4 ways to encourage delight-directed learning
A stack of Sport Fishing from 1992?
When my mother-in-law handed over a pile of 23-year-old fishing magazines, I wasn’t exactly thrilled. We don’t fish. Have no interest in fishing. My house is already cluttered.
Did I mention the magazines were from 1992? Not exactly a cutting-edge homeschool curriculum.
But I’ve come to learn that anything can be the next spark for delight-directed learning, and wouldn’t you know: We now have a roaring fire of passionate learning blazing through our boy. … (Read the rest over at Simple Homeschool. Thanks!}
To do today: Win their hearts
I plunge my hands into the muddy water, winning his heart in this imaginary world of war.
“I just destroyed your aircraft carrier, Dutch. You’ll need a way better design next time.”
He looks up at me delighted, eyes dancing, sun sparkling in his blond hair. Soon, Heidi skips across the yard.
“Would you like to come to a party at my house?”
Her face is light, eyes full of anticipation. For a moment I marvel at her eager vulnerability. It is one thing to invite someone to your house for a party. That’s a risk. It is quite another to invite someone to an imaginary party.
Every time a child invites you into her imagination, she risks.
I see it most clearly in Dutch. We had settled down into Heidi’s playhouse, seated in miniature chairs sipping water-tea from plastic cups. Dutch grew quiet for a moment then looked me in the eye.
“I got a new job, down in LA.”
He says the short statement and waits for a response. It’s such a simple, mundane interaction–something most moms do every day. You play pretend, that’s what you do. But the enormity of it washes over me, as he waits for my response.
Will I take him seriously and play? Will I accept this invitation into his innermost world? In just one sentence a child may open up her heart and world to us. How do we respond?
“Oh? Down in LA? What are you doing there?”
A quick flash of joy comes across his face–and he continues in his deepest most serious voice. It’s a big job, overseeing all those aircraft carriers. Only two days off a year–Christmas and Easter. The pay is good though–$200/month.
We talk, like this, most of the afternoon. Heidi explains how her friend “lost her medical” and had to have her legs amputated. Then she had to go to DHS. (Having had Julie in our life informs their imagination in humorous ways sometimes.) Later, Dutch is a WWII veteran. He tells me detailed stories of his heroic escapades, explains the intricacies of the war when I dig for more information.
And I have to chuckle to myself, Too bad we didn’t do school today. I could almost see their little minds blossoming, opening, like little buds of creativity, connecting and exploring and risking and learning. And what an honor–a privilege–to be allowed into their innermost world of imagination.
Before Dutch was born, my sister-in-law threw me a baby shower. Each woman wrote one piece of advice on a little card. My pastor’s wife, a wise woman I’ve known 30 years, wrote:
“Win your child’s heart.”
She explained,
“Win his heart, so he will never want to disappoint you. Love is a better motivator than guilt. A desire to please you will carry him through more temptation and struggle than all the rules and right answers in the world. Win his heart early on.”
There are many ways to do this. I haven’t mastered them. But entering our children’s imaginary worlds–with enthusiasm–is one of the most powerful ways to pursue their hearts when they are young.
Few invitations are more sacred than the invitation to enter the imaginary world of a little soul.
When we enter in, we win.
Go play.
{Have a wonderful week. Thanks for reading.}
The End of Mommy-Guilt
“Dear God, please help Mommy not be sad at her retreats because she misses us.”
Oh sweetieboy.
We were sitting around the dinner table. Jeff had asked each of us to pray one thing for someone else. This was Dutch’s prayer.
The last weekend’s goodbye had been tearful. Dutch and I had held each other long in the yard. As always, I explained that I was going to teach the Bible and talk to ladies about following God.
“Mommy, do you want to go?”
I was completely honest:
“I want to go because I love God and I want to help people love God, and you get to be with Daddy and you always have fun and when I teach God’s Word I become a better Mommy. But you know what? I still get sad every single time I have to go. And I miss you so much while I’m there.”
Oh you have no idea how much Mama misses you, sweetieboy. I’ve been speaking at retreats almost his whole life–I was nursing him at my very first one. We’ve done this countless times but it’s still never easy. Eventually he cheered up and waved goodbye.
And then, days later, this prayer surfaced. And it blessed my heart because he’s beginning to see that even hard things can be good, and the truth is, as much as I am gung-ho enthusiastic about saying, Spend time with your kids, people! As much as Everything Else Really Can Wait, the truth is that unless we are careful and listen closely to God, even these sweet messages can make us slaves to Mommy-Guilt, falsely believing our days should only involve endless hours on the floor stacking blocks and giving blow-bellies.
