Post Category → motherhood

“To be a fisherman, you have to be around fish,” said Pastor Ben yesterday.

One of those laughably obvious statements, but painfully true: possession of tackle and rods does not make one a fisherman, and it certainly isn’t enough to land a fish. Even sitting in a boat above those fish isn’t enough. Not even just diving down and swimming around them! No, a fisherman must be where the fish are, with his gear at the ready.

I’m thinking about that this morning.

“Follow Me, and I will make you fishers of men.”

That’s me He’s calling.

I definitely am around “men” all day. And night. Every day and night. But am I ready to see and seize every opportunity to hook their hearts? Speak truth in love, pour out kindness and mercy, point to Jesus as the answer for their every need? Or am I just kind of floating through the day, too caught up in my own goals to notice the “fish” all around?

“Follow Me.”

That’s my part. He’ll teach me and show me and change me and cause my life to be effective; my part is to whole-heartedly follow Him.

Lord, You have my heart.

*****

One little life I’m currently pouring into:

september 7: culture

This little basket represents my fresh resolve to build culture here in my home.

I don’t mean “culture”, as in raised-pinky at teatime and season tickets to the Lincoln Center. I mean culture as in who we are. What makes us us?

I am mulling this over in the back of my mind, somewhere in that jumble of dinner plans and potty reminders and school schedules. It would be easy to just assume that my kids will somehow take on the loves, passions, and priorities that I want for them. To put all my stock in my good example — if they see me reading the Bible, loving people, welcoming the new baby, or just taking time over the from-scratch meals, they’ll “get it.”

The example counts, it sure does.

But it’s not everything.

There is also the teaching. The intentional passing of culture. Taking them by the hand, drawing them near, and explaining the why. Doing it alongside them. Showing them the rhythms, the way, the heart.

Weighty thoughts, ruminating.

This basket, it’s a start. It’s me saying, My girls aren’t going to love reading just because their brothers do. If it’s important, it is worth my time. I need to draw them into that love.

Funny how God can use a stack of favorite children’s books to stir and lead.

Happy Culture-Making!

hello, september

It came, in quiet and beauty. Geese calling as sun rose, cool air gladly receiving warmth. Inside, my babies slept long and hard, recovering from two days of outdoor play. I walked, admiring fields bathed in new sunlight, listening to the voice of my brother in law (as I often do when I can slip away in the morning.) It was the perfect beginning to a new month, a new season, and best of all, a new day. There was a stream of mercies, washing away the old and the wrong and the shame and the discouragement, and bringing springs of life.

And after a day of laundry and dentist’s appointments and errands and just playing outside, I ended my day in the most special of ways: this boy took me out for dinner and ice cream.

(Whole30 reintroduction does not recommend pizza and ice cream all at once. Oh well.)

He took my hand and checked for cars and led me across the street, and held the door for me and paid for the pizza all on his own. It was… precious and kind and tender and blessed me. We ate ice cream and chatted, and then he asked if I would like to just walk in the park for a bit.

Thanks to the still river, we got two sunset skies for the price of one (which, by the way, is free. God must love us.)

We sat on the swing and talked. And talked. About when I was a little girl. About D-Day. About oil pastels. About his brother and the upcoming birthday that William is, of course, equally excited about. About fraternities. About losing my Papa when he was so young. Around and around we talked, until it was growing decidedly dark.

I tucked the flower he picked for me in my hair. And we drove home. It was perfect.

August 28

“Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a clanging cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, but have not love, it profits me nothing.

Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy;
love does not parade itself, is not puffed up;
does not behave rudely, does not seek its own,
is not provoked, thinks no evil;
does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth;
bears all things, believes all things,
hopes all things, endures all things.
Love never fails.”

Just simple thoughts the last two mornings. “If I have not love…”

It is so easy to lose sight of the goal once you get into the thick of things. So easy to spend every last bit of energy and personal resources on serving people, only to find the love that inspired you to start has disappeared, or gotten lost in the shuffle.

I made my list yesterday and saw there a host of activities and ideas that all must be tethered to love.

Today I wake early and will dress freshly bathed children in neatly ironed clothing, and will go through the hassle of actually leaving the house all together just to be at church. Those elements of “busy” quickly obliterate the view of “why”: love for the brethren, love for our Savior.

Love.

Most of the world over knows love is powerful, love is needful, love can set free.

But then there’s a limit. We can only go so far before hurt or unloveliness or just sheer exhaustion smothers the last flicker of compassion or affection.

And that, oh my soul, is where Jesus comes in. A fount of love that ceaselessly flows, reaching me, changing me, empowering me to keep on loving.

“The love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us.”

“The fruit of the Spirit is love.”

Need more love? Turn to Jesus.

*****

Called to love these:

August 20: seasons

Two days ago, my children and I had the most wonderful morning. We put on mud boots and sneakers and headed to a dear friend’s home, where she let us bounce on trampolines, explore her secret paths, swing as high as we could on swings, and best of all, take in the beauty and abundance of her vegetable and flower gardens.

