Tag: faith

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

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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.

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.  

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.

Embracing the gift of waiting, in a world that forgot how

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Sweet eyes of wonder, watching the snow come down…

Wait for the LORD; be strong and courageous. Wait for the LORD.

Psalm 27:14

Christmas season as a mama of young children sometimes feels like a deep isometric stretch – a steady work of holding joy and calm, while the muscles of the heart burns with laying our lives down, carrying the load of work for the sake of our family’s jubilation.

Together, we hold the immense privilege and the immense responsibility of being mama.

I feel on my shoulders the honor and the duty to steer through the busyness with grace, while working to create a home of peace, and a steadfast notice of Emmanuel.

This season, I revel in the abundance of joy, the abundance of events, the abundance of distractions, the abundance of blessing, the sheer abundance of the day.  And I’m holding a posture of praise with quivering muscles, while the rush of more, faster, better badgers me.

You too, Mama?

The eyes of our children are full of hopeful expectancy and carefree delight.  The days are sprinkled with countdowns and Advent calendars full of chocolate and burgeoning excitement that sometimes feels more like a tornado in our homes.  But their waiting is what makes Christmas morning so sweet.  Their waiting draws them in, and prepares their hearts for explosive joy on Christmas morning.

The mystery breeds the magic.

And for all of us, Advent is about waiting and preparing, yes for presents, but ultimately for the most extraordinary gift of Christ.  But I can’t help but notice that we aren’t very good at waiting these days.  In the days of high-speed internet, digital pictures (remember when we had to take them to get developed?), Amazon Prime with free one day delivery, and GoogleMaps that can tell us how to avoid the traffic…waiting can feel unfamiliar, and awkward.

I think God’s Word whispers that waiting and faith go hand-in-hand, and I sense a sweetness in resting in the arms of God in the in-between place.

 Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.  This is what the ancients were commended for.

Hebrews 11: 1-2 NIV

And it shall be said in that day, Lo, this is our God; we have waited for him, and he will save us: this is the Lord; we have waited for him, we will be glad and rejoice in his salvation.

Isaiah 25: 9 KJV

I wonder if Advent is meant to invite us in to the mystery that requires us to trust.  I wonder if preparing to receive Christ looks a bit like working the muscle of delighting in God amidst waiting.  The heroes of our faith drew close to the heart of God while waiting for answers to prayers, waiting for promises to be fulfilled, waiting for dreams to come true.  I’m falling in love with a season placed in our calendars that was meant to invite us to wait and prepare to freshly receive the fulfillment of the greatest promise – the promise of a Rescuer, a Savior, a King.

In 2017, busy is a bit more comfortable than slow.  A season to get things done is more familiar than a season meant to be an interlude.  Most of us feel more closely acquainted with work than with rest.

But I sense a beautiful invitation in Advent, to find God in the pause, to let our hearts rest in the wait, to let our wonder and our longing grow, and to let a joyful anticipation for Christ well up in our souls.

I taste the wonder of Christmas when I sing Silent Night, or when I sit by our Christmas tree and watch the flames wink and dance in my fireplace.  I feel that flutter of excitement in my chest, and for a moment, I grasp the magnitude of God With Us, as I simply let my heart pause and accept the discomfort of still.   

In waiting, God invites us to come a little bit closer to his heart, and to be held, not by certainty and predictability, but by his arms of goodness and grace.  

Whatever you might be waiting for this Christmas…a prayer to be answered, a longing to be fulfilled, or simply to be finished with all the To Do’s of the season, may your aching be met by the eyes of God inviting you to be held.

And may your Christmas morning be a sweet fulfillment of your deepest longing…may you feel met by Lover of our Souls, who came to dwell among us, to reconcile us to himself, and to invite us into the intimate nearness with him that we were made to enjoy.

 

My kids saw me cry right there in the middle of the kitchen

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Oh Lord, would you put fresh mercy in this hand today…

I felt the stick of dried milk on my elbow, and I had bite marks on my shoulder from my curious and teething toddler’s last embrace.