It’s not as warm and fuzzy, but the truth is–we’re called to raise our babes and do the dishes. We’re called to snuggle and share the gospel. We’re called to read Goodnight Moon for the millionth time and, I hate to say it, some of you also have to work.
Like, at a job.
This is called reality.
And, this is also called following God. The truth is, God is the only one who gets to call the shots in our lives. We must know what we’re called to, and obey that. It will look different for different people. There are many times when I put everything aside and just play for hours with my kids. I homeschool them. I take them with me everywhere. Heidi comes to all my meetings with me. We don’t even hire babysitters, people! My whole parenting philosophy is, in a word, WITH.
But there are some times that it is in their best interest to respect Mommy and let me study God’s Word, teach a retreat, spend alone time in prayer, clean the house, give Daddy my full attention.
See, we can let this vague Mommy-guilt thing make us slaves to a child-centered existence.
We’re not called to a child-centered existence; we’re called to a Christ-centered existence. Yes, we give countless hours to our children, but they don’t run the show.
God does.
While it may be true that I’ll never regret spending time with my kids, it’s also true that people are dying without the truth of Jesus Christ and it is a disservice to our kids if we teach them that the world revolves around their soccer schedule.
The problem isn’t necessarily that we don’t spend enough time with our kids. The problem is what we’re doing instead.
I don’t want my kids to see me ignoring them because I’m shopping for shoes. Or working extra hours striving after the elusive American Dream. I don’t want them to feel Facebook is their rival for my attention. I want my kids to see that giving our lives for the sake of the gospel is the most important thing. Family time is precious. But we will not make family an idol. Even family falls under the ultimate purpose of glorifying God by enjoying Him and sharing His love with a lost world.
The only way to end Mommy-guilt once and for all is to commit afresh to a Christ-centered life, and allow Him to set the course for our days.
For the glory of God, the health of our hearts, and the good of our children. Amen.
{Do you know the forgiveness of Jesus Christ and the freedom of the gospel? If you have not yet begun a new life of faith, please contact me here. Let’s talk! Thanks for reading.}
*Originally shared Oct. 2013
Emotionally unstable kids and the Father who loves us
It really was the perfect day. Some plans changed last minute which left the calendar square completely blank and the forecast promised 84-degrees. Glorious!
Our housemate popped up her head, “Going to the track; you guys want to come?!” The kids were eager, the sun was shining, and at the last minute Jeff showed up and surprised us all by saying he’d come too. Yes! We ran to the local High School track and watched birds, ran stairs, jogged laps, and goofed off until we’d worked up a good sweat, then ran home.
On the way home we discovered an ornithological jackpot — dozens of crows crowding into a walnut tree, throwing nuts down on the road to crack open, then feasting on the contents. The kids watched, mesmerized, then gathered handfuls of walnuts to take home to our own bird feeders.
After lunch, when it was sunny and warm, I decided to be uncharacteristically spontaneous and treat the kids to a trip to the zoo. All morning I had had a strong impression that I should take them that day. I wasn’t sure exactly why, we hadn’t been to the zoo in at least a year because we only go when we’re invited by someone with a membership (read: Free admission), but with 84-degree weather I figured we could spring for it. Plus, I just kept sensing I should take them today. The kids were ecstatic with the surprise, and we were on our way.
Traffic was surprisingly light, and when we arrived, we discovered that it was the last day to get free admission to another museum (in the same complex) with payment to the zoo. What?! So we’d get 2-for-1 because we came that day. I praised God for His care for us, celebrating the fun treat for our kids.
Now I’ll admit, I’m not even a huge zoo fan, but apparently this day, all the animals were out. It was like they knew we were coming! The bears came face-to-face, the bald eagle perched just outside our reach, the 5 massive California condors were looming right above us, and the cheetah nestled right next to Dutch, just a thin glass window between them.
Seriously, what a day. We were on cloud 9 when we finally left the zoo, just in time for a trip to the other museum. They enjoyed that one as well, and we finally dragged ourselves out, back to the car, and arrived with 1 minute left on our parking pass. We soaked up every second of this trip! With full and grateful hearts we drove home, taking a creative route because of traffic.
