Tonight I confessed to my Bible study girls around our little table that sometimes my heart isn't in mothering. I was speaking from experience. Read: today. Last night, I stayed up seriously contacts-glued-to-my-eyes late. Then, my wake up call was Xavier's hungry cry...thus, no quiet time and thus, no Perspective. And all day I was tired, craving sugar and a bit short.
I DO have a point. I promise.
All that to say that I NEED my heart to be in mothering! The days I want to shut the kids up with artificial babysitters (read Tag and tv) are the days that no ones' real needs are met.
Recently I listened to John Eldredge's Desire conference which is free on his podcast itunes site for download. (Get thee hence. AMAZING. I've mentioned it in another post.) He entreated us to live with our hearts alive and to have vocations spring out of that. Yes, But. Some of us are called to vocations that are dear to the Lord's heart like mothering which sometimes is more a test of endurance and rarely makes my heart skip faster. (Though come on Summer...cuddling with the little creatures on the couch tonight was definitely a sweet moment.)
A dear older mother I know from another church listened to me last September share about the 1 and 4 am feedings. "Does he go right to sleep?" "Yes, thank goodness" "Oh" she smiled, "then it just gives you enough time for a quick little cuddle." Hmmmmm I was sleep deprived and exhausted on many levels. In response to her sweetness I have to say my not so Christian first inclination was to react snarkily and then I determined that a change in my mindset would indeed make life easier. "Take every thought captive" and all that.
I want my heart to be engaged in mothering. I NEED my heart engaged in mothering.
There's a little yellow flower that Much Afraid in Hinds Feet on High Places meets in the Valley of Loneliness (or some such place) who has grown right up under a drainpipe, catching a drink from the occassional drip. Much Afraid is surprised to find a lovely flower in a desert and asks, "What is your name, little flower?" The flower replies, "I am Acceptance with Joy."
Acceptance with Joy. That can only be a purely supernatural way of being. Acceptance with Joy can only come through the Holy Spirit, a type of transmutation of fruit, an apple/pomegranate/plaintain: peace, joy, gentleness, etc.
Yes. Sometimes we don't get to choose our circumstances but joy and acceptance I CAN choose. I can choose to lift up my heart along with my little yellow face and look for the drip knowing that if it has come from my Lord, it WILL BE ENOUGH! He is always enough.
I can abide in the Vine and He promised that He will abide in me and there...there is where my life comes from and how my heart will be engaged. And that is not optional. It is essential.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Fighting on the Winning Team
I just finished watching The Blind Side and was struck like everyone else in America by the courage of Michael Oher's white Mama. She was a Champion for her family, marching into the darkness packing heat (in a quilted Chanel purse, no doubt.)
A week ago I met the Blind Side character's African parallel. She entered the store front Kalamazoo Prayer Clinic after us, walked in and sat down purposefully. Without much small talk she went straight to prayer and started to fight for her son. After a few minutes in prayer, we gathered that her son was having a difficult time in school and the teachers were becoming a part of the problem. Her son was losing confidence in his gifts. She prayed down all his opposition the way Sandra Bullock as Leigh Anne Tuohy confronted the drug dealers of inner city Memphis.
She prayed with passion and directness and a week later I still remember this:
She prayed that Christ's blood would cover her son as a protection. Christ's blood, she said, would remind the evil one of his defeat at the cross and his final defeat at the second coming. (Revelations 12:11)
She prayed against those who would try to diminish her son against the will of God. "He is filled with the Holy Spirit and with fire. I pray anyone who touches him against the will of the Father would be burned, and their work turned to ashes."
She prayed in her great African Alto voice using his long African name (that I could never quite catch) that his character would match his name.
With fervor she did battle in that small back room of the prayer clinic until she was prayed out. Her smile afterward said that she knew her Redeemer had heard and was fighting for her. "And how can we pray for you," she asked us when the hard work had been done.
My prayer partner and I got into the car and looked at eachother with triumph, "That boy is going to be just fine," we said at the same time. How could he not be, we wondered aloud with a mama championing him and confident before the throne of heaven. (Hebrews 4:16 Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need. NIV)
I want to be her. I don't want to be caught playing the victim in self-pity or angry and cynical. I want to pray without ceasing.