The words being thrown around my kitchen table bit down even deeper than those new little teeth.

My ears were stinging with it – not just with the noise, though it had gotten quite loud, but with the dissonance of sharp arguments and overly enthusiastic tattling and defiant disrespect.  My disgust with it all was apparent on my furrowed brow, and it only made my little ones agog to load me up to the brim and see what spilled out.

It was one of our last days of summer, right before starting back to school last week — I was eager to love it.  Anxious to soak it up.  Desperate for slow.  Staunchly committed to having fun together.

But my children have this innocently prodigious way of stripping me right down to the bare bones of myself, where I can only hope some grace and Jesus spills out of my weakness, instead of the repugnance I feel on my skin.

Perhaps you can relate, friend?

Someone was mad at me and wouldn’t tell me why.  Another one didn’t like any of the ideas, and didn’t want to go anywhere.  Another had packed the bags and lined the shoes and was waiting at the door for some grand adventure.  Oh, and everyone was hungry, of course, though breakfast had yet to be cleared.  And an overwhelmed and very upset child screamed at me one too many times about how I just don’t get it and I don’t even care, and finally all I could muster in response was a handful of tears.

These are the broken moments of which I am sometimes so very afraid.  It’s funny how I don’t want to show them my weakness – I hold it back like some secret Kryptonite, as if my children are the enemy, and to reveal it would surely be the death of me.

But there’s this beauty in the broken place.  I didn’t mean to go there, and I won’t hurry back, but when we break, there’s a beautiful thing that can happen…

 

When we break through to the raw place, instead of covering it up with anger or bitterness, we see the true longings of our heart.  When we break, there is a thing ready to be healed.  When we break, walls come down and we bust open to mercy.  When we break, we become soft.  And though a soft heart is more easily wounded, it is also more ready to love and receive love, forgive and receive forgiveness, delight and be delighted in.

 

And knowing our need allows us the receive the healing touch of Christ, who said ”It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick…”

 

This broken moment last week gave my children the opportunity to see that their words affect me and were fracturing our relationship — it invited them to look around and see who else was affected.  They wanted to stop and reevaluate how the words they were using with their most important people.  We had a chance to recognize that we need help to love one another better, and it left them looking for the Source of Love.

 

I stooped low.  We huddled up.  We prayed for a fresh start.  We gave and received grace.  God met us.  And it was sweet.

“The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34: 18). None of us want heartbreak, disappointment, overwhelm.  None of us go looking for something to crush our spirit.  And yet, time and again these are the places where God meets me.

 

This crushing moment led us to the throne of grace.  

 

I’m not saying that you should cry in front of your children, as a method of showing them their need for Jesus.  No.  We have a responsibility to remain steady and consistent, and mostly predictable, to provide peace and stability for our children.

And yet, in our weakness, Christ is strong.  So let’s also not be afraid of being in over our heads.  Let’s not be afraid to admit to the Lord and to each other, mamas, when our day has nearly flattened us.

 

Let’s lean our pain, our struggle, our weariness into the chest of God, that He might wrap us in a healing embrace.  And when we fail… let’s trust God with the hearts of our children, too.  I was afraid that my accidental tears may have burdened them, but as we gave God our broken morning, He exchanged it for joy.

We don’t have to feign strength when we know the Source.  We are free to draw close and honest to the heart of God, with our children… to pray gently for them when they are struggling to use kind words, to shepherd them when they have failed to disobey, to apologize to them when we’ve been wrong, and we can usher in to watch God’s healing work.

When our heart fails within us, may we gather up the presence of God as our portion, our strength. (Psalm 73: 26)

When we are weary, may we climb into the lap of our Father God, trusting that he can give strength to our hearts, and renewal to our bodies. (Isaiah 40: 29, Matthew 11: 28)

When we are hopeless, and fear that nothing we are doing will amount to anything, may we place our hope in the Lord.  May we soar on wings like eagles, tireless and full of life. (Isaiah 40: 31)

When we long to just be better, stronger, more whole…may we hear God say to our hearts “My grace is sufficient.”  May we boast in our weakness, that Christ’s power may be great in us. (2 Corinthians 12: 9)

Sometimes I put too much weight on keeping it “together” with my kids.  Steadiness, consistency is a big deal in parenting.  I’m a believer in it, and I fight for it daily.  But it’s not THE thing.   I’m tempted to become robotic when I’m trying to muster up patience, and avoid yelling.