Then, just before home, because of the unusual route we took, we drove near the house of Julie, that gal who lived with us once upon a time. I prayed for her as we drove by her neighborhood, then stopped at a stop light, and looked over at the crosswalk … and there she was! Oh my! I hollered over at her across two lanes and she lit up, winding her way through traffic to climb into our car. She was breathless and happy to see us,
“Can you take me home?!”
So we had the chance to talk to her and pray over her before heading home. I just shook my head at God’s amazing providence in so many ways. I thanked Him over and over for leading our day, our every step.
We pulled into the driveway, hearts so full.
But then.
I needed the gate opened, and Dutch full of joy and zeal, happily volunteered, “Oh I’ll do it Mommy!”
He swung open the door and hopped out … and caught his foot as he jumped, and landed SMACK on the asphalt.
Sobs. Bloodied knee, bloodied elbow, sobbing boy. I carried him up into the house, thinking we were would be fine. Thinking to myself this is no big deal, just a scrape, it was still an amazing day, still so much to be happy about.
But then.
This kid. He can emotionally tailspin like nobody’s business, and next thing I knew I was scrambling to make dinner and he was still sobbing, devastated, crying in pain, saying it was the worst day. When Jeff walked in from work all he could see was a messy kitchen, a harried wife, and a sobbing, sullen little boy.
Awesome.
How does the best day turn to the worst day in like 30-seconds?!! Dutch continued in a steady stream of negativity and crying. Next he started missing one of our dead chickens and became inconsolable, unable to think or talk or anything other than a dead chicken.
Now, here is the part where you, mature adult that you are, would’ve handled the situation well.
I didn’t.
I was ticked. I was so frustrated. I sat across the porch from him, facing him, positioned against him, trying to piece together calm sentences but inside I was saying something like, Why on earth are you CRYING OVER A DEAD CHICKEN?! I just gave you the best day imaginable! I did everything for you! We had the best day! Everything was awesome and now you are completely hijacking my awesome day and letting your emotions RUIN EVERYTHING! WHY ARE YOU SO EMOTIONALLY UNSTABLE?!!
Oh the irony!
We wonder where our emotionally unstable children get it from, right?
*sigh*
I finally stop questioning, turn my heart’s gaze up, and ask the only question that matters:
What would the Father do?
I see it clearly.
I went near, right beside him, and held out my hand. He looked up, tears still streaming down his cheeks, his face asking his own question: “Is she angry with me? Or is she kind?”
I smiled. He gave me his hand–oh! The feel of that hand! The feel of our children’s hands–isn’t it a wonder?! Oh, Father, let me never turn down an opportunity to hold this hand.
I led him into the dark living room, to the special gold couch we rarely sit on. I pulled him onto the couch next to me, his head resting on my neck, his tired-out body resting beside mine. I held him there, kissing the top of his head, wiping away his tears. We lay there, in silence, there in the dark, for a long time. He stopped crying.
He smiled.
Oh how much I need to learn, friends! I am that emotionally unstable child, tossed to and fro by every skinned knee that comes my way. And yet, the Father loves me, loves us, so much it’s unfathomable.
And so, I repent again (it’s a daily thing). Even as I type these words I hear more tears, who knows why. Daddy is doing bedtime and there’s no telling what the cause may be. So I leave this space, again. I go. I listen.
The tragedy? Toast.
Yes, of course. It’s about toast.
But you know what? They can be emotional wrecks, irrational at times, and yes, even a little unstable.
I resolve, afresh, to love them. Just as the Father does to us: Emotional wrecks, irrational at times, and yes, even a little unstable. The song I’ve sung all week:
You’re a good good Father, it’s who You are, it’s who You are,
and I’m loved by You; It’s who I am, it’s who I am.
{For all the emotionally unstable kids out there (myself included!), may we know the Father’s love. Thanks for reading.}
From Bad Math to True Worth
So, I about lost my mind this week, and that was just from doing math. I homeschool my kids and this week, math had me at my wit’s end. Not calculous or trigonometry. Simple sums. And while I love math and I love my son, but there are days that the combination is highly flammable and everything goes grease-fire and math gets bad.
I have noticed this so often in my own life too. There are some days I get this bad math stuck in my mind and things can go downhill so quickly. And the thing is, this bad math isn’t just the root of our moodiness, or our discouragement, it can actually sabotage our efforts to know and love and follow Jesus Christ. Everything’s related.
