For the Days You Feel Like an Unqualified Parent  1

 

unqualified parent.001Every few weeks or so, I start to panic over one/several/all of our children.

God, we are doomed.
Show me there is hope for my child.
I’m going to fail at parenting.  What were we thinking?!

I held a small baby the other day, felt her little body go limp from sleep, her little bum perfectly in my hand.  My feet automatically started to rock back and forth and I remembered so clearly when that stance defined my life.  Holding, rocking, nursing, holding, rocking, nursing, over and over and over again.

I thought it would never end.

Until, suddenly, it did.

My days look different than they used to.  I sleep through the night.  I even get to sit down and eat an entire meal.  I no longer have to order my day around naps and three hour increments.

The job isn’t as physically demanding anymore.

But what I’ve realized is that the physically demanding was just preparing me for the next stage: the mentally demanding years we are just entering. The stakes are so high on this one.

Parents of teenagers want to roll their eyes at me right now because I sound so naive.  Oh, I may not see the whole picture, but I can see it peeking over the horizon.

Before there were kids, Peter and I had a black lab puppy.  We named her Sawyer Dani and she was our “kid experiment”.  We figured if we did a great job at raising and disciplining a puppy, we had a decent shot at good parenting.

We walked her.  We sweet talked her and bought her organic treats.  We loved her hard.  But she would not walk with us.  She would pull and run and generally freak out.  She didn’t bark a lot, she was kind to kids, and she didn’t really chew.  But our daily walks were embarrassing because we looked like those idiots who let their dog walk them, instead of walking the dog.

So we enrolled her in obedience classes.  We bought a fancy leather leash (they told us it worked better but it was also really expensive… my hunch is that they saw us coming and knew how desperate we were).  We went faithfully for a few months, but it was hopeless.  Eventually Sawyer dropped out.  Ahem.  I guess I should say eventually WE dropped out.

Things were not looking good for our parenting experiment.

Thankfully, we didn’t let our failures as a dog owner keep us from having children. I’d like to think we’ve learned a thing or two since then.

There’s a couple in the Bible who couldn’t have children.  His name was Manoah, but his wife isn’t even named.  It simply says she was sterile and they remained childless.  You would think that because she doesn’t have a name in Scripture she wasn’t really anything special, but when their story is told in the book of Judges, it specifically says there was an angel of the Lord who appeared to only her and gave her the promise that she would have a son.  He gave her a few instructions and then disappeared.  When she relays the visit to her husband, Manoah, he replies by praying.

O Lord, I beg you, let the Man of God you sent to us come again 

to teach us how to bring up the boy who is to be born (Judges 13:9)

And I just want to laugh because I totally get that.  How much would I love a Man of God to just take up residence in my basement and give me all the answers on how to raise my kids?! Someone who would take the guesswork out of all our decisions and late night praying and thoughts that we are completely ruining our kids’ lives… sign. me. up.

talking

I saw this little chart floating around the internet and it is so us right now.  We are having a lot of big talks at our house lately, about lots of deep theological things, about our bodies and sexuality, about being a good friend and standing up for what is right.  It’s overwhelming to me, but it’s also so beautiful.

When I falter, when I second guess, I do my best to remember that my kids are made in the image of God.  They have a divine capacity to believe, to love, to imagine.  And guess what?  I am made in the image of God, too.  So are you.  So it only makes sense that as we seek God with all our hearts, He will lead us in how we raise our children.

That baby that was born in Judges?  His name was Samson.  He did great things for God… and he also messed up a few times, too.  Our kids will be the same.  We totally will, too.  Through it all, we must remember that our kids are made in the image of God and they are deeply loved by Him.  If the core of our parenting comes from that deep truth, we are giving our children a tremendous gift.

These years are just a phase… and we can’t afford to miss it.  Today, wherever you are in your parenting journey, may you be confident that the same God who created you in His image is also working in the hearts of your children.  You may not have a Man of God living in your basement, but you have the Holy Spirit who promises to guide you and lead you.

He tends his flock like a shepherd:
He gathers the lambs in his arms
and carries them close to his heart;
he gently leads those that have young. (Isaiah 40:11)

The Power of Naming our Gifts  11

IMG_1042Peter and I were at a conference a few years ago and the man speaking to us asked us to write the full names of our children on a sheet of paper.

So I wrote:

William Thomas
Kate Lillian
Annie Jane
Eliza Grace

You’d think that something so simple wouldn’t be that big a deal, but as I sat there, I stared at their names, a million memories flooding through my head connected to each one.  I thought about the conversations Peter and I had about what we would call them.  I remembered driving our extended family crazy by keeping those names a secret until the kids made their official appearance into the world.  We held their names close and treasured them.

Annie was born by c-section and we have this incredibly precious footage of her first hour, while I was still in the recovery room.  Peter was left alone with her and the camera is pointed on her little body stretching for the first time, her eyes blinking slowly, his hand resting on her stomach.  “We think we’re going to name you Annie Jane,” he says softly.

I will never forget those first few times we looked into each of our children’s eyes and said their names out loud.  Something about the tiny bundle of blanket with such a great big name seemed holy.

The very first job God gave Adam after He created the earth was to name the animals.  And when I think about that, I wonder why.  Surely, God deserved that job since He did the hard work of creating.  Instead, He turned to Adam and handed him the sweet privilege of calling out giraffe and spider and chicken (or something like that).

