The Blessing in Serving: Lessons Learned at Tea Parties

The clock read 3:55pm, and my do-list still sat there untouched.  The kids would be downstairs in minutes, and I needed to make the most of my final free moments.   Sitting down with my computer, my hands were poised over the keyboard when I heard the cry-

"Mommy, mommy, mommy!"  she shouted urgently from her room.

I sighed.  Water?  Potty?  Toy needing batteries?  Hand stuck in the closet door again?

I sat there for a few minutes, desperately trying to remind myself of the truth I knew in my head but didn't quite believe in my heart.

It's better to give than to receive.  There is blessing in sacrifice.  Your priority is your children.   

Those truths compelled me to march up the stairs, but in the moment, duty triumphed over delight.

I opened the door to her room, where her pink table was adorned with plastic plates and tea cups.  She sat in one chair and beckoned me to the adjacent.

"This is my restaurant, and I made this food just for my mommy," she informed me.  "Can we please have lunch together?"

I took my seat next to her slumped-over doll, and smiled down at the plastic hotdog on my plate.

She bowed her head and recited a prayer she had heard countless times: "Dear God, thank you for our food, and please help it to stay in our bellies."

My heart warmed to hear her words, and I wondered how I ever thought that typing away at my computer for an extra five minutes was more fulfilling than a tea party with my daughter.

We nibbled our hotdogs and enjoyed our tea talked about her dolls, her day, and her love of puppies.  It was only a few short minutes, but I came down the stairs smiling.  Energized.  Blessed.

The reality of God's truth had intersected that small bedroom and my heart had caught up.  I had chosen to serve.  But in the end, it was she who blessed me.  God's Word is always true. 

Sometimes the reward is immeadiate -- the blessing is found it sweet smiles and pretend tea and encouraging words and visible fruit.  Sometimes, we will not see the reward until heaven.  But our lavish God declares that there is blessing in sacrifice.  There is beauty in service.  There is reward in giving.

Put away the computer.
Enjoy the blessing of the tea party.

Serve others, and be blessed.

Truth That Speaks Louder Than the Rain

The rain came down in sheets and the wipers struggled to keep up.  Cars slowed, lights flashed, horns blared, and the rain kept pounding on the car and the streets.  My brain struggled to think clearly with the noises all around me.  Her soft voice came from the back seat:

"Mommy, can you make it louder?"

I turned up the volume until "Jesus, Thank You" came through the speakers with twice the power.

"No, mommy, louder.  Much, much louder."

I shrugged and cranked the volume.  The music filled the car and she sat in her carseat and belted the lyrics with as much strength as her 3-year-old vocal chords could muster -- "Once your enemy, now seated at your table..."

My eyes and energy were focused on the road in front of me, but my ears were captivated by her sweet praises.  I smiled.

I could see the rain, but I wasn't listening to it.  The steady pounding had faded into the background and the songs of truth had taken over.

Because storms can demand our attention and our ears naturally hear the its noise.  But we can choose to allow words of truth, God's words, to speak louder than the rain.  We can choose to revel in the promises of God above the blaring screams of our harsh circumstances.

God's truth can trump the screams of small children with needs that seem never-ending.
God's truth can speak louder than the laundry piles that shout condemnation.
God's truth declares that we are righteous in Christ, even when we look back a day full of failure.
God's truth says that He is worthy of praise, for He is good, even when our circumstances bring pain.

And when we choose the sing and hear truth louder than the noise outside, there is joy.

Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the LORD, I will be joyful in God my Savior.  

Habakkuk 3:18

The Daily Battle Against Entropy In My Home

I should have known better.

I should have known not to serve spaghetti right after a bath.

I should have known that one child would create "spaghetti jewelry" while the other would design a "spaghetti catapult."

I should have known that the law of entropy is always at work, especially in a home with children.

And I should have been okay with it.

I first learned about this law in my High School AP Chemistry class.   Science calls it entropy.  The Bible calls it The Fall.  Both describe the same thing-- everything is moving from order to disorder, and my home is full of evidence.  So much evidence of "entropy," -- order to disorder -- that sometimes, I question why I do things in the first place.  

