Yesterday I was my mom, all day long. I got up, and started cleaning. I cleaned my room and the laundry room relentlessly, all day long. I never went downstairs, never ate, never made it out of my nightgown until the job was done.
I worked until I was within a half hour of time to leave. I packed at the last minute, using no less than 3 bags. What I didn't have time to put away I stashed in out-of-the-way places (a pet peeve of mine).
All of these things are CLASSIC Anita moves. Unbelievable. It was like something triggered my OCD ancestry, and the need-to-clean trait was activated and that energy sustained me throughout the live long day.
What became of your children? you may ask. Not to worry, they took care of each other. And I had babies helping me, to be sure. Plus, I'm using the power of electronic addiction to fuel keeping the rest of the house in order. "Can I have a turn on the computer/Ipad/Wii?". Certainly. Just unload a dishwasher, vacuum a room, paint a fence, and harvest the back 40 and you can turn your brains to mush to your little heart's content. Oh and put your laundry away. Again. "But mom, this is the third time today."
I have energy. I attribute this rare condition to a few factors: 1) I'm not pregnant and not recently postpartem. 2)I'm off sugar and white flour, for almost 2 weeks, and down about 23 lbs, and so I feel Grrrreat! 3) I have an insatiable desire to get my house under control. I have no idea where this came from. I've not really felt this way before. My husband is almost giddy.
Enjoy it while it lasts, I say.
I suppose I would attribute my complete personality change in part, also, to another Anita-like recent activity that I hesitate to speak of, but at risk of sounding cocky, will let you in on.
I've joined a secret club of lunatics who set their alarms to take turns getting up and praying in the middle of the night. I started off doing the night-owl shifts, 10 or 11 o'clock. That wasn't too bad. Then one week those slots were all full, and I got 2:00 a.m. We pray every other week, but one week there were some people on vacation, and I asked if I could sub, so I'm three weeks running, and I'm hooked.
Not only that, we have a once-a-week prayer meeting all together at 4:00 Monday morning. Can you imagine? Every Monday morning, me and Dozer get in the WhoopT and drive across town to pray.
In order to pray in the middle of the night, I have to be active, eyes open, none of this bowed head stuff. I pray while I mop (VERY Anita-like), while I do laundry, while I exercise ever-so-quietly, or if not so quietly, while I nurse the baby I woke up. Sometimes I do my entire watch in the shower.
The truly cool thing about praying while doing mundane tasks is that later, while doing that same mundane task, I find myself praying AGAIN. And it's not even the middle of the night.
I'm thriving spiritually and physically, which is to say I'm moving forward, not stagnant, not regressing. My spirit and my body are saying yes to Him Who my soul loves. He must increase, I must decrease. Literally. And it's happening.
So I'm glad to say that at the age of 40 I am becoming just like my mother in all the best possible ways. A Proverbs 31 kind of chick. And having a marvelous time!
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Bouquets of freshly sharpened pencils
There is something incredibly exciting about the beginning of school.
I go to Walmart and buy a couple of cases of 32 college ruled spiral bound notebooks, used to be 10 cents each, now 15.
I get online and order Horizons math, Handwriting without tears, Teaching textbooks, and Apologia physics (No, I really am not making money here - that is the stuff we use.) I even finally bit the bullet and bought the Rosetta Stone (it will only be worth it if 14 people are all eventually fluent in Spanish!).
And I plan. Boy do I ever. I'm planning grocery lists, weekly schedules, chores, mentoring, music practicing. I've got plans for my planning.
Funny, for someone with such a short attention span to plan so much, when I'm so very lousy at following through with plans. But somehow it makes me feel ready.
And nervous. Nervous about how to get everybody to do everything every single day of the year. Especially since, right now, with their brains practically turned to mush since I've been letting them live on an electronic overload while I'm making all my plans, and I can barely get them to walk from here to there without a sigh from the eldest, a growl from the second, an eye roll and an argument from the third, weeping from the fourth, a nod and sudden disappearance from the fifth, a suicide threat from the sixth, bargaining from the seventh, complaining from the eighth, incompetence from the ninth and shameless disobedience from the tenth. (I'm exaggerating. They are all still wonderful and helpful and the delight of my eyes.)
And it is really incredible to me that I am excited at all about the next school year, since we only finished the last one YESTERDAY!
Who am I kidding?
I don't know. But there's a spring in my step, a mounting credit card bill, lists on my clipboards, and a brainstorm brewing in my gray matter . . . how can we do it better this year?!
It's a journey. I'm not there yet. I'm better than I was, on my way to what I will be. I'm pressing forward, toward the mark of the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus, to know Him in the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of His suffering.
I'm not giving up. I'm getting up. And if I fall down tomorrow as I reach for the stars, I'll get back up again.
To quote my favorite old writer/speaker Ann Keimel, "I am just a small ordinary person, but I've got a giant of a God in me, and together, He and I, we're out to change our world." Holler back. (Ann didn't say that last part, by the way.)
I go to Walmart and buy a couple of cases of 32 college ruled spiral bound notebooks, used to be 10 cents each, now 15.
I get online and order Horizons math, Handwriting without tears, Teaching textbooks, and Apologia physics (No, I really am not making money here - that is the stuff we use.) I even finally bit the bullet and bought the Rosetta Stone (it will only be worth it if 14 people are all eventually fluent in Spanish!).
And I plan. Boy do I ever. I'm planning grocery lists, weekly schedules, chores, mentoring, music practicing. I've got plans for my planning.
Funny, for someone with such a short attention span to plan so much, when I'm so very lousy at following through with plans. But somehow it makes me feel ready.
And nervous. Nervous about how to get everybody to do everything every single day of the year. Especially since, right now, with their brains practically turned to mush since I've been letting them live on an electronic overload while I'm making all my plans, and I can barely get them to walk from here to there without a sigh from the eldest, a growl from the second, an eye roll and an argument from the third, weeping from the fourth, a nod and sudden disappearance from the fifth, a suicide threat from the sixth, bargaining from the seventh, complaining from the eighth, incompetence from the ninth and shameless disobedience from the tenth. (I'm exaggerating. They are all still wonderful and helpful and the delight of my eyes.)
And it is really incredible to me that I am excited at all about the next school year, since we only finished the last one YESTERDAY!
Who am I kidding?
I don't know. But there's a spring in my step, a mounting credit card bill, lists on my clipboards, and a brainstorm brewing in my gray matter . . . how can we do it better this year?!
It's a journey. I'm not there yet. I'm better than I was, on my way to what I will be. I'm pressing forward, toward the mark of the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus, to know Him in the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of His suffering.
I'm not giving up. I'm getting up. And if I fall down tomorrow as I reach for the stars, I'll get back up again.
To quote my favorite old writer/speaker Ann Keimel, "I am just a small ordinary person, but I've got a giant of a God in me, and together, He and I, we're out to change our world." Holler back. (Ann didn't say that last part, by the way.)
Monday, August 15, 2011
Adjusted Review of the Super 8 Motel in Muskegon, Michigan
If you google "review of super 8 motel in muskegon michigan" you will find that the hotel rated one star in the opinion of more than one guest. But I believe it is a matter of perspective, so I thought I'd share mine.
Me, the hubsand and the G12 stayed a pleasant 4 nights in two tents at the campground, but when the forecast called for nearly 2 inches of gully-washing, we opted to pack up our dry tents and dry gear and spend the last night in the above mentioned establishment.
So here are the highlights of the hotel as I saw it, having come from the campground:
Beds. In each room there were two queen sized beds, both with sheets and blankets and pillows that were not damp or musty smelling.
Floor complete with carpet rather than sand, dirt, and pine needles, relatively safe for little crawlers to practice their newly acquired mobility.
Bug-free. No bees, mosquitoes, flies, daddy-long-legs, or other unidentified critters.
Lights everywhere, outlets everywhere, sand-free shower right in the room! Holler back.
Toilet that I got to flush myself.
The benefit that comes with doors of knowing exactly where each of my darlings was.
No smell of smoke, bug spray, or me.
Having said all that, would I rather have been back at the campground, around the fire, on a lawn chair, eating s'mores, wearing bug spray and damp clothes and dirty kids, walking half a block to the john and with crud in my shoes? Oh yeah. You better believe it.
But in context, the Super 8 was a sweet change, and way better than being washed away in the Little Black Creek.
Me, the hubsand and the G12 stayed a pleasant 4 nights in two tents at the campground, but when the forecast called for nearly 2 inches of gully-washing, we opted to pack up our dry tents and dry gear and spend the last night in the above mentioned establishment.
So here are the highlights of the hotel as I saw it, having come from the campground:
Beds. In each room there were two queen sized beds, both with sheets and blankets and pillows that were not damp or musty smelling.
Floor complete with carpet rather than sand, dirt, and pine needles, relatively safe for little crawlers to practice their newly acquired mobility.
Bug-free. No bees, mosquitoes, flies, daddy-long-legs, or other unidentified critters.
Lights everywhere, outlets everywhere, sand-free shower right in the room! Holler back.
Toilet that I got to flush myself.
The benefit that comes with doors of knowing exactly where each of my darlings was.
No smell of smoke, bug spray, or me.
Having said all that, would I rather have been back at the campground, around the fire, on a lawn chair, eating s'mores, wearing bug spray and damp clothes and dirty kids, walking half a block to the john and with crud in my shoes? Oh yeah. You better believe it.
But in context, the Super 8 was a sweet change, and way better than being washed away in the Little Black Creek.
Sunday, August 07, 2011
hiddenness
i have this sort of horrible, sort of wonderful thing going through my head. i think it might be sort of scriptural, but not sure i could argue it with a theologian. it goes something like this:
i suspect my Father limits my success, or something like that, because He is protecting me from the pride i would develop, and related problems, if i were to be today all that i can be.
i think He'd rather have my CDs in a box on a corner shelf in the local house of prayer, and mostly in boxes in my basement and have me still have a relatively humble heart than be distributed in Family Bookstores nationwide and have me think i'm "something".
i think He'd rather see me overweight and acne faced than petite, pretty and having an affair.
i think He likes me singing at the least attended session of a small local conference and able to really sing to Him, more than being a "headliner" at a major national event, but just putting on a show because my heart is more aware of me than Him.
i think He'd just much rather have me writing this blog with my 22 friends reading it when they get the chance than having me have a book selling big at Amazon.com, if that's what it takes for me to stay near to Him.
in short, He knows my weakness. He knows how very quickly i turn, stumble, stray. He knows how quickly i would try to steal His glory, given the opportunity.
and i'm not saying i'm worthy of any of that other stuff anyway. there are many writers, many singers, many leaders. but my husband only has one wife (thankfully!) and my children only have one mom. my neighborhood only has one me.
the Word i heard this weekend at a conference at our church was (from Elisha and the widow who he helped by filling all the empty jars with oil): stay home, shut the door and pour yourself into the empty pots that you have there.
i am content. i am content to be home. i will write little songs for my kids to memorize verses for Awanas and for the children at church to learn scriptures in Sunday school (what an honor) and for the kids at camp to sing. if children learn my silly little songs and hide God's Word in their hearts, who knows what fruit those little seeds will produce??