When William and Kate come home from school each day—  him at 2:25, her at 3:50, I try to be wrap up my task at hand and look into their eyes.  They both have so much to say, if I’m willing to listen, because there’s something important about naming our days.  Recounting what happened matters to them. Sometimes I forget that and I get frustrated as I try to finish up just one last thing (except there always seems to be another “one last thing”).  But when I let the day slip away without letting them rehash it with me, we both lose out.  They love to name the day.  When I have the discipline to listen, I learn about what’s important to them, what pressures they’re facing, what joys they have.

Is it possible that in our Naming— in the big ways and little ways— we are in fact calling out gifts?  If we take the time to name the good, we are practicing our thankfulness?

I’m smack in the middle of a book that has gotten under my skin in the very best way.  It’s called “Raising Grateful Kids in an Entitled World” and Kristen Welch has opened my eyes to all the ways we find ourselves entitled.  She writes about a man named Robert Emmons from the University of California, Berkeley who has worked as co-director of The Gratitude Project.

He says this: “In all its manifestations, a preoccupation with the self can cause us to forget our benefits and our benefactors or to feel that we are owed things from others and therefore have no reason to feel thankful. Counting blessings will be ineffective because grievances will always outnumber gifts.”

There’s something good about naming our gifts or counting our blessings or whatever you’d like to call it.  But it becomes something powerful when we name it out loud, when we talk about it as a family or write it down.  The words slip off our tongue and we are reminded of  God who trusts us, as He did with Adam, to Name. It causes the bad to fade and the good to brighten.

Our kids don’t learn this naturally and neither do we. Because our natural intent is to focus on what we don’t have, rather than what we do have.  There is always something to be thankful for, but it’s often hiding behind the much bigger thing that we don’t have or think we need.  Thankfulness hides behind “if onlys” and “as soon as”.  If we can train ourselves to dig for the gifts, to name the blessings, we begin to see we are owed nothing.  Instead, God has given us such gifts of grace that we don’t deserve.

Kristen says, “How often have I given thanks to God or to someone else and then turned around and complained or asked for more with the next breath?” The truth is, life is hard and when everything grinds to a halt, we have to work hard to give thanks.  And sometimes I talk myself into believing I’m owed more.  The grief of my life lies just under the surface and bubbles up much more easily than the gifts that take work to uncover.

However, the work of naming the gifts brings life to my soul and redeems my pain. It takes the sting out of my suffering.

I found that piece of paper with my kids’ names on it the other day.  I had it in my Bible and it fell out as I looked for something else.  Not only had I written the names of my children, but next to them were the words I first thought of when I looked at their names.

Joyful.  Wise.  Empathetic.  Thoughtful.  Funny.  Gracious.

We name our children when they are born, but we continue to name them as they grow.  And as we name them, we practice gratefulness and teach them to be thankful.

When Eliza prays, every statement begins with “Thank you.”
Thank you that you will take care of us.
     Thank you that we will have a good dinner.
     Thank you ….

How she calls out gifts and thanks God is not lost on me.  In the little, everyday after-school moments, as well as the big, life-changing ones, may we have the courage to name the gifts.  Not only for our benefit, but for the ones who are watching us so closely. And may you see that God has created you to Name.  He hands you the gift, much like He did to Adam.  Let the words slip off your tongue and you will see just how good He is.

 

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I’m excited to co-host a blog hop today inspired by Kristen Welch’s “Raising Grateful Kids in an Entitled World”.  Be sure to check out these great articles on gratefulness by others on our team:

Inspiring an Attitude of Gratitude – by Alison

Rasisng Grateful Kids – by amanda

Why You Can’t Buy Gratitude At The Dollar Store – by Andrea

Missing – Gratefulness in our home – by Ange 

Choosing Gratitude – by Angela

Gratefullness – by chaley

5 Steps to Gratitude-Fille Family – by Christa

Practicing Grateful Parenting – by Dana

Sing a Song – by Hannah

Cultivating gratitude in our family – by Jamie

Gratefulness In Our Home – by Jana

Gratefulness In Our Home – by Jana

Let It Begin With Me – by Jen

Choosing Gratefulness – by Jennifer

Raising Grateful Kids in an Entitled World – The Book – by jeri

Eradicating Entitlement – What are you rooted in? – by Jessica

Gratefulness in our home – by Kate

The Problem With Entitlement is that it begins with us – by Katelyn

7 Unusual Ways I Know How to Be Grateful – by Kathryn

Raising Grateful Kids – by Keri

How My Children Remind Me to Pray with Gratitude – by Kishona

Grateful – by Kristy

Entitlement: The Ugly Truth of a Beautiful Lie – by Leigha

The Most Important Thing You Can Do To Raise Grateful Kids – by Lindsey

Dear Son: How Do I Teach You To Be Grateful Without Guilt? – by Marie Osborne

Gratitude, A Practical Definition – by Mia

Cultivating Gratitude in Our Home – by Nancy

Learning Gratitude through Chronic Illness – by Rachel

Being Grateful – by Rebecca

I’ve Found Something I Can’t Live Without – by Sarah

The Power of Naming our Gifts – by Sarah

Outfitted – by Sarah Jo

Growing Gratitude in our Family – by Sondra

Teaching Gratefulness – by Stephanie

How Grateful Looks From Here – by Alison 

Fighting Entitlement in Children and All of us – by Leah

Entitlement Problem – by Karrie

Grateful Today – by Krystal

Winter Solstice  1

 

 

FullSizeRender 6I bought a ham.  Our little grocery store calls me every year to see if I want to order one and I always say yes, even though I’m not entirely sure why.  It just seems like the right thing to do?  We’re not going to be home for Christmas, though, which meant that I made it for dinner last night. I felt like June Cleaver.  I mean, who makes a spiral cut ham on a Monday night? I should’ve made a molded jello salad to go with it (I made corn casserole, which is of the same era.  If only I would have worn my apron).

