Tag: joy

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.

“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.

How to absolutely delight in your children

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That squishy kind of love.

I want to be one of those mamas who can’t stop giggling at her children.

I want to be the mom who loves to watch them, loves to dance with them, loves to sing along to their made-up songs, and hides around the corner of the room to watch them jabber to themselves, or to catch a glimpse of a sweet sibling moment.

I want to be the mom who runs to greet my sweet ones in the morning, and throws my arms around them.  I want to soak up the late night chats and smile often.  I want to live interruptible to their requests and questions and needs for band-aids.  I want to watch their goofy antics with the attitude of “Show me again!” and not “Hurry up.”   I want to hang their pictures on my bathroom mirror, and wear the macaroni necklace they made me.

I want to be the mom who tells them daily what makes them unique, and reminds them often about the beautiful purposes they were made for.  I want to be the mom who lingers in evening prayers because I just like the sound of their names lifted to heaven.  I want my love to pour out uninhibited, even in the ugliest moments.  I want truth and shepherding, discipline and accountability to flow gently and lovingly from a place of  unwavering love and affection.

Guys, I want to be the mom who loves summer.   I really do.  I want to be the mama who can’t get enough of my children.  I want it because I believe it will make them world changers.  I want it because I believe this love will be a launching pad for them, and I want to usher them into the boundless love of God.

I want to love a little more like a spunky little daughter of mine, with bouncy curls, boundless affection, and radiant joy.

Residing in the tiny chest of my three-year-old daughter is this heart that is reckless and free, unbound and bursting with all things beautiful.  Perhaps you have a child like this one, who loves with a shameless love that spills all over the place, without concern for the mess.  She is fearless and uninhibited.  Daring and brave.  Her heart is always spilling and never pulling back because it can’t imagine why it wouldn’t be loved back.

It’s the kind of love with which our deepest hollow places ache to be filled, but that starts to leak the first time we get hurt, rejected or ridiculed.

This little daughter of mine begins her days with hopeful anticipation of which friends she might see, and how many new ones she might make.  She has a curious habit of walking up to strangers and saying “Hi.  I like your face.”  She regularly invites people of all ages to have a “chat” with her.  And she often grabs my face and tells me that she thinks I’m cute, and she never ever wants to let go.

I learn more about the wildly unrestrained love of God from this child, than I could from a library of books on the subject.  It’s just not the kind of love our tattered and worn hearts dare to imagine.

Those of us with a few more years behind us tend to look on little children with fearless love, and think it sweet, but we generally assume they will grow out of it.  As they begin to see that the world isn’t so warm and fuzzy, they will tighten up the reins on their affections.

But I have to wonder if this is one of those things we “gain” through the years of our lives, which isn’t really wisdom or maturity, so much as damage to hearts that were meant to love without fear.  

Maybe these little ones have a purer understanding of the love of God that we’re meant to know, because their image of it has not yet been tainted.  And maybe true wisdom is to heed the words of Jesus to be a little more like them…in their humility, in their openness, in their receiving and relying on Love.

1 John 4: 16-18 “And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them. This is how love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment: In this world we are like Jesus. There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.” 

Matthew 11: 25 At that time Jesus said, “I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children.

There is NO fear in love.

Reckless love flows from deep within a heart well-loved.  A young child who has never had reason to doubt that they are loved, has no reason to hold their love back from others.  When they have felt cared for and delighted in, relationships hold possibility, hope, and excitement.  This, of course, is not true for a child who has not received love and care, and often ceases to be true when relationships get messy, and hurt and fear and insecurity enter in.

So how do we convince our shattered hearts to stop being afraid?  How do we love freely and fearlessly once again, or for the first time?  How do we become the mamas who can’t stop our ferocious love and pure delight from pouring out on our children?

Be the loved child.

Be the loved child.

Be the Delighted-in, Believed-in, Beloved one who can’t imagine not being loved back, because she is simply drowning in the ferocious love of her Heavenly Father.

Friend, this is our identity and our destiny.

You ARE the loved child of God who can love without fear!

