New dream, new dream-come-true
We’ve all had Joseph’s dream, one way or another.
Right? That dream where all the haters bow?
Sorry for the slang. What I mean is, those other people, the ones who put you down, who didn’t believe you could, or who disliked you in one way or another–haven’t we all daydreamed at one time or another that those naysayers would bow to us in the end?
Maybe it’s only me. Sometimes, even our “godly” dreams are really just a crazy-strong underlying drive for some sort of validation. If xyz happens and our dream comes true, we’ll know deep down that we’re ok. And with pretend humility and secret inner self-satisfaction, we’ll watch those people bow, figuratively, to our success.
See!
I re-read through the story of Joseph (Gen.37) this week and saw Joseph’s dream in a whole new light. Now, before you block this blog and flag it for heresy, hear my out: I do think that Joseph’s dream was from the Lord. The dream does come true, in a strange and completely unexpected sense, but the original dream (which, interestingly, isn’t clearly given by God in the text) is really just, in essence, all the haters bowing.
Right? This is clear, verse 4: “They hated him.”
They hated him, Joseph no doubt knew it, and he conveniently dreams that they all bow down to him someday.
Hm. Suddenly Joseph’s dream doesn’t seem all that supernatural.
Again, hear my heart: I’m not saying Joseph’s dream wasn’t prophetic. It was, in a sense.
But it was also human.
All our dreams are.
All our dreams are a mess of mixed motives. Of God-dreams and self-dreams comingled. This is why, as Joseph learned the hard way, we are wise to keep them to ourselves. *smile*
Six years ago I had a dream. At the time, it seemed like a good and godly one. In some sense it was. And … it came true. But as I walked through the daily of this dream, it proved to be not as I expected.
I’m sure Joseph felt the same. As he walked the road of his dream he found himself sold as a slave, imprisoned, falsely convicted, forgotten.
But somewhere along the line, that incomplete dream gave way to something infinitely greater.
A new dream brought a new dream-come-true.
Four and a half years ago, God shattered that old, incomplete dream, the one I had, like Joseph’s, that was really nothing more than a lot of self-validation and included a few fun details like maybe a few haters bowing down.
Something like that.
He shattered that dream by shattering me. He did that to Joseph too.
And He gave me a new dream.
There’s no chapter and verse for this, but I’d dare to venture that God gave Joseph a new dream too.
No more was Joseph’s dream to simply have the haters bow. No more did he just long for validation and a sort of self-elevation that proved success.
As he suffered, served, grew, his dream shifted from seeing others bow to seeing others live.
He wound up giving his life for saving lives. His genius, his intellect, his energy, all of it became poured out to wisely stewarding Egypt’s resources to save the lives of many (Gen 45:5).
I think this became his new dream and his new dream-come-true.
The new dream that God birthed 4 1/2 years ago … just came true this week. And let me just say: It’s so much better than the first one!
What if, instead of dreaming of gaining we dream of giving?
Instead of seeing others bow, we dream to see others live.
{What are your dreams? Honestly? How are we tempted to “settle” for simple dreams like seeing ourselves validated or seeing the haters bow? How might God want to birth a new dream, and a new dream-come-true? Happy, happy weekend friends. Thank you for reading!}
*This is from almost exactly a year ago, and now it’s so fun to see God birthing new dreams, and new dreams-come-true.
Habits: The Mother’s Secret to Success
I was a bit in awe as I wandered through her house, admiring artistic evidence of order, creativity, educational excellence. I silently read through their simple schedule, written on the wall. I noted the chores, the tidy spaces, the books stacked. Of course I know people clean before guests come, but there was nothing fake about this. It wasn’t pretentious or Pinteresty, just a simple picture of an ordered, lovely life.
Not a word was needed, immediately I knew what was missing, why I was feeling so hopelessly overwhelmed, so unmotivated and lethargic.
I laid it out for her, plain and simple, and asked for help: We needed structure, we need purpose. The go-with-the-flow thing is great on the days when everything’s falling into place, when I’m energized and happy and feeling creative and spontaneous. But what about the other 359 days of the year? I feel like I’m a slave to whim and feelings, I feel like our days are too aimless, I find myself bouncing from thing to thing, based on the kids’ passing fancy. I need a renewed passion and purpose for disciplining, nurturing, and educating our kids.
She listened thoughtfully.
“Have you read anything by Charlotte Mason?”