i am content to pursue the Lordship of Christ in my little domain, His dominion over the smell in my bathrooms, over the dishes in my sink, over the laundry in the hallway, over the hearts and attitudes of my children, over the number of shoes and jackets lining the floor of the van, over my faithfulness to get allergy shots and dog poop (my eldest has a job picking up dog poop for a friend, something we are supposed to do weekly, and, well, you know).
i am content to pray in secret about secret things, to be a little hidden warrior for my King, fighting for my marriage, my family, my neighborhood, my church, my city, my nation.
hiddenness is my gift from my Father Who sees in secret. it is where i can bloom safely. and should He see fit to someday shine light on His masterpiece, me, may i be found mature enough to do the right thing and give Him all the glory.
i suspect my Father limits my success, or something like that, because He is protecting me from the pride i would develop, and related problems, if i were to be today all that i can be.
i think He'd rather have my CDs in a box on a corner shelf in the local house of prayer, and mostly in boxes in my basement and have me still have a relatively humble heart than be distributed in Family Bookstores nationwide and have me think i'm "something".
i think He'd rather see me overweight and acne faced than petite, pretty and having an affair.
i think He likes me singing at the least attended session of a small local conference and able to really sing to Him, more than being a "headliner" at a major national event, but just putting on a show because my heart is more aware of me than Him.
i think He'd just much rather have me writing this blog with my 22 friends reading it when they get the chance than having me have a book selling big at Amazon.com, if that's what it takes for me to stay near to Him.
in short, He knows my weakness. He knows how very quickly i turn, stumble, stray. He knows how quickly i would try to steal His glory, given the opportunity.
and i'm not saying i'm worthy of any of that other stuff anyway. there are many writers, many singers, many leaders. but my husband only has one wife (thankfully!) and my children only have one mom. my neighborhood only has one me.
the Word i heard this weekend at a conference at our church was (from Elisha and the widow who he helped by filling all the empty jars with oil): stay home, shut the door and pour yourself into the empty pots that you have there.
i am content. i am content to be home. i will write little songs for my kids to memorize verses for Awanas and for the children at church to learn scriptures in Sunday school (what an honor) and for the kids at camp to sing. if children learn my silly little songs and hide God's Word in their hearts, who knows what fruit those little seeds will produce??
i am content to pursue the Lordship of Christ in my little domain, His dominion over the smell in my bathrooms, over the dishes in my sink, over the laundry in the hallway, over the hearts and attitudes of my children, over the number of shoes and jackets lining the floor of the van, over my faithfulness to get allergy shots and dog poop (my eldest has a job picking up dog poop for a friend, something we are supposed to do weekly, and, well, you know).
i am content to pray in secret about secret things, to be a little hidden warrior for my King, fighting for my marriage, my family, my neighborhood, my church, my city, my nation.
hiddenness is my gift from my Father Who sees in secret. it is where i can bloom safely. and should He see fit to someday shine light on His masterpiece, me, may i be found mature enough to do the right thing and give Him all the glory.
Tuesday, August 02, 2011
You're not the boss of me!
I am standing in the hallway at my church and a young lad, happens to be the pastor's son, is walking a few steps ahead of me, doing something he shouldn't do. I don't remember what it was, maybe just that he wasn't in the service, maybe he was picking at the corner of a bulletin board. Let's just say, he was not in danger and neither was anyone else. He was not doing any major destruction of property or person. He was just a kid, being a kid. If I had been his mother, I might have said something. But I was not in authority over him, didn't have a relationship with him, so I didn't say anything.
However, also in the hallway was another adult, who was no more connected to him than I, but who took it upon himself to correct him, with these words, "Zach (not his real name), I don't think your dad would want you to do that." Because he knew his dad, our pastor, he felt it was appropriate for him to correct his son. And I don't know that he knew the pastor beyond his being the pastor. Like, not to get together with his family socially, outside church.
I think this sort of thing happens a lot, and may be part of what makes it so rough to be a pastor's kid. It happens to my children also, partly because I was a worship leader for a long time, very visible, and also because I have so many children and they are easy to spot, as they look a lot alike. At camp a couple weeks ago, an adult who was trying to herd a bunch of children, calling them all "camper" not knowing their names, saw one of mine whose name she knew and addressed her by her name. Being singled out from all the other children who were just named "camper" made her feel like she was in trouble more than all the others.
Authority is a touchy subject. We don't have authority over someone just because we know their name or their dad's name. We don't have authority because we are bigger or older or more familiar than someone.
Authority comes from God. It is like electricity, there has to be a connection. You have to get authority from someone who has the authority to give authority. God gives authority to my husband, he shares it with me. When I am leaving the house, I give my authority to whoever I put in charge. My 12 year old son has no authority over my 9 year old daughter UNLESS I GIVE IT TO HIM. When he tries to exert it inappropriately, he gets this response: You're not the boss of me!
I do teach my children to respect adults, to honor them. But just because someone is an adult doesn't mean I want my children to do whatever they say. Not all adults have authority over my children. Only if I give it to them do they have it.
I want my children to understand authority because it has a direct impact on how they relate to God. We live in a church culture that sees God more as a Daddy/Lover/Friend, all of which are right and true, but we neglect to acknowledge Him, sometimes, as King and Lord. But He is that.
At this point in American society, there aren't really any absolutes - everything is negotiable. We do not respect those in authority. We've heard enough stories of corruption in government, police brutality, teachers having inappropriate relationships with students, pastors stumbling, even abusive parents, so we think all of those positions of authority are conditional on whether the leader merits our submission. We have forgotten how to submit to authority.
Because of this, we really don't know how to relate to a God who is King and Lord. It doesn't fit our grid. But we need a new grid. We need a paradigm shift. We need a new mindset. We need REVELATION.
God is God. There is no other. He made us. He made all things. He is in charge of all He made. He brought us into this world, He can take us out and make another to look just like us. He is the Boss of us.
Not only is does He have rights to lordship as Creator, He is something else that makes Him worthy of our submission. Holy. He is holy. That is a concept that is so very foreign to us. We use the word holy all the time, but have very little revelation of it.
It means other than. It means there is nothing like God. It means there is no wickedness, no blemish, no sin, no wrong-ness in Him. Ever. It is beyond our scope.
And it is this holiness that we have lost sight of that leads us to another idea about which we have no comprehension: The Fear of the Lord. What in the world does that mean? Our Bibles have started to translate that word "reverence". Because we don't relate to "fear". At all.
How do you fear Someone Who is the Essence of Goodness? How do you love Someone and fear Him at the same time? If He is a scary, fearsome God, why do we follow Him? How can He be merciful and loving and also be a judge?
But He is both. He is love, He is loving, His lovingkindness endures forever. His mercies are new every morning. And He is holy, and just, and righteous altogether.
The whole Bible is true, not just the parts we like or relate to are agree with. He is that Guy that wiped out Ananias and Sapphira for lying about their offering. He is that Guy who sent the Israelites to massacre various people groups living in the land He gave them. He is a righteous Judge. He is right to judge and all His judgements are right. He is holy, He is love.
And He is the boss of us.
However, also in the hallway was another adult, who was no more connected to him than I, but who took it upon himself to correct him, with these words, "Zach (not his real name), I don't think your dad would want you to do that." Because he knew his dad, our pastor, he felt it was appropriate for him to correct his son. And I don't know that he knew the pastor beyond his being the pastor. Like, not to get together with his family socially, outside church.
I think this sort of thing happens a lot, and may be part of what makes it so rough to be a pastor's kid. It happens to my children also, partly because I was a worship leader for a long time, very visible, and also because I have so many children and they are easy to spot, as they look a lot alike. At camp a couple weeks ago, an adult who was trying to herd a bunch of children, calling them all "camper" not knowing their names, saw one of mine whose name she knew and addressed her by her name. Being singled out from all the other children who were just named "camper" made her feel like she was in trouble more than all the others.
Authority is a touchy subject. We don't have authority over someone just because we know their name or their dad's name. We don't have authority because we are bigger or older or more familiar than someone.
Authority comes from God. It is like electricity, there has to be a connection. You have to get authority from someone who has the authority to give authority. God gives authority to my husband, he shares it with me. When I am leaving the house, I give my authority to whoever I put in charge. My 12 year old son has no authority over my 9 year old daughter UNLESS I GIVE IT TO HIM. When he tries to exert it inappropriately, he gets this response: You're not the boss of me!
I do teach my children to respect adults, to honor them. But just because someone is an adult doesn't mean I want my children to do whatever they say. Not all adults have authority over my children. Only if I give it to them do they have it.
I want my children to understand authority because it has a direct impact on how they relate to God. We live in a church culture that sees God more as a Daddy/Lover/Friend, all of which are right and true, but we neglect to acknowledge Him, sometimes, as King and Lord. But He is that.
At this point in American society, there aren't really any absolutes - everything is negotiable. We do not respect those in authority. We've heard enough stories of corruption in government, police brutality, teachers having inappropriate relationships with students, pastors stumbling, even abusive parents, so we think all of those positions of authority are conditional on whether the leader merits our submission. We have forgotten how to submit to authority.
Because of this, we really don't know how to relate to a God who is King and Lord. It doesn't fit our grid. But we need a new grid. We need a paradigm shift. We need a new mindset. We need REVELATION.
God is God. There is no other. He made us. He made all things. He is in charge of all He made. He brought us into this world, He can take us out and make another to look just like us. He is the Boss of us.
Not only is does He have rights to lordship as Creator, He is something else that makes Him worthy of our submission. Holy. He is holy. That is a concept that is so very foreign to us. We use the word holy all the time, but have very little revelation of it.
It means other than. It means there is nothing like God. It means there is no wickedness, no blemish, no sin, no wrong-ness in Him. Ever. It is beyond our scope.
And it is this holiness that we have lost sight of that leads us to another idea about which we have no comprehension: The Fear of the Lord. What in the world does that mean? Our Bibles have started to translate that word "reverence". Because we don't relate to "fear". At all.
How do you fear Someone Who is the Essence of Goodness? How do you love Someone and fear Him at the same time? If He is a scary, fearsome God, why do we follow Him? How can He be merciful and loving and also be a judge?
But He is both. He is love, He is loving, His lovingkindness endures forever. His mercies are new every morning. And He is holy, and just, and righteous altogether.
The whole Bible is true, not just the parts we like or relate to are agree with. He is that Guy that wiped out Ananias and Sapphira for lying about their offering. He is that Guy who sent the Israelites to massacre various people groups living in the land He gave them. He is a righteous Judge. He is right to judge and all His judgements are right. He is holy, He is love.
And He is the boss of us.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Set Apart
We had a day, seems like a long time ago, where we asked a number of older (read mature) women to share stuff they had learned in their lives in God about a particular subject. In one session three women shared what they thought they did right in raising their children. And I remember that the three of them had very different things they said. For example, my mother was hyper about how we looked (she was one of the women), regarding tattoos, piercings, even wearing the color black. Another mom had a bunch of boys, and I think all of them had something cool and spiritual embedded in their skin somewhere.
But that same mom talked about thinking probably one of the most significant thing they did in raising their children was that they left the country and were missionaries somewhere else for a significant part of their lives. They were set apart.
