It happened a few months ago after church. I was cleaning up goldfish crumbs and trying to find matching lids to the play doh containers after Sunday School when the boys needed to use the bathroom. "Go together," I said. Which is my standard answer. When you get two kids born shock and awe style, there's hard stuff. Like having two kids in diapers, not taking a shower alone for three years straight, and getting kicked out of the library for being too loud. (True story there.) But one of the PERKS of having kids so close together is that they can keep an eye on each other. One can do his thing while the other can run back if there's some kind of problem. You know. Like if your brother filled the sink to the top to see if he could make the bubbles slide down the side like the Mississippi River and then turned off the tap without ever washing his hands. Important stuff like that. How was I to know that today there would be an ACTUAL problem to report on.
After ten minutes, I stopped and realized how quiet it was. I wondered how long the boys had been gone and my heart skipped a beat. That mom instinct told me it was too long, right? I was just rushing down the hall to find them when they came tearing around the corner sobbing hysterically. They were both crying so hard I couldn't understand them. They were sweaty and flushed and in a true panic. "What in the world happened?" I asked them over and over. Finally, they calmed down enough to tell me in spurts that they had been locked inside the bathroom. I guess the door had gotten stuck and they were in there pounding and kicking and pulling as hard as they could but they couldn't get out. Then they started screaming and yelling and pounding but none of us heard them. I guess this must've gone on for about ten minutes. Which doesn't seem all that long. Unless you're 5 and 6 and stuck in a bathroom. As they started to calm down, I noticed that they weren't so upset about being stuck. But they were in a complete panic because we hadn't come for them! Every time one of them would start re-telling how they were stuck and couldn't open the door, they'd get to the part about "and we knew you would come but you didn't and we thought you would leave without us!" and my poor little guys would start sobbing again.
By then the husband found me sitting in the hall with two distraught boys on my lap, and we assured them over and over that OF COURSE we were coming. And that we would NEVER have left without them. Didn't they know that? Daddy would have broken the door down to get to them! Mama would have sat by the door all day and all night holding their little fingers under the gap til the firemen got them out. Nothing would keep us from them. We would never, ever leave them. And nothing could make us!
Our whole little soggy group went home and got distracted with lunch and play time. But my mind kept going back to how very scared they were in there. And to think they thought I wasn't coming! I had to blink back my own tears. It had truly hurt their little hearts so much. That thought of abandonment so much worse than the fear of being trapped. And I remembered our own Father. How He watched while His only son was taken away and beaten and tortured and left to die. But so much worse. How He DIDN'T watch while His son took on our sins.
He turned His face away.
From His own son. And when His son needed Him the most! Can we imagine it? Could I have stood outside that door, knowing that my children were being hurt and not gone to them? What force could have been strong enough to keep us from running to them when they cried out to us? What door could have kept us out? What army wouldn't we have fought our way through? What ocean or desert wouldn't we have crossed? Because I'm their MOM. And he's their DAD. And those are OUR KIDS.
But God did the unthinkable on that dark afternoon. He turned His face away. He heard His heartbroken son ask him, "Father, why have you abandoned me?" But He remained silent. In an incredible, unfathomable act of love He turned His back. When everything in Him wanted to speak the word and have Jesus in His arms again, He left Him there. It was a demonstration of love unlike the world had ever seen.
And He did it all for us.
Since the kids took our lives by storm, we've begun to understand the Father's love in a whole new way. And as a mom, the precious gift of His very own son amazes me more than ever. As we gather our kids around us this Easter, I hope we can all remember not only how much we love them. But how much we have been loved! On a very Good Friday many years ago.
"He who did not spare His own Son, but gave Him up for us all--how will He not also, graciously give us all things?" Romans 8:32
Tuesday, March 22, 2016
Wednesday, March 2, 2016
Dinner Time
Can we just talk about dinner? I've shoved off the guilt of feeding them Chick-Fil-A, pizza, and IHOP for the last three nights in a row. You can stop. I feel your judgment. I really do. But if they can sit way over there on that side of the booth eating pancakes (and by eating I mean dribbling syrup on every surface, stuffed animal snuck in from the car, and occasional passerby) and I can sit way over here pretending it's not happening while I daydream about my clean kitchen that is NOT going to need to be scrubbed down for six hours by HAZMAT officials...then this is totally happening. Let the preschool teachers snicker when they sing the days of the week song and my kid is the one who refers to the day after Monday as "Kids Eat Free Tuesday." No shame in that sister!