I have had seasons of feeling so frustrated and short-fused with my children, not wanting to be merciful with their bad attitudes and misbehavior.  I have had seasons of feeling disconnected from their hearts, and resenting them for being unhelpful or disrespectful or needy.  I have had these days when I look at my heart and see coldness and pride, and wonder what happened to my mother’s heart of pure adoration for my children.  I cycled in and out of days like this, blaming it on sleep deprivation or just a bad day…until I had this troubling and beautiful realization…

If a child loved well by parents loves readily, than a loved “Child” of God (at any age) ought to love all the more freely.  If I know God’s love and delight, than love and delight ought to be pouring out of me, especially onto my own children.

And I am finding this to be true.  When I spend time letting God tell me what he thinks of me, the coldness falls off of my heart.  When I let God tell me that he is pleased, my critical spirit melts away.  When I let myself look into God’s delighting eyes, I catch a glimpse of his pure eyes for those around me.  When I live like the loved child of God that I am, love comes easy.

Be the loved child and you won’t be able to stop the love from springing out of your overflowing heart.  

Whatever parenting challenge you are facing today, start here:  God loves you, sister, and takes great delight in you.  In Christ, God’s love and affection, mercy and grace, are yours.  His smiling eyes are on you, longing to pour out his compassion, longing to hold you and bind up your broken heart.  He longs to carry your burdens, and renew your strength.  He longs to tell you how he knit you together, and calls you his masterpiece, how he knows every hair on your head, and catches your every tear in a bottle.

If we know we are fully loved, we can love like our hearts have never been bruised.  The “Delighted In” cannot help but love with grace, with truth, with reckless abandon.

So, if you’re wondering today how to love your family like you’ve never dreamed possible, first, be loved beyond your wildest imagination by a Father God who calls you “My delight is in her.” (Isaiah 62: 4)

 

Psalm 149: 4 For the LORD takes pleasure in His people; He will beautify the afflicted ones with salvation.

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.”

Jeremiah 31: 3 The Lord appeared to us in the past, saying: “I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.

How to see the radical love of God in absolutely everything

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My firm expectation that life was generally supposed to be awesome, was only mildly muddied by the bumps I faced, in my younger years.  I predominantly maintained the philosophy that heartbreak, uncertainty, angst, and grief were the exception.  And that life was “supposed” to mostly feel good.

I thought the goal was to remove the obstacles, be always moving towards settling the disquietude, solving the problem, removing the pain, learning the lesson as quickly as possible, so I could do better.  Be better.  Fail less.  Hurt less.

And when I became a mom, I thought motherhood was “supposed” to feel amazing almost all of the time, too.  I was always thinking about how to remove or repair the things standing in the way of experiencing motherhood as mostly fun and wonderful.

The wheels of my mind spun with new answers and things I had read, formulas and systems and solutions to fix myself and my children and my home right up into the perfect versions I thought they should be.

Continue reading “How to see the radical love of God in absolutely everything” →

The beautiful thing about an upside down life

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Do you have those moments in motherhood when you feel equally and simultaneously blessed beyond measure and like you’re going to crawl out of your skin?

Yeah, me too.

The endless needs to meet, the dishes and laundry, the noise and the arguments, the chauffeuring and the schedules, the changes and transitions and disruptions and sleepless nights…it’s just a lot.

Beautiful, messy, amazing, demanding, miraculous, exhausting life.

There is a heavy side to this parenting job, shepherding and guiding through life’s pains, and feeling the weight of directing our child(ren)’s future.  But much of the stuff of my day isn’t really difficult.  Many of the tasks of motherhood are simple and straightforward.  So in the daily grind, I sometimes find myself wondering why I’m struggling.  I think I could change diapers and correct children and fold clothes and answer questions and do dishes at your house with a smile on my face and a skip in my step.

Sometimes, the hard part is not necessarily what I have to do, but the state of my heart.

As I pay closer attention to what goes on in my heart and mind when a child’s need arises, or 47 of them at the same time, it’s not actually the work that’s hard.

When it’s one more diaper or one more water cup to fill when I just sat down, I think the more difficult part is the battle that rages inside for my rights and my dignity.  Something bubbles up in me that says “Dang it, I deserve to sit down and eat a meal!”  There’s something ugly that thunders with thoughts that say “I woke up at 5:30am so I could get time BY MYSELF.  You’re not invited!”  Or the feeling that it must be an attack on my basic human rights to have someone bust through the door every time I try to use the bathroom.

Though these thoughts may not make it out of my mouth, they eat away at my insides and make this motherhood thing so much heavier, harder, a constant battle.