I was embarrassed to admit I had not. There are so many educational methods out there, it all makes my head spin and the last thing I wanted was another book telling me to scrap everything and go a whole new way. But I was ready to read anything, especially after seeing my friend’s infectious joy and experiencing the peace of her ordered, lovely home. She encouraged me to just pick one, and give it a shot. She assured me that I was probably doing “Charlotte Mason” I just didn’t know it. We already spend tons of time outside and read a lot of books. This wasn’t going to be anything entirely new or foreign. It just might give me some inspiration.
Since I’m hopelessly frugal, I skimmed through the Charlotte Mason materials on Amazon until I found a 99-cent volume simply called, Habits.
Okay. Habits. Here we go.
Well within minutes I was reading aloud to Jeff, interjecting, “YES! Yes, this is IT! This is what I’ve been missing. THIS is why I’ve felt hopeless. YES!”
Put quite simply: Life is overwhelming. Homeschooling is overwhelming. Parenting is overwhelming. The Christian life is overwhelming. There are so many options, things to do, things to read, places to go, people to see. My phone’s blowing up with notifications and there’s a bazillion things I should be doing right now, and quite frankly I’m not doing very well at anything, I’m not very good at anything, and neither are my kids and so let’s just QUIT.
*sigh*
Of course I wouldn’t have said that, but there was a bit of that in my heart. Just overwhelm. But Charlotte Mason’s words from the 1800s cut through the cacophony of this crazy culture (and my crazy mind!) and flowed like a soothing balm for my harried soul. She spoke such wisdom, straight to my heart.
My overwhelm came from decision-fatigue. Where we have poor habits, we are forcing our minds to constantly re-decide something. This haphazard, undisciplined mind is exhausted. So many options. So much to do. So little discipline. So few good habits. Where to begin?
Focus. Focus on one and only one habit (virtue) for 4-6 weeks and master that one thing. Reward for character and conduct, not cleverness. Except exact and immediate obedience in the one habit and work tirelessly on that area until it is mastered.
By the time I finished the short volume, I had a clear vision of what we needed. I could see where I’d been lax, I could see what virtues and character qualities we’d failed to live out and failed to instill in our kids. It was painfully obvious but profoundly encouraging, because I felt for the first time in ages, that there was hope. I had a plan, a purpose, a passion and vision for my children, our home, my writing life and homeschool life. I could see how these habits would touch every bit of life because everything’s connected.
I had so much fun dreaming up ideas, plans, and ways to reinforce our new simple habits. I wrote little songs for the kids to help them remember important things. They were thrilled because I cut out everything unnecessary in order to focus in on just a few crucial things. The result was, instead of feeling mildly disappointed by them because I was expecting many different things but not really reinforcing any of them, I was only expecting a few things and was enthusiastically enforcing them every single time. This meant I was basically happy with them way more often. Hooray!
So I share this not as an “I’ve arrived” thing, I think you probably understand that. But I share this because at about 2 1/2 weeks in, it has profoundly affected our days, it’s given me fresh hope and purpose, it’s helped us tackle things that have felt overwhelming for months. It’s brought new joy into our home, and it’s brought back the joy and zeal for life I’d been lacking recently.
Habits. Who knew? The tiny decisions, made faithfully over and over and over (and over and over) — this is what transforms our lives. And now, if you’ll excuse me, my writing time is over (one of my new habits!) so I’m off to read aloud to my kids. 😉
{Thank you for reading.}
How not to lose hope
That delusional optimism thing, maybe that’s why it’s so discouraging when God starts exposing the sin in my heart.
That’s in there?
*sigh*
So much work to be done.
You may have picked up on it; I’ve just been in a season of … Well, there’s so many names for it. Pruning, discipline, conviction — HOPELESS DISCOURAGEMENT. No, no, not really, but it hasn’t been that fun. God in His infinite wisdom has graciously led me in a time of testing and conviction. Seriously, it can feel overwhelming, realizing that basically every single area of my life is somehow tainted by sin. Maybe not things like theft or lying, but self-seeking. Subtle self-seeking is the sin that pollutes all. And I can see it everywhere; it can feel overwhelming.
But that filthy cabin where we spent last week; it spoke to me. It’s always the mundane where God’s voice rings more clear for me, and as we settled into our humble home for a few days, one thought kept filling my mind:
This place has so much potential!
Really, even though it was filthy, poorly stocked, most everything was broken, and it stunk to high heaven because of the sulfur water. As I looked around, I kept thinking,
“Oh, what I could do with this place!”
