Fake Thankfulness: A Bridge To Nowhere

I can't fit a single thing in my fridge.

A massive turkey is camped out in front of my milk cartons, and my produce drawers are full of veggies. I can't pop more eggs into their little drawer, because I already have 4 dozen packed in there. Goat cheese has taken over my condiment shelf, and I'm fairly confident that there are some leftovers slowly turning green behind packages of dates and butter.

Thanksgiving is coming!

This is my holiday. I love it.

As I was mulling over Thanksgiving, the rest that comes from gratitude, and the peace of expressing praise, I noticed that many other people were doing the same. The surprising thing is, thanksgiving is not a Christian holiday. People across the board applaud gratefulness and giving thanks.

Of course Thanksgiving was not designed to be a "Christian" holiday... but doesn't it have to be? Just by the very nature of gratefulness, doesn't Thanksgiving compel us to our knees?

Here's my argument: you can't be thankful in a spiritual vacuum. You can't just throw a random compliment of gratitude up into the air at... no one. You don't walk into a beautiful house, packed with food and good company, and then say "thank you for this party!" in an empty upstairs bathroom while ignoring the host. That would be rude. And bordering on lunacy.

Yet, that's what many of us will do this week. We'll go through the ritual of saying "I am thankful for..." But our thoughts will end there.

Healthy gratitude requires a recipient. Just as you would not attend a party and throw your thanks randomly into some closet, so in our lives we can't just shout out a "thank you" without acknowledging who it is we are thanking.

God is good.

Unbelievably good.

Which is why, although you never hear any Christian moaning about "taking away the true meaning of Thanksgiving," you probably should. This holiday was founded on thankfulness to God in the midst of a terrible war.

The year that is drawing towards its close, has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God... (Abraham Lincoln, Thanksgiving Proclamation, October 3rd, 1863)

I love Abraham Lincoln. We are "habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God." That's what this day is about. A forced pause to thank God.

Who are we thanking? Who is getting our praise?

I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens. (Abraham Lincoln, Thanksgiving Proclamation, October 3rd, 1863)

God was gracious. Even in the midst of a bloody civil war.

God is gracious still.

Gratitude must have an object, or else it is a bridge to nowhere. There is no purpose. There is no fruit. Gratitude was made to be proclaimed back at our Sovereign God. Otherwise, it is not gratitude. It's a meaningless self-help ritual to make you feel better. Will it work? Sure. To a certain extent. But not to its full depth, beauty, and constancy.

So, my prayer is that this week would be full of people shouting praises to the God of the universe. Be conscious and intent in your acknowledgement as God as the giver of all good gifts.

I pray that regardless of family, food, location, situation, trials, or blessings, that God would receive massive amounts of Thanksgiving.

Can you do that? Can I do that? Can we be intentionally, faithfully, whole-heartedly thankful? Right now. About everything?

Stop. Don't rush by this. Am I thankful? Let me break that down, if you ever:
- wake up crabby
- always thank God for the same three things (and only the same three things)
- are upset at the good gifts of others
- get angry easily
- feel the need for coffee, or sleep, or the perfect outfit, or _(fill in the blank)_ to feel satisfied
- struggle with depression
- refuse to pray or get upset when others pray

Then you might not be deeply thankful.

When I was fresh out of grad school, I went through a period of fighting intense bitterness, loneliness, and unfulfilled longings. I will forever and ever recommend Nancy Leigh Demoss' book Choosing Gratitude to all women who are struggling with these battles. Read it. Even if you think you are a thankfulness guru.


Okay, shameless plug over...

I hope you have an amazing Thanksgiving. And I pray that your thanksgiving is directed at the Author of life and the Giver of joy. May your days explode with the beauty and radiance of true gratefulness.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Battle Wisely, Mamas... this is a big war

Several weeks ago, while scrolling through Facebook, I came across a picture of a toddler/young school age child who had clearly just thrown a temper tantrum, or had an icy stand-off, and the mother captioned the picture, "Well... you have to choose your battles."

And something inside of me snapped.

Honestly, I don't remember who this mother was. I don't remember who this child was. All I remember is that I am sick and tired of the "choose your battles" line.

It's complete crap.

Now you, as a mother, as a human, you have a finite energy pool. That's why this lie makes sense. It rises up and bites you when your child throws their 37th temper tantrum of the day, and you know you could make it all go away for an hour if you just gave them a bowl of ice cream and a Netflix stream of "Daniel Tiger." And you think, "eh, pick your battles..."

Don't buy the lie.

Parenting is war. And anyone who tells you different is selling something. (Yes, I just paraphrased "The Princess Bride." All of my cultural references are super-old. Because I'm a mom. And I just don't get out much.)

But parenting is war.

The temptation is to avoid the massive battles. To just fight when you have energy. To shy away from the possibility of a three-hour show-down. To say, "Well, it's not inconveniencing me now..."

But then we completely lose it about stupid stuff: family pictures, how everyone looks on Sunday, nap time being interrupted, childish public behavior (not disobedience, just childish behavior from children), and messes.

