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To the mom who feels like a peaceful home is impossible

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I’m one of those moms who wants to love summer with with every cell of my being.  My favorite little people are home and I just want to soak up the sunny splashy mornings and the long slow afternoons and the “just because” snuggles.   My husband and I are those parents who deeply desire to relish in home, who crave for home to be the safest place for our people, who long for it to be a place of peace and breathing deep and opening wide and having all the beautiful identity and destiny and belonging poured right in.

We’re a family who lives for kitchen dance parties and who searched for the largest bean bag we could find just so all seven of us could snuggle up for books at night.  We believe that family is powerful, and we teach our kids that we’re stronger together.  We aim to never let the sun go down on our anger, and we fight for our relationships with each other.  We talk about building up and not tearing down, and serving each other in love.

That’s the heavenly home that lives in our hearts and prayers, and the heavenly home that our straggled, weary, moments are fighting for.

But the reality of our home is a bit more complicated and sometimes leaves me feeling like I live in a war zone.  I have strong and spirited children who only follow rules they believe in, who fight for justice and fairness, and don’t have much trouble voicing their opinions and concerns…from the rooftops.

The reality of our home is that it’s loud.

The reality of our home is that there is usually someone fighting, someone in timeout, someone crying, someone who needs help, someone yelling, and someone who needs a Band-aid.  Yes, at the same time.

The reality is that the pace is grueling, the demands are endless and space for teaching and shepherding moments free from a howling storm of noise are scarce at best.

I used to wait for the moments that looked, sounded, and felt peaceful to try to get my peace back, and help my children find theirs.  I’m realizing that if you live in a war zone, you have to find a way to find your peace while the war is still raging.  Like Peter locking eyes walking on water to Jesus, with the waves still crashing around him, there is peace to be found while the storms of our homes rage on (Matthew 14:28-33).

Peace is not a set of conditions but a presence of the God who is bigger than them all.

The peace of our homes does not depend on maintaining a steady state of quiet and freedom from conflict.  The peace of our homes does not wait for our children to figure life out and obey.  The peace of our homes does not rely on the promise that there will be no suffering.  The peace of our homes does not depend on our five physical senses, but on the abiding of our spirit.

When everything around us feels peaceful, we might convince ourselves that we’re the heroes.  When life feels like a bit of a mess, we have a chance to let Jesus be the hero.

If you live in over your head, like me, it’s a great place to practice living by faith.  More and more, I’m convinced that abiding peace starts with weakness.  Real life happens in the untidy places.  Real faith happens when we are at the end of ourselves.  Real abiding happens when we know our need for Christ.

When I stop trying to tidy things up and I look for God in the middle of the storm, I find peace that passes understanding.  When I stop trying to be the hero and I’m less surprised by my C minus parenting moments, I’m quick to apologize and my family gets to encounter the grace of God, afresh. 

I’m convinced that the greatest strength of our home is that we clean-up well.  I don’t mean the Legos…they are still all over the floor.  I mean the relational messes we make every day.

“It’s not what you do that matters most. It’s what you do AFTER what you do.”  —Dr. Garry Landreth, Founder of the Center for Play Therapy

Being quick to admit our mistakes teaches our kids it’s ok to make them.  Mama, you’re lovable while you’re still on the journey of growth.  And our children are, too.  My children know that I’m still in the process of becoming the mom I want to be.  And I’d like to think it’s giving them freedom and peace in their own journeys of becoming.

I think this is what it means to have a home of peace.  Letting the peace of Christ (because He’s the hero!) be on the throne of our hearts (Col 3:15).

When we stop worshipping quiet and easy and we start worshipping Christ, we don’t have to be afraid of things getting a little stormy.  When we stop worshipping our own perfection, we get to find the peace of being covered by Christ’s perfection.

Years ago, my habit was to only meet with God when I felt stable and strong.  But it’s honestly pretty hard to find Him there.  We get in our own way.

When we come before God with nothing except our need for His touch, we become magnetic for His presence.

I’m practicing crying out for God to speak and move in the middle of the craziest, loudest, ugliest moments of parenting.  Peace for me looks like knowing that God speaks the language of my children’s hearts when I have no idea how to get through to them.  When I quiet my heart and ask for help, God is eager to give me wisdom in words or wisdom in silence.  He’s eager to quiet the frazzled nerves of my body and to hold my heart in His love.  Peace looks like knowing that God has an identity and a destiny for each of my children (and for me and my husband as well), and the mess of our paths has very little to do with it.  God can weave a beautiful tapestry with our broken and tattered threads.

Peace looks like welcoming God’s love to cover our profusion of brokenness.

If you find yourself envying the homes that look more put together, the ones where the kids are compliant and the siblings don’t fight and nobody yells…I encourage you to set your sights on a another goal.  Instead of exhausting yourself for a peace that comes from quiet in your ears, become recklessly committed to pursuing the peace that comes from a heart quieted by the presence of God, no matter what kind of storm is raging.

How to hope when your child’s life is out of your control

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Version 2

I’ve been quiet on here lately.  The reasons may be obvious, that life is real and messy and spilling over at the brim.  But these real messy days that have a way of shutting everything else down for a bit?  These are the spaces where I’m learning what it means to have faith, what it means to claim joy, what it means to lay my life down in love, and what it means to hold onto hope. These things get real when you need them most.  I don’t want to miss the opportunity to walk with you right here in the messy middle.

In this new year, I’m reflecting again on the big and beautiful invitations of motherhood.  There are these exquisite invitations to walk in joy when it makes no sense, to claim peace when anxiety is far more logical, to be carried by trust, when our hands want to hold on with the tightest grip.  

In the early days, I was the mom with Excel spreadsheets to keep track of nap and feeding schedules.  I was convinced that if I did it right, motherhood didn’t have to be so overwhelming, or quite so life-altering, and that dedicated effort could make it work better than the stories I heard.  We would make a home of peace and calm.  Sure, there are lots of things parents can do to cultivate that kind of home, but control it we cannot.  And convincing ourselves that we can control it can lead us right into a sticky, muddy pit of frustration.

I think it’s normal, even wise and industrious, to enter this parenting thing with a shelf full of books, a mind full of strategies, and a heart full of hope.

But before long, the reality crushed me, and I started scrambling for a sturdier foundation.  Maybe you, too.