We chose, 8 years ago, to move to a part of town where we were and still are in the racial minority. There were several reasons for the move. Primarily, it was what we thought God wanted us to do. But one perk of the move was that we were set apart. We home school, everyone else in our neighborhood doesn't. We are (most of us anyway:) fair skinned, everyone else on our block is darker. We have 12 children, one mom and one dad, no one else has that sort of family.
Because we are not like everyone else in a number of ways, it seems to make sense to our children that we are not about what other people think, but are free to seek after what God wants. Our ties to this world are not quite as strong because we don't fit exactly anyway. It is easier for us to see that we are citizens of another Kingdom. We already are set apart.
I thought of this because today I heard about a friend who sent water with her children for their lunch at camp, rather than drinking the soda that is provided for them. It had never occurred to me! Not to drink the soda? It reminded me of Daniel and the boys in Babylon, not eating the king's meat or drinking the king's wine. It reminds me of Proverbs 23, think about what you are eating when you sit down with a ruler. And (although I don't really know why she is doing it) it strikes me as a way that her very young campers are set apart already.
It is as if that mom is saying: You can go, you can play, you can be part, but just because we are going doesn't mean we are going to automatically ingest and absorb and resemble everything we will experience. You are still in control of your decisions. You are still responsible for your actions. You are attending a camp, but you are still primarily a member of our family. My authority continues even when you are not in the same room with me.
Not drinking the soda that everyone else is drinking = set apart. Brilliant. It is training for that inevitable growing up thing that has to happen. It is practice following an invisible, higher authority than the one everyone else is following. It's also better for their little bodies. Bonus points!
But that same mom talked about thinking probably one of the most significant thing they did in raising their children was that they left the country and were missionaries somewhere else for a significant part of their lives. They were set apart.
We chose, 8 years ago, to move to a part of town where we were and still are in the racial minority. There were several reasons for the move. Primarily, it was what we thought God wanted us to do. But one perk of the move was that we were set apart. We home school, everyone else in our neighborhood doesn't. We are (most of us anyway:) fair skinned, everyone else on our block is darker. We have 12 children, one mom and one dad, no one else has that sort of family.
Because we are not like everyone else in a number of ways, it seems to make sense to our children that we are not about what other people think, but are free to seek after what God wants. Our ties to this world are not quite as strong because we don't fit exactly anyway. It is easier for us to see that we are citizens of another Kingdom. We already are set apart.
I thought of this because today I heard about a friend who sent water with her children for their lunch at camp, rather than drinking the soda that is provided for them. It had never occurred to me! Not to drink the soda? It reminded me of Daniel and the boys in Babylon, not eating the king's meat or drinking the king's wine. It reminds me of Proverbs 23, think about what you are eating when you sit down with a ruler. And (although I don't really know why she is doing it) it strikes me as a way that her very young campers are set apart already.
It is as if that mom is saying: You can go, you can play, you can be part, but just because we are going doesn't mean we are going to automatically ingest and absorb and resemble everything we will experience. You are still in control of your decisions. You are still responsible for your actions. You are attending a camp, but you are still primarily a member of our family. My authority continues even when you are not in the same room with me.
Not drinking the soda that everyone else is drinking = set apart. Brilliant. It is training for that inevitable growing up thing that has to happen. It is practice following an invisible, higher authority than the one everyone else is following. It's also better for their little bodies. Bonus points!
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Why do little girls have to grow up to look like hookers?
I was saddened to see a young woman of maybe 16 recently who I hadn't seen since she was a little girl. And I was so sorry to see that she had grown from a lovely girl (with the kind of face that the rest of us put make up on to try to look like her), and now looked like if she happened to be standing on a certain corner in a certain part of town at the right time of night, I'm pretty sure she could get some work. Her clothing, posture, and face all said, "Come and get it."
It reminds me of a goofy song I wrote a long time ago but never did anything with. It's what happens when a married woman writes a song meant to be sung by a single guy. I can't record it myself, and can't find anyone else who will do it. Here are the words. I called it Putrefaction, from the N.A.S.B. version of Isaiah 3.
Putrefaction
Well when God created Eve, He saw that beautiful was she
The most beautiful of all His creation
And I know there waits for me one just as beautiful as she
One whose spirit is like myrrh, not putrefaction
If He pulled out your earrings and shaved your head bald
If He washed all the color from your face
Would you still be a beauty dressed in sack cloth and ashes
With only a rope around your waist?
I can see you spent some time looking good on the outside
But did you pay enough attention to your soul?
You see, I'm looking for a bride who cares less about being mine
But has a zeal about belonging to the Lord
If He pulled out your earrings and shaved your head bald
If He washed all the color from your face
Would you still be a beauty dressed in sack cloth and ashes
With only a rope around your waist?
I want the beauty of an unfading spirit
In the quiet hidden place of the heart
I want the glow of a girl that loves Jesus more than me
In the quiet hidden place of her heart
Daughter of Zion, don't use your charm
To buy love that you cannot hold
Seek first His Kingdom and His righteousness
Light your countenence with more than just
Makeup and gold
If He pulled out your earrings and shaved your head bald
If He washed all the color from your face
Would you still be a beauty dressed in sack cloth and ashes
With only a rope around your waist?
I want the beauty of an unfading spirit
In the quiet hidden place of the heart
I want the glow of a girl that loves Jesus more than me
In the quiet hidden place of her heart
It reminds me of a goofy song I wrote a long time ago but never did anything with. It's what happens when a married woman writes a song meant to be sung by a single guy. I can't record it myself, and can't find anyone else who will do it. Here are the words. I called it Putrefaction, from the N.A.S.B. version of Isaiah 3.
Putrefaction
Well when God created Eve, He saw that beautiful was she
The most beautiful of all His creation
And I know there waits for me one just as beautiful as she
One whose spirit is like myrrh, not putrefaction
If He pulled out your earrings and shaved your head bald
If He washed all the color from your face
Would you still be a beauty dressed in sack cloth and ashes
With only a rope around your waist?
I can see you spent some time looking good on the outside
But did you pay enough attention to your soul?
You see, I'm looking for a bride who cares less about being mine
But has a zeal about belonging to the Lord
If He pulled out your earrings and shaved your head bald
If He washed all the color from your face
Would you still be a beauty dressed in sack cloth and ashes
With only a rope around your waist?
I want the beauty of an unfading spirit
In the quiet hidden place of the heart
I want the glow of a girl that loves Jesus more than me
In the quiet hidden place of her heart
Daughter of Zion, don't use your charm
To buy love that you cannot hold
Seek first His Kingdom and His righteousness
Light your countenence with more than just
Makeup and gold
If He pulled out your earrings and shaved your head bald
If He washed all the color from your face
Would you still be a beauty dressed in sack cloth and ashes
With only a rope around your waist?
I want the beauty of an unfading spirit
In the quiet hidden place of the heart
I want the glow of a girl that loves Jesus more than me
In the quiet hidden place of her heart
The Octomom
I just need to go off about the Octomom.
On the one hand, kudos to her for not "medically selecting" which babies to put in the freezer, which to abort, and which to let live. Good. Not killing babies is good.
On the other hand, I just have to differentiate between her and me. I have 11 children that God gave me inside of a healthy marriage to one man, one at a time, spaced in His wisdom in an appropriate way. Granted, we did cheat on the 11th one. My sweetie that I didn't carry in my own body is artificially spaced 5 months from my youngest's birthday, a medical impossibility. But even then, it only happened because God and several humans said yes.
That is different than taking your body, removing your eggs and scientifically matching them up with God-Knows-Who's sperm and creating an unnatural number of children when you have no husband and so source of providing for the children.
So don't judge big families by the Octomom. Don't put married couples trusting God with their fertility on the same bus with an artificially inseminated mega family. God gave life to those babies too, and I'm sure He has a plan for them, because all children are a blessing. But I maintain that that isn't the most ideal way to receive those blessings.
That's all.
On the one hand, kudos to her for not "medically selecting" which babies to put in the freezer, which to abort, and which to let live. Good. Not killing babies is good.
On the other hand, I just have to differentiate between her and me. I have 11 children that God gave me inside of a healthy marriage to one man, one at a time, spaced in His wisdom in an appropriate way. Granted, we did cheat on the 11th one. My sweetie that I didn't carry in my own body is artificially spaced 5 months from my youngest's birthday, a medical impossibility. But even then, it only happened because God and several humans said yes.
That is different than taking your body, removing your eggs and scientifically matching them up with God-Knows-Who's sperm and creating an unnatural number of children when you have no husband and so source of providing for the children.
So don't judge big families by the Octomom. Don't put married couples trusting God with their fertility on the same bus with an artificially inseminated mega family. God gave life to those babies too, and I'm sure He has a plan for them, because all children are a blessing. But I maintain that that isn't the most ideal way to receive those blessings.
That's all.
7,000 freaks
Elijah the prophet was man just like us. It says so in Hebrews. I heard a teaching about him Friday night at our local house of prayer. He was a prophet to Israel during the reign of Ahab, er, Jezebel. God had said not to marry foreign wives because they will lead you astray and cause you to worship other gods. He did, and she did, and he did.
So Elijah was sent to be a prophet, in Ahab's face, to the extent that the king gave him a nickname, "the troubler of Israel." His official job title might have been "The Pain in the Royal Behind." He boldly spoke on God's behalf against a king (who had subjected himself to a queen) who was picking off the prophets of the Most High.
The final straw for Ahab the Hen Pecked came when Elijah and the prophets of Baal staged the showdown of the century, where the prophets of Baal practiced self mutilation and Jehovah God answered with fire. The people shouted, "The Lord, He is God," killed the prophets of Baal, and Elijah scored huge with the return of rain after 3.5 years.
After his roaring triumph, Elijah goes and hides in a kind of suicidal slump. (Don't judge him, that's how it usually feels after you pour yourself out on the altar.) But this is the thing that got my interest (fasten your seatbelts and prepare for a hard right turn): he said to the Lord, Jezebel has killed all the prophets, and I alone am left. And God said, there are yet 7,000 who have not bowed the knee to Baal nor kissed his face.
I've been struggling with confidence, not in what I'm doing, but in how everybody else feels about it. I've felt like the troubler of Israel. My children don't attend public or private school. My children don't go to youth group. They don't go to junior high Sunday school. They will not date or have boyfriends or girlfriends or be encouraged to fixate on anything that awakens love before it is time. When they are of marrying age, we will partner with them in praying for and (for the guys) pursueing or (for the girls) awaiting a Godly courtship. We are encouraging our sons to pursue a future that equips them to provide for a wife and as many children as the Lord blesses them with. We are encouraging our daughters to follow God's leading, but without going into debt, to stay at home as long as they want to, and to put all their trust in the Lord and their daddy for their futures.
We are training our daughters to pursue the inner beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, without a whole lot of external adornment. And we're ridiculous about it. So much of today's fashion is designed to emphasize necklines and bottoms. We're running away from it.
We're teaching our boys (and girls) to guard their eyes and minds and hearts, and to save all their imaginings and touchings and kisses for their one bride (groom). But our entire culture, from very young, gears for attracting and obsessing about the opposite gender.