But that's all behind me now. We've gotten to Thursday night and if the children don't eat something vaguely resembling real food cooked in a real kitchen apparently something terrible will happen. So I set myself up for success. First step. Me handing out electronics to everyone in the house. A tv, an ipad, an iphone, a laptop. If it can be charged or plugged in, you are watching it, playing it, yelling at it, arguing over it, or posting from it for the next 30 minutes. This used to be my guilt-free time by the way. As in, "Okay everyone it's learning time! Go get those educational tools and get busy while I make you a balanced, organic, healthy dinner!" Doesn't that sound nice? Until some nut job came along and labeled it. Now it's SCREEN TIME. And it's very, very bad. And it needs to be monitored and encrypted and timed and all my stuff needs to be in sync with all their stuff so I can coordinate their learning from my curriculum app and get daily dings on which kid missed 6+3 and how many more minutes the older one played Angry Birds than learning about the environmental effects of eucalyptus rainforests. I do not like Mr. Let's Call It Screen Time and if I ever meet him, I just might have a brand new label to call him! But back to business. Their little hands are busy and it's time for me to make this happen. There's chopping. Carrots, celery, maybe a little green pepper. You really gotta bring your A-game here because if the pieces aren't tiny enough, you're totally busted. Someone will yell "Is this a carrot?! Are we eating CARROTS?!" And then little people will start coughing and gagging and things will go downhill fast. So I'm chopping. Quarter size, nickel size, dime size, pea size, head of a pin size, still edible but not able to be seen by the naked eye and thus cause an ebola-like outbreak at the table size. Bingo! You start the chicken, set the table, find the real napkins. You revel in the relative peace and quiet and think of a few more creative names for Mr. Let's Call It Screen Time just in case you ever actually bump into the guy. And then it's dinner time.
Enjoy that phrase now. Dinner time. Just like in the old days when the moms nursed their young while churning the butter and teaching little girls how to stitch their samplers and and somehow still cranked out a beautiful farm to table buffet every evening. And all without any Pampered Chef accessories mind you! Calling my little family to dinner makes me feel nurturing and proud and successful. We might have eaten leftover Dominoes on the couch 6 out of 7 nights last week, but tonight darn it there is DINNER TIME. It's an accomplishment y'all. No wonder those butter churners used to ding dong that little triangle when they yelled it. At this moment, I know just how proud they felt.
The EDUCATIONAL TIME is over and our little family has gathered to count our blessings and enjoy this meal together. I think ahead to the compliments that might be passed my way. Tasty, delicious, yummy, awesome. But instead there is silence. Stone cold, nerve-wracking silence while children stare at their plates. You might want to savor that silence, such as it is, because after the silence comes the wailing.
What IS this?
Why does it look smashed?
Why are we eating new stuff?
My tongue is too wet to eat sticky parts.
Why can't we have chicken nuggets?
AND WHAT IS THAT LITTLE ORANGE THING???
I'm prepared for this. A little whining isn't going to throw me off. I meet every question with a patient answer, a cheerful smile, and a little wink of encouragement. We can do this! We can sit here and eat this simple but tasty meal like four regular people. But the wailing gets louder. Someone needs ketchup. The orange parts make his milk taste funny. The yucky part is getting squishier and the green beans have bumps on them. Bumps! I'm trying to hold it together. I mean I made a list, I shopped (with children!), I pre-heated and chopped and sauteed. I put out real napkins for goodness sake! I spent an hour and a half planning and cooking this meal. And these people so do not appreciate it. So instead of basking in their gratefulness as the Mother Nurturer, I'm doling out threats and bribes and blinking back tears of disappointment. The husband finds me later dumping half eaten plates down the sink as I calculate how many Oreos will make me feel better and he puts his arms around me. He's grateful for the meal. For the chopping and the shopping and the cooking. But mostly he's grateful for the trying. "We keep at it," he whispers to me. "You're doing an amazing job!" But the Mother Nurturer is officially over it. The rational, grown up part of me realizes that kids are naturally messy, ungrateful, and forgetful. That they need to be taught to help out, be thankful, and remember their blessings. But deep down inside, there's a tiny little volcano of resentment that's bubbling up. Not things I act on. Or even admit. Just little thoughts I struggle with. Please tell me I'm not the only horrible mom who has.
