The Mothering Chronicles 2: Patience and Love

Time evaporates--don't you find--like a meringue or cotton candy. I used to imagine that as my boys grew in independence I'd surely find more time to write and yet I'm discovering that in fact, the opposite has proven true. And speaking of boys--sweet boys--mine are growing. And with their growth I find that my world somehow shrinks. I'm in that phase of life where if I didn't carefully wrap my dreams and goals and place them safely away, I could perhaps lose them--lose myself even. It's the mothering time of life for me. The time when football and Robin Hood trump reading the home decorating magazine and when taking them to the skate park seems a better choice than a quiet cup of tea on my deck with a Maya Angelou novel. To trade a moment of what they need for what I may want is almost unthinkable. My day will come again, but for now, for now? For now, it is them. There are afternoons or days or even weeks when we are a babbling brook dancing our way over the time-smoothed pebbles that fill our lives, times when we are a melodious foursome happy and content in all things. Then there are moments when the harmony of mom, dad, and sons is somewhat akin to the call of a blue jay or a crow at some horribly early hour, and I cringe, thinking surely this isn't what God wants. And how it pains the heart of a parent to see that miniature version of yourself making choices that hurt themselves and your family. Tempting it is to spend hours searching the internet for the wisdom of some sage pastor or some great author with several books on Amazon proving their merit as an expert on my child. And I'll admit I've googled 'developmental stages of boys' in hopes of discovering some new key to unlocking the behavior I desperately want to see in my little guys. The thing about parenting that I'm discovering is this--it's very personal. It's a walk through a road that I believe is intended to show us the love of our Father as we love our own. So, I find myself over and over--knees callousing--at His feet asking for wisdom. He did promise, after all to give it fully and willingly. And there at His feet I've been affirmed. He loves because He is love. He loves both me and those sweet boys of mine. He sees the moldable hearts of my boys, and He sees the ache in my own heart. "I know, and I'm sovereign." "I'll not abandon the work of my hands." "Don't grow weary in well doing." Don't grow weary. Sometimes when it comes to parenting we want instant behavior changes. We want to say, "Listen here, buddy, I'm the momma! You're the boy, and you are gonna do what I say!" But, how gentle God is with us, how patient He remains with us when we are out of tune with His life within us. If I parent like that, I may get an immediate behavior change, but I've lost the heart of my child. That is sprint parenting when in fact we are running a marathon. I'm not as concerned with the immediate behavior of my son as I am the long-term bent of his heart. II Thessalonians 3:5 says, "May the Lord lead your hearts in God's love and Christ's patience." Ahh, a mothering key. Two keys in fact. God's love. Christ's patience. Apparently, it is desirable that we be lead into both since Paul took the time to utter them on behalf on the Thessalonians. Here is the thing about God's love. When Paul says may you be lead into God's love he may as well have said may you be lead into God. God and love. The two are interchangeable. God is love. The fruit of God within us--His Holy Spirit--is love. Love comes from His life within us. It is not a trait of God; it is God. Immediately then, I am reminded of the abiding principles in John 15. "Apart from me, you can do nothing." If we are to be filled with God's love as we parent, we must take time to abide in Love. Saying it is a challenge to find time to abide to a mother of little ones is like saying the earth is round. Yeah. We know. And you'll never hear me say it should be done for half an hour at six in the morning. I might as well swear at you. Here's what I do recommend. There's a great little book called, Jesus Calling written by Sarah Young. Get your hands on it. If you have time for nothing else in your day, read this before you get out of bed. A short two or three paragraph encouragement written from the perspective of God, you will be sustained by mostly scripture paraphrased in words we understand. (Incidentally, that's why I like it.) And get into the Psalms. Those are two great places to glean spiritual vitamins when you may not have time for the full meal. God will grant you days when feasting happens, but in between, have some simple way to drink deeply from the love of God. And let me just say, as much as I love to blog, don't depend entirely on blogs. Of course I hope you'll keep reading mine when you have time, but taking your nourishment only from blogs or even most books is similar to drinking coffee from your husband's cup in the morning. God wants to meet with you. He wants to fill your cup. Then there's that word. Patience. Just the other day I asked my mom, a prayer warrior, what specifically she'd been praying for me. She gave me her list, and I told her she needed to add patience to the list. I don't know what prompted me to ask for such a thing--maybe it was because my son told me my voice got high and squeaky earlier in the day when I was frustrated, and he was concerned I might be struggling with self-control. Saint Augustine once said, "Patience is the companion of wisdom," and Alexander Dumeas Pere said, "All patience is summed up in two words--wait and hope." I would add that patience is but a fruit of God's Spirit within. Patience is the overflow of the wisdom that comes from understanding that we wait, we hope, in the goodness of God where our children are concerned. They may be 2 and pitching a tantrum or twenty and high as a kite. Either way, our real anchor is the knowledge that God's concern over those children is greater than our own. He is working in their lives. He loves them. He cares what happens to them. He is orchestrating circumstances to reveal Himself to them. Taking a step back from the permanent marker smiley faces drawn all over the freshly painted wall long enough to remember, 'God is revealing Himself to my children right now, through me,' may be just the amount of waiting and hoping it takes to display the fruit of patience. They're not perfect. Neither are we. But, we're the mothers. Our role is one of patience and one of love. At the risk of being misunderstood, let me say both love and patience will sometimes mean consequences. But when those things come from a heart that is filled, one that has taken time to abide in The Source of patience and love, they are so much more readily received. If you'll give me some room here, I'd like to address a practical picture of this. Let me say ahead of time, I'm not addressing corporal punishment--that's a larger can of worms. But, if you'll hear me out, I think you'll understand where I'm going with this. Often in the heat of the moment, we are tempted to pop our kids a little swat on their chubby bottoms. I'm talking about the screaming kid that gets a quick