Because these are our convictions, and the Word says that bad company corrupts good morals, and that you become like those you are with, we are very picky about who we spend lots of with, especially time without close supervision. We are trusting God to provide relationships for us, but we will not spend great amounts of time with friends who are not like minded.
And so few are like minded. It feels like Elijah - I alone am left - sometimes. But I have that story as my commission. 7,000 who have not bowed the knee or kissed the face. Hidden and set apart. In a culture filled with idolatry, immorality, we are hiding 12 set apart unto the Lord.
So ridicule me. Mock me. Talk to each other about socialization and how weird my kids are becoming. Me and my socially awkward offspring (may God give me a dozen more) are going to build a little house of prayer, and hide God's Word in our hearts and learn to love Him and each other better. Don't take in personally, we're not judging you. We're not mad at you. We're praying for you and blessing you and asking God to give you all the wisdom you need for the task He has given YOU. But as for me and my house, we will be freaks.
So Elijah was sent to be a prophet, in Ahab's face, to the extent that the king gave him a nickname, "the troubler of Israel." His official job title might have been "The Pain in the Royal Behind." He boldly spoke on God's behalf against a king (who had subjected himself to a queen) who was picking off the prophets of the Most High.
The final straw for Ahab the Hen Pecked came when Elijah and the prophets of Baal staged the showdown of the century, where the prophets of Baal practiced self mutilation and Jehovah God answered with fire. The people shouted, "The Lord, He is God," killed the prophets of Baal, and Elijah scored huge with the return of rain after 3.5 years.
After his roaring triumph, Elijah goes and hides in a kind of suicidal slump. (Don't judge him, that's how it usually feels after you pour yourself out on the altar.) But this is the thing that got my interest (fasten your seatbelts and prepare for a hard right turn): he said to the Lord, Jezebel has killed all the prophets, and I alone am left. And God said, there are yet 7,000 who have not bowed the knee to Baal nor kissed his face.
I've been struggling with confidence, not in what I'm doing, but in how everybody else feels about it. I've felt like the troubler of Israel. My children don't attend public or private school. My children don't go to youth group. They don't go to junior high Sunday school. They will not date or have boyfriends or girlfriends or be encouraged to fixate on anything that awakens love before it is time. When they are of marrying age, we will partner with them in praying for and (for the guys) pursueing or (for the girls) awaiting a Godly courtship. We are encouraging our sons to pursue a future that equips them to provide for a wife and as many children as the Lord blesses them with. We are encouraging our daughters to follow God's leading, but without going into debt, to stay at home as long as they want to, and to put all their trust in the Lord and their daddy for their futures.
We are training our daughters to pursue the inner beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, without a whole lot of external adornment. And we're ridiculous about it. So much of today's fashion is designed to emphasize necklines and bottoms. We're running away from it.
We're teaching our boys (and girls) to guard their eyes and minds and hearts, and to save all their imaginings and touchings and kisses for their one bride (groom). But our entire culture, from very young, gears for attracting and obsessing about the opposite gender.
Because these are our convictions, and the Word says that bad company corrupts good morals, and that you become like those you are with, we are very picky about who we spend lots of with, especially time without close supervision. We are trusting God to provide relationships for us, but we will not spend great amounts of time with friends who are not like minded.
And so few are like minded. It feels like Elijah - I alone am left - sometimes. But I have that story as my commission. 7,000 who have not bowed the knee or kissed the face. Hidden and set apart. In a culture filled with idolatry, immorality, we are hiding 12 set apart unto the Lord.
So ridicule me. Mock me. Talk to each other about socialization and how weird my kids are becoming. Me and my socially awkward offspring (may God give me a dozen more) are going to build a little house of prayer, and hide God's Word in our hearts and learn to love Him and each other better. Don't take in personally, we're not judging you. We're not mad at you. We're praying for you and blessing you and asking God to give you all the wisdom you need for the task He has given YOU. But as for me and my house, we will be freaks.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
On staying cool and being cool
I live in a place where it is always pretty hot in the summer, but this summer is exceptional. It is not hot. Not merely hot. It is dang hot. The difference between hot and dang hot is that when it is hot, you want a cold drink, you want air conditioning, you want to go swimming. When it is dang hot, you just want to die.
I have a friend from Kentucky who told me a log time ago (and regrets telling me, because I quote her every summer and attribute it to her) that when asked how hot it is, back home they say, "It's hotter than a firecracker stuck up a dragon's *butt* on the fourth of July in *hades*. We have changed that this week to say it is now hotter than a firecracker stuck up a dragon's butt on the fourth of July in a volcano on the sun. Which entirely accurate, but it is how we feel.
Now, I am an unregistered member of the polar bear club. I love swimming so much that I will swim in Lake Michigan in May in the 50's. I will get into a snow fed mountain stream that literally makes your feet hurt. When I go to the beach I have to wear swim wear because I can't help but wade my way in to all wet. I cannot stay in a canoe. But I don't have easy access to any regular swimming here. So I've been taking showers in the coldest cold water we have, but alas! It is only luke warm.
But there is also winter where I live. And I know for certain that it will come again, and there will be a day, not too many weeks away, that I will be sick and tired of being cold and convinced that I will never be warm again. It will be so cold that I'm afraid to go to the bathroom at night (for whatever reason, the air and heat work worst in my bedroom, nay, in my bathroom, so in the summer, there is no hotter place, and in the winter, no seat is as cold as my toilet seat). I know that will happen again.
I have spent a significent portion of the last 3 weeks at our church's camp. To clarify - it is not a camp you go to in another town and sleep in dirty cabins and get eaten by mosquitoes and eat eggs that seem like they never, ever came from a chicken. Rather, it is a camp because it is a way bigger deal than VBS and costs more and has way more attitude and consumes your life. You go in the morning and come home in the afternoon and just lay on the couch pretty much dead, moving only to eat huge amounts of food or move to a bed.
And at that camp, I've come into contact with lots of school aged children and little ones and adults and teenagers. The school aged children are the campers that the camp is for. The little ones are there because parents like me refuse to take them home because life is miserable without our big people. The adults do things like teaching and guiding and protecting. And the teens are what really make the thing happen.
I have 2 teenagers of my own, and a few more that are nearly teenagers. We don't groan because of our teenagers. We like them a lot. They are among our best friends. No kidding. They're terrific.
But teenagers that don't live at my house make me nervous, self conscious, and very aware that I am not cool. Not only am I not cool, I've never been cool, not even when I was a teenager, and being around them reminds me of it. I'm so not cool, I don't even know what they call it now. What we called cool, I'm sure there's a new term for it, a word or phrase that means you have that thing where you say the right thing all the time and are so popular that you don't have to second guess yourself and wish you hadn't said what you said or did what you did or wore what you wore.
Confidence.
I taught at said camp about confidence all three weeks (comical, isn't it?), but, as is usually the case, I learned about it as I went. I learned that God doesn't measure me like I measure me. He doesn't judge me based on what I look like or am now. He sees the long view. You know, the one I don't have access to except in glimpses He shows me that I have to receive in faith? That long view.
I learned that I only need to listen to what He says about me because He judges rightly, His judgements are true, and I can trust Him.
And I am in a more secure place today because He has been speaking to me lately about who He made me to be. And that's exciting. It's so exciting, it will probably be a different blog. But for the first time in a while, maybe ever, I'm pretty sure of me just and only because I'm quite certain of Him. (that reminds me of a winnie the pooh quote, "I just wanted to be sure of you.")
So even though I am not remotely cool on any level, neither temperature nor image, I am quite at peace. And I'll take peace over cool any day.
I have a friend from Kentucky who told me a log time ago (and regrets telling me, because I quote her every summer and attribute it to her) that when asked how hot it is, back home they say, "It's hotter than a firecracker stuck up a dragon's *butt* on the fourth of July in *hades*. We have changed that this week to say it is now hotter than a firecracker stuck up a dragon's butt on the fourth of July in a volcano on the sun. Which entirely accurate, but it is how we feel.
Now, I am an unregistered member of the polar bear club. I love swimming so much that I will swim in Lake Michigan in May in the 50's. I will get into a snow fed mountain stream that literally makes your feet hurt. When I go to the beach I have to wear swim wear because I can't help but wade my way in to all wet. I cannot stay in a canoe. But I don't have easy access to any regular swimming here. So I've been taking showers in the coldest cold water we have, but alas! It is only luke warm.
But there is also winter where I live. And I know for certain that it will come again, and there will be a day, not too many weeks away, that I will be sick and tired of being cold and convinced that I will never be warm again. It will be so cold that I'm afraid to go to the bathroom at night (for whatever reason, the air and heat work worst in my bedroom, nay, in my bathroom, so in the summer, there is no hotter place, and in the winter, no seat is as cold as my toilet seat). I know that will happen again.
I have spent a significent portion of the last 3 weeks at our church's camp. To clarify - it is not a camp you go to in another town and sleep in dirty cabins and get eaten by mosquitoes and eat eggs that seem like they never, ever came from a chicken. Rather, it is a camp because it is a way bigger deal than VBS and costs more and has way more attitude and consumes your life. You go in the morning and come home in the afternoon and just lay on the couch pretty much dead, moving only to eat huge amounts of food or move to a bed.
And at that camp, I've come into contact with lots of school aged children and little ones and adults and teenagers. The school aged children are the campers that the camp is for. The little ones are there because parents like me refuse to take them home because life is miserable without our big people. The adults do things like teaching and guiding and protecting. And the teens are what really make the thing happen.
I have 2 teenagers of my own, and a few more that are nearly teenagers. We don't groan because of our teenagers. We like them a lot. They are among our best friends. No kidding. They're terrific.
But teenagers that don't live at my house make me nervous, self conscious, and very aware that I am not cool. Not only am I not cool, I've never been cool, not even when I was a teenager, and being around them reminds me of it. I'm so not cool, I don't even know what they call it now. What we called cool, I'm sure there's a new term for it, a word or phrase that means you have that thing where you say the right thing all the time and are so popular that you don't have to second guess yourself and wish you hadn't said what you said or did what you did or wore what you wore.
Confidence.
I taught at said camp about confidence all three weeks (comical, isn't it?), but, as is usually the case, I learned about it as I went. I learned that God doesn't measure me like I measure me. He doesn't judge me based on what I look like or am now. He sees the long view. You know, the one I don't have access to except in glimpses He shows me that I have to receive in faith? That long view.
I learned that I only need to listen to what He says about me because He judges rightly, His judgements are true, and I can trust Him.
And I am in a more secure place today because He has been speaking to me lately about who He made me to be. And that's exciting. It's so exciting, it will probably be a different blog. But for the first time in a while, maybe ever, I'm pretty sure of me just and only because I'm quite certain of Him. (that reminds me of a winnie the pooh quote, "I just wanted to be sure of you.")
So even though I am not remotely cool on any level, neither temperature nor image, I am quite at peace. And I'll take peace over cool any day.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Messed up.
This week we went to our church's day camp. So our little crew of home bodies was out and about from 7:45 a.m. till nearly 5 every day. We packed 60 or so lunches (at least one of the small people was committed to packing his own, er, "lunch" even though a big person had done it for him), washed everyone's uniform each night, took dimes on "dime day" and swim suits and towels on water day. We washed just enough dishes to get by, used disposable diapers, and were singularly triumphant in avoiding fast food all but one day.