No one knows how hard this is. I'm tired of fighting for one peaceful meal. One uninterrupted shower. One night of no fits at homework time. And how about some basic appreciation? Seriously just one simple thank you. A bedtime routine without a fight. I pour out myself into mom-hood and lately I feel like I've been getting nothing in return. I love them to death and nothing will stop me from putting their needs first. But please tell me after all this selfishness and ungratefulness, there's some kind of reward at the end of the tunnel.
And not that day or the day after but the next week, I was reading. And this paragraph jumped out at me.
And I read that and thought to myself what an awesome ministry that would be. If I could just find someone and determine to love them that way. Serve them, donate to them, sacrifice for them, love them, and be there for them but expect nothing in return. How awesome would that be? I could be like a big 'ole arrow pointing them straight to God. So I'm writing in my handy dandy little prayer journal and asking God who that person could be. It would need to be someone that couldn't or wouldn't pay me back so I could practice the "expect nothing in return" part. And it would need to be someone I had lots of opportunities to interact with. You know, someone I saw all the time. Someone that needed love and encouragement and maybe even mentoring. And then hello you know where this is going. Right in the middle of that thought, I remembered those darn bumpy green beans. And I didn't want to remember them. I wanted to forget that whole awful debacle called dinner and the many others like it. I wanted to think about a fun, exciting, new ministry reaching out to someone with this special kind of unconditional, expect nothing in return kind of love. But I couldn't forget the bumpy green beans. Or the dinner. Or the resentful, selfish thoughts that were zinging through my heart as I dumped little piles of dinner down the drain. God pierced my heart with the knowing and there was no escaping it.
The someone's who needed this kind of love were living in my house.
I had been loving them but I had been counting the cost. Making a mental list of what I was giving up so they could be cared for. Longing for the thanks and appreciation I felt I should be getting in return. And battling discouragement as I walked this beautiful but exhausting momma journey with no reward to point to at the end of the day. But here God was telling me if I only love when I know that love will be returned, I'm doing the same thing anyone without Him would do. What any decent person tries to do. But as His child, He expected more of me. He expects a different kind of love. The kind of love I could never achieve on my own. He expects Luke 6:36.
The bad news is that it's horribly difficult. Not to roll my eyes when I make a dinner no one particularly raves over. Not to count how many times my phone conversation or my shower or my lunch is interrupted. To give of my time and my schedule and my relationships without expecting anything in return. To be a mom without needing to see immediate results.
To bask in God's love and acceptance until it's enough that He alone knows about my little sacrifices!
But the good news is that God is totally up for this. That He loves me enough to help me to love my husband and my kids this way. And He promises the reward will be great! And His presence right here beside me with His promise that it's not all for nothing is enough to keep me going. His joy is my strength! And it can be yours as well. So hang in there momma. If you're feeling a little unappreciated and a lot exhausted, try out Luke 6:36. Ask God to help you love those little monkeys in a whole new way. Bumpy green beans and all.
