From Idealistic Memories to Realistic Goals {SimpleHomeschool}
Great news! As we travel home from vacation today we also have the thrill of traveling over to Simple Homeschool, a phenomenal source of encouragement and inspiration for home-educators everywhere. Jamie Martin (Steady Days) and Tsh Oxenreider (Organized Simplicity) keep things running over there, and it’s such a joy to join them for today. Will you hop on over and join us as well?
{Even if you don’t homeschool you may still enjoy a little blast from my 1985 past … My only regret is that I don’t have a picture. We could’ve really had a laugh…}
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The 1985 fall cover of Teaching Home magazine features a smiling family of four together on the couch reading a book on space exploration. The five-year-old daughter grins, trying not to giggle, remembering the promise of ice cream on the way home.
I still remember choosing orange sherbet.
I didn’t know we were educational pioneers, I just knew we had a great thing going. While everyone else was at school my brother and I explored the woods and picked blueberries and visited museums and rode bikes for hours on end. My mom made every moment a teachable moment, instilling in me a love for learning and cultivating curiosity and creativity. She taught me to see, to notice, to think. And most of all, to care.
But now I’m the mom, and the tricky part of having such a phenomenal homeschool experience is that my memories are idealistic and dream-like. They stand in sharp contrast to the somewhat lackluster homeschooling that takes place in my present suburban life. While I remember hours spent by the wooded creek near our home, catching crawdads and water skippers, my children’s version is sugar ants and a garden hose trickling down the driveway.
Some days I have to ask, Can I really string these ordinary days into an excellent education? … (Read the rest here…)
F is for Forgetful Grace
Heidi whined again and I swatted her bottom with my hand.
“Heidi, use a nice voice,” I said firmly looking straight into her eyes. She understood and changed her voice but my conscience nagged. Was there anger in my voice? What about in my heart? Did I swat her bottom in frustration? How do I be firm but still pleasant? Am I disciplining my children in anger? Why can’t our days be fun? Why are they filled with reminders, rebukes, corrections? I do try to praise more than I correct but they just need so much stinkin’ correction!
I reminisced back to my childhood days. “I don’t remember my mom ever being harsh with me,” I thought to myself.
To my continual amazement, even when I’m at my worst (or I feel that way) my kids always want to snuggle up, always want to rock or read together, always want me to carry them and be silly. I’m so glad they do but the haunting question still nags me, “Will they remember a barking mommy who spent her hours endlessly correcting? Will they ever remember having fun?”
I got them settled in for their rests — Heidi snuggled into her crib and Dutch playing quietly in his room. Relieved but feeling defeated, I laid down on my bed, prayed, again thinking to myself, “I don’t remember my mom ever being harsh with me.” Why can’t I be more like her?
Then it struck me.
“I don’t remember my mom ever being harsh with me…”
“I don’t remember …”
I don’t remember!
That’s it! Of course. I don’t remember.
Just 30 minutes later my parents stopped by on their way through town. Just to be sure, I checked with her… “Mom, did you ever just feel at your wit’s end…?” She laughed out loud, told me about plenty of times the only thing that kept her sane was remembering James Dobson’s words, “Someone has to be the grown-up.” So she’d coach herself through every moment, reminding herself she had to be the grown-up. When I told her that I didn’t remember a single time that she ever grew impatient or frustrated she just laughed.
“Then that’s a miracle.” I smiled, understanding.
Perhaps this is the miracle of mommyhood. Don’t get me wrong, there are always consequences for sin, and I understand that if I am sinning against my children it’s not as if it just disappears. But as I, a mommy-sinner-turned-saint, grow in sanctification and stumble through my days growing in grace and falling on my knees and training and trying and loving and correcting and crying, by faith I trust that God weaves all my messes into a beautiful childhood for my children.
Someday perhaps they will look back and remember, by some miraculous forgetfulness, that their mother was always loving, always joyful, always kind. Just as Sarah, in the Hebrews 11 Hall of Faith, is remembered as a woman who always considered God faithful. We read that and wonder, Don’t the biblical writers remember that Sarah laughed at God’s promises? Don’t they remember how she took matters into her own hands with Hagar? Don’t they remember how she made a royal mess of things before God brought it all to pass?
They must have forgotten, because all they have to say is that she lived by faith.
