The Law of Love

"You never start living until you stop fearing."  - Ann Voskamp

There has been much to fear in this year.  And no doubt, there will be much to fear in the year to come.  Because evil is on the loose in this world.  Lurking behind bushes, prowling the open plains, waiting to devour the weak. 

But take courage because there is One. 

He has overcome this world.

He reigns victorious over this evil. 

Jesus. At His name, the darkness flees.

Do not be afraid.

"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full." (John 10:10)

Love wins in this epic story.  Love always wins.  And until the day when every knee will bow and tongue confess that Love has won, may the church unite to speak Truth and mourn with those who mourn.  No more. No less. No arguments that will solve nothing. No blame to be tossed. No criticizing of the laws and control or lack thereof. 

When four foot caskets are buried six feet under, I just don't understand how more laws or less laws will cure the human heart responsible for this kind of graveyard.  And I think deep down we all know laws can't prevent evil.  Isn't this why Jesus came?  To fulfill the law that was impossible to keep, to save and redeem His family of sinners, to claim victory over this unbeatable evil that beats in us all? To transform us and send us out as sheep among wolves, not lawmakers among the lawless?

There is only one cure for the wickedness of earth and that is the love of God. 

When Jesus came, He didn't draft new laws.  He loved. And He reminded us what the two most important commands were:

Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, soul, strength. (Deut 6:5, Matt 22:37)
Love your neighbor as yourself. (Lev 19:18, Matt 22:39)

It seems so simple. But even these I cannot keep without Him. I cannot even love without His power and presence in my life.  Not selflessly, not extravagantly, not in a way that exposes Love to a barren, bankrupt heart.  It starts with me. My heart. My circle of influence.  Not with a lawmaking frenzy of pharisaical proportions.

Laws made by man - they are made out of fear.  But perfect love casts out fear.  That's the law of Love.

A Disciple, a Boy and the Multitudes

I’m not exactly sure how many times I’ve collectively heard or read the story but it’s been at least a million. A little boy.  A simple lunch.  And five thousand men to feed.  And my favorite part – they ate until they were satisfied and had twelve baskets of leftovers because the Messiah took what was offered and gave thanks. 

 

 

But this part I noticed just recently. 

 

“Philip answered him, ‘Eight months’ wages would not buy enough bread for each one to have a bite!’ Another of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, spoke up. ‘Here is a boy with five small barley loaves and two small fish, but how far will they go among so many?’”  (John 6:7-9) 

I think I have always focused on the boy.  Everyone says offer what you have.  Give Jesus your bread and fish and he will feed the multitudes. I’ve said that!  And I believe it. Completely.  Give what you have to give. Give thanks.  And watch how He can make it enough. See how He feeds the multitudes.

But the part I missed was Andrew, the disciple who recognized the gift and spoke up.  The boy was young.  And he humbly offered what he had with a childlike faith. And, I have a feeling if the boy offered it to Philip, Phillip would have scoffed and not seen it as enough and walked on by without saying one word to Jesus.

 

Andrew didn’t know if it would be enough. But he knew enough about Jesus to call attention to the boy’s gift.  In this passage of Scripture we see a stark contrast.  One disciple who sees the impossible and another who sees Jesus.  Phillip, who sees an insurmountable task and Andrew, who sees a boy with a gift to offer to the One who cares for the birds of the air and the flowers of the field, so how much more will he care for us? One disciple who cannot fathom feeding five thousand men plus their families and another who dares to imagine what Jesus can do with 5 small loaves and 2 small fish.  Andrew, himself, had empty pockets. Nothing to offer in this moment.  But, his eyes fell on one small boy while his heart was wrapped around the One who made all things possible.

I wonder… which disciple am I more like? Do I see in others, in my children, what they have to offer and encourage them in it?  Do I build others up so THEY  believe their gift is not too small or their talent too insignificant or that they are too small or insignificant for Jesus to use them, to multiply their offering?  Am I missing the beautiful landscape of gifts that completely surround me?

You know… sometimes… I just don’t have anything to offer.  Sometimes, my act of worship is to look for the best gift to present to the Lord - whether my pockets are full or empty - believing that the multitudes can be fed. 