The reality of children who make their own choices and have their own bad days and go against the grain. The reality of waking up to a brand new child who no longer sleeps or eats or obeys. We had just figured out a discipline strategy that worked, and then it didn’t.  We thought we found the sport that we would play as a family, and then she decided she hated it. We bought new clothes with approval, but putting them on was a constant battle. I had a fun day planned, but he decided to be oppositional.  Someone got stung by a bee.  Someone had an accident.  Someone spiked a fever.  Unexpected trip to the ER.  Up all night for some unknown reason.  Sudden and unexplainable temper tantrums.

The life of a mama is not her own, and the lives of our children aren’t ours either. We can drive ourselves crazy wondering when the joy and peace are going to just start flowing.

The only thing that’s predictable is that every day holds unpredictability.

Little by little, in those early years of motherhood, I was glimpsing the reality of my children’s independent identities and dispositions that I didn’t understand and that my parenting books failed to mention. I was facing the strength and character that manifests in unfiltered form as defiance or disrespect.  And I was navigating the frustrating mystery of trying to meet needs that cannot be communicated by tiny preverbal people.

I was seeing the unpredictability of it all, and the reality of my own limitations, the consequences of prolonged sleep deprivation, the impossibility of being everywhere for everyone at once.

I was finding out about the limits of my patience, that seemed to be fixed to hit empty at about 5pm every day.

And I was facing the reality of a distance between my child’s heart and my own, and the disconnect between what their daddy and I are saying and what our little loves are hearing.

And more than anything, I was facing the reality of my intense attachment to thinking I could control the outcomes.

I try to be intentional about connecting with their hearts. . . but they sometimes do not feel loved.

I try to be attentive to their safety. . .but we’ve had numerous trips to the ER.

I try to listen well. . .but they sometimes do not feel heard.

I believe in and teach them about the power of their friendships with one another, but they hit each other and hurt each other’s hearts.

At some point, I had that gut-wrenching realization that makes the older mamas grab their chests and say “I know.”

I can’t protect them.

I can’t defend them.

I can’t make them believe. 

I can’t meet all of their needs.

I am going to hurt their hearts, and the world will too.

The world isn’t going to go easy on them just because I want it so badly.

They will face danger, get scars, maybe even know the names and faces of the staff at the closest ER. (This may already be the case for a few of them!)

I can’t make them receive my love the way I meant to send it.

I can’t do this perfectly. . .or sometimes even well.

But you and I?  We have to keep getting up and being Mom, and God’s word says there is joy and abundance for us to claim, so I figure there has got to be more to the story than all of those can’ts. 

The more tightly I grip to what I had wanted it to look like, the more it all seems to slip away.  The more I hover to try to keep my children safe, the more anxious and susceptible to injury everyone is.  The more I try to control, the more they are inclined to rebel.  The more I push the sport or the interest I want them to have, the more they resist.  And it’s like that moment when you squeeze silky soft white sand in the palm of your hand and suddenly realize your hand is empty.  You didn’t realize you were holding it too tightly, but it just suddenly slipped away.

Around the time when my insides twisted in knots over what I didn’t realize I had signed up for in motherhood — that it is an endless road of being split wide open, and an endless road of surrender and lack of control, and an endless road of desperate prayers — I heard the Lord whisper a question to my heart:  Do you trust me?

I wrestled over and over it but when I finally nodded a feeble “yes,” I began to hear the sweetest invitation from the Lord.  I began to hear him inviting me to be held with all my vulnerabilities.  I heard him inviting me to cry out all my fears and just let Him be my everything. I didn’t need to shake off the fear of something happening to my children, I could climb into His lap and tell Him about it like a bad dream, let Him hold me and tell me He’s never going to leave or change or stop loving us.  I don’t have to beg Him. I can let Him hold me and tell me how much he delights in these children of mine, and in my mama bear heart.

I can choose to look into the eyes of Eternal Understanding with a feeble childlike yes. 

Of course we hope and pray that everything will be ok for our kids. . . it would be weird if we didn’t.  But our hope can’t live there.  We can’t be sure of the choices our children will make in their lives, but we can be sure that there will always be a gentle whisper of God pursuing their hearts.  We can’t be sure that their life will be free of pain, but we can be sure that God always sees, always knows, and is always working for their good.  We can’t be sure of the circumstances they will face or avoid, but we can be sure that our Father God is the same yesterday, today, and forever.

These days, I’m grateful that I’m not in control of my children. This wild ride of life is far better engineered by the One who engineered our wild hearts. Being a mama set free is all about serving as a big ole’ road sign pointing straight at the heart of God.  If we show our children how to fix their eyes there, than we have nothing to fear.

 

John 14: 26-27 But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to you. Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.

2 Corinthians 12: 9-10 But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

Psalm 139: 7-12 Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.

Romans 8: 28 And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

Hebrews 13: 8 Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.

Feeling like you don’t know how to teach your children about faith? Me too.

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Matthew 18: 2-4 He called a little child to him, and placed the child among them.  And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.  Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.

One of the most humbling things I have encountered in parenting is the shear number of things I have discovered that I do not know.

It’s not that I’m afraid of not knowing things – it’s that I actually feel like I know less every year (day) that I’m alive.  Or perhaps, I am being humbled at a faster rate than I am learning things. 

Life has a way of doing that, doesn’t it?

My husband and I came into this parenting thing thinking it was out job to teach our children.  And it is, of course.  But there are things I thought I knew, and now I know that I don’t know them.  There are answers I have given that have now proven faulty, and things I’ve tried to teach my children, only to discover that they are unlearning something better that they already possessed. 

How is it that the things I thought I knew no longer feel certain, and the things I thought I was teaching, I end up feeling like the student?  Maybe children are an example of a certain kind of wisdom that life washes off of us if we don’t fight to keep it.  Or maybe these lessons required the accompanying humility that my children have ushered into my life. 

One way or another, I am a student in my own home, more than I ever could have imagined.  As parents, we may have more knowledge and experience, but I’m finding that some of the hardest things for an adult to learn come naturally for well-loved little ones. 

(I add the caveat “well loved” because, as we all know, sadly life hits some sweet children too hard and too fast, and they are forced for survival to let go of their innocent wonder, unquestioning faith, and fearless receipt of affection). 

As parents, we may know more of God’s Word, but our children know more about pure faith. 