FullSizeRender 5At the last minute, as I was getting ready to put dinner on the table, I realized it was winter solstice— the shortest day of the year.  So I threw a few extra candles on the table and turned off all the lights. Kate made place cards (which were our names, in cursive, on full sheets of construction paper. Only the fanciest for us).

I snapped a picture.  Look at our cozy dinner. We are so sweet together. We ooze love and joy.

It was true for about two minutes and thirty-two seconds.

And then one of us (who shall remain nameless) spilled an entire glass of water all over the table. Because, no lights.

And someone else only wanted the only green lettuce leafs in the salad, not the purple ones.

The truth is, yesterday was a hard day. There was plenty of bickering and expectations, along with grey and rainy weather *again*.  The house seemed to explode with stuff everywhere and someone kept turning the Christmas tree lights from a slow fade to seizure inducing.

By the time Peter got home, I felt like I was slowly imploding.  What was wrong with me?  I’ve looked forward to this week, to having them home.

The candles drew me out of the self-pitying fog.  So we didn’t have the greatest day, but there’s always a chance to recalibrate.  I took a deep breathe and realized the day wasn’t nearly as terrible as I’d convinced myself. There’s always something to be thankful for… and when I challenged myself to see the gifts of the day, instead of focusing on all the negative, my whole demeanor shifted.

After dinner, the magic time of post-supper had us all laughing.  We played “statue”— a made up game where someone counts and the rest of the players strike a unmoving pose.  The first one who breaks under pressure loses (It was always Eliza. She’d get the giggles every. single. round).  It’s a genius game, probably invented by an exhausted parent, because I just curled up on the couch and “pretended” to fall asleep.

FullSizeRender 8And then they made up another game in which the judge would rate the other’s wipe outs after they slid across the carpeted floor with socks on.  That one didn’t end so well.

At the end of the night, Eliza told me she doesn’t like games that other players are lemonade-ed.  She meant eliminated. I didn’t correct her.

So it was the shortest, darkest day of the year yesterday.  And I’m tempted to roll my eyes and say, “Of course it was.” Instead, I lit the candles and served the ham.  I sifted the bad from the good and found extra joy I almost missed.

May you have the courage not to let these sweet moments pass by unnoticed.  May you unwrap the quiet gifts God hands to you and be grateful for what you’ve been given… because no matter what, there is always something to be thankful for.

And maybe the best news?  The days are now getting longer and brighter.  Soak it in, my friends.

 

For When Our Soul Seeks Quiet  4

IMG_1217 I was watching an interview between Emily Freeman and Amber Haines and as they were talking, the phrase “Sit down on the inside” slipped out of one of their mouths. They had a few other phrases they used to describe what they were getting at: “an inner sobriety” and having an “ok-ness” with yourself.  I like those, but “sit down on the inside” has stuck with me and I’ve found myself pondering it as I go from task to task.

In my last post, I wrote about the barrage of lists and gifts and get togethers we have during this time of year. It can leave us feeling so empty if we let it keep us from the significant and the eternal.  And maybe this post is a bit of the same as the last one, but I just keep wondering what it means to really fight against it.  Sure, we can step back and cross a few unnecessary things off our lists, but we can’t just throw the whole thing away. What does it really mean to quiet our hearts and minds?

The answer is to “sit down on the inside.” There may be any number of things going on in our life on the outside, but if we can figure out how to let our souls breathe— to sit down on the inside— we can find the margin we need to be joyful, even while our hands are busy.

We think we have to clear off our schedule and resort to complete silence and quiet, when sometimes all that does is put us to sleep (which is not always a bad thing, by the way).  What if, instead, we quiet our souls, even in the midst of a very chaotic life and schedule?

Brother Lawrence was a monk who lived over 300 years ago and spent the bulk of his days washing dishes.  He is the master of “sitting down on the inside”.  During his decades of doing seemingly menial tasks, he realized experiencing God’s presence can-and should- happen everywhere, no matter what else was swirling around him.

I am in the middle of making forty-eight jars of honey butter for school teachers, friends, small group leaders, bus drivers, etc who pour into us and our kids on a regular basis.  It’s something I want to do, but forty-eight is a heck of a lot of butter and honey and cinnamon.  I have a choice to make— I can either stress myself out, becoming frantic about the sheer number of little jars lined up on my counter…. or I can sit down on the inside.  I can realize how very blessed we are to have a community of people surrounding us.  I can use the time spent working on the jars to pray for all our friends who will be receiving the gift.  I, for one,  would rather receive a gift knowing I had been prayed over rather than causing stress to the giver.  The shift isn’t in the task, the shift is in my attitude.