Perhaps, then, my fumbling attempts at motherhood are mingled with enough faith that, in retrospect, they will, appear to be something beautiful.
Perhaps, like Sarah, our lives are bathed in forgetful grace.
“For I will be merciful toward their iniquities, and I will remember their sins no more.” Hebrews 8:12
Nothing is wrong with God’s memory. He’s just extravagantly gracious.
His grace extends even to our children, to their memories.
To their moms.
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{Rest today, dear mommy. His forgetful grace bathes your day in beautiful light. Perhaps remembering that will enable you to smile a bit more? Thanks for reading…}
When there's just so much work to do
“Heidi, please pick up the puzzle pieces and put them in the box.” Dutch in his tigger-exuberance bounded down on the floor and began gathering up the pieces. Heidi sat next to him, mostly shuffling around the pieces while Dutch put them in the box.
“Done!” Dutch announced, beaming. Heidi sat and put her thumb in her mouth. I tried again.
“Heidi, please pick up that sippy cup on the floor and put it in the sink.” Dutch zoomed over like a racecar and swiped the cup, plopping it into the sink before Heidi could even register what I’d said. Her face began to register frustration.
One more time.
“Heidi, please put mommy’s shoes into the laundry room.” Dutch’s hand immediately became a pirate-hook as he exclaimed, “Argh!” and carried off the shoes, swinging by their buckles from his crooked finger. Heidi burst into tears.
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The problem is obvious, right? Even though Dutch’s intent was to be helpful he was actually disobeying because he was doing what I’d asked Heidi to do, instead of letting her do her jobs and experience the joy of fulfilling the work I’d given her to do. He was actually ignoring my commands simply because he failed to listen carefully.
I remember a friend telling me that the reason it’s so important to speak to kids in positive commands instead of saying “Don’t do such-and-such” is that they only remember the last part of what you say. If you say, “Don’t touch your brother,” all they remember is “touch your brother.” Ha! If you instead say, “Keep your hands to yourself,” they remember “hands to yourself.” Makes sense.
Well apparently the same thing is true with assigning chores. Dutch heard the command but apparently forgot the first part where I said “Heidi”! That’s a very important part of the command! The result was that Heidi was robbed of the joy of doing her work and I was frustrated and irritated instead of pleased by Dutch’s earnest efforts. Even though I truly think his heart was to be helpful he ended up doing more harm than good.
I wonder if we do that sometimes?
I wonder if it’s irritating to God when we run around eagerly doing other’s work instead of carefully listening to who He’s asking to do the specific job. Of course we’re all called to some things and we certainly don’t need to wait around and figure out whether we’re called to the Great Commission or the Greatest Commandment. Yep, those ones are for us.
But what about specifics? I wonder if sometimes we see a need and we’re the bouncing tigger bounding down, the racecar zooming in, the pirate with his hook ready to save the day rather than carefully hearing from the Master whose job it was supposed to be. Of course the opposite can be true too — we can just sit on the floor and suck our thumbs while everyone around us does the work. But that’s a lesson for another day…
Today I wonder, how can we be more attentive to the Father’s voice? When we see a need, perhaps we can hold tight just a split-second, long enough to check, “Is this ‘good work’ mine or someone else’s?” All our good works have been prepared in advance that we would walk in them (Ephesians 2:10). The only works we need to walk in are our own, because those are the ones created just for us. Just as Paul planted and Appollos watered (1 Corinthians 3:6) and just as Jethro encouraged Moses to appoint elders to judge the people, so we can rest in confidence when we’re doing exactly what the Father has asked of us.
My instruction to Dutch? “Please listen carefully to my voice and obey my words exactly.”
The application is clear, yes?
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{Is there anything in your life that perhaps might be the good works of someone else? How can you get alone with God today to be sure that all that you are walking in are the specially-created works for you? Thanks for reading, and God bless your day…}
Believe in their belief (How to share the gospel with our kids)
“Mommy, I became a Christian!”
I stopped chopping onions. Turned around. Looked at my blue-eyed blond-haired wonder sitting at the table. He, our “challenge”, our boy who has kept me on my face for 4 1/2 years, who entered the world full of vim and vigor and has been on mission to seek out every loophole the world may offer.
