Category Archives: parenting

Growing up Solid

“We have much to say about this, but it is hard to explain because you are slow to learn. In fact, though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you the elementary truths of God’s word all over again. You need milk, not solid food! Anyone who lives on milk, being still an infant, is not acquainted with the teaching about righteousness. But solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves to distinguish good from evil.” (Hebrews 5:11-14).

The riding lawn mower quit working recently. Apparently, grounded tree limbs and freeway driving speeds over top of said tree limbs don’t make for a good mix. I’m not surprised by the breakdown. I’m only surprised it didn’t happen sooner.

After a few days at the shop and a costly repair, I informed the “lawn mowers” in my household that mowers and sticks don’t mix; they nodded their understanding. It didn’t sink in; not fully. For just the other day, the “lawn mower” man was at it again, driving like Mario Andretti, all the while crunching and munching the remnants from a recent storm beneath the blades of the newly renovated mower. When I confronted him about the issue, he looked at me with all sincerity and ease and simply replied…

“Mom, I don’t do sticks.”

My immediate response to him?

“Son, that is about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. You don’t do sticks? Are you kidding me? How old are you?

I’ll spare you the rest of the details. Your imagination is ample enough to create a fairly clear picture of just how it all went down.

I’ve raised two impatient sons as it pertains to the “doing” of the rudimentary tasks of daily living, which includes anything that doesn’t make their list of “how a young man should be spending his time.” And while they’ve always been willing to comply with these daily chores (and to their credit, with little grumbling alongside), the rules of engagement for accomplishing the tasks share one common denominator.

The faster the better. The sooner it’s done, the sooner the fun. Sometimes it works out that way; sometimes it doesn’t. They are both finding out via personal experience that faster isn’t always the best route for progress. That speeding through life sometimes presents them with a yield—a pause that forces them to grapple with their impatience and their choice to either “grow up” in this area or to keep returning to the bottle of their infancy.

As it goes with them, so it goes with me. There are seasons in my life when the pressure to mature burdens me with the responsibility of having to make a choice along those lines. In the days of my youth, I couldn’t wait to be older; at least then I would be in control of my decisions.

I was right; I’m now in control of my decisions, but there are times when the comfort of a little milk and a warm blanket are tempting. Times when I wish I could revert to the cradle and leave all the decisions up to someone else. Times when I, like my sons, say dumb things to others and to God, in hopes that my words make sense, but all the while knowing that they don’t. That they are offensive to the ears of those on the receiving end.

Unreasonable words. Thoughts based on emotion rather than truth. Casual statements issuing forth from a place of unbelief, fear, and selfishness. Justifications that aren’t thought out but, rather, are based on inconsistent sentiment that shrouds my flesh in self-interest.

I spoke as much to God this morning.

“Where are you God?”
“I think you’ve forgotten about me.”
“Could you just hurry up with the answer?”
“Is there really any point to this day?”
“I imagine that this is about as good as it’s going to get, so I’d better get up and get it over with.”

Yammering unbelief like that, on and on for a few moments, only to be quickly followed up by my confession.

“I’m sorry God. That was really a dumb thing to say.”

And then I laughed; and then he did. And thus, the conversation was opened up for a better word; a truer truth; a love and a grace that exceeds my stupidity to say,

“Now that we’ve cleared that up, elaine, let’s move on to some solid food.”

It’s time to move on with some solid food, my friends. Our maturing doesn’t happen overnight or with a quick ride around the lawn. Our “growing up” in the faith takes time … takes a willingness on our parts to bend to the menial tasks of picking up sticks and slowing our pace. Of entreating the pauses that find us, whether forced upon us by others or freely chosen by us because we’ve come to the conclusion that faster doesn’t always yield better. That solid food requires a longer chew.

And that chewing can, in fact, bring pleasure to the process of our becoming.

How about you? What excuses are you bringing to the table of grace today? What could you possibly offer up to our God as a justification for your staying as you are? What bottle of milk tastes better than a steak? What questions could you ask him that remain without answers? What elementary understanding stifles your “gettin’ on with the gettin’ on” as it pertains to your faith journey?

Can this mother’s heart be honest?

It’s time to grow up. Time to slow down and sit with Father God and listen to what he has to say. Why? Because if we don’t, we risk a lifetime of infancy, never tasting the freedom and joy that comes with moving onto our maturity in Christ. Jesus didn’t go all the way to the cross and back so that we could stay as we are; he made that journey so that we could become a living conduit of his kingdom and his grace.

