5 things your kids want you to know
I recently sat on the couch with another homeschooling friend and discussed the kind of moms we want to be. There’s so much pressure out there to be more and do more, to hustle, hurry, achieve. But I always find myself returning to this simple question that helps center my spirit:
If I were a child, what kind of mom would I want?
I usually arrive at something like this: I’d like a mom who’s warm and kind, who isn’t in a hurry, who listens to my stories and admires my artwork, who smiles and helps me when I need it. I’d like a mom who’s a little bit squishy when I hug her and isn’t too worried about stuff, who teaches me how to live without getting too angry when I mess up. I’d like a mom who genuinely enjoys being my mom.
It’s interesting to note that children, for the most part, don’t want a mom who’s a certain weight, who looks a certain way, who has a certain size house or a certain job or makes a certain amount of money.
Children have a way of reminding us what really matters.
Along these same lines, I thought, If I were a child, what kind of homeschool would I want? Better yet, what do my actual children want? I had a feeling that a “Pinterest-worthy schoolroom” wasn’t high on their list.
So, out of curiosity, I interviewed my sixth and fourth graders and asked them, “If you could represent all kids, and share five things with homeschooling parents, what would you say? What makes for a great homeschool?”
This is what they said: Read the rest over at Simple Homeschool! Thanks for reading!
Oregon friends: Vote
Last week in the US:
- 13 mail bombs were sent to political officials.
- While my husband was in Louisville this week, a white supremacist entered a grocery store and killed two African Americans.
- A man opened fire in a synagogue shouting “All Jews must die,” killing 11.
- Approximately 21,000 innocent babies were aborted.
Each of last week’s tragedies have something in common: Someone seeking to do away with what he perceives as a “problem.”
Democrats, blacks, Jews, unborn babies.
Of course, in no way am I implying that an overwhelmed pregnant woman is the same as a hate-crazed racist, certainly not. But in each instance we see the natural outworking of sin—believing others’ lives are worth less than our own.
Thinking that “they” are the problem. We each have our own ideas of who the problematic “they” are.
But the root is the same, and sadly, that same root is found in my own heart too: A refusal to see my own sin.
Right now I’m being ruined, once again, by looking at the life of Mother Teresa, as displayed on the pages of Finding Calcutta. Mary Poplin writes,
“The [Calcutta] missionaries look deeply inside themselves for the remaining vestiges of jealously, greed, anger and other sings, and then confess them. They do not look outside to see the cause of the world’s problems; they look inside first. Clarifying what is inside helps to understand what is outside. The heart is only a tiny mirror of the world I so often bemoan.”
Yes. Yes, it is. My own heart that wants its own way, that resents inconveniences and demands certain circumstances. My own heart that wants Jesus, but that wrestles with having to give up my own way.
It may manifest itself as premeditated murder or deliberate shoulder-shrugging indifference, but either way, I place my own life above all others.
I do it. You do it. We’re all caught red-handed, daily. As G.K. Chesterton remarked,
“Sin is the most empirically proven principle in Christianity.”
Every single day we prove it.
And every single day Christ offers a better way.
I cannot solve all the world’s problems, but I can deal honestly with the sin in my own heart. I can repent. I can seek restoration. I can humble myself.
And, if I am an Oregonian, this week I can VOTE.
If I am an Oregonian, I can “Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves; ensure justice for those being crushed.” (Prov.31:8). Right now, Oregon is the only state in the US that has no restrictions on abortion.
“No restrictions” to an unborn child, means “no protection.”
No protection, whatsoever, to the most vulnerable people group in the world. To the most voiceless.
Those who literally cannot speak for themselves.
There are extensive (and expensive!) measures taken to protect various plants, bird eggs, and various animal species, while we actually provide funds to end human life. In fact, nearly 2 million dollars from out-of-state political groups is being funneled into our state to make sure these unborn babies don’t get protected. To make sure that anyone can still, for no reason at all and for no cost, kill a child all the way up until the moment it is born.
If ever there was a calculated, deliberate, focused attack on a certain people group, this is it.
Of course, Measure 106 does not end abortion, but it is a step in the right direction. Of course, legislation won’t change hearts, it isn’t meant to, but legislation can protect the most vulnerable, and we should use the freedom that we have to speak up for them.
Of course, we shouldn’t only vote. Let us also pray, love, give, volunteer, support. But let’s at least vote.
{Thank you for caring, and reading.}
To you, that one weary from caring
“Mommy, that bird!”
Heidi ran down the stairs to the center of the driveway, bent over the broken feathered friend.