He is wonderful. I adore him. I’d do anything for that crazy bug. But he is a challenge. Often.
I, of course, responded with excitement, but also wanted to see if he knew what he was saying. I quizzed him a little, and he explained that one night, while he was in bed, he prayed to God and told Jesus, “I give you myself.”
“And now,” he explained,” Jesus will help me to do good.”
Yup, that pretty much sums it up.
Later that week he reminded me, “Mommy, I’m a Christian! Why do you sometimes forget that?”
Do I believe my son is a new creation?
How can I be sure? Does he understand the gospel? What about lordship? Do I keep asking and questioning him or trust that his decision is real? I soon discovered that all my share-the-gospel-with-my-preschooler questions were shared by many other moms. So here are a few tips (from others more wise than myself) on keeping it real:
- Celebrate! If a pre-schooler makes a commitment of faith–rejoice! If that is what the angels in heaven do, then we should to. There will be plenty of opportunities for re-teaching and double-checking. Right now, rejoice that a little bud of faith has blossomed!
- Clarify. As time goes on seek opportunity to clarify what it is that your preschooler believes. The ABCs of faith is a great, simple overview of the gospel. Admit that you are a sinner (have done bad things). Believe that Jesus died and rose again to save us from our sins. Confess your sin and trust in Jesus, and Commit your life to following Jesus and obeying all that God shows us in His Word.
- Repeat and restate. Again and again and again. We all learn things progressively. If we had to know everything before we were born again, we’d all be sunk. So after our child makes a commitment to Jesus, we are wise to continue to share the gospel, daily, often, whenever possible, and restate it and repeat it. The more we talk about it the more they’ll get it.
- Use Scripture. The rule that applies to adult-evangelism applies to children as well. Only God’s Word has the power to save, the power to open blind eyes, the power to birth faith. Use scripture as often as we can with our kids.
- YOU are the best messenger. When we feel insecure about sharing the gospel with our kids we tend to resort to a book or a show or a video to help us do the work. That’s not bad (I’m going to suggest one below!). But remember that any prefabricated presentation may miss your child’s individual needs and may not speak to their heart the way that only you can. You are the perfect missionary, sent by God, to your child. Relationship drives influence. They will remember your words more than anyone else’s. Use them well.
- Make it the real deal. I love this quote by Martyn Lloyd-Jones: “We must be careful that we do not modify the gospel to suit various age groups. There is no such thing as a special gospel for the young, a special gospel for the middle-aged, and a special gospel for the aged. There is only one gospel, and we must always be careful not to tamper and tinker with the gospel as a result of recognizing these age distinctions. At the same time, there is a difference in applying this one and only gospel to the different age groups; but it is a difference which has reference only to method and procedure.” Same gospel, applied in individual ways. None of us will do this perfectly, but it’s worth consideration.
- Disciple them. The “next step” is always discipleship. Now that junior is a Christian you can jump in with age-appropriate discipleship (otherwise known as parenting) and humbly and confidently continue to teach and train him according to God’s Word. The best place to start is on our faces, then on our knees, then in our Bibles, then back on the floor playing Legos and teaching and training through the details of life.
What a privilege we have to share the love of Christ with these little lambs. Here is a great little resource you may enjoy. What advice / resources / words of wisdom can you share with us on sharing the gospel with our little one and cultivating their little seeds of faith? I’d love to learn from you; please share!
I'd trade my husband for a housekeeper
No I would not!
But that is the title of a book I just read, which actually has very positive things to say about husbands.
The book is not Christian, and I’m not recommending it as the next great marriage-builder, but sometimes it’s fascinating to read secular books and get a feel for what the world in general is thinking these days.
These days they’re thinking that this marriage thing just isn’t working right.
And for the most part, they’re right. Most marriages today aren’t working right, aren’t working as God intended them to. He created marriage as a glorious picture of Christ and the Church and yet we’ve scribbled all over that picture with our sin and our selfishness. (The crayon is in my hand too.)
And while these authors don’t have the power of God’s Word to shed true light on the situation, they did point out one thing in particular that really struck me about our society:
There is far more pressure to be a “good mom” than there is to be a “good wife.”
Isn’t that the truth? I have never lost sleep over whether or not I am a good wife. But you better believe I have cried my eyes out over whether I’m a good mom. Why is that?
