When Sorry Teaches Grace

Written by on January 18, 2012 in Blog, mothering - No Comments

I think teaching my children 'sweet revenge' is important, apparently

A couple of months ago I was hanging out in the church nursery with Desmond (yes, I said I was hanging out in the nursery, this is strange in itself but so the story goes). Des and I were passing the time before big-kid school pickup and we played Sorry.

I remembered Sorry being this terrible game when I was a child, but somehow, in the church nursery that quiet afternoon, it was fun. And whenever I can find something to do with my kids that doesn’t involve a screen  (or a mess) I’m all over it.

So Desmond asks for Sorry from Santa, Santa obliges, and I am now reminded that Sorry is a terrible game that involves long, drawn out play and much hysteria-inducing revenge.

It was no surprise that Sorry was the source of crisis yesterday afternoon. The babysitter, because she’s awesome, played it down for me, saying it was just a bit of “trouble” and Charlie was up in his room “getting some space.” (Side Note: all babysitters should talk like that even if kids screamed the entire time. When mom’s away from the house, as long as no one is bloody, WE DON’T WANT TO KNOW.)

Charlie tumbles down the stairs and words tumble from his mouth. Trouble and sweet revenge and justice color his cheeks. It seems there was a rule infraction while I was away. Voices were raised. Pieces were thrown. Games were forfeited. And Charlie retreated to his cave room, for the duration of the afternoon, where he probably played out the infraction, over and over, slowly building and rebuilding his case until it was air-tight. And so, he emerged, ready to lay out his sixteen-point arguement on why he was, in fact, correct.

Charlie is the poster child for firstborn stereotypes. He is a lover of rules and regulations. He loves black and white and rejects all grey. He loves punctuality and bylaws and all things crystal clear. When the rules are stated he can learn them, memorize them, abide by them, and keep the earth spinning by keeping himself right.

But for the first time in a long time, or maybe ever, he was actually wrong. And although he detailed all sixteen points of his reasoning, my deep grasp of Sorry intricacies trumped him. You had it wrong, I said. That’s not the rule, I said. Enter earth-shattering realization. His face went from resolute to disbelief to grief. And then, my always-stoic boy…he crumpled and began to cry.

I was wrong, he said. I hurt Cami, he said. At this point my heart has split open and poured out all over the floor. This is the moment I’ve yearned for, because my dear, beloved, oldest son is much like the eldest son that Jesus spoke about, the one who follows the rules and is right and becomes hardened by his right-ness. And for the first time in his nine year old life, I saw the remorse and regret, laying across his shoulders. He was wrong.

Enter Cami. Charlie’s tears were more than she could bear, and she began her own five-alarm lament. If you don’t know what “wailing” sounds like, well, now I do.  Sometimes girls find crying contagious, and this was a fast-spreading bacteria. I threw the pieces!! she wailed, I hurt Charlie!! she weeped. This level of honest remorse was also uncharacteristic for my justification-loving middle child. At one point they formed a mini-crying duet, which Cami saw as the perfect opportunity to throw herself into Charlie’s arms. This stunned and alarmed him and he returned to nine-year-old boy mode, shoving her off and wiping his eyes.

But before the moment could pass, I folded them both into an embrace. In a moment of real mother joy, I got to tell them about being wrong. About the fact that I am wrong ten or one hundred times a day. About why Daddy and I argue in the kitchen, because much like the Sorry game, we are both sure we are right. But, just like them, we are both a little wrong, most of the time. And I told them that’s why we love Jesus, because he can right our wrong-ness.

We get lost. We wander. We need guidance. We need forgiveness. We need a hug. We need grace. Galatians 3 reminds us that even if grace is what got us to love Jesus in the first place, we will be tempted to become perfect by our own effort. And every day that we experience the burden of our wrong-ness is an opportunity to experience the freedom of God’s righteousness.

So today, I’m thankful for a fight, tears, repentence and grace, captured in a three-way hug.