I told Jeff,
“I could take $250 and transform this whole place.”
And I know they had that much because that’s what we paid to stay there! But apparently they weren’t interested.
The whole place spoke loud and clear, “No one cares.”
No one cares about the broken lights and broken heater, no one cares about the filthiness, no one cares about the lack of supplies, the smell. No one really cares. It was a picture of neglect.
But I cared! I was the one staying there and I saw the river right outside and the breathtaking views and abundant wildlife and saw so much potential for glory.
It just needed a little work.
So I made a list. A detailed list of the simple items that needed repair, and ways it could easily be made more accommodating for future guests. I wasn’t angry about the condition of the cabin, I just knew it could be so much more. I wanted to show the owner, “Look here, here are the things–simple things–that could make your cabin so much more. This could turn your cabin from dump to a dream!”
I wanted to help. Sure, I could have just written a scathing review online. I could have ridiculed and torn them to pieces on Expedia. And yes, I will write out some helpful “hints” for future visitors (“Bring blankets and bottled water!”), but more than anything I wanted this place to be wonderful.
I wanted to help.
So I took the owner the list. I wrote across the top, “Your cabin could be great!”
Isn’t that God’s heart toward us?! Can we just be so honest as to acknowledge: We are the dumpy cabin. We have brokenness everywhere. Things aren’t functioning the way they were created to function. There’s a smell. It’s awful. We’re lacking so many of the basic things that would make us delightful. We post pictures of ourselves that portray one image, but the real deal is quite a bit dirtier and a lot more disappointing.
(Isn’t this an inspiring Monday post? 🙂
But if we’d just acknowledge this, God is graciously waiting to show us the simple things that would help us be what He created us to be. We have unbelievable potential. We could be so much more. He’s given us His image, His life and breath, His gifts and talents, He’s poured out His Spirit into us.
We are made in His image! We have hope!
But do we care? Will be look at the list He gives us in His Word, and will we take it seriously? Will we let Him make the repairs? Will we let Him clean out the filth and mold? Will we let Him throw out the grimy things we keep clinging to?
And will be believe that He’s showing us these things because He loves us? Because He cares enough to fix us up, and not neglect the work of His hands. We are His creation, loved beyond our wildest imagination. His heart toward us is beyond our comprehension.
There is hope.
The LORD will fulfill his purpose for me; your steadfast love, O LORD, endures forever. Do not forsake the work of your hands. (Ps. 138:8)
{Thank you for reading.}
PS The owner was actually super kind and grateful for the list. I have hope 😉 he will act on them!
Freedom from the toxic comparison game
“I just find the greatest joy and freedom when I hold up my life and compare it to someone else’s.”
“It helped me feel content in my heart when I started really focusing on the faults of others and how I measure up.”
“I became a great mom by comparing my children with other kids around us.”
“I find such peace when I keep my eyes on the victories and failures of those around me.”
“When I’m discouraged I find the best long-lasting remedy is imagining the ways that others are probably not measuring up either.”
SAID NO ONE EVER.
Right?
This past weekend I had the joy of gathering with women to learn about ONENESS, about Christlike unity in our relationships that provides a powerful witness to the love of God.
And hearing the comments, the feedback, the stories, I’ve just been floored all over again by how much toxic comparison we women willingly do on a regular basis.
It’s never helpful.
Let’s look for a moment at what is helpful:
Learning from others.
For example, I always enjoy posts that Jamie Martin shares on Simple Homeschool. Although I have never met her in person, I love Jamie. She’s been an informal friend and mentor over the years, and I know I can ask her advice. She puts her family first. She earnestly wants to help me and other moms. She’s spoken truth to me on more than one occasion when I really needed her perspective. Now, when I read through her posts, I’m inspired. I jot down ideas. I love her recommendations. I decide to try a few of her suggestions.
I learn.
I’m not beating myself up because her kids do way more chores than mine. I’m not discouraged because she has 5 acres and I have a city lot. I’m not puffed up by the fact that I wake up earlier than she does. The same is true of friends in person. I’m constantly learning from my lifelong friend Janae. I’ve followed her example in many things.
This is healthy!
Jesus Himself said to follow His example. Paul said to follow His example. The reason we have stories of godly men and women in Scripture is so that we can learn from their example. And that, of necessity, must include some form of healthy comparison. Right?