But today, I’m proclaiming out loud that the thing I want most is to be on my knees before Christ himself.  I’d rather be soft than cold.  I’d rather be accessible then impenetrable.  I’d rather exhibit heartbreak than calculated control.

Openness requires faith because it leaves us vulnerable.  It requires faith that God’s grace is enough when we let our hearts be hurt.

But openness can lead us to genuine need and true dependence on the Lord.  It can leads us to authentic heart connection with our God and with our children.  We have an opportunity to draw close.  We have an opportunity to pray.  And our children have an opportunity to feel our veracious and loving investment in their hearts and our relationship with them.

Today, I’m choosing to be unafraid of my weakness.  Today, I’m choosing to trust that God’s mercy can cover my failure, my disappointment, my inadequacy.

 

I’m choosing to believe that I can let my walls of fear and self-protection come down, and take up the shield of faith, as the only defense I need. (Ephesians 6: 16)

 

Psalm 73: 26  My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.  

Habbakuk 3: 19  The Sovereign Lord is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of a deer, he enables me to tread on the heights. 

2 Corinthians 12: 10  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.  

 

Moms…is your heart aching for something to show for all of your work? (Part 1 of 2)

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Sweet messes made while I mopped the kitchen…

 

“Let love and faithfulness never leave you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart.  Then you will win favor and a good name in the sight of God and man.  Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.” Proverbs 3: 3-6

 

Do you ever feel like you get to the end of a breakneck day and look around to find that your house is messier, your connection with your children a bit more disheveled, and your insides tied in a few extra knots?

Me too.

Bedraggled at the end of a day, I sometimes wonder why I worked so hard, when no one seems to notice or care.  Down in my belly, I hope and trust and struggle to keep believing that raising the next generation is deeply meaningful work.  I know it is.  But I fail to be the mom I imagined a hundred times a day, and some days I can’t help but wonder if someone else would do a better job.  I make resolutions for better, more present, more intentional days only to find interruptions, discouragement, unexpected crises, and a dollop of uncooperativeness from my sweet little ones who didn’t get the memo on my new expectations.

 

This parenting thing requires faith that something is cultivating under the surface, that God is at work and multiplies the faithfulness of our hands.  

 

Whether you are a stay-at-home mom just dying for something, anything to show for your day, or you’re a working mama wondering how in the world to juggle it all, I think so many of us have these same questions badgering us about how we measure up and all the things the other moms seem to be doing better, the child’s needs we can’t meet, which sports or musical instruments or languages we should be learning, how exactly our life was reduced to folding clothes, packing lunches and driving to sports practices, and if anyone in the world has a clue how hard we’re working to manage it all.

 

This thing requires faith that we are seen by God when we are seen by no one else.  

 

Do you ever wonder if anything you are saying is getting through to your children?  If any of the work you’re doing in your home makes any difference?  If you will invest and serve and give it your all only for them to look back and say you were too hard on them or too easy on them or that you favored their sister or that you were too distracted with housework and emails to spend time with them?  Do you wonder if they’ve noticed your effort?

 

This thing requires faith that God will sift out the words and the lessons and the moments with grace, that he sees our children and knows their heart’s cries…that He hems them in, even through the ups and down of their well-meaning parents.  

 

These secret, sacred things of parenting – terribly and wonderfully invisible to the rest of the world – are the weightiest things I’ve carried, with the least amount of training, input, or feedback.  These up-all-night, argue-all-day, hang on for dear life, just make sure to say “I love you” and try to mean it kind of days…these are the ones that make up the most formative years of our children’s lives, the ones they talk about in the counseling sessions later.