But that way of thinking has everything to do with identity and greatness as the world sees it.  It’s about who you know and what you do and who you impress and how much money you make and how much you produced and how satisfied it made you feel.  It’s about demanding respect and fighting for your rights.

But friends, there’s something beautiful in motherhood, and so many times in life, that we could miss in the million ways we are stretched and pressed and bruised by meeting everyone else’s needs.

There’s a gift inside of the work, a mystery tucked inside of the demands, an invitation beneath the invisibility.

God invites us to flip it all all upside down…

To celebrate the times when our needs can’t be met, because it draws us close to God’s heart of abundant and fresh daily mercy.*

To boast in our weakness because it pulls us into the strength of Christ.*

To be poured out, giving our life all away, because it’s the secret to finding the life we’re grasping for.*

We could be burdened by our work being invisible to the rest of the world.  Or we could let the work of our hands be a song of worship before the delighting eyes of our King.*

We could scramble and claw to be left alone, or we could offer our bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God…and discover the secrets of Christ, who came and served and endured unto JOY.*

We could spend our energy fighting for our rights to sleep and peeing alone, or we could find our life as we go ahead and give it away.  We can offer generosity of spirit and time and energy and words, trusting that it will all be given back to us.*

I itch for my children to know what I’m learning the hard way, about how real life, real joy, real greatness is found when we give it all away.

And isn’t this what we want our children to know?  How to put another person’s needs before their own?  How to have genuine compassion and a drive to serve and protect those weaker than themselves?

How in the world do we teach this upside-down, inside-out concept of serving one another, of washing the feet of another, of taking the lowliest position for the sake of Christ, with the promise that the last will be first in the Kingdom of God?

I think this is one of those lessons that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense until we see it live and breathe.

Their daddy and I can prattle on about how they should just hurry up and stop fighting for the biggest brownie and to be first into the car.  We can tell them how Jesus says the “last will be first” only to watch their squabbles shift to shoving each other into the car so they can be last.

In a world full of “likes” and “follows” and always looking beautifully put-together, how do we set aside the drive to always be best and liked and recognized and elevated and admired?

These things we can spend so much time chasing always turn up empty.  When I try to stand on them, the shifty sandy ground beneath my feet washes away with the waves.  In this realm, when people stop admiring, and someone else is better, and seasons change and no one sees me, I’m left with nothing.

The world doesn’t have much solid ground to offer us, or our children, not in money or fame or success or titles.

And I want the kind of riches for my family that last into eternity.

So, in a world that’s all about getting ahead, I want to be mama who teaches her children about getting low.

The beautiful thing about living upside down is that we have nothing to fear.  No one and no thing can take away the brimming life that results from dying to ourselves.

We have freedom.  The pressure is off to meet other’s expectations and keep up with the mom next door when we are living for God’s eyes alone.

If the way to be great is to be the least, than, mamas, cleaning poop off the walls or being told off by a toddler or spending three hours a day driving your people places are right there in the sweet spot of God’s heart for us.

The gift is that we only need eyes of One to experience the greatness we all long for.

The beautiful thing is that joyful and abundant life doesn’t require a title or applause or a corner office or ten thousand Instagram followers.  It’s accessible to us from our kitchen sinks, from our child’s bedside, from the driver’s seat of our cars.

We can take the Hand of Love to be led forth in grace, when we let our lives be hidden in Christ.  And as our families see us serve in joy, they have a window to see where true life is found…in giving it away.

 

*Bible references:
Lamentations 3: 22-23 Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.  They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
Then Jesus said to His disciples, “If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me. For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.” – Matthew 16: 24-25
Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship. 2 Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will. – Romans 12: 1-2
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off every encumbrance and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with endurance the race set out for us.  Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.  -Hebrews 12: 1-2
“Give, and it will be given to you: good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over will be put into your bosom. For with the same measure that you use, it will be measured back to you.” – Luke 6: 38
Jesus was rich, yet for our sake he became poor, so that through his poverty we would become rich. -2 Cor. 8:9
For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. – Colossians 3: 3

 

 

This…THIS is what I want for every mother

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blog -for every mother

The vibrant green of leaves peaking in my kitchen window, ears ringing with little voices, stomach in knots over the tussles of the morning, and slumped a bit from the week’s travel that could be described as anything but vacation (more on this soon…), I struggle to put hands to keyboard.