So how to do we engage in helpful comparison (learning from others) without the toxic game of competition?
Remove pride.
Healthy, helpful, godly comparison becomes toxic, debilitating competition when you insert the element of pride.
Without pride, comparisons are just data. They are the study of life in order to gain wisdom. They are objective ways of determining the wisest course of action at any given time.
The difference between a learner and a competitor is humility.
One is trying to grow, the other is trying to win.
CS Lewis says this:
Pride is essentially competitive – is competitive by its very nature … Pride gets no pleasure out of having something, only out of having more of it than the next man … Once the element of competition has gone, pride has gone.
When we are discouraged, what we need most is not the assurance that everyone else is discouraged too. We need humility. We need Jesus.We need to surround ourselves with those who will help us turn our eyes to Jesus, learn from godly examples, and set the wisest course for the future.
The secret to freedom from the toxic comparison game: Humility.
Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit,
but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Phil. 2:3
{Thanks for reading.}
When life hands you the too-big fork
{It is my joy to revisit these life-giving words from my life-long friend Janae…}
~
When I was new to dirty diapers, sleepless nights and wailing cries, the mundane felt lonely & the sacred empty.
The tasks filled my days, but not my heart. The days were slow & lonely.
At the end of those long & exhausting days, I would collapse in bed & stare at my Bible. My big fat, heavy red Bible. The cover was held together with duct tape. The pages were highlighted, underlined, scribbled on.
But as I stared at the words, they felt dull & distant. I was just too tired.
Frustrated, I’d close my Bible, close my eyes & drift into sweet slumber.
Days slipped by, more babies came.
Now, more than 8 years later, as a mommy of 5, my mundane is sacred & my sacred life-giving simply because of God’s grace.
All those times when I felt too tired, God was not tired. Those scriptures that seemed to be slipping through my weary mind, had been penetrating my heart & changing my spirit so slowly I didn’t even realize it. As I have learned to submit to endless & mundane tasks, my heart has transformed; softened–grown in compassion, patience & humility.
He took me by the hand & taught me how to serve with joy. How to pray while sorting laundry or doing the dishes. How to hear his voice in the midst of all the ruckus. How to read His word in small spaces of time & let it sink in deep.
On a daily basis my sacred mundane sometimes looks like a big crazy disaster. There are moments when voices swirl around me. Simple requests to play legos, read a book, wipe a bottom, feed a tummy, pick up toys, tie a shoe, zip a zipper, play a game, build a puzzle fill the air. The voices can seem in opposition to each other & I often feel pulled in too many directions.
That is when I retreat to my closet which is lined with scripture.
Not to hide, but to seek renewing of my mind & strength from our mighty God. You see, my husband coaches HS tennis and a few years ago the end of the season party was hosted by a family whose bathroom had a huge impact on me. Yup, their bathroom. The walls & ceiling were written on with markers of all colors. There wasn’t a blank spot. There was scripture, there were funny & random comments, there were notes of encouragement & thanks. And that bathroom made me feel good. It held their family memories, highlighted their friendships & their gift for hospitality & shone God’s goodness.
Feeling inspired, I asked my husband if I could write on our closet walls. He said I could do whatever I wanted with those walls. So I bought a pack of markers & started writing. I lined the walls with scripture & I covered the ceiling with things I was thankful for. And before I knew it, my closet had become a place to pray, trust, believe, hope, thank & seek.
So when demands swirl around me my closet is there to steady me. I can sneak away to read a quick verse, lift up a prayer & return to my day with a fresh perspective. I read a quick verse, lift up a prayer & return to my day with a fresh perspective.
Growth has come by pausing to say, “This is hard, God. I cannot do this. I need you. Show me how to love…serve…honor…trust…
And it often feels like I need to die to myself to really get anywhere.
It is harder than hard, and there are times I struggle to breathe. Times when I say, “Lord, letting go of what I want really stinks. Help.” And do you know what He often says? “Obey me, trust me, and see what I can do.”
Whenever I need a really good pep-talk, I reach for Jen Hatmaker’s Interrupted. She makes loving, serving & being stretched seem like one big fabulous party. She writes,
“The path of descent becomes our own liberation. We are freed from the exhausting stance of defense. We are no longer compelled to be right & are thus relieved from the burden of maintaining some reputation. We are released from the idols of greed, control & status.”