swat. Let me ask you this, when you are furious with your husband over some situation, would it help at all if he gave you a smack on the backside? Usually when we are frustrated to the point of tantrum, what we desperately need is someone to stop the music, press the pause button on life and say, "Can you tell me what you are feeling?" A swat doesn't teach the heart. Our goal as moms is not to gain the immediate behavior we want at the loss of our child's heart. Our goal is to pack enough fuel in our pockets to take us on the quest for their hearts. That means we may leave the grocery cart in the store filled with groceries, (I've done it) and calmly walk to the car. We may say quietly, "I can see you are so upset we won't be able to talk right now, but I'm going to take you home where you are safe. I want you to be able to calm down, and I love you." Then, more often than not, that raging child will be asleep by the time we are home. When they wake, they will be calmer and ready for some teaching. Or they may squawk and scream for the next two hours. Either way. We wait. We hope. (Read: practice patience) When they are calm, we address the behavior. We let them know they will never get the candy bar by screaming, even if we're forced to call Grandma to pick up milk and bread because we left the grocery store ten days in a row! We teach them why that doesn't work. We may even give them a chance to try the entire scenario again the next day after we've walked them through how it will go ahead of time. Did I mention that mothering is not convenient? It interferes with our schedule, and may mean that we have to eat dry cereal for breakfast because the milk was left in the buggy at the Piggly Wiggly. Here's the reality, most of us are not patient enough to be that inconvenienced. Come on now. You just read that scenario, and the idea of not picking up your prescription and desert for tonight's dinner guests is making your hair stand on end! Not. Repeat. NOT convenient. So, we give in and let them have the candy bar, or we swat them on the booty. And they may in fact be quiet because they got a good smack. Either way, we lose. Patience says, "I'll slow this down. I'll be inconvenienced. I'll pause my agenda long enough to orchestrate a world where I can reveal the love of God to my sweet child in the hopes of winning him to Christ." Maybe I should have said the prerequisite for patience is this: Expect to be inconvenienced. Children are not convenient. They are precious people with their own feelings, thoughts, perspectives and ideas. They are made in the image of God and we should give them the same respect we expect from them. Here's what I'm convinced of. Mothering is a reflection of God to our children. We're doing our level best to mirror Him to them. We are their first experience of God. We will need to take some time, even if it is only two minutes, to drink from Him because the things we wish to reveal are fruits of His life within us, not a manufacturable parenting commodity we can otherwise muster. One of my favorite passages is I Peter 1:3, "His divine power has given us everything we need pertaining to life and godliness through the rich knowledge of the one who called us..." Recently, my husband pointed out that indeed we do have everything we need for life and godliness, but it comes through knowledge of God. Knowledge alone puffs up and inflates our opinions of ourselves, but knowledge applied is a totally different animal. That, my dear mothering friends, is wisdom. May we apply the knowledge of our Father who is both love and patience in our homes like a balm that covers the wounds, that protects the hearts, that softens the edges, that guides the personalities, and that restores the natural rhythm to our families. Pray with me: Father, I'm not always patient. I'm not always loving. I'm human in every way. But I long to reflect you to my children. I long to create an environment in our home that is perfumed with your presence. Help me father to learn to wait and hope--not in my abilities, but in your sovereignty. Fill me with yourself. Overflow from me. Read with me: I Corinthians 13

The Mothering Chronicles 1: Comfort

Eleven and nine years old and nearing half grown, my boys are like two feet that kick at the backs of your knees causing you to fall forward instantly. They keep me on my knees in prayer, not because they are bad boys, but because I want to get it right. And don't we all? Within every sincere parents' hearts is not there a boiling pot of desire to raise them well? Is not there the most acute sense of responsibility for these lives that were trusted to our feeble, human care? Often I tell God He's the one who gave them to me so He has to give me wisdom. If he doesn't, it will be his fault when I fatally blow it with them. And you know, I think in those moments, He must chuckle. After all, it was in fact Him who trusted these sweet little men to Jeff and I's care, and He did that through the sieve of His sovereignty and omniscience. Surely God must think to Himself, "Yes, Sarah, I did give them to you and I knew what I was doing all along. I'm able to handle this." Today, my youngest came to me with lips stretched horizontally across his chubby cheeks, "Mommy, will you jump with me?" The trampoline. Four springs gone and about fifty more to go before my moonlighting career as Jumping Jill finally comes to a close. But then, my to do list was calling too. The grin on my boy got wider and the to do list started hollering, "Lesson plans! Cook Supper. Plan for Writer's Guild! Call your mother. Write a book! Save the world!" And somehow, this task oriented momma had the grace to choose the greater thing. As we played Tic-Toc, a highly technical game where my legs are the hands of the clock and they attempt to knock the kids down resulting in multiple bruises on my shins, I thought about the fact that my son is going to be nine in five days. Nine years old--that's the halfway to college point. Nine years old--that's the final year before double digits. Nine years old---that means I have probably bounced more with him in the past than I will in the future. People tell you it flies. They tell you to treasure the special moments. They tell you to choose the best things, to leave the laundry, to leave the cleaning, to love your babies while you can. The other night we were at an ultimate frisbee game with our boys, and a couple whose children are near flying the coop phase walked up with take-out in their hands. He was smelling like he might have put on aftershave and she was looking like a sun-smacked peach in her skirt and matching blouse. Their eldest boy, a senior, was playing that night. It turned out they were on a date night. Why in the world were they at a frisbee league game in 90 degree weather with styrofoam trays of Cuban cuisine when their kids were old enough to fend for themselves? I didn't have to ask. I knew. They aren't counting down the years anymore. They're counting down the days. The days. I'd be doing the same thing. Like a parallel parking spot on Main Street in some antique town, we get this tiny window of opportunity to impact, to steer, to channel our