Beautiful green trees artfully planted to create shade, interest, beauty: planted 22 years ago, when they first built their house. They were looking ahead, and now their grandchildren run giggling through branches and under boughs. Friends, like me, come and hear the rustling of leaves and take in the peace of their tall green presence.

Neatly laid walkways of sandstone, cleverly built tables of sandstone. Swings built here and there. Birdhouses, paths mowed to their pond. All speaking of careful workmanship, sweat and labor, and love for beauty.

I was inspired by it all, fed by it all.

Most of all, I just took in the abundance this friend has to offer in her season of life: the abundance of gentleness, motherly care, perceptive eye, listening ear. I soak in the peacefulness of a woman whose roots have gone deep into the Lord, whose surroundings speak of contentment and thankfulness, and who freely gives out of a deep acknowledgement that God has made her to nurture.

I find such beauty in the seasons God brings us to.

Every day, I look to see the beauty of this, my season — and it is everywhere. It is messy, perhaps, and there are tears and sorrows and sin that mar the image, but even there, beauty grows in the form of the gospel.

I see my mother’s season, I see my friend’s season (and other friends whom I am privileged to know), and there is so much beauty there, too. There is the visible beauty: perhaps a tidier home, more time to create order (and less to disrupt!), new freedom to explore gifting and talents and see them flourish in new ways. To say that I am blessed by every opportunity to sit in such environments would be an understatement. But more, the beauty that emanates beyond artful homes and beautiful gardens is the graciousness with which they continue to give, recognizing that their season enables them to reach back to women who are now where they were, and give a drink of water (as it were.)

They inspire me to sow well where I am. Plow with the future in mind — knowing that the path of the righteous shines brighter and brighter. They inspire me to be the kind of woman I aspire to be: generous, gracious, grounded, God-centered.

“Older women . . . may encourage the young women to love their husbands, to love their children, to be sensible, pure, workers at home, kind, being subject to their own husbands, so that the word of God will not be dishonored.

August 16

“Children tie the mother’s feet.” — old Tamil proverb

I read that in Amy Carmichael’s biography — the story of a young single woman who, through no plan of her own but simply because she followed the leading of the Holy Spirit, became “mother” to hundreds of abandoned and abused Indian children. Elisabeth Elliot says, “It took rather a long time for the truth of this Tamil proverb to dawn on Amy… …that she must allow her feet to be tied for the sake of Him whose feet once were nailed.”

*****

There is a pervasive lie in the water that we all drink, and it is this: if you do everything right, you can have it all. It appealed to Eve, and it appeals to us. At least, it appeals to me. It entices me and draws me in, and subsequently wraps me in the chains of discouragement and discontent.

*****

I remember reading in “Loving the Little Years” that it’s okay to have a baby and consequently look like you had a baby. It’s okay to bear in your body the marks of sacrifice. In fact, it’s kind of weird to yield your body for the creative work of forming an entire other person (or two, or ten), and then wanting to erase all traces of that. Go back to your 20-year-old figure, as though that pre-baby body was your “true self.” Yes: steward your body, keep it in good health, realize it’s the only one you’ve got and it needs to now serve your adult children and their children, and maybe even their children — but for heaven’s sake, stop trying to erase all traces of childbearing from your tummy and thighs. Your body is a tool to use, not a museum piece to put on the shelf. You are a living sacrifice, and just may look a bit like one, too. You can’t have it all.

“One of the greatest testimonies Christian women can have in our world today is the testimony of giving your body to another.”

If you have a Mom-body, it may because you are a mom. That’s not just okay; it’s a gift from God that we don’t need to do penance for.

*****

Somehow I can feel like a truly successful mom is one who hits a home run every day in laundry, cooking, cleaning, and schooling and is involved with every other thing, too, in church and community. And beyond this unseen force that pressures me to stop being a loser and start doing something with my life, there’s of course the desire in me that every once in awhile makes me really really really want to do ALL THE THINGS. The fun things, the important things, the things that SOMEBODY has to do. There are so many things. Shouldn’t I be able to do them, too?

Because if you’re really good at being a mom, those kids will barely be a blip on the screen of your go-go-go and productivity. Right?

*****

We want to have the kids, be a good mom, and have none of that leave any impact on how we look or run our lives.

We want it all.

And yet, shouldn’t there be a mark? Shouldn’t there be an obvious impact? Shouldn’t our lives look like they are being sown into the field of our children’s lives?

It’s okay that your children “tie your feet.” It’s okay that their need for the gospel in word an deed requires every ounce of your energy and creativity. It’s okay that the fearful and wonderful design of them left your belly wrinkled and squishy — with no sign of ever returning. It’s what we were made for: to lay down our lives for these little ones.

If Jesus can stand in eternity, bearing the marks of sacrifice in His hands and feet, I think it’s probably okay to expect that our sacrifices may also leave their mark, on our bodies and time and energy.

We can’t have “it all”. But we can have ALL of the abundant life we so desire as we follow our Savior. And the best part? Chains fall, and we run freely into joy and peace — soft tummies and all.