 

These are the years that shape us…that make us brave or make us afraid.  It makes me want to give them my best.

 

And yet, if you stop by my house at 5pm any day of the week, you’d never know I’ve tried to teach them anything.  You’d never know I worked to create a home of peace and belonging.  You’d never know there were 87 moments of reconciliation and 743 corrective words exchanged today.  You’d never know by the look of things, with hair-pulling and clean-up refusing and their mama muttering something about will they just wash their hands for dinner, for the love of all things good and holy.

 

My motivation for this work at home cannot rest in seeing immediate results.


This thing requires faith that seeds are being planted and God — our Faithful Gardener — will bring a harvest in their lives and mine, in time and with great care.  

 

I’m discovering that I surely cannot rely on my children’s words or behavior to tell me how I’m doing at being a mama.  My hope must rest in faith alone.

My hope rests in faith that God’s mercies are new every morning, and so I don’t need to sit in guilt over imperfect days.  My hope rests in faith that God will fill in the gaps their daddy and I leave with precious friends and family, and the power of His Word and Spirit.

 

My hope rests in faith that God is writing my children’s stories, and He doesn’t need perfect threads to make a beautiful tapestry. 

 

If only I could have a guarantee that my work is going to make a difference, that all these moments of showing up and investing and shepherding and trying to be consistent will add up to more than heavy bones and sticky eyelids…that these moments will add up to the kind of childhood that shapes a person of character.  If only I could know for sure how this story ends.

But we do!  This story ends with a God who is making all things new.  This story ends with the victory of Christ on the cross that covers all of our frailty and all of our flubs.  This story ends with a God who never lost sight of us, and never lost sight of our children through every one of these sloppy, bedraggled days.

 

But this thing requires faith.  And I think that’s the point.  God is after our hearts and calls us into sweet communion with him when we’re dying to know who we are, why we’re here, and what kind of legacy we’re leaving.

Look for Part 2 next week…

 

And this is real life at my house right now…

 

 

When you need to break free of a scarcity mindset

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His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness, through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness.  

2 Peter 1: 3

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When my middle daughter was a toddler, and we would give her two mini M&M’s for going potty, she would always find her big brother and give him one.  Every. Single. Time.

If we asked her to share a toy with a friend, she would say “You can have it forever.”

Her heart burst open at the seams with the desire to give away what she was given.  As a parent, you can’t teach – or even dream up – that kind of generosity.

But there’s something so beautiful about that fearlessness to give.  Something in me longs for the freedom to hold my hand so open.

My feet hit the pavement this morning, a new day’s sun hit the corner of my eye, and the thought of what I’ve been given as a mother to my children – the weight of it hit me afresh.  And I wonder, as I often do, if there will be enough of me to go around today.  I think of the sweet pitter-patter of tiny feet that will soon greet me, the look of tiny eyes that will bid me to tell them who they are.  And it’s easy to feel too limited, too weak, too broken for the job of being called their Mama.

How do I hold the job and not hold the burden?  How do I convince them that their identity rests in bearing the image of God, when I have a hard time believing it for myself?

There are only 24 hours in a day, only two hands at the end of two arms, only so many words that can be exchanged.  But there’s something that holds my hope, if only I can believe…  Friend, there is a deeper truth than my brokenness, and yours.

Though we may feel inadequate, God says he has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ (Ephesians 1: 3).

Though we may feel weak, God says we have been brought to absolute fullness in Christ (Colossians 2: 10).

Though we may sometimes feel like the very least – possibly the worst mom ever – we   truly have unsearchable riches in Christ (Ephesians 3: 8).

These days I’m trying to live a bit more like that daughter of mine, who gives with an innocent desperate love, and never worries that she will have enough.   Though we may reach the end of ourselves, our Father God never will.  We need never fear that the grace for another day, another moment, will run out.

You are free.  Today, break off all the “not enough’s” — not enough time, not enough energy, not enough patience — and believe that you have a God who owns the cattle on a thousand hills (Psalm 50: 10).

Go ahead, sweet friend, Mom your little heart out.