 

“Jesus, we have a boy here with a small lunch.  What can you do?”

 

“Jesus, this little girl with an amazing artistic gift. How can you use her?"

 

“Jesus, this boy with a wild sense of adventure. What are the possibilities?”

Sometimes, I am the one with the offering.  But, sometimes I am the one who sees the boy and calls out his gift to Jesus. And sometimes, I am the multitudes being fed.  So often, I think I’m the one who needs to offer something.  Always digging deep and searching hard for what it is I think the Lord is asking me to give. Typical really.  This self-centered view.  Because I’m not always going to be the one.  I can't be... And does it really matter who does the offering as long as the multitudes are fed on the feast of the Lord?

 

We are the body of Christ, disciples of the One who makes all things possible.  And we live to breathe in His grace and breathe out His praise - together -  and that looks like encouraging each other, moving together, calling out each others gifts before Him – all for Him – in the shadow of the cross, where the ground is level and the glory is all His.

The Last is Closer

He climbed in my lap again this morning.  Eyes half open and hair untamed, he came straight for me. They say the days are long but the years are short.  And I feel every ounce of that truth as he folds into me.  He’s content in my lap. Quiet. Still. And I notice how his toes dangle a little farther this morning and his weight presses in a little firmer and I wonder how this happened and if this is the last time we enjoy a morning snuggle together.  Maybe not.  But I know it is coming.  The last is closer than the first.  And that’s how I should see everything.  With every tick, the last is closer.  So many firsts have come and gone and been celebrated to the full but it’s the lasts that come unnoticed… only visible in a rear view mirror.  And these are the things I want to savor with all five senses – the things that will never come again. And this could be every moment.  Every moment of living could be a last - worth savoring.

In the midst of heaping laundry piles and dead car batteries, driving thousands of miles within a ten mile radius and dirty dishes, being the only one who knows how to change the cotton-pickin' toilet paper roll and perpetually picking up socks that belong to children who never wear them, the mundane and the routine, it's hard to savor the present.  But they won’t be here forever.  He won’t fit in my lap forever, though I tell him I’ll always scoop him and snuggle him close even when he’s sixteen, thirty-six.  He thinks it’s funny and giggles that giggle that pierces my mama heart and I wonder… is that the last little boy giggle?  Someday it will be a manly chuckle or an embarrassed scoff.  The little boy will fade into the man God is building and I'm completely frozen at the thought.  God is building a man before my very eyes.  

I have this idea of the man I want him to be – courageous and compassionate, bold and humble, loving and honest.  And so much more. And in many ways, he already is these things. But simply, I want him to be a man with a reckless faith. A man who worships his God with abandon and serves Him with wholehearted devotion. I want him to be godly. And there is only one way to godliness... and it's not through me.

 

I heard someone say once that if your children can fall in love with Jesus, this world doesn't stand a chance.  Yes.  That is what I want.  For this world to not stand a chance.  I want his courage that today carries him on his bike down the steepest terrain in the hands of Jesus to carry hope to the hopeless in the darkest corners of the earth.  I want his strong will iron-clad resolve that today fights for the sake of fighting in the hands of Jesus to fight the good fight for the sake of righteousness.  I don't want the world to consume my son but the Son through him to consume the world. 
 

I can be Type A about discipleship and list out a thousand ways to show my children who God is... but really it comes down to letting Jesus show Himself through me.  That's how they will fall in love with Him.  Not because of some grand activity complete with an inspiring bible lesson that I planned.  Only by His plan will they see who He is.  And it happens in the least expected moments of the day. Usually after the worst moments of the day.  When we need Jesus the most.  And He shows up.  Right then. When my children have failed and the Holy Spirit guides me to show them the grace I have been given.  When my children have disobeyed and the Holy Spirit guides me to show them the mercy that I have been given.  When my children ache and the Holy Spirit guides me to show them the comfort I have been given.   When I have failed and the Holy Spirit strengthens me to bend at their feet and ask for the forgiveness they have been given.

 

The Bible has made it clear.  Nobody is good.  Not even one.  So how can I, a downright mess, do anything apart from Jesus? Especially something as good as impacting a generation for the glory of Christ? 

