Tuesday, December 23, 2014

The Body Fails But Truth Remains

She sat slouched against the chair, white hair resting on the wall and eyes gazing on nothingness.  Her nightgown hung loosely from her body and her cane sat resting against her wrinkled legs.

Without any apparent prompting, she sat up straight and looked me in the eyes.

What day is it?  She asked.

It's Wednesday, Grandma.  

Wednesday, she repeated back to me.  But what month?  She persisted.  

December -- nearly Christmas time, I continued.  She looked at me -- satisfied with my answer -- then settled her head back down again and closed her eyes. 

Christmas music played softly in the background --

O come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant
O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem
Come and behold Him, born the King of angels

Four times it happened -- four times asked, only minutes apart:  What day is it?

Each subsequent answer from my lips was less enthusiastic and more pained, as I witnessed firsthand the reality of an aging body and mind.

We had arrived only a few days earlier.  It had been nearly a year since we last saw her face, but she had forgotten.  She asked for our names again, the children's names.  Her language often consisted of unintelligible shouts mixed with incoherent mumblings.

The body fails.  Discretion fades.  Memories slip.  Things once familiar become foreign and unrecognizable -- names, dates, places, memories.  There is a sadness and a sobriety in aging.

A sound roused me from my reflection -- the same voice, but this time, not asking for the day or month.

This time, she sang.

Not with incoherent ramblings, but with clarity.  Not with perfect pitch, but with perfect lyrical memory.

Loudly and clearly, she sang every word:

O come, let us adore Him
O come, let us adore Him
O come, let us adore Him
Christ the Lord.

Hark the Herald Angels Sing came on after a few seconds pause, and her voice joined in with the recorded choir -- each word with lyrical precision until the song played its final notes.

And only then -- after four verses of perfect accuracy -- did it occur to me.  Long after our bodies fade and our memories fail, our lips will pour forth words that we've treasured up into our hearts.

For this fragile and aging woman, the familiar words of Christmas carols poured out -- hymns she had likely sung each year for nearly a century.

The treasure of the newborn Babe, the angelic melodies of Advent, the lyrics recounting that star-filled night -- a cemented foundation deep within her soul.

The words that we treasure now will certainly pay dividends later.

What you say matters.
How you worship matters.
What you teach to others matters.

Never take your word of truth from my mouth, for I have put my hope in your ordinances.  
Psalm 119:43

Scriptures, hymns, timeless truths of God -- these are more than just words.  These are the concrete for the soul.  Long after your memory fades and your eyes fail and your body slows, your heart will pulse with words of truth.

Sunday, November 2, 2014

Hope for the Parent Who Faces the Unknown

Tomorrow morning, the sun will still be hidden beneath the horizon when we scoop her tiny body out from underneath of her warm blankets, slip on her favorite slippers, and grab something -- anything -- that reminds her of home.  The streets will be quiet and front porches dark when we buckle her into a chilly carseat and drive through a tranquil neighborhood.

The ride will be quiet, with tired eyes staring out a foggy window and hands clutching tight a soft blanket.  She will likely break the silence with the same question she always asks when our days begin in the car before dawn--

Which doctor will I see today, mommy?

I will stare at those trusting brown eyes in the back seat.

Lots of them, hon, I will say quietly.  Today is the day that God could heal your body. 

We will walk -- or carry, rather -- our four year old through the revolving hospital doors and follow the signs to the bustling surgery center.  Unlike our sleepy neighborhood, a hospital never rests.

We will help her slip into one of those too-big, off-the-shoulder hospital gowns with the useless tie in the back, and she will snuggle close while we wait for instructions.

She is scared.  But she is brave.  

She doesn't know what will happen, but she knows that mommy and daddy love her and desire her best.  For better or worse -- she trusts us.

And trust gives her the courage to walk into the unknown.  

What she doesn't know is that mommy and daddy are scared too.

Elective surgery.  

She doesn't need it.  There's no guarantee it will work.  Many doctors have discouraged it.  But we chose it anyway.

It wasn't the obvious choice.  It's just what seems best. 

