My Coke Commercial Revelation

Several days ago, Green Peace stopped me at Trader Joes and asked if I would join their movement and commit to $15/month donation. He kept saying, “You know about the whales, right? You know about the endangerment of many of our large predators in the ocean?”'

While in college, I was invited by a friend to attend a showing of An Inconvenient Truth and my life was never the same. It was a cause I could lay my life down for. Shortly after this I learned that UNCG professors were trying to pioneer an Environmental Studies program and I jumped in headfirst. I changed my major the next day to a Bachelors of Science. I braved statistics for the whales I was going to save! One of my professors was a specialist for sea turtles and I was in love with this cause. A whale scientist came to speak in one of my classes and encouraged the students to join his company on a research gathering tour off the coast of South America. It was all I wanted out of life. My favorite professor would show us videos of rebels handcuffing themselves to cattle trailers on their way to being slaughtered inhumanely and I was ready for it. I worshiped Rachel Carson. When I mentioned her name to visitors and no one had heard of her, I started volunteering to host tables around the campus, handing out brochures I had made highlighting her accomplishments. She was a woman. She was a fighter. She made a difference. That is all I ever wanted to do.

     As I slouched before the Green Peace guy, growing tired of his speech, I read his “STOP GLOBAL WARMING” sticker plastered on his notebook and smiled. Because I’ve been there, I wanted to do what he is doing. I wanted to save the world, and I was going to do it one regulated buffalo reservation at a time. Or whatever. Most of you know I became pregnant just before my senior year of college and dropped out before the baby came. Just like that. All of my dreams of growing dreads and sailing the seas with scientists wearing cool visors became just a mystical fantasy. That side of me never came alive again.

I have children now. Three of them. If life goes my way, I will have another one next year. Sometimes in the day to day grind of dirty diapers, fifty thousand million snacks served up, and sleepless nights like a single person cannot and should not imagine, I wonder why I gave up my dreams for this. I wonder why I exchanged my dream of studying animals abroad to being the most domestic person I know. I have been sort of sold out to this new Coke commercial that gives a quick glimpse into  the lives of naive parents that celebrate a positive pregnancy test. The baby comes, their life gets messy. The baby becomes a toddler, chaos ensues. At the end of the commercial, the mother holds up another positive pregnancy test and just when you think the parents are going to freak out, they are instead completely elated. It’s how I feel because parenting is so hard. I cannot even began to convey how difficult my days are sometimes. Yesterday I was jealous of the Wal-Mart cashier because he smiled at me and asked about my day. I realized I hadn't made anyone's day better, myself least of all. I whined in the car, I love to talk to people. My goal this weekend is to finish folding laundry, and there is a possibility that Y2K will regenerate itself if I actually get these three loads put away in their designated places before Sunday. It never happens. I managed to cook a healthy, filling dinner tonight. And I made cookies. Nasty, sand tasting cookies stuffed with raisins. I try so hard for my kids and usually my baking experiments make me laugh. I am good at laughing at myself. There are so many learning curves. Today I thought, “I am doing such a good job with my kids, they are well behaved and well adjusted. Go me!” But two days ago, I was weeping because I felt so inadequate. I am inadequate. I couldn’t do it without the reassurance that God really does pick up my slack, a lot. My point is, like the commercial, no matter how crazy and quite unpleasant life gets with young children, I can’t ever go back. Yes, they are needy, loud, and little anomalies that don’t seem to need sleep to function.
But…

There so many butts…to clean. No, no, I mean to say, they are amazing. They have stolen my heart and it takes a Green Peace guy with a global warming sticker in my face for me to even remember what I once wanted because this takes up all of me. Having children is the most life changing, life course altering, amazing- just amazing experience in the world. I always wanted to be a mother, but I had no idea what that really meant. I had a smidgeon of an idea concerning what would be required of me physically and emotionally. Let’s just add here, intellectually, because the amount of brain power it takes to dissolve sibling spats is far beyond my capacity. Those little people though, they have wrapped me around their fingers and it makes no sense how they do it, for they are only 2-3 feet tall. They push, push, push me to my personal edge every single day, to the point where I am questioning my identity, questioning my sanity, questioning what on earth God put me on this earth for. Still, at the end of the day I find myself curled up in their beds, pulling their sweet smelling faces up to mine and whispering in their ear, “You are the best thing that ever happened to me.” And they truly are.

The Pages Within: An Early Marriage Memoir

 

  I really love my husband. We met online and knew weeks into our phone relationship we would get married, and 6 months later we were. I don’t think being married for five years makes me an expert at marriage by any means. I just wanted to be real and honest about marriage, about my marriage in specific. First off, my husband is awesome. I tell him all the time, and still not enough. We have scaled giant mountains together, not literally. Our marriage is full of public displays of affection, love letters, back rubs, and early mornings of playing footsie in bed just because. Over the years we have fought for, and cultivated a very healthy and busy intimate life together. We thoroughly enjoy one another's company.

So many Christian marriages are like the covers of  a magazine. We see them on the outside, but wonder what’s written in the pages behind those pearly white smiles and intertwined fingers? In seasons of struggle I’ve looked to them and thought, “Well, we’re just different than they are,” or “They were meant to be together, and Paul and I aren’t.” So these are my pages for whoever is interested [and I have my husband's permission to share].

I have pondered divorce because my heart has been so broken by something said or done. I have felt like the loneliest woman in the entire world. I have been depressed. I have been bitter that my husband would not take me seriously, especially while sick, tired, or afraid. I have been bitter, period. I have been whisked away into the empty words of another man, simply because he called me beautiful and wanted to hear my story. I have pondered in my head what would happen to my kids if I just gave up one day and flew off to be me, to be the person I might have become had I not married Paul. I have cried myself to sleep, imagined myself jabbing a butter knife into the disc drive of his PS3 because I was so jealous of it for his time and attention, and begged God as I screamed into a pillow, “why did you choose Paul for me?”

And I’m not innocent, by any means. I could find a fault in the Mona Lisa if I wanted to. I have criticized constantly, glared, been passive aggressive, and exploded. I have nagged. I have been a master manipulator, gifted at guilt trips like you cannot imagine. I have faked headaches so I didn’t have to go to bed with my husband. I have clung so tightly to him, literally strangling his independence and forcing him to just be who I wanted him to be. When he refused, I made sure he knew what a weak man he was. I crafted my words into shiny daggers and sent them flying. I leaned into the comfort and spoils of my family during difficult times, and made sure my husband knew he wasn’t enough. I pushed him away, and wondered why he would not fight for me to come back. If he tried to romance me, I would use it against him to get my way. I would keep a wall up over my heart so when he came to me, I could not feel just enough to give him what he wanted and get what I wanted too, with no strings attached.

I could give you the right answer and say that we just chose to stay married. Or we are so holy that we submitted to God’s will and that’s the only reason we stayed together. Neither of those candy coated answers are entirely true. The truth is, we just held on for dear life. Sometimes it was because I thought it was the right thing to do, and nothing more. Mostly though, we just learned to repent well. We sought help at the end of our rope. We kept telling ourselves that we didn't believe in divorce, even if it felt like a prison. We have tested so many marriage books and theories on our problems and the most useful wisdom we found was to submit our partners to God, but mostly to submit ourselves to Him. We don't have a perfect marriage, or even a completely hostile-free one, but it is no longer destructive. It is no longer combustible. For quite some time now we have been purposeful with our love and in pursuit of full freedom and identity in Christ. From there we have enjoyed the fruit of a functioning, happy marriage. Yeah!!

 If you have found yourself unhappy in marriage, but determined to make it work, figure out what needs you have as a human. This is what has literally saved my life, not just my marriage. Start praying through what God must satisfy, what you need from your spouse, and then what friends can offer. There will be skeletons in the closet clouding your judgement. When little light bulbs start flashing all over the place, “I’ve been expecting my husband to determine my worth, and that’s God’s job!! No wonder I got snappy when he said my soup I made for dinner wasn’t the best he’d ever tasted. That really hurt my feelings. It’s a good thing I know who I am in Christ, I’m awesome!” [true story] Then you get to repent for tossing that skeleton on your husband and hoping he’d sort it out for you. It’s not your spouse’s job to figure you out, I have learned. Once repenting, someone will need to forgive. Remember, forgiveness is more about what is happening in your heart, not the debtor.