He climbs out of my lap and scurries off upstairs.  And I close my eyes and utter silently in thanksgiving and desperation and surrender: 

Lord, the last is closer than the first.  Thank you for this gift.  May I choose the things that are everlasting.  Every moment. May I choose You. Every moment. Shine through me today Lord.  May they see You. Only You. And may we all fall in love with You so this world doesn't stand a chance.

I open my eyes and I see Baby Girl peacefully gazing at me with a hint of a smile.  And I feel it all over again.  The last is closer than the first.

 

Reborn.

I just got home from a night of worship.  A celebratory night of singing praises and worshiping the God who calls the wretch by name, who calls the wretch beloved.  As part of the celebration, there are people baptized into new life at the side of the stage. As the congregation sings His praises, we rejoice along with the angels in heaven at each rebirth. 

Tonight, I paid closer attention than usual to the baptismal. Our friends were baptizing their three children and I didn’t want to miss them, so I noticed nearly every person that approached the promise of new life.  

There was one woman who was baptized in jeans.  Jeans.  I guess she didn’t expect to accept such an invitation tonight.  But she couldn’t refuse.  And maybe she understands something most of us are still trying to wrap our hearts around.  Jesus says come as you are.

There was a gray-haired woman who was baptized too.  Because it’s never too late.  Just ask the sinner that hung next to Jesus.  As long as you can confess with your mouth and believe in your heart, there is a place for you in Paradise.  But the clock is ticking...

There were children and teens and adults.  There were families and singles, men and women, young and old.  And tonight they said yes to Jesus.  All of them.

It was a vivid display of the good news that brought great joy for ALL the people – from the city of David to the ends of the earth.

And it was a good reminder, too.  There are many more who need this message of hope.  And they are closer than I think.

 

My Discipleship Curriculum

I’ve discovered something about myself. I’m hopelessly Type A with a ridiculously free spirit.  I’m not sure how those two things live within the same soul but here I am.  A big picture gal with a screaming desire for perfectly organized spaces.  A dreamer that builds plans I don’t follow.  An intensely creative spirit that pencils projects in my Day-Timer.   A detailed list maker that abandons it all at the first sign of a warm, sunny day.  It’s complicated.  Just ask the Chef.

So, when it comes to matters of the soul, these rivals battle against each other and I’m at a loss as to how to make disciples out of four-foot tall, strong-willed little humans, let alone all nations.  All these ideas floating in my brain begging to be organized into curriculum but there are books to read and songs to play air guitar to and pictures to draw and coloring contests to have and God’s marvelous creation to discover and laundry to do and meals to cook and people to love...  and would you look at that!  It’s 80 degrees.  So when do I find the time for the pen to hit the paper for a "discipleship curriculum".

And, the entire call overwhelms me to fear of failure. That I will fail to make Jesus known to my children. That I will fail to impress their hearts with His living, active word.  That I will fail to unearth these diamonds in the rough to shine for the Kingdom of God.  That I will fail to show them a lost and broken world in desperate need of the Body of Christ, of Christ Himself. 

And when I’m able to catch my breath, I breathe in deep and remember.  “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”

With thanksgiving.  Thank you, God.  Thank you for these four-foot tall, strong-willed little humans you placed in my care.  Thank you that my life’s work is this high calling to make disciples, with You by my side leading the way. Thank you that You are really the One who will unearth these diamonds.  May they shine for You.  May we all.

My first instinct, driven by the Type A part of my brain, is to search high and low for an effective discipleship program, a curriculum.  Something that tells me exactly what to say, what to do, complete with fun, field trips and authenticity built right in.  Where is that discipleship program that Jesus used?  How did the Master of discipleship do it wrapped in flesh? 

He lived. For God. Abided in Him. Had a heart perfectly positioned toward Him.  So He knew the Father’s will.   I’m certain Jesus did not have an outline or a calendar.  He had the voice of God.

And, He communed with the Father.
 

“Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed.”  (Mark 1:35)

“But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.” (Luke 5:16)

If He was awake, He was in the Father's presence. 

As He communed, He displayed servant leadership.
 