The same could be said about Christmas cards, gifts, class parties, special meals —  all of it, really.  We can choose to be stressed, or we can take a minute to sit down on the inside and instead allow the Holy Spirit to change our minds and attitudes. (Side note: In case you were wondering, this is an all-year-long lesson, not just a December lesson)

We weren’t made for this constant loudness, and even the most outgoing one needs space and time for the quiet. So if you need to find true quiet, clear off your schedule and do that.  But maybe you just need to sit down on the inside, while the outside still swarms around you.  Find a place of peace and park yourself.  You may have to work hard to get there, but I promise you, Jesus will meet you.

 

    If you’re looking for a few practical ways I cut down on Christmas craziness, here are my top 4:
  • We only get our kids three gifts: something to wear, something to read, something to play with.  Oh my goodness, I love it so much.  It has simplified so many things about Christmas for us.  Now, I will say that when I put the gifts under the tree, I am overcome with guilt every single year, because it just looks like nothing.  But by the time they open gifts from all the grandparents and everyone else, I’m always so relieved they didn’t get more.  Plus, I’m way more thoughtful when I can only get them a few things.
  • Sometimes when I make a to-do list, I end up doing extra things I hadn’t thought to put on it.  So I write them in after they’re done. I don’t know, it just makes me feel better.  Mopped the floor!  Did the laundry!  Drank a glass of water! I can trick myself into feeling more accomplished when I glance at a list full of crossed off tasks.
  • This year, I bought sprinkles and marshmallows and the fancy whipped cream in the bottle.  We’re planning on calling friends last minute to have them over for hot chocolate.  I read about it on Design Mom and it made so much sense to me.  Maybe I don’t have the resources to invite a family over for dinner, but I can certainly call them last minute to see if they can come over for hot chocolate.  There’s no pressure either way.  It’s a practical way we can reach out.
  • I work hard to de-clutter my house pre-December.  I like my house to be neat and piles are just a necessity in December.  We have presents for cousins and Christmas cards, and secret projects going on everywhere.  And, dear me, we have the fattest tree on the face of the earth sitting in our living room, taking up A LOT of space.  In order for me not to go crazy, I try hard to get the summer clothes in bins and we go through old toys and give them to the thrift store.  If I can create space in my actual house, it helps me breathe and tolerate the extra Christmas piles.

May you work hard to find the peace and joy Christ is calling you to today.  May you have the courage to sit down on the inside, even while the chaos around you threatens to swallow you up.  May the shift this season be in your heart, for the One who created your soul to breathe.

Letting Go of the Frenzy of December  0

 

IMG_0155 (2)It’s the first week of Advent.

The days are short and dreary.  I just pulled on an extra sweater and resorted to socks and slippers. But my heart is thinking of my friends in Haiti.

And I’m fairly certain they don’t even own a pair of socks, or would, even if they could afford them.  Because pretty much, Haiti is the hottest place on earth.

One of the reasons I love Haiti so much is that it strips away all that I know or pretend to know. When I step off that plane and the first blast of hot air hits my face, I start to recalibrate.  The things I think are so important start to slip away and I’m reminded of what really matters.

The greatest thing happened because I was able to visit these people three times in just over a year… It quit being a “mission trip” and instead became a trip to visit friends.  Having so much concentrated time in their lives means I can remember their names, their stories.  The rhythms of the days, the conversations, the landmarks all run through my head almost every day and they’re reshaping my thoughts and the way I want to live my life.

I walked through those dusty streets, with four kids on a side, all clambering to get closer, rubbing their hands on my pale skin, chattering 100 miles an hour.  Adults would look at us with empty eyes, not a trace of a smile until we called out, “Good morning!” to them and their faces exploded into a smile.

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(Of course I had to include this picture. I mean, the cutest kid in the world is wearing a SANTA CLAUS shirt.)

I can’t explain it, really, but we spend our week walking and talking.  Not really doing anything earth shattering or life changing.  We simply build relationships… and they teach me so much.

I stood in front of a Haitian church full of people, talking about my Annie and what it means to be blessed.  And I cried— because I always cry— but it was more than the sorrow I feel over losing her.  Instead, I cried because I was speaking to a whole church of people who have suffered deeply.  Who have lost so much and still rejoice.  Who have gone without and still declare that God is good.

We’ve been home now for six weeks, but in many ways we are still processing what we saw and heard and what to do with what we’ve been given.  Because these trips don’t end when you get home.  They get buried in your heart and mind.

So when my inbox is flooded with black friday deals and I have to begin a clipboard of lists in order to keep everything in December straight, I find myself caught in a mental tug of war.  What really matters?  If Aldine or Lovely or Ricardo were visiting me, what would they think about my life?

We have been trained to be overwhelmed and busy during this season.  Oh sure, it’s not what we wish for, but what can we do about it?  Before we know it, we wear our stress like a badge of honor.

And I can’t help but wonder if we subconsciously pile on a layer of stress in order not to face what’s really going on in our lives.  After all, if we spend every minute preparing and rushing, then we don’t have to face our feelings of sadness, of disappointment, of emptiness that are buried under all of our errands and anxiousness.