Right here in the messy middle of it all – just like you – my morning was full of time outs and Cheerios on the floor and rushing off to swim practice.  I changed diapers and I said the wrong thing and I folded laundry and poured bowls of cereal and rushed a song of blessing and let out a few big sighs that may have given my precious ones the impression that I am exasperated by them.  I issued a few extra kisses to try to make up for my bad attitude and hustled to assist a little one in the bathroom.  I buckled seat belts and said “I don’t know” to most the questions and shot up desperate prayers for more grace, more strength.

This is how I sit to write — nearly always convalescing from some parenting failure, usually from the last ten minutes.  My mind often burdened with a child’s need for which I have no answers.  Feeling weak beyond measure.

And yet something aches in me that I can’t bear to not tell you.  A deep beautiful grace has rained down on me, and I want it for every mama.  

Before I had children, I was cozied in my assumptions about parenthood — a sweet overflow of a loving marriage, an opportunity to leave a legacy, enrich our lives, invite joy.  Sprinkled with truth, but troubling simplistic, I thought I would just do my best, make sure they know I love them, set good boundaries, have fun, and we’d all turn out fine.  I’ve always known children are a miracle, a privilege, a gift.  I always assumed we would experience ups and downs.

But there’s a weightiness that I never imagined and a freedom that has led me to the heights.

Jesus offers this sacred invitation…”whoever loses their life for my sake will find it.” (Matthew 10: 39)

I never knew that motherhood was an invitation to die…  I’ve wondered at stories of reckless faith and obedience to serve where God calls, but I never knew that I could find this most holy ground right here in my home — that I could be resurrected into a new kind of living, just on the other side of dying to myself. I never knew that in motherhood I would be invited to die a million times a day, and find the freedom of a life hidden with Christ.  I never knew that I would be invited to give away my comfort, my dignity, my autonomy, my privacy, my self-preference, my efficiency, my sense of control, and that I would exchange it all for intimacy with my King, the only source of true life.

There is always a place for personal boundaries and self-care.  Take care of yourself, sister.

But joy comes in making peace with this journey of motherhood being one of sacrifice.   I’m discovering the greatest invitation in motherhood is one to lose my life to find it.

And so, as we meet needs in the wee hours of the night, give our day away as a chauffeur, or as tiny people toss their trash at us, we can find the strength to calmly parent – a privilege and a sacred mission – in the place where we let go.  We let go of our rights, our pride, our life, and our hearts are set free.

What I want for every mama is for her to experience this sacred dance before her Father in Heaven.  I long for the beautiful invisible works of her hands to feel like worship.  I ache for you to go ahead and lay it all down so that you can experience the riches of God’s grace for you.

 

“My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart you, God, will not despise” 

Psalm 51:17

“But the king replied to Araunah, ‘No, I insist on paying you for it. I will not sacrifice to the Lord my God burnt offerings that cost me nothing”” 

2 Samuel 24:24

When you feel like you’re in the desert…Why you might need to look for a burning bush

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Now Moses was tending the flock…There the angel of the Lord appeared to him in flames of fire from within a bush. Moses saw that though the bush was on fire it did not burn up. So Moses thought, “I will go over and see this strange sight—why the bush does not burn up.”  When the Lord saw that he had gone over to look, God called to him from within the bush, “Moses! Moses!” And Moses said, “Here I am.”  “Do not come any closer,” God said. “Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.”  Then he said, “I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob.” At this, Moses hid his face, because he was afraid to look at God.  

The Lord said…”I am sending you…”  

But Moses said to God, “Who am I that I should go…?”  

And God said, “I will be with you…” 

Exodus 3: 1-12 (Paraphrase)

 

No matter how many words I spill about how we mamas don’t have to be the perfect heroes, because we have a perfect hero in Jesus…  No matter how I breathe in freedom that God chose me and delights in me and offers me his never-ending, ever-sufficient grace… I still rise in the morning and sit to this keyboard, feeling like I should offer strength, bring wisdom, do it better.  I wish I could tell you how to make it all easier.  I wish I could tell you that I figured it all out.

But truthfully, I grasp for my own encouragement as I sit with a heavy body, a burdened soul, a fickle heart, a cluttered mind.  Perhaps you feel the same as you grasp for a quick minute to read words that you hope can encourage you for your day.