By noon I am hovered over dirty dishes piled high in a sink that was spotless that morning.  I am down on the floor wiping more spaghetti off the floor that was mopped only hours prior.   I painstakingly make specialized meals to feed to my daughter who will vomit them within minutes.   The weeds in the flowerbed keep coming back and the shower floor never stays spotless, and I bathe my children and scrub away the dirt and carefully treat stains in their clothes, knowing that before day's end those same shirts will sit, stained and crumpled, on top of the laundry pile.  While I am cleaning up one mess, my son is creating a new one.  At night I pick up Legos and return toys to their proper places and straighten pillows while children sleep soundly, and I wonder if it's worth it.  Because within a few hours, my work will be "undone."

There are days when I want the world to freeze just so I can enjoy my work for a few minutes before life takes over and it is undone.  And there are days when I struggle with anger towards my children, because how dare they create a mess where I long to create beauty?

Nothing stays clean forever.  No child remains fed forever. No job is once-and-done.

I live in a world where I battle both entropy, and the decaying effects of sin.  It's a physical battle of my work coming "undone," but it's also a battle in my mind --  if this is just going to get dirty again, if she's just going to vomit it again, if my hard work doesn't last for more than a few minutes -- is it really worth it?

And in the midst of the chaos and new messes, I know the answer.  YES, it is worth it.  YES, persevere.

Because it's new dirt.

And it's a new meal.

And it's a different mess. 

And it's a different day.

And every time I scrub the same pan, wipe the same floor, clean the same toilet, bathe the same child...every time I restore order to disorder, fully knowing that it will not last for long, I am choosing to value redemption.  Each time, my battle cry is this: sin will not reign in this home. 

When I do the same things over and over each day -- bathe, feed, clean, teach, train -- I affirm that God is redeeming all things.  I am declaring to the world that the Gospel will win and the King will reign -- and so I will continue to make all things new in my home.

For Days When You Wonder if You'll Ever Change

Sometimes, the hardest days are the best reminders of His grace.

I sat on the couch, coffee in hand, my Bible open to Colossians.  My sweet ones were upstairs -- one asleep, the other playing busily in her room -- when I read these words from Paul:

"Put on then, as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness,humility, meekness, and patience, ¹³ bearing with one another...and above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And be thankful."

Colossians 3: 12-15 (ESV)

My heart was pierced and emotions stirred. How often have my own children been the victims of my impatience, my harsh words, my pride and selfishness!

I prayed with earnestness and resolve: I needed to change.  I needed to grow.  I needed to put off the earthly desires and put on this selfless love that Jesus displayed!  I opened my eyes refreshed and ready to work hard.

Within seconds, my opportunity came.  I heard the upstairs bedroom door slam, with shouts by the little girl needing to go potty.  Her brother, awoken by the racket, began screaming.

Patience.  Kindness.  Humility. I breathed in and out, and ascended the stairs to care for them both with a smile on my face and gentleness on my lips.

Victory!  I had succeeded! 

But somewhere in between my self-dependence and self-righteousness, the course of the day began to shift.

Very quickly, my attempts at kindness, gentleness, and humility, dissolved into annoyance, anger, and harsh words.  I spent most of the day longing for bedtime to come quickly and wishing desperately for a break.  I wallowed in despair and complained of my lot.  I cried over nothing and everything -- my day, which started with such godly intent, was spiraling beyond my control.  Every passing hour was a closer look into the mirror of my heart and the striking realization that most days, I am the exact opposite of the person described in Colossians.  I felt weak, defeated, helpless.

I finally put on a movie for them as I surveyed my messy kitchen and began to weep.  My house was a mess.  My children were a mess.  My heart was a mess.  And I couldn't seem to get any of it back in order.

I continued to weep as I bent over the kitchen sink, scrubbing off the food particles from the dinner dishes.  How I wished the cleaning of my heart was as simple!  I felt a small tug on my shirt, and looked down to see my daughter peering up at me.