But that's all behind me now. We've gotten to Thursday night and if the children don't eat something vaguely resembling real food cooked in a real kitchen apparently something terrible will happen. So I set myself up for success. First step. Me handing out electronics to everyone in the house. A tv, an ipad, an iphone, a laptop. If it can be charged or plugged in, you are watching it, playing it, yelling at it, arguing over it, or posting from it for the next 30 minutes. This used to be my guilt-free time by the way. As in, "Okay everyone it's learning time! Go get those educational tools and get busy while I make you a balanced, organic, healthy dinner!" Doesn't that sound nice? Until some nut job came along and labeled it. Now it's SCREEN TIME. And it's very, very bad. And it needs to be monitored and encrypted and timed and all my stuff needs to be in sync with all their stuff so I can coordinate their learning from my curriculum app and get daily dings on which kid missed 6+3 and how many more minutes the older one played Angry Birds than learning about the environmental effects of eucalyptus rainforests. I do not like Mr. Let's Call It Screen Time and if I ever meet him, I just might have a brand new label to call him! But back to business. Their little hands are busy and it's time for me to make this happen. There's chopping. Carrots, celery, maybe a little green pepper. You really gotta bring your A-game here because if the pieces aren't tiny enough, you're totally busted. Someone will yell "Is this a carrot?! Are we eating CARROTS?!" And then little people will start coughing and gagging and things will go downhill fast. So I'm chopping. Quarter size, nickel size, dime size, pea size, head of a pin size, still edible but not able to be seen by the naked eye and thus cause an ebola-like outbreak at the table size. Bingo! You start the chicken, set the table, find the real napkins. You revel in the relative peace and quiet and think of a few more creative names for Mr. Let's Call It Screen Time just in case you ever actually bump into the guy. And then it's dinner time.
Enjoy that phrase now. Dinner time. Just like in the old days when the moms nursed their young while churning the butter and teaching little girls how to stitch their samplers and and somehow still cranked out a beautiful farm to table buffet every evening. And all without any Pampered Chef accessories mind you! Calling my little family to dinner makes me feel nurturing and proud and successful. We might have eaten leftover Dominoes on the couch 6 out of 7 nights last week, but tonight darn it there is DINNER TIME. It's an accomplishment y'all. No wonder those butter churners used to ding dong that little triangle when they yelled it. At this moment, I know just how proud they felt.
The EDUCATIONAL TIME is over and our little family has gathered to count our blessings and enjoy this meal together. I think ahead to the compliments that might be passed my way. Tasty, delicious, yummy, awesome. But instead there is silence. Stone cold, nerve-wracking silence while children stare at their plates. You might want to savor that silence, such as it is, because after the silence comes the wailing.
What IS this?
Why does it look smashed?
Why are we eating new stuff?
My tongue is too wet to eat sticky parts.
Why can't we have chicken nuggets?
AND WHAT IS THAT LITTLE ORANGE THING???
I'm prepared for this. A little whining isn't going to throw me off. I meet every question with a patient answer, a cheerful smile, and a little wink of encouragement. We can do this! We can sit here and eat this simple but tasty meal like four regular people. But the wailing gets louder. Someone needs ketchup. The orange parts make his milk taste funny. The yucky part is getting squishier and the green beans have bumps on them. Bumps! I'm trying to hold it together. I mean I made a list, I shopped (with children!), I pre-heated and chopped and sauteed. I put out real napkins for goodness sake! I spent an hour and a half planning and cooking this meal. And these people so do not appreciate it. So instead of basking in their gratefulness as the Mother Nurturer, I'm doling out threats and bribes and blinking back tears of disappointment. The husband finds me later dumping half eaten plates down the sink as I calculate how many Oreos will make me feel better and he puts his arms around me. He's grateful for the meal. For the chopping and the shopping and the cooking. But mostly he's grateful for the trying. "We keep at it," he whispers to me. "You're doing an amazing job!" But the Mother Nurturer is officially over it. The rational, grown up part of me realizes that kids are naturally messy, ungrateful, and forgetful. That they need to be taught to help out, be thankful, and remember their blessings. But deep down inside, there's a tiny little volcano of resentment that's bubbling up. Not things I act on. Or even admit. Just little thoughts I struggle with. Please tell me I'm not the only horrible mom who has.
No one knows how hard this is. I'm tired of fighting for one peaceful meal. One uninterrupted shower. One night of no fits at homework time. And how about some basic appreciation? Seriously just one simple thank you. A bedtime routine without a fight. I pour out myself into mom-hood and lately I feel like I've been getting nothing in return. I love them to death and nothing will stop me from putting their needs first. But please tell me after all this selfishness and ungratefulness, there's some kind of reward at the end of the tunnel.
And not that day or the day after but the next week, I was reading. And this paragraph jumped out at me.
"If you love those who love you (back), what benefit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them (back). And if you do good to those who do good to you, what benefit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. And if you lend to those from whom you expect to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners to get back the same amount. But...do good, and lend to them EXPECTING NOTHING IN RETURN, and your REWARD will be great..."