I recently learned to have my husband's back, to pray for him early, as he walks out the front door, and late as he's falling asleep, my hand on his back. I've learned as another fierce mama I know advised me around Christmastime, to go to his Boss first if we are having a disagreement, then wait for the Holy Spirit to work in his heart or be open for the Counselor's work in mine.
I only hope to become like my own mama. Every morning in high school I would walk past my mama's prayer closet/office to the master bathroom to get ready for school. It was a round brick room which used to be a kiln in southern Ohio and was put back up in the same shape. I believe that many a spiritual plan of God's was fired in that space. As I tiptoed passed, she would be on her knees in her robe before her blue couch crying out to God. Often she would look up and say good morning, with tears in her eyes, the sun rising just outside the huge window beside her, putting her in a backlit profile.
These days I have her and my sister to pray with and there is no greater joy. We spend time enjoying God's presence in adoration, bust down walls with repentance between ourselves and the Lord, and then suit up (Ephesians 6:10-) and join the privilege of partnering with Him in prayer.
"The prayers of God's saints are the capital stock of heaven by which God carries on His great work on earth," says Paul Billheimer in Destined for the Throne. This quote scares the bijeebies out of me. Could it be true? It seems that many who have seen the biggest acts of God in history have lived and prayed as if it were so. (You have not because you ask not. James 4:2)
Sometimes I forget when I wake up to three kids bouncing on me at 6:30 in the morning that I need to approach the day fierce and focused. It requires
A week ago I met the Blind Side character's African parallel. She entered the store front Kalamazoo Prayer Clinic after us, walked in and sat down purposefully. Without much small talk she went straight to prayer and started to fight for her son. After a few minutes in prayer, we gathered that her son was having a difficult time in school and the teachers were becoming a part of the problem. Her son was losing confidence in his gifts. She prayed down all his opposition the way Sandra Bullock as Leigh Anne Tuohy confronted the drug dealers of inner city Memphis.
She prayed with passion and directness and a week later I still remember this:
She prayed that Christ's blood would cover her son as a protection. Christ's blood, she said, would remind the evil one of his defeat at the cross and his final defeat at the second coming. (Revelations 12:11)
She prayed against those who would try to diminish her son against the will of God. "He is filled with the Holy Spirit and with fire. I pray anyone who touches him against the will of the Father would be burned, and their work turned to ashes."
She prayed in her great African Alto voice using his long African name (that I could never quite catch) that his character would match his name.
With fervor she did battle in that small back room of the prayer clinic until she was prayed out. Her smile afterward said that she knew her Redeemer had heard and was fighting for her. "And how can we pray for you," she asked us when the hard work had been done.
My prayer partner and I got into the car and looked at eachother with triumph, "That boy is going to be just fine," we said at the same time. How could he not be, we wondered aloud with a mama championing him and confident before the throne of heaven. (Hebrews 4:16 Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need. NIV)
I want to be her. I don't want to be caught playing the victim in self-pity or angry and cynical. I want to pray without ceasing.
I recently learned to have my husband's back, to pray for him early, as he walks out the front door, and late as he's falling asleep, my hand on his back. I've learned as another fierce mama I know advised me around Christmastime, to go to his Boss first if we are having a disagreement, then wait for the Holy Spirit to work in his heart or be open for the Counselor's work in mine.
I only hope to become like my own mama. Every morning in high school I would walk past my mama's prayer closet/office to the master bathroom to get ready for school. It was a round brick room which used to be a kiln in southern Ohio and was put back up in the same shape. I believe that many a spiritual plan of God's was fired in that space. As I tiptoed passed, she would be on her knees in her robe before her blue couch crying out to God. Often she would look up and say good morning, with tears in her eyes, the sun rising just outside the huge window beside her, putting her in a backlit profile.
These days I have her and my sister to pray with and there is no greater joy. We spend time enjoying God's presence in adoration, bust down walls with repentance between ourselves and the Lord, and then suit up (Ephesians 6:10-) and join the privilege of partnering with Him in prayer.