These ideas are really the culmination of multiple marriage books, conferences, and classes. One time we were asked to be the table leaders at a marriage conference because we had been married longest in our group. I whispered to Paul, "We have been married the longest, and that means we enjoy being married the least!" So you see, our marriage has ebbed and flowed through and around many trials. It reminds me of those awesome men who live in the wild with nothing but a knife, we've just gathered tools and wisdom along the way and figured out how first to survive, and then, how to survive really well. It's really hard to get your love tank full if you don't think you deserve to be loved. It's really hard to respect a man if you were exposed to abuse at the hands of a man as a child. Someone can tell you it's a Biblical mandate all day long, but the first step is being free. As Paul and I have pursued freedom first and foremost, we have found tremendous breakthrough in our marriage. There is a depth to our love for one another that we've never before experienced, and it has flowed from vulnerability, willingness to accept responsibility for our [sometimes negative] actions, and a repentant heart. I thank God every day now that He gave me Paul, for his the greatest gift I have ever been given besides my own salvation.

Here’s the fast track of our not-so-flawless, but functioning wisdom for marriage issues:
               
1) YOU FEEL ANGRY (Sad? Lonely? Afraid?)

2) Ask yourself, WHY? If you’re not getting anything, ask God why you feel this way.
     Did your spouse do something wrong, or did he/she just poke some playful jabs at your skeleton? Be sure to dig deep, usually the answer exists somewhere far away, like when your mom told you to wait in the car as a child while she ran into the bank, and got stuck in line and didn’t come back for 30 minutes and you were terrified you had become an orphan. Ah, now it makes sense why you freaked out when your husband went out to buy milk and saw an old friend and didn’t let you know he would be 30 minutes behind schedule. [That is not a true story]

3) If your spouse did something wrong, you might approach him/her kindly and mention that what he/she did was truly hurtful, and in the future you’d really like to handle the situation “this way.” No accusing, just guiding and reassuring that he or she is not “in trouble” with you. This step is not my strong suit, but we all have permission to be in process sometimes.

4) Most of the time. For me anyway, it’s usually a skeleton acting up. So I get to REPENT for blaming my husband for my fear of men. Or blaming him for my fear of finances not coming through. Or blaming him because I am scared of not guarding my heart. Oh, so many skeletons.

5) Once you’ve repented, it’s time to ask FORGIVENESS. Sometimes I forget to do this, but it’s really important. Please forgive me for attacking you over our finances. I trust God to provide for us. 

6) You can do what you want after all has been said and done, but I generally recommend time together, in bed. Sometimes people will pick fights just for this one thing. I’ve never done this, or anything…

I’ve come to terms with the fact that sometimes people really don’t want to be married. These people have given a marriage their all for many, many years and drawn from empty wells within themselves to give towards someone who is totally unresponsive. My heart goes out to them! I’ve known women (not as many men…probably because I am a woman?) who were so precious and beautiful, I couldn’t imagine how they survived in such ruthless marriages. I just have to add that because I’m not perfect, or holier, or more special to God, or anything like that. I don’t deserve a trophy because I chose to love, and you don’t get yours rescinded because you chose to love and it didn’t work. What I have learned in my experience, in a marriage where both of us have a lot of baggage to work through, but neither of us are so hardened beyond repair or abusive to one another, is that it’s so worth it. Those mountains we once scaled are now the backdrop to our marriage. We can sip on a cup of tea and look out over the view, “Remember when that mountain owned us?” Now we celebrate them because they make us who we are. Each and every one has paved the way to our very satisfying love life, the romance, the cheesy jokes, and most of all, a safe place in the arms of one another. I love my husband. Marriage is truly worth the fight.

We highly recommend books: Love & Respect, Keep Your Love On, and Sheet Music
Marriage Class: We have taken 2-3 classes through church and enjoyed them, but LAM definitely impacted our marriage by teaching us about vulnerability and addressing our needs.

Letting Jesus be Enough

Yesterday morning I was making breakfast, feeling hopeless, and the thought popped into my head, “What happens to people like us?”

“Us” is my family but also a generous handful of others. We left everything to move to Redding, to learn and grow under Bethel's umbrella. Hungry people desperate for just a crumb of hope throw themselves at the altar and are fed. Why here? I don’t know. People travel from all over the world to get healed here. I’ve seen people healed and wept with them as they realized the pain is gone.

The truth is, I don’t want to live a normal life. I don’t want my husband to work 40 hours at a job he hates. I don’t want to look normal on the outside if I’m not happy on the inside. I want to be here.
But what happens to us, all of us?
A lot of us are broke. We can barely afford food to feed our families. We are selling our possessions on eBay, Craigslist, habitual yard sales so we can survive. We dream of thriving. All the while we declare His provision over our home, “He WILL provide for us.” For my family, anyway, we ALWAYS have our needs met. But need gets put into perspective.

Do we need two vehicles? Do we need one vehicle?
Do we need meat at every meal?
Do we need a three bedroom house for a family of 5?
Do we need our privacy?

Despite all the sacrifices my family has made for this season, I cannot complain. Because I love it here. We chose to move here. We chose, though we are way below the poverty line, to not have food stamps or financial aid from the government because we also choose to keep having babies. So we wait on the Lord, trying to just do what He is doing.  So often, I have been in a place of waiting on the Lord to provide. I've seen His provision time and time again, but because I've been there I get weighed down by all the help needed by people in the church. People are straight up struggling.

        By the way, I am not talking about people who choose not to work ever. I'm talking about people who are solidly on the path God has chosen for them and it's an uphill climb. Sometimes they're not working. Sometimes they can't work. Most of the time they are looking for work.

So what happens to us? Do we ever get ahead? Do we ever find ourselves leading a successful ministry that actually creates income so we’re not eating brown rice for the fourth night in a row? I guess in my situation, we're smack dab in the middle of a sowing season. We are investing in our future. This isn't an end all, be all. But I have to ask, do we ever have a house that belongs to us? Furniture that doesn’t fall apart at the seams? Or generate an atomic bomb of dust just by patting it down? I’ve heard Kris Valloton say that in order to plow or labor through a season, we really need to have a vision. Oh boy, how I have conjured up visions for my family. To survive this season mentally I have just told myself that it will not always be like this. One day, oh, one day…houses, mini-vans, a play room, an office....it's all there in my head.

Last night I was reading the kids the Christmas story and I was really struck by something I’ve never thought of before. When the angel met Mary, he told her that she was a “highly favored woman of God.” I love that. I hope God thinks of me that way. As the children’s rendition of the story continued, it highlighted Mary and Joseph searching for “housing” before the baby came into the world. She was a highly favored woman of God, carrying the Messiah, and there was not a special grace for her to deliver Jesus into a suitable inn. There was grace to do it in a cave/stable (depending on what your research turns up). As far as I know, there were no creative miracles of food appearing or the straw already being plumped up into a comfy bed. No, they scrounged. They made a way where it looked like there was no way. Not to mention, this is old covenant, so it’s not like they could check in with the Holy Spirit if they were in the right place at the right time. They just trusted God. As the years went we have a small window into their lives with Jesus. For one, they lost him and were absolutely terrified. Then he preached in Nazareth, and his own brothers didn’t believe he was the Messiah while the others in the community shamed him for being “just Joseph’s son.” Then she watched her son brutally murdered on a cross. I was reading this Christmas story thinking, highly favored woman of God????
What????

It really got me thinking about what it means to serve God. To fight through seasons of absolute drudgery, imagining an end in mind. I thought about all of my dreams that I have for me and my family, and it’s not that I think they won’t happen. I believe in His promises, that as we delight ourselves in Him, we will have the desires of our heart. That we will be given, in this lifetime [along with trials] 100 times more than we have had to give up. I’ve read all that.

My point is, is the simple pleasure of having relationship with Jesus enough? Like Mary. Like John the Baptist [whose parents saw that he had a very special call from God on his life]. Like many others who chose Jesus, and that's all they got. What if the vision that I am pressing towards is JUST JESUS. Is that enough for me to keep pressing on?

I began expressing some of my thoughts to Paul, and he pointed out that Mary was highly favored because God knew He could trust her to trust Him. He knew she would persevere. He knew she would love Jesus with an abandoned heart. That was enough for her. And she was warned up front by Simeon, "This child is destined to cause many in Israel to fall, but he will be a joy to many others. He has been sent as a sign from God, but many will oppose him. As a result, the deepest thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your very soul." Oh Mary, courageous Mary.

