Post Category → faith

from Loving the Little Years

ecclesiastes 5.19:

Everyone to whom God has given wealth, and possessions, and the power to enjoy them, and to accept his lot and rejoice in his toil—this is the gift of God. For he will not much remember the days of his life because God keeps him occupied with joy in his heart.

“Blessings, like children, are not ethereal and weightless. Sometimes they feel like they come at you like a Kansas hail storm—they might leave a welt!

But if you accept your lot and rejoice in your toil, God will give you the kind of overwhelming joy that cannot remember the details.

Motherhood is hard work. It is repetitive and often times menial. Accept it. Rejoice in it. This is your toil. Right here.

Those are their faces. Enjoy them.

The days of your life are supposed to be full of things like this.

But joy is not giddy. It is not an emotional rush—it is what happens when you accept your lot and rejoice in your toil.

So rejoice in your children. Look them in the eyes and give thanks.

You will not even remember the work of all this planting when the harvest of joy overwhelms you.” (Rachel Jankovic, Loving the Little Years, emphasis mine.)

in gentleness

The Lord’s bond-servant must not be quarrelsome, but be kind to all, able to teach, patient when wronged, with gentleness correcting those who are in opposition, if perhaps God may grant them repentance leading to the knowledge of the truth, and they may come to their senses and escape from the snare of the devil, having been held captive by him to do his will. (2 Timothy 2.2)

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I know you won’t believe this, but sometimes those adorable little cherubs up there drive me right over the edge of sanity.

Well, actually, that’s not true. They may create the pressure, but the Bible explains so clearly that the desire to sin is in me. But that’s another topic for another day.

I find myself blowing my lid more often than I’d like. Sometimes I kick myself: “Danica, they’re kids. Be patient.” And sometimes I think, How else do I communicate that you may not attack your brother???

But here’s the thing: I don’t want to communicate anything to these little disciples but what God wants communicated. I’m just His representative, after all. When I ask a boy to deliver a message from Mama to the siblings, I’m not pleased when I hear him yelling at them with words and tone that I did not send. I expect him to begin with “Mama said…” and to continue with the kindness I first communicated. The strength of the command is in those little words, “Mama said.” If they don’t respond to that, we have a problem. But big brothers (or sassy little sister) yelling at them isn’t going to help the situation.

And so God “sends” me. This mothering thing is His assignment for me. I didn’t come up with it. I didn’t even dream of it. It’s just what He called me to one day, and I am thrilled to serve Him in this. I have become an evangelist, a shepherdess, a discipler, a teacher — in short, the mouth and hands of God to these precious lives.

If I am His mouth, then I need to simply echo what He’s asked me to say.

Sometimes I scoff at His ideas. I think, I’ll improve the message a bit. I’m sure that if I raise my voice a few notches, bark a little, grit my teeth — I think that’ll help get results we’re looking for.

He must cringe. Like I do when I hear the messenger yelling at my beloved children.

This morning, I read 2 Timothy 2:2 for the umpteenth time. Gentleness. The correcting is required; tolerating sin, turning a blind eye, making an excuse for them isn’t what I’ve been asked to do. But the correction is to be firm, consistent, and gentle.

I don’t always know what that looks like. But that doesn’t give me permission to throw out the Bible and say, “I’m gonna do it my way.” All it means is I better learn. And God will show me. He will tell me and teach me, but most of all, He shows me.

We have a gentle Shepherd, after all.

life with these littles

It’s been a real-live week. Rainy days, school that’s lasting about 6 weeks too many, teething baby, 2pm that you really would like to be 7pm… Real.

Jameson prayed this morning, “Lord, help us to know that even when we struggle, that’s just part of learning to know You, and that You’ll always be there for us.”

This little boy prophesies almost every morning lately. William prays things with insight I haven’t given him. It’s the Holy Spirit. It amazes me.

And yes, we struggle. We stop and ask for patience, grace, forgiveness. We love God and we love each other, but sometimes we love ourselves more. That’s sin, but 1 John 1.9 is in our hearts lately: He forgives and cleanses. Washes. Fresh start. Try again. And here’s a Helper.

*****

Jameson is playing coach-pitch this year. That’s him, on the left, in the air because he never stopped jumping in excitement. Best news: His Uncle Daniel is coaching him. All of his little baseball dreams are coming true.

He pushes me to my wits’ end, and he makes me laugh. I just love this kid. This morning, he was taking forever to clean the bathrooms. Forever. When I, exasperated, asked what was taking so long, he answered cheerfully, “I’m almost done, Mom! I’ve only got two left!” (He only has two to clean.) He knows how to see life half full!