And that kind of sacred consecration and calling, my friends, deserves more than our menial attempts at maturity. Kingdom bestowment deserves our unparalleled obedience and humble willingness to grow into our crowns and to be thankful for the grace it has taken to make them a worthy fit.

Leave the bottles for the infants and keep to the table of rich meats this week. I’ll meet you at the table of grace where the food is solid and the communion is ever sweet. As always,

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a wave of empty

“So keep up your courage, men, for I have faith in God that it will happen just as he told me. Nevertheless, we must run aground on some island.” (Acts 27:25-26).

One of the best pieces of advice I’ve ever received came from a counselor during a time of great personal crisis nearly fourteen years ago. It went something like this…

Elaine, you spend a great deal of your time trying to “out swim” the waves that are chasing you. You expend your valuable energy in trying to reach the shore before they have the opportunity to consume you. Sometimes you make it; sometimes you don’t. How much better would it be if you stopped swimming, anchored your feet into the sand, and turned to face the wave … head on and with the full confidence that your survival has already been written in the history books?

Facing the wave. That’s where I am today. Actually, where I am is in an upstairs bedroom where two beds are stripped of their linens and where closets are mostly bare. The trophies remain … the bookshelf filled with yesteryear’s reads, and the dust all the more; but what I notice most about this room this morning is not the remnants left behind. What I’m most keenly aware of is its emptiness. The silence. The incredible void that fills this place because two young men are no longer making this room the place where they lay their heads at night.

My tears have mostly dried, and the exhaustion has nearly subsided; for the most part, I’m ready to “get on with the gettin’ on.” But before I do, before I have clarity about “what’s next” for me and for those of us left behind, I want to spend some time this week “facing the wave” and allowing the full force of change to hit me squarely in the heart, therefore requiring me to grapple with some questions that are worthy of more than my casual acknowledgment.

Questions that arrive because routine has been stripped away and because there is now ample time and space to formulate some answers, out loud and before God in a way that wouldn’t have been possible a week ago. A week ago, I was still walking through this parental obedience of “letting go” with the objects of that “letting go” still shadowing my every move. Today, the shadows are removed. They are gone, casting their depth on the campuses of two universities that are just out of my reach.

Truly, I’m fine with the distance between us. It is part of their “becoming”; it’s part of mine. All of us are searching for the “next thing”—the next step in this journey called faith. And while their search leads them along different paths than mine, one thread remains constant for us all. Change has arrived, and when change comes, we can do one of two things with it. We can fight it, or we can bend to it … bow to it, turn to it and allow the full force behind its pulse to hit us where we stand and to shape us accordingly.

I choose to turn and face the wave this day, knowing that regardless of the “hit” my survival has already been written in the history books.

Some days … some seasons … our ships, like the Apostle Paul’s, get the “go ahead” from God to run aground. Our safety isn’t in question. We may feel as if it is; after all, the waves are high and the surge is certain. We may have lost all hope of being saved from the storm; but even there, our God comes to us in the dark of the night and reminds us that not one of us will be lost. We live with the assurance that our lives will be spared. But our ships? Our comfortable and our familiar?

Well, sometimes they know the splintering and breakage of an intentional island, placed in our paths on purpose and with the sole intention of stripping us down to the basics. The island is never intended to destroy us but, rather, to save us. Without it, we are at risk of succumbing to the treacherous battering from a sea’s fury whose relentless passion has sent more than a few ships to a watery and forgotten grave.

With the island, we get reprieve. A fresh start. A place of beginning again; of rebuilding and renewal and re-examination of a life that will continue down a new path, yet one with the same destination in mind.

Home to God.

He will use many routes to get us there, all manner of detours and obstacles to accomplish our arrival. We may not always welcome the change … the “stripping down” and painful emptiness that calls for our contemplation and our maturation. But to deny its reality is to delay its intentional good. And God is after our good; not for goodness’ sake, but for his sake. For his plan. For his perfected end that gloriously welcomes and includes our “becoming” as part of the determined process.

Perhaps this day the waves are fiercely and desperately chasing you from behind. Your ship is hanging by a thread and your efforts at “lightening the load” are doing little to quell the fury. Your “frantic and frenzy” at trying to “out swim” the inevitable embrace of the waves in order to reach the safety of the shore has worn you out and your exhaustion is complete.

