To Valentine Or Not To Valentine.... {written 5 years ago}

**The following blogpost is something I wrote five years ago. It was written before my husband, before two babies and a crazy move, before I had plunged into marriage and all that it entails. In fact, it was almost a year before I had even met Scott. Now, less than four years into my marriage, I feel like I'm still splashing in the shallow end of love, but that doesn't change my delight in being chosen to portray the Gospel in this way.

I did not edit this post. My single heart was lonely, and this is what it wrote.**

Happy weekend, dear reader.

As you may, or may not have noticed from the proliferation of pink, red, and white cardboard hearts which seem to pop-up in the oddest places (i.e. Taco Bell drive thrus and bank teller windows), this is the weekend of that fateful day of St. Valentine.

I remember when one of my dear friends snorted and stated an aversion to "single awareness day." I chuckled along with her, glad to have some sort of phrase to put with my distinct out-of-place feeling I get every time I try to do anything (alone) on Valentines Day.

That being said, I've had a Valentine before. In my 24 years, I've had one February 14th that wasn't spent in contemplation of my singleness. (Technically two, but Prince Charming the First didn't "believe" in Valentines Day. Huh.) But that one year was really lovely (and chocolatey), and as I fell asleep on my boyfriend's shoulder watching "Mary Poppins" (yes, "Mary Poppins"), I realized why people celebrate this holiday.

It's delightful to feel wanted, and cherished, and special, and (in serious cases) loved. Why would you not want to exploit a day which promises all that and more? Women don't want Valentines Day because of the chocolate (which is heavenly) and the expensive dinners (after months of fast food), and the diamonds (who doesn't love sparkles?). Women, on Valentines Day, want to feel special and cherished and loved, and showing that is harder than spending money and making plans. How does one make arrangements to show love? How do you find something that makes a person feel like a prize?

You can't, really. So you buy chocolates (because of the chemicals which induce feelings of satisfaction and love), you buy sparkles (because spending money, lots of money, surely means that you care), and Valentines Day becomes a time of panic as you try to express something at the level you feel. ("I cherish you like a cherish my new wax job on my car." or "I want you like I want to watch the Superbowl for the rest of my life." "I love you, so will you promise to love me forever, too?")

The angst from Valentines Day isn't created by the cheesy, shiny hearts in Walmart (although the things are cringe-inducing), but rather by the necessity of vulnerability. "How much do I show I care? How much do I care? What if it's too much, too fast? Does she think I'm making up for something? Is he okay with me liking him this much?"

For me, a single with commitment problems, I prefer to not look at people who, like myself, haven't said "I do" just yet. Such individuals tend to be splashing and paddling inefficiently in the shallow end of affection. I like, instead, to look at people who have plunged into the depths of love, and find years later-- the vulnerability, the love, and the commitment are still there. They still wanteach other, they have seen the dirty, nasties in each others' lives, and yet stillcherish one another. There may be no chocolates, it might be a year to pinch pennies rather than flaunt diamonds, but there's a constancy and commitment that has been worn every day of the year, not just on Valentines Day. Those ordinary days are the true Valentines days. So don't smirk in disdain, you singles (happily or unhappily single, it matters not to me). Buy yourself a box of chocolates and smile at the little old couple holding hands.

Constant commitment and sacrifice is true love, as God meant it to be portrayed.

I'm Not Thirsty Enough

I will try, as I process, sort, and dwell on the truths of this week, to pass on some of the amazing truths I've been digesting. I love the power and energy that comes from the sharing and receiving of God's grace and truth. 

But beyond all of that, beyond the amazing applications of truth, the life-changing power of His Word, there's something else I've learned. 

You see, here's the deal: I'm not a water drinker. In fact, as I child I hated being made to drink a glass of water. So I just wouldn't do it. (Until my mother forced some down me.) 

So when I was told to pant for The Lord as if he was living water, I nodded in a general sense and moved on. When I was to taste and see that The Lord is good, I agreed. At least mentally. I AGREED, but the cracked, parched feeling, the longing for truth was rarely  felt. 

