Post Category → faith

books: future men

I’ve read quite a few good books in the last 6 (or so) months. I won’t tell you about how much I love Poirot, how my very first Dorothy Sayers novel kept me from household responsibilities (and sleep) until I finished it, or how glad I was for an excuse to read several Dear Diary books. But there are several reads that, I think, are worth mentioning.

This is the first.

Overall, fabulous.

He challenges us to a close look at biblical masculinity, lest we confuse it with current culture’s expectations. This trickles down to what to expect from your young hooligan (and what to allow — outdoors), how to approach education, how to interact with mothers and sisters, and what manners to enforce and why. It also means teaching boys to value wisdom, work and diligence, purity, strength, justice, prudence, and respect. (Those also are all topics well-covered in the book.)

As I read, I was inspired by the call to shape fine, strong arrows — to rise to the task of training young men who will take the world by storm. And of course, inherent in all that I mentioned above is the expectation that parents must first model and show their commitment to godliness in incredibly practical, every-single-day ways.

(One of my favorite tid-bits? The difference between rest and laziness: Rest is preparation for continued work. I like that.)

lately

:: I’ve been taking care of an under-the-weather Jameson. And marveling at the long, scrawny boy he’s become. He’s been talking about his birthday for months now, and a couple of weeks ago, amazed me by holding up three fingers and telling me that’s how old he’ll be. Who taught him that?? He can’t wait. What does he want for his birthday?

“Cake.”

Easy-peasy.


on tip-toes, watching the lawn crew

:: I’ve been smiling at William’s chubby California-baby toes. Nice and brown. And adorable. I could eat them. I’ve also been laughing lots, thanks to his constant attempts at humor. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a baby so eager to laugh and make laugh. It’s awesome.

There have been lots of frustrated cries the last couple of weeks, because he gets down on his belly and then is stuck. I smile as I watch those brown toes pushing against the floor for all they’re worth, trying so desperately to move forward. But I get a little catch in my heart, too. Remember my new baby William? Well, he disappeared before I even had a chance to notice. And I love this little guy who excitedly reads books with me, does adorable dances to any and all music, and belly-laughs at his brother’s [naughty] antics, but. But.


chubby toes

:: I’ve been looking forward to Ryan’s return from work each evening. Some weeks don’t seem quite so long, but this one has, and I just like it so much better when he’s around. So do my boys. And did I mention that he watched both boys here at home last Sunday while I went to see Julie and Julia and then went out for dinner? Yes, he did. I was very, very blessed. He tells me in a million ways how much he loves me.


out with his boys

:: I’ve been thinking about joy. Actually, that’s always on my mind after a trip back home. There are just so many people who have purposed to live out joy, people who I know have been around the block a few times, people who just set their sites more firmly on the prize to come — and somehow that infuses here and now with joy.

It doesn’t come naturally for me, this joy thing. There’s a tad too much pessimism and idealism in there. (How is it that I ended up with all the cons of my temperament, while she got all the pros?) But the good news is that the Scripture’s command to rejoice is just that: a command. Do joy.

I want to do joy. There’s just so much life in the exuberance of pure, Jesus-inspired joy. It’s battery-charging to be around, you know? Shouldn’t our countenance remind fellow pilgrims of our journey’s destination, and speak of Good News to the world?

Loving this quote on joy.

leftovers

Years ago I heard that Susan Brown, mother of many, would say that some days all the devotions she could get was reading a Bible story to her kids. That, I knew, was something worth remembering.

Fast forward to this past week, and you’ll find me reading Bible stories to Jameson at lunch every day. He’s recently become very enamored with Jesus, and wants nothing to do with Old Testament stories (even though, you know, every story whispers His name…) He’s not happy unless I can point to the illustration of Jesus — and then we can proceed. Anyway, his very favorite selection he calls The Food Story, otherwise known to us more learned adults as The Feeding of the 5,000. We’ve read it many times.

And can I just say, wow.

I’m so blessed by that story.

I’ve noticed this week that:

:: Jesus used kid food. Nothing fancy, just, you know, pb&j. Kinda like me. I don’t usually feel much more special than that.

:: Jesus took what wasn’t enough to begin with and managed to end up with leftovers. Leftovers. The mere mention of the word abundance makes my dry and tired soul stir, and that’s the word I see all over Jesus’ miracle.

:: Jesus lifted this piddly little lunchbox to heaven, blessed it, and… it was still a piddly lunchbox. But it managed to feed 5,000. And I think, how often do I say, “God, You’re going to have to multiply my grace/patience/ability/energy, because it’s just not enough,” and then I expect to see some abra cadabra za-za-zing thing happen, when that’s just not Jesus’ style. There was no *poof* moment when suddenly, before their very eyes, the mountaintop was covered with loaves and fish[es]. And there just may not ever be that moment in my life, either. And that’s okay. He can still feed 5,000.

:: And there will be leftovers. Did I mention that? Amazing.

So yeah. I look around at the untidy corners and surfaces of my house, see my boys who need, need, need, wonder what’s for dinner because I’m starving, not to even mention my poor husband, and there is never a Fairy Godmother who shows up and snaps her magic fingers. But there’s me, humble and pb&j-ish as I am, and I never look like much more than how I started, but amazingly, He multiplies. I put my hand to the plow, lift my efforts to heaven, say, “Use me to feed them,” and He does.

And maybe, just maybe, there will even be leftovers.

why we’re not emergent.