"The prayers of God's saints are the capital stock of heaven by which God carries on His great work on earth," says Paul Billheimer in Destined for the Throne. This quote scares the bijeebies out of me. Could it be true? It seems that many who have seen the biggest acts of God in history have lived and prayed as if it were so. (You have not because you ask not. James 4:2)
Sometimes I forget when I wake up to three kids bouncing on me at 6:30 in the morning that I need to approach the day fierce and focused. It requires
Saturday, March 20, 2010
This just puts motherhood (and all of life )in perspective
" First came bright Spirits, not the Spirits of men, who danced and scattered flowers. Then, on the left and right, at each side of the forest avenue, came youthful shapes, boys upon one hand, and girls upon the other. If I could remember their singing and write down the notes, no man who read that score would ever grow sick or old. Between them went musicians: and after these a lady in whose honour all this was being done.
I cannot now remember whether she was naked or clothed. If she were naked, then it must have been the almost visible penumbra of her courtesy and joy which produces in my memory the illusion of a great and shining train that followed her across the happy grass. If she were clothed, then the illusion of nakedness is doubtless due to the clarity with which her inmost spirit shone through the clothes. For clothes in that country are not a disguise: the spiritual body lives along each thread and turns them into living organs. A robe or a crown is there as much one of the wearer's features as a lip or an eye.
But I have forgotten. And only partly do I remember the unbearable beauty of her face.
“Is it?...is it?” I whispered to my guide.
“Not at all,” said he. “It's someone ye'll never have heard of. Her name on earth was Sarah Smith and she lived at Golders Green.”
“She seems to be...well, a person of particular importance?”
“Aye. She is one of the great ones. Ye have heard that fame in this country and fame on Earth are two quite different things.”
“And who are these gigantic people...look! They're like emeralds...who are dancing and throwing flowers before here?”
“Haven't ye read your Milton? A thousand liveried angels lackey her.”
“And who are all these young men and women on each side?”
“They are her sons and daughters.”
“She must have had a very large family, Sir.”
“Every young man or boy that met her became her son – even if it was only the boy that brought the meat to her back door. Every girl that met her was her daughter.”
“Isn't that a bit hard on their own parents?”
“No. There are those that steal other people's children. But her motherhood was of a different kind. Those on whom it fell went back to their natural parents loving them more. Few men looked on her without becoming, in a certain fashion, her lovers. But it was the kind of love that made them not less true, but truer, to their own wives.”
“And how...but hullo! What are all these animals? A cat-two cats-dozens of cats. And all those dogs...why, I can't count them. And the birds. And the horses.”
“They are her beasts.”
“Did she keep a sort of zoo? I mean, this is a bit too much.”
“Every beast and bird that came near her had its place in her love. In her they became themselves. And now the abundance of life she has in Christ from the Father flows over into them.”
I looked at my Teacher in amazement.
“Yes,” he said. “It is like when you throw a stone into a pool, and the concentric waves spread out further and further. Who knows where it will end? Redeemed humanity is still young, it has hardly come to its full strength. But already there is joy enough int the little finger of a great saint such as yonder lady to waken all the dead things of the universe into life.”"
— C.S. Lewis (The Great Divorce)
I cannot now remember whether she was naked or clothed. If she were naked, then it must have been the almost visible penumbra of her courtesy and joy which produces in my memory the illusion of a great and shining train that followed her across the happy grass. If she were clothed, then the illusion of nakedness is doubtless due to the clarity with which her inmost spirit shone through the clothes. For clothes in that country are not a disguise: the spiritual body lives along each thread and turns them into living organs. A robe or a crown is there as much one of the wearer's features as a lip or an eye.
But I have forgotten. And only partly do I remember the unbearable beauty of her face.
“Is it?...is it?” I whispered to my guide.
“Not at all,” said he. “It's someone ye'll never have heard of. Her name on earth was Sarah Smith and she lived at Golders Green.”
“She seems to be...well, a person of particular importance?”
“Aye. She is one of the great ones. Ye have heard that fame in this country and fame on Earth are two quite different things.”