children's lives and character. And there is no practising, no dress rehearsal. It's all live. All of it. The Bible just confirms the inevitable--the very first reference to mother in the Bible is when God says, "therefore a man shall leave his mother..." (Gen. 2:24) They are definitely going to leave us at some point despite the fact that I've gotten both mine to promise they'll never get married, and will always live on the property near me. (So what if I bribed them with clean laundry and unlimited chocolate chip cookies!) Thanks God! You'd think he could have at least saved that little tidbit for some more obscure book like Jude. And a close look at the Proverbs seems to confirm that how these sweet little cherubs turn out when their baby fat has dissolved into muscle and chest hair, is intrinsically linked with a mother's gladness or shame. (Proverbs 10:1, 15:20, 19:26, 23:25, 28:24, 29:15) We are SO on the hook. So where in the world do we go for direction? For solid guidance? Naturally, I head to the Word of God, but you've probably already figured out there are not a ton of references to the act of mothering in God's Word. We've got Hannah who desperately prayed for a child, but made a bargain with God and had to leave her beloved son in the care of Eli. What can we learn from her? How to get a baby? (I didn't need any help in that department. Jeff and I managed pretty well on our own.) Then there's Rebekah who taught her son to deceive and lie. She's not got a ton to offer when it comes to parenting advice. There's Sarah, but she tried to manufacture the promises of God by getting her hand maiden to sleep with her hubby so they could have a child. Let's not forget Eve, but then again, maybe we should. One of her sons murdered the other. So we're kind of left with Elizabeth and Mary. Slim pickings. Or are they? Let me take you to two references that have truly affirmed my gut instincts as a mother. The first is Isaiah 66:13 where God says, "As a mother comforts a child, so I will comfort you..." The second is found in I Thessalonians 2:7 where Paul says, "but we were gentle among you, like a mother caring for her little children." At first read I thought little of either of these passages. In fact, I've never even stopped to consider them in light of mothering. The first is referencing God's treatment of the Israelites and the second, Paul's treatment of the Thessalonian believers. Truth be told, I wish I had stopped to see the significance of these passages for mothers many years ago. As you know, I'm raising boys. Naturally, I want them to be mighty, manly men when they grow up. Who wouldn't hope that for their boys? One of five girls, I have lacked in the experience with boys arena. Often that reality has caused me to defer to the 'wisdom' of those sometimes loud voices around me. "Don't coddle your boys. They'll be sissies." "Don't fuss over their cuts and bruises. Teach them to be tough." But God didn't even give this as instruction, did you notice that? A clear assumption about mothering is made right here in God's Word. Mothers will comfort. Did you catch that? Moms will indeed comfort their children. Not only will they comfort them, but they will be gentle. These are not instructions, these are givens. In fact the Hebrew word for comfort used in Isaiah actually means, "to be sorry, to be moved to pity, have compassion." (Strong's) It is a verb which from a grammatical stand point demands action. What does that look like? What is the difference between comforting and coddling? I've seen some coddling mommas out there, let me tell you. But I've also seen some downright indifferent mommas too. Both extremes are dangerous territory--one a mire of quicksand and the other a concrete landing below a thousand foot drop. First, let me just affirm those mommies who are presently in the throws of stacking diapers and patting little dimpled bottoms to sleep. I remember those days well, the debates of letting them cry it out, when to pick them up, when to leave them be. Oh I remember. And can I just tell you those sleepless nights will not last forever. They won't. I don't regret one single time that I went into my boys' bedrooms and picked their tiny little frames up when they cried for me. Not once. But I do hate the memory of the night that I stood at the door while my oldest cried for me, and I didn't go to him because a book by an expert said I should let him cry it out--his long term memory wasn't formed; he'd be fine. And I thank God that Jeff and I didn't continue with that path. Okay, okay. I know I just struck a match that is attached to a grenade. Got it. It's a mine field out here in this sleeping through the night territory, and now I'll need to dance my way through it. Allow me some grace here, moms. I know we all have our opinions. My palms are itching and I'm short of breath at the thought of stepping on a toe, so please know that this comes from a gentle heart. (And if you want to discuss it further, feel free to email me.) God's word assumes a mom will be moved to active compassion. That's straight out of the Hebrew texts and with that we can't argue. What does that compassion look like? Let me ask you one question. How far away do you want God to be when He comforts you? Because that passage in Isaiah says that God will comfort the Israelites as a mom comforts her baby. In no way is this meant to be a judgment on anyone's parenting choices. It also is not a judgment on any parenting books. But, I'm not afraid to speak the truths of God's Word and though I've remained largely silent on this topic in public forums, I do believe that our guts tell us things, but we doubt them because of what the experts say. For new moms this can be so challenging because we are exhausted, overwhelmed and uncertain of everything. So, we rely heavily on resources available. No one ever pointed me to these passages when I was making these choices. God's word says He is "near the broken hearted." (Psalm 34:18) So again, how far away do you want to be when your baby's heart is crying out for you? I'll just end this little discussion with the admonishment to get before your Father; ask Him to speak into your heart how near He desires you to be as you comfort your little one through the night. Don't let your senior neighbor or your well meaning mother-in-law or the stack of books you got from Barnes & Noble be your ultimate guide. God promises His Spirit will guide you into all truth. These are decisions you want to be able to stand on later. So get the wisdom from your Father. Second, let me say to the moms of boys once and for all: It is okay to comfort your boys. They will not grow up to be wimps, momma's boys or helpless critters defenseless in a world where they must be strong. Comforting will not do that to your child. Coddling will. There is a difference. When Nate took a tumble as a toddler, I went running. When he fell as an elementary school student, I went walking. Now that he's a middle schooler he runs to me when he's fallen to show me how good the bruise is going to be, and only every once in a while will he let me offer comfort over his "ouie's." He doesn't need me to kiss away the