I used to think being a mom was just about making good decisions, about doing it right, about meeting needs and saying “I love you” and guiding and disciplining with wisdom and patience and grace.  Yes!  To all of these things, yes….

But it felt so straightforward.

And then I stared back at these little eyes staring at me.  Eyes that didn’t look like mine and needed me to tell them who they are.  Eyes that longed, wondered, tested, and needed more than I could give.  I looked at a little body that was sick or hurt, and I couldn’t fix it.  I saw these eyes that stung when I was not patient.  I watched my unique children experience the same events, transitions, words completely differently — one laughs, and the other runs and hides.  One has days of tears and irritability after a change, and the other seems to have only relief.  I peered into little souls that were afraid of things that we could not control.  I have sent my heart out on legs into unknown places and watched them be scared, face hardship, get hurt, feel confused.  I faced eyes of tiny people who just wanted to know I was pleased, and I sometimes felt my face contorted into a scowl that I never wanted to have on my face.

At some point I was faced with the question that perhaps parenting was about something other than doing it all right?

In the midst of my soul searching God’s over the mystery of having children — a road of failure and uncertainty and giving beyond my limits and letting go beyond my comfort — I have become aware of a quiet invitation.  This invitation was set ablaze in me.  And in these wildly arduous and agonizingly beautiful days with little ones, I want no mom to miss this thing that now burns in my belly and drives me to keep spilling these words.

I hear a voice calling — in the middle of deserts of inadequacy and invisibility and uncertainty and mind-numbing repetitiveness – God’s voice is beckoning me to come closer…

When I feel weak, He says “Come, let my power be made perfect in your weakness.”  (2 Corinthians 12: 9)

When I feel invisible, He says “Come, let me tell you how I see you…” (Psalm 139)

When I feel tired, He says “Come, let me renew your strength…” (Isaiah 40: 31)

When I feel pressure, He says “Come, cast your burden on me, and I will lift your chin and lighten your step” (Matthew 11: 30)

When I feel ashamed of my failure and inadequacy, He says “Come, let me cleanse you in my grace, and you will give away what you receive.”  (1 John 1: 9(

When I feel worried and anxious, He says “Come, let me give you my peace that passes understanding.” (Philippians 4: 6-7)

When I feel worn by the dishes, laundry, diapers, arguments, words, He says “Come, whatever you do, do it all unto me.  The work of your hands is as a song of worship to my ears.”

The very things that make me feel like I have nothing to offer…these have been a door to find God’s heart for me in motherhood.  The very things that stretch us beyond our limits and make it feel just too dang hard…these seem to be a key to unlock the elusive joy and peace and freedom we all know we should have.  When I feel like I’m wandering the desert, the Lord says “Come.  Draw close.  Fear not.  I am calling you.  I will be with you.  Though you feel weak and unimpressive and never enough — I am sending you to be my ambassador to my people…these tiny, adorable, royal bearers of My image.  To these, you will be a vessel of MY love, a mouthpiece of MY truth, a fountain of MY grace.”

Take off your sandals, Mama.  You are on holy ground…

My friend, whether you have little ones or grown ones or simply dreams of a full home in the future, listen today for the voice that beckons you through the things that you might think are in your way.

 

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A sweet moment of invitation from the weekend… And the Lord says “Come.”

Surprising joy when you feel you’ve lost your life -(words for Holy Week – Repost!)

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As I reflect on the meaning of the week ahead- this Holy Week- I am struck by the abundance that can only be found in letting go. The filling that we only receive when we’re first emptied out. The power that can only be found in weakness. The righteousness that can only be found in knowing our brokenness. The resurrection that we never would have known without the crucifixion. 

Reposting this one because I needed to be reminded to go ahead and die the million deaths to myself on purpose – to find joy on the other side of surrender…
A seed falls, and we do not weep for the death…but rejoice for the promise of life to come.

There’s a beauty and a trust as we witness a dying that brings life. This is, perhaps, one of those sweet hints in nature that points to a deep truth that echoes throughout the earth and reverberates in our very souls. Nature gives way and, each year as the winter chill sets in, the death holds a promise. We wait. We eagerly expect. We anticipate with full confidence that new life will spring forth in due time. And we know that without the death, the life would be cut short, cheapened, lost. As nature sways with the secret winds of the One who made it, we watch and celebrate it’s majestic beauty.