If we keep our minds on the surface, on the next place we have to run, then we have no space in our heads to think about what it means to anticipate the birth of Jesus. When our heads hit the pillow in exhaustion, we quickly forget the significant, the eternal, instead overcome by menial tasks.

So we buy more presents, make more food and keep adding to the lists, convincing ourselves this is the way to have a meaningful Christmas… but in the end, our hearts feel hollow and joyless.

Paul writes, “Don’t become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking.  Instead, fix your attention on God.” (Romans 12:2, The Message)

What would happen if we quieted our hearts and our minds?  If we risked buying less for everyone and instead focused on loving deeply? What if— gasp—  I decided to cross a few things off my list without doing them? Surely the world wouldn’t stop spinning?

What if I’d be intentional about giving more to others?  Not just  collecting hats and mittens locally, or giving to people around the world, though I’m certainly advocating for those things.  I’m talking about giving my time to really sit and talk to someone who is having a hard time this season.  I’m talking about inviting a family over that needs some encouraging.  I’m talking about stopping my busy frenzy when the kids come home from school, sitting and looking at them in the eyes when they walk in the door, ready to tell me about their day.

My Haitian friends are teaching me that there’s so much more to life than I think.  They, who have lost so much and have so little to give, have given me the biggest gift of all.  They’re teaching me to move slowly through life, digging through the sorrow to find the hope Jesus brings.

May you find these treasures during this month, even if it means you must cross a few things off your lists without doing them.  May you be brave enough to reach out for the great joy that Jesus is handing you… because only then will you be able to fill your hollow heart.

 

Suggested Resources:

The Greatest Gift by Ann Voskamp (And here’s the version we’re using as a family)
Raising Grateful Kids in an Entitled World by Kristen Welch (I’m part of a launch team to promote this amazing book, so you’ll be hearing more.  When you preorder, you’ll get a great Global Family Kit)

A Thanksgiving Chat  0

FullSizeRenderIn honor of Thanksgiving and because my last post was heavy, here are a few things I’ve been thinking about:

  • I wouldn’t say my last post went viral, but hello people, it drew a lot more traffic than any other post I’ve ever written.  Over and over I’m reminded of just how many are hurting.  Maybe that’s you… and if so, can I ask you to pray for the others who are walking the same path? We need to be reminded that we’re in this together.  I’m completely overwhelmed with the ways God is using our story.
  • We got eight inches of snow for our first snow of the year… which just seems a little unnecessary and ridiculous to me.  However, I’m always ready for a good pot of soup and it ’tis the season!  (If I invite you over for dinner, chances are the recipes I use will be from Mel.)

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  • Remember when I wrote about my friends in Haiti and the cargo ship that sunk to the bottom of the ocean with all their belongings?  I’m so excited to tell you that people have rallied alongside them!  Not only did they receive enough money to pay for new supplies, they actually got TWICE what they originally had.  It makes me want to cry, because I can picture their sweet faces and the joy in their eyes.  Peter and I just returned from Haiti and we are still quietly shaking our heads over all we saw and experienced.  It’s an amazing place, friends, and every time I go, I just love it more (I promise to write more about it soon).  My friend, Neile, has been stocking a little Etsy shop with the sweetest little hand-stitched embroidery hoops and all her proceeds go to Waves of Mercy.  I hope you’ll hop over and check it out.  I had to buy the gumball one because the little boy was one of my favorites… and his name is Mackinlove.  I mean, really. I could eat him up.
  • Those cheap grocery store goldfish? They don’t always die after the first week.  I’m telling you, we’ve had three going strong for over a year.  In the same small bowl.  Not always fed or taken care of.  I think we might actually be sad when their time comes.
  • This was a great blog post.  I feel so helpless sometimes in my little corner of the world, unable to even articulate what I really think about all that’s going on around me, but when I read Sarah Bessey’s post, I nod along and think, “Yes. This is me.”RGK-gratefulheart
  • I’m part of a Launch Group for a new book by Kristen Welch called, “Raising Grateful Kids in an Entitled World”.  I’m excited to share it with you.  I deeply desire for my kids to be grateful and I struggle with how to take them out of the entitlement they think they deserve. I read the first chapter last night and was nodding my head the whole time. (There are some great goodies if you preorder).
  • Advent begins on Sunday and I can hardly wait.  While I know there will be stress and busyness during the next month, I’m determined to quiet my soul, to prepare for the great joy that has been promised to us.  That might mean I say no to a few things, but more than that, it means that in all the little, ordinary things I do, I want to see Christ.  I believe He shows up in all our normal, everyday moments when I watch for Him.  So it may mean that I’ll have a crazy busy month getting things ready for the ones I love most, but in the middle of it all, I hold my breath in anticipation of the One who came to rescue me.
  • We are visiting my parents over the Thanksgiving holiday.  Eliza received a “dumple bag” and “soup case” for her birthday and she is excitedly packing them with all the necessities for travel (And I use the term necessities loosely).
  • Lastly, we’ve been watching Guy on a Buffalo at our house.  You know you need something funny to laugh about as you’re digesting your turkey.  Don’t thank me, thank my 11 year old son… because pre-teen humor is basically the best.

Happy Thanksgiving, my friends.  I am grateful for you.