He didn't work behind the scenes and reveal a masterpiece at the end. He invited his disciples into His life.  Come. Follow me. Let me show you what I’m up to. Let me show you how I do it.  On His way to heal the sick and lame, feed the multitudes, raise the dead…. Come. Follow me. Let me show you how the Kingdom can come. Now.

He was intimate and real. He didn't need a curriculum for discipleship.  He submitted to the Father and allowed His actions, His life to speak for itself.  He spoke the Truth and many believed.  When He took people with Him to raise the dead, He didn’t first offer a weekend conference on Raising the Dead.  He displayed His faith, His spiritual discipline, His obedience, His courage to go where the Father led Him.

 

And, above all else, He loved extravagantly.

He loved the Father without apology and without compromise. He was seen praying. He was seen healing. He was seen weeping. He was genuine and loving with everyone He encountered. He healed with His hands. He ministered from the heart. He knew the Father and His word. 

He discipled out of an overflow of His relationship with the Father and He discipled within the relationships of His followers. He ate with them, traveled with them, and didn't hide His need for spiritual authenticity with the Father, daily.  Nothing about what He did here on earth was about tasks.  It was all about people.  Brothers and sisters of His Father in Heaven who needed Him... more than they knew.

So what does all that mean to my mothering, to my calling to participate in unearthing these diamonds in the rough. This is about when my mind screams for a curriculum that my heart can use.  Study this Scripture, say this prayer, tell this story. Sieve out this moral and conclude this godly character trait.

But Jesus, aside from God’s word, had no curriculum. Only a spirit-filled life. Spirit. Filled.

So when I’m sitting in my quiet, morning spot studying God’s word and my children catch me, that’s part of my discipleship curriculum.

When my children see me on my knees praying to a God who asks me to pray without ceasing, and there’s not a meal in sight, that’s part of my discipleship program. 

When K-Love is blasting in the kitchen and my children see me stop what I'm doing to lift my hands and praise this God that can’t be contained in a building on Sundays, that’s part of my discipleship program.

When we make meals for the broken, say I’m sorry, forgive each other, love each other, participate in a random act of kindness, stop in the middle of negativity to pray, explore God’s creation, help a stray dog, invite others into our home, serve at church, pray for the lost and needy all over the globe, read daily from God’s word, it’s all part of my His discipleship program.

When I bend to listen to their tiny voices full of needs, offer gentle hands, gentle words, gentle rebuke, gentleness. When I stop the tasks to see their faces, forget the law to see the miracles, when I read to them on the couch, curl up in their beds at night for pillow talk, dish out a Wacky Wednesday, leave a messy house for their favorite adventure, serve them out of love by doing a chore for them, discipline them for a foolish choice – it’s all part of this divine discipleship curriculum because it is developing the relationships that open the doors to their hearts. 

When I fall but refuse to stay down, when I cry out to the God who redeems and delivers and covers me clean in grace, when I can't breathe or speak but can let the Name above all names roll off my tongue and they see the darkness flee, that's part of it, too.
 

And when they ask questions about God’s creation or God Himself, and I have to Google it or crack open the Bible to try to answer them, it tells them how big our God really is.  Even Mom doesn’t have all the answers… and I hope they can see in me a faith that moves mountains even when I don’t have all the answers.  But I also hope that it lights a path to all the mysteries of God that can be found in Jesus, who disciples us all.

Teaching IS NOT My Gift

I taught my first bible lesson yesterday.  I was nervous.  And though I had prepared I felt completely unprepared.  But I knew I couldn’t delay any longer.  God was asking me to train them in this way.  To deliver His message.  So I took His courage. 

Then at the last minute I had an unexpected guest.  Obviously, an unexpected student only made me more nervous so when the invitation escaped my very own mouth, I almost turned around to ask, "Who said that?".

 

 

Well okay, courage, put your faith where your mouth is. 

 

 

And I did it.  I delivered the message.  It may not have been perfect but I know God’s grace covers the things I forgot to say or the things I said imperfectly.  The seed was spread, the ground watered.  By the Gardener alone.

 

Teaching is not my gift and I'm certain God wants me at the epicenter of my weaknesses. No wandering off.  So here I am teaching.  In more ways than I could have possibly dreamed.  And yesterday, with three sets of eyes focused straight on me, ears atuned to my words, I felt Him.  I know He was driving the train.  Because after all, teaching is not my gift yet I had a captive audience.