So basically she is saying is,
“Lighten up, Janae–who cares if your sweats are the only thing that fit or you comb your hair so rarely that you have humongous knots that need cut out? And big deal if your hubby goes grocery shopping & comes home with 50 boxes of nitrate filled sausages because they were $.27 a box. Surrender & live in freedom.”
Recently my daughter set the table for dinner. She put a lot of consideration into arranging the dishes & utensils. When I sat down, I realized she had given me a huge dinner fork. I prefer the little salad forks. The big ones feel clumsy, heavy, awkward in my hand (I guess I am a fork wimp). I could have very easily stood up, taken a few steps & exchanged the big fork for a little one. But instead I chose to honor her, the choices she made & the effort she put forth. I ate my dinner with that big fork. After a little while, I got used to the weight & it no longer felt out of place in my hand.
I had forgotten it wasn’t what I wanted.
So the question has become, What will I do when given a fork I do not want? When it feels too heavy? When the messes are too big or the attitudes aren’t right or he is working late (again) or the house plans aren’t quite what I wanted or the car isn’t what I would like to be driving or the house projects aren’t ever going to get done or that bikini barista coffee shop irritates me or I find somebody digging through our garbage bin–what am I going to do?
Bend low, dig deep, surrender, build legos, sort the laundry, do the dishes, sweep the floors, survive the sleepless nights, read a book, take a deep breath when the toddler empties the fridge (above!), say “okay & thank you” when he calls to say he is working late, take flowers to the bikini barista, feed the person digging through my garbage.
And let it all transform me while living in the joy that comes in serving & knowing Jesus.
“Always be full of joy in the Lord. I say it again–rejoice! Let everyone see that you are considerate in all you do. Remember, the Lord is coming soon. Don’t worry about anything; instead pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all He has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts & minds as you live in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:4-7
{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.}
Because all it really is, is coming home.
Because that prodigal-son thing, I’ve done it a thousand times. Maybe more.
I’m tired. His way, always uphill, seems hard. I just don’t want it today. Sure, I still want His stuff. His blessings. His provision. All the goodies. So I demand all that, tight-fisted, but stomp off out of the house, in my heart.
I do my own thing.
I’m not off with prostitutes, but I’m certainly giving my affections to another. I’m not drunk with alcohol, but I turn to earthly comforts, pleasures …
fillers.
Fillers are those things–it doesn’t matter what–that we stick in spaces or meals or schedules, to fill out the emptiness. They have no real substance, we just need to fill some space so they’ll do.
That’s all the prodigal did — go seek fillers instead of The Filler.
And I do that too. I get tired of the Father’s House, under His eye, living bowed, submitted, surrendered. My own way just seems so much easier.
But the truth is, it’s hard.
Sure, it’s hard to live in the Father’s House. Carrying crosses and giving away life and embracing the upside down craziness of His upside down Kingdom.
But life outside the Father’s House is much, much harder.
So we must choose our hard. The hard way of the cross, or easier way of the world that’s infinitely harder in the end.
And so, like the prodigal, I come to my senses. He in a pigpen, tempted by the slop. I in my own pigsty, tempted by pale pleasures of self-pity, ego, indulgence.
His words become mine: “What am I doing?!”
He shakes his head, rises from the mud …
… returns home.
Because that’s all that repentance really is.
It’s just coming home.
And as he shuffles home, reciting his “I blew it” speech, the Father sees Him from afar …
… and runs.
And I wonder when the prodigal stopped shuffling and started running. Because if my father is running to me, then why not run to Him? If He shows no hesitation in His embrace then why should I in mine?
Repentance has a bad rap. We picture self-flagellation. We picture the wagging finger. We picture shame. But the real picture should be:
Coming home.
That’s all. That’s all it is. When we repent for the first time and for the thousand times after. Because that prodigal-son thing, I’ve done it a thousand times. Maybe more. And that tweaked, messed-up view of repentance keeps me in the pigsty.
It keeps me from coming home.
So, from now on, the picture is firmly fixed in my mind. A thousand times I fail. His mercy remains. And when repentance is in order, I will refuse the self-flagellation, the wagging finger, and the shame. And I’ll just get up from the mud …
… and come home.
He runs to meet me.
{From one prodigal to another, as we pray all the other prodigals too. Thanks for reading.}
*Originally published Aug. 2013
Nursing Grace to Life
She was half-dead when we found her.
In the corner of the neighbor’s yard, a full 12 hours after the incident, the kids and Jeff found her mangled, nearly-lifeless body. He texted me right away;
We found Grace. I don’t think she’s going to make it.