 

More on parenting generously in my latest posts:  Why you don’t need to be afraid to give it all  and How to experience the deep riches of generous parenting.

 

How to experience the deep riches of generous parenting

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Wednesday Word of the Day:  
Generosity

One gives freely, yet grows all the richer; another withholds what he should give, and only suffers want. Whoever brings blessing will be enriched, and one who waters will himself be watered.

Proverbs 11: 24-25 ESV

Sometimes it feels like motherhood is a journey of never enough…an endless poverty of time, energy, sleep, capacity.  The needs don’t stop coming, and social media says everyone else is doing it better, and somehow we missed the memo that every mom is actually supposed to be Superwoman.

When I’m tired and I start to feel like I’ve given enough, I tend to get a little stingy with my children.  “Just one book tonight.”  “Ugh, are you sure you really have to go potty….again?  Right now?  Really?”  “No, we can’t go to the park today.”  “No, you can’t play that sport, go to that birthday party, do that thing, make that mess, have that snack right this second…”

Just “No” because I’m overwhelmed and tired and I need the world to stop spinning for a little while, please?

Of course, there is a healthy and appropriate place for “No.”  Of course, we have a responsibility to teach and shepherd our children, as well as show them that the world does not revolve around their needs and desires.  However, the types of “No’s” I’m describing are not in pursuit of healthy boundaries, they are plain and simple fatigue and exasperation.

My grip tightens, my patience shortens, my capacity shrinks, and I just don’t want to give anything else.  And you know what?  The tighter my grip, the more miserable I am.  Every request is an inconvenience.  Every need is an overstep.  Every touch is an annoyance.  Every bump in the road is catastrophic.  I get to where I’m just over-touched, over-noised, over-stimulated, over-needed, over everything.

Tell me I’m not alone?

From this fraught and empty place, I have eagerly looked for another way…  I have looked for the wealth of riches, the endless wells of grace, the renewed strength, the joy and life I’m meant to find when I give it all away.  I have looked for God’s promises in this sacrificial and often invisible life.  The way I’m finding is impossibly simple and profoundly obvious and completely life-altering.  And I don’t think I could have found it until I ran completely out of myself.

 

The other way is simply this:  Cheerful giving – the kind that requires faith.

Once in a while, when I run out of myself (which happens quite regularly, now) I step in faith and give from the places that I think are empty, and I watch the Lord keep filling me up.

I’m not really talking about giving of our finances, though the Bible has a lot to say about that, specifically.  I’m talking about this powerful thing that happens when we give out of the places where we feel most impoverished.

When I feel impoverished of energy, I can choose to bring my measly offering and give of all the enthusiasm I can muster for our breakfast song of blessing, or our evening dance party, because we all just need to smile… and I reap bountifully of joy.

When I feel penniless in attention because my brain is full and my inbox is full and my calendar is full, I can choose to bring my offering and listen generously to that little one’s nonsense story, with the same fervor I would bring to the most critical subject…and I reap bountifully of connection.

Friends, in whatever ways you are feeling spent today, I invite you to join me in this different way of parenting generously. 

Because we have a generous God who has great riches in mercy and mighty power to restore us, we are free to cheerfully throw our two copper coins in the bucket, and trust that we will reap bountifully in our hearts and homes.  

Mama, may you sow bountifully and reap bountifully in your home today.

 

The point is this:  whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and whoever sows bountifully will also reap bountifully.  Each one much give as he has decided in his heart, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver.  

2 Corinthians 9: 6-7

 Jesus sat down opposite the place where the offerings were put and watched the crowd putting their money into the temple treasury. Many rich people threw in large amounts. But a poor widow came and put in two very small copper coins, worth only a few cents.  Calling his disciples to him, Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others.  They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had to live on.”

Mark 12:41-44 (NIV)

 

How to let your children be the beautiful miracles God made them to be (And a free gift!)

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“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11

“As it is my eager expectation and hope that I will not be ashamed, but that with full courage now as always Christ will be honored in my body, whether by life or by death.  For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” 

Philippians 1:20-21

 

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Typical driveway decor. :). They said it’s the name of their “band.”