 

And His message fell the way He planned, on the ears He had intended all along, even if it wasn’t the way I planned.  And I almost heard Him whisper, "Well done good and faithful servant." Not because anything I said or did was done well, but because I (finally) offered Him my bread and fish.  All I had. Me.

Oh, did I mention the oldest was 9.  Yeah, that age makes me sweat bullets.  But God’s grace made me as cool as a cucumber.  And no, I didn’t use any cheesy metaphors and similes when I delivered my message.  Well, I don't think I did...

And my unexpected guest?  He asked if he could come back again tomorrow.  Well, buddy, tomorrow is Halloween.  How about the next day. 

 

 

So on the day after Halloween, I am expecting three bible study students.  I wonder how many will show up.

A Field of Sweet Boys

I went out to gather the boys for dinner.  Five families with abundant blessings gathered to break bread together in modest square footage drives children to the open outdoor spaces and we always end up with a field of sweet boys.  There were a total of five of them scattered in the fields, each on their own mission.

 

 

 

 

The socialite was talking to the neighbors in their backyards.  The evening breeze carried his tiny voice down wind and I could hear him asking.  “How are you?” “What are you doing?” “Is that your mom?”  He wants to know them.   And I whispered it right there. 

 

Sweet boy, don’t run from your compassion but always stand this bold in it for Christ.  Always want to know them because knowing them is the same as loving Jesus, loving like Jesus.  Love Him and care for His sheep. 

 

The oldest was furthest away and off the beaten path. A path I know all too well.  As we age we tend to wander in our growing courage, our maturing strength – sometimes into the bushes.  Not that this particular boy is a wanderer but it made me think of the days when I found freedom and used it so unwisely.  I whispered it right there. 

Don’t be anything like me.   Be stronger than that, wiser.  God’s got great things for you.  I know this because He really has this for all of us.  Great things.  We just need to choose Him.  Choose Him, sweet boy, daily.

The three remaining boys were strewn along the middle of the path, each squatting near their very own discoveries.  Sticks in hand, poking and prodding.  Fingers in the dirt.  Because sometimes you have to get dirty to find the real Truth.  They eventually migrated towards each other.  They wanted to share.  Because if we learn and never share, no glory can come to the only One worthy of it.  And I whispered it right there. 

Never stop looking for Him, sweet boys.  Study His truth and spread it like wildfire.  Share it with all you meet.  Carry His grace with courage and love to this broken world, setting the captives free and glorifying the One who sent you. And don’t be afraid if you get dirty because you already stand clean. Whiter than snow, actually.

And as I turned to walk back, I whispered it right there for all us mamas too. 

Lord, may we become less so you become all.  May we have courage to let go of our dreams and take hold of Your plans for these sweet boys, for all of our children.  Help each of us see them like you see them.  Help us guide them, train them, disciple them for Your Kingdom.  Show us how to lead them. Give us the strength and wisdom to water them in this season and find joy in these trenches.  Come, Holy Spirit, come.

And as I peeked over my shoulder to see if any heeded the call to dinner, I noticed the quietest of them all boldly following behind me.  And I prayed right there, whispered it straight to heaven. 

Lord, let this moment be a constant reminder that I never know when they will choose to follow, so may I always be running straight to You.

Amen.

Here.

Sometimes, I try this idea of writing simply to spill thoughts on a page, for love of the written word, using a prompt from various sources.  Usually, I start and end a post in 15 minutes. The professionals, they do five minutes. Today, I tried to write like the big girls... I tried five too. This is what five minutes gets me. Unscripted. Unedited. Real.I thank you in advance for enfolding me in your crazy grace.

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Today's Prompt:  HERE

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My mind wanders.  It’s hard to keep it here.  With the people right in front of me.  I’m a dreamer.  And it’s hard to keep my head out of the clouds and down here.  Because I like to dream big.  