How do you decide to subject your child to pain if you don't even know that it will help?
When do you ask a child to follow your leading when you aren't even certain where to go yourself?

We may not be unshakably certain of surgery, but we are sure of one thing:

We long for something greater for her.  And love always compels us to look beyond who someone is, and hope for what they could become. 

And so we do what seems best.  And even if our decision is faulty, even if our worst doubts or fears come true, we have this bedrock of hope:

While we were children, our parents did what seemed best to them. But God is doing what is best for us, training us to live God’s holy best. 
(Hebrews 12:10 MSG)

Our "best" for our children is based on limited knowledge and mixed motives.   But God's best is rooted in sovereign power, in infinite wisdom, in perfect love.  God always --always -- does what is best.  So although we are scared, or doubting, or second-guessing our choices, we too can be brave.  We too can trust.  

And trust gives us the courage to parent through the unknown. 

Our faithful Father will always use every decision -- every circumstance -- for the eternal good of His children. 

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Give Them Room to Practice

I must have done the drill a hundred times -- those same ten measures -- until my fingers hurt and all the keys started to look the same.   But slowly -- ever so slowly -- my muscles started to instinctively move where I wanted them to go.  Reflex kicked in, and what felt impossible the first time, felt natural the hundred and first time.

Practice had paid off.

Manuella Hoffmann (2008), Creative Commons
Practice is a normal, and expected, part of life -- something every parent encourages in their children.  Whether it's learning to crawl, do long division, pitch a baseball, or master a sonata, God has hardwired our bodies and minds to learn, develop, and master skills -- provided that we put in the appropriate practice.   

Practice pays off. 

But unfortunately, many of us tend to encourage practice in lesser things.  We rush our children to dance class but ignore their poor attitude on the way.  We spend hours practicing writing skills but neglect the countless angry outbursts it took to get there.  

The Bible validates the need for practice, but it urges us to consider those things which have lasting value:   

Train yourself for godliness; for while bodily training is of some value, godliness is of value in every way, as it holds promise for the present life and also for the life to come. 
1 Timothy 4:7-8

There is no shortcut to godliness in our children -- it takes practice. Yet when it comes to their character, we often assume that our children will just naturally "learn" to do the right thing.  They will grow out of phases; they will pick up skills by being around us.  On the contrary -- godliness requires intentional training, and many, many, many occasions for practice.  

Perhaps you are like me.  Maybe you spend much time practicing lesser things -- ABC's, catching a ball, tying shoes -- but you tend to neglect the practice of godliness with your children.  Perhaps some of these scenes sounds familiar:

  • You call you child to come to the table for dinner.  He doesn't listen. You repeat yourself four more times before he stands up.  You sigh, hoping that one day he'll just "grow out of it."
  • You daughter demands the pink balloon that she spies in the grocery store, to which you promptly reply no.  A meltdown ensues.  You reprimand her whining and make it through the grocery store as quickly as possible.  But who's to say it won't happen again?
  • You ask your child to clean her room and they stomp up the stairs while rolling their eyes.  You have told them a million times to have a better attitude -- why won't they listen?  

Too often, training stops after we tell our children what they may NOT do.  

Don't hit your sister.  
Don't speak to me like that.  
Don't throw food at the table.  

We administer a consequence, and then we assume we've done our job.

And while these things may be necessary and appropriate, they are incomplete without the chance to practice.   The two must work in conjunction -- practice must always follow discipline.

Imagine those same scenes unfolding in your home -- each ending with an opportunity to practice: 

  • I called you for dinner and you didn't come right away.  You need to stop what you're doing immediately and come as fast as you can.  Let's go back and do again.  
  • I know you wanted that balloon, but when we don't get what we want, we need to have self control and a thankful heart.  Instead of whining, you can say, "ok, mommy." 
  • That's a rude way to respond to mom when I tell you to clean your room.  Your attitude is important to God and shows a heart of obedience.  Listen to how I say it, and then I want you to try again.

Next time your child disobeys, see the opportunity through the inconvenience.  Give him one of the best gifts he could receive from a parent -- the chance to practice.