Probably lots of reasons. For me, the marriage thing is just so much easier than parenting. I have the most amazing, godly, laid-back, low-maintenance husband. It is impossible to fight with him. It’s really hard to displease him. Kids? Um…kids can go from zero to meltdown in about 2 seconds. And they don’t seem to mind fighting at all.
Secondly, marriage just seems so much more intuitive. Just being a godly person with common sense makes a great spouse. But, at least in my opinion, that doesn’t necessarily make a great parent. Whoever said parenting comes naturally must know a different kind of natural than me. I’m learning, but it’s not second-nature to be sure.
Finally, when we get together with our girlfriends, we almost always talk about our kids. We blog about kids, read books about kids, encourage each other about our kids, but how cool would it be if we were that passionate about taking care of our husbands? He’s the one that’s going to still be around when the little munchkins are long gone.
He’s the one who completes your personal picture of Christ and His church, for all the world to see.
Your kids and you don’t show the world Christ. Yes, you reflect God our Father and Parent by godly parenting, but only our marriage is held up in Scripture as the picture of Christ and the church. It’s interesting that a secular book would, of course, discover the same truths that God spoke thousands of years ago. Marriage first. Kids second.
So does your marriage need some attention? Take this fun quiz (from the book) and find out for yourself:
Circle all that apply:
- You spend more time with Mr. Potato Head than your husband.
- You’ve fantasized about spraining your ankle just so you can spend some quiet time in the emergency room.
- Your last “date night” was … when you were dating.
- You rationalize not washing your hair for another day because it will save you twenty minutes.
- You refer to your husband as “Daddy.”
- You’re be more concerned with making sure your kid is wearing the right soccer uniform than whether there’s any food in the fridge for your husband.
- You have an uncontrollable fondness for sweatpants, yoga pants, or any pants with an elastic waistband.
- You celebrate your anniversary with a family trip to the zoo.
- His email address comes to mind faster than his first name.
What are three things you can for your husband, today, to show him he’s the top priority in your life? Thanks for reading, and happy Monday!
Parenting Preschoolers: A Picture Plan
Don’t you just love when you find something that works?! Perhaps you’re like me and you’re so used to trial and error that when something becomes trial and success you pinch yourself–Yes!
After sharing about my difficult Easter Sunday I received a lot of helpful advice. It was clear that part of what created the massive meltdown was a triple threat of terror for tots: 1) Being sick, 2) Change of routine without notice, and 3) Raised expectations without notice. All those three things came into play that day and the result wasn’t pretty. I learned my lesson about taking kids to church when they don’t feel well, and learned my lesson about having unspoken expectations of my kids that aren’t clearly communicated. But #2 was the one that I really saw as the kicker, and every day since I’ve seen how this plays out in our home.
The reality is I have a 4-year-old who has an aversion to change. So whenever I suggest something (anything!) or lead us into a transition there is constant resistance. So I found myself irritated, annoyed, and could feel myself tense up in even approaching transitions, because I knew there would be a battle.
So a schoolteacher friend of mine suggested making a Picture Plan. It totally made sense. Since Dutch can’t read my schedule for the day, he has no way of mentally preparing himself for transition. Sure I can tell him, but if you know 4-year-olds you know how long they’ll remember that — about 30 seconds.
So we started in the morning making a Picture Plan. Simple really. I write out the 8-10 main events of the day, while he’s watching so he can help create our plan, and draw a picture of each one next to it. For example:
Ok, pretty simple and insignificant, right?
He loves it. It’s life-changing.
He got so excited the first day, as he looked through all the pictures. We’d keep checking back on the Picture Plan all day so he could see what’s next and anticipate the change. Results?
Amazing. Sometimes he’d even come find the Picture Plan and hold it up, showing me what we were going to do next. Even on the day that I was off studying and Jeff was home, Jeff created the picture plan (pictured above you can see his beautiful artwork) and it worked like a charm again. Plus, it gives the kids a chance to each pick one thing to put on the Picture Plan for the day.