But the Lord has a lesson. Here. And He will not settle for anything less than me learning it.  Oh, how He hopes for me.  To grasp it.  The beauty of here.  The abundant, undeserved blessings He handpicked to decorate the walls of right here.  I keep looking there.  Beyond here.  As  I mumble my plans and dreams, I am missing it. This life that exists here in the grace that exists now.  As I learn I must also teach. About here. Go into all the world. Make disciples. 

 

The Lord is stripping me of old habits, of everything I once knew, my normal.  It’s flattering really.  That He would take so much time with me here.   His compassions never fail and He is grieving how wrong I’m getting this yet delighting in teaching me gently.  He is bigger than here. And He is laboring effortlessly, persistently on my stubborn heart so I will understand. 

So I will trust His faithfulness even if my faith waivers.  I will boldly ask Him to increase my faith and forgive my unbelief.  And I will beg Him to show me here.  Until I get there.  And I see Him face to face.

Every Now and Then

Did you know?  Every now and then I write over here, our church's preschool ministry blog.  The purpose of the blog is to help parents of preschoolers build faith at home.  If you have a minute, check it out.  I think I forget to put my name on half the stuff I write. It's kinda nice. I write as a parent, apparently anonymously at times, and not a theologian and I'm sure that is a given since I don't write as a theologian here... because, well, I'm not a theologian.   But just to be clear, the only thing that qualifies me is I had preschoolers recently and I love Jesus passionately.


The children's staff at this place is simply amazing.  Truly.  I'm privileged to call most of these ladies friends and I know their hearts for these kids, for His work.  Each of them is beautiful and inspiring and diligent in offering her bread and fish with open hands and a joyful heart to watch God bless the multitudes every week.  I don't know how many thanks come their way but I for one want to shout from cyberspace: ThAnK YoU Children's Ministry! You rock!!!!

Currently they teach out of the Jesus Storybook Bible which is what is inpsiring my writing (and makes a great baby shower gift).

 
Why am I telling you this?  First of all, because the Jesus Storybook Bible rocks! Honestly, kids are not required to read this treasure. I learn so much from this book, where "every story whipsers His name".  A phrase will catch my heart so I crack open my Bible to see if it really says that.... Yep.  It really says that. 

And I find whenever I sit down to write the week's posts, God reveals something to me.  A little something or a big something, but as I peck out words on the keyboard, I marvel at this God who wastes nothing.  Not one single act that was ever recorded in His Living Word has been for no apparent reason.  If I think it's irrelevant, by now I know I must need to dig further.  It's always relevant.  There is always a reason, a significance that helps us here and now.  The more I research the culture and dive in to the language and read linking passages, the greater this God on High seems and yet the more intimate He becomes.

Maybe give it a try or keep going... crack open His Word... or the Jesus Storybook Bible.  See what He is waiting to speak straight into your heart.  I pray it simply amazes you and forever changes you.   

Ok... back to our regularyly scheduled programming....God willing.

Motherhood

Motherhood.  One of the greatest honors that can fall on a woman.  A high calling fulfilled in dark places.  Like the great masonries hidden in the dark and dusty dungeons of beautiful cathedrals ever faithful with their labor, so mothers are concealed in the crumbs of minivans amidst runny noses, temper tantrums and sibling rivalry, chinking away at character stone, each doing her part to sift through the ugly, to sieve out the beauty in this unsightly world. Some days hold victories – an obedient attitude, a lesson harnessed, a loving act, a treasured glimpse into a tender little heart.  Other days seem filled with defeat, but we carry on, clinging desperately to the joy believed to be hidden in this motherhood. Faithful. Resolute.

Motherhood.  God’s intense training ground. 

We have a short breath of time here. This time when we have the opportunity to impress our children's hearts is a fleeting season.  With time on our heels, it begs the question: What is the mission of motherhood? When the nest is empty again and we are faced with simply womanhood, without the demand of on-site mothering, what in our reflections will we be most content with?  What will resonate well in our soul? That we loved deeply? It does cover a multitude of sins.  That we taught effectively? Wisdom does lead to righteousness.  Maybe it’s that we were intentional with our children, present in every moment we were given, every moment they were under our wings before they spread their own… Maybe.