Today, Grant pushed a chair over the counter, popped open a Tupperware storage container full of brown sugar, and began glibly shoveling it into his mouth. It made a mess. And he, and everything around him, was sticky. I'm fairly confident I'll be finding brown sugar in the crevices of my kitchen for days to come.

This was not a battle to fight. I told him to stop. He did. He helped me clean up the mess while we talked about how yummy sugar is, but how our bodies can't be healthy and strong if we eat too much of it.

I did not blow a gasket. He did not disobey. We did some teaching and we moved on.

But more often than not, I see mothers (yes, I'm in this category, too!) where little things that aren't sin are elevated above obedient, joyful behavior. I see mothers caving because they're tired, because it's the same battle day after day, because it's exhausting, and thankless, and wearing... and sometimes it's just so much easier to shrug and say, "well, you've got to choose your battles."

Here's the deal, someone is choosing battles. And he's fighting for the next generation. Wake up, Christian mamas! The war for the future of the gospel is real, and intense, and daily... and SMALL. There are very few truly massive battles you will fight in your child's first 10-13 years of life. Instead, it's like a small steady water drip... And drip after exhausting drip, you have to fight the battles.

You have to fight for obedience, joy, self-control, patience, and love. You have to fight to instill these in your children. You have to fight to plant the gospel, to plant faithfulness, to plant the beauty of the truth. There is a war, and we're missing it because it's so small. It's being fought on the daily hills you die on with your child.

Do you die on the hills of mess, inconvenience, and time drains?

Or do you die on the hills of obedience, joy, and kindness?

Because "choosing your battles" is much trickier than we realize. And too often, we choose the wrong ones...

You Don't Need Kids To Be A Mother

You don't need kids to be a mother.

Eloise never got married. I'm fairly confident she never even dated. She had no children. Aside from some distant great-nieces, her family was pretty obsolete. Yet, somehow she wound up with twenty-four grandchildren. She became my grandma. She hosted junior-high girl sleep-overs. She taught us how to make butter-cream mints, snickerdoodles, and sweet pickles. She shared the gospel with countless people in schools and nursing homes, and she brought us with her. She prayed over us every day. Did you read that? Prayed. Every. Day. She took us to the mall, watched us play dress-up in prom dresses, and had quiet talks about priorities and our futures. She was one of the most intensely fierce, dedicated, committed mothers I've ever met.

You don't need kids to be a mother.

I know women who counsel hurting college students. Women who throw baby showers. Women who teach preschool classes. Women who knit blankets. Women who feed hungry new moms. Women who pray every morning over a myriad of hurts. I know women who organize Christmas gift drives, who rock babies in nurseries, who lead Bible studies, and take teenagers on winter retreats.

You don't need kids to be a mother.

We have somehow defined motherhood by a very narrow set of criteria. We have decided that to mother you must give birth, or at least fill out paperwork and pay a lot of money. You need children. Preferably, young ones. No one wants to sign up for motherhood with a full-fledged teenager. You need to have peanut butter always in your pantry and an unending supply of fruit snacks. There will be diapers involved.

But ladies, this is WRONG.

Each one of you, by virtue of being a woman is a mother. You are hardwired for mothering.

Eve, in the garden of Eden, was named Eve "because she was the mother of all living." There were no kids. But she had already been deemed a mother. The name "Eve" sounds like the phrase "life-giver" in Hebrew. By being made a woman, Eve was automatically a life-giver.

We live in a broken world. This is the same world Eve entered immediately after her terrible sin, with the pressure of giving birth, and carrying the (as yet unfulfilled) name "life-giver." Alone. Her job was to give birth to sinful humans. She was given this job without a close walk with God, without a mother, without an idea of what was going to happen. Eve faced painful, brutal mothering hurdles.

It's not much different today.

Today, some women can't have children. Some women won't get married. Some will have far fewer children than they hoped. Some will lose children. Some will watch children walk away from truth. Some will watch children suffer. Some will never hold a new baby. Some will watch that new baby break their hearts.

Motherhood is broken.

But one of the redemptive truths is: you don't have to be a mother to practice motherhood.

You, as a woman, are hardwired to mother. Just as Eve was. Before there was a baby in existence, she was called a mother. A life-giver. By default of being a woman, by default of being created to mimic God's gentle nurturing, you are a mother.

One of the most powerful mothering figures I know is a mom who had two children, and then was given no more. (Of course, if you're going to have just two, these are a pretty awesome duo!) But she went on to mother countless college girls and young moms. She (probably even today!) is sitting in a coffee shop, listening patiently, passing Kleenex, dispelling truth, and pointing to God. She is a mother to hundreds. By the time she's done, those numbers will probably be in the thousands. What a way to enter eternity! The mother of thousands. She is a life-giver.

So, here's my question... Who are you mothering? (Please, don't mention a pet. I mean, pets are amazing, but if they are the sole beneficiaries of your life-giving, you need to re-evaluate.) Where are you giving life? Intentionally. Becoming a mother takes some work when you pop them out biologically or through adoption. The same is true when you become a spiritual mom.