     It helped me decide that I just need Jesus. Whatever happens to us, I don't know! I really think we can struggle, and still be highly favored. In fact, maybe God chose this to be our route because He knew we could do it. Just because we’re not skipping down a well-marked, yellow brick road with a giant arrow reinforcing “THIS WAY!”. Instead, we’re just taking one day at a time, keeping our eyes on Him and asking “now what?” There’s glory in that, even if we're scared. Even if we choose the more difficult route by faith alone. There is always glory in trusting God. I've been thinking that maybe stewarding favor is just kicking the butt out of anything that threatens to take our eyes off God, no matter what.

    I know I've already said it, but allow me to reiterate that I know God wants to bless my family. I'm still dreaming of my "stuff," but that can't be what fuels me. Jesus fuels me, beautiful Jesus. Every struggle we overcome with Him brings Him glory and proclaims the truth that He really is enough.

Happy Birthday to Doni

Wednesday went really well considering the circumstances. Thursday went even better. Today is restful in every way, and I am grateful. Tomorrow, my family will fight for peace again.

November 30th is Doni’s birthday. The truth is, a birthday is a hard day to get through after you lose someone because it was a day that you once had the opportunity to celebrate them. Now the injustice of life stolen so soon really looms the closest. You realize how cruel death is just by celebrating birth.

I was thinking yesterday, though I had already blogged so transparently earlier in the week, that I wanted to celebrate my mother in law’s life nonetheless. Much of her married life was spent raising children. Then she was ill with Lyme Disease and Pancreatitis. In the middle of fighting for prodigal children, fighting for the livelihood of her husband’s church in the midst of a politically correct split, then for as long as I’ve known her, fighting for her own life, she was pretty low profile. I think she liked it that way. Of course, I remember her showing up at the church nearly every Tuesday and Friday morning to coordinate and run a food pantry, love on stinky, lost, and broken people. In her time spent bed bound, I remember her watching every you-tube video she could gather on what Mary Beth Chapman was doing in her adoption ministry, what Heidi Baker was accomplishing in Mozambique, and how Natalie Grant was seeing souls changed through her music and ministry. She loved a good testimony. She loved. She loved. She loved.
Now, so did my father-in-law, Wolf. He was the face of a ministry that was truly making an impact for the homeless in Tuolumne County, a revolutionary in terms of his courage to step outside of a trending movement and fight for truth. He was a published author. He stood on years of outreach, attending conferences with popular bishops and spokespersons, and became a sought after speaker in his own community. Sometimes it really saddens me that he and Doni had to share a memorial. Trust me, Doni doesn’t care. You could not convince her to attend to her own needs if another was in need first. But the service was disappointing for me, for her sake. The pastors and bishops that spoke had little connection with Doni, but had formed deep relationship with Wolf over the years. Kind things were said about her, but for those who didn't know her, nothing new was made known.

     I know my blog doesn’t have an enormous amount of traffic, not as much as a newspaper. But I wanted to write a real obituary for her, something that she deserved. I want to say some of the things that should have been said at her funeral, but got overshadowed by the things her husband had accomplished. That’s fine, Wolf deserved it. He was an amazing man, and lover of God. It just isn’t fair for two people to share one funeral, that's all there is to it. Here are things that I felt should have been said.

Doni loved to know what God was doing in other people’s lives. She responded to hope like no one else I had ever known, and never gave up on what others were contending for. She fed off the accomplishments of missionaries who had seen deaf ears open, blind eyes see, and hungry bellies full only by His provision. She gave herself less credit when those who came to the food pantry for extra cans in the pantry left with a surplus of food, new hope and perspective for who God wanted to be in their life. She was an exuberant, life giving audience to have. She could laugh away cares. She could talk her way out of her own pain, convincing everyone that the attack on her life was really about all that God had promised Wolf, to compromise his ministry and platform. It was hard to talk her into fighting for herself because she could not get over the call on her life to serve, to stay low, and fight at the roots. If I could go back, I wouldn’t laugh with her anymore about that. I would tell her how beautiful her dreams were, and I would tell her that she was worth a healing from God-not just everyone, but her, as she seemed to believe. I would see her as a main player, not as a sidelines sitter, as she always lead me to believe about herself. I would think of her as an administrator, as someone flowing with freedom from heaven to pour out on the bound, who prophesied naturally, a healer, and someone with supernatural faith. I didn’t see it then because she spent so much time showing me what others were doing-by the way, she may have seen a deaf ear healed, food multiplying in the food pantry, and demons manifesting at her window and fleeing in the name of Jesus-but what she was seeing was a smidgen of what she wanted to see in her lifetime.

     She dreamed, she dreamed, and she dreamed some more. She was going to sit in the dirt in Mozambique. She was going to serve at Maria’s House of Hope in China. Though she was housebound for much of the time I knew her, she never let her struggles limit what she hoped she could do in her lifetime, the things she dreamed about. It may have limited her immediate ministry, but God always provided the means for that to continue. At home coping with her limitations, she imagined life getting bigger and better. And at the heart of her life getting bigger and better, and closer to her long standing vision, she still hoped to be serving. Just in a third world country this time.

I wish I would have questioned her when she told me she couldn’t write or draw or speak to a congregation. I wish I would have rolled my eyes when she told me her main vision for life was to see her husband and children succeed. I wish I could shake her and tell her how special she was, that all she was doing really mattered. It mattered to me. When I think back to her funeral, it was the culmination of all she had told all of us about herself for so many years- I am in the background, I belong there, I am a servant, and I want to be the least of all. The community might not have seen her very often. She didn’t go to church for months at a time because of her issues. But she did serve, and she did love- I see much of the fruit in the hearts of my children, in how much I miss her just because she was always there, always available to encourage me. In the kingdom of God, that is the most honorable job to have. After I got home from the funeral, I got up the courage to read her notes on face book afresh. I read her “about me” and thought, “that’s so her. No one said that!”  This is who she is to me. Not someone who finished the race in second place behind her impactful husband, but someone with an incredible heart to serve, love, and get as low as she could to meet others where they were at. These were her words:

“I am a lover of souls. Someone who has been saved by grace. A daughter of the most high King, a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a teacher, and a servant of the poor.

     I am an adopted daughter of the most high King. I love my Savior Jesus Christ, my husband, my four children, my daughter-in-law, my son-in-law and my grandson and granddaughter. I love the church where my husband and I have served for 21 years. I am passionately in love with the poor.”

Followed by her favorite quotes, authored by Heidi Baker and Mother Theresa.

I love her, and I miss her. If she were here I would tell her all that and more. That just by serving me and my children, she left a legacy. I want to love my family with all that I am capable of, and more. I want to live an abandoned life to God. I want to serve low. The difference is, I want to serve myself once in awhile. I want to recognize early that a life of servant hood is of great value and a lasting inheritance- I know that now because of her. I want to value myself enough to let others fight for me if I need it, and let God save me if I get so low I can’t come back on my own. I wish I could see her one last time and tell her how much she meant to me- how much I loved her heart, her laugh, and her crazy dreams. I am not one of her children, but have spent countless hours with her, lived with her for months at a time, then again for weeks at winter’s worst. I know her, and if you didn’t, it’s simple.

“Sitting down, Jesus called the Twelve and said, "Anyone who wants to be first must be the very last, and the servant of all." Mark 9:35

She would have never asked for it, or desired it for herself by any means, but in my books she’s the first. I love her so much, Happy Birthday to an amazing woman of God.

A Window into my Grief Journey

 (I wrote this days ago....TODAY is the anniversary. A beautiful day of Thanksgiving preparation!)

It will be here soon. The anniversary - can I even call it something so positive sounding??- of my in-law’s death. I hate that day with a passion.

Just in case you have never had the job of telling the person in your life that you love the most that his or her parents have both been killed in a car accident, I don’t recommend it. It was the most heart-wrenching moment of my entire life. In my family, I found out first because Paul was at school and had no cell phone. In the moment of my greatest weakness, I had work to do. I had to call friends who were local, friends who were far, call my husband’s work and lie about why I needed him to come home as soon as he had arrived. I had to call his 15 year old sister, who didn’t know what had happened yet and tell her that everything was fine because I didn’t know if she was alone or not. What a horrible day. What a freaking horrible day. The next morning my precious husband slept until 9:30 am, definitely a record for that early riser. I remember watching my phone ring over and over and just letting it go because I wanted my husband to sleep. I didn’t know if he’d be able to sleep that well again. When he woke up, we threw clothes together in a bag, and got on the road by lunchtime. The week we spent in Sonora flew by. We were held up so incredibly, selflessly, and flawlessly by our community. So many details stand out to me, but the place my mind was had to be chaos. I’m sure most of the family felt this way, maybe worse, but this is my story. I was confused, lost, and shocked. Absolutely shocked.