Would you be willing to pause, to stop where you are, to dig your heels deeply into the soil beneath your weary feet and then to courageously, turn and face the wave? Sometimes a ship has to be willing to be broken in order for a life to be saved. It maybe your ship … your life. It maybe the life of someone you dearly love. Either way, the willingness to invite the “stripping down” of the waves is the beginning of the “building up” of a new way of doing life with Jesus.

Thus, keep up your courage, friends, and I will keep up mine. I have all the confidence in my God to lead us as we go and to bring us safely home, just as he has said. Our God is ever faithful. He will do it.

Even so, do it today, Lord Jesus. As always…

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Stuff

Stuff

I laughed this morning, loudly to myself and with little regard to my surroundings. I suppose I needed it; the pressure and chaos in my life have been immense over the past several weeks. In the midst of the busiest season I have ever known, there have been few occasions that have afforded me the release that I experienced today through my uninhibited and unrestrained laughter. The culprit behind amusement?

Hot Stuff. The smash hit made popular by Donna Summer in 1979 when I was but a young thirteen. Thirty years down the road, I’m less young, but somehow the song still manages to find its way into radio play. It did so this morning in the dentist office while I was awaiting my semi-annual clean. At age thirteen, I knew little about looking for some hot stuff. At forty-three, I’m content to drop the hot and simply stick with stuff … less of it!

Stuff.

My life’s been filled to the brim and then some with its consumption. I imagine you could voice the same. I’ll spare you most of the details. After all, stuff is stuff. It packs heavy in every household. Yours probably doesn’t look like mine, but I bet it sometimes feels like mine.

Full;
Unwanted;
Too much;
Too detailed;
Hard;
Chaotic;
Stressful;
Burdensome.
_____________.

Stuff does that. It weighs us down and keeps us from a single-minded focus, at least it does for me. I like the neatly defined parameters I’ve created for my life. When an abundance of stuff threatens to overflow those self-imposed boundaries, my inclination is to shut down. I don’t always manage the “excess” of stuff very well. It effects every area of my life (physically, mentally, emotionally, socially, spiritually … have I covered all the “ally’s”?).

I don’t eat right, think right, feel right, act right, pray right. Instead, I default to mediocrity—to just barely getting by with the hope that tomorrow will birth less stuff and more peace. And while the current stuff in my life will lessen with the passage of time, I imagine future stuff will soon arrive to fill any void.

We can’t help but live with our stuff. It finds us regardless of our striving toward keeping it at bay. Stuff barks loudly, refusing hiddenness. We can ignore it for a season, but eventually it catches up with us until we can no longer refuse its insistence. We simply must collect the strength and grace to deal with it.

God is the true source behind that strength. Regardless of my desire to shut down, God’s desire is to see me through my times of stress-filled stuff. He understands a crowded agenda. I can’t begin to understand the “stuff” he’s dealing with on an everlasting basis. Can you?

I know what you’re thinking. He’s God. He can handle it. But friends, God intends for us to handle our stuff in accordance with his will. His Word tells us that we’ve been given everything we need to lead a godly and holy life. That we have been endowed with the mind of Christ (1 Cor. 2:16), the Spirit of Christ (John 14:16-17), the power of Christ (Eph. 1:18-20). God means for us to manage our stuff with his management staff in tow. Then and only then, will any of it be done with a measure of success and, ultimately, to the glory of his kingdom.

This morning, I packed the book bags of my two young kids and sent them off to their first day of school. This weekend, I’ll help two more with their packing. Not book bags, but rather with the packing of their cars as they make preparations to return to college, one a junior and the other a freshman. The amount of stuff we’ve got to do between now and then is large and overwhelming. I’m not sure I’m up for the task.

Still and yet, it’s my stuff to carry. I want to do it well, with efficiency, with patience, and with a heart that is willing to bend to imperfection even though the perfectionist in me is desperately trying to state her case. I want to get to the end of my current stuff with my sanity in tact and with my faith all the more. I’m not sure how God is going to work it all out in me and, therefore, through me, but I am willing to offer up all of me for the process.

It’s a hard surrender, but one of the benefits that comes because of my exhaustion is that I’m finally willing to concede my flesh and inabilities into the hands of God’s capability. He, alone, can turn my stuff into something.

I don’t know what stuff you’re carrying this day. If your plate, like mine, is full and overflowing with deadlines, my heart is with you. You are not alone in your struggle. We journey this road together with God, and if my confession about my “stuff” can buoy your spirit along these same lines, then these few moments before the screen have been a worthy pause in my life this day.