scrapes or scratches now. He needs me to admire his strength and insist he's tough because he doesn't need a band aid. If they are fifteen years old and still need you to bandage their paper cuts there's a chance you're coddling, but, moms don't be afraid to love rough and tumble boys as they grow. They will tell you when it is too much, and you will know. Let me also say here, that if dad is in the picture, he will respond differently. That is okay. He's going to insist that boy is just fine. He'll say to shake it off. That's great. That's his role. Lastly, whether we have boys or girls, comfort is something that requires action. Instinctual in most of us, but often squelched for fear of spoiling, comfort is indeed a tool from God for mothers to use in the raising of their children. It is a godly trait. A child who has been comforted will be a compassionate individual as they grow. They will understand sympathy and empathy because they have experienced those facets of comfort. And it never stops. I remember being 21 years old, a new bride living in a foreign country with my young husband. There were times when we just had no clue what we were doing and more than once, I lay sobbing in confusion and homesickness. You know what I pictured in those moments? I pictured laying my head on my mother's lap, her hands stroking my hair. A mother always comforts, even when she isn't with us. We will all do it differently. Not everyone speaks the way I do to my children. There are tomboy mommas, and sugary-sweet moms, there are matter of fact moms and there are the Aunt Bee's of Mayberry types. But what is important is this: We get the privilege of being the comforters to our little ones. Later, in the New Testament, the Holy Spirit is called The Comforter. We mothers will develop our children's understanding of God as a Comforter just as daddies will mold their child's understanding of God as Father. That's a humbling honor. When yielded to God, we, as moms will reflect God's image as Comforter to our children. I've always thought of God as represented by the dads, but the truth is that both parents get to provide the first glimpses of God to their children. Wow. When my boys read Jesus' promise of The Comforter in John, I wonder if they'll think of me. I pray so. I pray so. (It is my hope, Lord willing, to do a series of posts on mothering. This is the first in that series. I believe there are more to come, but for now, Moms, comfort your children and know that it was you God chose to mother your children. You are doing a wonderful job.) Pray with me: Holy Spirit, you are The Comforter. Teach me to comfort my children in a way that reflects You to them. Teach me to be tender and compassionate toward their needs. Teach me to know when to speak words of comfort and when to simply hold a hand in comfort. Teach me boundaries and keep my comfort healthy. Comfort me with your truth that I will overflow that to my children. Thank you for trusting me with their hearts. Amen. Read with me: John 14

Scrambled Eggs with a Side of Bacon

My life is a plate of scrambled eggs--the kind you get at those twenty-four hour waffle places--flopping over the edge of the plate and suffocated by tomatoes, cheese, chili, slivered scallions and diced ham. Way more than any normal human should consume in one week let alone one year, I find my mouth full, my hand forging a path between plate and face. I'm a very focused person--when I gave birth to the boys, I determined I wouldn't scream, yell or curse. I attained that goal by keeping my eyes closed, thinking only of breathing and pushing. But somehow now, as I look about my home, there are so many miscellaneous things that manage to find their way in my home--not going to admit to inviting them myself--I hardly know where to begin to focus. Like the egg platter topped with the entire month's groceries, my little world lies under a heap of things. I'm left wondering where to begin. Charles Hummel wrote a book aptly titled The Tyranny of the Urgent. I don't even have to read the contents to know it relates to me. For mothers the urgencies of a self-mutating laundry pile, cabinets that empty themselves weekly of their groceries, floors that are really magnetic dirt grabbers, toilet seats that look like they caught the drips of a ceiling leaking strange yellow moisture, and the child whose voice got stuck on repeat, "I'm hungry." all inhale our time before we even consider some of the bigger tasks left undone. There are jobs to go to, school projects, or in my case school lesson plans, window-sills infested with ladybug skeletons from last fall, and four years worth of unprinted digital photos that also clamor for our attention. Add to that paying bills, planning birthday parties, and kids' extra curricular activities, and the calendar starts to resemble a piece of paper that you put through the printer twice on the same side! " Hummel writes in his book, "Have you ever wished for a thirty-four hour day? Surely this extra time would relieve the pressure under which we live. Our lives leave a trail of unfinished tasks. Unanswered letters, unvisited friends, unread books, haunt quiet moments when we stop to evaluate what we have accomplished." Hummel really nails the heart of it for me when he mentions the unvisited friends, the unanswered letters. Once thriving under your attentive care, precious relationships somehow get neglected because the basic physical demands of life insist on taking priority. My sister and I were just talking last night, a chance we both treasure because of its rarity these days, about how we mourn the loss of time to interact more with those we love. I don't mind the laundry or dusty sills so much as my heart aches to spend more time with the lady I talked to for an hour at my son's football practise who tells me of losing custody of her children because of years of hard drug use. Or the dear mother who tells me she doesn't believe in Jesus as the Savior. Where is the time for me to research her questions and offer her some intelligent answers? Then there are meals waiting to be cooked for families infected with sickness, diseases that refuse to release their grip. There are marriages aching, and there are teens with much to say and few who listen. I used to think people could get most things done if they'd just get organized. God has since humbled me, helped me to see the needs of this world are greater than the strength of my arms. Where once I kept a thousand plates spinning at full speed, I now see that there are ten thousand more stacking themselves beside me, bidding me to toss them high into the air as well. Realizing this reality of life is one step toward smiling at the mass of scrambled eggs and putting the fork down. Accepting that we weren't really meant to eat all that food, to spin all those plates, that is a real challenge. This week, as needs have surfaced at every turn, I'm reminded of Psalm 46:10, "Be still and know that I am God." Another translation says, "Stop your striving and recognize that I am God." Stillness. Now that's a state of being about which I know very little. Naturally a doer, a goer, a go-getter, stillness is as foreign to