Those were our successes.
We neglected our little world dreadfully, otherwise. We once again have a laundry hall rather than a laundry room, no counter space in the kitchen, and my bedroom resembles a clearing house of everyone's belongings. This morning was full of mournful cries, including but not limited to: can't find my crocs, can't find any shirts, don't have any clean underwear.
The eldest: I can't remember the last time our house was this dirty.
I cleaned the non-garbage disposal drain and found that something had sprouted, a seed of some kind. I should put it in dirt and see who it turns out to be.
Other things seem to have sprouted, as well. Like, the idea that life should be fun all day every day. Or, the notion that work is someone else's job. The little ones think they need to have shoes on before breakfast is over, they shouldn't let mom out of their sight, and first time obedience is a thing of yesteryear.
And everyone is exhausted.
Including me. I noticed one middle of the night that (t.m.i. alert) I had hardly any pee in me. It dawned on me that for days running, I had been drinking coffee and not water.
The principle was profound. I drank to feel better, not to be better. So I was worse. And the cycle continued. My body was needing hydration, and I was mistaking the cues.
Yesterday, I had the brilliant idea (sarcasm.) of going to visit friends who live an hour away. It really was fun. And it really was stupid. My family needed to stay home and do nothing. We did the opposite.
I seem to have a messed up way of handling hard. I'm tired, so I drink diuretics. I'm lonely, so I eat. I'm frustrated, so I yell and scream.
Take a deep breath. Take a big drink of water. Take a small nap. Start over.
Children will do chores. Babies will take naps. Laundry will be cleaned, and sorted, and put away. Dishes will be done. The Bible will be read. Training will happen. And gradually, we will return to our version of normal and our rendition of order.
Those were our successes.
We neglected our little world dreadfully, otherwise. We once again have a laundry hall rather than a laundry room, no counter space in the kitchen, and my bedroom resembles a clearing house of everyone's belongings. This morning was full of mournful cries, including but not limited to: can't find my crocs, can't find any shirts, don't have any clean underwear.
The eldest: I can't remember the last time our house was this dirty.
I cleaned the non-garbage disposal drain and found that something had sprouted, a seed of some kind. I should put it in dirt and see who it turns out to be.
Other things seem to have sprouted, as well. Like, the idea that life should be fun all day every day. Or, the notion that work is someone else's job. The little ones think they need to have shoes on before breakfast is over, they shouldn't let mom out of their sight, and first time obedience is a thing of yesteryear.
And everyone is exhausted.
Including me. I noticed one middle of the night that (t.m.i. alert) I had hardly any pee in me. It dawned on me that for days running, I had been drinking coffee and not water.
The principle was profound. I drank to feel better, not to be better. So I was worse. And the cycle continued. My body was needing hydration, and I was mistaking the cues.
Yesterday, I had the brilliant idea (sarcasm.) of going to visit friends who live an hour away. It really was fun. And it really was stupid. My family needed to stay home and do nothing. We did the opposite.
I seem to have a messed up way of handling hard. I'm tired, so I drink diuretics. I'm lonely, so I eat. I'm frustrated, so I yell and scream.
Take a deep breath. Take a big drink of water. Take a small nap. Start over.
Children will do chores. Babies will take naps. Laundry will be cleaned, and sorted, and put away. Dishes will be done. The Bible will be read. Training will happen. And gradually, we will return to our version of normal and our rendition of order.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Tired of me
Sorry I haven't written very much lately. I'm kind of tired of me. Tired of thinking my thoughts, tired of hearing myself talk, not interested in seeing myself write.
It's funny, because today I taught a couple hundred kids about confidence. And I don't have any right now.
I made 2 points: you can be confident because God made you, and He delights in you. Why doesn't that help me? I know God made me. I believe He delights in me. But I don't. I don't delight in me. I'm not very impressed with me at all.
Which isn't the same. God isn't "impressed" with me. He delights in me.
It's just hard to fathom. I'm so riddled with issues, past and present, so critical, so out of control, so overwhelmed and underequipped. How can He possibly delight in me. Heck, I don't know how He even tolerates me, let alone delights. I simply don't get it.
No wonder the children all had a blank look today. I don't get it myself.
The example I used with them was the way I feel about my children. I have an unfathomable love for each of my 12 humans. And I have the blessing of parents who, though critical of me, delight in me as well. I know what it feels like to have my parent's love.
But I have trouble connecting the dots.
God made me and loves me, yes, but then I sin, and I lack most of the fruits of the Spirit, and I talk too much, . . . and I know Jesus' blood covers my sin, but wouldn't that make God even more irritated with me - like He's saying, "My Son gave His life, for this?!" Like God has paid the ransom for my sin, and I'm pretty sure He has buyer's remorse.
Sometimes, even though I am sure all of my children are a treasure and a gift from the Lord, I'm pretty convinced that they, or really I am the bane of everyone's existence, that any hospitality anyone shows us is motivated out of pity, that no one actually enjoys being with us/me.
He delights in me. Seriously? Honestly? I can barely stand to look in the mirror. Getting dressed causes emotional trauma. He delights in me? This is beyond my quite vivid imagination. I cannot comprehend that the perfect can possibly delight in me, the epitome of imperfection.
God made me and He delights in me. I'm going to have to just concede on this, and try to meditate on it for eternity. Maybe someday when I'm 70 I will begin to comprehend something of the love of God. I pray that I'll get a glimpse.
Because obviously, I'm not going to be much good at communicating God's love to people who don't know it if I don't grasp it myself.
But I don't. Not really. Not today. Not right now.
It's funny, because today I taught a couple hundred kids about confidence. And I don't have any right now.
I made 2 points: you can be confident because God made you, and He delights in you. Why doesn't that help me? I know God made me. I believe He delights in me. But I don't. I don't delight in me. I'm not very impressed with me at all.
Which isn't the same. God isn't "impressed" with me. He delights in me.
It's just hard to fathom. I'm so riddled with issues, past and present, so critical, so out of control, so overwhelmed and underequipped. How can He possibly delight in me. Heck, I don't know how He even tolerates me, let alone delights. I simply don't get it.
No wonder the children all had a blank look today. I don't get it myself.
The example I used with them was the way I feel about my children. I have an unfathomable love for each of my 12 humans. And I have the blessing of parents who, though critical of me, delight in me as well. I know what it feels like to have my parent's love.
But I have trouble connecting the dots.
God made me and loves me, yes, but then I sin, and I lack most of the fruits of the Spirit, and I talk too much, . . . and I know Jesus' blood covers my sin, but wouldn't that make God even more irritated with me - like He's saying, "My Son gave His life, for this?!" Like God has paid the ransom for my sin, and I'm pretty sure He has buyer's remorse.
Sometimes, even though I am sure all of my children are a treasure and a gift from the Lord, I'm pretty convinced that they, or really I am the bane of everyone's existence, that any hospitality anyone shows us is motivated out of pity, that no one actually enjoys being with us/me.
He delights in me. Seriously? Honestly? I can barely stand to look in the mirror. Getting dressed causes emotional trauma. He delights in me? This is beyond my quite vivid imagination. I cannot comprehend that the perfect can possibly delight in me, the epitome of imperfection.
God made me and He delights in me. I'm going to have to just concede on this, and try to meditate on it for eternity. Maybe someday when I'm 70 I will begin to comprehend something of the love of God. I pray that I'll get a glimpse.
Because obviously, I'm not going to be much good at communicating God's love to people who don't know it if I don't grasp it myself.
But I don't. Not really. Not today. Not right now.
Sunday, July 03, 2011
Even in the presence of the King?
I am, among other things, a worship leader.
Once I was trying to have more men model worship in our church. We have several men on different worship teams, but the vast majority of them play an instrument. The few that do not play an instrument serve as singers. But I was hoping to get some men who are manly men, not necessarily musically inclined, to come an model worship. Men who are expressive in their relationship to God, not because they are expressive by nature, but because they really respond to the Lord when they encounter Him.
So I was on a quest, asking these godly, manly worshipping men to come on the platform with me and just do what they do, no microphone, but where people could see them. I was turned down flat. The reason given: I think it would just be too distracting with all those people looking at me.
That was understandable. But my problem was, look, buddy, I have to deal with those distractions every time I get up there.
There are so many distractions for people serving on the platform. Who is that? I've never seen him before. I need to remember to pick up this thing and drop that thing off. Did I close the garage door? I wonder if she is still mad at me? Am I flat? Is my skirt long enough? The lights are hot. I can't hear the bass. The drums are too loud. I can't hear myself. What do these words mean? I am so sick of this song. I sound terrible. I sound fantastic!
But isn't that true for everyone? Don't we all feel a barage of distractions during worship?
Last night I had the huge privilege of playing keyboard along side a favorite worship leader and friend, Mr. Chris DuPre. And I was fighting all the usual battles. And I felt the struggle between self-awareness and true worship. And I thought I heard, or felt, or was aware of another battle. A battle waged on my behalf.
Because, as I've said before, I not only believe in a real God, but also in a real satan. A real enemy who really hates God and gets at Him any way he can, often by taking shots at His beloved. And I think I heard my King, my Bridegroom, the Lover of my soul say to my enemy that line that King Ahaserous chastised Haman with long ago.
"Will you even assault the queen in the presence of the King?" Will you even try to wound and distract and take down my bride, even as she has come to worship me?
And it helped me to simply ignore everything but the face of my Jesus.
It was profound. I don't know that it will mean as much to anyone else, but for me, to know that He fights for me, that all power is His, that I have nothing to fear, that He wants all of me. I am content.
Once I was trying to have more men model worship in our church. We have several men on different worship teams, but the vast majority of them play an instrument. The few that do not play an instrument serve as singers. But I was hoping to get some men who are manly men, not necessarily musically inclined, to come an model worship. Men who are expressive in their relationship to God, not because they are expressive by nature, but because they really respond to the Lord when they encounter Him.
So I was on a quest, asking these godly, manly worshipping men to come on the platform with me and just do what they do, no microphone, but where people could see them. I was turned down flat. The reason given: I think it would just be too distracting with all those people looking at me.
That was understandable. But my problem was, look, buddy, I have to deal with those distractions every time I get up there.
There are so many distractions for people serving on the platform. Who is that? I've never seen him before. I need to remember to pick up this thing and drop that thing off. Did I close the garage door? I wonder if she is still mad at me? Am I flat? Is my skirt long enough? The lights are hot. I can't hear the bass. The drums are too loud. I can't hear myself. What do these words mean? I am so sick of this song. I sound terrible. I sound fantastic!
But isn't that true for everyone? Don't we all feel a barage of distractions during worship?
Last night I had the huge privilege of playing keyboard along side a favorite worship leader and friend, Mr. Chris DuPre. And I was fighting all the usual battles. And I felt the struggle between self-awareness and true worship. And I thought I heard, or felt, or was aware of another battle. A battle waged on my behalf.
Because, as I've said before, I not only believe in a real God, but also in a real satan. A real enemy who really hates God and gets at Him any way he can, often by taking shots at His beloved. And I think I heard my King, my Bridegroom, the Lover of my soul say to my enemy that line that King Ahaserous chastised Haman with long ago.