Now that I’ve finished this book — and yes, I was sad to see it end! — I thought I would just give a little plug for it.

My friend tells me that the Emergent church “died” a couple of weeks ago. I suppose that could make this book a bit irrelevant, except that the thinking and attitudes behind the movement still exist. Theooze.com is still up and running, and to me, that makes the book still worth reading.

Kluck and DeYoung do a great job at treating this subject. While there certainly are a few jabs at the emergent church, and a laugh here and there at their expense, it is primarily a fantastic apologetic work — meaning, here’s what they say, here’s what that means theologically, and here’s what the Bible says. I really appreciated them keeping on track. Meaning, it’s not a big long diatribe against a movement that happened to get under their skin. It’s a sincere warning sounded by two guys who see very real danger ahead.

They also do a good job at pointing out historical errors the emergent church makes. Truthfully (and these are my words), the emergent church movement is much like the 14 year old son who thinks his dad is so dumb, not realizing that in seven more years, he will discover his dad a genius. In a fit of adolescent pride and self-indulgence, “leaders” of the emergent movement are ready to throw out 2000 years of church history and claim to have discovered the true meaning of Jesus’ teachings. One can only hope that in seven years, they’ll discover the countless churches around the world who have embraced solid doctrine and are serving orphans and widows.

After reading this book, I was reminded again of how very central the gospel must be in our teaching, and in our message to the world. Anything other than Christ crucified, risen, and returning, and you have just another message of bondage to the law, and the false hope of utopia on earth. Jesus is the Head of the Church and the hope of the world.

I want to live for Him.

simple truth

This morning we heard the news that last night, a 4-month-old baby was pronounced dead after having been left in a car all day.

It reminded me of a simple truth I often forget: my babies need me. And not just in a, “Aww! Let Mama kiss your boo-boo!” sort of way. They literally need me.

What do I do all day? Change diapers. Feed little people. Apply sunscreen. Put down for naps. Wipe noses. Change more diapers.

So simple. So simple it can seem mundane. So simple that it gets confused with so insignificant. So simple, our mocking culture tells us, “Anyone can do that. Why are you wasting your life?”

So simple, I forget: for these two little boys, this simple care is literally life and death. They’re alive, fed, rested, healthy because I am doing the simple things.

I hear about situations of gross negligence, and my perspective for the whole day is changed. Suddenly, it’s a privilege to change a diaper, to give my child a clean bottom. Do you know that he would be covered with filth if I didn’t? Do you know that he needs me? I reach up into the cupboards and assemble pb&j for Jameson, and realize, he would literally starve without this simple care.

A few days ago, William had a little blip in his usual routine where he suddenly did not want to be nursed to sleep. Instead, he wanted to be wrapped just so, held just so, rocked just so. And as I laid his sleeping body in his basket, the thought popped into my head that I am the only human being on the planet who knows just what my little baby needs to go to sleep. I hold that secret — and it’s not a little thing. He needs me.

This is not nothing. This is not a waste. This is not insignificant. This is about giving my children life.

What a privilege!

honeycomb; p.s.

I’ve been trying to read more. In theory, if I keep a book nearby to grab during all of my nursing sessions, I could read quite a bit. Of course, this means staying on top of things and making sure there’s a book I’d like to read in the house!

Right now, I’m [re]reading Future Men. This is not a book review. Perhaps one will be forthcoming, but I just had to note something so good, so interesting.

As you would assume, this is a book on raising boys to be men. (Believe it or not, becoming a man doesn’t happen by simply allowing to Time to do its thing!) One chapter is titled, “Secret Sin, Tolerated Sin.” Here’s the snippet and thought I wanted to share:

But not all sin is hidden away. In many homes there is another category, that of open, tolerated sin.

Pause. What do you think he’s going to address? Something pretty big and bad, right? Something scandalous that certainly we would never allow, right? I guess that’s what I was ready for. But instead:

This is usually tolerated verbal sin — words spoken around the house. There are many aspects to this because we sin more with our mouths than any other way…

Isn’t that interesting? The sins of spreading falsehood, foolish presumptions, just too much talking, spite, haste, gossip — things that are so often right under our noses, and we don’t even notice. (Perhaps we easily grow accustomed to the stench?)

Can I just say one more thing about how awesome my parents are? Sorry to sound like a Johnny One-note (but you would, too, you know!)

My parents didn’t tolerate these sins in our house. No one got off the hook because, you know, it’s just home and family and we should be free to let our guard down a bit now and then… We weren’t allowed to blow up at each other, get snippy and rude, make sarcastic comments, and Mom piped up when the conversation was veering quickly into the muck and mire of gossip, mockery, or just plain foolishness. No one got roasted around the family dinner table. Well, except for a few choice politicians now and then, and even so, we’d end up getting called on the carpet and told to honor and pray for our leaders. See? It just wasn’t allowed.

And I really appreciate that! There is no loophole in the scriptures for speaking wholesome words — unless you’re just talking with a sibling, in which case you can enjoy all the tasty trifles you want.

If anything, our family relationships should be where we learn the art of holding our tongues, guarding our words, cultivating speech that is seasoned with grace. There, we learn how to repent for hasty words, foolish conversations, barbed comments, taking full responsibility for the effects of such actions.

Because watching our speech isn’t just something we can do to be more pious. Words count. More than you or I even understand. And they count at home just as much as they do anywhere else.

p.s. Another post on mom and us today.