The kicker? Yesterday there was one point where we actually got through all of our activities but still had some time before rest. So I said the kids could do some more playing outside if they wanted. Dutch responds, “But Mommy, it says we were having our rest next.” Ummm…. Ok! Can you tell how much this has helped my dear little boy?! Of course sometimes a welcome change is great, like today since our house is showing I let the kids watch Toy Story. But before I did I drew it in onto our Picture Plan so they could see how it fit into the whole scheme of the day.
Genius.
I’m so thankful for my dear friend (who doesn’t even have her own kids but who has “raised” hundreds of kids in the classroom!) who gave this advice. It was obviously an answer to prayer.
Do you have a little one (or a big one!) who has a hard time with change and transition? Maybe a Picture Plan is just what they (or you) need to save the day. Hope this can help. Blessings on your day.
Safe to forget
“The only mothers it is safe to forget on mothers day are the good ones.”
Ha! Isn’t that the truth? Jeff and I are so blessed to both have “good ones” in the mom department, but isn’t it true in all areas that there are those in your life who are “safe” to forget and those who are not? For those who are not, there is an understood expectation in that relationship that you better do xyz on such-and-such day or so-and-so will be sorely disappointed. And then how do you wind up feeling?
Exhausted.
Oh my. I always want to be a person who is “safe to forget”!
Of course I was not forgotten yesterday but blessed. Both my husband and parents gave me a dear little gift, but it wasn’t until late last night I realized the secret of being “safe to forget.”
I sat in the old cream rocking chair in Heidi’s room. Both kids had asked to be rocked, and yes! was my answer to both. So they filled up my lap, spilling over, arms wrapped around each other and faces nuzzled into my neck. I rocked, kissing the tops of their heads, unable to speak, not wanting to move, knowing this moment would last only moments. I closed my eyes and knew:
These are my gifts.
The term “mother’s day gift” is redundant. Who needs a gift when one is a mother? The gifts are already given. They have pulses and eyelashes and puppy-dog breath. They are exhilarating and exhausting and infuriating and intoxicating. They are gifts. It’s wonderful that my dear husband gave me a gift yesterday, but the gift has already been given.
That’s what makes us safe to forget.
Some of us, myself at times, forget that a zillion beautiful gifts have already been given. When we forget, we expect everyone else to give them to us. We might not expect a gift wrapped in paper or bow, but we expect a creative day or a special surprise or just the right words or someone to read our minds and give us what we want and do not say. And then at the end of the day you know how we feel?
Exhausted. (And so does everyone else.)
What if, instead, we realized each day that the gifts are already given. On mother’s day we have the gifts we hold upon our laps. On a birthday we have the gift of LIFE, of breath, of being born and still being alive. On an anniversary we have a marriage–glorious picture of divine love–no matter how imperfect it is. On Christmas we have God with us!! Who needs anything else? On Valentine’s Day we have the Lover of our Souls. On Easter we have a risen Lord.
Every holiday celebrates a gift that is already given.
And if we spent our precious time celebrating these already-gifts, I wonder what the result might me …
We might become safe to forget.
We might even forget about ourselves.
Oh blessed state, there is no joy like that.
Happy Mother's Day (and a great link)
It is indicative of my mother’s personality that I searched my entire computer and couldn’t find a single picture of her. How sad is that? She is forever serving behind the scenes. My mother’s day goal? Get a photo of my mother! Since there are no snapshots of her, here are a few, taken with words …
Scent is my strongest memory, and my mom’s was heaven. The soft dip of her skin right above her collarbone seemed to be the origin of this mom-scent, and to lay my head on her chest gave me the perfect position to close my eyes and breathe it in. It was safety, warmth, love all at once. It was everything all ok.
We were in Molalla Thriftway when the thought bubbled up in my mind and spilled out my mouth, the way thoughts do with kids. I was sitting in the front part of the cart, dangling my legs. Brach’s candy to my right, donuts to my left, we just passed the bacon–”Mommy, you should bottle up your smell and sell it to everyone because it’s the best smell in the world.” She smiled and kissed me. My heart soared.
I loved my mom. I adored her. She was the definition of beauty to me. Her fingernails were so long, so hard and thick! But she had a bad habit of picking at her hangnails, which I do now, and wholeheartedly blame her for, among other things, most of which have to do with my ankles. But of course now I am sympathetic to how irritating it must have been to have a little girl constantly following her around and incessantly investigating her body and asking embarrassingly candid questions. I very clearly remember asking my mom why her thighs made funny dimples when she sat down. Oh good grief; I’m never letting Heidi see my bare thighs. And I thought it was so strange that she always had slivers sticking out of her legs–I was convinced she must have spent our naptimes crawling around on the cedar deck.