Here’s what I mean:
Types of bad math:
My child’s behavior +
The Pinterest-worthy status of my home +
How successful my husband is +
My number of FB friends (or how many people liked the last thing I posted) +
My weight +
Our income =
My worth as a woman.
Clearly, this is bad math. Toxic math. But then, what is our worth? And who gets to decide it? What exactly is the equation that helps us determine our worth as women?
Proverbs 31:10 says, An excellent wife, who can find? For her worth is far above jewels.
An “excellent” wife is worth a lot. How do we achieve that? What is “excellent”?
In some ways, I feel like that is the lifelong journey of every woman–to discover the answer to this question. To discover the equation, the sums, that will add up to measure her worth, to deem her worthy.
Now, we live in a world that’s constantly offering us equations. And so we end up making mental evaluations like that all the time. We live in a world that thrives on that sort of evaluation, right?
Basically every single person on the planet with a pulse has a FB account now. You know how Facebook was created, right? It began as a computer program in Oct. 2003, which “used photos compiled from the online facebooks of nine college houses, placing two photos of females next to each other at a time and asking users to choose the ‘hotter.‘”
The entire premise of the site, was to evaluate and RATE the beauty of assorted college girls.
To vote on their worth.
No wonder FB can make me feel so worthless.
Because even though it has changed and grown, the root of it is still the same–I’m going to put myself out there for the world, and they will vote on my worth. However many friends, however many likes, however many shares, however many people notice me or love me or laugh at me or approve of me–there’s my worth.
It’s toxic. Now, I get it, we have to live in this world, right? I have a FB account too–I’m not trying to demonize social media, but we must be WISE and understand we live in a world that is not our friend. We are surrounded by CONSTANT evaluation seeking to tell us our worth. But you know what?
But they all use bad math.
They ALL use bad math.
They all use some variation of the equation I mentioned earlier: My looks, children’s behavior, income, husband’s success, we add it all up to be the sum total of our worth.
And it’s toxic, debilitating, soul-killing math.
All these equations can be reduced down to this: Performance = Worth
Such Bad Math. So what is our true worth? How do we figure it?
It goes like this:
Created by God +
Chosen by God +
Loved by God =
Infinite worth
An excellent wife is one who knows who she is and whose she is. She isn’t wasting time working out ridiculous sums that shrink her soul down to a figure. She’s busy about worthwhile work because she knows she’s already loved.
She’s working from her identity not for her identity.
This is also why we fight for the rights of unborn children, because they have worth even before they achieve anything. Before we know what they look like, how smart they’ll be, or what their earning-potential will be, we esteem them as having infinite worth because they were created, chosen, and loved by God.
Just like you.
No matter where you are on performance hamster-wheel, whether you’ve already stepped off it or are still sweating and struggling on it, may you have a fresh revelation today of your infinite worth simply because you are created, chosen, and loved by God.
{Have a blessed weekend, beloved ones! Thanks for reading.}
With. {A simple parenting approach}
…and lo, I am with you always…
Matthew 28:18
“Mommy, will you be with me?”
Next to, “Can I have something to eat?” this is the most common request I hear, on a daily basis. Besides food, really all my children want is me.
They don’t care what we do, they just want me.
There are so many parenting philosophies and educational models, and my heart and hope is always to share simple guiding principles without offering a certain prescribed method to follow. In fact, what most powerfully influences my schooling and parenting decisions is one simple word:
With.
Looking back at my own childhood, I see this powerful force at work as well. Sure, my parents weren’t perfect, but what marks my childhood and makes me recall it with pure joy and fondness, what makes it continue to be a source of strength and confidence for my adult-self, is that my parents had an unwavering dedication to be with us.
We did everything together. Yes, my mom homeschooled us, we spent every day together, we cooked together and cleaned together, we played and read and learned and ran errands — with her. But we weren’t isolated from the world. We took trips and did science fairs and field trips, we served people and explored.
With her.
My dad was an NCAA referee for 20 years. We all loaded in the car and traveled to countless college basketball games, sometimes up late and sometimes eating *ahem* fast food for dinner. My mom didn’t stress about bedtimes or burgers — we were together.
Wherever he went, we went with.
As we grew older Dad stepped away from college games so he could ref and coach us instead. My brother and I played 7 sports between us through our high school years and my parents never missed a game.
They were with us.
My aim here is not to guilt y’all who can’t be with your kids every second. I get it. The last thing we need, as mamas, is a guilt trip about not being everywhere at all times.