Left to their own, my thoughts dart around, raising my blood pressure and making me reach for another cup of coffee.  Pinballing from child to child, to overdue items on my To Do list, to unmet needs and forgotten homework, to sports and tutors and appointments and ideas I heard and meant to incorporate, to conversations I meant to have, and friends I want to see — my mind swirls with passions and dreams wriggled up with the needs of the day and the weariness of my bones.

The honest way I navigate these blessed and beautiful and broken days – the way I grow and straighten out a bit of my twisted up places – it happens drowned in grace and one day and a time and almost never linearly.  I experience breakthrough and setback, I remember truth and then I forget.  I’m soaring with passion and then crushed with discouragement.  And as I stumble through, I am ever in need of our unchanging, faithful God.

I wonder where you sit as you read these words, sweet mama.  I’m imagining all the ways that you laid your life down in service to your family today, and what might be swirling in your mind and heart.  I wonder if you are relishing in giggles or if you sit with a heaviness about your failures or disappointments.

If you hid in the bathroom for a moment of respite during the dinner hour, or if you had to check to see if the windows were open for that moment when everyone yelled things they didn’t mean…Sister, I am so with you.

I wonder if you are desperate to love this motherhood thing, but you haven’t slept in months, or you long for a nice dinner conversation, or defiance has you worn to the depths, or your child’s hardships have you tied in knots.  I wonder if you have a tangled mix of excitement and dread for the summer ahead.

Maybe your mama’s heart beats deep today for a child grappling through school, a newly discovered learning disability, a troubling change in behavior, or a diagnosis that feels like a shattered dream.  Maybe you haven’t felt connected, you don’t understand what makes them tick.

I wonder if you’ve had expectations, like I have — about ease in sleep or growth or health or school or friendships,  that your children might love the things you love, or naturally connect with you the way you connect with others, that they would claim faith as their own at a young age, or behave in the way you’ve taught.

I wonder if you’ve found yourself- like I have – sometimes needing a bit too much from them, expecting to have a bit more control than reality allows.

In my last post, I shared about how my wrong expectations of myself and motherhood have sometimes chained up my joy.  You can read more about how I’m finding that as I begin to release my expectations, and trust in God’s sovereignty, I discover a road of beautiful adventure and freedom with God.

But even more…the thing that makes my eyes blur and my soul quake… the thing that really makes me want to fight for truth is the way my unrealistic expectations can chain up my children, hurt our relationship and keep them from living in the joy and freedom they were made for.

Several years ago, it hit me like a ton of bricks that there was a fabric being woven by a million tiny interactions that I didn’t mean to have, weaving together a pattern and life and relationship designed by unfair expectations and too little grace.  I was overwhelmed by my life and the house that needed cleaning and the baby that needed feeding and all the things I felt like I should be doing, and so I’m plopped my needs right down on the tiny shoulders of my children.
I found creeping into the corners of my heart this silent need for my children to fit in the metaphorical box I had made for them, taking up the exact amount of space that I had to give, which was sometimes infinitesimal…

The evidence was in my subtle disapproval over clothing choices because I didn’t want them to be teased the way I was, my quiet repulsion over table manners that I didn’t have the fortitude to endure with grace, forgetting to offer tenderness and back scratches when I felt like I was running on empty, too many words of correction and instruction and too few words of encouragement and blessing, unintentionally guiding my children to the activities with which I was comfortable, talking too much and listening too little, expecting my elder children to mature in accordance with my need.

As my capacity shrunk with each child we added to the mix, or each time daddy’s work schedule ramped up, I was shrinking the space for needs and moods and unpredictability that my children were allowed to have in our home.

I tried to fit my children’s needs into my life in predictable and methodical ways.  I wanted their growth to be linear.  I wanted their behavior to be ever-improving, their independence to be ever-increasing, their knowledge and understanding to be visibly multiplying.  I wanted to know how much of me mothering was going to take today.  I wanted the chores to be done because I had a plan, and I implemented it, and I needed it to work.