 

5 Questions to Check Your Life Speed Limit

Written by on September 27, 2011 in Blog, Leadership, mothering - No Comments

Yesterday I revealed the secret pain of all mother leaders, the utter lack of margin. And I admit, operating at high-speed, never kicking it out of sixth gear for a slower pace, is damaging. To continue the metaphor, even engines stop when they run out of fuel. There is much talk about ministry burnout, exhaustion, and lack of margin. It is important that we learn and understand this, that we take God’s commandment of Sabbath seriously. But there is something, also, to be said about perseverance and diligence. I doubt Paul the apostle was always well-rested. I am sure when he wrote “I have been constantly on the move,” (2 Cor. 5:26) he didn’t pen this passage on being shipwrecked, beaten, broken, and betrayed while sipping tea in his bathrobe. Paul is a picture of passionate, crazy love for his call to preach the gospel. And he gives me inspiration to run my race as hard as God calls me to. So how do you balance passion and burnout? Whenever I enter a season of high-speed leading, I take stock of my situation with a few heart-check questions:

1. Am I working out of a inner place of dwelling with God?
Even if my pace is intense, my heart can still be in a posture of rest and conversation with Christ. The more hectic the pace, the more I need to ask myself the next question.

2. Am I sacrificing everything to maintain a daily relationship with God?
It’s tempting when things get busy to resort to in-the-car, waiting-in-line, over-breakfast snippets of prayer. But the busier life is, the more I need to sacrifice everything…leisure, work, even sleep…to get at least twenty minutes alone with God.

3. Do my actions say “stressed”?
Am I stress eating? Avoiding working out? Zoning out during the day? When these things happen for several days in a row, I know I’m overdoing it. Even going to bed early one night helps me “reset.”

4. Am I staying in the center of my gifts?
Every influential leader will be asked to do ten things in the time they have for one. Do I have a clear sense of purpose? Do I ruthlessly cut out activities when needed for focus? Am I willing to say no even when it hurts? Today I said no to a coworker, to a speaking opportunity and even to meeting with my assistant. I didn’t like saying no to any of them. But I firmly believe that God will not increase our influence if we cannot withstand the test of saying no. A leader who cannot say no will eventually become ineffective or burn out.

5. Do I discipline myself to be present?
The cancer of a busy life is living preoccupied. Today my children were recounting their day. I found myself glazed over and saying “mmm hmmm” on repeat. I listened to my own thoughts for a moment and realized I was thinking about dinner, about next Sunday, about when I would start my edits, about a conversation I had with a friend today, about making my children do more chores, about finally reading that book I want to get to, about how I needed to go to bed earlier….and….

then I stopped. I took a breath. And I decided to be present. All leaders–and especially leaders who are mothers–will always have a to-do list. Always. As soon as I check every item off that list, I’ll start another one. The only way to both live out my purpose with passion and joy is to make the present moment matter. And on that note, I’m off to play ball with my boys. Tomorrow, I’ll share some tips I’ve found to live present even at warp speed.

What questions do you need to ask yourself to check your speed limit?

The Secret Pain of Mother Leaders

Written by on September 27, 2011 in Blog, Leadership, mothering - 1 Comment

Today I allotted exactly 90 seconds to scan and email a receipt from my copier at work. Of course, I also allowed myself a 30 second “margin” in case I needed extra time. I slid my receipt onto the glass, popped the top down and had a mini panic attack when it didn’t work the first time. Or the second. Now I was completely behind my schedule, with every minute I spent in front of the copier toppling my well-laid plan that would last from 6 AM til editing began at 9PM that evening. I wish I was exaggerating.

This afternoon my children came home and informed me that they have a half-day on Wednesday. Now, according to my book, school has barely gotten up and running. 1/2 day? I thought to myself. 1/2 day?? I’ll be so behind on my work! I’ve got ministry changes and staff meetings and edits and articles and….