me as it is to a wiggling worm. And yet, scripture says be still, stop striving. Why? Because we are NOT God. "Recognize that I am God." Nowhere in scripture does it say, "You need to take over for me, Sarah." Trust me. I've checked. I love the name for himself that God selects in this passage. It's the same name He used in Genesis 1:1 when He said, "In the beginning, God..." What a perfect choice because He's always existed, He was there at the beginning, He penned our places in this world, and He didn't need us for any of that. It is indeed He who remains God even now amidst this great tyranny of urgencies that screech out like a band of black crows. Forgive my boldness when I say followers of Christ are deceived if we believe that God is depending on us. That He will use us, even delights in using us to share His heart with the world is undeniable, but to say that He needs us is simply not true. The lives of people about me will continue to function whether I am involved or not. I will miss out on growth and glimpses of the greatness of God if I choose to turn a blind eye, but God doesn't abandon His purposes when one of his people is too busy to carry out His plans. That's not how He works. So often we hear well meaning Christians say things like, "If you don't do this, who will?" To that, I would humbly answer, "God will make a way because He IS the way." By saying that, I don't mean that we get a pass excusing us from getting our hands dirty and our feet wet in the lives of the people by whom we are surrounded. On the contrary, I find myself knee deep wading in the waters of people's worlds all the time. But it is truly prideful to believe that we are the only ones that can handle every circumstance. Often us "doers" or "Martha's" end up robbing the less type A personalities of a chance to get involved because we are so quick to assume we are needed in every area. What God is whispering to my soul is this, "Sarah, stop striving. Stop fretting over every single situation and circumstance by which you pass. I've called you to abide in me. Apart from me, you can't do anything. Draw from me. I will teach you the way you should walk.I am the God who formed all of this world. I formed these lives. I know these needs. I am their God. I will order your steps. Listen to me. Seek me. Don't lean on your understanding of situations, I will make your paths straight." The lives I touch, the people I assist, the conversations I have, they all need to be responded to not because of their place in line, who made the request or how loud they call out, but in the order that my Father whispers to my Spirit. As I seek Him in prayer He will usher me to the people and circumstances with which He desires me to be involved. It's been a long time since I went to the Waffle King, but this much I know. Those plates filled with eggs under a mountain of artery clogging cholesterol can be very enticing. I love a little bit of everything on my plate. But when it comes to life, though it too is filled to overflowing, I'm choosing to sit still before my Father and allow Him to be God. Stopping. Stilling. Waiting. Allowing God to bring to the surface those bites I'm meant to chew requires trust that He is indeed God over all the universe, God over all the details, and that He remains able to meet every single need. After all, it was Him who created us all. Read with me: Psalm 46 Galatians 6:9,10 Pray with me: Father, let me hear your voice. When I look around I can become overwhelmed with the needs surrounding me--my children, my family, my friends, my neighbors, but they aren't really mine, are they, Father? They're yours. Help me to remember you care far more than I about all these needs. I confess my pride in assuming I could tackle life apart from you. Help me to walk only in the steps you have chosen for me. Help me to surrender to your ways, your plans, your will. Help me to be still and recognize you are the Strong God who Reigns over all. Amen

But A Vapor

In January of 2008 I dreamt of death--my own. What a rumbling within my heart ensued in the days after that night! To stare into the reality that our days are not without end is unnerving, shocking even. I think of the movie "Bucket List" and songs with lyrics like, "live like you were dying." Their message like strokes of bold red on a white wall scream out the truth of our mortality. Yesterday I had my annual physical. The cholesterol came back good, the blood counts were fine, my foot still involuntarily jolts when my knee is tapped by the rubber mallet thingymajig. My sugar was a touch high, but when the lady asked me if I had a healthy diet, I failed to mention the Chic-Fil-A vanilla milkshake that served as my lunch on the way down. Instead I mentioned my organic garden; she seemed happy. Those organic carrots really raise blood sugar levels, I hear! I walked out of the Dr.'s with an A+ for health and the promise of many more good reports. But what if it had been different? What if, when she listened to my heart she heard a flutter or pause that shouldn't have been? What if when she checked for lumps she had come across one so stationary that she knew it could mean only one thing? What if she looked me square in the eyes and said in a gentle tone, "It isn't good, Sarah." What then? Would anything change? Tomorrow, I will spend time with someone who is in fact dying--shedding that mortal shell that carries our soul for a parenthesis on earth amidst eternity's ceaseless timeline. And I wonder, when she got the news, did anything change? I keep thinking of this lady's life over the years. I remember her since I was about 12. Just shy of 25 years I've watched her be the same--watched her love, watched her pray, watched her encourage, watched her stand beside her husband, watched her touch the lives of those around her, watched her perpetually worship. I'll most remember her as a lady among ladies, and one who loved her God. How would I be remembered? Really? Part of me wants to say, "Wait, I'm still working on that. Don't remember me yet. I need to tweak a few things first." My boys are young, my bill of health is good, my days are filled with schooling, gardening, cooking, neighboring, friending, daughtering, sistering, organizing, planning, laundry ( I should list that twice) dog training, bill paying. Filled. I feel, most of the time, like the carry-on I packed for a trip to Maine a couple years ago that was supposed to hold everything I needed for an entire long weekend. Or like a laundry basket that's been filled with water--it leaks everywhere. There's so much in my little sliver of life that I can barely keep all the ends tied let alone t's crossed and i's dotted. It's a tender time, I think, because my life won't be swollen and full and bulging forever. I'm going to wake up one day to silence in my home instead of the quiet, steady breathing of my early riser patiently waiting for me to greet the sun with him. And his tackling, tumbling brother won't knock me over with surprise jumps onto my back because he'll be grown. The Psalmist must have thought about these things too because he said, "So teach us to number our days, so that we might live