Life from death.

In the same way, I walk in the hope that Jesus not only died to pay the penalty for my sin, but that he rose and is alive. And because he died, I have life. He came to serve and not to be served, and He leaves an example of a life of sacrifice that brings life.

Research has shown time and time again that the happiest people are the ones giving their lives and resources away to serve others.

But if I’m honest, I think I have had an idealized sense of what a life of service looks like. I’ve imagined that the kind of dying to self that makes us feel like we’re really living can only happen in the big things.

I’ve dreamed of missions and living among the poor. I’ve partnered with beautiful organizations doing beautiful world-changing things. I’ve grieved that I don’t have more capacity to serve now that I’m home with young kids. I still deeply treasure these opportunities to serve the poor and needy, and celebrate all those doing this significant work.

But I have thought less of life as a mom. It often feels small and insignificant. I have fought against the way it shrinks and simplifies my life, and I have sometimes been frustrated by the way it fills all of the spaces and leaves no room.  As we fight against it, and wish for bigger better things, we allow seeds of resentment and bitterness to be sown.

But, in the last couple years, the truth of the life I’m living as a mom has slapped me right across the face. Sometimes, quite literally. The truth is that mamas die a million small deaths all day long. Perhaps the life of service and sacrifice that I’ve dreamed about is right in front of my face. Perhaps leaning in and reconciling with the dying that fills my days could be the key to unlock the life I sometimes feel I’m missing.

Friends, we mamas might have all the worldly comforts that make us feel like our days should be easy.  We might enjoy the comforts of beautiful homes, and minivans, and organic meals, and Starbucks stops. But, there is no peace for the mama who won’t die a thousand times, on a thousand days.

As we are willing to die in every corner of ourselves, we open ourselves up to new and better and fuller life.

Perhaps not whipping my body into shape after giving birth is not a failure, but an opportunity to discover life and joy in the death of my vanity. Dying to self is giving your very body to be stretched and scarred and changed. I give my body.

Perhaps I’m not less-than because motherhood has killed brain cells. I have frantically looked for a child who I’m holding on my hip. True story. But perhaps my distraction and preoccupation is not a sign that I’m now less worthy. Dying to self is giving your mind to organize and facilitate seeing that the needs of everyone else in your home are met before your own. I give my mind.

Dying to self is cleaning the messes that threaten your basic human dignity – the ones that leave you looking for the emergency biohazard hotline.  I give my dignity.

A place in me that once cared about some respectable thing now holds the lyrics to the Wild Kratts theme song. Dying to self is giving yourself to care about the little things…the names of all the dinosaurs, the microscopic boo-boos, the math homework. I give my interest.

I can feel embarrassed by my swift tears or sudden panic when it comes to my children. But dying to self is giving your heart to care about the big things…the illnesses and injuries that make our heart stop, the heartbreak and the grief of watching your children suffer or be in danger. It’s the giving of your heart in a way that you can never take back. The giving to a love that makes your heart beat right out of your chest, and makes you feel wildly alive and wildly in danger of being crushed. I give my heart.

The daily grind of chores doesn’t make my life small. Dying to self is giving all of the in-between moments to launder and clean and feed. I give my hands.

Dying to self is letting your family change and shape your goals and dreams, whether you are working tirelessly juggling work and home, or you’ve given up a hard-earned career to stay home.   I give my dreams.

Dying to self is being the rock against which my children can crash the wild waves of growing up. Dying to self is keeping steady for their uninhabited and unfiltered and underdeveloped BIG feelings to find their boundaries in the safety of my arms. I give my comfort.

Dying to self is looking with grace-filled eyes after being slapped across the face by a tiny person. It’s shepherding in love after being yelled at for some horror like offering the wrong lollipop color. I give my pride.

Only as I lean in and give myself away can I find peace and freedom. If God sees me, and I’m within his call to the life of sacrifice, I don’t need to fight to be seen. I don’t need to resent my husband for his freedom to leave the house, or my children for their ingratitude. There is a harmony in the song I’m singing.

And it all feels like worship.

My spirit gives a resounding “Yes!” to overseas missions and living among the poor. But I long to see us mamas shout a similar “Yes!” over the life of sacrifice that lies before us as we simply open our eyes in the morning (or in the night), with a willingness to do another day.