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Thank You, Anonymous College Student

One look at the computer screen, and the tears started pooling in my eyes.  How could the prices have gone up that much in only 24 hours?  I buried my head in my hands and cried -- tears of sadness, tears of anxiety.

Every year, we board a plane and travel across the ocean to visit family -- the one time each year when my children get to see, enjoy, and bond with their paternal grandparents.   And every year, my heart sinks just a little bit more when I look at the rising cost of flying.

But it's not really about the money.  It never is.  This annual trip is worth it, regardless of the price tag attached.  And we've always had enough, more than enough, to travel each year.

So why, then, did my heart sink and my fingers tremble when i saw those numbers on the screen?

Because it's really about sonship.  It always is.  I have a Heavenly Father who faithfully and abundantly provides, yet I regularly live like I'm an orphan.  My heart can fear and my fingers can hoard because deep down, I forget that I'm His child.

I know it in my mind -- that I'm a daughter of God -- but I live like my Father is uninvolved.  And don't orphans always need to fend for themselves?  So I see the numbers.  And I fear all over again.

I cried and prayed the whole drive home.  
Lord, help me believe in the little things that you are my Father!

I walked to the mailbox and pulled out an envelope -- no return address, no name -- just an anonymous "thank you " note with a monetary gift.

I wept for the second time that day.  This time, not in sadness, but in conviction.  How fickle my heart is -- how slow I am to believe who He has declared me to be!

So, anonymous college student -- thank you.  Thank you from the bottom of my heart.  You will never know how timely your gift was.  Your gift was more than just some crisp bills to help us pay for expenses.  Your gift was the eternal truth, and a precious rebuke, that I am a daughter.

Thank you.  
Thank you for helping to open my eyes to see the generous provision of our Father.
Thank you.
Thank you for helping to open my fist on the tight grasp I can have on my possessions.
Thank you.
Thank you for helping to open my heart to the vulnerable, yet completely secure, position of being a loved child.  

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

From Generation to Generation: Teaching Them Truth

She taught us the song when I was 10 on the windy drive to our summer vacation.   We sighed, rolled our eyes, pleaded to return to our games.  She insisted, she won, and the cassette tape went in.

My mother, with hands on the wheel and eyes focused on the road,  directed each phrase to her unenthusiastic children in the back seat:

God's on His throne, no need to worry.
God's on His throne, so I can rest.
God's on His throne, and I can trust Him.
Almighty King, God's on His throne.

Twenty years later, I remember the words clearly.

Tonight, I rock my baby boy quietly in his room, while tears fall down my cheeks.  Another hard day was ending, with helpless thoughts and frantic prayers crowding my already exhausted mind.  He looks at my teary eyes, and removes his thumb from between his lips.

"God on throne, Mama," he says, before reinserting his thumb and snuggling deep against my chest.

I manage a weak smile and begin to sing the words to an often-requested bedtime song.  He sings along in his mumbled 2-year-old voice.

I sing of God's Kingship, of God's Sovereignty, of our rest.  Together, we sing God's truth for weary hearts.

I rock, and I think back to my own mother, singing to a car full of moody children.  Little did she know it, but she was teaching truth to her future grandson.

Thank you to my mama, who faithfully invested in me, and planted the words of truth in my heart.
Thank you to my son, who unknowingly asks me to recite God's truths when I need them the most.
Thank you to the Lord, who promises His covenant faithfulness to the generations. 

To all the weary mamas out there -- persevere.

Persevere through exhaustion.
Persevere through uninterested children.
Persevere in your worthy calling.

Persevere, because you are teaching truth to the generations.

Thursday, June 12, 2014

When Loving Feels Inconvenient

Thirty minutes until company arrived.

Apparently, my children didn't get the memo.

In the short span of a half-hour, they managed to pee their underpants, dump out every single lego, fall down the stairs, rip a few pages from the library books, and throw up on the couch.  Their stubbornness hit an all-time low and their need for training and redirection tripled.

So much for the hors d'oeuvre tray.

Sometimes, I feel like they know. They know when I'm feeling the pressure of the clock or the to-do list.  They know when I need the least number of distractions -- and that's when they offer me the most.