We may know the gospel of Christ, but they know far more about how to depend on someone else’s finished work.*

We may tell them that every good and perfect gift comes from above, but they know far better how to ask and receive.*

I may teach them about the meaning of the Sabbath, but they teach me how to rest.* 

I teach them the words “God is love,” but they teach me how to live loved.*

I teach them that God calls us His children; they teach me how to ask for good gifts.*

I teach them that God says we’re made with eternity set in our hearts; they teach me to dream of a life of greatness.*

I teach them the words and the melody of “Jesus loves me”; they teach me what it looks like to walk as if it’s the song of rejoicing being sung over your life. 

Their imaginations are vast to consider the wonders of God. 

Their hands are not too proud to open up and receive a present. 

Their hearts are not too guarded to be loved unconditionally. 

Open, humble, dependent.  

Made in the image of the Ultimate Creative Genius, these little ones have an imagination that cannot be contained, an appreciation and wonder for things of beauty and curiosity.  I watch and learn again how to see God, how to find joy, in caterpillars and clouds and cotton candy.   

Before becoming a mama, Jesus’ words to become like little children rolled off of me with a nod and a passive agreement that I should learn to lean on Christ.  But watching my children has planted a longing in me to be transformed into the kind of person who knows how to climb into her Daddy’s lap and be held. 

Watching my children challenges every last cell of pride in me, and moves me to wonder if true maturity for the Christian isn’t completely upside down.  Not so much about improving, doing more good and less bad, and more about learning how incredibly broken and in need of help we are…relearning how to yell “Daddy!!” from the sidewalk where we skinned our knees.  Relearning how to say “Help!,” when we don’t know how to do something new.  Relearning how to hide behind my Daddy’s knees when something is new or scary.  Relearning how to say “I’d really like a hug,” or “Do you think I’m pretty?” or “Do you like my painting?” Relearning how to yell at the lies that come against us: “That can’t be true because my daddy says so!” 

A well-loved child naturally looks to a parent or trusted adult to know if their ok, to gain strength and confidence. And whatever they face as they grow up, I always want them to lock eyes with us, and ultimately with the Lord, when no other face or place feels safe.

And isn’t this what we are all trying to teach our souls to do with our Father in heaven?  To look up and lock eyes when we are afraid, confused, uncertain, or in need of a reminder of who we are?  To let God be our confidence, our hiding place, our refuge and strength?

I want to live like a well-loved child before my Father in heaven.  I know that my children know they are loved because they have no shame in expressing what they want and need.  They know the source, and they come with freedom and confidence, to me, to their daddy, and in their prayers to their Good, Good, Father…just the way the Bible tells us to come.  My children receive expressions of love and affection unreservedly, just the way I want to receive from our Heavenly Father.*

Motherhood has tucked inside a beautiful invitation to bear witness to the ones that Jesus called our example.

I’m through with trying to know it all.  When it comes to teaching my children about things of faith, I will take them by the hand, and teach them what I know,  with open eyes and an open heart to learn from them, too.  Being a mama has revealed to me the deep wisdom Jesus shares as he tells us to change and become like little children.

We can have the right answers, spend a lifetime going to church, become a Bible scholar, and still what we need most to know the heart of God, is to approach him with a heart like a child…bringing only our need.  Hallelujah.

 

*Bible references:

Matthew 18: 2-4 He called a little child to him, and placed the child among them. 3 And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. 4 Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.

Hebrews 4: 16 Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.

John 16: 24 Until now you have not asked for anything in my name. Ask and you will receive, and your joy will be complete.

James 1: 17 NIV Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.

Hebrews 4:9 NIV There remains, then, a Sabbath-rest for the people of God…

John 19:30 NIV When he had received the drink, Jesus said, “It is finished.” With that, he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.

1 John 4: 7-8 Beloved, let us love one another, because love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God.  Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.

Ecclesiastes 3: 11 He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.

Zephaniah 3: 17 The Lord your God is with you; the Mighty Warrior who saves.  He will take great delight in you; in his love he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing.

A powerful prayer when your parenting needs a dose of hope

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Version 2

Every loving mama who holds a sweet babe in arms, also cradles an earnest ache to do it all right for her child.  Every loving mama wants to love generously, speak gently, provide for every need manifestly, and nurture in a way that builds her child’s sense of identity, purpose, and belonging.

Every loving mama climbs into bed at night and wakes in the morning longing to do it better, desiring to be more intentional, intending to chose words more carefully, wanting to make absolutely sure that her children know how loved and special they are.

Every loving parent intends to gently shepherd the next generation into a radiant future.

I don’t know about you, but no matter how much I want to be that parent, when my nerves are frayed, and one of my children pushes just hard enough, just long enough, just in that particular way, something entirely different bubbles up in me.  Irritation takes over, and harsh words beg to spill out of my mouth.  Distaste sits on my tongue.   My thoughts unsettle me, as the ugly ones jostle around in my spirit with all of the love and hopes and dreams and good intentions.  When I feel most disrespected and defied, my dignity revolts a bit, and I can look in those little eyes on those little faces with nothing much to say other than “How dare you?!”  And “Because I said so.” 

I know the mom I want to be in those moments.  And friends, thanks to the grace of God, most of the time the words that actually come out of my mouth are words of life and blessing and gentle correction.

But this bizarre concoction of feelings – passionately wanting the best for my children, and the simultaneous sourness that makes kind and gentle words the furthest from my mouth – leaves me with a war waging inside of my mouth.  At times, it feels like a tossup which side will win the turn to speak.

When all is quiet, I know that I know that I know that my children are a gift and a blessing from the Lord, and that God is equipping my husband and I to love and shepherd and guide them into abundant living.  I know that there is hope.  I know that am seen by my God on these long days, and that He delights in all of the moments when I have died to my dignity, to my comfort, to my right to respect.  I know that God sees me and loves me and that his grace is sufficient.

But in the heat of the moment, I sometimes just need some practical tools to stop impatience and frustration from spilling out of my mouth before all of that beautiful perspective has a chance to make it to my lips.

I have often found one simple prayer to be just what I need to bring a jolt of hope and a fast dose of perspective.  I am learning to whisper in the quiet of my heart one simple prayer that helps words of life win out, when a fiery battle is waging.