A funny thing happens when you make yourself drink water. At first, you walk around feeling like a waterlogged shoe: clunky, soggy, and heavy. It's miserable. Then, after a couple days, maybe even a week it two, if you keep drinking the water, that heavy sloshing goes away, and you get thirsty. Crazy-desperate thirsty. Even if you're drinking the same amount, you want more. You realize that you need more. 

That has been this conference in a nutshell. Several weeks ago, I walked away from technology and empty (not bad, just empty!) time fillers. I asked to see God. And my thirst has exploded. 

Here I am, sitting for over 6 hours a day, soaking in truth after truth after truth, and I WANT MORE. My heart yearns for more time in God's Word, more time in his presence, more prayer, more praise, more weeding out of sin, more confessing. 

I entered this week, mildly satiated with my level of God. I was thirsty, sure, but I wasn't dying. I wasn't panting. I wasn't experiencing an intense, constant craving. 

Oh, Lord, may this thirst only grow. Make me desperate. This is where I want to be. 

On the glorious splendor of your majesty,and on your wondrous works, I will meditate. They shall speak of the might of your awesome deeds,and I will declare your greatness. They shall pour forth the fame of your abundant goodnessand shall sing aloud of your righteousness. (Ps. 145:5-7) 

But for me it is good to be near God... (Ps. 73:28)

Biblical Counseling Conference: Day 1 (or: How I Am Falling In Love All Over Again)

Lafayette, Indiana. 

This is where I am. 

I'm soaking in the wisdom of our God as gentle stewards are such selfless conduits if grace. 

I've already enjoyed so much. And I'm only entering day two!

I've learned that God didn't ignore the fear that comes from submission. And he has answers. 

I've learned that the goodnesses in this life are just tastes of the great banquet to come. 

I've learned that the incarnation of Christ, the fact He became a man should RADICALLY change my sanctification and quest for purity. 

I've learned that the power of the Holy Spirit transforms lives... Lives that look hopeless can be washed in glorious light and purity. What an encouragement to my own, tired, fighting-for-holiness heart. 

I am amazed at the wealth in God's Word. My imagination is fired and my appetite is insatiable. I can't wait for day two!

You And Your Mommy Guilt {Part 2}

So, you read this post. 

And you want to hurt me because I claimed "mommy guilt" might be legitimate.

And I left you with an impossible standard. Horribly high goals.

And guilt.

I'm your favorite person right now, aren't I?

Here's the deal: I'm not the perfect mom that I outlined in my previous post. I don't effortlessly walk my children to the foot of the cross. I'm not ceaselessly patient, or endlessly wise. I become grumpy, lazy, and overwhelmed. I try. But I fail.

If you are the wonderful mothering anomaly that I spoke about, I'm coming over. Right now. I'm going to sit at your feet, soak up your wisdom, and maybe leave my children with you forever. Because you're perfect. And I'm not. And my children probably need you. Not me.

Except, God gave me my children. My adorable Grant and Bets were entrusted to me. Your children, the ones that you're supposed to be shepherding flawlessly? God chose them. To be with you. Before the foundation of the world they were destined to be YOURS.

And He gave them you. The imperfect mom.

For their good. And yours.

See, God knew that you wouldn't parent flawlessly, and He knows how often you battle that monster of guilt. And He didn't haphazardly place you in this tricky place, with sinful children, and this crushing feeling of inadequacy. He didn't just throw together a life for you and then move on, forgetting all about you.

He designed this time. He designed your mothering inadequacies. He designed the personalities of you and your children. He designed every particle of every day. He planned that sippy cup spill, that rebellious outburst, and that teenage temper-tantrum.

Because you need to know that you're inadequate.

You need to know you can't do it. You need to know you're a mess.

Because then, you'll run, not to yourself. Not to denial, cliché self-esteem, or a box of hidden candy bars... but to your God.

He's waiting. He wants you.

Just as you never want to turn down a cuddle from a sticky, crying child, you Father in heaven will never turn you away. When you're tired, broken, and weighed down with the enormity of your task, run to your Father.