     My Mother-in-law, Doni, was a dear friend of mine. I asked my husband last night just before I fell asleep, "remind me what your mom told you after I left California the week I met her." He whispered in my ear, "I love her like she came from my own womb." I am not saying that I am her daughter, or am grieving the same way as the children- my heart grieves for the pain they all feel. I am saying that I lost more than a mother-in-law. I lost one of my best friends, definitely my greatest encourager and prayer covering, and the "Nana" that my children absolutely adored and loved [and their Opa too]. Slowly, slowly the months crept on after I had lost them and I thought I had handled the grieving season well. I don’t think that my life really began to disintegrate until 4 or 5 months after the accident. I have never been in such a dark place in my life. Panic attacks became my norm. Eating disorders. Irrational fear over everything. Depression like I had never known. Dear Jesus, I don’t even know how I crawled out from that place. I was afraid to love, afraid to feel, and afraid to trust God. I was in a culture where people who had faced similar circumstances to what I had known now were saying, “God is good.”

But I couldn’t lift my hands to Him. That’s my story.

         I was angry. I didn’t trust Him with anything and the burden of control was crippling. I remember one day God telling me, “If you can’t worship, could you speak in tongues?” So I did that for Sundays on end. I would just get on my knees and speak in tongues. Sometimes I felt NOTHING. Worship would continue and I would open my  heart little by little. My soul was so broken before Him and I remember thinking that I was just worshiping by faith at this point. I didn’t feel like worshiping. I didn’t feel like feeling. I did it anyway. Slowly I commanded that place of brokenness to take refuge in God. I didn’t feel anything changing, I didn’t feel myself slipping into His grip. I didn’t feel safe. I just decided along the way that either this precious family that was stolen from me was going to ruin my life, or I could just maybe choose truth. Choose to worship. Choose to do scary things-like drive on the interstate, get on an airplane, put pictures up of Doni and Wolf in my home- and trust God to carry me. I chose to let God get into that place in my heart that I didn’t want anybody or anything to touch, ever again. After awhile, I found myself lifting hands in worship and telling God, “I don’t feel you, but I do love you. I don’t trust you right now, but I do need you.” Along the way my depression began to lift, and life began to make sense again. I took time to enjoy my family. I started choosing joy. One day I was making breakfast, playing with the kids and it dawned on me, “I’m happy again. I’m back.” Not that grief wasn’t still part of my life, I just tamed all the uncertainty. I asked God, “How did I make it through that season without regular, professional help?” (I probably NEEDED more help, but didn’t have access to it because of finances and such a busy lifestyle with the children! Thank God for dear friends who had walked through grief themselves!) but God showed me a picture of myself in worship, surrendered. So surrendered. David told his soul to worship God. I realized that’s simply what I had done, even when I didn’t feel anything happening in my heart I still chose to go to God.

This song is new around Bethel, so I hear it a lot. It wrecks me. Take time to listen if you'd like:




I feel like I’ve been able to track my progress in grief by how I respond to this song. Last night, this song played during worship and I danced. I love this song. I cried some, laughed some, and thanked Jesus for His sacrifice. I know that I know that I know where Wolf and Doni are now. I asked God to show me a picture of their grave because I wanted to dance over it. And to me, their grave does not represent death, but my pain. I wanted to dance over my pain, not just for my beautiful Savior who has never let me go, but for my soul to know how far it has come on this journey. During my early grief season, I really feared losing my husband, my children, my parents…anyone that I loved. I can’t say I have won this battle completely, but I will, because I have a revelation of the power of the cross. I know what it means for death to lose its sting. I know Doni and Wolf are alive. I know my God is good, kind, and mighty to save.  I also know that the sting of death doesn’t own me. Grief doesn’t own me.

I am still sad. I call it ‘enduring sadness.’ It’s there, especially this week. I torture myself with thoughts like, I can’t believe I haven’t talked to Doni in a year. It breaks my heart into a million pieces. Now, I acknowledge that pain and take it to God. God, I miss her. I’m hurting. I feel Him now. I hear Him speak. There’s not panic in His voice, or pain, or fear- He’s eternity minded. He knows where she is, He knows she’s safe. It reminds me of when my kids cry about a monster in their closet and as parents we KNOW there is nothing to fear. Or Sonora who cries about an ‘owie’ and we as parents expose it nonchalantly as a smidgeon of dirt. “Oh,” she says, "it's not an ‘owie’!" His perspective is so necessary to get through this season. It has saved me. This isn’t specific wisdom for grief. It’s just where I’ve come from, and where I am now. Jesus has carried me through this like I never knew possible, even when I didn't know I was being carried.

      If you are going through a grief journey, whatever you are doing to get through is normal. That was the most practical advice that I received from others who have walked this path: God is ok with you’re journey, you should be ok with it too. This is all assuming you are allowing yourself to grieve. Just do it. I found myself continuously caught up in the conundrum of grieving and wanting to live as if my days were numbered, which meant I didn't want to be depressed and lazy. Ugh. I just had to let it go. Somewhere in the exhaustion, pain, sleeplessness, and confusion is a glimpse of hope- it’s your own life. You’re still here. Take a deep breath, and live. Above else, what I’ve learned about grief is that Life. Goes. On. And we’re all blessed for it.

Setting Boundaries in Parenting

     I am sick. Again. I cannot get well and every time I say it out loud, my Bethel schooled husband says, “Don’t say that, you’re giving it power!” Yeah, well, I think it’s already got the power. Because I’m sick, dang it! Sickness and motherhood do not mix well. When my kids get scratches, bruises, and scrapes I inevitably think as they meltdown on my lap, “I wish I could trade places with you.” When I have a head cold, I think “I wish you guys could trade places with ME!” Yeah, I know that’s sadistic and whatever but I will happily serve them when I’m healthy. People who have sore throats and snot belong in bed. End of story.
As my kids have gotten older, a new phrase has been coined. It’s usually when Paul walks in the door and I’m still in my pajamas, my hair standing up straight, and arms akimbo at the end of my rope, “They’re just running me!” Allow me to explain.

Kid # 1: Mom, can I have some oatmeal?
Mom: Of course.
Kid # 2: I want oatmeal too, please!
Mom: I’m on it.
Kid # 3: WAAAAH!!! [interpretation: hold me]
Scene: Mom has screaming baby on hip, grappling for plastic bowls and spoons from the cupboard, transferring it all in a colorful plastic chaos closer to the oatmeal. She puts oatmeal into three bowls. Carves out three slices of butter and puts it on oatmeal. Adds chia seeds. Add cinnamon. Drizzles honey. One by one the plates get doled out to the table, and Kid # 3 gets fastened in high chair, which she does not believe in sitting in until food is prepared.

Kid # 1: Mom, this doesn’t have enough honey for me. Can I have just a little bit more, please?
Mom: Sure *Grabs bowl, heads to kitchen to add honey, returns to table*
Kid # 2: Mom, you forgot to give me juice.
Mom: Give me just a minute, baby.
Kid # 3: WAHHHH! [interpretation: feed me faster, woman.]
Kid # 1: I want juice too, Mommy.
Mom: *Gets up to retrieve three juice cups, fills them all with heavily diluted juice and returns to the table*
Kid # 1: Can I get more oatmeal?
Mom: Give me a minute, please.
Kid # 3: WAAAAHHHH! WAAAAAHHHHH!!!! [interpretation: how could you ever stop feeding me?]
Kid # 2: Mom, I need to go pee-pee
Mom: Ok, I will take you, let’s go.
Kid # 2: You forgot to get me more oatmeal!
Mom: I will when I get back.
Kid # 3: “WAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!” [interpretation: I am famished!!!!!!]

Are you tired yet? I am. This is my mornings on occasion. Not every morning, but often enough that I can quote it. This is dinner too, just a little different food. Maybe you’re wondering where my husband is in this? You see, he is an early riser, like my children. Lots of times he feeds them when he is up before 7 am, and on the occasion I crawl out of bed closer to 8:15, then I will begin feeding them a second breakfast of oatmeal around 8:45. So, he’s a good man. He served his time before the sun came up.