William is happy and easy-going and smiles huge smiles at Fiona. This morning he kissed her and then informed me that “I think she can really feel the luuuuv when we kiss her, Mama.” Ha!

Beatrice suddenly stuck her arm straight out toward William, fingers splayed. “Wiw-yum, I am forcin’ you!” Huh? Oh!, we finally realized. She’s trying to be all cool and play Star Wars in her toddler-girl way.

Fiona was propped in her little rocker by Jameson, and then promptly surrounded by beaming siblings who were incredibly proud of her for sitting there. “Take a picture of us! Come on, everybody! Smile!” (Said Jameson.) (And yes, Beattie is wearing polkadots, crazy tights, and fishy slippers, with floral sunglasses in hand. Wow.)

tender shoots

Some days are just all small and simple, just like the ones that came before and the ones that will come after, but suddenly something beautiful and really big happens. It doesn’t even always feel big. Sometimes, I’m sure, I miss the moments completely. But days of sowing and praying and faith will yield fruit, and just a glimpse of a tender green shoot completely excites me.

This boy. Lanky and long. Learning. This is him, slipping out of his bed to proudly show me his latest journal entry. The journal he begged me for, which he now keeps near his bed. A little record of the Bible passage he’s read, his little thoughts on it, the prayers that are in his heart. A treasure trove. “Psalm 100. Praise, like, wow, it’s like a super power.”

This boy. He lays in bed and asks Jameson about heaven, about knowing that you’re going there. Ryan hears and brings him out to the quiet family room, where the three of us chat about Jesus, about the gospel, about knowing that you’re His. He prays, and then his eyes shine. He beams. The next morning, he beams. I ask in devotions if anyone has a testimony, and he jumps at the chance to say it: Last night, I got saved!

We rejoice. Jameson bounces in his seat, his eyes beaming now, too. “Can we all tell about when we got saved? Can we??”

He runs to the kitchen. We wait. And wait. Finally he appears.

“It was at the dinner table. Daddy talked to me. He drew me a picture, kinda like this, I think.”

He produces his version of this sketch.

“We all are trying to be good enough, to jump far enough, but we can’t and we fall down to the devil. But Jesus is over here, and then He comes to us. And He brings us over when we believe in Him.”

Yes! We all beam.

Can we sing that song for Easter?, they ask. So we end our happiest of devotions:

Jesus is alive!
The angels say.
Be glad, be glad
It’s Easter Day.

*****

“But Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart.”

My heart is filling.

means, ends, and tyrannical tools

You know those “job descriptions” of a mom that include everything from taxi driver to medic? They’re funny to read, and they’re certainly true enough, but confession:

I get things topsy-turvy.

I easily get into Nutritionist mode and forget that that’s not actually my job. Learning about health and nutritions is simply a means to an end: nurturing and caring for my children. I get into Housekeeper mode and suddenly we will have a clean house! Now! OR DIE TRYING!!

My means become the end. And my true end becomes collateral damage.

*****

You’ll hear me and so many other home schooling mamas say, “Your curriculum is a tool, not a master. It’s there to serve you, and not the other way around.”

I think of that this week. I have lots of tools in my box — not just my “mom” box, but in my “life” box. But too often I stop seeing them as tools to serve me in my goal as disciple and disciple-maker, and I begin serving them. An organized home is a blessing as I raise children who love order and work and peace. But an organized home is a terrible slave master, showing no mercy, when I let it become tyrant rather than tool. Healthy eating is a serious responsibility with lifetime effects, and I want us to be responsible with these bodies. But nutritional eating is a master that will drive you to the brink of nervous breakdown if you let it become your end, and not the means. Those are just two examples, but I’m amazed at how well that applies to every single good endeavor. (Being On Time to Church, Family Devotions, Modest Dress, Coupon Clipping, Real Play Only, Chore Charts, Gas and Mileage Savings, Bible Study Attendance, Exercise, Good Book Reading, Theological Studies… All fabulous tools and terrible Masters.)

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Who’s in charge here?

That’s a question worth asking myself regularly.

What’s the End (knowing and loving Jesus, and loving those I’m called to in a way that shows them Jesus), and what are the means? The end usually requires the means (don’t throw babies out with bathwater), but let’s not get lost somewhere in the middle, chasing our tails.

Hone my skills with the tools in my box. Learn how to use them. Walk by the Spirit, knowing which tool to use when, and when to lay your favorite one aside for a season. The Holy Spirit isn’t a tyrant: when I feel like I’m slave to a dictator (including my own selfish desire for clean and quiet), chances are I’ve lost sight of the Goal and have become servant to a tyrannical tool.

Down with tyrants. I’m all for freedom.

*****

Because we all like pictures in our posts: