled it could have potentially saved me from being influenced by some friends who I should not have been influenced by. It could have also allowed me to avoid some of the heaviness on my heart from being around and hearing about unrepentant sin so constantly. I do not think that the negatives I experienced in the public school system outweighed the positives I walked away with. 
As much as you can put yourself in our shoes, would you have made the same decision?
I think that I would have made the same decision as you. I do not feel as though public school was an overall negative experience for me. The world has changed since I first started my education. Through public school, I learned a lot and it is a huge part of my testimony. In his kindness the Lord used it to show me my own sinfulness and His grace. He also used it to show me the sinfulness of the world. As I said earlier I think the positives I walked away with far outweigh the negatives I experienced and I’m glad I went through the public school system. 
As much as you can project into an uncertain future, how do you think you’re likely to educate your own children? 
I think that in answering this question it is important to know just how much the world has changed since I started my public school education. Schools have become much more liberal and much less tolerant than they were when I was in them. If I could have my children repeat the experience I had in public school I believe I would send them into the public school system. However, with the way the world seems to be moving and what I know of that’s being taught in schools now, I would be more hesitant to send my children, especially little ones into them as I believe they would have a much different experience than my own. I think I would be more comfortable sending my older kids into public schools however. I believe I would lean more toward a Christian school education where I could be more confident in the teaching they were receiving and the peers they would have.
OK, back to Tim so I can wrap up as I did last time. I guess the big question at the end is this: If Aileen and I had to begin again, would we choose the public schools or would we instead go with one of the alternatives? To be honest, we just don’t know and we can’t put ourselves back in that situation. But we agree with what Abby said at the end—some key cultural factors have changed between then and now. Regardless, we gratefully acknowledge God’s hand of blessing on the decision we did make while also acknowledging that same hand of blessing would have been upon us whichever path we chose. We’re so deeply grateful to Him.

Amazon is having a “Big Spring Sale.” There are tons of products on sale, of course, but my interest is always primarily in books. You’ll find Kindle devices with a moderate discount. And, as you filter for books, you can find a few interesting picks. As for Kindle deals, today you’ll find a key volume in Nick Needham’s outstanding church history series.
Meanwhile, Westminster Books has a sale on a new book by Melissa Kruger called Parenting with Hope.

This was a fitting reflection for yesterday’s World Down Syndrome Day. “I am concerned that amidst this standard discourse about Down Syndrome, so heavily determined by abortion-related policy, that other more generative lines of inquiry are often precluded. For example, we might ask, if people with Down Syndrome are just as human as you and I, how should we contemplate the mystery of what it means to be a human being?” (See also this video by the child of someone whose blog I often link to.)

Samuel James considers Coldplay and Taylor Swift and their examples of performative offense. “We live in an era where the combination of authenticity and vice means that we are seeing some examples of performative offense. Performative offense is what happens when people indulge in vice less out of a sincere desire to indulge it, and more out of a desire to sell their image in the public square.”

“We live in a noisy world, do we not? Deafening, in fact. A chaotic culture with throngs of people highly uncomfortable with silence. It is considered prestigious to fill up one’s time indiscriminately, often to the neglect of one’s soul.”

Carl Trueman looks at a recent report from the Church of England and tells how it indicates their desire for a cost-free righteousness. “The irony of the report, of course, is that it criticizes Western imperialism, of which it sees missionaries as tools, and yet does so on the basis of the latest Western imperialist ideology: cultural relativism and the notion that claims to truth are really instrumental to power.”

Trevin Wax encourages preachers to be relentlessly interesting (even if this means they need to preach a little shorter). “There’s no reason for solid, biblical preaching to bore people. Crafting a sermon well, with intention, and being passionate in your delivery so your tone reflects the seriousness of the substance, isn’t something new. This has been and remains a perennial concern of Christian exegetes.”