Balancing the Holidays with Grief  10

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I was baking with friends and the conversation was easy and light.  My mind kept drifting to one girl, knowing that as we were talking about Thanksgiving plans, she was facing the first one without her dad.  I wanted to ask her about it, but I also didn’t want to kill the mood of the room, or make her sad.

But as I remembered the first Thanksgiving without Annie, I remembered the awkward silence or the questions followed by an apology… and the truth was, I was thinking about her all the time anyway.  I was relieved when someone would bring up our grief or say her name.

So I asked my friend how she was doing and I was glad I did.  Sometimes we need others to help us carry our sadness during this time of the year, because it can be hard to be thankful when there’s an empty chair at the table.  And we certainly don’t want to usher in a New Year when the last one has left us broken.

Thanksgiving came just two months after we buried Annie and we were afraid to be alone, yet too exhausted to make any decisions about what to do.  Our kids were small (2 & 4), and we felt caught between trying to make things as normal as possible for them… and not really having the energy to do anything more than what was essential.  Initially, we made plans to drive 20+ hours to see Peter’s family.  The week before, though, we were so depleted and knew we just didn’t have the stamina to make a big road trip.  We love Peter’s parents deeply and felt terrible telling them we couldn’t come, but we also knew our best decision was just to be home.  They were so gracious and understanding, and I honestly don’t remember what we did that year. But taking the pressure off of ourselves to quickly leap back into regular life allowed us to gain a little traction.

By the time Christmas came, I thought I would have a better handle on my grief…. but instead I felt crushed by the busyness.  My memories of that Christmas are few, but I do remember humming “the weary world rejoices” over and over in my brain. I couldn’t shut it off. I felt so weary.  I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to move to the next line, “but yonder waits a new and glorious morn”.  Honestly, I didn’t really want to.

The bitter that year overpowered the sweet.  What I didn’t realize was that each year the sweet would grow a bit as we worked out our grief and determined we would choose joy. There will always be a sadness to this time of year, but there are a few ways we’ve determined not to let it swallow us up.

When I especially struggle with sadness, I think of my living children.  I don’t want their memories of the holidays to be consumed with grief.  I want them to remember the joy and peace of the season, sprinkled in with the reality God has made our family different, and sometimes that means we cry.  Each year we get out our Jesse Tree and Annie’s stocking filled with ornaments.  We try to be honest with them when we’re sad, but we make Christmas about Jesus, and the hope we have because of Him.  My kids have helped me do more than just survive the holidays.  They’ve forced me to participate when I just wanted to hide out until it’s all over. I don’t know what I would do without them.

I also give myself permission to be sad during the holidays.  My life has permanently changed, and I will never be the same person I was before Annie died.  I’m sad there aren’t more presents under the tree; I’m sad when there are just five pies for Thanksgiving instead of six (#onepieperperson).  In a million different ways, I miss her and I don’t want to gloss over my feelings and pretend everything is okay.  I’m not naturally a sad person— no one really wants to be, do they?— so it’s hard for me to admit my sadness sometimes.  But even the happiest situations have a tinge of melancholy to them, because our family is fragmented.  It just is.  And so I am sad.

This will come as no surprise to you if you’ve read this blog for long, but one of the most powerful ways I’ve found to overcome my grief is by serving others.  You may feel lonely and isolated in your sadness, but if you open your eyes to the hurt around you, you’ll notice a world of broken people.  The reality is, very few people get to have the quintessential happy Christmas.  So our family always tries to find a way to help others during the Holidays.  Sometimes it’s simple, like inviting another family over for dinner or writing a quick card to a hurting friend.  We’ll send shoeboxes or gifts to others in our own community and around the world.  And goodness, there are so many who need to be reminded that they matter and Jesus cares for them.  Stepping outside of my isolated grief to be a part of someone else’s healing process takes the sting out of my own story.

There’s the part of the Charlie Brown Christmas movie, at the very end, when Linus quotes the angel announcing the birth of Jesus in the Bible (it’s Luke 2:10, actually).  In his lispy little voice, he says, “Do not be afraid.  I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.”  Jesus came to heal our broken hearts and give us joy. Great joy.  It’s a gift to us even in our sadness.

No matter where you find yourself during these next weeks, grasp on to the truth that you are not exempt from the good news of great joy. It’s a promise for you and for me, too.  The world may be swaying around you, but He promises you joy.  Search for it, and when you find even a little sliver, hold on to it with everything you have.

 

P.S. If you’ve lost someone and are overwhelmed by the immensity of your grief, I’d recommend the book When Your Family’s Lost a Loved One by David and Nancy Guthrie.  They are empathetic, practical and compassionate, and address things you’re probably thinking about, but don’t know how to express.

When the Loud Voice isn’t the Truest Voice  5

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When I turned 15, I took Driver’s Ed.  I was a freaky nervous wreck about the whole thing (no pun intended).

Oh, the classroom part was fine (that was back when we’d just take it as a summer school course,  with all of our friends, and all the driver’s ed teachers were just our regular school teachers)

When they handed out driving assignments, things really went south.  I would listen to my friends whose teachers taught them to drive to McDonalds or Dairy Queen for a cone, or in the least, let them choose the radio station when it was their turn at the wheel. Not me.  I got the teacher who hated all teenagers, namely ones learning to drive.