“And who are these gigantic people...look! They're like emeralds...who are dancing and throwing flowers before here?”
“Haven't ye read your Milton? A thousand liveried angels lackey her.”
“And who are all these young men and women on each side?”
“They are her sons and daughters.”
“She must have had a very large family, Sir.”
“Every young man or boy that met her became her son – even if it was only the boy that brought the meat to her back door. Every girl that met her was her daughter.”
“Isn't that a bit hard on their own parents?”
“No. There are those that steal other people's children. But her motherhood was of a different kind. Those on whom it fell went back to their natural parents loving them more. Few men looked on her without becoming, in a certain fashion, her lovers. But it was the kind of love that made them not less true, but truer, to their own wives.”
“And how...but hullo! What are all these animals? A cat-two cats-dozens of cats. And all those dogs...why, I can't count them. And the birds. And the horses.”
“They are her beasts.”
“Did she keep a sort of zoo? I mean, this is a bit too much.”
“Every beast and bird that came near her had its place in her love. In her they became themselves. And now the abundance of life she has in Christ from the Father flows over into them.”
I looked at my Teacher in amazement.
“Yes,” he said. “It is like when you throw a stone into a pool, and the concentric waves spread out further and further. Who knows where it will end? Redeemed humanity is still young, it has hardly come to its full strength. But already there is joy enough int the little finger of a great saint such as yonder lady to waken all the dead things of the universe into life.”"
— C.S. Lewis (The Great Divorce)
Friday, March 19, 2010
pajama party with just the girls (oh, and baby too)
What a gift tonight was. I can always tell when there's something wrong with Madeline because she starts getting whiny, talking baby talk and getting ornery with the boys. Today started out bad. The baby talk began as soon as she woke up and I knew we were in for a long day. On the way back from the children's museum I had to discipline her for continually hurting her big brother.
Let me back up. As a baby, Madeline didn't seem to bond with me right away. She was less people oriented then her brothers and I wasn't quite sure how to break through to a personality that always seemed jealous of the attention spent on anyone else. She wanted to be held all the time but would barely show me affection. Hoever, she was extremely affectionate with her nana and auntie whenever they were around. And, although she was never a "quiet" child, she never seemed to talk about anything personal. That pattern of behavior continued until I started discovering that one of the keys to Madeline's heart was quality alone time with mom and dad.
This last fall I took her school clothes shopping to get ready for preschool and she perked up, by that evening, she began hugging me more, and even told me a "secret." She went to sleep quiet and peacefully without three trips downstairs to "go to the bathroom."
John and Charles Wesleys' mom, Susanna raised ten children and this is one of the ways she talked about motherhood to her husband in a letter:
"I am a woman, but I am also the mistress of a large family. And though the superior charge of the souls contained in it lies upon you, yet in your long absence I cannot but look upon every soul you leave under my charge as a talent committed to me under a trust. I am not a man nor a minister, yet as a mother and a mistress I felt I ought to do more than I had yet done. I resolved to begin with my own children; in which I observe, the following method: I take such a proportion of time as I can spare every night to discourse with each child apart. On Monday I talk with Molly, on Tuesday with Hetty, Wednesday with Nancy, Thursday with Jacky, Friday with Patty, Saturday with Charles."
I love that. She knew her children's emotional needs, to have mother's full attention for a period of time each week. Surely with only three children, I can do that too.
Tonight was Madeline's. We watched a girly movie, had oreos and milk and then had lotion massages...feet first, hands, faces even and ewww ears? not so good. She got to smell different types of lotion to decide which one was her favorite and then we spent time talking and having quality face to face time. By the end of the night, Madeline was telling secrets in a big girl voice again.
BTW, I love that under "Occupation" for Susanna Wesley in Wikipidia it says: Mother of Methodism. Not a bad gig for someone who didn't know they were helping to launch revival in the Anglican church. :)
Let me back up. As a baby, Madeline didn't seem to bond with me right away. She was less people oriented then her brothers and I wasn't quite sure how to break through to a personality that always seemed jealous of the attention spent on anyone else. She wanted to be held all the time but would barely show me affection. Hoever, she was extremely affectionate with her nana and auntie whenever they were around. And, although she was never a "quiet" child, she never seemed to talk about anything personal. That pattern of behavior continued until I started discovering that one of the keys to Madeline's heart was quality alone time with mom and dad.