"Will you even assault the queen in the presence of the King?" Will you even try to wound and distract and take down my bride, even as she has come to worship me?
And it helped me to simply ignore everything but the face of my Jesus.
It was profound. I don't know that it will mean as much to anyone else, but for me, to know that He fights for me, that all power is His, that I have nothing to fear, that He wants all of me. I am content.
Friday, July 01, 2011
How you do it: meals
(Redundancy warning: if you've really read this whole blog, skip ahead).
In this era of reality TV that include Jon, Kate, the Gosslings and the Duggars, people are a little fascinated by a noticeably large family like ours. They have a variety of responses, which sometimes includes a barage of questions they wish they could ask the famous people. But sometimes they just say 'I don't know how you do it, I can barely handle my x number of kids!'
So a while ago I began an attempt to answer that question with a series of blogs. So here is one about chow time. I'm not saying this is a good way to do things. It's just how we do things.
I cut pizza with a pizza cutter. Not just into pieces of pizza, but into bites for littles. Sometimes I cut the very edge of the crust off so they can't tell which bites are *crust* bites. I also cut pancakes, waffles, and quesadillas with a pizza cutter.
I microwave tacos for small people with cheese and meat just enough to melt the cheese. The cheese becomes the glue that holds the taco together.
I cut little kids hot dogs long ways into quarters, then slice them.
I add a little baby cereal to baby food so it has a thicker texture and is easier to feed them.
Bananas can be subdivided into thirds longways, great fingerfoods for babies.
I don't buy juice very much. I prefer my kids to drink water and eat fruit. And I don't serve drinks with meals at all. If they want one, I let them get it. And I encourage cup sharing.
I feed my almost one year olds with soggy left behind cereal.
I deliberately make my oatmeal too thick and add milk to cool it.
When I pack lunches I buy big bags of chips or '-ito's (any snack that ends with ito, Doritos, Fritos, Cheetos, and divide them into small bags. Or I make 'lunchables' with meat, cheese and crackers. Before our church's camp, when I'll make 11 lunches a day, I will make several packs up before the week starts. Then each morning I just throw them together. In brown paper bags.
I make baby food in my vita-mix. I just throw fresh fruit or veggies or both into it with water and blend. It makes more than I need, but I pour what I don't use into an ice cube tray in the freezer. I add a little baby oatmeal and formula (formula is optional) to it for thickness. I used green bell pepper and granny smith apple together. It was good, different, but fresh and I thought better than packaged stuff and easy. Before I had a vita-mix I had a mini-food processor, but I steamed the food first.
For a while I had a child who was allergic to eggs, and learned that a smashed egg-sized portion of banana could take the place of an egg in pancakes.
Babies who chew can eat anything you can smash with your fingers, and plain cheerios (not apple or frosted or honey nut) is good finger food. Also rice chex and crackers that melt easily.
You can slip a good number of carrots into a fruit smoothy and if your blender is worthy, no one will know.
When I make pancakes, sometimes I make bigger ones at first, then make small ones for 'seconds'. That way we don't have as many abandoned half-eaten eye-stomach disproportions.
I guess that's what I have for now. If you want to add a helpful meal tip of your own feel free.
In this era of reality TV that include Jon, Kate, the Gosslings and the Duggars, people are a little fascinated by a noticeably large family like ours. They have a variety of responses, which sometimes includes a barage of questions they wish they could ask the famous people. But sometimes they just say 'I don't know how you do it, I can barely handle my x number of kids!'
So a while ago I began an attempt to answer that question with a series of blogs. So here is one about chow time. I'm not saying this is a good way to do things. It's just how we do things.
I cut pizza with a pizza cutter. Not just into pieces of pizza, but into bites for littles. Sometimes I cut the very edge of the crust off so they can't tell which bites are *crust* bites. I also cut pancakes, waffles, and quesadillas with a pizza cutter.
I microwave tacos for small people with cheese and meat just enough to melt the cheese. The cheese becomes the glue that holds the taco together.
I cut little kids hot dogs long ways into quarters, then slice them.
I add a little baby cereal to baby food so it has a thicker texture and is easier to feed them.
Bananas can be subdivided into thirds longways, great fingerfoods for babies.
I don't buy juice very much. I prefer my kids to drink water and eat fruit. And I don't serve drinks with meals at all. If they want one, I let them get it. And I encourage cup sharing.
I feed my almost one year olds with soggy left behind cereal.
I deliberately make my oatmeal too thick and add milk to cool it.
When I pack lunches I buy big bags of chips or '-ito's (any snack that ends with ito, Doritos, Fritos, Cheetos, and divide them into small bags. Or I make 'lunchables' with meat, cheese and crackers. Before our church's camp, when I'll make 11 lunches a day, I will make several packs up before the week starts. Then each morning I just throw them together. In brown paper bags.
I make baby food in my vita-mix. I just throw fresh fruit or veggies or both into it with water and blend. It makes more than I need, but I pour what I don't use into an ice cube tray in the freezer. I add a little baby oatmeal and formula (formula is optional) to it for thickness. I used green bell pepper and granny smith apple together. It was good, different, but fresh and I thought better than packaged stuff and easy. Before I had a vita-mix I had a mini-food processor, but I steamed the food first.
For a while I had a child who was allergic to eggs, and learned that a smashed egg-sized portion of banana could take the place of an egg in pancakes.
Babies who chew can eat anything you can smash with your fingers, and plain cheerios (not apple or frosted or honey nut) is good finger food. Also rice chex and crackers that melt easily.
You can slip a good number of carrots into a fruit smoothy and if your blender is worthy, no one will know.
When I make pancakes, sometimes I make bigger ones at first, then make small ones for 'seconds'. That way we don't have as many abandoned half-eaten eye-stomach disproportions.
I guess that's what I have for now. If you want to add a helpful meal tip of your own feel free.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Tribute to my children's daddy
It is a couple days before Father's Day, and so I wanted to take a moment to honor the man of my dreams.
He is tall (well, tall to me anyway), fair, and easy on the eyes. He is more handsome every year. He has wonderful blue eyes and a fantastic smile.
He is an excellent worker. I tell him that if I had a company, I would want to fill it with employees like him. He is conscientious and diligent. He never makes excuses, and even when he has a good one, he doesn't use it. He takes good care of people and things. He is always gentle and kind.
He is passionate, especially about God. He has a look that he gets, when I know he has heard from the Lord. It is at those moments I love him the most, and am glad to follow him anywhere.
He is a great daddy. He loves his children tirelessly, denying himself over and over again to fix a bike or computer, to go back for something forgotten, to carry a sleeping child (or four) to bed, up and down the same flight of stairs several times.
His favorite way to spend an evening is snuggled on the couch with a kid on each side and a couple on his lap watching a movie with them, listening to them laugh and watching them dance during the credits. He doesn't have a desire to get away from them. He loves his children.
And even though I know I am his helpmeet, I have to say what a gift he is to me.
Thankful for my husband.
He is tall (well, tall to me anyway), fair, and easy on the eyes. He is more handsome every year. He has wonderful blue eyes and a fantastic smile.
He is an excellent worker. I tell him that if I had a company, I would want to fill it with employees like him. He is conscientious and diligent. He never makes excuses, and even when he has a good one, he doesn't use it. He takes good care of people and things. He is always gentle and kind.
He is passionate, especially about God. He has a look that he gets, when I know he has heard from the Lord. It is at those moments I love him the most, and am glad to follow him anywhere.
He is a great daddy. He loves his children tirelessly, denying himself over and over again to fix a bike or computer, to go back for something forgotten, to carry a sleeping child (or four) to bed, up and down the same flight of stairs several times.
His favorite way to spend an evening is snuggled on the couch with a kid on each side and a couple on his lap watching a movie with them, listening to them laugh and watching them dance during the credits. He doesn't have a desire to get away from them. He loves his children.
And even though I know I am his helpmeet, I have to say what a gift he is to me.
Thankful for my husband.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Love and Admonition
Bring your children up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. That's what it says, probably in Proverbs, though I'm not going to look it up right now.
I was thinking about those two words.
Nurture. Tenderness. Mercy and kindness. Hugs and kisses. Holding when hurt, listening, compassion, understanding. My little one has a hurt toe, I hold him as long as he lets me. My young adult daughter is having a tough day, I hug her until she's done crying and talking. Feeding, diaper changing, clothing, bedding, bandaging. Nurturing.
Admonition. Correcting. Training. Shepherding their hearts. Pruning. Directing and redirecting and redirecting. Giving boundaries and reinforcing them. Disciplining. My 3 year old son is fighting with his 5 yr old sister continually, he is spending time in a chair and learning this is unacceptable. My older daughters are having difficulty completing their work, they will miss the movie tonight. I will discipline the ones I love.
But I also want them to know His nurture and admonition through my parenting. I want to point them to His beauty and love and compassion when they are sad or hurt or scared. I want to direct them to His statues, His perfect law, His righteousness, His holiness.
But His law is a tutor to point us back to His cross, His mercy, His everlasting love. I hold up His standards, unachievable, and then show them the way to repentence. I don't give them an easy attainable set of rules. I want to set the bar high. In fact, it's not my bar. I'm a steward. They belong to Him. So we have to use His laws.
Honor your mother and father. Be ye kind one to another, forgiving one another as Christ has forgiven you. Let no unwholesome word proceed from your mouth except that which is useful for building up and edification. Do not sin in your anger. He who hates instruction is stupid. Love your enemies.
Those things are hard. Especially to a 3 year old. But they are the law. The little kid version is this: I have them hold up two fingers. Obey and be kind. How do you solve problems with a sibling? Hold up two fingers. First, speak kindly to them. If that doesn't work, call in help.
What I'm asking of them is hard. It's impossible. But that means we have ample opportunity to practice repenting, practice being forgiven and asking for help. We are wearing a path to the cross.
The love and the admonition (and the love) of the Lord.
I was thinking about those two words.
Nurture. Tenderness. Mercy and kindness. Hugs and kisses. Holding when hurt, listening, compassion, understanding. My little one has a hurt toe, I hold him as long as he lets me. My young adult daughter is having a tough day, I hug her until she's done crying and talking. Feeding, diaper changing, clothing, bedding, bandaging. Nurturing.
Admonition. Correcting. Training. Shepherding their hearts. Pruning. Directing and redirecting and redirecting. Giving boundaries and reinforcing them. Disciplining. My 3 year old son is fighting with his 5 yr old sister continually, he is spending time in a chair and learning this is unacceptable. My older daughters are having difficulty completing their work, they will miss the movie tonight. I will discipline the ones I love.
But I also want them to know His nurture and admonition through my parenting. I want to point them to His beauty and love and compassion when they are sad or hurt or scared. I want to direct them to His statues, His perfect law, His righteousness, His holiness.
But His law is a tutor to point us back to His cross, His mercy, His everlasting love. I hold up His standards, unachievable, and then show them the way to repentence. I don't give them an easy attainable set of rules. I want to set the bar high. In fact, it's not my bar. I'm a steward. They belong to Him. So we have to use His laws.
Honor your mother and father. Be ye kind one to another, forgiving one another as Christ has forgiven you. Let no unwholesome word proceed from your mouth except that which is useful for building up and edification. Do not sin in your anger. He who hates instruction is stupid. Love your enemies.
