Allow the Present to be Imperfect

“Allow the present to be imperfect.”

These words from Emily Freeman’s podcast that have challenged me for months. 

What could it mean if I took them to heart? 

Well, first, let me think on the opposite. Can I disallow the imperfections? Can I ban the inconveniences, force the house to be clean, insist the children cooperate? Oh friends, I have tried to do all of these things, sometimes all at once. 

I know how this story ends: I will chase the end of the to-do list, and I will end up in tears and frustrated.  I will manage and demand things of my children, but it will not be enough, and I will be disappointed, and they will know it. And what will they make of that? How will mom’s perpetual disappointment be filtered through their child-brains and into their hearts?

These words challenge me, invite me to try something new:

“In resting, we pull away from doing although all is not done. We allow the present to be imperfect.” Sally Breedlove

Why would we even do this? Why “pull away from doing” when there are still things to be done?

This is impossible, for a type A like me, unless…

Unless my “doing” is not the most important thing;

unless I am truly NOT the glue that holds the world together;

unless being perfectly productive is missing the point;

unless my God invites me to rest in Him, not as a reward for conquering the checklist, but as a gift of grace.

I am not really in charge here, people. 

I cannot accept this, not really, unless I trust the One who is. 

By His grace, we learn to live in this tension.  We can fight imperfection, and yet not fully win the battle even in our own hearts. We can be discontent with evil, and yet wait on the Victor to complete His victory.  We can work while it is day, and yet rest in Him at night, trusting all the loose ends to His care. 

Jesus, help us both work diligently, and rest deeply, as we wait for you to make all things new.

Amen.

Food for thought:

“Life in this world is neither heaven nor hell; it is a fluctuating mix of the two. The separation of good from evil is an eschatological hope. Since we have a penchant for absolutes in terms of blacks and whites, we are ill-fitted for our complicated existence in the grays. Perfection is an anticipation associated with “waiting upon the Lord.” Our offense at postponing perfection is another example of our resistance to dependency. In spite of this resistance, our tension over the unfulfilled remains. The basis for godly contentment is not a simple acceptance of imperfection. This could be indifference or even cynicism. Godly contentment is based upon an acceptance of imperfection that is united with a vision of the perfect. This vision provides challenge as well as hope. . . 

“Is the only alternative to perfection a complacency with imperfection? Or is this alternative the false deduction from a point of view that is dependent upon the human need for completion? The middle term between perfection and imperfection for the Christian is gratitude. In a sense the Christian is becoming what he already is. The Christian life is a matter of desiring completion without having to have it. It is a matter of striving for something which we have already attained by faith, but which we have yet to work out by sight. It is a mark of growth to learn to live with imperfection without being satisfied with it - to be content with Christ’s righteousness without ceasing to strive for our own.”

-William E. Hulme, The Dynamics of Sanctification

Recommended Podcast:

https://emilypfreeman.com/next-right-thing-podcast/

Just this.

“I don’t know how you balance it all,” they say.

“Why in the world do they think I am balanced!?” I wonder for a moment, but I don’t have time to say it, or even think it for long because someone is pounding on the pew, and someone else wants a snack, and I have to figure out how to get us all to the car and what to give as a consequence for the next fight.

Dear friends, I am unbalanced in so many ways.  Here’s one:

I like to get things done, and there is nothing wrong with that. It feels good to get one thing done in a half hour, but it can feel better to do two. Then,I think, why not three or four or five? Or I could do two things, while also planning the next two things, and then the next chunk of time will be even MORE efficient.

Is there a name for this form of insanity?

Productivity Addiction? TMultitasking Mania? Energizer Bunny Disease? 

Suddenly, I find myself unable to do just one thing at a time. I am the mom texting at the park to plan the next activities, or getting up from the table the second I’m done eating, and answering all the school questions as as fast as possible so that I can ever-so-quickly get on to the next urgent thing.

My whole perspective becomes tainted with impatience.

“Nobody’s moving fast enough!”

“Get ON with it already!”

and

“Can’t you all see how much there is to DO around here?”

Who has time for rest, for humor, or for seeing the gifts of the little moments? 

I don't want to be that person! And furthermore, I really can’t stop ALL the multi-tasking. My family needs me to juggle many things. But surely, I can do SOME things with a single mind? Like, five minute sprints of focus, just to start?