Yes, we are talking about a chicken. I get it. Farm animals get eaten by raccoons all the time. But these girls are our pets. Dutch and Heidi love these chickens. We got them as newly hatched chicks, nursed them along in our kitchen, then the kids cared for them these six months. From the very beginning, they could tell them apart. I have no idea how, but from day one, their favorite chick, the very first one they named … was Grace.
Dutch named her. Grace was the chick Heidi would always reach for, to cuddle and take outside into the sun. Grace was the one she’d carry under her arm, a little feathered doll. Grace was the one who had worn the beaded bracelet … as a necklace.
And now the kids hovered over her bloody, mangled body, praying she’d survive. Jeff suggested what made most sense–we must put her out of her misery. The kids were horrified. Never! They would pray! Didn’t we always pray for sickness, for injury of every kind? Didn’t we labor in prayer over those we loved and call on God’s mercy to heal?
Yes, but. Jeff looked at Grace’s broken beak hanging sideways, her smashed bloodied face, and slow, labored breaths. There’s just no way, he thought. Besides, she’s a chicken.
They put her in the shade. Put water beside her, but she couldn’t move and with a broken beak there was no way she could drink. Jeff told the kids it was only a matter of time.
Dutch was resolute. “I’m fasting tonight and praying she lives.”
My eyes widened a bit. An 8-year-old fasting for a chicken? Should I explain that there’s no real biblical basis for fasting for the life of an animal? Well, of course I wouldn’t do that. I saw his heart of faith and held him in my arms, asking God to sort through the sincere prayers of my precious boy and answer in His wisest way.
The next morning, early, Jeff came in from his run. I looked up, one question in my eyes.
“She’s still alive,” he said quietly. She still couldn’t move, couldn’t eat or drink. Her beak still broken off to the side. But hope swelled up in those kids’ hearts. They kept praying.
That afternoon Grace stood on her feet. “Mommy! Let’s get an eyedropper and drop water into her mouth!” But she was tucked away too far underneath the coop, so I filled a squirt bottle with water, crouched down near the ground, and squirted water toward her mouth.
At first she jerked away. Understandably. If someone was hosing me in the face I would turn away. But after a few minutes, she slowly moved her jaw up and down, ever so slightly.
Then she turned toward the water.
Several refills later, she made slow steps. Back and forth, with labored breaths, she walked back and forth beneath the coop. With every squirt she slowly worked her jaws up and down. She still couldn’t open her mouth, but I knew water was getting in there somehow.
Later that afternoon, many water-squirts later, something loosened. Dried blood dissolved. Her mouth opened. The kids cheered. “I knew she’d live!”
It’s just a chicken, you say. But this mundane moment made me vividly see the significance of what we do in life. The truth is, tons of people die of drugs. Overdose. Die on the streets, alone, victims of that roaring lion that prowls around, seeking who he can destroy.
A raccoon is to the chickens what the enemy is to us: A predator.
One who comes to steal, kill, and destroy.
And yes, we heighten fences, but casualties still happen, and I have seen mangled hearts and lives, victims of that roaring lion.
How do we help?
Fast and pray, perhaps squirt water on faces, even when they bristle, back-off, and turn away. One mangled heart at a time:
We nurse Grace to life.
{Thank you 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.}
How $58 buys hope
It was only day one of August rest.
Actually, scratch that, day minus 1, it was only July 31st. But I had been chewing all week on Ex 23:11 and what it means to “let the ground lie fallow.” That morning, when both kids wanted longer snuggles, I ignored my to-dos and held them longer. Later, instead of my usual 5-minute rushed get-ready routine, I went a little slower, enjoying a long bath, braiding my hair, wearing earrings. These things seem ridiculously minuscule, but it’s amazing how a little care turns mundane routine into sacred ritual. After lunch, I had to run an errand for Jeff, so I turned it into a treat for the kids, grateful there was no pressing plan for the afternoon.
Jeff’s errand just happened to be next to a local consignment shop where I’d taken clothes to sell once and never returned to gather my proceeds. The shop caught my eye, mostly because I’d tried so hard to get there recently, with no success.