You and I both know, it doesn’t go that way.

We get them sleeping and then they stop.  We get that behavior worked out, and then there’s a new one.  They get over their separation anxiety and then it springs up tenfold.  Friendships are working for them, and then they suddenly aren’t.  We had big plans for the day and then a fever.  They usually bounce out the door for school, but today they don’t want to go. You dreamed of football and he wants to dance.  You imagined dresses and hair bows and she wants sneakers and t-shirts.  Today he’s not sure about all this God stuff.  Yesterday that joke was funny, but today it hurt.  Family time feels impossible because someone is always punching someone.   Reading just hasn’t clicked.  It’s hard for him to make friends.  Or maybe you’re a mama who just longs for the “normal” struggles because you can’t take a single day or milestone for granted with your child’s health or special needs.

Our children and their circumstances and their days are beautifully tragically humanly predictably unpredictable.

But with painful clarity, I began to see that my wrong perspective left no space for my children’s development to be messy and erratic and rarely linear, like mine.

High standards for our children can be a blessing that calls them into the fullness of their potential.  But needing them to meet those standards for our sense of well-being is a dangerous game. 

As I began to look beneath my constant barrage of corrections and frustration, what I saw in myself was fear:  lack of trust that my children’s stories were the Lord’s, fear that there would not be enough of me to go around, fear that their behavior and performance reflected my failure, fear that they were not going to live up to their full potential, and it would be my fault.  I think the struggle to extend grace seems to coincide with the place where our fear and shame rests — where we can’t let go.

I’m finding that at the core of most of the “needs” I have of my children, there is a lack of faith.

Though many parents share it, the need to control our children isn’t just a quirky part of motherhood to expect – at the heart, it’s a sickness of unbelief.  Our earthly expectations become our comfort.  When we try to stand on them, we aren’t believing God can walk our children through their own hardship and unknowns.

Our assumptions are not solid ground on which to stand, but there is a kind of expectation that is secure…

We can surely expect that God will never leave or forsake us (or our children). 

We should expect that God gives us (and our children) ultimate victory. 

We should hope with absolutely certainty that God is making all things new, in our lives and the lives of our children.

We should expect that any momentary affliction is preparing for us (and for our children) an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison.

We can expect that God has good plans for us, and for our children — that he works all things for our good.

Though everything else is uncertain, our expectations and our hope rest securely in Christ.   His promises are for our children, too.   God sees them directly— not just through our eyes, but through His own Adoring Father’s eyes.

In this light, we are free to guide them warmly through change and failure.  We are free to trust God’s handiwork on them, and believe He can handle their trials.  We are free to shed our expectations, and begin to explore and discover them.  We can stop striving, and we can look up into God’s heart, the One who knit them together and knows every hair on their heads, and apprehend His delight in them.  We can step into the beautiful adventure of mothering one or a few of God’s people.

I have a renewed sense, the way I did when each of my children were newborn strangers that I long to study them, see God’s creative originality on them.  I want to be introduced to the parts of them that scare me, to break them out of the comfortable box I put them in, and trek into the uncharted territory of their unique spirits and characters.

I’m still at the very beginning of this parenting journey — bigger failures, tougher decisions, higher stakes are ahead.  But as I stand today, I am trying to loosen my grip on my plan, and let the far more creative and ravishing story God is writing for my children begin to unfold.

Trust in God’s covering is fortifying me, allowing me to be a more stable mom —to become a rock for my children to bounce off of through all of their volatile stages.  I can be less emotional about the failures and surprises, and simply take the hand of my child and one step at a time, as God’s Word and Spirit lights our path.

If you need some ideas for breaking free from unfair expectations of your children, here are a few.  These are some habits that are helping me loosen my grip on control, helping me walk in freedom to allow my children to be the mysterious and unique and beautiful unknown miracles they were made to be.

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Revelation 21: 5, 1 Corinthians 15:54-58, Philippians 1:20-21, Jeremiah 29:11, 2 Corinthians 4:16-18