My Favorite Part of the Day

“But I want to go, too!” my little Abigail pleaded. “Please!” The desperation in her voice rang throughout the cul-de-sac.

It was almost 8:00 PM, but since the sun’s been lingering till a later hour here in the Pacific Northwest, the older kids were allowed to stay outside and run like wild banshees with their neighborhood friends (at least that’s what it looked like they were doing).

But since, first, Abigail’s just little and needs to go to bed, and, second, it was mostly big boys out there, and finally, like I said, it was no peaceful game of lawn bowling going on, I didn’t think it was a good idea for her to go. I delineated all these reasonable explanations to her…

“But I waaaaaant too!” In her dark moment of anger and sadness, she sprinted up the stairs to her room to continue the wailing (tantrum, perhaps? I think yes).

After five long minutes, she appeared, with a somber yet calm demeanor, in my room where I was sorting laundry. “Put your jammies on, honey.” I told her.

She disappeared to her room, and apparently as she started to dig for jammies she found something. She came running to me holding a teddy bear blanket I had just bought for a friend’s baby shower.

“Is this for me?” A big grin twinkled in her eyes.

“No honey,” I said firmly. “No. That shouldn’t be in your room.” I took it from her hand. “How did it get there?”

My firmness was too much for her. Her big brown eyes peeked up at me—so sad, with a look of helplessness. She didn’t scream or protest her innocence, she just said, “I don’t know,” then slowly slumped toward the door.

“Oh sweetie.” I tugged her back to me, knelt to her level, and looked in her eyes. “I’m sorry. Mommy shouldn’t have been so firm.”

Her chin trembled, just a bit, and a few tears welled in her eyes, then in a quick moment her little body clung to me, her arms tight against my neck. I picked her up, and we sat on the bed, with her snuggled on my lap as she sobbed it out.

She cried for a long time, and then she just stayed cuddled, silently, as I rubbed her back and whispered that I love her and how pretty she is. The thoughts of my duties of laundry, dishes, and toys on the floor fluttered to my mind, but I tossed them away. I won’t let go of her until she let’s go of me.

Finally, after about twenty-five minutes, she leaned back and smiled. “Do you want to see my daughter, Mama? She’s just a baby, but I have a new shirt for her to wear, and you know she lives in my room by my bed. I don’t have a crib for her, so I just use a box ...”

Of everything I did yesterday, working, writing, dishes, talking, cooking, eating ... those twenty-five minutes were my favorite. What could be better than being the one she needed in her heartache, knowing my embrace would comfort, giving my heart and receiving her love? These moments will become less frequent as she grows. I’m grateful for each one.

As the Deer Panteth...

As the deer panteth for the water so my soul longeth after Thee.

The words to an old praise song taken from Psalm 42. I love the way the King James-ish words sound--there’s something comforting about them. And of course, the desperate crying out to Jesus—that hits me.

Especially as a mom, there are times I so long for Jesus it brings tears to my eyes. I often fail to be the mother I want to be, yet I try so hard to do everything I know I should. And even when I think I’m making the right parenting decision, often doubt creeps in. Especially when it comes to discipline.

We have attitude issues in this family, and not just the kids. Both my husband and I struggle at times, which makes it even more difficult to discipline the one who glares at us with eyes full of rebellion. How do we tell him to get his attitude on track when ours can be less than Christlike?

A helping of long-ago advice comes to mind:

It’s my job as a parent to teach my children the truth. The truth doesn’t change, even if I fail to live up to it.

Yes, I know …

But still, disciplining a child’s heart is difficult, full of doubts and regrets, hopes and fears, all mixed up into a soup of confusion.

What can I do but pray? Or more honestly, what can I do but run to my Savior, begging for help and comfort, clinging to Him like a child myself?

I long for You, dear Jesus, like a deer that panteth for the water.

As the deer pants for the water brooks,
So my soul pants for You, O God.
2My soul thirsts for God, for the living God;
When shall I come and appear before God? Ps. 42:1-2 NASB

Dandelions and Daffodils: A Mother/Daughter Memory of Hope

My four-year-old daughter’s face beams as she hands me a “bouquet” of dandelions. “Put ‘em in you ‘air, Mama.” My sweet girl sure brings smiles to my heart.

But being a mommy of four (six years old and younger) doesn’t always make me smile. It can be a rough adventure—millions of pairs of pee-wee sized underwear to fold, infinite toys to pick up, handfuls of Cheerios to fish from the sofa. And need I mention the mental stress of constantly training those less-than-virtuous attitudes? “Stop screaming at your brother.” “I just told you not to do that.” All together, they create one exhausted mama.

Sometimes I find myself complaining—even whining—about the chores of motherhood. In my darker moments, I long to escape to the time before kids when I could finish the laundry in a couple hours and spend an uninterrupted evening with my husband.