Cry out to him. (I hide in the bathroom.)
Pray without ceasing. (Grant has learned to join me when I collapse on the floor.)
Memorize verses to cling to.
Read books that remind you.
Get up early to meet with him. (5 a.m. = my new favorite.)
Stay up late to talk to him.

You are horribly inadequate for this job.

AND THAT'S OKAY.

Your inadequacy and weaknesses are there to drive you to a God who is beyond adequate and immeasurably strong.

Paul, resting in this, states: "Not that we are sufficient in ourselves to claim anything as coming from us (he was speaking of any good they might have accomplished), but our sufficiency is from God." 

If your children leave home with the firm conviction that their mother could not have survived without her Savior... that will be a beautiful thing.

So drive out the mommy guilt (after carefully looking to see where you need to grow!). But then drive that guilt OUT and run to a God who fills up all our emptiness and inadequacy. This is the God who planned the children you have, with the exact personalities that they do, and placed them with their sinful, struggling mother... He did this so that you would daily run to Him. Which is never bad. Mommy guilt has a way of evaporating in the light of his love.

You And Your Mommy Guilt {Part 1}

We had a date night this week.

I didn't really know what to do with myself. I mean, I was able to eat the entirety of my steak fajita salad without once saying, "No, sippy cups stay on the table." or "Take a bite!"

It was like a weird piece of heaven, and I'm totally willing to only visit it occasionally.

I love my kiddies. I missed them.

Even after what feels like the 36th lunch in a row of, "But you like mac'n'cheese!"

After dinner, hand-in-hand, the hubster and I browsed one of my favorite places: Barnes and Nobles. Had I unlimited time and resources, I would have a massive library, a huge reading chair, and a crackling fire. And I wouldn't move for days. But I sense that such a lifestyle wouldn't be entirely good for me, so God has refrained from giving it to me. Doubtless, I wouldn't turn into a wise sage like C.S.Lewis, I'd just turn into a fat, grumpy recluse.

But on special nights out, it's fun to pretend that I could be Lewis, and it's delightful to peruse all the fascinating things that I may, someday, have time to read.

Unfortunately, in between biographies on astronauts' wives and delightful children's books, I usually find several things that I'm tempted to hurl through a window and burn in the parking lot.

I was very tempted to mention certain authors and books in this post, but my common sense got the better of me, and several nights of sleep has lessened my vitriol. But it has not dulled my conviction that motherhood has taken a serious blow.

The "Me" generation has raised their babies, and now the "More of Me-Me-Me!" generation is launching into their children. The number of books out there to talk to mothers is astounding. And do you know what their overwhelming theme is?

You are okay. 

You are doing a good job.

You are a wonderful mother.

Don't feel guilty. It's society's fault.

Don't stress it.

But then I glance up from these nice thoughts and see a section for teenagers full of smarmy love stories and vampire-obsessed literature, and I think to myself, "Ah, but we should be stressed! If we are raising kids who like this CRAP, then we're doing something wrong!"

So, let's talk about "mommy guilt:" that insane pressure apparently all women have felt from the dawn of time... When you type the phrase "mommy guilt" into Google, these are your top links: "Top 7 Mommy Guilt Trips: and how to handle them," "31 Reasons You Shouldn't Feel Mom Guilt," "Kiss Mommy Guilt Goodbye."

Apparently, the only thing we should do with "mommy guilt" is get rid of it. Banish it. Smear on some "You're a good mommy" cream and move on.

But I'm here to argue something else. Perhaps there's a reason why countless women wrestle with an overwhelming sense of inadequacy and ineffectiveness. It seems that one of the few, universal truths of motherhood is that everyone feels like they're doing a horrible job. At least once. A day. Okay, all the time.

Perhaps you have "mommy guilt" because... okay, this is going to sound radical... maybe it's because you really aren't doing a great job.

I fully expect you to slap me across my face next time you see me.

Okay, but stop. Think.