I’m trying something this week, and I thought I’d share it with you.

Just this.

A simple phrase.

I wrote it on a sticky note when I graded a paper, and it reminded me to JUST grade the paper, not think of other papers, or the other kids, or the dinner plans, or the emails. One thing at a time.

I’m going to try to use this throughout the day, even in the midst of school. I can’t use it ALL the time (I may have to teach math and anger management and handwriting all at once,) but SOME of the time. 

And I’m going to use this ninja focus for ME, sometimes. Even (God help me!) when there are still other things on the to-do list. When it doesn’t feel efficient.

Just this.

A few minutes to “ come in and out of the wind.”

To get some perspective, read some Scripture, notice blessings, and give thanks.

To remove my nose from its place against the tree and let God show me the forest again.

Friends who understand, pray with me?

Father, 

We know we are not loved based on what we do. At least, we say we know. But how to be simply “okay,” not based on the things accomplished, but in You alone? We know that productivity is a slave driver, and we will never find rest listening to its demands. And yet, we know we must work while it is day, and we do want to pour ourselves out here for others. Give us wisdom in both pouring and resting. Teach us to come in out of the wind. May Your love be our refuge.  In Jesus, Amen.

Lean (Lake Michigan free write)

11pm

Cool sand runs through my fingers and fills the back pocket of my jeans as I recline on the beach.  My head rests on my son’s chest- he’s not afraid to get sand in his hair, but I’d rather not.

Instead I want to get this beauty, this night, into all of me. I breathe in deeply, open heart and open eyes and open hands.  The clouds break up in patches, and he announces every new star he sees.

“What would you change about this night, mom?” he asks, and I cannot think of even one thing. 

The temperature is perfect, the wind is steady enough to deter all bugs, the sound of the water is the sound I will try to hear again when I close my eyes on my bed and search for calm beauty.

I can’t breath deeply enough to get the beauty IN, but I drink in what I can, and I savor the promise. 

“We shalll get in,” I hear Lewis say.  

Eldon is Lorraine’s pillow while Marcus is mine.

The breeze blows the sand out of his curls as he sits up. So does she, and they face the water together. The wind and the sheer beauty of the night overpower all our conversation. He rests his head on her shoulder as she hugs her knees, and togehter they stare out at the dark water.. What thoughts are going through her mind? And his? She responds to his snuggles with sisterly affection and they watch the waves break, shoulder to shoulder, head resting on curly head. 

The thought comes unbidden:  this sister’s relationship with her brother will outlast her relationship with me on this earth (assuming the normal ordering of things.)

The thought takes my breath away, and drives me to prayer: that they will lean on each other for years to come. I pray for this thing, for an extension of this moment, and the leaning, into the future I will not see.

Behind them I feel the sand running fast through my fingers. 

Marcus offers to bury me, but I say no, son. Not yet.

I bury my own feet a little, and I ponder my Maker and theirs.

I’m not afraid. 

“Look around at how luck we are to be alive right now,” Eliza sings in my head, but I know it’s not luck.  It’s gift, it’s all grace, and it’s passing away. Yet it’s being remade even now: these kids, this beach, my flesh with its wrinkles and spots. “Don’t worry, you’ll get more,” says N.D. Wilson

The heavens declare the glory of God and the stars declare our smallness. The wind and the sand proclaim times of cool resfreshing, and of changes to come.

What would I change about this night?
Change itself, I might have said a few years ago. 

But I am learning to let go, to trust the Lord of the wind and the waves. 

I am learning to lean.

--------

"Every last material creature on this globe will come to an end. If God has the authority to invent sperm, to invent eggs, to invent DNA; if He has the authority to choose me out of a near infinite number of possible human combinations and call me into existence out of nothing; if He has the authority to choose my parents, my race, my birthplace, my height, my intelligence, the size of my tonsils; if He has the authority to design my teeth from scratch, then He has the authority to choose my end. God has the authority to shape a soul with His voice, bind it to matter, and send it into history. And He has the authority to sever my soul from my body and call it to another part of the stage. He has the authority to reuse the matter from my flesh in daffodils. I’m not worried. I’ll get more."

N.D. Wilson, Notes from a Tilt-A-Whirl

Ten years

"Ten years. That's a long time to stare at her head and wonder."