This humble prayer shifts my priorities, and gives me new eyes, lifts me out of the emotions of the moment.  It helps me to shed my desire to defend myself and demand respect.  This unadorned prayer cools my boiling blood and brings fresh perspective.

I weakly stammer it out in the quiet of my heart… “Lord, give me your eyes for this child.” 

It’s simple and obvious, but the reverie slows my breath and widens my view.  I breathe in a glimpse of my children’s true identity as precious masterpieces of a loving Creator God, who knit them together carefully and beautifully and reverently… as I consider a God who intends to continue his work on my children.…  as I consider the possibility that our God will choose my children for remarkable world-changing things that will require their strong will and determination and deep commitment to justice, though it is currently being used to argue the disparate number of Cheerios in their sibling’s bowl.   

I summon it up from the deep places where my hope and fierce love for my children dwells…”Lord, what do you see when you look at this tiny person?” 

As I pry my hands open with the question, God deposits vision and hope that fuels my perseverance.

When I look at my children with the lens that God offers, I see leadership instead of bossiness.  I see discernment instead of fear.   I see creativity instead of awkwardness.  I see compassion instead of fragility.  I see tenacity instead of stubbornness.  I see courageous nonconformity instead of obstinance.  

This prayer is multiplying my joy, and changing the way I parent.

Try it with me, Sister?

When the days get a little messy, dare to ask the Lord what he sees when he looks at your little one.  Let your imagination run wild with God’s beautiful creativity on each of your precious children, and let it reshape the trickiest moments of your parenting.

When you really want to love summer, but you’re getting crushed

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Version 2

Summer and I have a complicated relationship.  

As a stay-at-home mama, I treasure the slower pace, the extra time with these precious children of mine.  I relish in the opportunity for white space and rest and sunshine and making memories and the kind of boredom that frees the imagination. 

From the heart of May, the heart in my chest starts to swell with anticipation of watching my people run through the sprinkler with their buddies, and the tiny wet footprints that will cover my floor.  I imagine their sibling friendships flourishing with giggly pillow fights and giant forts and long days splashing around in the pool.  

I can’t hide my grin when I think of swim team ribbons that will be won, diving board tricks to be mastered, finger paint creations to be hung on the wall.  

I imagine the books read and the dreams dreamed that could never be, without the extra wiggle room.  I’m fully committed to spending at least a handful of days in pajamas, and several handfuls in bathing suits, from morning straight on ’til night.  

Summer is bursting with potential.  Two whole months with nothing much to do…I should have a chance to patch up all the mommy failures of the school year, and do all of the things well.  I imagined in summer, I would climb into bed with each of my children just to scratch their backs and chat in the way that only happens when toes are tucked under covers and faces are surrounded by beloved stuffed animals.  I would linger and listen…really listen…about hurt feelings and lizards and swim meets, until my little ones’ eyelids got heavy and they were ready to let the moment go.  I would move slow and soak up the silly little moments that add up to a childhood.  I would be patient, and tell the clock that it can take a break.  Everyone would be well-rested and would get along.  I would have long date nights with my hubby and long family adventures, and we would make sweet family memories together. Summer would make it all better. 

From the heart of May, it all seemed so simple.  

But right in the middle of all of this potential, the boredom intended to lead to imagination and beauty, becomes a reason to pick a fight, just for something to do.  Family adventures turn to whining, and the only moment I enjoy is the picture I snap when I trick everyone into smiling for a gummy bear.  

I get tired of hearing my own voice encouraging little ones to be grateful when it’s too hot or too rainy or too sunny or not sunny enough… when we never have enough time at the pool…when it’s never the right time to put on sunscreen….when it should always be the right time for ice cream…and everyone is Always.  Always.  Always. Hungry. 

Thankfully, after an adventure turns sour, my children only seem to remember the fun.  As it was for me as a child, summer is a time for nothing much to do, except practicing handstands in the pool.  

So, perhaps my high expectations of summer come from my view being shaped in childhood, when summer was nothing but sparkly brilliant adventure.  

But the thing I now know, though I’m still making peace with it, is that the rest and relaxation of a child comes partly at the sacrifice of his mama’s.  Someone has to hang and clean and pack and unpack and repack all of the swim suits and goggles and floaties and towels and snacks and water bottles and sunscreen.  A leisurely picnic for the family comes at the cost of cooking and packing the food and paper plates and blankets and hats and bug spray.  Someone still drives.  Someone still cooks.  Someone still cleans.  Someone still launders.  Someone’s ears receive all of the screams and tattles and needs and questions.  Someone carefully places what feels like thousands of things into a bag for each and every adventure.  Someone facilitates the fulfillment of everyone else’s summer dreams.  

So, thank you, Mom, for making my summers magical.

And thank you, Jesus, that you are multiplying the magic in the lives of my children.  They really do love it.  And that makes it well worth all of the effort.  

But can I just admit that I sometimes I feel kind of crushed by all of this fun?  Some days I am so, so tired.  Some days I feel like I cannot muster the energy to answer one more question or settle one more argument.  Some days I am pressed by the sheer number of words exchanged, by the number of time outs, the number of Band-aids, the number of wet floors I have wiped up, the number of minutes I have spent spreading sunscreen on tiny bodies. 

There is an undeniable blessed abundance in my house that I do not take for granted for a minute.  I treasure the opportunity to be home with my little army of children this summer, and I would not trade it for anything in the world.  

But sisters, sometimes…Summer. Is. Hard. 

There is this ugly side of summer mixed up with the ugly side of my heart that says “JUST GO BACK TO SCHOOL, ALREADY.”  

I want to be the mom who never wants summer to end.  But even before I finished the giant exhale of relief of less – less hurry, less homework, less calendar, less daily grind…Before I even let the exhale settle my soul, there was an equally strong and competing inhale of more – more opinions, more noise, more voices, more sibling arguments, more complaints of boredom, more questions about what we’re doing and when and where and with whom and for how long, more entertainment, more meals to make and clean up at home, more decisions to make about wide open hours.

Summer and I made our first transition when I entered the working world, and I realized that summer break was no longer a thing.  And now, we’re making another.

I think somewhere along the line, I started to think that staying at home with my kids meant I would get a summer break again.  But this year, I’m letting it go.  I’m wrapping up the gift of summer — all of my expectations and hopes, all of my rest and relaxation — I’m wrapping it up and tying a bow around it, and I am presenting it as an offering to my family.  I am believing that abundant life happens right on the other side of giving my own summer “break” away.  I’m believing that my gift in summer will be the life that only comes when you give it away – the abundance of living that only happens when you die to yourself.  I begin to truly delight in my children and their fun, when I stop being concerned about my own comfort.