Maybe it's just imagined.  My emotions are high, the pressure is on, and so it seems like the interruptions, are harder and more plentiful than normal.

Or maybe it's not imagined.  Maybe messes and needs do increase.  My kids might not know, but someone else sure does.  And he will do whatever it takes to ensure that I stumble.

1 Peter 5:8 tells us:  

Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.  Resist him, standing firm in the faith (ESV). 

You have an Enemy.  And it's not your child, or your spouse, or whoever else is getting in the way of your to-do list.

It's the devil himself, and he's prowling around, waiting to pounce and devour.

And here's the crazy part -- Peter's warning wasn't written primarily for those facing extreme persecution or sexual temptation.  Peter's warning is written to church leaders, responsible for caring for their flock. 

Ironic, isn't it?  

This warning comes right in the middle of an exhortation to care for those entrusted to you.

Your relationships with others -- specifically those under your care -- will always be a source of vulnerability and temptation.   You will regularly need to choose between loving your flock, and loving lesser things, like hors d'oeuvres, being on time, having a clean home, or feeling appreciated.  And while it's often possible to have both, are you tempted to despise or ignore your children's needs when something lesser is on the line?

The pressures of parenting and loving others will feel greater when you have something else to attend to.  But amazingly, they are actually opportunities to love more effectively.  Imagine -- in the midst of busyness, interruptions, and needs -- speaking these words to the ones you love:

It's ok that we're running late -- you're more valuable than being on time. 
I know that it was an accident -- I love you more than I loved that vase.
Yes, I just washed those clothes, but I'm so thankful you enjoyed your time playing outside.
I don't mind if dinner gets cold, it's more important that we talk about this now. 

Resist the devil.
Stand firm.
Know your weaknesses.
Be mindful when things feel "urgent" above all else.
Remember your primary calling.
Pursue and love wholeheartedly the little flock that has been given to you, especially when it means giving up the lesser things. 

Thursday, May 8, 2014

Don't Wait Until Tomorrow

Five different people, five different times, stooped down to say good morning to her.  And five times she pushed out her lower lip, folded her arms, and turned her head away.  Although she donned her Sunday best, her countenance was anything but attractive.

"Please say good morning, sweetie," I reminded her.

"Good morning," she eventually growled.

We soon found ourselves in the church restroom for a conversation about her attitude.

"I'm having a yucky heart this morning, mommy," she confessed.
"I don't want to be joyful right now.  Maybe I'll say hi to them tomorrow instead."

I stifled a laugh, and explained that she wouldn't get the chance tomorrow.

"We don't go to church on Mondays, sweetheart.  You can't wait until tomorrow.  Today is your only chance."

Although her childish reasoning often amuses me, I often think the same way.

I often live like tomorrow is a promise.  I put off things, reassuring myself that I will "do them tomorrow," or break that habit tomorrow, or start eating better tomorrow, or get into the Word tomorrow, or reach out to my neighbor tomorrow.

But God has not given us tomorrow.  And in reality, not only is it unreasonable to think that way, it's prideful. 

Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit”— yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. 
James 4:13-14 (ESV)

Certainly this passage targets those who arrogantly make and trust in their own plans, giving no thought to the God who ordains each of their days.  James warns against the futility of putting stock in our own foresight of the future, as we are but "a mist that...vanishes." 

It's arrogant to make plans for tomorrow, assuring ourselves that we can predict and secure our own future. 
But it's equally arrogant to make excuses for today, assuring ourselves that tomorrow will bring us the same opportunities.  

By definition, we can't live in tomorrow.  You can only live in today. 

We are finite beings, and out of necessity, certain things must wait until tomorrow.  By all means, be discerning, realistic, and strategic.  Set things aside for later.  The Bible calls this prudence.   (Proverbs 10:5)

But too often, that phrase is used as an excuse.  The thing that you put off until later will always be of secondary importance, and we will forever find reasons why right now just won't work.   The Bible calls this folly.  (Proverbs 6:10-11)

Satan loves to keep the best things as secondary in our minds.  As long as we are convinced that we really DO intend to get to that thing, but it remains of secondary importance -- we will never get to it.  The things we ought to do will forever be the "thing we will get to once we finish this first..."   And soon enough, another day will end, and we find ourselves saying it again -- I'll do it tomorrow.  