This last fall I took her school clothes shopping to get ready for preschool and she perked up, by that evening, she began hugging me more, and even told me a "secret." She went to sleep quiet and peacefully without three trips downstairs to "go to the bathroom."
John and Charles Wesleys' mom, Susanna raised ten children and this is one of the ways she talked about motherhood to her husband in a letter:
"I am a woman, but I am also the mistress of a large family. And though the superior charge of the souls contained in it lies upon you, yet in your long absence I cannot but look upon every soul you leave under my charge as a talent committed to me under a trust. I am not a man nor a minister, yet as a mother and a mistress I felt I ought to do more than I had yet done. I resolved to begin with my own children; in which I observe, the following method: I take such a proportion of time as I can spare every night to discourse with each child apart. On Monday I talk with Molly, on Tuesday with Hetty, Wednesday with Nancy, Thursday with Jacky, Friday with Patty, Saturday with Charles."
I love that. She knew her children's emotional needs, to have mother's full attention for a period of time each week. Surely with only three children, I can do that too.
Tonight was Madeline's. We watched a girly movie, had oreos and milk and then had lotion massages...feet first, hands, faces even and ewww ears? not so good. She got to smell different types of lotion to decide which one was her favorite and then we spent time talking and having quality face to face time. By the end of the night, Madeline was telling secrets in a big girl voice again.
BTW, I love that under "Occupation" for Susanna Wesley in Wikipidia it says: Mother of Methodism. Not a bad gig for someone who didn't know they were helping to launch revival in the Anglican church. :)
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Yummy Pancake recipe
I'm more of a compiler when it comes to cooking. Having three young children makes cooking from scratch too overwhelming most days. I just can't wrap my mind around juggling hot things and hungry children. AND if you have trouble getting enough protein in your life, here's a fairly balanced carb to protein pancake.
So here are the most delicious and healthy pancakes I've ever had. Truly. But they are not from scratch so no formal recipe will be forthcoming. I took an ordinary wholewheat pancake mix and added 1/3 cup ricotta cheese, orange zest, cinnamon, whey protein powder, vanilla and sprinkled in dried cherries/ or chocolate chips. Yum.
So here are the most delicious and healthy pancakes I've ever had. Truly. But they are not from scratch so no formal recipe will be forthcoming. I took an ordinary wholewheat pancake mix and added 1/3 cup ricotta cheese, orange zest, cinnamon, whey protein powder, vanilla and sprinkled in dried cherries/ or chocolate chips. Yum.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
House Addiction
I have a confession to make. I love/hoard house magazines and every time I'm pregnant, HGTV literally streams into my living room. I read, watch, surf and crave inspiration to make this little yellow cottage into the perfect greenhouse for my growing shoots. (Can that really be how you spell the little green thingies poking out of the ground or do I have too many toy guns lying around?) Anyhow, I just don't believe this bologna about houses being spiritually and emotionally neutral places. "It is the people that are important," some say.
This does seem like the logical conclusion but my mystical self believes that there is something a bit more complicated going on under our roofs. I believe that our hunger for house magazines/blogs/etc. is more than just greed, but a hunger for the heart's true home. Call it a hunger for what Eden was, what heaven will be or what the Kingdom of God can become on earth, we desire more than just a neutral setting. We want COMMUNION, Order, Life, Feasting, Peace. As mothers we want our homes to be the ladder where the angels ascend and descend...a meeting place between heaven and earth, a place where our children can be taught by God (Isaiah 54:13). We want to feed our families with manna and create little Edens of beauty on our city lots. Lets be intercessors, covering our families and praying that the Kingdom would come on earth right here in our hearts, and then into our homes and then radiate out from there.