We moms have a lot to think about, tons to juggle, and countless errands, tasks, and projects to complete. If you work outside the home and  parent, I'm in awe of you. Regardless, motherhood makes life chaotic. Perhaps, what we worry about with our children, is not that they are getting to know their God and learning obedience to Him, but perhaps we worry about their socialization, their hobbies, the way they weren't invited to some one's birthday party, the irritating habit they have of leaving toast smears and crumbs all over the kitchen. Or once we take care of the immediate needs of our children, we tune out with TV, or a women's group, or the phone... And our parenting stops there.

I know that I'm often thoughtless and distracted when I am with my children. I know I err on the side of "disengaged" and counter-top wiping as opposed to gently teaching and actively involved. Being a parent requires that you be ON. You know what I mean: catch every little thing, analyze your child's character, actively teach, pour into, and invest in. It requires energy. Wisdom. Patience. You have to be responsive and thoughtful.

But although I know this, I also know that I react much more quickly to things which make me uncomfortable as opposed to things which make my Savior sad.

For instance, that infamous grocery store meltdown: does it grieve me that my child would sin and display such a horrible lack of love and self-control, or am I embarrassed that everyone is looking at me and my ridiculous child is making this trip such an ordeal and I'm getting a headache and just want to go home?

We can fill up our motherhood moments worrying, fixating, and obsessing about things which don't matter. And if this is ever you (um, the author sheepishly raises her hand), then the mommy guilt is real. And you shouldn't try to banish it. Look at it head on. Calmly evaluate. Take steps to change.

You are tasked with raising a soul. And although God in his sovereignty graciously works outside of our feeble attempts of parenting, he has given you a precious task: to teach souls. Your child is not "yours." They are a gift. Which you are to be stewarding.

So, stop for a minute, before you explode about the toast smears:

1. Did my child disobey?
2. Does my child know how to pray?
3. Does my child hear me talk about my Savior?
4. Does my child daily see the benefits of obedience and the consequences of disobedience?
5. Am I helping them grow self-control? In their eating, their talking, their whining, their sleeping, their playing...? Self-control doesn't come. It is pursued.
6. Am I showing them love? Do they see that I love their daddy, the people we encounter and all their grandparents (on both sides of the family!)?
7. Am I praising small obedience and tender hearts?
8. Am I demonstrating joy?
9. Do I read them the Bible and talk about the stories?


Is your child obeying? Yes. Do they know how to run to Jesus? Yes. Do they seem to be cultivating (with your help) the fruits of the Spirit, or a tenderness to their Savior? Yes.

Okay. Then you're good. Banish the mommy guilt. Wash it away. You're doing a perfect job. Mothers want to be you, kids want you for their mom.

Unless...

Unless you can't possibly do all those things. And unless the mommy guilt is there for an additional reason...


{This post has a follow-up post. Click link to continue.}

Of Parsnips and Prayer

I like parsnips.

I know, I was surprised, too. I always associated parsnips with ancient, maiden ladies who "turned" their silks and have over-fed cats.

(Do you think it's obvious that I've filled several of my empty hours this week reading Victorian literature?)

Parsnips. With coconut butter. A little salt and pepper. Mmmm!

I would swear up and down that they're just like eating baked potatoes, but I'm afraid I'm slowly becoming one of those people who has been without junk food too long. You know those people. They toss you a bag of plantain chips and wonder out loud why anyone would want Pringles.

Seriously. Those people exist. They eat date "cookies" with unsweetened coconut and turn their noses up at Oreos.

I don't understand those people.

But I'm becoming one of them by force. When your diet restricts you to no grains, no sugar, no dairy, no potatoes... you start to go a little crazy. So if I ever push a date cookie your way, or declare that black bean brownies are "just as fudgey!" please ignore me. Or pity me. It's your choice.

I've also found that I like praying.

Everyone put on your holy faces, nod solemnly, and say, "Ahhh... me too."

But do you really?

I grew up around prayer. My mother is a ceaseless prayer warrior. She would pray for hours (it felt like!) every morning. Probably a large amount of those prayers were spent on me. I wouldn't be surprised.