When you find yourself uttering those words --I'll do it tomorrow -- pause for a moment.  Are you choosing prudence?  Or, are you instead making excuses?  What holds "second place" on your to-do list?  Where has God called you to change, or grow, or repent, but you never quite get around it? 

God has only given you today.  Live joyfully, fully, obediently.  Don't put off until tomorrow what God has called you to do right now.  

Tuesday, April 29, 2014

The Reality of Me-Time

Seven times I heard the door open, and walked down the hall to see my daughter standing at the top of the stairs.  I sighed heavily.  Post 9pm is me- time. 
The house was quiet when I slipped downstairs and turned on my tea kettle.  Early mornings are rare for me --but this morning was different.  This morning I was awake, energized, cheerful, ready.  I buried myself under my favorite blanket and opened the well-worn pages of my Bible.  Two verses in and I heard it -- the sounds of awakening children.  So much for my me-time.  
3am and I audibly groaned.  The cries down the hall pleaded for my attention.  I didn't particularly feel like rolling out of bed to hold a sick child.  He'd get another nap in the morning -- but me?  This was my only chance to sleep.

There's this thing that I long for daily, hourly even, like it's an inalienable right - me-time.   I spend my days giving to children who demand more time, energy, and patience that I feel like I have.   The few moments I have each day to sit and rest never feel long enough.  

Every parenting magazine will reaffirm, celebrate even, your longing for a break from your kids.

Every mom needs their me-time.

And so we pine after it, search for it, guilt husbands into granting it, escape to hobbies, Facebook, texting, and ignoring our children, in an attempt to secure it. 

But may I suggest that perhaps you already have it?

In fact, you actually have an entire 24 hours of it each day, 7 days a week.

Your time belongs to you.  No one else.  It's your me-time, and no one else gets to decide how to use it.

I hear your brain rattling.

But what about my kids?  The laundry? My job? I can't very well ignore those things, can I? 

Now, I'm not advocating the neglect of your children or responsibilities.  However, I am advocating a perspective change.  

In motherhood, and in life, we easily view ourselves as victims of others.  We are a victim of the incessant needs of our children, who can't feed themselves, dress themselves, teach themselves, or train themselves.  We are the victim of our finances, forcing us to work a job for supplemental income.  We victimize ourselves when our husbands, or friends, can do things that we must miss out on.  We victimize ourselves when we must get up in the middle of the night and deal with unique weaknesses in our children.  

But consider Jesus the author of all of Creation and possessor of all authority on heaven and earth:

As men encircled him, arrested him as a criminal, handed him over to an enemy, and led him to the most brutal of deaths, Jesus' perspective was this:

"No one takes [my life] from me, but I lay it down of my own accord... "

While Jesus was certainly speaking in this passage of his divine authority, he's also highlighting a principle of ownership.  He owns his life.  And he chooses to lay it down.  At any moment, he says he can call down legions of angels to save him.  In doing this, Jesus boldly declares:  I am not a victim of others, I gladly choose to give away the life which I own.

Or consider the perspective from Hebrews:

"Jesus...who for the joy set before him, endured the cross..."

Jesus chose to endure the cross for the sake of joy.  No one forced his hand or his will.  He looked at his beloved --us--and gladly, joyfully, surrendered that which belonged entirely to Him.

Those 24 hours in each day?  God's given them to you.  And you alone will determine how to use them.  It's your time. 

The next time you hear the cries of your newborn, the needs of your toddler, the demands of your family, remind yourself:

This is my me-time, but I choose to give it away to the ones I love. 

You can do it, because Jesus did it for you.  

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

You Can't Erase Mistakes, But You Can Find Covering

She gasped when she realized its power, that tiny pink nub on the other side of the pencil.  It was a simple eraser, but it brought her nothing short of sheer delight.

I hear her at the kitchen table -- scratching and scrawling her letters, then giddily exclaiming "ah, I made a mistake!"  A smile creeps across her face as she flips the pencil upside-down and busily rubs until the graphite line has all but disappeared.  For her, and for now, there is joy in the "undoing" of errors, in the making of all things right.