"Are you sad, mommy?"

I knelt down and my eyes met hers, and she continued.

"Sometime you are sad when I throw up my food, but I have my food in my belly now.  Can you please be happy instead?"

I wrapped her in my arms and continued to cry for the little girl who thought my tears were all because of her weakness.  The truth was, they were because of MY weakness -- my inability to love my children without having myself at the center of it all.

I pulled back and looked into her eyes.  "Mommy isn't crying because you threw up, sweetie.  Mommy is sad because I am struggling.  I want to love you like Jesus does, and I don't like it when I get angry and impatient."

She studied my tears, then began patting my shoulder.

"It's okay mommy.  Jesus is helping you to be kind."

My tears began to flow even faster.  I pulled her close again and whispered my thanks to her. My little one spoke truth.  It IS ok.  Jesus IS helping me.  I had become so focused on my own ability to change myself that I had forgotten the promises of God:

"He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion..." 

Philippians 1:6 (NIV)

Today, I didn't need a day that went smoothly, where I loved my children perfectly, with no tears, and no mishaps, and no messes, and all smiles.

Today, I needed a reminder of His grace.  I needed the reminder that I am weak, I am unable, but HE is faithful, and He will accomplish His will in me.

Jesus is helping me.

And maybe knowing that -- believing that -- makes it a sweet day after all. 

Nightmare Prayers

It is 5:30am and quiet.  The whole house slumbers when a scream pierces the stillness.

Another nightmare.

I stumble to her bedside as she thrashes and cries, eyes still closed but body in distress.  I kneel down and rub her back.  Her body relaxes, her cries die down, and while I normally make a quick exit to crawl back under my own covers, tonight is different.  Tonight I linger.

Tonight I sit by her bed with my hand still outstretched over her soft pajamas, and I pray.

I pray that God would give her sweet, peaceful sleep.  I pray that God would heal her body.  I pray that her mind would grow, her spirit would soften, her talents develop.  I pray that God would protect our family so that she might grow up nurtured and cherished. I pray that God would keep her from anymore nightmares.

I stop praying.

Because there is something about the dead of the night where the only sounds are the hum of the air conditioner and the steady rhythmic breathing of a child asleep.

Sometimes when we're still, our minds gain perspective.  In the quiet, I am reminded of what is most important.

I am reminded that there is a bigger nightmare out there -- one I pray that she never experiences -- living apart from God her Creator, in a way that she was never created to live.

And I begin to pray again, differently.

I pray that she would grow to know God intimately and love Him deeply.  I pray that she would grow to be a woman of gentleness and grace, changed by the grace she's received and eager to give grace to others.  I pray that she would learn to submit to authority -- not just mine because it makes my life easier, but the authority of the One who created her and knows whats best.  I pray that she would use her talents not for selfish gain but for the glory of God.  I pray that in her life, however short or long it may be, she would receive life from the True Vine and give life to those she meets.  I pray that angels and demons might revel at the majesty and power of God because of this twenty-seven pound vessel.

And I pray for me.  I pray that I would let go of my petty dreams for her -- dreams for her body to be normal, her mind to be sharp, her skills to be honed, and her future to be bright.  None of those dreams are bad.  But I pray that I would see beyond my parental desires for my daughter, and long for the things that God desires for my daughter.

Daylight dawns as I rise from her bed. I am tired.  But I am refreshed.  I thank God for the nightmare which brought me to her bedside.  Sometimes, it takes a nightmare to help us long for the best things.

I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may...grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ ... that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.

Ephesians 3:17-19 (NIV)

The Gift of Slowing Down

It's not complicated.  Faster is better.

I hear this popular line from the ATT commercials several times a week, and each time, I fight the urge to agree.  I resonate with those cute children as they sit at the table making obvious statements about how slow is terrible and multitasking is wonderful, and I live in a culture that shouts much of the same:  Faster is better.

I live for fast.  I demand that my children be fast.