When I became saved (at the tender age of three), I joined the ranks of those who can come "boldly before the throne of grace." And I did. Occasionally. When the day was really bad. Or my conscience pricked me about how long it had been since I had confessed. I got super-good at "shotgun" prayers. You know the ones: quick, little, rapid fire sentences that go up right as you need them.

"Help this to go well!"
"Please give me patience."
"Don't let that happen."
"Please let me get an 'A'!"

But I never spent even 10 minutes, consistently, on my knees.

Sickness changes that. I pray a lot when I'm sick. But in my fuzzy, sick mind, my prayers are largely repetitive and self-centered. God doesn't mind. But it's not exactly a recipe for a continued, deep prayer life.

The absence of prayer is rarely noticed by itself. No one wakes up feeling cranky and unholy and says, "You know, I bet this is because I haven't prayed!" No one wallows in shame, self-pity, and depression and thinks "I should probably just praise the God of the universe for half and hour." Confession, although a critical part of the Christian walk, appears to be left for quick moments of guilt or right before communion. "Shoot, I better make sure my heart is clean before I eat this!"

Recognizing that I didn't earnestly cultivate my relationship with God outside of my daily quiet time check-box, and suspecting that this lack of relationship was at the root of my shame, people-pleasing, and general God-loneliness/sin struggle, I came up with an idea.

I pray throughout the day.

No, like I stop and pray. Every day. Multiple times a day. I have alarms on my phone to remind me, but recently, I've taken to doing it without an alarm.

I put everything down. I stop any task. I turn off any noise. And I pray.

I have a time for adoration. Just adoration. I time where I don't thank God, instead, I just talk to him about Him. I focus on an attribute of Him that blows me away. Later comes my prayer of thanksgiving. And then a prayer of confession. And  because I'm human, there's usually a little bit of pleading or requests at the end of each of these prayers...

And my world has been rocked.

I daily meet with GOD. Face down on my kitchen floor, curled up on the couch, kneeling by a chair... I can talk with GOD. And He loves it! Do you know how I know that?

Because He comes pouring into my world at every turn. He's there in the patience not to snap at my children. He's there in my delight at the smell of clean laundry. He's faithfully there as I strive to be faithful. He places himself in my mind continually, and I love it!

Call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known.

{Jeremiah 33:3}

It's better than parsnips, even.

What Am I Doing At Church?

It's quiet.

I stand there, in the dim auditorium, waiting quietly. I'm trying to still the thoughts that keep cluttering my mind, "did I start the crockpot? I wonder if she'll scream the entire time she's in nursery? I really need to catch them after the service and ask them...." Fighting for a quiet soul. I am about to join something cosmic. Something eternal. Something massive.

Quietly, the music begins and truth flashes across my mind.

There. In my row. At our tiny church, I'm ready to leap into a symphony of praise.

As I sing, my voice is shouting eternal truths about an eternal God, my finite voice is joining others. Countless Christians, in different churches, neighborhoods, states, countries, continents, are praising God in a glorious, multi-language cacophony.

I cling to promises, gripping my hands together, struggling to remember these truths are true, and I join saints through the ages who have bled, and fought, and died in faithful belief in the true character of their God.

I raise my hands, and my small gesture joins the shooting stars, the towering mountains, and the whirling galaxies as I proclaim that my God is king.

When I sing, shoulder to shoulder, joined with people in our church, we are not one tiny meeting. We are part of the massive, eternal church of Christ. And together with all the saints, we are shouting into the darkness of this world, "Our God is glorious! Our God is worthy! Our God is King!" And into the darkness, a glorious light shines forth.

Because when I get up on Sunday morning. When I rush through getting ready. When the kids won't eat their oatmeal, and I can't find a pair of tights without a hole, and my coffee isn't ready in time, and there are classes to teach, and rooms to set up, and people to help....

I forget what I'm doing at church.

I'm joining a massive symphony of praise to my God.

May the brilliance of God's glory radiate from us.

"Great and amazing are your deeds,

O Lord God the Almighty!

Just and true are your ways,

O King of the nations!

Who will not fear, O Lord,

and glorify your name?

For you alone are holy.

All nations will come 

and worship you,

for your righteous acts have been revealed."