Motherhood. In the midst of noise and chaos it can be one of the loneliest places we are asked to go, the most desolate of terrain we are invited to plod through.  It’s a holy place and it's a humble place.  And these babes entrusted to us, they are far from commonplace.  Much is at stake and there is no margin for pride. The costs are high, the sacrifices many, the outcome completely unpredictable.  The growth immeasurable, the joy unfathomable, the love indescribable, the gift undeniable.  

So I pray to keep my eyes open and my heart intentional on the mission of motherhood: to introduce my children to the One from which they came, the One to whom they truly belong. To lead my children to the One who will complete the good work He has started.  And to be content in my soul that I gave what I had, everything I had, for this mission, His mission. And because of it the world will receive something it is not worthy of… something only God can claim, something that makes me stop and worship and praise Him, Abba Father, that I am allowed any part in it. 

Real.

Sometimes, I try this idea of writing simply for the love of the written word using a prompt from various sources.  How? I start and end a post in 15 minutes.  The professionals, they do five minutes.  I do fifteen.  And then I share what fifteen minutes gets me. Just fifteen minutes. Unscripted. Unedited. Real.  I thank you in advance for enfolding me in your crazy grace.

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Today's Prompt:  REAL

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The school year is almost over and for the last month my typical Tuesdays have been uncharacteristic and I’ve had to forfeit volunteering in Baby Girl’s class. It’s something I actually love doing, seeing her relate to her peers and work in her space and follow a foreign set of rules so diligently. She really is a good little girl.  And it's a space I have nothing to do with. It’s her territory but she loves showing me around, inviting me in, having me there.  And, during this time I’ve learned… she’s very hospitable. 

But work, I mean provision, manna has been consuming my Tuesdays and so we did some major shifting in schedules this week just so I could reclaim this simple pleasure.  So I could sit down and read with her and a few of her friends.  In her space.

But today the teacher didn’t need me.  Project Wild was today and no volunteers are needed as the children learn interesting facts about the real world of plants and animals, within the classroom walls. 

With the long to-do list I made for myself, Bubbs and I were quick to head out to tackle some errands.  I passed the school office and swung in for my first errand on the list.  Notify them Baby Girl will not be returning next year for 2^nd grade.  Message delivered. Form to take home and fill out. Check. On our way to the next errand.

After a few errands, lunch, a phone call, and a while soaking up the Vitamin D outside with Bubbs, I pull out the form to start filling it out.  The “Notification of Withdrawal” form. 

Long pause as it sets in. This makes it real.

Name of student… to withdraw from public school:  My Baby Girl. 

Reason for withdrawal... from public school: Receiving Home-based instruction/homeschooling

Last day of attendance…. at public school:  May 31

This is real.  How am I going to do this?  What are we doing?  Why are we doing this?  Can I do this?

Bow my head. Take a deep breath.  Spill whispers to Heaven, to the real, living God. Because the only way to do real is in this posture.  A posture of humility.

This is what you asked of me…. Did you really ask this of me?  Are you real?  Because I’m not able to do this if you aren’t real.  I will need Your wisdom and understanding Lord. Keep me from disbelief, from fear. I need your strength to do what you are asking me to do.  Speak loudly and drown out the noise of this world.  Your voice is all I long to hear.  Real. Here. Now. Always.  Come, Holy Spirit, come.   

So this is real.  Hearing a real word from the living God and checking the box: receiving home-based instruction/homeschooling out of obedience, out of a desperate love for Him.  We are really doing this. 

Thank you Lord for this gift of time with Baby Girl.  Be with me as I teach her about Your creation, which she adores, outside the classroom... holding real as much as we can. Come,Holy Spirit, come.

Enter In

We were on our way to help.  We were just taking food to fill bellies and loading a car to empty a house.  A house once filled with love and family is now barren, probably empty a long time ago.  And so we are on our way.  The kids in the car full of their questions.  My heart divided.  Broken for this marriage, for this family, but full of joy at these big questions from small people that display such curiosity and compassion for their brethren, fellow image-bearers of God.

“Where are they moving?” 

“Indiana”, I respond.

“Do they speak English in Indiana?”  He asks so innocently.

“Yes”, I assure them as I giggle under my breath, “it’s still in the United States.”  So worldly, these littles all of five and seven.