Truth be told, I had already seen the bird. But I was eager to finish my walk, I was weary from so much brokenness already, and my compassion-well was bone dry. Besides, it was a bird.
I walked a little closer and it was clear what had happened — just a few feet away our housemates’ cat crouched, ready to finish the job. Heidi placed herself between the bird and the predator.
“His wing is broken, we have to help!”
Compelled by compassion, she swooped in, urging the bird into a bucket, something to keep him safe. But of course, we all know what happened:
Whenever you move toward the wounded they flail, flee, fearful of the very one who offers safety.
Blind to the greater danger just out of sight.
The cat came nearer, creeping ever closer … Heidi turned toward it, ready to defend the weak:
“No, go away!”
With greater intensity she prodded the flailing bird into the container, trying to be gentle but also recognizing the danger of leaving this little creature alone.
Time was of the essence.
Even as I leaned in to help, I saw the bird resisting her nudges, moving against her. I could only imagine if that bird could articulate how he felt:
Ouch! Don’t poke me! You’re doing it wrong! Stop! I hate you. You’re the problem! Leave me alone!
I blinked back tears.
The cat kept close. Ever ready to pounce. The bird, unaware, kept fighting.
Once the bird was out of immediate peril, Dutch and Heidi quickly created a nest, a safe place, in a cage we had on hand.
The cage, those parameters, weren’t meant to confine or control, they had to keep that broken bird safe.
Oh, little bird, you aren’t in trouble, you’re in danger.
Ever eager to help, they quickly researched eating habits, how to best help this thrush.
Consumed with compassion, they gave all their effort to helping it heal.
Heidi happily dug up worms. Every few hours, she’d return to the cage, feed her feathered friend.
His well-being was never far from her mind.
I watched. Wishing with everything in me that this might turn out well.
The next day, the thrush died.
Thankfully, Heidi took it well. Better than me in my own broken-bird situations.
Hadn’t I just sat, tears blurring my vision, pouring out heartache over all the wounded ones? A complicated mixture of frustration, hurt, grief, ache, sorrow. Tinges of hopelessness mingled in, a little bit of wanting to give up.
Why help the broken, when all you get is a broken heart?
After drying my tears, I walked downstairs, saw Heidi sitting there caring for her own kitten. Her compassion still flowing freely, untainted by the previous day’s loss. Sure, the thrush had died, but were her efforts wasted?
Of course not. She’d done right. Done well. I was so proud. And, her heart grew in the process.
Every time we love, truly love, we grow. Our capacity widens, deepens, heightens, reaches farther into the dark crevices and undoes the Evil One’s work.
Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. (1 Peter 5:8)
Remember this: Whoever turns a sinner from the error of their way will save them from death and cover over a multitude of sins. (James 5:20)
And I thought of you. You who are weary of helping and being blamed in the process. You who are tired but get back up and try again. You who are quietly bearing burdens. You, silent wife, who are trying to honor your husband but your eyes cry out pain louder than any words can say. You, faithful mama, who agonize over what’s best for your kids, and wonder how to heal their hearts. You, aging parent, who watch young ones from a distance and wish you could swoop in and save. You, bereaved one, who move outside your own pain in order to selflessly serve others. You, friend battling disease, who aren’t defined by your diagnosis but who chooses to fight every day. You, faithful non-profit worker, who quietly works behind the scenes so others can thrive.
You, who care. You who pick up the broken-winged birds. Who dig up worms and visit cages.
You who carry the wounded on your heart all day long.
There’s a whole army of you out there, I know. And you are seen. The God Who Sees (Gen. 16:13) has seen and He is never aloof. He never gets compassion-fatigue. He never runs out of grace and peace and mercy and patience and if you will slow down and sink into His presence, He will fill you afresh.
You get to be part of the Fellowship of the Brokenhearted.
This isn’t to make a hero of you, of me, it’s just to say: Don’t give up. Draw again from His well, His unlimited supply, His eternal resources extended to us if we ask. Don’t attempt all this in your own strength. Roll ever burden, all over again, onto Him. And if you are hated in the process, remember, He was too.
There’s nothing you will face that He hasn’t already.
Don’t let the darkness win. Light always overcomes. Keep wielding the light, dear friend.
Oh, and take a nap too. That’ll help.
{Thanks for reading.}
When your heart is overwhelmed…
The text popped up and my heart sank. Again. What is wrong with this crazy world?! It just seemed that everywhere I looked, things were not as they should be. Why are so many things so very wrong? Why do people make such terrible decisions? Why are children’s heart’s broken?
That morning Jeff preached on our response to trials and injustice, and he specified:
“I’m not talking about the injustices you tweet about, I mean the ones you lose sleep about. The ones that keep you up at night and break your heart. Those injustices.”