May God’s good favor, heavenly understanding, abundant patience, calm assurance, and grace-filled reminders be your portion at every turn as you walk your week. Stay close to Jesus no matter the stuff that’s warring its insistence into your life. Whatever you have to do to get to Jesus … do it. Don’t wait until your inclinations carry you to a place of despair. Instead, bolster your busyness with the truth and power of God’s help.

It’s ours for the asking. Ask boldly. Ask with confidence. Ask a lot. Ask today. As always,

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PS: If you have a specific prayer concern you’d like for me to pray over, please indicate in the comment section or feel free to e-mail me. Adding your “stuff” to mine is a privilege, not a problem. Shalom.

a fleeting resemblance

“Show me, O LORD, my life’s end and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting is my life. You have made my days a mere handbreadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you. Each man’s life is but a breath.” (Psalm 39:4-5).

Two boys at eight-years-old.

Two boys separated by twelve years.

Two boys with different fathers.

Two boys who are never pegged as look-alikes , still and yet two boys who share some obvious similarities:

adorable eyes;
kind hearts;
big dreams;
ice-cream appetites;
and a mutual love for the one thing they’ll always have in common.

Their momma. The one who loves them back and then some more and wishes she could fold them up and keep them in her pocket for a long season to come.

Where has the time gone? I know we all say it; I’m pretty sure I’ve heard at least once or twice in the course of conversations within the last few days. Time slips through our hands like water. Perhaps not always in the moment; sometimes moments spend long and laborious. But then they gather and collect and before long, we’re left holding our memories and wondering why we didn’t cherish them better while we lived them.

Sometimes it hurts to look back because it reminds us of just how fleeting a life-span lives.

Children are most often our benchmarks for the passage of time. They can’t help but grow and change and move into adulthood. Those of us who are older? Well, it seems we stay “stuck” in our growth as we age. Yes, the internal shaping is ever at work, and while we may gray a bit, get rounder and more wrinkled with our collection of days, the measurable change of our next ten years doesn’t wear as obviously as that of children.

Their changes come swift and fast and full of the blossoms that belong to their becoming. Ours seem less pronounced. Instead, we are given some “down time” so as to better observe the exponential growth of a younger generation and to contemplate the meaning behind it all. If we can get past the “pain” of the pondering, we can glean some understanding that will help us better live our “now”. Understanding that simply says…

Live life like you mean it.

On purpose and with the intention of sowing some good seed into a good soil that will glean as a good harvest somewhere down the road.

I’ve been sowing those seeds in the lives of my children for twenty years now. I haven’t always planted them with purpose; most of the time, my seeds scatter through accidental measure and with little thought of the blossoms to come. But every now and again, a reminder arrives, showing me that all has not been sown in vain. A moment like today, when a younger child recalls the earlier season of an older sibling and shows me just how “alike” they look … how much they share in common. And that, just maybe, in twelve years’ time, my Jadon will grow into a man like my Nick.

Despite the twelve years that separate their ages, despite the time that has flown by rather than crawled, there is a familiar seed that anchors them to the soil of my heart and home. They are my look-alike sons. The two of them, along with the two others, will be, perhaps, the greatest living witnesses as to how I’ve invested my time on this earth … fleeting and otherwise.

I’ve been wrapped up in a great many things for the past several weeks, splitting my time amongst preferences and responsibilities. All the while, my children are milling about in my presence, rarely garnering my notice. It isn’t fair to them; it isn’t fair to me. I’m robbing myself of some moments, and rather than flog myself with regrets, I’m going to slow down a bit and capture some memories in the bottle that I carry around in my pocket.

I imagine I will need them in the days to come. A season when pulling out a remembrance or two will bring me a much needed smile and generous lift to my wearied heart. I cannot forecast the need in the immediate, but when it arises down the road, I’ll be grateful for the time I’ve invested along those lines.

These are memory-making days, friends. Even if you don’t have some look-alikes to make them with, I’ll wager the fact that there is someone God has placed in your path who could use some of your intention, sown on his/her behalf. Let’s spend tonight and tomorrow and the next day doing so—sowing seeds with intention and living life like we mean it.

Thank you for being my friends. The seeds of love you have sown into my life have given me a generous portion of remembrance for the road ahead. What a privilege it is to walk it with you.

As always,

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Where the Heart Is…

Where the Heart Is…

I sensed my son’s immediate discomfort with the statement spoken to him by a local parishioner while waiting in the check-out line at Wal-Mart:

“Sure bet you’re glad to be back home.”

Nicholas squirmed for a gracious response.

“Yes, sir. It’s good to be home.”