Those things are hard. Especially to a 3 year old. But they are the law. The little kid version is this: I have them hold up two fingers. Obey and be kind. How do you solve problems with a sibling? Hold up two fingers. First, speak kindly to them. If that doesn't work, call in help.
What I'm asking of them is hard. It's impossible. But that means we have ample opportunity to practice repenting, practice being forgiven and asking for help. We are wearing a path to the cross.
The love and the admonition (and the love) of the Lord.
Monday, June 13, 2011
5 minutes in the morning
First of all, I really should apologize for the redundancy I am certain is rampant in this blog. I'm probably cyclical, so that if you have read back to a certain date, I begin to repeat myself. So, if I've said all this before, sorry. I just write what's on my mind, and I don't always remember what was on my mind before.
I suppose this falls in the "how do you do it" category, although no one really asks me, "Hey, how can we have a great marriage like yours?" Actually, they make flippant comments like, "Don't you guys have heat?" or, "Don't you have a tv?" or, "It figures you have a lot of kids, your bed is so small." Stuff like that.
But we do have a good marriage, I think, or, at least, a better marriage than we began with, and a better marriage than we once had. There are a couple things that have made our marriage a good place to be that are maybe worth mentioning, since some 60% of marriages end in divorce, and only 10% are happily married. So here is my salient wisdom. Who am I kidding? I don't even know what salient means.
1. Access. Intimacy is not a favor my husband has to earn, not a privilege to give and take away, not a weapon I use to get what I want from him. The Bible clearly says I am his and he is mine. Only in the case of fasting is it appropriate for me to turn him away. Certainly we need to work through other marriage issues, but not in that context. I can say, "Honey, I would really enjoy our time at night together more if we were able to have a little more eye contact during the day," or whatever it is I need to say. But I belong to him. God will help me work through whatever issues and help me to forgive, even if a situation stands unresolved. I know that's hard. But God is really that big. Really.
2. Honor. I will honor my husband to his face, in front of others and behind his back. He is a gift given to me by God, actually, the other way around. I will honor him in my heart and to my children. I will speak well of him and kindly to him. When he has areas that need improvement, from my point of view (because I also have so many areas that need it), I will speak to him respectfully and will pray for him, also with respect. But I leave whatever changing of my spouse that needs to be done in the hands of God.
3. Pray. We started praying together before he leaves for work each day a few years ago. And it has made all the difference in the world. I don't know why. Well, I mean, I guess I know why. We connect. In that 5 minutes before the throne, before the day really gets rolling, even with a kid or 4 interrupting each sentence, we commune with each other and the Lord, bring our needs before the King, lift each other up for the day's labor and ask God to bless. Our prayer is full of blessing. I bless him, his work, his relationships, his time in the car. I pray for God to be his conscious companion, for him to be wise and win souls, to have opportunity to give account for the hope that is in him. I pray for him to have creative inspiration from the Lord on how to solve problems and deal with people at his work. I pray that God would speak to him about our family and would teach him how best to lead it. I honor him in the place of prayer.
Five minutes. Every morning. Makes a world of difference.
I suppose this falls in the "how do you do it" category, although no one really asks me, "Hey, how can we have a great marriage like yours?" Actually, they make flippant comments like, "Don't you guys have heat?" or, "Don't you have a tv?" or, "It figures you have a lot of kids, your bed is so small." Stuff like that.
But we do have a good marriage, I think, or, at least, a better marriage than we began with, and a better marriage than we once had. There are a couple things that have made our marriage a good place to be that are maybe worth mentioning, since some 60% of marriages end in divorce, and only 10% are happily married. So here is my salient wisdom. Who am I kidding? I don't even know what salient means.
1. Access. Intimacy is not a favor my husband has to earn, not a privilege to give and take away, not a weapon I use to get what I want from him. The Bible clearly says I am his and he is mine. Only in the case of fasting is it appropriate for me to turn him away. Certainly we need to work through other marriage issues, but not in that context. I can say, "Honey, I would really enjoy our time at night together more if we were able to have a little more eye contact during the day," or whatever it is I need to say. But I belong to him. God will help me work through whatever issues and help me to forgive, even if a situation stands unresolved. I know that's hard. But God is really that big. Really.
2. Honor. I will honor my husband to his face, in front of others and behind his back. He is a gift given to me by God, actually, the other way around. I will honor him in my heart and to my children. I will speak well of him and kindly to him. When he has areas that need improvement, from my point of view (because I also have so many areas that need it), I will speak to him respectfully and will pray for him, also with respect. But I leave whatever changing of my spouse that needs to be done in the hands of God.
3. Pray. We started praying together before he leaves for work each day a few years ago. And it has made all the difference in the world. I don't know why. Well, I mean, I guess I know why. We connect. In that 5 minutes before the throne, before the day really gets rolling, even with a kid or 4 interrupting each sentence, we commune with each other and the Lord, bring our needs before the King, lift each other up for the day's labor and ask God to bless. Our prayer is full of blessing. I bless him, his work, his relationships, his time in the car. I pray for God to be his conscious companion, for him to be wise and win souls, to have opportunity to give account for the hope that is in him. I pray for him to have creative inspiration from the Lord on how to solve problems and deal with people at his work. I pray that God would speak to him about our family and would teach him how best to lead it. I honor him in the place of prayer.
Five minutes. Every morning. Makes a world of difference.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Fasting for kids
The Bible talks about solemn assemblies and fasts as things that include children and even nursing babies. I would love to know what that looked like exactly.
But fasting is something we do in our house, sometimes to take part in a corporate fast with our church, sometimes when we are making a big decision, or even because dad says that is what we are going to do. So here is what it looks like in our family.
We have done a lot of different things. Most often, the young ones fast sweets or technology. Sometimes this means no desserts, and sometimes it means we really go without sugar for a period of time. Technology means no t.v. or movies or playing games on computer or Wii or hand held devices (my phone!). Usually we still use the phone to talk and the computer to do school.
That can be tough for littles, especially depending on how much they do that stuff. They ask frequently for whatever they are missing. And that moment of asking is the golden opportunity to pray together. Here is what our echoed prayer might sound like (for a 2-5 year old):
Dear Jesus, Dear Jesus,
I want to watch TV. I want to watch TV.
I really like TV. I really like . . .
But mommy says You are better than TV.
And I want to know You better.
Please help me know You more.
Please help me know You are better than TV.
Amen
Something like that.
We have done longer fasts that were tiered. Maybe the first week we start with no TV, the second week we add no desserts, the third week we don't have sugar at all, and the last three days we just eat rice or oatmeal.
My older children this time said, we don't want to do a kid fast. We want to do something more. So they are trying a Daniel fast. One is doing bread and nuts with it. The other one tried just fruits and veggies and then added nuts. Another is fasting lunch each day; he doesn't eat between breakfast and supper.
Another couple are going to do no sugar until the last day, and then try to really fast that day.
Throughout the week, one of my jobs is to continually steer their attention away from what they and each other are not eating or drinking and toward the Lord. This is a big effort, and a constant one, but it is a good battle to fight and worth it.
We continue to live a normal life, do what we would normally do. School, chores, responsibilities all still have to happen. And attitudes need adjusted as well. I frequently send the big ones out of the kitchen and to their rooms with their Bibles or to their instruments to play it out.
Another difficult thing is when not everyone fasts the same thing. It is best if we prefer each other and don't openly eat what someone else is fasting. But that is not entirely possible, and is really part of the fast, part of the training.
But the hardest thing for me is that I am fasting more than whatever I choose to fast. Because if a big kid is only eating fruit and veggies, I'm not going to ask him/her to cut a toddler's pizza. I'm on my own in a lot of ways this week. I will ask them to suck it up sometimes (because I have to and it is a good skill to learn) but I am not asking as much as I normally do.
In fact, I barely even knew what I would fast this week. I'm fasting husband and big helpers. I'm fasting the sugar and coffee, isn't that enough?
We often, during a fast, have a family meeting each evening. It helps us remember why we're fasting, it gives us something to do instead of watching t.v. [disclaimer: we rarely watch actual programs on tv; but we do allow small people to watch a dvd or netflix thing in the evening more often than we should], and it provides a forum to talk about if we're hearing from God and praying and worshipping together. And I felt last night, listening to what my big kids were hearing from God, that I will get out of this what I put into it. So I'm kind of combining what my biggest kids are doing, modified for a nursing mom: eating fruits, veggies, lean protein, dairy, and skipping lunch.
There are lots of different ways to fast, and whatever you fast, if you miss whatever you're fasting, it is a real fast. I think fasting for small people is a good thing to learn/experience. I think it gets them ready to do it better when they are old enough to get it more. It teaches them, and us, to make our flesh submit to our spirits. And that's good. It's a fight worth fighting.
But fasting is something we do in our house, sometimes to take part in a corporate fast with our church, sometimes when we are making a big decision, or even because dad says that is what we are going to do. So here is what it looks like in our family.
We have done a lot of different things. Most often, the young ones fast sweets or technology. Sometimes this means no desserts, and sometimes it means we really go without sugar for a period of time. Technology means no t.v. or movies or playing games on computer or Wii or hand held devices (my phone!). Usually we still use the phone to talk and the computer to do school.
That can be tough for littles, especially depending on how much they do that stuff. They ask frequently for whatever they are missing. And that moment of asking is the golden opportunity to pray together. Here is what our echoed prayer might sound like (for a 2-5 year old):
Dear Jesus, Dear Jesus,
I want to watch TV. I want to watch TV.
I really like TV. I really like . . .
But mommy says You are better than TV.
And I want to know You better.
Please help me know You more.
Please help me know You are better than TV.
Amen
Something like that.
We have done longer fasts that were tiered. Maybe the first week we start with no TV, the second week we add no desserts, the third week we don't have sugar at all, and the last three days we just eat rice or oatmeal.
My older children this time said, we don't want to do a kid fast. We want to do something more. So they are trying a Daniel fast. One is doing bread and nuts with it. The other one tried just fruits and veggies and then added nuts. Another is fasting lunch each day; he doesn't eat between breakfast and supper.
Another couple are going to do no sugar until the last day, and then try to really fast that day.
Throughout the week, one of my jobs is to continually steer their attention away from what they and each other are not eating or drinking and toward the Lord. This is a big effort, and a constant one, but it is a good battle to fight and worth it.
We continue to live a normal life, do what we would normally do. School, chores, responsibilities all still have to happen. And attitudes need adjusted as well. I frequently send the big ones out of the kitchen and to their rooms with their Bibles or to their instruments to play it out.
Another difficult thing is when not everyone fasts the same thing. It is best if we prefer each other and don't openly eat what someone else is fasting. But that is not entirely possible, and is really part of the fast, part of the training.
But the hardest thing for me is that I am fasting more than whatever I choose to fast. Because if a big kid is only eating fruit and veggies, I'm not going to ask him/her to cut a toddler's pizza. I'm on my own in a lot of ways this week. I will ask them to suck it up sometimes (because I have to and it is a good skill to learn) but I am not asking as much as I normally do.
In fact, I barely even knew what I would fast this week. I'm fasting husband and big helpers. I'm fasting the sugar and coffee, isn't that enough?