I looked around the car, realizing the bag of clothes I’d chosen to consign was in the other car. *sigh* It almost seemed strange, how often I’d tried to take them there, but was always detoured. Finally, the day before, I’d sneaked away while Jeff was home for lunch, just to drive the clothes down to the store. Even though it was during business hours, they were closed. Odd. Strangely, something inside urged me not to sell them. The last bit of Ex. 23:11 came to mind, how during the Sabbath year the resting land was to be left “that the poor may eat.” Instead of selling my clothes and getting money, I could just give them away instead, to someone in need. I made a mental plan to take the bag to a certain out-of-town friend.
But here I was, the next day, parked right at the store on an errand for my man. I figured I’d zip in and see if I had a balance from what I’d sold before. As I walked in, I realized the racks were almost empty, with signs “$1” or “75% off” on various shelves.
“We’re closing today, so we’re not taking any more consignments,” I overheard the gal at the counter say sadly to another customer.
Oh. That explains why they weren’t open the other day, and that explains why I had that strange nudge to not bring my clothes in. They were closing today? How sad, I thought, then quickly realized this was a great day to come in, everything was almost free! I looked around briefly but nothing caught my eye except a $1 sweater for my mom. I took the sweater to the counter, and gave her my name.
“I’m so sorry about the store closing.”
I looked at her, she was about my age, and very, very pregnant.
She smiled sadly, “Thanks. Me too.”
She looked at my information on the screen, opened the register, and handed me the $58 I had left on my account. Wow! That was unexpected! No wonder God had me come in this day, this was a profitable trip! I thanked her so much, and the kids and I walked across the street to our car.
We began home, but something hooked my heart. Something wasn’t right. It’d been a long hot afternoon and the kids were eager to get home, but that bit from Exodus came back again:
“The seventh year you shall let it rest and lie fallow, that the poor of your people may eat…”
It rang so clear in my heart: This is not a time to get ahead.
I felt sad for that girl. Clearly she had had a dream, had given it her all, and today her dream died.
Something urged: Go give her the money back.
I resisted: The kids are hot and tired! They’ll pitch a fit if I turn around and go BACK.
Then it came, that uncomfortable, shifting-in-my-seat feeling when I’m resisting the Holy Spirit. (You know the feeling, right?!)
I argued inwardly: I should talk to Jeff about it. I mean, this is our money, I should ask him what I should do with it.
More unease.
I am sure we make way less money than they do, even with their store closing. They’re probably wealthy; this was just a fun side-gig.
More unease. I thought of my wallet at this exact moment, how I’d tucked that cash she’d handed me in beside plenty of other cash.
I just want to get home. I could probably take her the money later.
More unease. I thought of this, her very last day open, of the sadness in her eyes, of the truth:
There’s no better time to obey than now.
I turned around.
“Where are we going?!” Both kids pipe up. “I thought we were done?”
“I just want do something real quick.” I was about to tell them to just trust me and not ask questions, but I paused. Actually … “You guys remember how that store we just went to was closing.”
They nodded and Dutch (usually lacking empathy) chimed in, “Yeah, it made me sad that they had to close.”
“Me too. So you know how they gave me the money I earned from selling my clothes?”
Dutch: “They did?! Oh you shouldn’t have taken the money, Mommy!” (Ha! Apparently His Spirit is more sensitive than mine!)
“That’s what I think too, Dutch. I think God is telling me to go back and give her the money back.”
“Oh mommy, I think God’s saying that too. Let’s go back right now and do it. Can I go in with you? I want to help her feel better too.”
Tears welled up, blurring each block as we made our way back to the store. Such a simple thing, responding to the Spirit, but so many things keep me stubborn. Here I thought this would inconvenience my kids, but it was a blessing to them. Every ordinary day there are discipleship opportunities as we travel the mundane with our littles.
We pulled up right in front of the store, both kids quickly unclicked their seat-belts, they were so excited. To my delight, the store was empty except the girl at the front, so I knew it wouldn’t embarrass her.
“Hi, I was just here and you were so generous to pay me my balance, but …” My voice caught with emotion, surprising me, “I don’t want it. I’m just really sorry you guys are closing, and I’d like you to keep my balance.”
Her face changed.
It lit.
“Are you sure?” She looked into my eyes. Just a quiet exchange of hope, solidarity.
“Yes. I pray you guys are blessed.”
She smiled wide.
“Thank you so much.”
And with that, we left, beaming, hearts light In the car Dutch announced, “Maybe that $58 was exactly the amount they needed!”
I smiled at his sweet childlike faith. “At least we know that $58 bought hope. For us all.”
{Happy Monday. It’s so good to be back here with you. Thanks for reading.}