Nature points to this deep truth that we only find our life by giving it up. I long to see us fall each day like the seed, treasuring the promise that our death will bring new life.

As I talk with my mom friends, we still find ourselves feeling like being a mom is supposed to be easy and fun. The words of little old ladies who tell us with screaming toddler in grocery store line to “cherish every minute” echo in our heads. But I’ve watched my friends give up careers, and hobbies, and personal space, and clean shirts, and the last brownie. I’ve seen them die a million deaths. We get dirty with it.

And yet, somehow the world has us convinced that we’re doing it all wrong. Somehow we feel it doesn’t matter. We feel we need to do more, and better. And get out and serve in a way that counts.

Stepping into motherhood is risky in a ultimate sense. We allow the Lord to rip our heart out and give it legs. Ladies, this thing requires faith! I don’t say any of this out of pride, but to proclaim out loud that the devil, the Enemy of our hearts, has no right to steal the joy that comes from motherhood being a service unto the Lord.

If we are willing to lean into the life of self-sacrifice that is laid out before us, mamas, we can spend our lives in the sweetness of those feet-washing moments. You have an opportunity at every moment of the day to give your life away. And sister, your Father in heaven sees you!

The world fights against this motherhood thing with a force of self-indulgence and self- advancement. While some positions come with power, influence, lofty titles, impressive salaries, something to say at a cocktail party. Motherhood comes mostly with messes, failures and invisibleness. I think this is no surprise to God.

So, let’s let the seed fall. Let’s die the million deaths, on purpose. And let’s watch and wait as new life and joy spring up in your days.

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What I Never Knew about the Father Heart of God

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To my eyes, nothing but a masterpiece of love

No matter what the day holds, there is something I know to expect as my children climb into bed at night.

There is something about seeing my children rest their heads down on their pillows at the end of the day…  Something about the curves of their faces, and the bend of their eyelashes, the rise and fall of their chests… Something about the way middle daughter pulls a blanket up to her chin… Something about the way my eldest easily pours out all the words for which the day ran out of space… Something about the way my son sighs deep and smiles soft and nestles close, body and soul… There’s something about the way my toddler wiggles in her bed until I tuck her in just so…

No matter what chaos precedes, there is something in this moment, each and every day, that summons a thousand kisses and a tender tuck of the curl behind the ear.  Something inspires me to cup the face and whisper the word of blessing and affection.  Something calls for my fingers to outline the angelic faces and scratch the satiny backs.  Something invites me to forget the offenses of the day, the heaviness of my eyelids, the weariness of my soul…  and to remember only the ferocity of my love, the integrity of my acceptance, the vastness of my gratitude.

 

And it all spills right out of me.

 

The impassioned tenderness I would feel for my children is a thing I simply did not grasp before becoming a mother.  I never knew how my heart would enlarge with every miracle of life.

 

And looking back, I see that before I climbed into the heart of a parent, I had not well-imagined the father heart of God towards his children.

 

There are dimensions of God’s love for us that cannot be contained in our limited understanding…but, nevertheless, as I feel the kind of love for my children that seems unable to be squeeze into the limits of my heart, the picture I have of God’s love gains new color and contrast, new depth and beauty.

 

Far more often than I’d like to admit, I see an image of my heart towards God reflected in a toddler who refuses to receive help, or a little one who cannot seem to submit to my authority.  I see how easily I trust my own judgment over God’s, despite knowing better.   I assume God is against me when I don’t get my way.  As I have the parental wisdom that my child should not run in the street, no matter how their little bodies long for the freedom, my God has a higher perspective of the things that will hurt my heart, no matter how I might long and ache and moan.

 

As I sometimes need to press my little one into her carseat for the buckles she resists, sometimes, the gentle hand of my Father God restrains me, and says “Not yet” or “Not in this way.” And,  I squirm with all of my irritation and assumptions about how He must not be that good.  As parents, we lovingly set boundaries for our children – to keep them safe or guide their hearts.  As my children push and resist and defy, my heart cries out with “Hey, I’m on your team!  I am FOR you!  Trust me!”

 

In the same way, I feel God’s call for me to trust the depth of his love, the purity of his will.