This year, I am finally admitting the thing that has stood in the way of my rest.  I am admitting that a relationship between summer and a stay-at-home mama is not simple and straightforward.  It’s not a break, a vacation, or a retreat.  It’s simply a shift.  As I facilitate rest for my children this summer, I can trust the Lord to bring rest to my soul.  I find life in giving mine away. 

So friend, if summer is hard, you might be right where you should be…pouring out your love and energy and effort to facilitate a culture of rest and adventure in your home.  The next time you are packing the pool bag, or breaking up a sibling squabble, remember that you are SEEN by your Father God.  Let the work of your summer be a dance of worship before your King.  

Whoever finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for my sake will find it. Matthew 10:39

Whatever you do, work at it with your whole being, for the Lord and not for men, because you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as your reward.  It is the Lord Christ you are serving.  Colossians 3: 23

Dear child of mine, teach me to have eyes of wonder

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Dear child of mine,

Many things I teach to you, sweet one.  I’ve walked a few more miles, and lived a few more years.  But in this, I am your student.

In this, I find you wise beyond your years, and mature beyond measure.

In this, I find you exquisite.  I can only hope not to move you backwards.  I can only hope not to make you more like me, but me like you.

It’s your eyes that captivate me, precious child.  It’s the way your eyes can see things that I have long forgotten to notice.

It’s the way your eyes can take in everything that truly matters and nothing all at once.

You care not about the traffic, but you revel in the size of the wheels on the truck beside us.  You care not about the clock, but the flicker of the rock along the path to our car never fails to catch your eye.

You fear not if we’ve wondered off the trail, but you delight in the feel of a toad in your hands.  You love the bumps of his back, and the rise of his throat.  You delight in the quick of his legs and when he surprises you with a mighty leap, you treasure the hunt to find him again.

What I call weeds, your eyes call wild bouquet.  What I call delays, your eyes call divine appointments with God’s gifts of the day.

Though I’m older now, small one, I want to grow eyes like yours, as I age.

Sweet child of mine, will you teach me to have eyes of wonder?

Will you teach me to see the world as one giant gift of glorious exploration?

Will you teach me to encounter God the Creator in the curve of a butterfly wing, and the wiggle of a worm?

Will you teach me to slow my busied mind, and breathe in the scent of fresh cut grass on a hill?  To roll down it with abandon to the grass stains?

Will you teach me to put aside the worries of the day, to tip my chin and feel the warm of the sun on my face?

Teach me to linger, to giggle endlessly about the way your baby brother’s diaper bobs back and forth when he walks.

Teach me again about the bliss of spinning with arms spread wide…the exhilaration of stumbling to the floor to watch the room swirl.

Teach me to marvel at the engineering of trucks and excavators and cranes in the construction site.  Just to watch the levers and gears and dirt frolic and dance.

Teach me to dwell with the trickle of creek and the echo of crickets.

Teach me to see the miracle of faces.  Teach me to see with endless possibility, and courageous hope.  Teach me to know God by having eyes to see his beauty in every little corner of creation.

Dear child of mine, when I grow up, I want to have eyes just like yours.

Never lose your wonder.

When you need to walk on water in the middle of crashing waves

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Matthew 14:22-33 NIV
Immediately Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead of him to the other side, while he dismissed the crowd. After he had dismissed them, he went up on a mountainside by himself to pray. Later that night, he was there alone, and the boat was already a considerable distance from land, buffeted by the waves because the wind was against it.  Shortly before dawn Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake. When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. “It’s a ghost,” they said, and cried out in fear. 
But Jesus immediately said to them: “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.”
“Lord, if it’s you,” Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.”
“Come,” he said.
Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus.  But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!”  Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. “You of little faith,” he said, “why did you doubt?” 
And when they climbed into the boat, the wind died down. Then those who were in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”

 

I have mixed feelings about this story.

If I had designed these events as a reflection of my own heart, things would have gone a little differently…

The beautiful and captivating story of Peter walking on water, the redemptive story of my own life, the exquisite story of all of creation…  If these were written as a reflection of my own anxious heart, they would be written through the lens of pain avoidance rather than redemption, self-sufficiency rather than dependence, comfort and ease rather than faith, perfection rather than sanctification, quick answers rather than perseverance that builds character and character that builds hope. 

The Jesus made in my own image would have calmed the storm before he invited Peter to Come.  He wouldn’t have let it hurt.  He would have kept it neat and tidy.  Jesus would have made His command to “Take courage” nice and easy, because He would have silenced the waves and thunder, preemptively.

But God, in His great mercy, made me in His image instead – not the other way around.  God in His infinite wisdom, orchestrated the events of this passage of scripture, in this particular way.  And you and I both know that a story in which the miracle happens while the wind is still blowing and the waves are still crashing, is a whole lot more relevant to our real lives.

I want to walk on water to Jesus, don’t you?  I want to be brave.  I long to have adventures with the Lord, to co-labor with Him, and be called into supernatural places.  But before I step out of the boat, I’d prefer sunny skies and calm waters and life vests, and a well-established Plan B.  

It’s easy to be courageous in calm waters.  It’s easy to trust Jesus when things are easy and predictable.  But we learn what our faith is made of when the skies grow dark and the waters get a little rocky.  We learn to trust Jesus when we answer His invitation to lock eyes and Come, right in the middle of the storm.   

I’m beginning to see that we can’t wait until life pauses to figure out how to walk with the Lord.  Marriage and motherhood have made life more raw, more vulnerable, and the pauses more rare.  Nothing feels easy and predictable when these precious pieces of my heart are running around this scary world of ours.

This parenting journey has stripped off all of the nice churchy things I used to wear, and held a mirror to my heart.  It has revealed the places of my heart that have been fortified in truth, and the places where my heart is still a little squishy and lukewarm.  Motherhood has revealed the ways I’m walking in the truth of my new, empowered, victorious identity in Christ and the ways I’m still walking with a limp. (2 Corinthians 5: 17)

The things that spill out of me when I’m sleep deprived or disrespected are the very places in my heart where I need a holy healing touch from our Living God.  I’m beginning to see that we cannot build a life of faith when we only walk with Jesus in calm waters.  If we are going to walk in God’s promises, we need more than Sunday mornings and quiet times.  We need a real God with reckless love who speaks into the middle of our messy lives, in real time.  And that is the God we have.  Hallelujah!