wisely." (Psalm 90:12) And I'm left wondering, "If I'm to live like I'm dying--which, in truth I am--than what things should be on my daily bucket list?" There are like two million things and people all lined up, some not so patiently, waiting to make the cut. "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength...love your neighbor as yourself." (Matthew 22) Love God. Love people. Seems so simple. Maybe it is. Maybe every single action I take needs to go through this one filter, "Will I be loving God and loving people as I love myself if I do this thing?" And if I followed that mantra, then maybe my legacy would be tweaked enough. Maybe I would be remembered like this. She loved. She loved. That would be something. So, I know tomorrow isn't promised to me. I'm married to a firefighter. I face the reality of danger every third day when he leaves for his shift and I wonder, Will he come home? But what am I doing with the moments that are given me? What am I doing with the sweet precious mornings when that little rooster patters into my room wide awake and ready to discuss the NFL strike and the other one dives into my bed like it's a swimming pool? What am I doing with the few minutes between when the boys have gone to bed and Jeff is still up before he goes on shift? What am I doing with the people God puts in my life--the junior counselors at camp, the campers, the neighbors, the sisters, the friends, the parents? It is indeed a tender time, a time not to be taken for granted, not to be wasted. It is the allotted time. The bucket list time. Not the bucket list of adventures I want to take, but of seizing the moments that are my present reality and squeezing every ounce of life out of them that I possibly can. Ephesians 5:15 says we are to live carefully "redeeming the time" we are given. That word redeem carries with it the idea of rescuing something from being lost. My youngest son can't keep up with his shoes. He has about five thousand pairs, and none of them are where they are supposed to be at the proper time. When Sunday comes his brown dress shoes are surely down by the creek, and his camouflage boots are the only two matching shoes to be found. Sometimes I pick up his shoes, put them in a pile on top of the dryer, and just wait to see how long it takes him to notice they are all missing. He never has noticed. Not once. What if our minutes and hours were like that? God found them squandered and scattered haphazardly here and there, and He picked them up and placed them altogether for us to see collectively just how many precious moments we lost? I can't imagine what it would be like to really see all of that time together in one lump sum. It's my heart's desire to rescue the time God has given me. James 4:14 says, "...you are but a vapor, here for a little while and then vanishing." Like an early morning mist that whispers across a sleeping lake, our souls drift through these mortal days, only to return to the arms of eternity. May their journey leave behind the fragrance of God. Pray with me: Lord, I'm humbled that you've given me time. More of it than many. Help me daily to use every single fiber of it for love. Loving others, loving you, loving who you've made me to be. May I be known for love. Amen. Read with me: Ephesians 5:15,16

When the planting is done

Over 400 kids, almost 7000 meals, (eaten by all of us, not just me!) 3 long weeks, and less than 4 hours of sleep per night, the children's Bible camp my family helps with each year has come to a close. Still dizzy from the frenzy of activity, I sat this morning, sipping freshly ground coffee when I read this quote: "Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap, but by the seeds that you plant." Robert Louis Stevenson. Immediately the three very different weeks of camp came to my mind. Teen week came first with a smorgasbord of cowboy boots, skinny jeans, flip flops, plaids, and diverse backgrounds. From 7 different states these 13-18 year olds walked onto campus, most of them genuinely ready to meet with God in some very real way. 7-9 year old week came next--a hurricane of young ones with energy that, if harnessed, could power our country naturally for quite some time. Many of these were so small, their main purpose was to have fun. Our purpose of course, was to show them God's love while they had fun. Not always easy. Then there were the 10-12 year olds. Wave upon wave of them rolled in, pillows, suitcases, and duffel bags in hand. 170 of them! We were like an anthill that from the outside looks like little people running everywhere, but upon close examination, there is direction and purpose to every step. These were the children who stood at the crossroads ready to make some long term decisions about what they will believe and whom they will serve. Again, our goal was to reveal the love of God and point them in that direction. One Saturday between camps, I ran home and planted some winter squash and pumpkin seeds for fall harvest. The conditions must have been perfect because seeds that normally take 14 or more days to germinate were over an inch tall the following Friday when I returned home. I couldn't believe how quickly they came up this year. That was teen week in a nutshell. We planted, we watered, and we saw growth that very week. Overwhelming growth. Then there was the week of young campers where we slugged it, kissed boo boos, hugged necks, combed hair, wrestled, encouraged the occasional shower,(why do kids hate to shower?) all while constantly pointing with our hearts as loudly as we could, to the love of God. We taught, we shared, we tickled, we prayed, and we prayed again. But the fruit, the harvest is not as evident in these young ones. It isn't that they don't grow, but growth is measured differently at that age, and much of what we are doing then is just laying the foundation. On what will these little ones build their lives? A loving God? A world that offers bigger gaming systems, newer cell phones, and a Justice fall line of clothing just in time for back to school? We pray they left camp with a heart that stands on the love of their Father. And finally we swam in an ocean of 10-12 year olds where one was as distracted as my chocolate lab when a squirrel crosses our path, and the other was as focused as my chocolate lab becomes on said squirrel. One's listening, one's not, and we were just praying, "God let them all hear. Let them understand that we've tried both foundations and yours is better. Yours is greater. Yours is enough." Some of them come to tell you what they learned, but many are quiet and you are left to wonder. Did they hear? Did they understand? Being a dorm mom, I was with the kids constantly. There were many glimpses into the fruit that was ripening in their hearts. One little girl said to me, "I didn't know that God's hand would never be against me. I didn't know He will always love me until I came here." Fruit. Thank you, God. Another little girl after sharing about a life in foster care said, "I think I need to forgive my mom." Amen. But I have to wonder about the kitchen staff--those who labored tirelessly in over 80 degree temperatures, chopping, slicing, stirring, and kneading