He would get out an actual tape measure when we’d parallel park and make little notes on his clipboard.  He’d mark off points if we put on our turn signal 10 feet too early and he delighted in taking us on one way streets to see if we could navigate it like the pros we were not.  I remember crying a lot during that month.

It didn’t help that he had a slight lisp (and a bad combover, but that’s not the point).  “Wight!  Turn wight at the light!” he would bark at me.  I was so bent on pleasing him that my brain couldn’t interpret what he was saying.  Inevitably I’d turn left… or go straight… and he would slam on his special passenger brake (he loved that thing) and jot more notes.

I was sure I’d fail.  My dad would try to help by taking me to the high school parking lot on Sunday afternoons; he’d even set up orange cones and he was infinitely patient.  But I’d just end up having a melt down, because I was so discouraged.

On the day of our final test, my teacher took us somewhere I’d never driven before:  a four lane highway.  The on ramps and off ramps and changing lanes…. I felt like I’d been set up.  Never had I felt so helpless and stupid.

I ended up passing the class, with the very lowest score possible.  Not a single point to spare. I sat in the car with my mom when she came to pick me up and I sobbed with relief.  I couldn’t believe it was over.

And yet, it wasn’t over.  Because every time I got behind the wheel of a car, I could hear his voice in my head.  “Turn wight!” “4 inches too far from the curb!” “YOU ARE A TERRIBLE DRIVER!”

It probably doesn’t surprise you that I hate driving.  I’m still, almost 20 years later, really self-conscious when I’m behind the wheel, though I’m getting much better.  The first time someone told me I was a good driver,  I was honestly shocked.  I assumed all people secretly felt like my teacher, but were just kinder when they rode shotgun with me.

Could it be that the story my teacher told about my driving wasn’t the true story?  Could it be that I’ve given him an undeserved voice in my life? Why would I be crazy enough to let someone who had a three-week window into my life shape all that I believed about my ability to drive?  It seems so ridiculous, doesn’t it?!

Bob Goff once tweeted, “Be picky about who you give the microphone to in your life.  Don’t listen to the loudest voice; listen to the truest one.”  Not everyone deserves to have a voice.  But we often are far too generous with the wrong people and end up letting others control how we think and feel about ourselves.

What would happen if we graciously took the microphone from those who don’t deserve it?  Maybe they are actual people who speak into our lives, or maybe they’re just made up voices we’ve let take up residence in our brain.  The pretend conversations we have with people, the negative self-talk that replays over and over, the passing comments we let ruin our day– why do we allow them? How would it change our daily habits if consciously listened to the truest voices?  How would it change our confidence?  How would it change our worldview?

I could go on… but I’m guessing you get the point.  I don’t even need to tie it up with a good Bible verse.

As we number our days, may we be wise enough to hand the right people the microphone.  May we see destructive self-talk for what it is— useless noise— and make a conscious decision to step away.  And may we strain to hear the most important, truest voice of all… Jesus, who knows our deepest faults and crazy habits, and chooses us over and over again.

 

P.S.  Image is of me, found in my senior yearbook.  You know I must love you, dear reader, if I dug this out of the relics.  If you must study it, please be sure to notice the archaic computer on the right page.

Give Them a Boost {How you can help my Haitian friends}  1

 

IMG_4608It just so happens that there was a huge cargo ship that sunk after being caught up in waves caused by Hurricane Joaquin this week.  It may have caught your eye if you keep up with current headlines and maybe you were relieved that although the ship sunk, the crew was rescued and all seemed to end well.

 

The ship was a mere 50 miles from the coast of Haiti, where many were eagerly waiting for the crates and barrels.  So the crew was safe, but those who had lost what was on that ship are devastated.

I received a text shortly after the news broke.  My friends, Larry and Diana Owen, the ones I have stayed with both times I’ve been there, spent the summer in the states gathering supplies and loading them onto crates.  The rented a moving truck and drove eighteen-thousand pounds of food and building materials and generators and Christmas gifts for orphans to Florida and loaded it onto that very ship.

And now it’s all on the bottom of the ocean floor.

I have been so heartbroken for them and for my Haitian friends.

Perhaps one of the hardest things for me to process since I’ve been to Haiti is the astounding hardship these people face.    For the Haitians, these blows are so devastating.

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Every morning in Haiti we would join Larry on his walk up the mountain.  He would put a bit of money in his pocket and we would put a few pieces of candy in ours and we would slowly walk.  It was still dark when we started and there were only a few people outside, mostly Mamas sweeping the garbage off the street and children sitting on the porches, brushing their teeth.  They would pass us without making eye contact until we would call out “Bonjour” to them.  And then, the most beautiful thing would happen.  They would look us in the eyes and return the greeting. Their sullen faces would break into beautiful smiles.  Sometimes Larry would give them a small bit of money, enough to buy a banana, and we would slip a piece of candy to a child. “All I can do is kick the can a little farther down the road,” he’d say. “I can’t change their lives, but I can give them a little boost.  This might be the best thing that happens to them this week.”  He would tell us the Haitians couldn’t imagine why we would want to come to visit them, why we would even smile at them.

Poverty is more than not having money, it’s despair and hopelessness, an inability to think that life could ever be different, that there will ever be even a shred of joy. Poverty is a life sentence for so many, but it doesn’t have to be the end of the story.IMG_5881IMG_4409

IMG_5894And so, a sunken cargo ship is not just a little setback.  It’s another blow for a group of people who barely had anything to begin with.