She always played praise music. My dad played Elvis and sometimes I would cry at night because I was convinced that my dad would go to hell because he listened to Elvis. When my mom finally coaxed this admittance out of me she set my poor theologically-confused self straight and I could sleep again at night.
She was eternally patient with these night crying spells of mine. Often I would cry because I missed my Grandpa Zyp–whom I had never met. I thought of him often, wondered what he was like, wished I had known him before he’d died in 1976. He seemed so real to me I missed him terribly. She would sit on the edge of my bed, as though not a thing in the world were bidding for her time, and listen to me explain again that I missed him, and could she tell me again how funny he was and how he would have loved me.
She listened again, countless nights, as I cried because I could not understand eternity. This lasted a long time. Somehow not being able to comprehend eternity was seriously troubling to my little soul. I’d read and dream of heaven, wanting to be excited about the prospects of glory, but paralyzed by the fear of not understanding what eternity could possibly be like. Forever and then what? She’d listen, smile, pray with me.
I remember being proud as a peacock that my mom never left me with a babysitter. Other kids got left with babysitters all the time. Not me. They took us with them everywhere. I vividly remember mom and dad getting criticized for taking us with them on a romantic excursion that they’d been given by the church. We all stayed at a Bed & Breakfast near Mount Hood, and etched forever in my memory were the mornings Kris and I watched morning cartoons while stretched out on the lace and floral linens of the fancy beds. Knowing that they’d been criticized for it made me all the prouder that they took us with them. They’d chosen us! I knew they loved us more than most parents loved their kids. That was the secret I tucked in my heart–I was so loved.
Mom’s discipline was effective because she’d won our hearts. When we were naughty–let me rephrase that, my brother was never naughty–when I was naughty, she let me know it broke her heart. She was firm, consistent, letting me bear the brunt of the consequences, but somehow I was so convinced of her love for me that it almost seemed like being naughty was hurting her personally–the one thing I’d never want to do. I’m still not sure how she did it, but I pray, often, that God will enable me to do the same.
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And now, my mom is friend to me, Oma to my children, and still my constant source of wisdom, confidence, love. There is no other woman on earth to whom I’d rather go for a listening ear, wise council, godly perspective. In her presence I am me–without guard or guise.
And she has quickly won the hearts of my children as well. Oma is magic to them. Reading stories, teaching words, weaving tales. She educates with every breath. When I am blinded by behavior she somehow always sees the heart.
Thank you, Mom, for the years of sitting on my bed at night, listening. Thank you for letting me smell that special spot on your neck, and for taking me on that romantic excursion that should have been for you and Dad. I don’t know why it mattered so much, but from that point on I knew nothing much could go wrong. Thank you for giving me the gift of security–the secret of knowing you loved us more than we could probably even imagine.
Happy Mother’s Day. And a Mother’s Day gift to all of you still in the thick of mothering little ones, some fabulous tidbits from beautiful Ann here.
{original post May 2010}
Who cleans out your filter?
It was 7pm, and I just wanted to get the job done. The carpets needed shampooed and tonight was the night to git ‘er done. I was shoeing the kids upstairs to their bath when Dutch asked if he could clean out the filter in the vacuum. (I have no idea why he has such a fascination with cleaning out the vacuum filter, but he does and I certainly will not squelch any natural inclination he has toward cleanliness since he has none to spare.) I began to say no because it always makes a bit of a mess when he does it–little trails of vacuum dust and lint as he takes it to the garbage can.
I just wanted to get the job done–not deal with the mess inside.
But the little mommy-mantra–“say yes whenever you can”–went through my mind, so of course, I said yes.
Good thing! The filter was so over-clogged it’s a wonder that I’d been able to vacuum at all. It was so filthy we went ahead and cleaned out all three filters, dumping, washing, scrubbing–good as new. We fired up the vacuum and it worked wonders.
I was so thankful that Dutch had alerted me to all the garbage on the inside.
In more ways than one.