with little to no interaction with the kids. These were the servants who fed their tummies so others of us could feed their souls. A child with a full belly is in a much better place to feed their soul. But, those who worked in the kitchen didn't get to see any fruit. They just served with a spiritual dot dot dot at the end of each day. Was what they were doing impacting eternity? There were also those who wrote checks and those who planted seeds in a prayer closet somewhere far from the campus. There were the people who showed up weeks before to clear out the cobwebs and prepare the campus. None of them had the privilege of hearing how God had worked in these little ones' hearts. They saw no fruit. But they served. They planted seeds. Without planting of seeds, there is no crop. The last two years my garden has yielded enough cucumbers to make salads and eat with my family. But this year, I've had so many cucumbers that I'm giving away bags full to others, and still have baskets filled all over my house. Here's the interesting part, I've planted the same amount of seeds each year. There's a passage in I Corinthians, "I planted, Apollos watered, but God caused it to grow. So neither the one who plants counts for anything, nor the one who waters, but God who causes the growth." Who can say why one year I have mountains of cucumbers and another I have few? Who can say what the real fruit of Canal Lake Bible Camp really will be? We can count conversions, rededications, callings to ministry--if we like. But, truly it is God who causes growth. I'd rather not try to measure the harvest. Instead, I'd like to find myself content in knowing, I planted. I planted with all my heart. With every ounce of energy and strength I had, I planted. And so did the kitchen workers, the cleaning ladies, the prayer warriors, the board members, and many others. And now, we'll pray to the Lord of the harvest to bring about fruit in all these hearts. Imagine what would happen if all of these over 400 kids chose to continue to seek after the heart of God in their lives! Imagine what would happen in ours schools, in our town, in our state if they chose to build their lives on the truths of Jesus and not worldly wisdom. And I'm praying to that end, but I remember too, the parable of the shepherd who left 99 sheep to find one lost lamb. As a child I loved that story, but as an adult I realize that even if all the fundraisers, all the meals, all the work yielded only one heart turned toward God, it would be worth it. It would. God's not willing that any should perish, and His love knows no bounds. He will reach to the ends of the earth to restore His children to Himself. Pray with me to that end, please. God, we know you were sovereign in each child that attended camp. We know you were sovereign in each adult who helped in some way. We know you have purposes that are far beyond our understanding. God, we've planted with everything in us, will you bring about growth? Will you protect these seeds, bring them warmth, bring them sun, bring them rain and let them take root? Will you bring about a safe environment for them to grow? We trust you with the harvest. Thank you for letting us plant. Amen.

Felling Trees

April showers bring May flowers. Surely the person who first gave wind to those words lived here in the mountains of Georgia because April seems always to be the month of deluge before May inevitably pins sun's yellow yolk to velvet blue skies. This year the rains have been accompanied by tornado warnings, crazy buckets of hail, darkened skies electrocuted by lightning and convulsive thunder. It's been years since I've seen a spring with this many storms in short succession. At the entrance to our subdivision, my neighbors' house sits beneath towering poplars and oak trees. I called to check in on them after we'd passed yet another spring storm, when they told me they were going to have some trees cut down. Explaining that during the previous nights' winds they watched those trees sway perilously close to their home, they were confident that left to another nasty storm, those trees could do significant damage to their life's investment. I understood. Easily twice the height of their three story home, I couldn't help but consider those trees as I drove by their house later that week. No matter the soundness of their home, it remained no match for the havoc those poplars could wreak. They would have to be felled. Psalm 29:9 says, "The Lord's shout bends the large trees and strips the leaves from the forests. Everyone in his temple says, "Majestic!"" In our lives, have we not known some great and insurmountable tree that towers dangerously close to the people and things we hold dear? I've watched drug and alcohol addiction sway over the heart and mind of someone I desperately love. I've seen foreclosure notices cloud the skies and crowd the lives of dear friends, and I've known pain and hurt left to grow into giants that threatened once happy marriages. Yes, I've known trees that needed a good felling. And our God is able to do that with one shout. One single shout from our Creator bends the very things that threaten to overtake our lives. Just as the storm the other night sucked the dogwood blossoms from the arms of their trees, one shout from our God strips circumstances of the power they appear to have in our lives. Psalm 29 goes on to say, "The Lord sits enthroned over the engulfing waters, the Lord sits enthroned as the eternal king." There's a dam not far from our home that serves to regulate the amount of water held in our lake and used for power production. Only a few times in my life have I known that dam to be filled to capacity and the waters to pour over like the falls of Niagara. It is in that state now--a surging army of frothy water perpetually cascades over the dam. Armed with cameras, people are driving out there just to see the sight. Flooded lives though are not so breathtaking, are they? Interestingly that is the word David uses here to describe the water. Flood. It's the same word used in Genesis to describe the great flood of mankind. This is the only other place in the Old Testament where that same word is used. Imagine a situation so great in David's life that the only thing he could liken it to was the very flood that swallowed humanity, plants, animals and life in one gulp! What I love about that passage is not the description of the circumstances but the picture David painted of God. God is sitting enthroned over the engulfing waters. Reminiscent of Jesus' own slumbering amidst New Testament storms on the Galilean Sea, our Father remains so in control that he has not even had to get up off his throne to handle the situations in our lives. He is still on the throne of all creation, still seated as sovereign King. This is our God. So able, that though the contents of our lives may appear to be overflowing and our own ability to hold them together may be entirely maxed out, He remains unfazed and utterly able. The last verse of that chapter says, "The Lord gives his people strength; the Lord grants his people security." I love grants because they are free. God requires nothing in the granting of