Usually those are the ones close to home. The ones that touch your own heart, the ones in your own path.
Like the Good Samaritan, these are the tragedies and injustices lying in the road right in front of us.
These are our neighbors.
And then, he exhorted us, “If there are never injustices that keep you up at night, you probably should get more involved in people’s lives.”
That struck me. Yes. The heartache we feel when we enter the nitty-gritty of life with people, is appropriate. Jesus’ heart broke as he walked with wayward and weary and sick and sinning individuals. He was the Son of God. He knew the end of the story. And yet He wept over Lazarus. Over Jerusalem.
And yet, He was never overwhelmed. He never lost hope or slipped into cynicism or threw up his hands. How?
Among many other things, I believe He spread it all out before the LORD.
Just the day before I had read Isaiah 37, and found so much comfort in the familiar story of Sennacherib and his threats against King Hezekiah and the people of God. As you may recall, Sennacherib is hurling threats, and recounting all the kings he’s already conquered, mocking King Hezekiah and promising his swift destruction.
Specifically, Sennacherib mocks their trust in God. He says,
“Do not let your God, in whom you trust, deceive you…”
He is blatantly attacking their trust in God, and building a case for why exactly they should cast off their confidence and surrender.
This is exactly what our enemy does to us.
He brings to mind all the lands that have already been conquered, so speak. All the kings that are already dead. He whispers to our weary hearts, “What about THAT thing that happened? Or that unanswered prayer? Where was God when that horrible thing took place? Look around and see all the areas that I, the Evil One, have already won. Why would you believe God will act now?”
His mission is always the same: Operation Destroy-Hope.
And so the case builds and our confidence crumbles. We reel. Our eyes dart to and fro. We panic. We plan. We despair. But King Hezekiah doesn’t do any of that. When he received the letter from Sennacherib, he didn’t panic, plan, gather the troops or begin devising some masterful military strategy.
What did He do? I can picture him now. He took a deep breath, slowly walked away, and went and spread the letter before the Lord.
He spread the situation out before the Lord.
One small expression that speaks so much. It says:
You are God, I am not.
We need you.
This is Your battle.
Fight for Your people.
Hezekiah then appeals to God in prayer, and it’s clear that what matters most is the glory of God:
“Now therefore, O Lord our God, save us from his hand, that all the kingdoms of the earth may know that You are the Lord, You alone. (v.20)”
I’m not sure why this image affects me so deeply, but perhaps it’s because so many situations feel so complex. Our minds can swim with scenarios. I’m sure Hezekiah felt this too. But He resisted the temptation to let his mind go wild into overwhelm, and instead he just spread it all out before the YAHWEH, the Lord of heaven and earth, the Creator God.
The only One with the wisdom and power to take this on.
This is such a practical step that any one of us can do. So I did this, just listed out and laid out all the things that weigh on my heart and mind. One by one, spreading them all out before the Lord. One by one, recognizing:
You are God, I am not.
We need you.
This is Your battle.
Fight for Your people.
Just a few verses later, the prophet Isaiah sends word to Hezekiah:
“Thus says the Lord God of Israel, ‘Because you have prayed to Me against Sennacherib king of Assyria, this is the word which the Lord has spoken concerning him…”
And then the short version is: I’m going to wipe him out without you even having to fight. What happens?
Then the angel of the Lord went out, and killed in the camp of the Assyrians one hundred and eighty-five thousand; and when people arose early in the morning, there were the corpses—all dead. So Sennacherib king of Assyria departed and went away, returned home, and remained at Nineveh. Now it came to pass, as he was worshiping in the house of Nisroch his god, that his sons Adrammelech and Sharezer struck him down with the sword; and they escaped into the land of Ararat. Then Esarhaddon his son reigned in his place.
The LORD of hosts took care of the entire situation, single-handedly. Hezekiah didn’t even need to suit up for battle. The LORD fought for them. I too was amazed to find that just hours later, several situations had worked themselves entirely out.
And the ones that remain? I will continue to spread them out before the LORD. The only God.
“No eye has seen any God besides you, who acts on behalf of those who wait for him.” (Is. 64:4)
What are you facing? What battles? What enemy that hurls threats your way and mocks your faith and taunts you with a solid case for why you shouldn’t trust God? Where are you tempted to tailspin down into overwhelm? Take every emotion, every situation, every ache and need and battle, and spread it out before Him. Lay it before Him; remind your heart that the battle is His.
“From the end of the earth I will cry to You, When my heart is overwhelmed; Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.” Ps. 61:2
{Thanks for reading.}