The cost is extraordinary, but why wouldn’t we help?  This, my friends, is what we do.  If you would like to be part of the movement, you can go to wavesofmercy.org to help replace the supplies that were lost and to pay for shipping costs, which are extraordinary.

We live in abundance but often we trick ourselves into thinking we don’t have enough… The truth is, we have more than most people in the world.  Maybe we can’t do something big and amazing, but we can give these people a little boost.  Maybe you could be the best thing to happen today for my Haitian friends.IMG_5915IMG_4581 IMG_5788

P.S.  It probably won’t come as a big surprise to you that I’m going to be returning to Haiti in just a few weeks… and this time I’m taking Peter with me!  These people have captured my heart in a big way and I can’t wait to see them again.

The Story of Broken Leftovers  5

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There are a few stories in the Bible I read and skim, like a girl who has read these stories for her whole life.  They tend to be familiar and comfortable, like putting on my favorite pair of slippers.  But once in a while, I read with new eyes, with new understanding.  Jesus gently leans down and points out a passage.  “This one is for you today,” He says.

 

In Matthew 15, there is a crowd of people coming to Jesus.   They are lame, blind, crippled and mute. They are sick and broken and desperate to be healed.  Many of them are unable to come alone and the Bible says those who brought them laid them at the feet of Jesus.

 

What a tired, weary group they must’ve been.  Both those who needed healing and those who cared for them, needing rest for their weary souls and their tired feet.  But they were not only weary, they were expectant.  And hopeful.  And determined. They were looking for Jesus, a man who could heal.  Their trip to the mountainside meant everything.

 

I wonder about the look on Jesus’ face as he looked at the weary crowd.  The Bible says He told His disciples He had compassion on them.  When He looked into their eyes, He saw so much more than their broken bodies.  He saw the ridicule they had endured, the way they had fought to get to Him.  He saw those who had risked so much to care for the ones they loved…. And He had compassion.

The people were amazed when they saw the mute speaking, the crippled made well, the lame walking and the blind seeing.  And they praised the God of Israel. Matthew 15:31

 

When I read closely, I realize Jesus’ compassion didn’t end with their physical healing. I wonder about the process that day. Did He go to each person individually and touch them? Or did He heal them in one huge swoop? Whatever His method, after it was all over, they were all still standing there.  And we see His compassion went beyond.

 

Because after Jesus healed them, He fed them.  He took the bit of food the disciples scrounged up (seven loaves of bread and a few fish) and thanked God for it.  Then He broke it and the disciples began to hand it out to the people— who were standing on the mountain wondering just what to do with their feet that walked and eyes that could see.

 

Not only did He feed them, but they ate enough to be satisfied. There was more than enough to go around, an abundance for those who had brought only their broken.

 

I wonder why He took the extra step to feed the people.  Jesus did what they expected, but He also did what they did not expect, with humble food— just bread and fish.  Jesus is the master of taking simple things and making them miraculous.

They all ate and were satisfied.  Afterward the disciples picked up seven basketfuls of broken pieces that were left over Matthew 15:37

 

On the day we buried Annie, everyone dispersed and Peter and I were left, holding one another, looking at the tiny casket that would soon be buried deep in the ground.  And I felt like my whole life was shattered, like I didn’t know how to do anything anymore.  Even the tears did not come easily…. as if my pain was too deep even for the relief that comes with crying.

 

I tend to push that memory down deep, but it comes back up around this time of year.  There’s a certain crispness in the air that does something to my heart and I can’t fully explain it.  Every year when the anniversary of her death comes at the end of September, I am reminded of my need to place the shattered pieces of my heart into the healing hands of Jesus.

 

We live with broken pieces, much like the leftovers the disciples picked up on that mountainside.  Because Jesus knew that just because they were healed didn’t mean they would magically have an amazing life.  He knew the scars to their bodies, to their hearts.  He knew the words that had been spoken to them, the anger they had, the sorrow they felt.  He didn’t expect them to disappear.  And so He fed them and He picked up their broken pieces.

 

He had compassion on them.

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What do we do with our broken pieces? When our hearts are shattered and the dust has settled and we’re left holding something that can never be put together in the same way again?

 

Do I really trust God to look at those broken leftovers of my heart and make them into something that gives life, that provides satisfaction?  On these beautiful late September days, when the tears come without warning and I’m taken back to Annie’s grave, her funeral, the hospital room, it takes everything I have in me to walk to the mountainside to be with Jesus.  I struggle to see the beauty of my brokenness.  I find myself weary and soul-tired. And yet, when I lift my shattered heart to Him, I see how He redeems our pain, how He gently cares for me.  I see that He not only heals, but He also fills me with satisfaction and, dare I say, joy.

 

I still have questions, I still grieve.  But like a balm to my soul, He has compassion for me.  Maybe the miracle that day wasn’t only that Jesus healed the people and turned a bit of food into enough to feed thousands.  Maybe the miracle was that He sees our broken pieces, our broken hearts and lives and makes them into something beautiful. He trades our weariness for hope and our sorrow for expectation.

 

May you find Him today, wherever you are. May you see His compassion for you and trust Him with your brokenness.