Even as he spoke it, I felt the painful cut that seared his heart with more clarified precision than that of a sharpened knife. The words weren’t intended to hurt, but they did. They reminded my son of everything he’s been trying to process since returning home from Bolivia.

If home is where the heart is, then my son’s home (at least for the “right now”) resides somewhere in the remote mountainous village of Tacachia, Bolivia. He spent the better part of a week walking its soil and tending to its harvest–a harvest that exceeded the fruit of the land to include the fruit of relationships.

The Kory Wawanaka Children’s Home (an orphanage sustained through the Methodist Church of Bolivia) houses nineteen orphaned children, ranging in ages from three to thirteen. When Nick first visited their community last year, the orphanage had four residents. Newly licensed for operation, the home has experienced strong growth in every way during the past twelve months.

It was especially meaningful for Nick to witness the growth of the past year. The “pulse” behind the work there is strong and evident, stirring his heart for further involvement.

“I want to go back, mom. And not just for a week. I want to stay longer next time.”

Next time.

My heart can barely get around these past “two times.” Still and yet, I listened to him pour his heart out over cheeseburgers and fries during a mother and son outing. I knew it was coming, this unwrapping of his feelings. Even as his emotions welled with the “telling”, mine welled with the listening.

God is moving Nick’s heart in a new direction. The shaping that’s taking place is what I’ve prayed for his entire life. In fact, I’ve prayed that prayer for all of my children over the years.

That they would, each one, know early on in their lives what God would have for them. That they would walk in their calling in their twenties rather than waiting until their forties to figure it all out. That they wouldn’t spend their days wondering about what they were supposed to be doing but rather would spend them knowing that whatever they were doing, they were doing so with an eternal purpose in mind. A kingdom purpose.

That they would find God, sense God, believe God, and know God in the everyday and mundane of a life that doesn’t always make sense but that is content to walk hand in hand with One who possesses perfect sense and understanding for the road ahead.

That they would listen to the promptings of God’s Spirit within and not brush it off as a momentary whim or selfish fancy. That they would, in fact, trust in the truth they’ve been given as children of the Most High God. A truth that tells them God is living and active and moving on their behalf and that because of this “constant working” they shouldn’t be surprised when he shows up on the scene of their lives, prompting them to keep in step with his leading.

God is faithfully answering those prayers for Nick. I heard it in his words and saw it in his eyes as we shared a table and bared our hearts to one another. And while Nick has always imagined his life to be headed in a certain direction, God is asking him to imagine bigger. To dream better; to see beyond his raw capabilities and to, instead, take hold of his sacredly bestowed giftings.

That kind of living, friends, is where it’s at. God has planted his own seeds of promise within our lives. When we begin to see those seeds harvest toward kingdom gain, then our hearts, like my son’s, welcome the growth of a new soil. In fact, our souls can’t help but cry out for it. For the untilled lands of an untouched country that is completely and “holy” surrendered to the idea of God’s unlimited possibilities.

As we connect with that kind of “heart-stirring”—when we begin to see our lives framed within the context of a greater good rather than within the parameters we’ve so carefully and comfortably created for ourselves—then we walk our part in the Great Commission. We walk our callings; no matter the location; no matter our age; no matter if we have the credentials or the education to go alongside.

We simply and profoundly walk our faith with all the confidence of heaven as our guide. We don’t worry about the particulars. The details belong to God. But the steps?

Well, they are ours to journey, whether here or abroad. When walked with the Creator, every step moves us closer to him … to heaven, where the final proclamation of our earthly life will resound in perfect unison with perfect wisdom…

“Yes Sir, it’s good to be home.”

No tears; no pain; no more wondering about our callings. Just rest for our hearts in the place where they were always intended to land.

Home.

By the grace of God I’ll get there; by his grace so will Nick, so will my other children. So will you. Thus, I pray…

Thank you, Father, for meeting us in this day. For showing up on foreign soil to till our hearts for kingdom purpose. For allowing us the “wrestling” of some things that further shape our understanding about how you intend for our lives to live. Give us the courage to “work the thing out” before you, with you, depending on you so that because of you, we come to a greater place of obedience to you. Use our pain to teach us Father, even when it hurts and our preferences call out for its burial. Meet us in those deep places; stir us all the more, and keep us to the pilgrimage of a final grace that will walk us home and welcome us fully. Amen.

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PS: I’m in the mountains this week; the picture above stands as my witness. Nick has promised me a post regarding his own thoughts about his trip. I hope to have it by week’s end, along with some pictures. Shalom.
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