Luke 6:32-36
And I read that and thought to myself what an awesome ministry that would be. If I could just find someone and determine to love them that way. Serve them, donate to them, sacrifice for them, love them, and be there for them but expect nothing in return. How awesome would that be? I could be like a big 'ole arrow pointing them straight to God. So I'm writing in my handy dandy little prayer journal and asking God who that person could be. It would need to be someone that couldn't or wouldn't pay me back so I could practice the "expect nothing in return" part. And it would need to be someone I had lots of opportunities to interact with. You know, someone I saw all the time. Someone that needed love and encouragement and maybe even mentoring. And then hello you know where this is going. Right in the middle of that thought, I remembered those darn bumpy green beans. And I didn't want to remember them. I wanted to forget that whole awful debacle called dinner and the many others like it. I wanted to think about a fun, exciting, new ministry reaching out to someone with this special kind of unconditional, expect nothing in return kind of love. But I couldn't forget the bumpy green beans. Or the dinner. Or the resentful, selfish thoughts that were zinging through my heart as I dumped little piles of dinner down the drain. God pierced my heart with the knowing and there was no escaping it.
The someone's who needed this kind of love were living in my house.
I had been loving them but I had been counting the cost. Making a mental list of what I was giving up so they could be cared for. Longing for the thanks and appreciation I felt I should be getting in return. And battling discouragement as I walked this beautiful but exhausting momma journey with no reward to point to at the end of the day. But here God was telling me if I only love when I know that love will be returned, I'm doing the same thing anyone without Him would do. What any decent person tries to do. But as His child, He expected more of me. He expects a different kind of love. The kind of love I could never achieve on my own. He expects Luke 6:36.
The bad news is that it's horribly difficult. Not to roll my eyes when I make a dinner no one particularly raves over. Not to count how many times my phone conversation or my shower or my lunch is interrupted. To give of my time and my schedule and my relationships without expecting anything in return. To be a mom without needing to see immediate results.
To bask in God's love and acceptance until it's enough that He alone knows about my little sacrifices!
But the good news is that God is totally up for this. That He loves me enough to help me to love my husband and my kids this way. And He promises the reward will be great! And His presence right here beside me with His promise that it's not all for nothing is enough to keep me going. His joy is my strength! And it can be yours as well. So hang in there momma. If you're feeling a little unappreciated and a lot exhausted, try out Luke 6:36. Ask God to help you love those little monkeys in a whole new way. Bumpy green beans and all.
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
Measuring Mercy
Just a for-real post. Lately, I feel like I've been impatient and unloving with those I love most. And people that don't live in my house, forget it! I've caught myself being unkind and selfish. Enjoying the free forgiveness and everyday new mercies God rains down on me while smugly telling myself that others...well they've kinda been asking for it after all. Justice for them but mercy for me. What's wrong with that picture? So, so much. So anyway, these thoughts have been pokin' around in me til this came out. Hoping the picture it paints will help me remember how undeserving we all are and how merciful a Father we have!
Measuring Mercy
God was walking next to me
As He said He always would.
But I jerked my hand away from His
And told Him I was good.
I thought I'd walk ahead awhile
And see how fun it'd be
To do just what I wanted
And take some time for me.
I knew He didn't like it
But He sadly watched me go.
I found the path more difficult;
My steps began to slow.
I wandered to a desert place
Thirsty and in tears.
Losing hope and struggling
And drowning in my fears.
Then out of nowhere there He was
Reaching out to me.
"I've been walking just behind you
And hoping you would see,
How very much I love you.
Come walk again with me."
There were no angry lectures.
No smirks at my defeat.
He overflowed my empty cup.
My drink was long and sweet!
I took His hand and walked again
Along the desert place.
Then suddenly we stopped again
And saw another face.
A tired traveler, sick and weak
And struggling to survive.
He had no food or water;
He barely was alive.
My Father gave my hand a squeeze
And nodded toward my cup.
The one with sparkling water
He had lovingly filled up.
I couldn't think He meant it!
To share my only ration?
Selfishness welled up in me
Drowning all compassion.
"But Lord, he was so foolish
To wander off today.
Let him get what he deserves
And let's be on our way."