But sometimes what we need isn’t to do more, it’s to do less, but with them. This can apply to every educational method and model, to every country and culture. 
I see it this way: I get these kids for about 5 minutes, in the grand scheme of things. I’m going to blink and be 50 and they’ll be gone, flying on their own around this world. My time with them is so short. There are a thousand other things I could be doing, but this is one thing no one else can do.
No one else can Mama my kids.
No one else has the fierce love for them like me. No one else can know their hearts like me, can see that look in their eyes and know exactly what it means. No one else can show them the heart of God, can identify their love language, their motives and fears.
Last winter, I asked God to give me wisdom to help guide my Sacred Mundane with my kids. The word with came to my heart. Because I’m nerdy and like mnemonic devices, I turned it into an acrostic, to remind me every single day of how to be WITH my kids in intentional ways:
W: Work. How can I work with my kids, giving them skills and training them as we go?
I: Inspire. How can I inspire faith in my children today, teaching them to trust God more?
T: Teach. How can I teach my children the knowledge and wisdom they need to thrive in life?
H: Help. Where are my kids struggling? How can I help them to overcome an area of weakness today?
Isn’t this what Jesus does for us? His name is Immanuel: God with us. Jesus comes and lives among us, rubs shoulders with us, then promises that even after He leaves, He will be with us as we carry out His great commission (Matt. 28:18). He’ll never leave us or forsake us, He’ll be with us forever, even to the end of the age.
WITH is at the heart of the gospel, and I believe it’s at the heart of parenting too. This can look so different for every family–that’s the beauty of it! No one-size-fits-all. No template! No cookie-cutters!
You with your children and God with you.
{Bless you, faithful mamas and daddies, as you do life with your kids today. Thanks for reading.}
Run for their lives
They’d never heard the a-word, these sweet innocent babes of mine. They know about babies of course, know where they come from and, in basic terms, how they get there. They’ve seen many a growing belly around our church family. They’ve seen ultrasounds of themselves, making sense of the squiggly outlines with delighted recognition, “That’s ME!”
But they didn’t know about lives cut so short, on purpose. We pray for healing a lot around here, hoping to help them know, from a young age, the precious value of every human life. They don’t know about Planned Parenthood and all the FB posts and videos released and riots and protests and violence and regret and grief.
I’m so glad they don’t. But I do want them to know enough. I remember some of my earliest memories, as a teeny thing toddling along behind my Mama into our local Crisis Pregnancy Center where she volunteered regularly, week after week, meeting with expectant moms, pregnancy counseling, helping gather baby items, and providing support for scared expectant moms looking for help.
I still remember long afternoons in the waiting room, working on my homeschool lessons and looking at the glossy-brochures with the perfectly formed unborn child on the front. I remember the little gold pins, of tiny baby feet, that my mom wore on every lapel. I remember feeling so proud that my own Mama helped save little lives.
So I wanted them to know, too. And when the 4 Their Lives run came up, as part of The Guardian Project, and dear Sherri messaged and said, “Would you consider…?” I knew this was the perfect time to teach a tiny bit about this sad business, this peek into our brokenness, and give them a chance to help as well.
The timing was perfect. The kids had just finished their first fundraising race a few weeks ago, running a 1-miler to provide shoes for kids in need in Clackamas County. They were nervous (that’s putting it lightly) and hesitant, but both ran strong and finished well, so I was excited to build on the positive experience soon. (There’s Heidi crossing the finish line; I think she’s checking her heartrate–ha!)
This race is near Portland, with lengths for all ages and abilities, perfect for this fam that ranges from my crazy-fast-hardcore husband to my lightweight littles, to moi, who cheers from the sidelines, enjoying the coffee and donuts, loving the event vibe and happily contributing money just so I don’t have to run. *smile*
So we curled up Wednesday morning with the kids and shared the news. We told them about a bit about abortion, about scared mommies who sometimes feel trapped and don’t know what to do, about ultrasounds being a powerful way for mommies to see their tiny precious babies, about how much that helps them want to keep those hearts beating, even if they need to allow another mommy to raise their little baby. We told them how The Guardian Project is taking ultrasounds around in a motorhome, to help women see their unborn babies, to help more hearts keep beating, to help more babies to be born.
They were all in.
Would you join us?