We often, during a fast, have a family meeting each evening. It helps us remember why we're fasting, it gives us something to do instead of watching t.v. [disclaimer: we rarely watch actual programs on tv; but we do allow small people to watch a dvd or netflix thing in the evening more often than we should], and it provides a forum to talk about if we're hearing from God and praying and worshipping together. And I felt last night, listening to what my big kids were hearing from God, that I will get out of this what I put into it. So I'm kind of combining what my biggest kids are doing, modified for a nursing mom: eating fruits, veggies, lean protein, dairy, and skipping lunch.
There are lots of different ways to fast, and whatever you fast, if you miss whatever you're fasting, it is a real fast. I think fasting for small people is a good thing to learn/experience. I think it gets them ready to do it better when they are old enough to get it more. It teaches them, and us, to make our flesh submit to our spirits. And that's good. It's a fight worth fighting.
Wednesday, June 08, 2011
Crazy
Last week was crazy. My husband has been fasting, which tends to mean he disappears around meal time. Then Monday and Tuesday my older kids were at a training. Often times in our big family, if you extract a kid or two or three, the rest of them mellow out considerably. Not so this time. The younger nine were pretty much all maniacs.
Then today we began a family fast of sorts. Which means we are doing several fasts, a liquid, a Daniel, a modified Daniel, some no sugar, one skipping lunch, some no sweets. I am not even sure what I'm fasting. I have been fasting having a husband. Now I think I'm just fasting normal.
So today, right after I returned from Aldi where I bought what must have seemed like a months supply of fruits and veggies for the Daniels, with my supermom shirt on and wacky pigtails in my hair (to stay cool)(as opposed to hot, not hip-cool), our standardized tests came in the mail. Nine of them.
We're trying desperately to finish school for the summer. Having increased our family by two this year, we are really scraping in an effort to have a summer break. So we are doing testing and the motivated ones are still doing school after.
Crazy.
Tomorrow an appliance repairman is coming to fix my dishwasher. Isn't it sad that I am going to be up late making sure I don't have a pile of dirty dishes?
Summer is crazy. I don't know why. There are, I guess, millions of cicadas flying around the county (though not by our house) and my kids are either terrorized by them or obsessed with them. My oldest son wants to tie a string around one and fly it.
I have mostly weaned the 2 year old. But here is how I'm not crazy. I'm not potty training her. Not yet. Not ready to have her be in charge of when and where. Not yet.
I am crazy in another way. When things get really bad, really crazy, I sing. "He delights in you. He delights in you. He delights in you. He delights in you. Let the heavens be glad, let the earth rejoice. Tell all the world that Jesus is King. Blessed be the Lord, our Father and God, from everlasting!"
Now that's crazy!
Then today we began a family fast of sorts. Which means we are doing several fasts, a liquid, a Daniel, a modified Daniel, some no sugar, one skipping lunch, some no sweets. I am not even sure what I'm fasting. I have been fasting having a husband. Now I think I'm just fasting normal.
So today, right after I returned from Aldi where I bought what must have seemed like a months supply of fruits and veggies for the Daniels, with my supermom shirt on and wacky pigtails in my hair (to stay cool)(as opposed to hot, not hip-cool), our standardized tests came in the mail. Nine of them.
We're trying desperately to finish school for the summer. Having increased our family by two this year, we are really scraping in an effort to have a summer break. So we are doing testing and the motivated ones are still doing school after.
Crazy.
Tomorrow an appliance repairman is coming to fix my dishwasher. Isn't it sad that I am going to be up late making sure I don't have a pile of dirty dishes?
Summer is crazy. I don't know why. There are, I guess, millions of cicadas flying around the county (though not by our house) and my kids are either terrorized by them or obsessed with them. My oldest son wants to tie a string around one and fly it.
I have mostly weaned the 2 year old. But here is how I'm not crazy. I'm not potty training her. Not yet. Not ready to have her be in charge of when and where. Not yet.
I am crazy in another way. When things get really bad, really crazy, I sing. "He delights in you. He delights in you. He delights in you. He delights in you. Let the heavens be glad, let the earth rejoice. Tell all the world that Jesus is King. Blessed be the Lord, our Father and God, from everlasting!"
Now that's crazy!
Headlines don't sell papes. Newsies sell papes.
I've had prodigals on my mind a lot lately. Thinking about children of friends who have taken a walk. Thinking about young people who were raised by parents who did everything they knew to do. Kids who grew up in church, who knew God, and walked. Away.
Most families have at least one who goes his or her own way. That's normal. I mean, even Jesus lost one disciple, right?
It doesn't matter. It's like saying that someone who has a miscarriage should just enjoy the children she has. Losing a child before they're born or losing a child to the world both equal heart break.
And I've been afraid. I have a lot to lose. And I'm looking at these older parents and wondering how, if they lost a kid or two, who am I kidding? Why do I think I can do better?
Now, in the same way I hope my children will learn from my journey, my mistakes, and improve on the model they were shown, certainly I can learn from those who have gone before me. They both set an example of what to do right and they give wisdom about what they would like to have done better.
And I can learn from those rare families who haven't lost any. I am walking in their footsteps, standing on their shoulders. I'm drafting. But drafting is dangerous. If I follow someone so closely, I can't see what's ahead. No, I have to have my head up and be able to see what is ahead myself.
Now, I live in a city where there are a few growing houses of prayer, places where people from any denomination can come and pray, open many if not 24 hours a day. And I have a little unofficial half set, an hour once a week when I go play the piano and sing to God. Usually there's almost no one there. That's fine with me. If people show up, my attention is sometimes a little divided.
So yesterday, at my little Tuesday 3 o'clock moment, I was singing to Him. It happened to be the monthly 'Global Bridegroom Fast', the first Mon-Wed of each month, so I was singing about longing for Him, yearning for Him. Even so, come. Come quickly, Lord Jesus. The Spirit and the Bride say come.
And when I sing that, come, I am longing and asking for Him to come and return and take His Bride (the church), to be with Him face to face. But I am also asking Him to come here, come now, come heal, come deliver. And I was singing to Him to return the hearts of the fathers to their children and the hearts of the children to their fathers.
He is the Father of the prodigals. He is watching and waiting. He never rests.
And this is the revelation I received, which may not sound like anything as I try to communicate it here, but was perhaps one of the most significant moments of my life. I will not win my children to Him by what I do or do not do (not that I shouldn't or won't do everything I can). He will win them because of WHO HE IS.
Headlines don't sell papes. Newsies sell papes. In one of my favorite movies, Newsies, one of the newsies, a news boy in New York City, early 1900's, is telling another, new newsie that headlines are not what sells the newspapers in New York. They do. The boys on the street hawking the papes are what makes the money.
God is God. He will draw all men unto Himself. I will continue to pray, believe me, I will, that each of my children, and the sons and daughters my friends have lost, will have a revelation of Him. That the Word planted in their hearts would spring up and bear fruit. That their Creator would call them and draw them and lead them out into the wilderness if nessessary to turn their hearts to Him.
I will guard the gates - the ways different influences come into my children's lives. I will feed them good things, mind, body and spirit. I will give them every opportunity I can to encounter Him who my soul loves. But it is ultimately He who will draw them to Himself.
And He will.
I can't describe the peace I felt and still feel at that knowledge. It is possible that some of mine will take a good hard look at the man Jesus and reject Him outright. But He is magnificent. He is astounding. He is holy.
I think holy is the word I come around to when I'm trying to describe the indescribable. God is so . . . so . . . so . . . holy. I hope with each day, each hour, that my children will encounter One so lovely that they can not help but to love Him. And that His Awesomeness will burn in their hearts so deeply that if they walk away someday, that He will draw them back.
It's not me. It's Him. Headlines don't sell papes. Newsies sell papes. I can't save them. I can't win them. I can't draw them. He can. He does. He will.
Most families have at least one who goes his or her own way. That's normal. I mean, even Jesus lost one disciple, right?
It doesn't matter. It's like saying that someone who has a miscarriage should just enjoy the children she has. Losing a child before they're born or losing a child to the world both equal heart break.
And I've been afraid. I have a lot to lose. And I'm looking at these older parents and wondering how, if they lost a kid or two, who am I kidding? Why do I think I can do better?
Now, in the same way I hope my children will learn from my journey, my mistakes, and improve on the model they were shown, certainly I can learn from those who have gone before me. They both set an example of what to do right and they give wisdom about what they would like to have done better.
And I can learn from those rare families who haven't lost any. I am walking in their footsteps, standing on their shoulders. I'm drafting. But drafting is dangerous. If I follow someone so closely, I can't see what's ahead. No, I have to have my head up and be able to see what is ahead myself.
Now, I live in a city where there are a few growing houses of prayer, places where people from any denomination can come and pray, open many if not 24 hours a day. And I have a little unofficial half set, an hour once a week when I go play the piano and sing to God. Usually there's almost no one there. That's fine with me. If people show up, my attention is sometimes a little divided.
So yesterday, at my little Tuesday 3 o'clock moment, I was singing to Him. It happened to be the monthly 'Global Bridegroom Fast', the first Mon-Wed of each month, so I was singing about longing for Him, yearning for Him. Even so, come. Come quickly, Lord Jesus. The Spirit and the Bride say come.
And when I sing that, come, I am longing and asking for Him to come and return and take His Bride (the church), to be with Him face to face. But I am also asking Him to come here, come now, come heal, come deliver. And I was singing to Him to return the hearts of the fathers to their children and the hearts of the children to their fathers.
He is the Father of the prodigals. He is watching and waiting. He never rests.
And this is the revelation I received, which may not sound like anything as I try to communicate it here, but was perhaps one of the most significant moments of my life. I will not win my children to Him by what I do or do not do (not that I shouldn't or won't do everything I can). He will win them because of WHO HE IS.
Headlines don't sell papes. Newsies sell papes. In one of my favorite movies, Newsies, one of the newsies, a news boy in New York City, early 1900's, is telling another, new newsie that headlines are not what sells the newspapers in New York. They do. The boys on the street hawking the papes are what makes the money.
God is God. He will draw all men unto Himself. I will continue to pray, believe me, I will, that each of my children, and the sons and daughters my friends have lost, will have a revelation of Him. That the Word planted in their hearts would spring up and bear fruit. That their Creator would call them and draw them and lead them out into the wilderness if nessessary to turn their hearts to Him.
I will guard the gates - the ways different influences come into my children's lives. I will feed them good things, mind, body and spirit. I will give them every opportunity I can to encounter Him who my soul loves. But it is ultimately He who will draw them to Himself.
And He will.
I can't describe the peace I felt and still feel at that knowledge. It is possible that some of mine will take a good hard look at the man Jesus and reject Him outright. But He is magnificent. He is astounding. He is holy.
I think holy is the word I come around to when I'm trying to describe the indescribable. God is so . . . so . . . so . . . holy. I hope with each day, each hour, that my children will encounter One so lovely that they can not help but to love Him. And that His Awesomeness will burn in their hearts so deeply that if they walk away someday, that He will draw them back.
It's not me. It's Him. Headlines don't sell papes. Newsies sell papes. I can't save them. I can't win them. I can't draw them. He can. He does. He will.
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