“Oh, good.” Relief holds her words in a soft, gentle voice. “It would be hard enough to move to a whole new place, but having to learn a whole new language, too?!?”   Yes, sweet girl.  Hard. Enough.  I don’t tell her my sweet friend is learning a new language.  Hope shattered is a new language no matter how many times you must learn it.  But I leave the silence alone and we sit with our thoughts, their compassion.

Compassion.   Bursting right through the heart seams.  Preparing to enter in… into another’s mess, another’s path stretched out, one we cannot ourselves fathom walking down.  And with this compassion comes questions, so when we enter in, we understand the hearts around us a little more, handling them ever so gently, maybe without words.

It’s in these everyday moments of life that the lines between teacher and student are blurred and crossed and blended.  They are teaching me right there in the car how to bend, how to prepare to come into a mess.  Not to fix it, restore it, make it all better.  These are the things my soul screams to do, but only God can do that.  They are teaching me to ask questions and prepare my heart to enter in, walk right into the mess, get my feet dirty while washing the feet of the broken.  Not entering in never crosses their minds. It's not a matter of not going, it's a matter of knowing the size of the mess.

Their simple questions remind me how to go to the hard places and just do what we can do.  Feed bellies and empty a house.   We cannot do any more in this situation.  We can only do what God asks of us. When we leave, the marriage will still be shattered, hearts will still be burdened, this family will still be broken. 

This is what Jesus asks of us, this is how He loves.  He bears our burdens.  He comes alongside us in the most desperate of times, when our hearts are more than broken.  He breaks with us, cries with us. He enters the mess, the dead center of it, no matter the size.  And He asks us to do the same for each other. But He does not thwart the Father’s plan to save us the heartache because He knows the glory that waits on the other side of broken, on the other side of messy.  "Take this cup, but Your will Lord."  Your. Will.  Oh, those words are so hard to utter, yet deep down, we know it’s His will from beginning to end just as it is in the middle of the mess.  And we wouldn't want it any other way.

Jesus, thank you for entering in. Thank you for teaching me, my children how to do the same, how to go to the hard places with our brothers and sisters and hold them in the hurt, knowing we’ve done what you have asked and it’s all we can do.  And thank you for comforting us all in knowing that we cannot restore, we cannot reconcile, we cannot heal.  Only you can.  And you can do it more beautifully than we could ask or imagine.

Seeds of Kindness

This month, we've been talking about anticipating the Savior... preparing our hearts for the Christ child. And I started thinking... As a mother, how can I guide my children to prepare for His coming? 

At this age, I think it involves practical application.  So...

We can read the story, again and again. From the beginning. See how every story whispers His name.  Wait as the barn slowly fills. Mary. Then Joseph.  It won't be long now.

We can emphasize parts of the story with activities, an attempt to wrap our little brains around the greatness of this God-love.  The Light of the World pierced through the darkness of sin like the smallest candle lights up our windowless, downstairs bathroom... and that small illumination lights up their small faces.  They are starting to see... 

This Advent season, we planted seeds.  One seed planted for every act of His love displayed to others to remind us how He displayed His love to all the people – from the barn to the tree. 

And when these seeds of kindness sprout love in full by Christmas Day, we will have a bed to lay a Babe, the Savior of the world.  "We're growing the hay for Jesus, Mama?" "Yes, baby, we're preparing for His coming." And her look says it all.  Preparing is an action... and I can grow a place for Him.

Don't all of these things and countless more help me prepare? When I turn my focus on Him and anticipate His work within, isn't this when He crashes in like a hurricane?  When I let the world fall right out of that heart space God has been waiting to consume? Because if I make space, isn't that preparing for Someone to occupy it? 

Oh, wait, though... this was about the children.  But, isn't this how they will learn to prepare? To see within my heart this authentic relationship with the Christ child that grows and stretches me to go and make disciples of all nations, beginning with my children.  How?  By investing in authentic relationships with these tender hearts from everyday moments to Christmas traditions.  By showing them the love of Christ, by harboring this deep-rooted desire to plant seeds of kindness in their little hearts and see what God can grow.  To anticipate His coming... not only in my own heart, but in theirs as well.