Yes, more often than not it is Dutch who–directly or indirectly–brings out the “stuff” inside my heart. Most of the time I see it as an inconvenient mess, something which I then have to deal with, trails of dust when I really just want to get the job done. Or worse, I blame him for exposing all the garbage in there.
As if he caused it.
What a common mistake we make, don’t we? We think the people in our lives who rub us the wrong way actually cause the frustration and anger, impatience or annoyance.
No, they don’t cause it, they just reveal it.
“For from within, out of a person’s heart, comes evil…” Mark 7:21
Our “challenging” people don’t put those things in our hearts any more than Dutch put the gunk inside the filter of the vacuum. The gunk is there, he just helpfully pointed it out.
Just like our “difficult” people point out the gunk we have inside. How helpful. 🙂 They pull out the filter whether we want them to or not, and there it is–gunk. Filthiness. It looked fine before! We were happy and put together and everything was great. Why’d they have to go and ruin it all by pulling out that filter and showing how gross it is!
The truth is that they didn’t pull out the filter.
God did.
God is in the business of pulling out filthy filters. He loves us so much He refuses to let us get all clogged up, filthy, inefficient, burning up our motors in frustration because there’s too much garbage to keep things running smoothly. He’ll go to great lengths to expose those filthy filters, to reveal what needs to be cleaned.
But somebody has to point it out. To ask, “Can I clean out the filter, Mommy?” Somebody’s flesh-and-blood hand must pull that thing out.
So He uses people. We might call them enemies or difficult people or “high-maintenance” kids. Whoever they are, God will use them to clean out our lives. To make us useful. Effective. Clean.
To make us fit for His kingdom.
A little process called sanctification.
God never reveals our filthy filters just to make us feel bad. He only reveals that which He intends to clean. If God shows us something ugly, we can celebrate because He’s about to make it beautiful. I may not like the process, pulling all those filters out, making the process longer, leaving that dusty trail–seeing all the ugliness that’s deep inside my heart. But it feels so good on the other side. When the vacuum runs like new.
When our hearts are clean.
After Dutch cleaned out the filter, you know what I did?
Of course, I thanked him. I intend to do much more of that as he continues to clean out my life…
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Your turn: I wonder who might be exposing a filthy filter in your life today? A difficult person or child who exposes areas God may desire to cleanse? Let’s agree with God and let Him clean us out, and gain a new appreciation for those who pull out that filter in our lives. How very helpful they are, agreed?
A Peek at Patterson Homeschool
It’s Tuesday, 4:57pm. Today we had Bible study and I had an afternoon meeting. We’ve just finished painting, chicken’s in the crockpot, green beans are in the skillet. Kids are at the table, hungry, waiting, nibbling peas from little bowls. I seize the moment. Turn my attention to 4-year-old Dutch. Time to homeschool.
“Dutch, we’re going to learn a little something about water today.”
“I already know all about water.”
[Insert instruction regarding humility and listening. Return to lesson on water.]
“Remember last week when we took that looong walk to the park? When we got home, we were very very….what?”
“Thirsty! AND hungry.”
“That’s right! Good. When we work hard we get very very thirsty. So what do we drink?”
“SODA!” I stare at him. (I have never given him a drop of soda in his life.) He grins mischievously. I will not be derailed.
“We drink water because that helps us grow strong and be healthy.”
“Haha! Papa gives me soda sometimes because I like it because it bubbles on my tongue and gets all tickly. And I like it. It makes me grow strong!”
“No, soda makes you sick, water makes you strong.” Let’s change the subject.
“Dutch, remember the story from Sunday school last week, the story about the woman at the well with Jesus? Can you tell me about it?”
“Yeah! Jesus fell in the well and the woman pulled him out!” He is being completely serious. I am now shaking my head in disbelief. Where did I got wrong? 🙂
“Actually the woman asked Jesus to give her this special water so that she would never thirst again. Our spirits need living water just like our bodies need liquid water. Jesus is the only one who can give our spirits this special living water and give us this special life in him.” I smile, satisfied, letting it sink in.
“I like soda!”
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Some days are better than others. Every day is a gift.
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*Check back tomorrow for a very special day, challenge, and opportunity to win a free gift. WCC ladies, check in before you go to Bible study in the morn! Hint: You might want to paint your toenails today…