Ten years ago today, we kissed her goodbye, commending her into the hands of God and the care of the surgeons at Cleveland Clinic:

For ten years, we have been free of seizures.
And today, this girl is a lovely young woman, thriving in life and in school, and recently proving that of all the family, she has the most grit and determination when being dragged behind a boat on a tube.

We call her the best hanger-oner.
With a smirk, she calls dad the best "flipper-offer."

Today we are giving deep, fervent thanks for the life and health of all of our children, and the miracle that is Aggie.

sitting on beaches

Old people sit quietly on beaches, and children play. Children have fun, while adults sit and watch and wish they were children again.  So I imagined, at least.

For many years, I have judged the “age” of a person, rather, their capacity for childish merriment, by the level of activity and excitement around water. 

When my husband and I were dating, we happened to be near the ocean during a rainstorm.  I was energized, delighted; I forced him to swim with me in the rain in the ocean.  It was a test of sorts. He passed.  (He later failed the dancing test, but I was so hooked at that point I did not care.)

The hours spent playing in the cool waves of Lake Michigan are some of my favorite experiences.   Years later, I returned with my children to that place, and played with them as they experienced this delight for the first time.  Oh the squealing, giggling!  The cool clear water over heads, in ears, in noses!  Sand in all parts!  Children clinging in fear and splashing in delight!  Adrenaline and roar of waves crashing!

 I jumped, dove, frolicked with them, new memories mixing with the old, sparkling and engulfing me.

I played hard, but then I had to sit down.  Rather, I wanted to sit down.  I wanted to still my body so I could better watch their happy little bodies. 

Gifts received by my own children are in a way more wonderful than any gift given directly to me.  I sat in the sun, let sand run through my fingers, and watched the gifts of God being given to my babies.   WOW, He actually did it AGAIN!  And He blessed THEM, my own sweet babies!

I sat, and I saw grace in the water, sun, air, waves.  Soft sand on my feet, squeals in my ears, joy overpowering, radiant grace pouring into all senses and all corners of my heart; Oh God, you are good to your children!

Children experience with their hands, their bodies, right in the midst of it.  Adults observe, we remember our times of bodily experience, and see it all over again, and more clearly, as it is poured on others.  This God who loves us, He knows how to give good gifts.

And then, grace upon grace, HIM, my dear husband right there in the water with our babies.  The one God brought back from Iraq, here with our children, experiencing and delighting.  He caught my eye, wondering with a smile, did I see that epic battle of boy vs. wave?  Did I see our superhero eating sand and laughing?  He smiled the smile he used in college to win my heart, and that smile is full of more memories and more love now.

Overpowering joy, grace received by all the senses, flooding heart and mind, making me stagger… making me need to sit down for a minute.

I do not sit because I am old and weary, not today.
Today, I am forced to sit because the crashing rush of grace has engulfed my being and knocked me over.

I need a second to catch my breath.

(originally posted 7/2011. This flavor of God's grace re-gifted again today in 2019.)

Disruptive Grace

Mind your prayers, people. They can be dangerous. 

God opened the door for Josh to finish his PHD just over a year ago, and He basically had to shove us through it.  After another round of painful goodbyes, and another exhausting move, we set our minds to make the best of our short stay in Kentucky.

Leaving old friends makes one hesitant to make new ones. I saw this in my children; I saw it in myself. 

“Lord, keep our hearts open in this place,” we prayed: a dangerous prayer. 

Thus we began a year of needs recognized, and then, provision.

Homeschooling was an enormous adjustment, flattening me with the needs of the children and my own need for support, patience, more time, everything!  “God, my kids need friends, and I need people who understand!”  

Last summer I attended a practicum, hoping to be better equipped to teach a few things at home, and God made it plain to me: “These are your people.” We jumped into Classical Conversations with both feet, and we were recived with open hearts. Our hearts opened in return, and we thank God that indeed, this homeschool community is “our people.”

At the same time, we attended the closest Lutheran church, slipping in and out of the pews quietly, just like normal people.  But open-hearted people sought us out, and drew us in. God’s people once again became our people.

We had no idea when we moved here, how God would meet our needs and fill our hearts. 

That “short stay” in Kentucky? It is yet another page in my life-planner that God has crumpled up and thrown in the trash. And I’m cheering him on. Josh was installed as pastor at Our Savior last weekend. We have purchased a house. Our hearts are open and our roots are sinking down in this place.