Sometimes, I wish I had that delight -- the joy of simply "erasing mistakes."  Oh, to simply flip a pencil upside down and erase my harsh words, my judgmental spirit, my indifference towards my God.  But sin is stronger than pencils, and grown-up mistakes can leave permanent marks on the soul.  

And since I can't erase, I simply try to cover them up.  I hide my errors behind justifications, I allow time to fade their potency.  If I do acknowledge error, I do so with embarrassment and guilt.  I want others acknowledge their sin first before I'll admit to my own.  Confession becomes a shameful, exposing process. And it strips the delight from my relationships. 

But it doesn't have to be this way.

Years ago, there was a man who covered up errors, hid behind excuses, buried his mistakes, and soon found himself wasting away -- living in agony.  Surprisingly, his joy came when he stopped trying to cover himself, and and instead admitted his need for other-covering:

"Blessed is the one whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered...When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long...
Then I acknowledged my sin to you, and did not cover up my iniquity."
Psalm 32 (portions)

Blessing-- joy beyond words -- comes not through avoiding, or hiding -- but covering.  And there's a different kind of covering that we need -- it's not self-covering, but cross-covering.

Jesus has paid it all.  He has covered you.  Because our sins, our failures, our mistakes -- they can never just be "erased."  They can't simply be "undone," like an unwanted pencil mark on a paper.  But they can be paid for.  They can be covered through the cross.  The One whom we've wronged treats us as righteous and perfect.  

It's better than an eraser. 

Do you delight in the correction of your mistakes?
Do you quickly and humbly admit wrong against your spouse, or do you demand evidence and a reciprocated apology?
Do you relish the chance to reconcile with your children? Or do you angrily mutter, "I'm sorry" between clenched teeth, inwardly blaming them for provoking you?
Do you eagerly approach God's throne in confession, knowing that grace and forgiveness freely abounds in Christ?

How much of your day-to-day misery, exhaustion, despair, and broken relationships is a result of hiding, excusing, or pointing the finger at others?

Confess joyfully.  Find a better covering in Christ.   Blessing is yours for the taking.

Friday, March 14, 2014

Speaking Truth To Your Heart

Ten more sips of your milk, and then you can be done, I told her as I stood over the sink full of dishes.  My eyes never shifted, but my ears took note of her steady sips and soft counting.

Sip.  One.

Sip. Two.

Sip. Three.

But somewhere around halfway, the counting increased very quickly.  Too quickly to be true.

I turned toward her as she announced the completion of her task.

Sweetheart, are you trying to deceive mommy? Did you really take those sips?

She shook her head no, eyes steady on the floor.  I walked over and tilted her chin upward until her gaze met mine.

Joanna, you may not lie to mommy.  God is truth, and in this home, we speak what is true.

I resumed my dishes, she resumed her sipping. I commended myself on a parenting-job-well-done.

Yet within minutes, I found myself down on the floor, wiping vomit from the chair legs, my jeans, her hair.  And in that instant, I became the one telling lies.

No one else has to deal with this.  Lie. 
She's TRYING to get under my skin.  Lie.
This is never going to change. Lie.
I'm never going to change. Lie.
Why do I even bother?  This isn't worth it. Lie.
Doesn't God care enough to stop this?  Lie.

I command truth-telling from the lips of my children, yet I am the main contributor of lies in our home.

But I easily excuse it -- because I'm just venting,
or letting it all out,
and don't I deserve a little room just to say how I really feel?

But let's call it what it is.  We hear the words of God, we know the nature of God, we read the promises of God, yet we dismiss them as lies.  Isn't it what happened in the garden?  Eve believed a lie.  She lived a lie:

God is not man, that he should lie, or a son of man, that he should change his mind. Has he said, and will he not do it? Or has he spoken, and will he not fulfill it? 
(Numbers 23:19)

We call God a liar when we doubt what He has said, and in doing so, we become the one who lies.

When you're tempted to spout off a lie -- a declaration that God is not just, or merciful, or kind, or you deserve better, or others have it better --- choose truth.  Recite what God has told you to be true.  Cling to the promises of His Word.  