We can often look to the past as the good old days and conveniently set aside what was terrible back then. “But something is profoundly wrong with today. This is perhaps only ‘different wrong’ to the past but that doesn’t make it less wrong. The past was better in those respects that critics of modernity criticise even if not in lots of others. It’s not sepia-tinted to suggest so, and we should be able to do so in every age until the kingdom is fully unveiled. Which is to say let’s be wary of nostalgia, but let’s be wary of lazy critiques of it too.”

I pray that Christ would be so present and so visible that people would fail to think of me at all.

Good advice may help us in daily direction; the Good News concerning Jesus Christ saves us from sin’s guilt and tyranny over our lives and the fear of death. It’s Good News because it does not depend on us.
—Michael Horton

I am worshipping with a congregation that is not my own, a community of Christians on the far side of the planet. Though I am there primarily to learn and to worship, I cannot help but observe one of the members of the church as he sits just in front of me. His wife is pressed close to him on one side and a chair has been left vacant on the other. He rises with the rest of the congregation as the pastor speaks the call to worship. “Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your heart before him; God is a refuge for us.”

“Because God is worthy of our trust,” says the pastor, “you can pour out your heart before him. No matter the circumstances of your life, you can trust him because he is powerful and he is good. So let’s join our hearts and voices together to sing of this good and powerful God.”
The musicians take up the first strains of the opening hymn and the people soon join in.

O worship the King all-glorious above / O gratefully sing his power and his love. / our shield and defender, the Ancient of Days, / pavilioned in splendor and girded with praise.

I observe that as this man begins to sing, he glances toward the door at the back of the room, his eyes searching for something or for someone.

O tell of his might and sing of his grace, / whose robe is the light, whose canopy space. / His chariots of wrath the deep thunderclouds form, / and dark is his path on the wings of the storm.

He sings a few more lines, then looks that way again.

Frail children of dust, and feeble as frail, / in you do we trust, nor find you to fail. / Your mercies, how tender, how firm to the end, / our Maker, Defender, Redeemer, and Friend!

The hymn gives way to a Scripture reading, then to reciting a creed, and still I can see that his attention is divided—divided between worship and watching, between the front of the room and the back.
The service continues with prayer and song and still I see him looking forward and back, still I can see his heart expressing praise while his face expresses expectation, longing, hope.
It is only after the service has ended and I can speak to one of the pastors that I learn why his attention has been so divided. It is only after the service that I learn what he has been looking for—or, better said, who he has been looking for.
His daughter has said she will come to church today. His daughter has wandered far but has said she is ready to return. His daughter who has squandered so much says she has learned her lesson. His daughter who has caused her father’s heart to ache has said that today she will soothe it. This man is looking for his daughter, his beloved daughter.
As time goes on and as the elements of the service pass by, the glances become less frequent and less hopeful. Unless I’m wrong, his shoulders become a little less straight, a little more stooped, for it becomes clear that this will not be the day on which the prodigal daughter returns. This will not be the day on which sorrow gives way to joy, on which weeping gives way to dancing. Though I do not know him and though we live worlds apart, I grieve with him and for him. I grieve as a brother in Christ.
I spend a fair bit of time with men who know loss, fathers who have laid a child in the grave. Some of them are grieving beloved daughters and I know they sometimes experience stirrings of jealousy when they see other fathers with their girls. It causes them to remember better times, to remember the pleasures of being father to a daughter, to long to experience it and enjoy it again. I sometimes feel like this too when I see fathers with their sons.
But in this moment, this moment in which the congregation takes their seats and the pastor approaches the pulpit, words flash into my mind, words I came across in an old book from long ago. The author pointed out that in many lives the sorrow over the living is greater far than the sorrow for the dead who have passed on to sweet rest. Far more often, he says, has his heart been moved to pity for the parents of a living sorrow than for the parents of a departed joy. There are some sorrows harder even than the sorrow of death, he insists, some griefs deeper even than the grief of bereavement. And while I find little benefit in comparing one kind of grief to another, I am certain the sorrow of watching a living child careen toward hell is every bit as sharp as the pain of losing a child, but knowing he is safely in heaven.
And so, “God save that girl” my heart whispers. “And pity her father, Lord. Bless that man and comfort the sorrows of his troubled heart.”