I would have turned my back on him
And left him there to die,
But loving hands laid firm on me;
I looked into His eyes.
"I found you far away from home
And took you as my son.
I made you my new family
And still you chose to run.
But though you were ungrateful
And left my loving arms,
I stayed a step behind you
And kept you from all harm.
The second that you needed me
And turned to see me there,
I grabbed your dusty, empty cup
And poured in all my share.
And now you see a fellow man
In need of water too.
Your cup is overflowing
And at zero cost to you."
My heart was struck by what He said;
I saw my ugly pride.
To think that I deserved it more!
I hung my head and cried.
How dare we share by teaspoon full
With those we meet each day?
We know He's given all to us.
And how He had to pay!
Matthew 18:23-33
"Therefore the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his servants. When he began to settle, one was brought to him who owed him ten thousand talents. And since he could not pay, his master ordered him to be sold, with his wife and children and all that he had, and payment to be made. So the servant fell on his knees, imploring him, Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything. And out of pity for him, the master of that servant released him and forgave him the debt. But when that same servant went out, he found one of his fellow servants who owed him a hundred denarii, and seizing him, he began to choke him, saying, Pay what you owe. So his fellow servant fell down and pleaded with him, Have patience with me, and I will pay you. He refused and went and put him in prison until he should pay the debt. When his fellow servants saw what had taken place, they were greatly distressed, and they went and reported to their master all that had taken place. Then his master summoned him and said to him, You wicked servant! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. And should not you have had mercy on your fellow servant, as I had mercy on you?"
Measuring Mercy
God was walking next to me
As He said He always would.
But I jerked my hand away from His
And told Him I was good.
I thought I'd walk ahead awhile
And see how fun it'd be
To do just what I wanted
And take some time for me.
I knew He didn't like it
But He sadly watched me go.
I found the path more difficult;
My steps began to slow.
I wandered to a desert place
Thirsty and in tears.
Losing hope and struggling
And drowning in my fears.
Then out of nowhere there He was
Reaching out to me.
"I've been walking just behind you
And hoping you would see,
How very much I love you.
Come walk again with me."
There were no angry lectures.
No smirks at my defeat.
He overflowed my empty cup.
My drink was long and sweet!
I took His hand and walked again
Along the desert place.
Then suddenly we stopped again
And saw another face.
A tired traveler, sick and weak
And struggling to survive.
He had no food or water;
He barely was alive.
My Father gave my hand a squeeze
And nodded toward my cup.
The one with sparkling water
He had lovingly filled up.
I couldn't think He meant it!
To share my only ration?
Selfishness welled up in me
Drowning all compassion.
"But Lord, he was so foolish
To wander off today.
Let him get what he deserves
And let's be on our way."
I would have turned my back on him
And left him there to die,
But loving hands laid firm on me;
I looked into His eyes.
"I found you far away from home
And took you as my son.
I made you my new family
And still you chose to run.
But though you were ungrateful
And left my loving arms,
I stayed a step behind you
And kept you from all harm.
The second that you needed me
And turned to see me there,
I grabbed your dusty, empty cup
And poured in all my share.
And now you see a fellow man
In need of water too.
Your cup is overflowing
And at zero cost to you."
My heart was struck by what He said;
I saw my ugly pride.
To think that I deserved it more!
I hung my head and cried.
How dare we share by teaspoon full
With those we meet each day?
We know He's given all to us.
And how He had to pay!
Matthew 18:23-33
"Therefore the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his servants. When he began to settle, one was brought to him who owed him ten thousand talents. And since he could not pay, his master ordered him to be sold, with his wife and children and all that he had, and payment to be made. So the servant fell on his knees, imploring him, Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything. And out of pity for him, the master of that servant released him and forgave him the debt. But when that same servant went out, he found one of his fellow servants who owed him a hundred denarii, and seizing him, he began to choke him, saying, Pay what you owe. So his fellow servant fell down and pleaded with him, Have patience with me, and I will pay you. He refused and went and put him in prison until he should pay the debt. When his fellow servants saw what had taken place, they were greatly distressed, and they went and reported to their master all that had taken place. Then his master summoned him and said to him, You wicked servant! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. And should not you have had mercy on your fellow servant, as I had mercy on you?"
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