You need to be a mother! The church needs you! There are countless, floundering "babies," that need you. Maybe you should be with the babies in the nursery. Maybe you should be teaching them in elementary Sunday school. Maybe you should learn how to counsel, organize a ministry, or help in a nursing home.

Your children may not be as cute as the mom down the street, who gets to push her little babies in a designer stroller and dress them in matching outfits. But when you enter heaven, it won't make a difference.

You are woman. You are a mother. Find your babies. They need you.

I Didn't Wake Up This Crazy (or why we are pursuing foster care)

It has been a fascinating experience telling people that we're pursuing foster care.

When we announced that we were adopting, we got adulation, encouragement, and horror stories.

When we announced that we were having a baby, we got excitement, big hugs, and horror stories.

But, when we started telling people that we were pursuing foster care, we got horror stories, horror stories, and horror stories.

And then some more horror stories.

And a few more.

In fact, I can count on one hand the number of people that expressed excitement and encouragement. There was a very small number of people who reacted with joy and a pat on the back. Only a very small percentage were thrilled that this was the path we were taking.

I was not one of that small percentage.

This was not my plan.

I have some friends who, even while they were dating, talked about their home being a haven for hundreds of children. They talked about the beauty of foster care, the selfless love, the willingness to spend yourself... and then have a baby ripped away. And they were game. They were ready.

I was not.

I don't like foster care. It's a broken system. I don't like getting in other people's lives. I don't like nurturing a baby and then have it be taken from me. I don't like the idea of countless meetings. I don't like the idea of handing a baby over to someone with sub-par parenting skills. I don't like it.

God pushed me here.

I don't have a naturally selfless heart. I don't have a generous spirit. I don't have bountiful love.

So, God pushed me here.

Adoption was part of my "plan." Natural child-birth was part of my "plan." But foster care? Not part of my plan.

God pushed me here.

Adoption is too expensive. Natural child-birth is too dangerous (for me and my sick body). Suddenly, I was out of options, and standing in the middle of a childless desert, clutching three convictions I knew to be true.

I knew these three things were true. God proclaimed them. I cling to them. And suddenly, He had cut off all other avenues. And He was there, looking down at me, asking, "Do you really believe? Do you really trust me? Do you know that my truth is enough?"

Then He asked a very sobering question, "Are you going to back-up your convictions with actions? Even if these actions are unpleasant and unplanned? Are you willing to sign-up for something you deem "miserable" because you know my commands are marvelous?"

So. Here I am. Getting finger-printed by the FBI, sitting through a sexual education seminar (in which we discussed the "right age" to make a drawer full of condoms available to your children and how to help them masturbate "appropriately"), filling out piles of paperwork, and buying cribs, dressers, and booster seats like they're going out of style. 

Because I believe these three things:

1. Love doesn't care. 

Love doesn't care if you're going to be ripped from our home. Love doesn't care if I dump massive resources into a baby and then the baby is gone. Love doesn't care if it hurts me. Love only cares about you. 

Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends. (John 15:13)

In my head, I always read this verse in the context of martyrdom. Will I be willing to die for Christ? That's not what the verse says (sure, it's what it implies, but stay with me!). Am I willing to give up  my life. My schedule. My safety. My convenience. My money. My heart. My ease. My comfort. My insulation from pain. My life. Am I willing to scrap everything that I hold dear, because of love?

My answer has to be "yes." It's a painful "yes." But if I claim Christ's name, then I must also claim his painful, inconvenient, life-sacrificing love. 

2. Children are a blessing.

We live in a world that doesn't believe this. Oh, we believe children are a rare treasure. You should only have a couple of them. You should lavish them with everything they could possibly ask or imagine. You should let the one or two you have run your home, run your marriage, and run you.

But we don't believe that children are a blessing.

Children are a gift from the LORD; they are a reward from him. (Psalm 127:3)

Notice, there are no caveats on "children." It doesn't say: "healthy children are a gift from the Lord." It doesn't say "emotionally well-adjusted children," "beautiful children," "well-behaved children." It just says "children."

I love kids. Love 'em. And if I am to live as though ALL CHILDREN are a blessing, then I can not pick and choose those I will love based on their history, back-story, or whether or not they are "permanently mine."

3. I must practice what I preach.

This basically ties into the previous two points, and all other un-listed points on life, love, and being like Christ.

Pure and genuine religion in the sight of God the Father means caring for orphans and widows in their distress and refusing to let the world corrupt you. (James 1:27)

I'm supposed to be caring for the "social outcasts." People in their distress. This isn't just about these stranded kids. It's also about their families. I am to care for these women and children in distress. If I am actually practicing "genuine religion." I hate a good hypocrite. I'd also hate to wake up one morning and realize that I am a hypocrite.

So, that's it. I'm falling in love with a crazy form of love. I'm not holy enough and intentional enough to have arrived here on my own. God shoved me into a corner, desperately clutching my beliefs, and then he asked me, "Are you willing to live it out?"

And I gulped.

And said, "yes."

This is crazy, but this is good. This is amazing. This is terrifying. This is where God wants me. And I'm excited. And reluctant. And thrilled. And horrified.

Hello, foster care. It's gonna be a great ride...