Teach your children to speak words that are true -- words that reflect the very character of our God.   But don't just teach them.  Show them.  Model to them a life that holds fast to truth, even -- especially -- when it hurts.

Lies come easily.
Truth is hard.
But when your heart hurts the most -- and you choose the words of truth -- you sing the sweetest songs of praise.

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Give Your Soul the Food that Nourishes

I hear her quiet footsteps coming down the steps, her soft voice quickly following:

I'm hungry, mama.

I smile.  My heart melts as it always does when she announces a desire for food.  My daughter's feeding disability not only prevents her from eating normally, but also from recognizing hunger pangs, so these rare words from her lips are especially sweet.

What can I get you for a snack, hon? Pudding?  Yogurt? 

I offer a wide array of options to satisfy her hunger, hoping one of them will strike her fancy.

No thank, mama.  I'll just eat this pretend hamburger.
She picks up the brown, plastic disk off the floor.  I pick up another piece of laundry.  She pretends to munch away.  I pretend that I'm not bothered by the whole exchange.

But I am.  My heart breaks that when I offer her body real nourishment, she rejects it for something fake -- pretend food that will never nourish.

Yet I'm more like my daughter than I care to admit.

I too, regularly choose to indulge in something lesser, something pretend.

In a day spent constantly meeting the needs of dependent little ones, my energy tank runs dry, and my soul craves nourishment.

I need food that will sustain me through long hours and thankless tasks.  I need encouragement, rest, strength, purpose, hope, a reason to persevere – yet I opt to feast on fake food.  I busy myself with social media, texting, email.  I indulge in hobbies, snacks, daydreaming.  I fill up my soul with enough distractions to get me through until bedtime – and then curiously wonder why I’m still hungry after my house is quiet.

Perhaps we’re choosing the wrong nourishment. 

Our merciful God extends a dinner invitation for malnourished souls like mine: 

"Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and he who has no money - come, buy and eat!... Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, 
and your labor for that which does not satisfy?  
Listen diligently to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food.  
Incline your ear, and come to me; hear, that your soul may live..." 
(Isaiah 55:1-3)

Your soul doesn't need a distraction.   It needs real food -- God Himself.  God holds out the promise of good, delightful, rich, satisfying food -- He offers Himself:

"Come to Me; hear, that your soul may live..." (vs 3)

True nourishment is never found in something, it’s always found in someone.

Put down the fake hamburger.  Turn the iPhone on silent. Ignore the text. Let the remote lie untouched.  They won’t fill you anyway.
Instead, come to Jesus. Find rest in Him.   And allow the promises of His Word to nourish, strengthen, and encourage your soul.

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

You Can Turn Today Around

The clock had barely ticked 9am, and already, the morning was replete with whining, complaining, outright rebellion, free-flowing tears, and a pair of wet underpants.   I held her on my lap as she whimpered quietly.  And I pleaded.

The day doesn't have to be like this, sweetheart.  You don't have to continue down the path of disobedience. Wouldn't you rather that today be full of joy and fun, rather than sadness? You can repent, choose to obey mommy, and we can turn today around.   

We all have those days -- days when it feels like everything is falling apart, and we're sitting in a pair of wet underpants by 9am.

We easily believe that days that start well, stay well.  But days that start off poorly...well, they only ever get worse.  

I frequently find myself in patterns of bitterness, complaining, harsh words, impatience, nagging, or envy, and it feels like I just can't escape the trajectory.  The whole day is ruined, I tell myself. The only way out is for the day to end -- for me to just try again tomorrow.  

When it feels like all is ruined -- there is always an out:  Repentance.

Repentance has been a buzz word in our home.  Repentance means turning away from disobedience and turning towards obedience, and always through the power of the cross.

"Repent therefore, and turn back, that your sins may be blotted out,  
that times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord..."
Acts 3:19-20 (ESV)

The gospel says we can always, always, turn today around.

There's always room at the cross for confession.
There's always grace through the cross for forgiveness.
And there's always power through the cross not just for a new day, but for a new middle-of-the day.  