Reflecting on those pre-kid years also invites not-so-happy memories of a year that brought no joy—not a bit. My pastor called it a time of “frowning providence.” I called it the worst year of my life.

Michael and I had been married five years when pregnancy surprised us—we were overjoyed. My mom rejoiced with us, and she and I dreamed I’d have a girl for us to deck out in baby-sized funky fashions. As our little one grew older, I visualized teaching her to rollerblade and inviting church friends to birthday parties. She’d be a considerate teen and then, when she’d experienced just enough life on her own, she’d marry the godly man of her (and my) dreams.

Those dreams crumbled when an ultrasound at ten weeks revealed no heartbeat.
During the heart-wrenching days that followed, my mom comforted me, even though she was fighting a battle of her own …

She was amazing—not only continuing to jig silly dances, sing constantly, and most of all, fill the house with laughter, but also not letting the cancer shake her faith. She’d thank God for the intense pain because it drew her closer to Him. She’d pray for me when I was sad—even though she was the one who was dying.

Mom deteriorated quickly. Soon hospice arrived, and within weeks, mom departed. Bouquets of daffodils decorated the funeral hall. When I see daffodils, I think of her.

As the days and months passed, I felt isolated and lonely, and despite my struggles to contain them, tears flowed.

But then, eventually, came Gabby, and here she is, gifting me with her handful of dandelions. I still miss Mom and the baby I lost, but remembering my pain helps me to be grateful for what I have. And if God’s grace carried me through those dark nights, I know He’ll be with me, holding my hand, giving me strength to pick up millions of underwear, infinite toys, handfuls of Cheerios—and even to train those less-than-virtuous attitudes.

Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from Him. Psalm 62:5 (NIV)

A Sunny Answer to Prayer

When I woke up this morning, exhausted from a full day yesterday, I didn’t feel like I’d survive taking care of the kids by myself. My husband was out of town, and I felt like hiding under the covers. Kids? What kids? Out of desperation, I prayed to the Lord: RESCUE ME!

Trusting for a positive answer to my simple, yet heartfelt plea, I thought maybe some kind soul would call out of the blue and say, “I’ll take your kids all day,” or suddenly a shot of energy would surge through my weary bones.

Well, the Lord didn’t answer my prayer in either of those ways, instead, He made the clouds go away and let the sun shine through. The kids have joyfully played outside all afternoon (AFTER they willingly did their chores—shocker!). And I’ve been able to rest and enjoy the moments they pop in to visit me. Huh, sometimes God answers prayer in ways we never thought of—sunshine like the rays of His love. Pretty cool.

Good Friday and Easter at Our House

Happy Good Friday! Remember to tell your kids the story of Jesus death on the cross today. To keep it simple and not scary, I'm planning on reading about it in their children's Bible. (I use Catherine Vos's The Child's Story Bible. Highly recommend!)

In our family, we like to NOT talk about the resurrection until Sunday. We pretend we're the twelve apostles and only talk about His death and sacrifice. We discuss questions like, "What do you think Peter did today?" and, "Do you think John was scared?" We sing, "Alas and Did My Savior Bleed," and "Oh Sacred Head Now Wounded." We don't sing resurrection songs or read the Easter story until the big day. It builds anticipation for more than just bunnies and baskets.

Then on Easter morning, I turn on the Hymns Triumphant version of "Christ the Lord is Risen Today" loud enough to wake the whole house! It always makes me cry. Later, after church, we'll do the Resurrection Eggs (Do you have these? It's a carton of plastic eggs filled with symbols of Easter along with a booklet to help explain. Great visual for kids.) We end the day with a reminder that even though Easter is a special time to remember Jesus resurrection, every Sunday is resurrection Sunday. And because He is risen, everything He said was true, He has the power to change our hearts, and He will always be with us, just like He promised!

Bonus!
For Good Friday, I'm posting one of my favorite poems by CS Lewis.

LOVE'S AS WARM AS TEARS by C. S. Lewis
Love's as warm as tears,
Love is tears:
Pressure within the brain,
Tension at the throat,
Deluge, weeks of rain,
Haystacks afloat,
Featureless seas between
Hedges, where once was green

Love's as fierce as fire, 

Love is fire:
All sorts--Infernal heat
Clinkered with greed and pride, 

Lyric desire, sharp-sweet,
Laughing, even when denied, 

And that empyreal flame 

Whence all loves came. 


Love's as fresh as spring,
Love is spring:
Bird-song in the air,
Cool smells in a wood,
Whispering "Dare! Dare!"
To sap, to blood,
Telling "Ease, safety, rest,
Are good; not best."

Love's as hard as nails,
Love is nails: 

Blunt, thick, hammered through 

The medial nerves of One 

Who, having made us, knew 

The thing He had done,
Seeing (what all that is)
Our cross, and His. 


A Sinner's Morning

A sin occurred in our house last night. Of course, the nasty blight of transgression happens every day (by each of us—a lot by me!) but this was a theft and it needed to be “dealt with.”