This is the secret pain of mother leaders. We deceive ourselves that we have created enough margin for lives that always run wildly above the speed limit. This, however, is not a post of condemnation. I cannot condemn my favorite women or myself for dreaming tremendous dreams and actually making them happen. I believe there is an intensity behind all women who’ve influenced my own faith and life, be it Kay Arthur, Ruth Haley Barton, or Carolyn Custis James, even if they live out that intensity a little more, ahem, quietly than I do.

Isn’t this a post about all leaders? Perhaps. But from my vantage point, I see this issue of high-speed living as a particular pain for mothers, those who always have one eye and a whole heart with their children, no matter how old they are.

Last week I caught up with a friend who illustrates this well. How are you, really, I said. She answered honestly (another thing I love about her). She told me she was tired. She’s started preaching at her church; she’s working on edits for her new book; she speaks. She nurtures three children and a home. She’s passionate about sustainability and friendships and mentoring leaders. She juggles it all, and well, but sometimes she’s tired.

Is being worn out a sin? Is exhaustion from ministry just part of the job or the result of leaving God’s perfect plan? I’m not sure about the answers, but I do have some questions I ask myself when I’m feeling like my life is moving faster than I can handle. I’ll share those tomorrow, so until then…

Do you think being exhausted from doing “God’s work” is a sin?

Hike Until You Hurl

Written by on August 23, 2011 in mothering - No Comments

I had to follow up yesterday’s post with today’s great adventure.

My dad and I took the four older kids hiking. When I use the word “hiking” that is certainly what I mean. No wide trails for these preschoolers, no sir! My father has never picked a hike that didn’t have some risk of death or dehydration in its difficulty level. All went well…we had snacks, water, and even the hiking backpack in case Cameron, my three year old daughter, got tired. We had the requisite water breaks every 25 yards and emergency potty stops. We had the complaints about spider webs and snack options. But all this is just a normal hiking-with-kids experience.

It wasn’t until Charlie, my five-year-old, really started complaining that we hit a new level of “adventure”. Charlie is a very mild mannered kid who loves being outside, so the fact that he was moaning, “i hate hiking! This is the worst thing in the world” was a bit unusual. When he found a snakeskin and didn’t leap for joy, I knew something wasn’t quite right. When we finally hit the old access road that signaled we were almost home, he started puking. Hmm, maybe clam chowder wasn’t the best lunch choice pre-hike. We managed to carry/drag him to where my dad brought the car around, and then headed down the windy moutain road toward home. Five minutes in, he warns me that he has to throw up again.

I glance wildly around the car for any appropriate vomit vessel, and the only thing I can find is Cameron’s craft from church earlier that day. It is a pink paper gift bag, with a gift tag that says, “To You, Love God.” I toss him the bag, he tosses his cookies.

Sounds like a book title, “What to do when God’s gift is a paper bag of throw-up”.

Cameron had her requisite tantrum over said gift, but we smoothed that over with promises of everlasting movies and popsicles. Five hours and two movies later, peace was restored. Charlie recovered fully and Cameron forgot about her gift bag. Only time will tell if Charlie’s view of hiking will ever fully heal.

This is a series of older posts from the past three years of blogging that I’m running while away on vacation. Look forward to new, sparkly posts next week!

So, Mom, remember that time…

Written by on May 8, 2011 in mothering - 4 Comments

you walked miles of college tours and told me not just with words but with every action that you believed in me, for whatever that might bring?

I remember.

Then there’s that time

that you rubbed Vicks on my chest and refilled  my humidifier even if it was three AM, for the third sick night in a row, and even if you were waking up to another day of caring for four children while dad was away?

I remember.

How about when

you sat in the bleachers for hours of cheerleading and track meets, for gymnastics and reader’s theater and plays and all the many other bleacher moments in between?

I remember.

Of course,

the dinners and the birthday cakes, the school supply runs and the permission slips, the sleepovers and the Christmas mornings, the love and the faithfulness?

I suppose if I could say “thanks” for that, there wouldn’t be enough days left in my life to say it enough. But I remember, I see, and I’m grateful for your fingerprints on my life. Thank you Mom!