Today the Lord spoke to me about boundaries. I’m terrible at them. In the particular situation He spoke to me about boundaries, Jake was hassling [guilt tripping] me to play legos with him. I wanted to. Dear God, I would have done it if I wasn’t doing a million other things. I kept telling him that I wanted to JUST finish dishes. JUST fold a couple clothes. JUST help Sonora change. JUST put the baby down. It did keep adding up, and before I knew it, an hour had gone by and I still hadn’t acknowledged his sweet little heart. Unfortunately, as I moved to sit with him I realized that I was thirsty. Not just a little thirsty, a LOT of thirsty. It was 10:30 and I still hadn’t taken a drink of water for the day. Just a cup of coffee. I was dehydrated, starting to fall apart, and my son was waiting on me. So I sat with him instead of getting water and I started thinking, “I am so mad that Jake doesn’t care enough about me to let me get water for myself. He just wants me to see his stupid legos!!!!” I felt so resentful of my son, and I immediately asked God to help me out. I didn’t want to feel that way, but somehow I found myself hanging onto the end of a rope for dear life, not sure how I got down there. As I consulted the Lord I heard Him correct me, “It’s really not Jake’s fault that you don’t set boundaries.” Even though the Lord always convicts in love, this hit me in a soft spot and it hurt. This is an area in my life that I have often times felt hopeless. I have fished for the root, and I think I located it.

When I was young, I was terrified of the dark, tortured by the enemy in my sleep. My parents took me to the psychologist, got me on medicine, and regularly kept me in touch with counselors. No one knew then it was a spiritual battle. My Mom had some boundaries in place-no sleeping in her room. I co-slept with her when I was younger, but once I was 8-9-10, when my fear really took off, she had already started dating my step-dad and it was no longer appropriate to share a bed with her. At my grandparents house, things were different. I stayed over at their house almost every weekend as I grew up and I loved it. They kept their bedroom open. They invited me, “If you get scared, please come stay with us!” Now, I only saw them 2 days a week, so I’m not faulting my mom for keeping her door closed. It was just life. At my grandparents, I had full access to anything I wanted. Even though I can look back on that time now and understand my mom’s boundary and its purpose, then I thought, “my grandparents know how to make me feel safe.” Thus began a long parenting journey of believing the healthiest possible parenting tool I had going for me was giving my kids full access to my life.

It doesn’t work.
It will kill you.
You will find yourself despising the tiny little army that follows you to the bathroom, into the shower, into the bedroom every night, and hanging onto your ankles as you try to go out by yourself- THE ONCE A WEEK TIME YOU GET OUT BY YOURSELF. If you teach them they have full access to you, they expect it. I have often joked that my kids think that the Bible verse, “Knock and the door will be opened to you” means that if the door is locked, and I am in the bathroom, I will open it if they annoy me enough. You see, when I had one kid, this worked. When I had two kids, I survived this. Now that I have three children, I am JUST NOW starting to understand that I need to put some personal boundaries in place that protect my needs.
I meet their needs. That means loving them. Cuddling them. Disciplining them. Serving them nutritious meals, taking them outdoors, doing fun and meaningful activities with them outside of the home. I have really happy children. But you better believe that once I popped out that 3rd child, I started to use the word NO.
Can we have more juice? “NO”
Can we have another piece of cheese? “Nope.”
Will you get me a cracker? “When I go back into the kitchen.”

I don’t know what perverted sphere of society has taught us that children can have everything they want, when they want it. I bought into it, and I remembered a tiny fragment of my childhood that reinforced, “boundaries are evil things.” I sat on the couch a couple days ago and watched 4 hours of TV. It’s true. My throat was sore, my muscles ached from my shoulders to my feet. I served breakfast, morning snack, lunch, and an afternoon snack. To my surprise, my kids survived a day of the word ‘no.’ They survived, and not only did they learn that they are not entitled to every single one of their selfish little kid whims [though I love my kids, and it pleases me to bless them], they learned that mom doesn’t dehydrate herself, or starve herself, or push herself to the brink of exhaustion when she’s sick. She takes care of  herself. I think that’s a better lifestyle lesson for them to learn, as opposed to the “ask and you shall receive” principle. I really don’t think that verse applies to an abyss supply of snacks, and access to mommy in the bathroom.
Here are some tips I have to setting healthy boundaries with my kids:

1) I announce when I’m in the kitchen or bathroom, “Does anyone need anything in here?” A schedule would be ideal, but eh, it’s not my thing.

2) Sacrifice your sanity by letting your kids help you do things around the house. Do it. Let them spill the juice as they pour it into their cup, use gobs and mounds of peanut butter as they make their own sandwiches, and put groceries away in the oddest of places. There is purpose to all of this: they are learning some self-sufficiency. Whenever my almost 6 year old asks me to dress him we have an awkward moment of silence where I challenge him to a stare down. I’m not dressing a 6 year old [unless I am in a hurry!]. It’s important he learn to do these things, it’s part of growing up. If you make this all fun when they are little, helping won’t be a “chore” as they grow up.

3) I think it is a good habit in life to learn to say ‘no’ without explaining yourself. It’s part of being a healthy adult, or something like that. I, however, think it’s important to explain it to your children. They are learning about boundaries from you so it’s a good thing to say, “I can’t get you another cracker right now because I was just in the kitchen, and I plan to fold laundry for 15 minutes. How will I ever finish laundry if I keep having to stop?” The boundary can go the other way too, "Yes, I would love to see what you drew so I am going to put my word puzzle down, and I can do it later when I'm not with you."

4) Value yourself. What are your needs as a human being? Do you know them? Figure them out. My husband has a much shorter fuse than I do because he’s an introvert. Little people all-day-long start making him plum crazy. I don’t take a lot of day trips for that reason. I, however, will start to escape [sit on face book] when the kids start “running me.” That is a major trigger for me to feel overwhelmed. Sometimes when it gets really crazy I *gasp* put a clingy  baby in the crib for 10 minutes so I can JUST get dinner started. I carry my baby a lot, and love her dearly. Boundaries will not make her feel unloved, they will reassure her of my love in the long run. Do you know why I started this? One time she was clinging to my hip and she lunged at the counter and spilled a glass jar. Just a huge mess, but it COULD have been a hot pot. That crib boundary is for her AND me.

 I am learning this. It’s my journey. Teach yourself how to have healthy boundaries, and teach it to your kids. It is a really important life skill to have.

**We’re all getting this, right? Never would I imply to not meet your children’s needs because mom is sick, or tired, or thirsty. Just take care of yourself. Parenting is a laid down life of sacrifice, but there is no reason why we can’t enjoy the process and learn some life lessons along the way.

Do Hard Stuff

      Several days ago I was teaching Jake a new letter of the alphabet. Everyday we learn a letter and I design some accompanying activity to ensure they go outside.

Day 1: “Today, we learn ‘O.’ It spells OUTSIDE. Now go outside.”
Day 2: “Today, we learn ‘D.’ It spells DIRT, which is outside.”
Day 3: “Today we learn ‘H.’ It spells HEDGEHOG, which is an animal that lives outside, in the dirt. Now go outside.”

By  now, you have caught onto my scheme. I’m not sure how I gave birth to such “indoorsy” munchkins, but I want them to experience the great outdoors like I did as a child. Surely I’m not the only parent raising children in a technology charged culture, reminiscing about how much simpler my life was! Anyway, I am a fan of the outdoors and I plan on training my children to follow in my stead. I don’t make them go outside, I inspire them to go outside. See?

The other day Jake was learning the letter ‘S.’ He couldn’t quite get it- which is ok, I’ve decided not to fret if he cannot write a letter, it’s more important he gets the sound down. But we still trace and try. He dropped his head onto the table and sighed, “this is really hard.” I’m not sure where this came from, but I intentionally got down on his level and stared into his soul, “Jake, I know it’s hard. The good news is, you can do really hard stuff.” I realize that there is a book called “Do Hard Stuff” written for teenagers, and I’ve never read it. I, however, love the concept. Once it spilled out of my mouth, I have found myself speaking it over my kids almost every day. I encourage myself with it as I attempt to scale a Mt. Everest of laundry, “Summer, you can do hard stuff.”

Just yesterday I was reading another mom’s blog where she poured out her heart. She was having a bad day, week, month, year and it was all because parenting children is HARD. I totally get it. I read those blogs and smile because I know I am not alone. On the other hand, since I’ve been telling myself that I can do hard stuff, the blog tempted me to feel sorry for myself in my weakness. I saw all the comments telling this mom that they felt the same way, “AMEN!” The only solutions she posed were to have quiet time with God every day. I’m sorry, I guess I get the "Bad-Christian-Mom-of-the-Year" award because that is not my goal. That doesn’t mean I don’t pray, or pick up my Bible before I homeschool….but I don’t plan ANYTHING for my day, except to maybe get dressed, feed my kids three meals, teach them how to say and write one letter from the alphabet, and pray with them. My whole day eventually adds up to that. My point is, parenting is hard.