This does seem like the logical conclusion but my mystical self believes that there is something a bit more complicated going on under our roofs. I believe that our hunger for house magazines/blogs/etc. is more than just greed, but a hunger for the heart's true home. Call it a hunger for what Eden was, what heaven will be or what the Kingdom of God can become on earth, we desire more than just a neutral setting. We want COMMUNION, Order, Life, Feasting, Peace. As mothers we want our homes to be the ladder where the angels ascend and descend...a meeting place between heaven and earth, a place where our children can be taught by God (Isaiah 54:13). We want to feed our families with manna and create little Edens of beauty on our city lots. Lets be intercessors, covering our families and praying that the Kingdom would come on earth right here in our hearts, and then into our homes and then radiate out from there.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
A Day of Small Things. Oh Joy.
Love these lyrics from Alli Rogers song: The Day of Small Things
‘Cause I am afraid of believing,
The plans that we make seem so big.
But you’ve shown me that we’re never alone,
and your spirit will stay by our side.
So I won’t despise,
I won’t despise the day,
I won’t despise the day of small things.
I think one of the lies of the enemy is that moms are dispensable...that what we do is small and unimportant. That's what the culture tells us, and frankly on some days that's what my heart tells me. What I used to do and sometimes still get to do feels heavy and important and hard. Somehow changing diapers and making dinner and cleaning up AGAIN feels small and in the disposable category.
But, do you know what I learned a few weeks ago and need to relearn today? Much of this feels small (though I know that in God's eyes it isn't - His economy is different :) but I'm allowed to find joy in the small things. Isn't that silly? Somehow I thought that I wasn't allowed to enjoy that which was simple - had no life or death importance. Maybe you've never experienced this. I think it has to do with that material/spirit split that the gnostics were pushing so hard in the early church. They thought things that had to do with the spirit were the essentials and everything material should be run away from at best, and killed at worst. We've still got some of this thinking in today's theology. That which is spiritual is important, clothes, houses, crocuses and shiny chocolate sheetcakes, not important. This creates a very confusing message for those of us who serve, moms, nurses, etc.
Instead, if I "remember" Eden and a God who created the miraculous milky way as well as the simple wheat and then called both good, I can learn that in God I can lift up the simple moments in my life and rejoice in them. This cuddling of the baby into my belly. It is good. This making a simple bread, bologna and cheese sandwich? It is good. All these small things can be a part of my relationship with God.
Come, Lord Jesus, Come. Come into my small things and fill them with Your Presence, Your joy. This can be Another Day in Paradise.
‘Cause I am afraid of believing,
The plans that we make seem so big.
But you’ve shown me that we’re never alone,
and your spirit will stay by our side.
So I won’t despise,
I won’t despise the day,
I won’t despise the day of small things.
I think one of the lies of the enemy is that moms are dispensable...that what we do is small and unimportant. That's what the culture tells us, and frankly on some days that's what my heart tells me. What I used to do and sometimes still get to do feels heavy and important and hard. Somehow changing diapers and making dinner and cleaning up AGAIN feels small and in the disposable category.
But, do you know what I learned a few weeks ago and need to relearn today? Much of this feels small (though I know that in God's eyes it isn't - His economy is different :) but I'm allowed to find joy in the small things. Isn't that silly? Somehow I thought that I wasn't allowed to enjoy that which was simple - had no life or death importance. Maybe you've never experienced this. I think it has to do with that material/spirit split that the gnostics were pushing so hard in the early church. They thought things that had to do with the spirit were the essentials and everything material should be run away from at best, and killed at worst. We've still got some of this thinking in today's theology. That which is spiritual is important, clothes, houses, crocuses and shiny chocolate sheetcakes, not important. This creates a very confusing message for those of us who serve, moms, nurses, etc.
Instead, if I "remember" Eden and a God who created the miraculous milky way as well as the simple wheat and then called both good, I can learn that in God I can lift up the simple moments in my life and rejoice in them. This cuddling of the baby into my belly. It is good. This making a simple bread, bologna and cheese sandwich? It is good. All these small things can be a part of my relationship with God.
Come, Lord Jesus, Come. Come into my small things and fill them with Your Presence, Your joy. This can be Another Day in Paradise.
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