When my home feels loud and busy and chaotic, I can’t always get away to be alone with the Lord.

You too, mama?

I’m beginning to look for the eyes of Jesus right in the middle of the noise, and ask Him if I can Come.  He steadies me and lets me walk right on top of the raging waves.

Hear me…I believe in drawing away to be alone with the Lord, and I seek to do it every. single. day.  But I am learning to lock eyes with Jesus and walk to Him, on the days when I didn’t get to have an idyllic quiet time with morning dew and chirping birds.  God meant for his promises to stand when we were still waiting for a chance to go to the mountaintop.

I’m learning to lock eyes with Jesus and walk to Him, while five little people need five different things… when I don’t know if it’s going to be ok… when I’m confused and uncertain… and when this mama actually has no earthly idea what is best.   I am learning to lock eyes with Jesus and walk to him on the days when I did everything wrong.  I am learning to cry out to him to save me, right after my faith has been weak.

Maybe you have made the same observation about parenting that I have.  It never stops.  It just keeps coming, and each new day has new challenges, new uncertainties, new things you’ve never done before, conversations you’ve never had before.  If we wait until it all calms down to learn to walk with Jesus, we might miss our opportunity to rest in him when we really need him.  And we might miss our chance to raise children who walk on water.  

Needing Jesus this way…this is holy ground, sweet friends.

Jesus did not say “Take courage.  There is no storm.”

He did not say “Take courage.  It will be over soon.”

He said “Take courage.  It is I.”

The reason for our courage cannot be the absence of difficulty, but the presence of Christ.  

Like Peter, when we look at the wind and the waves, we become afraid.  If I look upon one of my children and imagine all of the ways things could go wrong, I start to sink beneath the water, right then and there.  My fear writes the story, and I can’t think of anything to say in their broken moment except the things my sweet ones are doing wrong.  But when I look at the eyes of Jesus, I can see with new eyes.  The waves are in my peripheral vision – their power insignificant in light of the power of Christ.

When I lock eyes with Jesus, I see my loved ones through God’s eyes.  I see with hope for breakthrough and healing and miracles.  I see with endless possibility.  Shortcomings fall into the shadow of the glorious love of God through the blood of Christ.

When the things we see with our eyes make us feel like treading water is the very best we could hope for, with an ominous sense that we will only last a few moments more, we can lock eyes with Jesus.  He invites us to walk right on top of the disappointments, the fears, the unfulfilled dreams, the uncertain futures.  He invites us to dance in worship to the drumming beat of thunder, with the sway of the mighty wind, and the beat of the pounding waves of the most chaotic and difficult days.

We lock eyes with the God of the Most High and we become like David, who looks on his companions, trembling in fear of the giant before them and says “…Who is this uncircumcised Philistine that he should defy the armies of the living God?” (1 Samuel 17:26)

When we know who is for us, we fear not that which is against us. 

Sister, whatever waves you are facing today in your home, lift your eyes from the challenges, the inadequacies, the uncertainties, to meet the tender-loving eyes of Christ.  Hold within your gaze the truth of God’s power and might, the truth of His fatherly love and his endless mercy, the truth of His sovereignty and everlasting kindness.

Although the frothy ripples of your unique sea of circumstances may still clap against your feet, you will be empowered by the presence of Christ to walk above the fray.  

“Mommy, I want to laugh about things”

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She grabs the hem of my shirt after I kiss her goodnight.  She pulls me close and says “Mommy, I want to laugh about things. ”

 

Maybe she wants me to recount a silly moment from our day, or let her give me a kiss on the tip of my nose. Maybe I tickle her under her chin, or we spend a couple minutes talking in funny voices about how we are big brown bears getting ready for hibernation…

 

This daughter of mine doesn’t particularly mind how it happens, but she reaches for me to just linger a while.

 

She wants us both to giggle – to be equally delighted in a moment together.

 

This is my little one’s way of bidding for connection with me. She doesn’t just want books and hugs and kisses and prayers.  She doesn’t want a cookie cutter bedtime routine, alongside of her siblings, but a unique and personal, secret and special moment of connection.

 

She wants to know that her daddy and I find her captivating, that we relish in her enough to laugh out loud.

 

Somehow this bid catches my attention unlike the other nightly requests for a sip of water or one more kiss. Somehow this one pierces me to the middle – perhaps because I can see the cry of my own heart tucked inside of her sweet plea.

 

I see my own heart wrestle through the truth that I know with the ache I have felt…Jesus loves me! And he loves you! Hallelujah!

 

But don’t we all want to feel it in just a bit more of a personal way? Don’t we all want to be the apple of another’s eye? To be liked? Enjoyed? Delighted in? Laughed with? For the simple look of us to bring someone deep pleasure?

 

And isn’t this ultimately the cry of my heart with my Heavenly Father, that He would take pleasure in me, and that I could feel it?  And that I could take pleasure in Him, too?  That his eyes on me and his delighted smile would fill me with confidence and joy?

It is so unbelievably easy to find delight in these precious children of mine.  All I have to do is stop moving for a few moments and watch them, and the joy wells up and bubbles over, and I can feel my pleasure pasted all over my face.

 

But what is blowing my mind each time I hear this precious bid from this tiny princess, is to think how much more our perfect Father God must be flooded with delight in looking on the faces and hearts of his children…to picture God as a heavenly parent, is to picture a shameless, delighted smile on His holy face.

 

This week, I’m busting open my imagination to consider that my Father God looks at me more tenderly than even the most loving mama or daddy.

 

Maybe my Abba Father giggles to himself as he watches me try something new.

 

Maybe His joy gushes over with laughter each time he sees me remember something He’s told me, and choose to walk in it.

 

Maybe my smile alone quickens his pulse.

 

Maybe He hates to see me skin my knee but revels in holding me tight and binding me up when I run to Him for comfort. Maybe He feels like I do, that it is a sacred and delightful privilege to be a Comforter.

 

Maybe a squinty-eyed grin comes over His face when He sees me stumble and get back up again…when he sees me smile brave.