     But, so what? You were made to do hard stuff. That is why Jesus died to send us the Holy Spirit, who is also called “helper.” He also teaches us things, like how to parent. I really believe that as parents, we have what we need to get through the day. Just what we need to get through- sometimes an abundance, sometimes nothing more. Living on the edge of having your needs met or falling just below and being desolate is hard. It’s scary. BUT, we can do it. The more you succeed in walking that line and looking to Heaven and knowing that you will be ok, the easier it gets. When you are trudging through a season that is heavily taxing, keep trudging with a mission. Those seasons have fruit. If you have a season where you have been heavily investing, you will have a harvest. You will probably have another task you are working on, but you won’t be potty training forever. You won’t be training your kids to behave in a store forever. Just because your 4 year old is a “biter” doesn’t mean your 6 year old will be a biter. It will end.

I hold a baby 75% of the day, and “touched out” is an understatement. I have a child with physical touch as a love language, and another as quality time. I will intentionally “fill their love tank,” and an hour later, they are hanging on me like little monkeys. This has been my latest battle. Sometimes I wishtand all the touching because they need me, and sometimes I teach boundaries. Like as I write this blog, I have wiped a toddler's poop, and wiped two pee-pees. I, however, am not getting up to fix a snack for them right now. 15 more minutes children! It’s hard. But, I can do hard stuff. I also have a strong-willed daughter, you can read about her here. Doing battle requires a certain level of discernment and I usually lean towards avoidance. Sometimes I need to engage and I really don’t want to. Just last night she had a tantrum and I hauled her to her room with the charge that she could come out when she wasn’t screaming. It was hard to stop what I was doing [making dinner] and handle her, but I can do hard stuff. I have the Holy Spirit.

I really want to encourage moms to start believing that you have what you need to do this well. This job of raising young ones is intensive, but isn’t there something in the Bible about His grace being perfected in our weakness? I have to say, that is the story of my life! It has even helped me move from a rehearsed mantra of “I can do hard stuff,” to “God, I want to do hard stuff. What else do you have for me? Another baby? Another move? An identity crisis? A sibling battle? Bring it on!”

I don't know who you are, but you will be ok. You will taste the fruit of this season of sowing. This lifelong mission of sowing into your children. And when you do, you will sit back with the sweetness and be glad that you took the risk to engage in something really difficult and succeeded. You can do it!

Their Real Worth

 
     Last week, I backed myself into a corner. I do it all the time. My kids each have one diaper left per each of them and that means…that means…oh, I can hardly bear to say it.


Wal-mart.

It’s time to go to Wal-mart. I hate that place. It’s not just Wal-mart, it’s Costco too. And every other store that challenges me to my core. I have to be very intentional about sorting through needs and wants, while trying my darndest to stick to a list. Last week, I had to get the kids diapers, wipes, and do some grocery shopping. Per our budget, I usually jump around to a couple stores before my shopping is finished, but I try to knock out certain staples at Wal-mart. This last week my husband came along to help shepherd the children, and in typical husband fashion, he played my conscience, “Do you need that? Why are you getting that? Do you usually get that?”  We were in the check out line and as the prices of certain items appeared in neon green on a screen, I cringed. I usually don’t think like this, but in a moment of weakness I thought it,

Having kids is so freaking expensive.

I mean, we bought diapers, wipes, fifty million snacks to get us through the week, new panties for Sonora because hers get eaten [lost] in the laundry, and a new cup for the baby since I left hers at church, and now we’re getting into the $100 range. It’s enough to make any budgeting family clench their jaws real hard and wonder how we do this every month and survive. It’s enough to remind me what all I had to say ‘no’ to.
It must have been the Holy Spirit in me because I was having a total flesh centered moment here as the screen added up our purchases. I looked at my kids and heard this, “Considering their worth, they really don’t cost you that much.” 
I put the brakes on in my mind to chew on that.
        The prices we pay for stuff are based on their value. Nice house, functioning vehicle, food, diamond ring- everything has worth and a price to match. When I saw my kids with a price tag next to them (which is what I was doing by complaining about what they cost me), it was really fast that I began to wipe that notion from my mind.

The truth is, children do cost money. They are not free to raise, even with help from the government [just to ward off any snide comments]. I am especially blessed because I belong to a very generous family that purchases a good portion of my children’s clothes, and gifts for holidays. And still, my kids cost me...because you have to calculate babysitters, and take-out on the days that I just couldn't get dinner done! Hold on though, my children are worth it. In fact, you can have anything of mine, anything material if I had to give it, but I would never want to part with my children. Isn’t it ironic? I complain about what my children cost me because I have to sacrifice things of lesser worth to afford them. The heart issue here is that I take my children for granted. I don’t stop to realize what they are really worth to me, or worth to God.

      Our culture (even some churches) places so little value on children, and you know why? Because their parents do. It starts there. Parents do not invest the time into disciplining and molding their children [because they aren’t worth the time] and then we have a generation of little terrors, that understandably, others are hesitant to spend time with. It really makes me sad that even though I was valued by my parents, I still bought into the lie that overall, children are not worth that much. They’re a dime a dozen. People keep having them. They can’t afford them [or can they? They just choose to spend their money on other things].  Now they are the government's "problem." And we just know how much people LOVE paying taxes that will eventually pay for other people's children!

The truth is, considering the value and worth my children hold, they are inexpensive. They cost me little. If their lives were in danger, I would sell everything to care for them. That’s just talking about their value when held up against a monetary system. The Bible says our children are our protection. The Bible says our children are a defense against the enemy. The Bible says I have no chance of understanding God’s kingdom without watching my children and behaving out of the same innocence they possess. The Bible says that one of the harshest punishments that will be doled out is on those who lead children astray.

I think one of the grievous things that parents [and society] can do to lead children astray is to let them know they are not worth what they cost. What a horrible lie. I’m so glad God caught me that day, pitying myself as I meditated on a lie that has penetrated our society to its core. The problem is not the children, it is so far from the children….it is selfishness, entitlement, and zero self-control. These things though, they are just fillers. These are just things people have taken on, demons society has established to bandage up the problems of rejection and of course, low self-worth. God help me if I ever look at my children again and think they cost too much.

Thirty Years Later

       When I met my husband, he was 24 years old. That is just adorable, I think. He was so young, and what a hunk! I was 21 years old. Now, we are almost 6 years into knowing one another and we are nothing like our early twenties selves. Thank God, right? Here we are then: 

And now, 

Man, my guy ages well!

My husband, Paul, has been through a difficult year. His parents were killed in a car accident in November, and though we all felt the sting on a personal level, I have watched my husband’s journey in the front row. He has been an unwavering pillar of strength for me and our children. There were many times that he held me together, though he was the one who lost his parents. In the past couple of months we found ourselves in the darkest pit of our lives, without our most encouraging friend- his mother! Any of you who knew his mom, you KNOW we lost a great lady. Several months ago Paul told me that he wishes I could encourage him like his mother did. I seriously wish I could too. I wish I could see the good in everything, and praise the outcome of a trial before I even saw it. I wish I could make a big deal of even the smallest thing God was doing, instead of being weighted beneath a burden. She was really good with words and my husband loves being complimented, so the two of them were just a match made in love language heaven.
I have tried to encourage him with, “you know…they say sons marry women like their mothers!” but the truth is, aside from liking really cheesy movies and books, I’m not nearly as jubilant, joyful, and encouraging as she was. Still, in her stead I want to say that Paul, you are doing a really good job. You have handled this past year like a champion. You are my champion. You are strong, courageous, full of wisdom and truth. You are loyal, trustworthy and my favorite thing about you is how much you CARE. Your heart is so big, and I am grateful for the man you are, and the man you are becoming.
There, that was my heart. I have to be intentional to say that, I know. I hope this isn’t strange but sometimes when I’m really sad, I remember the life and light your mom brought to me. I read the messages she wrote to you, and to me, and look over pictures repeatedly. I decided to go back on facebook and see what she had written you on your birthday and copy it down. So here it is: three facebook posts from the past three years on your birthday, put together and reordered into a letter. NOTHING was added to this, NOTHING was taken away (not even an exclamation point or five!). I can’t be her, and I can’t bring her back, but I just remember…I do my best to remember what she meant to you, and how much you meant to her (and your Dad). It gives me hope, it gives me peace, and it makes me love you more. It makes me love not just my beautiful husband with dreams and aspirations for the next season of our lives, but to love her son. Her son, whom she believed with all of her heart would change the world. I agree with her, by the way.