Happy Mother’s Day!

The Confession No Woman Wants To Make

Written by on February 20, 2011 in mothering - 22 Comments

I slept in until 8:22 AM this morning. By 8:33 AM, I was already done being a mom.

This thought occurs more often than I’d like. A nagging pain of a thought, like a blister on my heel. With every banal question I answer and bagel I butter and manner I correct and nose I wipe, I’m reminded:

I don’t want to be a mom.

There are days where I just don’t want to parent. I told a friend this week that I actually think I might be missing some crucial mother DNA. I don’t know if it’s because I’m just really selfish, or because this stage of parenting (ages 8, 6, 3) is tiring, or if it’s because I’m just in a mothering slump (other than going to school, being a mom is the longest thing I’ve ever done in my life without a change), but whatever the reason, it happens: I don’t want to be a mom.

I hesitate to write this, because the fear of judgement laid over my already-condemning heart might be too much to bear. And then comes the guilt, stinging me like an unexpected hail storm, making me want to cover my head and cower:

Children are a gift from God.

Mothering is an incredible privilege. How dare you.

You made this choice yourself, nobody held a gun to your head and told you to get pregnant.

You have amazing, healthy, well-behaved kids and an awesome husband. Who are you to complain?

This is what women do. What’s wrong with you?

To add insult to injury, I consider myself a people person. It’s not like I’m a computer geek who likes to hide out in a corner cubby by myself and write code. I love to minister and walk with people through their lives. I love leading teenagers and young adults. I claim I love to serve.

But I guess I love to serve when I choose what–and who–and for how long–I’m serving. But motherhood isn’t like that. It’s relentless, it’s demanding, it’s messy. It requires faithfulness, patience, and longsuffering strength.

I forget–so often and so easily–that life isn’t about me being happy and comfortable and served. I forget–or choose to forget–that God calls me to a life of growth, not a life of self-gratifying passion. That God commands me to serve–not to be served.

And so by 6:47PM, I’ve been reminded–by my own heart, by God–that I wouldn’t be the woman I am without these children. That God has broken open my heart and stretched my soul and refined my character through mothering more than anything else in my life. That there is absolutely nothing like mothering to create in me a desperate dependence on Christ for my every move and every breath.

And He’s (clearly) not through with me yet.

What is God still working out in you (that you’d rather be done with?)

Waking Up Wondering if you are Depressed…

Written by on November 30, 2010 in Daily Life With Jesus, mothering - 17 Comments

Last Tuesday was a very bad day.

I woke up, ready to go back to bed. I felt like I had a giant swab of cotton wrapped around my head. I shuffled around the kitchen like a zombie, mumbling at the kids and chugging coffee. No particular reason. Just fuzzy. Low. Sad. Teary.

My husband is a morning person and almost immune to bad moods. He might as well whistle “zippety do dah” as he springs out of bed, he’s so cheery. But on this day, not even his sunny disposition could lift my spirits.

A few minutes later, I’m dragging around our room, avoiding the children and trying to will myself to not crawl back into the bed.

“What’s wrong…” he says.

“I don’t know,” I say.

What is wrong with me? I wonder.

….

“I know what’s wrong,” I say, five minutes later, teary, “I have nothing to look forward to. I feel like I work from the second my feet hit the ground until the second I close my eyes.”

Now I’m gaining steam.

“OK, you know how you hate to write (he hates to write. even emails.) Imagine if you are working hard at something you don’t like, and someone is deleting every line immediately after you finish it.”

Then I cry.

Because that is how I felt that day. Like days were endless amounts of work, me running, others coming behind me and deleting everything that I do. Endlessly serving with no return.

This is not a good place for a mom. Or a ministry leader. But this is the place I was in. And like a dark cloud inching across the horizon, this mood threatened to steal my joy and my hope, and even my faith, at least for one day.
The morning drags, the tears continue. The diagnostician in me wonders if I am depressed. Do I meet ten of the twelve required criteria on the DSM-IV manual? Am I sleeping too much, eating too little, enjoying nothing?