 

Maybe he sometimes likes to watch me sleep.  Maybe he can’t help it because he’s so enchanted by the curves of my face.

“Jesus, I want to laugh about things…with You.” I want to experience that deep and joyful and personal connection with your Spirit, again and again.

 

And I want to usher my children not only into the delight of their mama and daddy, but into Your tender and glorious pleasure.

 

May our homes be so filled with your Spirit, right in the midst of these everyday moments, that our joy bubbles over and our walls ring with laughter.

 

Delight yourself in the Lord,
    and he will give you the desires of your heart. Psalm 37: 4
 

 

The deep satisfaction of giving it all away

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Everyone is buckled into the minivan, and for a moment, I just breathe.

I linger in the garage doorway and search the crevices of my mind for forgotten tasks and items.  I can’t remember the last morning we didn’t forget something, but my overloaded brain doesn’t seem capable of doing anything other than recovering from the chaos of the last 40 minutes.  
I’m pretty sure one or two of the kids never actually ate any of their breakfast, and I know for certain that I didn’t brush the baby’s teeth.  I hope, but probably won’t ask, whether or not everyone is wearing socks under their shoes.  

I shove one last sippy cup into my giant tote, along with a pair of sneakers for the littlest, whose bare little toes I recall kissing as I buckled him into his carseat.  I’m quite certain today will be the day the straps finally break on this bag, hanging over my right shoulder – the one that’s been serving quadruple duty as purse, diaper bag, pantry, and fix-all treasure chest.  

I grab my coffee in my other hand, and my sunglasses between my lips, and open the door to the garage, where my little ones have been waiting for approximately seventeen seconds.  

Before I even have the door fully opened, I hear a chorus of “Mommy!” and the names of those who need to be tattled on.  I decipher a request for music and a few desperate pleas for food and water, though the only thing we’ve done since breakfast is get into the car.  

How can there be this many problems by 8am?  How can I be tired already?  

I’m just now glancing in the mirror for the first time of the morning, and I’m thankful to find a hairband around my wrist to throw my mess of hair into a high bun.  

Friends, this motherhood thing is no joke.  Full and abundant, relentless and exhausting. It’s no wonder so many mamas can’t seem to stop the complaining from spilling out of their mouths, whenever they happen upon a listening ear.  

A handful of years ago, I found myself stumbling into stay-at-home motherhood, and subsequently, into playgroups and mommy meet-ups.  I found myself frustrated and confused that we all seemed to sit around talking about how little sleep we got or how long our husband’s work hours were, or how strong-willed our child was, as if it might make us feel better if we won the medal for “Hardest life.”  I was frustrated with other moms, and I was frustrated with myself, for going right along with the negativity.  I knew we should be more grateful, but it was also nice to connect with others who “get it.”

I absolutely adored my children, and often times the negative words leaking from my mouth didn’t even feel true.  I was just grasping at an opportunity to be seen in what I was working so hard to do, but for which the world seemed to have no words or appreciation.  

In that season, part of me still believed that the menial tasks of motherhood were beneath me.  I thought I should be doing something bigger or more impressive.  Or at least doing this “small” job more perfectly.  Yet, another part of me felt like being a stay-at-home mom was the most difficult thing I had ever done.

Though I knew that I knew that I knew that my children were an absolute gift, on many days, I found myself falling into a puddle of self-pity.  

I felt sorry for myself for not being understood.  I felt sorry for myself that I had nothing to show for the soul-crushing day I had just survived.  I felt sorry for myself that I was giving and giving, even when I was tired, or sick, or sad, or lonely.  I felt sorry for myself for the emptiness I felt, even when my home was full of adorable little faces.

More than anything, I felt deeply ashamed of my ingratitude.  Right alongside friends longing for a family or struggling to get pregnant, or wishing to be home with their children more, I often looked at my children and felt unworthy to be their mama, wondering why the mere look of them wasn’t filling my life with total joy and satisfaction.

At some point, I determined I must be missing something.  This simply could not be it.  This could not be God’s heart and desire for me.  

I didn’t want to be like the grandmas in the grocery store who tell me to soak it up because this is the best time of my life.  I didn’t want to tell every new mom for the rest of my life that it’s going to go way too fast.  I didn’t want to just survive this, and then regret all that I missed by not figuring out how to love it while it was happening.  I didn’t want to fill up photo albums to create memories of things that I didn’t actually enjoy very much.  

I wanted to live these moments.  I wanted to soak them up in a way that changed me. 

I began to wonder what would happen if I just stopped giving everything to my family begrudgingly, and started giving as if this was all I was ever meant to do.  I had always loved long snuggles and bedtime stories, but what if I gave the same energy to laundry and diapers, and arguments and bad attitudes? 

What if I poured my energy into, not just the fun moments of parenting, but all of these in-between mundane moments, as if these days were the only ones I’d bring before the throne of Christ, at the end of my life?

I began to have eyes to see all of the ways that I had been grasping to keep my life in tact…I rolled my eyes at the messes, because I was trying to preserve my dignity.  When a child was disrespectful, I crossed my arms repulsed, because I was trying to preserve my pride.  After a certain amount of work, I began to function out of this thinking that I really deserved a break, because I was trying to preserve my comfort.  I sputtered awkward answers at a cocktail party about what I did other than “stay at home” because I was trying to preserve my relevance in the world.  I was bitter about being late because I was trying to preserve my image as a dependable, punctual, responsible adult.  

I began to wonder what it would feel like to treat my children like the vulnerable Least of These Jesus talked about, and to give it all away with reckless abandon.  What if I simply threw my life into this thing the Lord has given me to do —  not neglecting self-care, but abandoning myself to be poured out — and let the Lord give me his abundance, right in the middle of the mess?  

For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it.  Matthew 16: 25

As I threw off my fears of keeping it all together, and let motherhood get a bit messier, giving when I had nothing left, because I chose to believe God gave me each of these little things to do, I began to find the life I had been so afraid to lose.  I found purpose inside of my own four walls, and deep joy in the middle of chaos.  I found myself delighting in my children, not just in the peaceful and sweet spaces, but in the disheveled and unpredictable ones, too.  I began to find abundance in the emptiest moments, energy in the midst of sleep deprivation, fun in the middle of work, and worship in the middle of mundane.  And I found deep satisfaction in the in-between, invisible, far from Instagram-worthy moments that only God could see.  