We are marvelling at the work of God,

and giving thanks

for his disruptive grace,

for the gifts He gives,

for the way He opens our hearts to want what He wills,

always more than we asked or imagined.

*The flowers in the picture are from installation day at the church, from the gardens of parishioners. 

It’s just like God to gather His people and make something beautiful.

Just Breathe

Just Breathe...

The Christian life is like breathing in 

(pulling into our souls the life-sustaining power of the Spirit)

 and breathing out 

(expending that life-giving power to others). 

The Christian life cannot function without both actions.

--Robert Benne

Awkward Honesty

When children force mama to keep it real....
(throwback post)

In our women's Bible study, we have been talking about how salvation "by grace alone" in Jesus radically changes everything. For example, knowing we are truly loved and saved by grace allows us finally to be truly honest with ourselves about our sin, to God and to others. We can admit we need help, and ask for it:

With that request for help comes and end to our playacting before the imagined audience of God and the people around us. We also receive relief from the intolerable pressure to demonstrate how much spiritual progress we have made and to show how spiritually mature we have become. (Grace Upon Grace by John Kleinig p. 39)

My children are so good at forcing me to put abstract theological ideas into practice.

This week, my daugther skipped over to me, excited to tell me about her day at school. First, English class:

"Mommy, at school today we read a sentence that said, 'The mommy was patient with her active child' and I said (snort), 'That's not my mommy!'"

"What do you mean by that!?" I protested. She giggled and went back to her painting. Painting. Mothers with no patience do not let their children paint, do they? Not to mention there were FIVE other children painting along with her at that very moment!
I pressed her a little bit, but she probably sensed my defensiveness. "What do you mean I am not patient?" She shrugged and smiled and continued painting.

Hm, did she tell her teacher that too? I wondered. As a litany of my own "good deeds" ran through my head, I thought about sharing them with her. I wanted to make her believe that I am a patient mommy, show her how many of the things we do every day would be impossible if I really had no patience whatsover! I even thought about lecturing her about how hard it is to be patient with little boys; a fact she ought to know, as she loses her temper with her brothers at least as often as I do!

But who would I be kidding? This is my daughter we're talking about here. The one that sees how I get up in the morning, bleary eyed and staggering to the coffee pot, kicking children out of the way as I go. She knows the wild-haired person I am after a day of time-outs and failed nap attempts.

I wish I was always patient, compassionate, and kind to my children, and I hate that I am not. I know that I cannot fool God on this point, but I still would really like to fool my children. I would like to hide my sin at least from them, to never let it hurt them or discourage them. I wish they did not have to know that even mommy is selfish and ugly, even mommy must come to God as a pathetic beggar, relying only on His grace.

Grace. That is what keeps me going. The grace of Christ, who takes my sin from me and nails it to the cross, who cleanses me, who gives me what I lack, who cares for me even though I sin; this grace is my only security, the solid foundation on which I stand even when my works are tried by fire and found wanting.

God reminded me of this grace, and helped me to speak, "You are right Lorraine, I do not have enough patience. I am glad we have Jesus who forgives us and helps us, aren't you?"

It felt very unnatural, to let my sin lay out in the open in front of my child, and to refrain from covering it again with my words. But hiding my sin would teach them to hide theirs, instead of exposing it to the light and receiving grace and healing from Jesus.

But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin. If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness. 1 John 1:7-9


originally posted 4/11
I added the giant pregnant wooden lady to this post because 1. She's awesome and you can see her at Bernheim forest outside Louisville and 2. Pregnant ladies with big bellies can't help but keep it real. She's a good model for all of us.

Kicking it in

When I ran track in high-school, middle-distance was my "specialty."  This was not my choice, but it was my lot, because I was not built to sprint, and I was too wimpy to train harder for long distance. So by default, the half mile became my race.

I was in terribly good shape at that time, and I remember running at nearly full speed for that entire half mile. I remember the muscle fatigue, the absolute exhaustion and burning lungs that seemed to persist through the whole race. I remember getting a little dizzy and feeling the temptation to slow down. I remember the rock that marked the spot where I was told to "kick it in," the last 150 yards of the race where I was supposed to draw on strength from who knows where and go even faster when what I really wanted to do was lay down on the soft grass.