     To My Beautiful Boy,
Although you are a man, to this mama I will always see that beautiful boy God gave me the day you were born. I so love the man, husband, father you have become. But most of all I am so blessed by the man of God you are!! No two parents could be more blessed than we are to have a son seeking God's own heart in order to serve Him the best!! We are so, so blessed by the man you have become. We love you so much!! We love you!! Although we miss you terribly, we know that you are exactly where you are suppose to be!  And we are so thankful that you have found such JOY in the place HE has called you to. Blessings, my darling son. And may you CHOOSE to SEE Him in ALL that you do! May you continue to SEE Him in all that you do!! Happy Birthday Son!! Happy Birthday son. I hope you have a wonderful day. And may you continually seek your Heavenly Father's heart!!
I love you, Mom

Sweet and Spicy: Surviving a Strong Willed Child

       

       I am not exactly sure when I just knew I was in trouble. My first child, Jake, was easy. He had a tantrum or two, bit daddy once, and it took us a week of consistency to teach him to sleep in a toddler bed. Big deal. Our second child, a daughter, was quite different. As an infant she screamed any time I put her down. When she was 3 months old I ordered a Moby wrap because a friend told me that it was easy on the back and I would conveniently be able to carry her everywhere I went. I ordered the Moby wrap and it came…only it was blue, not the purply indigo I had ordered. I complained and the company was willing to exchange it, but then I would have to live without it for another week while the situation was mended. Wait a week….wait a week…I sobbed on the phone with customer service. You don’t understand people, this child is killing me. Can you overnight it?? I will pay you ONE MILLION dollars!                               
                                            Yep, that's when I knew I was in trouble.

This determination on her part carried over into toddlerhood. We were glorified spankers of our first child (you know, the 10 spankings he has gotten his entire life). Then Sonora met the wooden spoon. After a spanking she would just scream and throw things. We would spank again. There was no heart change from her, just rage. She’s a lot of rage. A lot of fury. I can think of seasons in our lives where every single day, multiple times a day, she screamed in a heap on the floor.
Not now though, or at least, not most of the time. Now she is sweet and lovely, passionate about  princesses and dolls, playing legos with her brother and helping me in the kitchen. Her and I went out to the mall yesterday and then out to Outback Steakhouse for an afternoon snack. She ordered a side of regular fries and another of the sweet potato variety. The “yellow ones” were salty and spicy, while the “orange ones” had a honey glaze. She looked up at me with her big brown eyes and smiled, “Hey Mom, these fries are spicy, and these are sweet.” I thought it was ironic that she had chosen this appetizer for us because it occurred to me that if Sonora was a meal- in whatever hypothetical world my daughter could morph into a food dish, she would be something really, really spicy with a piece of pie on the side. I think there was a time in our lives where she was 85% really difficult and 15% “normal.”. Then we moved onto to 50/50. Now I would say that we have swapped the original statistic. We fight battles 15% of the time….and oh.my.goodness, she can wear two grown ups slap OUT in under an hour. I know there are moms with children that have been coined as “strong willed” and they need encouragement. I totally get that.

I have come out swinging through a thicket of hopelessness, and let me say, I have a feeling I am coming out ahead. Sometimes I’m not sure, but we have had a good year under our belt and have learned what work for us. I am no expert on raising a strong willed child, but I can say that I’ve survived the first three years of mine’s life and I do have some tips. Some of them are straight out of parenting books and I will be the first to give them credit. I should also add that I did not do this alone. I had lots of insight from my mom, close friends, and of course, the experts. Here is what has worked for me:

1) Stay Calm, and Give Options .
This is a home runner in the Love and Logic books- which I highly recommend. Your kid needs to know that they are not “too much” for you too handle. Don’t lose it. Don’t determine that the problem needs to be solved in that moment if you can’t handle it. For us, we made a list of things (ok, a mental list) of what was acceptable in our house. Anything that isn’t, the kids have the option of going outside. Just now I heard hammering in the back bedroom and since my youngest is taking a morning nap I ran back there to see what my children were doing. Of course, it was Sonora beating the wall. I said, “Sonora, you are welcome to hammer outside. Want me to help you with that backdoor?” She didn’t want to move outside, so the hammering stopped. Before this works, you have to follow my number two tip.

2) Establish Boundaries.
This is not the fun part, trust me. But it is the tip you have to follow if you want some authority. Sonora stopped hammering because she knows that if she doesn’t stop beating the wall indoors, I will throw her over my shoulder and carry her to the backyard. It doesn’t matter if it’s raining and 50 degrees out. I will toss her a jacket and socks. She knows that when I give the option, “It’s time to be quiet, or you can play outside,” that if she continues being loud, I will follow through on my end. So yes, I’m going to say it, the famous strong willed child adage- BE CONSISTENT.

3) Decide what’s really important to you.
There are times where I make a threat, and don’t follow through because it really isn’t that worth it to me. James Dobson says that with these kids, you can really just stick to moral issues to do battles over (like hitting, lying, disobeying parents, ect). I fight the “be quiet in your bedroom” battle when the baby is sleeping, but otherwise, not so much. I fought the bedtime battle because I needed time with my husband. It took us about 3 months of teaching Sonora to sleep in a toddler bed without getting up. THREE MONTHS!!!  It makes me laugh now because she gaily skips to her bed each night. I don’t usually fight the clothing battle…like when she dresses herself in multiple mismatching colors. I also didn’t fight the potty training battle with great fervor because she was fighting back. So I backed down and let her do what she was going to do. She is 3 ½ and just now 100% potty trained. Oh, but be warned parents, when the strong willed child does something, they do it with the same determination that they didn’t do it before. She is already waking up in the middle of the night, waking ME up to help her go potty because she cannot wipe on her own. I have whimpered, “just go in your diaper…,” but that is beyond her at this point.
I really struggle the most with this one because sometimes I pay the price of her decision. Like when I don't fight the nap time battle and she’s so grumpy that I can’t take her out in public , or I don't make her change into real clothes and everyone in public is looking at her like she’s homeless.  Boo...you live and you learn.

4) Love them through their storm.
I think if a parenting “expert” saw me doing this, they would call me crazy. There are times when I ask Sonora not to do something, and she gets mad. Really mad. She changes the entire atmosphere of the house. One time I tried this parenting tip. When everything is unwinding in your house, just stop and ask God what He is doing in your children’s life. How does He see your child in that moment? Sonora was raging one time and ran to her room. As she slammed the door, I swear my entire house shook. I was mad at her, but I’ll give credit to the Holy Spirit on this one…I just stopped. I tip-toed to her room and cracked the door open. She was laying in her bed, beating her pillow. I just began seeing her for what she was- a very strong girl, who so desperately wanted her way, but it wasn’t going to happen. That is frustrating. So I went to her, knelt by her side and asked her if we could talk. She wouldn’t even look at me. When I touched her, she shrieked like a tea kettle and I wondered briefly if she was going to need deliverance instead of discipline. I just leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “I love you, baby.” She turned away from me, but I kept on, “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.” She STILL ignored me, but she wasn’t screeching anymore. I climbed in her bed next to her and pulled her into my chest, “I love you, Sonora. Nothing you ever do will keep me from loving you.” I believe with all of my heart that when we are at our worst as human beings, this is how God brings us home. Not with boundaries, or that word “consistency” or ten commandments. He just holds us and loves us. He understands that the weight of the consequences of the decisions we make are painful. Sonora had driven herself outside the confines of community- that was already not fun. Making a point is not fun. I saw tremendous success in this approach. I’ve done this a couple times now, and both times the fight has ended with her curled up on my lap crying. The worst thing that can happen is for ME to become the “bad guy.” Bad decisions are the bad guy. Bad attitudes. I am the one she can come to when it gets really hard, and the only way I know to facilitate that is to be consistent not just with my boundaries, but with my love.

5) Parent from relationship.
This can be difficult early on, but now that Sonora is 3 years old, it is way easier. I yearn for her to be in right relationship with me, especially when I discipline. When she’s being disagreeable, we’ll say, “You can go to your room (or outside)  and do that, or I can carry you there.” When we carry her away from us because of her behavior, it’s not fun. The first time I put her in her bedroom to “stew” she stayed there for almost two hours. She was two years old. She can absolutely come out when she’s ready to behave, but she chooses not to. Now, after 15 minutes I will go pursue her. “Sonora, I miss you. Please come be with us, our family is not the same with you. I know you didn’t like your dinner so you upchucked it all over the table and I had to take it away and then you screamed and threw your stainless steel juice cup at my face, but that doesn’t change the fact that dinner is not the same without you.” My mom figured this one out with Sonora. Sometimes she is too strong for her own good! Now, if she chooses not to be happy and stay in her room forever and a day, I will go get her because I miss her and she needs to know that. Sometimes she will be grumpy around me but I just keep her close and remind her that she needs to be happy because that makes me happy. In the meantime, when all is well, I am cultivating this relationship with her. Her love language is physical touch, so I give back rubs almost every night.