I began to discover the heart of God to fill us up as we are poured out, and to let us share in lavish resurrection living as we share in the death of Christ by abandoning our preferences, pride, comfort and convenience.  

No matter what your day-to-day looks like, sister, whether you are a stay-at-home mama, or you are juggling work and home, whether you have tiny ones or teenagers, be encouraged that God’s heart is to strengthen you out of his glorious riches, with power through his Spirit in your inner being. (Eph 3: 16). 

As we pour our lives out in places where we can’t receive back… As we offer forgiveness seventy times seven times… As we let our lives be poured out like a drink offering… As we choose to release our pride, our comfort, our lives to whatever little tasks are put before us… we see the abundant grace of God multiply in our hearts and homes.

Why heart connection is the secret to effective discipline

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Version 2

One of your sweet ones is turning her back on you, working her best scowl or eye roll, and communicating mostly in grunts.  Some child you birthed – in heart or body – has decided to do the opposite of whatever you say.

And you wonder, where did I go wrong? When did my words lose their power?  When did she stop trusting that I am on her team?  When did I become the enemy?

Taking independence and testing boundaries are a normal part of growing up.  But I think the behavior of our children can also offer us clues about what’s happening in their hearts.

 

Sisters, through my last nine and a half years of parenting, my husband and I have tried all kinds of discipline strategies with our five unique little people.  We’ve tried Time Outs and logical consequences and taking away privileges and earning privileges and behavior charts.  I read many of the books I could find about how to fix bad behavior and get our children to listen.

And I have stumbled the sloppy, hard way into this revelation of a piercing and strikingly simple reality.  When patterns of distrust and disobedience are developing in my home, there is one thing that is almost always true.

Our hearts are not connected.

Maybe I didn’t stop to hear about her day.  Maybe I said something that hurt her feelings.    Or maybe she is just carrying something that I don’t know about – disappointment or hurt or fear or worry, and somehow she ended up feeling like she has to carry it all by herself.

Maybe someone spoke mean words on the playground, or he is embarrassed about a mistake he made in his soccer game.  Maybe he is just discouraged by one too many corrections today.

But if I am not connected with these places of hurt in the hearts of my children, then I am inclined to assume that bad attitudes and defiance are just that. . . bad attitudes and defiance.  When in fact, bad attitudes and defiance might be the only open window to what’s really going on inside of their sweet little chests.

This is not to excuse negative behavior, or to say that defiance always points to a hurt heart or connection.  Children misbehave from a shockingly young age, and so much of our job as parents is to teach them where the boundaries are.  Toddlers might throw their plate on the floor four million times just to make sure you are going to send them to Time Out every single time.  They might hit because they want to know what kind of sound you will make, and what kind of power they hold in their little fists.

But, if our children are taught healthy boundaries from a young age, and have the capacity to obey, then these behaviors eventually fade away.  Right?

 

As our children grow, we have a choice to make about how we will interpret their attitudes and behavior.  I’ve begun to notice in my older children that a well-loved heart at rest doesn’t generally feel the need to act out.

If one of my children is acting out, I am trying to take the opportunity to look for clues and consider that they might be crying out for help.  God is softening my heart and pulling the scales from my eyes to see these little heart cries all day long in my home.

Help.  I feel like I’m all alone and I’m going to show you how terribly alone I feel by telling you to “Go away.”

Help.  I am going to make you see me right now, even if I have to scream and yell and hit, because I feel like you just don’t see me.

Help. I am saying mean things because I never want to feel so small and powerless like I did on the playground today when mean things were spoken to me.  

Help.  I feel like I’m losing control and I need you to tell me I’m going to be ok.

Hurt little hearts will do just about anything to make themselves feel better. . . by getting attention, by asserting their power, by pushing you away, by convincing themselves they are actually in charge.

And the opposite is also true.  When our children feel heard and understood, seen and known, confident of our love and desire for their best, they are simply more likely to trust us, and therefore more likely to listen and obey.

Boundaries remain firm and consistent in our home, and sometimes that means that my husband and I let our children be mad at us.  It is right and good and loving to hold the boundaries firmly!  But I believe from the depths of me that heart connection and effective discipline go hand-in-hand.  This has become a helpful “heart check” for me.

My son is acting like I’m his enemy.  Am I connecting with his heart?

My daughter has a bad attitude about everything I’m asking her to do.  Have I asked lately about that scuffle with her friends at school?  Or how she’s feeling about her daddy’s travel?

So often, when I get off of the discipline train for a few minutes to explore the heart of one of my children – without agenda, other than to connect and know them better – I discover a previously unspoken fear, anxiety, or hurt. . . something they were convinced they had to hold alone.  And once they are seen and known and loved in that tender place, the eye rolls and shrugs melt away, right along with our discipline struggles.

Even my youngest children seem to respond to extra snuggles, or whispers about my love, after a hard moment, or a hard day.

And isn’t my heart the same?

Like so many things that I notice about the hearts of my children, this reality is found tucked inside my own heart as well, as it relates to my Heavenly Father.

When the depths of my heart connect with the love God has for me. . . When I am believing that he is working all things for my best. . . When I am confident that He delights in me. . . I am simply compelled to love and serve Him.

And when I feel wounded by something I’ve perceived was against me – bad news, an unanswered prayer, a failure or disappointment, confusion about something I thought God called me to – I get discouraged and try to take things into my own hands.  I shrug my shoulders at Him and neglect to ask Him what he thinks about my day.  I stuff my ears with busyness and pressures and numbing to turn the volume down on God’s voice.

Obedience is interwoven with believing we are loved.  Trust is interwoven with believing we are seen and known.  Courage is interwoven with believing we are believed in.  Confidence is interwoven with believing we are delighted in.  

Sister, if you feel up against a wall with one of your children, like I often have, would you get off the discipline train for a few minutes with me today, and connect with the hearts of your children?

Search and discover their deep places, as if you are on a treasure hunt.

Pray for eyes to see and ears to hear.

Watch and listen for little bruises or untruths that they are holding.  Reassure them of their true identity as your beloved child and as a beloved child of God.  Adorn them with blessings and confidence about who they are becoming.  Remind them of the beautiful vision you have for their life.

I pray that this habit transforms discipline in your home, the way it has in mine.