Maybe.

As I leave the house that morning, I whisper a desperate prayer.

“God, I don’t have the strength to seek help or encouragement today. If you are real and you care about me, would you care for me today? I need you to show yourself–in a word, or a person, or somehow.”

It’s 9:30AM. I’m having coffee with a dear friend–more crying–more wondering if I need medication–and I get this text, at the bottom of the screen:

Prayer Answered.

What else can I say to that? Except that I felt loved even when I couldn’t ask for it. I felt encouraged, and not because I have wonderful people in my life (although I do).

But because when my heart is broken I feel God.

He is so faithful to me with his presence. Maybe not in his answers or in his gifts or in the things I call “blessings”, but in the reality that my brokenness always calls his presence.

And that’s worth looking forward to, for the rest of my life.

*side note: it wasn’t until much later in the day that I remembered what I’d been taught about ministry. That if I have a big weekend of giving I should expect a day of darkness. That spiritual highs are often followed by spiritual lows. Yeah, hope I remember THAT next time!

Guest Post: A New Kind of Worship

Written by on October 20, 2010 in Guest Bloggers, mothering - 2 Comments

I spent most of last year working through Celebration of Discipline, trying to find a way to incorporate spiritual disciplines into a busy mom’s life. I learned so much through the process and particularly enjoyed the time spent in silence, meditation and prayer. So I’m so happy to share a journal entry from my friend Laurie’s own experience with meditation, especially as it relates to being a new mom. Enjoy!

Here’s Laurie:

My initial intention was to practice meditation on a particular passage of Scripture (Proverbs 31) several times during my designated day.  While I did this, the experience fell short of my very vague expectations:  it felt overly contrived (not too surprising), but more disappointing was the lack of insight or inspiration.  I asked the Lord to provide guidance regarding a new effort and/or later revelation.

My second attempt to practice a discipline took the form of meditation on nature.  This was part convenience and part challenge–but the lack of boundaries was outside my comfort zone!

My time in nature only involved a stroller, but there were no other constraints – no schedule, no route, no agenda.  While much of my processing was done aloud, there was no real audience other than my baby.  I was amazed at the simplicity of this time – there are no such things as distractions when there is nothing specific to be distracted from!  Thoughts about the yards and homes we passed, about the cars and drivers passing us, about family, friends, and life in general – all drifted in and out of my mind w/ no concern for accomplishment or organization. 

How ironic: contemplating thought without a purpose made me realize that I often ‘accomplish’ little in thought even when I think I have a purpose; and I typically feel driven to use every moment for some ‘purpose’ b/c the tyranny of the urgent seems to be a safe place for me.  If I can create a world of urgency (or convince myself that I live in one), then there is no time to survey my surroundings and realize what I am missing in my hurry. 

Taking my walks this week,  I realized what joy there was in just observing the Lord’s creation and the way that His people care for and live in it… joy in enjoying His creation for the sake of enjoying it rather than needing to get somewhere to do something by some particular time … joy in knowing that taking one street is a quicker way home but feeling free to go another block just because I wanted to see whether the golf-themed mailbox was still there.  I feel like the Lord gave me this gift just before returning to work for a reason.

 He is reminding me that there are more important things in life than meeting a deadline, being the most innovative, or putting in more hours than anyone else.  He is showing me that spending time on the floor of my living room next to my baby is valuable – even if my little man isn’t going to remember that specific time, I’m still marveling at the wonder of new life.  Watching  my baby grab something for the first time or seeing him suck his thumb on his own or helping him begin to crawl are all forms of worship, when my frame of mind is focused on the awe of the miracle of Creation.