If you are parenting a very strong child, it is completely doable. Don’t let society tell you otherwise. I think there has a been a big deal made about really strong children- like this “UH-OH- Watch out!” complex, so when parents began seeing their young children act up repeatedly they start feeling that dread that maybe they have a strong willed child. In my opinion, all children have areas where they are strong willed. Even my beyond easy son can be VERY serious about his lego creations getting demolished by his youngest sister, and have a tantrum.

There are the kids like Sonora though, passionate to the core, especially about controlling her own life. The thing a parent of an up and coming strong willed child needs to know is that you cannot control them. You absolutely cannot control them. You just facilitate the environment.

They won’t share their toy with their brother? That’s fine, they can go play alone in their room. Screaming will probably ensue, be warned.
They won’t eat the dinner you served? I usually offer one more option (some leftover I have in the fridge), and if they aren’t interested, they can hang out with us at the table or go play- but dinner is over.
They won’t leave the mall when you’re ready to go? Set the timer on your phone for five minutes, and that’s what time you are leaving. When the timer goes off, they can either walk beside you or be carried over your shoulder. What would they like to do?
See where I am going with this? It’s Love and Logic style. At  8:00, it IS bedtime in our house. If she’s not ready for bedtime, she can go outside of our house.

I definitely have my struggles.  We didn’t start reading Love and Logic until last year, so we’re still piecing it together and figuring out what works for us. But I can say that the atmosphere in our home change dramatically when we stopped fighting her, figured out what was really important (James Dobson logic), calmed down, and made it a passionate point of ours to love her through her pain.
For awhile, our season of struggle was potty training. It was her dressing herself in wackiness. Now those are areas of victory (or areas I just gave up on and they resolved themselves!).
For now, we are stressing about her nap time, which she insists it is time to give up. There is hope, I have found that to be the ultimate truth. My goal is not to change her, but to embrace her strength and help her to do the same. I don’t fret anymore, I just thank God that He was willing to entrust me with such a firecracker. I guess none of us really chooses to eat spicy fries with honey glazed ones on the side, just like we don’t choose to have a strong willed child. Sonora ordered the crazy combination yesterday and I have to say, once I tried it, I found it to be satisfying and addicting, and I couldn’t get enough. I feel the same way about my sweet and spicy little girl who is [apparently] out to change the world. If you find yourself parenting a strong willed child, enjoy it. It is a journey full of challenges, but also multiple miracles and victories. Who doesn’t want to live a life of miracles?

Cultured Grace: The Story of my Life

     
God put this dream in my heart over a year ago for a blog of my own. I love my blog, really. It is healthy for me to sit and rest, reflect and write. To my readers, I thank you. Even if I had no readers, I would still write because, wait, there it is...peace flooding my soul now. 

Several months ago I was peeking in on sauerkraut that sat on my counter and I was waiting on it to culture (or ferment!). I saw the bubbles making their way up my jar and I knew a beautiful process was underway. I don’t know why I formed a metaphor in my head, but I did. It was a day where I was literally subsisting on God’s grace with my children, and with myself. If you don’t read my blog often, I will start off by telling you that last year my husband was unemployed.  We determined we could be poor anywhere, right? So we moved closer to a school and church our family was interested in. I was 35 weeks pregnant. I had the baby exactly 5 weeks after we moved. It was not the most brilliant idea we have ever had, though I firmly believe God birthed it all in our hearts.

Who does He think we are? Superheroes???
       
       Apparently! It was hard. Six weeks after we moved, a crushing tragedy plagued our family. My husband’s parents were killed in a car accident. Not just my in-laws, my precious friends whom I deeply loved. Since this whirlwind I have been recovering from grief, postpartum depression, and an immense homesickness- both for my parents and family located in North Carolina, and a family that I married into, one I will not see again until the other side of eternity. We were probably 6 months past the tragedy and I was making sauerkraut because I was hoping that its magical healing powers would combat my depression and I wouldn’t have to retreat to medicine. I kept an eye on my sauerkraut as the days went on and that’s when I realized that my life looked like this. Really, I invite God’s grace into my life and day by day it consumes me. Every part of who I am, and what I do with my children. The phrase “cultured grace” popped into my head, and I’ve meditated on it ever since, waiting for the URL to be MINE. Here’s to dreams coming true!

That’s my story, my entire story in a nutshell. I am who I am because of His grace working in me. That’s the thing about the kingdom, it grows. Jesus said that the kingdom of God is like yeast in bread…you insert a little, and you get a lot. I think God was thinking of motherhood when He invented this concept!

I used to watch "Supernanny" when Jake was a toddler and Sonora was a baby. I recorded the episodes and watched them during quiet time every day. These situations really spoke to me because I could see that the parents wanted the best for their children and somehow their efforts were incredibly unfruitful. It put such fear in my heart for when my children were older.

What if I do my best, and it isn't good enough?

I felt like my kids were not quite to the “Supernanny age" so I didn't know how I would measure up. A couple days ago I was remembering my old quiet time habit (back when I had a consistent quiet time) and I watched my children play. Typically I am a professional at slandering myself but there was no denying the truth in that moment- I have really great children. Maybe it’s a little early to brag, I get that.  Still, I am taking a victory where I can! I certainly do not have everything figured out…ok, I have very little figured out…but I am doing a good job at this. Wow. I have awesome children who love each other, love Jesus like crazy, and respect me. It’s like I can take a deep breath and just rest in the fact that I’m not doing this alone, His grace consumes what I do. It has from the very beginning.

I have definitely yelled at my kids. I have raged. I have screamed, hit, spanked too hard, and bawled my eyes out in regret. I have been cruel on purpose, parented with fear tactics, and even shamed them. I hate that so much about myself. I used to yell everyday. Now, I can’t remember the last time I yelled. I can’t remember the last time I even popped them, or had to spank for straight up rebellion. That’s the amazing quality of grace- you can do a couple things wrong and still get the results He's looking for. All the while you are learning, growing, and receiving from a good Father. He shows us what this can look like when we take the time to ask. I do not always get quality time with God like I want, but the other day I was getting ready for an outing and sneakily disappeared into my bedroom for four minutes to pray on my knees. I asked God what He was doing in my kid’s lives that day and how I could help. He told me to LOVE them every moment. What a charge! I seriously had to ask what that would look like. To be intentional with my love is to recognize that Holy Spirit lives in me, and when I speak to my children, touch them, look them in the eyes, I can intentionally connect His heart to theirs. I thought about it…what if I really believed that every time I spoke to my children, Jesus was ministering to them? It has really encouraged me to go out of my way to touch them. I scratch their backs, stroke their cheeks, and give them a firm “hand squeeze” as they cross my path. I make it a point to look in their eyes when they are sharing a story with me.

My point is really that I don’t do this perfectly, but what I am intentional with, God will multiply.  Grace is not an excuse to mess up, for you or your children (I am hearing my son’s voice in my head, “Moooom, give me grace!" while trying to escape discipline!), but an invitation to do better next time. It is an invitation to humility and repentance- two very good friends of mine. It is recognizing that wherever you are struggling as parent is precisely where victory is on its way (Graham Cooke wisdom, right there!).

So that’s my charge to you: Be intentional. Keep them alive, and love them every moment (keeping in mind that love sometimes involves discipline). That’s my monumental parenting advice. FYI, it's the opposite of performance parenting, which I would compare to the yeast of the pharisees. Paul says that if we follow the law perfectly, what use is there for grace? I had to insert that just so I could say [as I sit in my pj's, way beyond ever catching up with laundry or dishes or homeschooling], I will TAKE the grace, Jesus!!! Trust me….or trust Him rather. As a mother of great children, I give Him the glory. I look at my kids and have a picture of myself just leaning into, sometimes just resting on what God is doing. It’s not easy on days where an invisible God can get lost in the chaos of raising children, but if you stop and focus, He’s usually right in the midst of it offering all the grace you need to get to their quiet time. And then to bedtime. A little bit of live yeast grows a beautiful loaf of tasty, satisfying bread. Hold out your hand and ask for it, God is more concerned with your children’s future than you are. Got it? Good. Now let’s get to raising children to His glory!