Will you run for their lives? It’s such a simple way to contribute, and perhaps teach your children, in gentle ways, about how they can contribute to life. All the information for the run is HERE, along with information on The Guardian Project HERE. Even if you don’t live in the Pacific NW, perhaps you know someone who does? Consider forwarding this to them? Thanks so much for considering the myriad of little, mundane ways we can choose life every single day. Have a blessed labor day weekend. I pray it’s full of life.
{Thanks for reading.}
The hardest part of my homeschool year
I held my breath as I looked at the list. Every single item. It described him to the T. How had I never known? Wordlessly, I slid the laptop over to my husband. His eyes widened as he scrolled down, just as amazed.
You mean, this is a thing?
There’s a name for this? And it’s legit?
Relief and grief often go hand-in-hand. On the one hand, I was overwhelmed with relief, finally freed from the crippling belief that all my son’s challenges were the result of my own inadequacies. Terrible handwriting? Clearly my fault. Can’t tie shoes? My failure. Strange social behavior? My mess-up. Lack of eye-contact, emotional maturity, empathy and a dozen other “typical” behavioral benchmarks? All mommy-fails.
But now, here, with one word I was freed from this Mommy-failure prison.
His challenges weren’t my fault. This … was a thing.
Then, of course there was also grief. {Read the rest over at Simple Homeschool as part of the Hardest Part of My Year series. I hope this can encourage you!}
Overcoming anger in your homeschool
“I‘m concerned about Luke,” she confessed.
We leaned in to listen, and she shared her struggle honestly. Of course we could relate. The three of us have 12 kids among us, all home-schooled, and we each juggle other various responsibilities as well. (I’m sure you can relate too!) Her concern was about anger. She’d seen her 8-year-old son angry often, and also recognized her own tendency toward anger.
I assured her she wasn’t alone. In fact, in the past 4-5 conversations I’d had with homeschool moms, all recognized their struggle with anger in their own personal lives. I’ve even heard moms say they quit homeschooling, because they found they became too angry and felt that they couldn’t enjoy their kids and educate them too.
What is it about homeschooling that makes us so mad?
Of course there are myriad reasons. We’re with our precious cherubs ALL DAY (forced smile) and we’re solely responsible for ALL of their needs with no BREAK WHATSOEVER AND NO ONE ELSE TO TURN TO! (Whoa! Sorry, got carried away there.)
How can we overcome anger and model patience, calm, and joy for our children? Read the rest here…thank you!
Jesus took our sp*nks
I came around the corner, and she was punching him. Repeatedly. I actually smiled to myself, seeing Dutch cower in the corner of the inflatable raft while his little sister pummeled him. *sigh* I set down my water-bottle and book and said calmly, “Ok kids, hop out of the pool.” They reluctantly waded over to the edge and stood beside me, sullen.
“Follow me.”
We found a spot on the porch, and I asked for the story. Heidi tearfully relayed the atrocious injustice of the situation: Dutch not wanting to use the rafts oars. At Dutch’s turn he conveyed the deep pain he’d experienced when Heidi has indadvertedly hit his ankle with the oar. Clearly, the situation was grave. (Smile.) I took a deep breath, told them I loved them and explained that since neither of them had chosen to love each other, and both had chosen selfishness, they would both have discipline.
Dutch nodded bravely, silent, while Heidi quietly cried. We went inside the kitchen, surprisingly dark after being in the mid-day sun. I walked to the counter and slid out the wooden spoon, but then Dutch spoke up:
“Wait. Mommy, can I have both sp*nks so that Heidi can have none?”
I turned around. He was earnest. Heidi stopped crying and stared at him.
The beauty of the gospel shining bright out of darkness.
I smiled.
“Come here.”
We sat down on the kitchen floor, them on either side of me.
“Heidi, do you understand that Dutch is willing to take both sp*nks so that you don’t have to have any?”
She nodded, solemn.
“Are you willing to receive that free gift he is offering you, and be grateful for him taking the punishment you deserve?”
She nodded, looking up at him with tearful eyes. “Thank you, Dutch.”
“You guys know that’s exactly what Jesus has done for us, right? Jesus took our sp*nks. He took the sp*nks Heidi deserves, the sp*nks Dutch deserves, and even all the sp*nks Mommy deserves, and that’s A LOT.”
“So you know what, kids? Right now, this time, no one’s getting sp*nks. We’re going to get on our knees and thank Jesus for taking all the sp*nks we deserve, and we’re going to thank Him and ask Him to help us love each other the way He has loved us.”
“Jesus, thank you for taking our sp*nks. Help us to love each other the way you loved us.”