strength to his people. The Hebrew phrasing here implies a military type of strength. The idea that when things seem beyond our ability to handle, God will bring in reinforcements is so reassuring. The reality of our lives is that He never leaves us to face giants alone. He never turns His back when the waters spill over our worlds. Instead, He freely gives His people the security of knowing that He remains enthroned. Remains able. Remains in control. Our God remains. So my neighbors will have a tree guy come do his thing. He's an expert in the taking down of trees whose limbs threaten the stability of a home. But what about you and I? Where will we turn for the felling of situations and circumstances in our own worlds? It is so tempting to take matters into our hands, to exhaust every avenue possible to find resolution. Yet there are times when the truth is we need to simply, "Be still and know that He is God." (Psalm 46:10) A picture comes to mind of little me planted like a spider inside some small lifeboat at the edge of the dam attempting to prevent myself from being carried over the edge by the rushing water. Furiously rowing, I am fighting a battle never meant to be won by my feeble arms. There are times in our lives, when we have to surrender to the flood and the trees and the storms. There are times when we need to ask God to help us see the spiritual world around us instead of the physical. What if in that same picture I could see God--the greater, invisible hand that cradles my little boat. "Faith," my friends is the very "substance of things hoped for, the evidence not seen." (Hebrews 11:1) We may not be able to see the hands of our Father at work, but we can stand in the security that He is working. May we hear the shouts of our Father. May we sense His presence. May we live amidst the storms in the greater reality that our God remains on the throne, unfazed. "And if our God is for us, than who can stand against?" (Romans 8:31)

Pondering

Verse 19. It's the one that always gets me. I don't why exactly, but the phrase, "Mary treasured all these things and pondered them in her heart" (Luke 2:19) is as captivating to me now as it was when I was a little girl. Here was a young lady, barely a woman from what historians tell us, who had seen an angel, heard tale of her barren cousin's miraculous pregnancy, carried a baby and birthed it in a stable of all places, and was visited by shepherds who also saw angels and found she and her infant son by their direction. She's lead quite an extraordinary life. And I wonder, what did she ponder? The passage says she pondered "these things" and I have to think it was the miracles, the promises made to her that came to fruition right before her eyes, even within her own body, on which she let her heart linger. Matthew 6:9-10 says, "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven where moths and rust do not destroy and thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is there your heart will be also." At Christmas, I can't help but think of all the material treasures we cling to. We make our lists, we check them twice. We add more to our lists. We stretch ourselves in every way possible and rarely is it all enough. And days later, the discarded wrappings are bulging from over-taxed garbage bins waiting at the curb, largely forgotten, new toys are laying about the house in various corners, the brooms shifts aggressively over crumbs and scraps, and the season is tidied and tucked away for another year. There is nothing wrong at all with gift-giving or any holiday festivity. I am just pointing out that what is often the treasure of our children's hearts and even that of our own hearts days before Christmas is soon forgotten days after. And we are left picking up miscellaneous pieces. Then there was Mary. She was given this beautiful son. Sure He was God incarnate, but to a young mother who nourished him, clothed him, comforted his tears, sang him to sleep, taught him Jewish customs, and kissed his skinned knees, I am sure he was more son than God. And only three decades after giving birth to that sweet baby she would lose him to a death that would kill most women from grief. He didn't become king on earth in the way many hoped. He was ripped from her life violently and without mercy. Gone. There can be no pain like that of losing your own child. It is unutterable. Indescribable. How did that woman survive? I think it must go back to what she treasured early on as a young girl. She had seen the faithfulness of God. She had seen that Yahweh was "not slack concerning his promises." (II Peter 3:9) She had seen that when he told her she would bring forth a son, she did just that. She had seen His protection of that young son when he brought visions to Joseph that they should leave the place they were staying for the safety of the child. She treasured and pondered the character and promises of God. When faced with the greatest, deepest lost, she had a treasure trove within her heart of things that moths and rust do not destroy, that man can never crucify. With every passing year I learn that we are less and less invincible. The marriage I thought was made in heaven crumbles, the man I thought so strong stumbles, the home of someone's childhood burns to the ground, the healthy little girl becomes racked with cancer, the friends once so close are a distant memory. Life is so full of change. There's that saying that the only things certain in life are death and taxes. There's some truth to that addage, but to it I would add that the greatest certainty in life is the faithfulness of our God to fulfill his promises. So this season, I'm making a point to examine what exactly it is I treasure and to focus my pondering on the faithfulness of God in my own life. I'm treasuring the times He's carried me through. I'm pondering the times when I saw His promises materialize in my little world. Because I don't know if I will get tomorrow. And if I do receive tomorrow, I do not truely know who or what I will find there with me. But this I do know, if I meet tomorrow, I meet it in the company of the God who promises never to leave, never to forsake. There are uncertainties in my life even now--things that I worry over, surprises, curveballs, things we weren't expecting. But God knew. Scripture says, "You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast on thee. For he trusts in you." (Isaiah 26:3) May I be found pondering the God who remains good in all circumstances; may that be where my heart is found. In that there is peace. And didn't the angel proclaim, "Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace....to all men." (Luke 2:14) Pray with me: Jesus, YOU are life. You are joy. You are peace. You are hope. You are ALL that I could ever need. May I see YOU for who you are. May my heart not become crowded with treasures that could dissolve tomorrow but may my heart be filled to overflowing with YOU. I treasure YOU this season. Amen. Read with me: What God has promised. II Peter 1:4 Philippians 4:19 II Cor. 12:9 I Cor. 10:13 Jude 24 Romans 8:28 John 3:16 Psalm 46:1 Matthew 11:28 (a link with a lot more-- www.smilegodlovesyou.org/promises.html )