 

The first time a child of mine fell asleep in my arms was the last moment I considered feeling guilty or ashamed for falling asleep during a prayer.  As I felt the joy and adoration of my child’s body melting into mine, I saw afresh that God’s heart towards me is exceedingly tender.

 

The first time I watched my child fail on the journey to learning something new – like the thousand falls on the way to learning to walk – that was the last day I perceived impatience from God towards my weakness.

 

The first time I saw my child run his heart out and lose, or the first time he proudly offered me a mishmash work of art as a gift specially designed for me… these were the last times I felt from my God that I hadn’t been good enough to please him.  Jesus covered our sin, and God’s heart towards us is pure delight.

 

I still forget sometimes, but there’s a new truth in me…

 

As I watch my children stumble into new broken revelation about who God is, and why he made them, I am assured of God’s pleasure as I seek him with my limited understanding, with my confused and often incorrect theology.  In the same way that I love to hear the name of Jesus come out of my daughter’s tiny mouth, even if to say “Jesus is so cute!” or “Jesus is in my sippy cup!,” I see that God simply loves to hear me call on his name.  He delights as I lean my breath of a life and my ephemeral body of dust into his mighty eternal chest.

 

As I watch my children face life’s brokenness – the kind that is not at all good – I feel God’s heartbreak over the way our sin and the brokenness of the world has brought us pain and suffering that he did not design.  I feel His eagerness to hold me, to bring comfort and healing and redemption, when I face hardship.

 

Being a mama is changing my view of the father heart of my God.

 

As I imagine God’s heart towards me now, I imagine the tenderness of His hand as he leads me through life’s broken places.  As I beg my own children to trust me, I am endeared to God’s caring, and my own lack of understanding and perspective.  I know the reality of his higher and broader and deeper understanding.  I feel his unwavering longing for my good.  I sense the weight of the eternal perspective he has on my heart and life.  I feel his wisdom in allowing me life’s trials for the sake of my freedom, for the sake of winning my heart.

 

My eyes are becoming clearer to see that yes, love is the force that drives me to tell my child not to run in the street, or to allow their little failures for the sake of their growth and refinement…and likewise, love is the force that drives my God.

 

 

As I imagine God’s heart for me now, I see him holding out gifts for me to take and open and enjoy, and I hear my childish whines about how I don’t like the color of the wrapping paper.

 

As I imagine God’s heart for me now, I think of the magic and fun of genetics — how the features of a face, the color of eyes, the shape of cheekbones are passed between generations.  I think of how my husband and I study the faces of our children saying “He has your mouth” or “She has my eyes.” And I feel God studying me, his image bearer, proudly proclaiming: “She looks like me!”

 

My husband and I go on a date and end up looking at pictures of our kids.  We can’t stop thinking about them when we’re away.  It’s a little embarrassing, but we are fiercely grateful and mildly obsessed with these amazing little people.  How much more does God’s love for us never end, and our name never leave his mind?  As I imagine God’s heart for me now, I think of a father who is beautifully preoccupied with me.

 

As I imagine God’s heart for me now, I hear his words of blessing infusing me with courage.  When I embark on a new challenge or adventure, I feel him speaking confidence to proceed, and gently warning me not to wander too far.   I can almost hear His voice echoing in my own encouragements and cautions, as I send my sweet ones out on their bikes.  Only His voice is pure love, free from anxiety and fear.  His voice makes me long to rest in his covering.

 

Though God is the picture of a perfect parent, and I most certainly am not, I find that I can relate to God’s heart in this holy time of parenting young children.

 

The father heart of God is a beauty to behold.  I invite you to let the tenderness you feel towards your children endear you to the heart of God.  Let your imagination rest on His pure delight in you.  Imagine His eyes exploring the curves of your face, and wondering at the beauty of your soul.  Imagine His warm giggles when you lift your broken works of art to Him.  Imagine his bent knee to lift you from your failures and skinned knees.  Imagine his tears over your heartbreaks, and imagine him gently catching those from your cheek in a bottle.  Imagine his pride when you are his hands and feet on earth.  Just like you pull out a photo of your child to show to a friend, God loves to show the world His glory and goodness in your very face and life.  Soak in his tenderness, and let it change you.  Let it put a bounce in your step, like that of a child who knows he’s loved.

 

My beautiful friend, today, let your imagination wander to a Father God who is kind of obsessed with you.

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