Eat your food faster.
Put on your shoes faster.
Get out the door faster.
Get through the check-out line faster.
Finish the bedtime routine faster.


We hurry through one thing only to rush through the next and at the end of the day we feel tired and productive and effective -- but better?  Is life really better when everything happens fast?

Because one, ten, fifty years from now, I won't remember the fast moments.

I won't care if we got to places on time, or I finished everything on my to-do list for the day.  I won't remember how quickly I finished grocery shopping or how much traffic there was on the freeway.

So much of our energy gets wasted on "fast moments" -- moments quickly forgotten by the day's end.

But I will remember the moments that lingered.

I will remember spending long hours by her hospital crib offering quiet prayers while she struggled to breathe, with nowhere to rush off to because nothing seemed quite as important.

I will remember the nights when I stayed to read her an extra bedtime book and cuddle for "just another minute."

I will remember the lingering kisses before he walked out the door, even though he was late for his 9am with the gas tank on empty.

I will remember the nights when we sat 'round the dinner table with friends until the sun set and yawns emerged from lips, and we repeated "we really should get going" at least 10 times before we finally walked to our car.

I will remember the 2am rocking with a coughing child who needed mama's touch and for once I wasn't in a hurry to climb back under my own covers.

I will remember allowing her to put on her own shoes, knowing it would take twice as long, and seeing her beam with delight as she proudly announced, "I did it myself, mommy!"

I will remember the moments that could have been rushed, but for whatever reason, weren't.  Because sometimes the slow moments speak to us the grace of God.

Perhaps ATT has it backwards.

Perhaps real life happens when we stop rushing around and start looking around.  When we thank God for the right here, right now, gifts that he's given us, rather than racing through life to experience the next one.

Faster isn't better.
Enjoying is better.
Knowing the Creator and His gifts is best.


Slow down.  Thank God for the gift of right now.

A Letter to My Son on His First Birthday

My sweet son,

You are 1 today.

I remember the first time they placed you in my arms, with your fists clenched and eyes shut and vocal chords on display.  I cradled you and whispered again and again, "Mommy's here.  I love you.  And you'll be ok."

And there were nights when you'd scream for food and comfort and clean sheets and I'd rush in and pick you up and hold you to my chest.  And you'd receive nourishment and warmth and love as as I'd whisper these words, "Mommy's here.  I love you.  And you'll be ok." 


And I dropped you off at nursery so I could sit and breathe in the back pew, and you'd be held by someone new and look around for someone familiar.  But after an hour of goldfish and toys and runny noses, I would return and scoop you up, and in between your smiles and giggles I'd reassure you,  "Mommy's here.  I love you.  I told you you'd be ok." 



And you took your first wobbly steps, with brows furrowed and hands outstretched; within just a few days you'd laugh and toddle confidently from couch to chair.  But there were moments when you'd fall down and hit your head hard and cry out.  And I'd run over and pick up your shaking body and hold you tight.  "Mommy's here.  I love you.  And you'll be ok." 


Because right now, little one, we live in a season of Mommy's here moments.  My presence brings healing comfort and my kisses covers the hardest of falls.

But some day, that won't be enough.

Because the day will come when you will lose friends and have your heart broken; you will struggle through friendships and fitting in and making wise choices.  You will wrestle with your faith, your God, your calling, your choices;  you will battle laziness, perfectionism, lust, and lies.  You will question identity and relationships and gifting and dreams.

You'll ask questions that demand more than mommy's here answers. I can't promise you that my presence, or my comfort, will ever be enough.  Because they won't.

But there's a better promise.  Spoken from one Father to one of his children --

Have I not commanded you?  Be strong and courageous.  Do not be afraid, and do not be discouraged. For the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.

Joshua 1:9

Your True Father, your Heavenly Father, promises forever presence.  He gives lasting comfort.  He gives strength to persevere, answers to hard questions, reasons during real pain.

You Great Father is always here.  And He will always love you.  And if those two things are true, then it will always be ok.