The rock meant it's almost over!!!! and was a welcomed sight. Yet it also meant one last burst of energy, muscle pain everywhere, and becoming so tired my eyes no longer wanted to focus. The final efforts squeezed the absolute last drops of energy out of me, until finally, the finish line, the collapse, and the eventual catching of breath.

What made me think of this experience this week?  My evenings.  That last bit, between about 7pm and 830.  The end of dinner has become my new "rock," the moment of time that shouts "your're almost there!" and encourages me to pour out the last drops of energy for the last 100.  Minutes, that is.  Until I can collapse.

My list after dinner: kitchen cleaned, coffee ready for tomorrow, baths perhaps, 6 children in PJs, three in diapers, teeth brushed, clothes out for tomorrow, lunches packed, checking homework, buddies located, music on, closet doors closed, night lights on, "hug kiss and tucks," breaking up the last few fights, and then finally, quiet.

By the close of dinner, I am out of words, or at least I would like to be. I have kept pace with the kid chatter all day long and I just feel like there are no words left inside me at all. Yet as we go through our list, their words continue to bombard me.

"Mommy we forgot to do my word cards! Can you do them with me?"
"Marcus dumped water on the floor mommy!"
"Mommy where is my Curious George?"
"Mommy daddy's reading to Eldon, can you read to me?"
"Can we wrestle?"
"Mommy! He's watching me put my PJs on MAKE HIM STOP!"
"Can we go to the park?" No, it's dark out. "Can we go tomorrow?"
"Someone didn't flush the potty!"
"Can we watch a movie?" No. "OK then can we tomorrow?
"I can't open the toothpaste!"
"Can we paint?" No. "OK then can we tomorrow?  When?"
"Eldon bit me again Mommy!"
"Mommy when can we go to Michigan again?"
"Mommy look at this beautiful picture! Can we send it to grammy pammy right now?"
"Mommy can we listen to the story about the flower girl?"
"Mommy can you brush my hair? Button my PJs? Find my blanket? Kiss me, tuck me, tickle me?"

Inside I say to myself, "You can do it, just a little bit more, you're almost there, just a couple more things, the house will be quiet soon... kick it in kick it in kick it in!"

But it's not like track.  Yes, I am exhausted.  Yes, it would be more efficient and I would get to collapse sooner if I rushed through the last part of the night as quickly as possible.  But it is no longer just about getting a good time.

It's about finishing the race with kindness.  With grace.  Tucking them in and sharing their giggles, and saying "I love you" in a way that actually communicates "I love you" and not "Oh please, just stop talking now."  To me, this is about as natural as running with grace, or even worse, cheerleading.

God, give me strength for that last hour of the day!  Give strength to my muscles and to my heart, and teach me to finish the race of the day with grace!  I need to borrow all of it from You!



----------------------------------------
UPDATE:
I wrote this one 8 years ago- now, three of them are teens! My mother-in-law warned me long ago: "When you have teens, most of your parenting happens after 9pm. That's when they "come alive" and they want to TALK and share their lives with you, so you're going to need to learn to stay up a little later!"

She was right, people.

Some days, we go on walks at 10pm. Or we stay up late, sitting on couches,  talking about Big Things, and I try not to think about the coming of the next morning, or if I do, I comfort myself with the promise of extra coffee.

And some days, we get sucked into the Cosby show or some other entertainment, and they watch one more episode while I sneak off to bed at 9. "Tuck yourselves in, guys. I'm done." And they do.

"Kick it in, mama," I tell myself, not just for one evening but for these last years. Because I can see the finish line--we are beginning to look at colleges for our oldest-- and I want to finish strong.

*originally published on 3/27/11

Cook Adventure Blogs

Everyone, my boys LOVE nature.
When we started homeschool, I had this great image of us going on hikes with our nature notebooks, stopping to make careful observations, drawing, coloring, researching whatever little thing caught their interest.

It turns out, they LOVE observing, and even researching...
but coloring, drawing, documenting is TORTURE.

So, I started our nature blog instead. This is a digital record of our nature exploits, and it involves zero handwriting!  I think it's a good compromise, and I love having a record of our adventures!  It has spilled over into all kinds of animal studies- not just local Kentucky wildlife.

Check it out here:
Noticing Nature


We've also started a summer reading project: the Cook Book Nook.  We hope to use this space to share the fun things we are reading and try out a book-a-thon challenge.

Check it out here, and consider recommending a book for the kids!

C00KB00KN00K