Ugh. Not the peaceful morning I was hoping for. “Dealing” with my children’s sin is a stinky job. It saps my energy, brings anxiety, and honestly can be confusing. What’s the best thing to say, how do I make them see what they’ve done wrong? Will they confess and be sorry or will they burn with anger and reject me and the God who calls them?

Knowing the unpleasant task had to be done, my husband and I called the offender into our room and brought the charges. “We know you did this.” That’s pretty much all we said. The child’s expression morphed before our eyes. First it tightened with anger at being accused, then the eyes shifted upwards, as if a perfect excuse would suddenly appear through the ceiling, and then … tears welled and the crying began. “I’m sorry, Mom!” the repentant sinner wailed, “I shouldn’t have done it! It was WRONG!”

We commended our dear one for feeling shame over sin and willingly gave our forgiveness (after delivering the consequences) but our sensitive child held onto the shame like a treasured toy. “I’m terrible. I don’t know why I have to be so stupid. I always do the wrong thing…” and on and on.

Here’s where my confusion came in. I had no clue what to do. The problem wasn’t getting the confession, it was helping our child accept and receive forgiveness.

I’ve felt that way before. Have you? I bemoan how I’m a terrible mom, an unsatisfying wife, a lazy housekeeper, a thoughtless friend …These feelings perhaps ignited from a real sin I committed, but I magnified the guilt, mulling in the mud instead of receiving the cleansing bath of grace found in God’s Word.

And it came to me (and not through the ceiling)—the answer lay in Scripture. So I quoted the first one that came to mind. “The Lord is my shepherd.” Ah, perfect. No matter my sin, if I trust in Christ, he is my tender shepherd who loves me. What a picture of restoration. I told my child, who was still reveling in the shame game, to repeat the words aloud. As "The Lord is my shepherd" was said, his shoulders relaxed.

“Keep saying it, sweetie.” And, walking out of my room, although still upset, I could see the peace of God calming and comforting.

Reasoning, propping up self-esteem, even expressing our love and forgiveness only seemed to feed the cycle. My husband's and my words weren’t believed so it didn’t matter what we said to this child. To get out of the whirlpool, it took the stability of God’s love as shown through the precious words of Scripture. He needed the Gospel.

Teaching Firstborns God’s Order of Authority—A Summer Survival Guide!

My firstborn, ten-year-old son seems to spend his whole life in an effort to dress himself in the robes of a parent.

I often hear tidbits like:

“Now, Christian, we need to clean for Papa. Would you like to come home to a messy house?”

“Abigail, if you don’t eat your dinner, you won’t get dessert.”

“C’mon everybody, I’ve got three activities planned for you.”

“Mama, you need to be a good example to us.” Ack!

After half a week of constant posturing to maintain—and sometimes regain—my God-given authority, I’m tired and wondering how to handle a whole summer with my firstborn underfoot. Well, I may not have the answer, but here are some ideas I’ve come up with as I work through this dilemma.

First, I need to remember my dear boy is just trying to help. I know his “leadership” exudes from a sincere desire to create a more effective home and to guide us all into better behavior. I’m grateful he has this desire, and I want to encourage it. But I must be careful to help him see the difference between helping and usurping authority.

Second, I can thank God for the opportunity to teach my son about God’s order. When my boy acts like he has more authority than me, his parent, he’s not only striving against our family balance, he’s telling God he knows better. “This mom you gave me isn’t doing a good job, so I’m going to do it for her. I’ll take it from here, God.” It’s so important for him to understand that if he honors his earthly authority, he will more readily rest under the Lord’s authority. Handing the reins to his not-so-smart mom (in his mind), is a big struggle for my dear son. But it’s a fight we must win—by God’s grace, of course!

How do I cement a deep respect for authority in my son? Prayer and love.

Which brings me to the third point. I’m beginning to realize that part of the problem could possibly be my attitude—maybe just a little. You see, I too kick against authority. I have a certain way I want my day to go. I want my house to look nice and tidy. I want my children to say “please” and “thank you” and I want everything in my realm to make me look like a got-it-together mama.

I don’t know about you, but this doesn’t always happen. And when it doesn’t, like my boy, I sometimes get frustrated and try to force my will. Fruits go flying out the window—fruits of the Spirit that is—as I make excuses for my less-than-encouraging thoughts, words, and actions.

To simmer down I must remember that I’m not the one in control. We have a saying in our house. “You’re not the king.” I’m not the king. God is. And when I bow my knee to him in prayer and the Word, peace comes—as well as the ability to handle the dents and bruises to my vision.

The same is true for my boy. When he starts thinking he’s the king, the answer isn’t a big ol’ lecture. It’s not to “put him in his place,” or undermine his ideas. It’s to send him to his Savior in the Word and prayer. And as he sits at Christ’s feet, he will grow into the boy who respects authority—both his parents and others.