Maybe you can't change the attitude of your children today, or tackle ALL of the laundry today, or solve your financial crisis today.

But there's one thing you can change today -- you.  You can turn from patterns of sin and destruction that will only ever make your day worse -- never better.  And if you can change you, then no matter how poorly today has gone, you can turn today around.

Is your home filled to the brim with whining children, piles of dirty shoes, unwashed dishes and never ending to-do lists, and the only contribution you can make is a poor attitude?
Are you ready to crawl back in bed by 10am and pray that tomorrow comes quickly?

Don't give up.  Don't give in.  Just repent.

You can turn today around.  

Monday, January 20, 2014

The Only Routine You Really Need

Somewhere between the holidays, traveling, vacations, conferences, and sickness, something very important tends to slip quietly out my front door.  I almost don't notice its absence until all the seasonal excitement is dwindling, and when I do realize its gone, I'm quickly filled with guilt for every letting out of my sight --


Things that we may normally do during a normal week suddenly disappear.  And things we normal don't do during a normal week suddenly become the norm -- sleeping in, eating junk food, leaving stuff everywhere and neglecting the clean up.

As soon as I notice my routines disappearing, my mind begins rattling off a list of "should's."  I beat myself up for neglecting the "normal" and wallow in guilt for all that I've failed to do.

I should get back to a regular wake-up routine.
What happened to the kid's bedtime routine?
I need a better excercise routine.
A healthier meal routine.
A better blogging routine.
A better quiet-time routine.
A more consistent homeschooling routine.

Routines in life bless me.  They can encourage godliness in me, they can help me train my children well, they can help me love my husband better.  Routines can make me more effective  in my work, more productive during my day, and more stable in my emotions.

But if I'm honest, routines can easily become dangerous.  They can quickly become less about me honoring God, and more about me honoring myself.  When I'm in routine, I feel secure.  When I'm in routine, I feel self-sufficient.  When I'm in routine, a subtle pride starts to creep in that says, "I've got this mother/wife thing down."

Routines have a funny way of pushing aside our dependence and zooming in on our strengths.  And so while routines may be helpful, there's only one that essential.  

The only routine my soul really NEEDS is the daily reminding of the gospel of Jesus Christ. 

Did you forget your cleaning routine for the week?  Breathe in.  Remind yourself of the daily cleansing of Jesus' sacrifice for you.
Have you slipped up on your food and exercise routine again? Breathe out.  The gospel of Jesus is our daily bread. 
Have you forgotten the last time you've spent quality time reading to your children before bed? Take a deep breath.  It's not what's most important. 

Sometimes, we need to be out of routine to remember what's most important.  Somedays the chaos, the sickness, the abnormal schedules -- somedays they're actually a gift.
Because when even for a moment, life lacks routine, we can inhale deeply the only thing we actually need -- grace. 

Wednesday, January 1, 2014

A Longing Fulfilled: Trusting God's Promises for the New Year

It was only a single cracker.

But for a mama filled with longing and doubt, that single Ritz was a reminder of God's faithfulness.

It was 5 months ago that we sat down together with journal in hand, and penned some "Autumn 2013 goals" for our family.  Areas of growth, dreams for the future, character traits to hone.  And for her, for our daughter plagued for years with a feeding disability, it was a simple goal: chew and swallow a single cracker by the end of the year. 

We even laughed as we wrote it.  We can dream, can't we? we said to one another.  But even in laughter, our hearts ached with the hopelessness that it would ever change.

And so on December 31st, just hours before midnight, when she swallowed down the last remnants of a cracker, I wept.

I wept because God sees the desires of my heart.
I wept because God is concerned about the small details of my life.
I wept because God keeps His promises to reverse the curse and fix the brokenness around me.
I wept because God is faithful when I am full of doubts.
I wept because heaven is coming and all promises will be forever fulfilled.

It was more than a cracker.  It was an ebenezer. 

As you consider the coming year, resolve to believe daily in the goodness and faithfulness of God. Resolve to live life with eyes open to see His promises fulfilled.
Resolve to fix your eyes on Heaven, where He will once and for all make everything new.