Nasty Girl and Bad Attitudes

Written by on September 4, 2010 in journey, mothering - 9 Comments

Divine Pursuit Update: The blog party is (finally) winding down, but I wouldn’t want you to miss two of my fave’s: Tracy Baird blogged about the Divine Pursuit–a guaranteed good review because she is my sister-in-law (and an awesome one at that.) Well, I guess she didn’t HAVE to give it a good review…I think she actually likes it though. :)

And definitely check out Laura Polk’s post. Laura and I met, well–you can read about it her on her site. :)

And one more thing: The online study group for The Divine Pursuit will be a google group. If interested, you can sign up here. Now moving on….

Do you ever have one of those days?

Today we had a great on-paper family day. We hiked. We ate. We laughed. We chatted. We bonded. We looked like we were just stepping out of Family Circle, for goodness sake, complete with adorable puppy and equally adorable children. (If I do say so myself.)

So there’s no reason–on paper–that I should have anything but a great day.

Reality Check–sometimes I just feel nasty. I just get tired of answering nonstop questions from inquisitive minds, I get tired of putting on my best mommy voice and saying “well, honey, maybe we can look that up later” (because usually I do not know the answer to why that caterpillar is black and white and how long it will actually be a caterpillar and will it live long and will it be a moth or a butterfly and what does it eat and mommy can I take it home?) I did know the answer to the last one, which was no.

Speaking of no, I do alot of saying “no” too. Don’t do that, don’t touch that, don’t eat that, don’t say that, don’t take that, don’t swing that, don’t hit that, don’t squish that, did you hear me SAY DON”T TOUCH THAT???.

So even though it’s a beautiful day and we are having special family time and the sun is shining and the breeze is breezing, I still hear a little jingle in the back of my head from my girl Pink:

I’m a hazard to myself…don’t let me get me

I’m my own worst enemy..

it’s bad when you annoy yourself….so irritating

Don’t wanna be my friend no more…I wanna be somebody else.

Anyone know what I’m talking about? And if so, how do you deal with your bad attitude?

What to Do When God’s Gift is a Paper Bag of Vomit

Written by on August 17, 2010 in Daily Life With Jesus, mothering - No Comments

Today I pack up my little SUV (all those marathon games of Tetris come in handy when packing up a week’s worth of five people’s stuff and entertainment into a space that I swear does not exceed 30 square inches) And as I was reflecting on my summers here in the past, I had a fond memory that I wanted to share. Here it is, in a post I wrote two summers ago:

Hike Until You Hurl

My dad and I took the four older kids hiking. When I use the word “hiking” that is certainly what I mean. No wide trails for these preschoolers, no sir! My father has never picked a hike that didn’t have some risk of death or dehydration in its difficulty level. All went well…we had snacks, water, and even the hiking backpack in case Cameron, my three year old daughter, got tired. We had the requisite water breaks every 25 yards and emergency potty stops. We had the complaints about spider webs and snack options. But all this is just a normal hiking-with-kids experience.

It wasn’t until Charlie, my five-year-old, really started complaining that we hit a new level of “adventure”. Charlie is a very mild mannered kid who loves being outside, so the fact that he was moaning, “i hate hiking! This is the worst thing in the world” was a bit unusual. When he found a snakeskin and didn’t leap for joy, I knew something wasn’t quite right. When we finally hit the old access road that signaled we were almost home, he started puking. Hmm, maybe clam chowder wasn’t the best lunch choice pre-hike. We managed to carry/drag him to where my dad brought the car around, and then headed down the windy mountain road toward home. Five minutes in, he warns me that he has to throw up again.

I glance wildly around the car for any appropriate vomit vessel, and the only thing I can find is Cameron’s craft from church earlier that day. It is a pink paper gift bag, with a gift tag that says, “To You, Love God.” I toss him the bag, he tosses his cookies.

Sounds like a book title, “What to do when God’s gift is a paper bag of throw-up”.

Cameron had her requisite tantrum over said gift, but we smoothed that over with promises of everlasting movies and popsicles. Five hours and two movies later, peace was restored. Charlie recovered fully and Cameron forgot about her gift bag. Only time will tell if Charlie’s view of hiking will ever fully heal.

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