Beautiful Rot (A guest post)

A warm welcome to a new friend, Naomi Marks, mother of six and seminarian wife at Ft. Wayne Theological Seminary.

I have a vision. This vision is of my husband and myself ministering together with our whole slew of children – praying together, worshipping together, and meeting the needs of the saints together. 

Where am I right now? Nursing a two-month-old, our first baby. 

So, the question is – how do we get from where we are to where we want to be? 

As I took a walk this evening and watched all the vibrant leaves fall to the ground and get trampled on and dry out, I was thinking that the one thing I know for sure it will take to get where we want to be is death. Yes, death – that nasty, evil, brutish enemy of ours, who has a way of snatching away life. Usually this is a bad thing, but there are some things that the Bible says are better off dying and the one I was specifically thinking about is self.

Self. The old man. The nature of Adam. The flesh. This is the thing we must set out to kill if we want to live a life that bears fruit. Why? Because “unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit” (John 12:24). I kind of feel like my husband and I are acting like the leaves this year, as they slowly detach from the tree and bury themselves into the ground.

What’s getting buried? Our pride. Our desire to not be embarrassed. Our time. Our energy. Our self-absorbed prayer life. Our quiet. Our solitude as a couple. “Ha!” you might yell, “good-bye leaves.” Yes, this is true; good-bye for now. Down they go, into the ground, covered with snow, seemingly never to be heard from. But we know that come springtime, they have fertilized the ground so much that new things grow out of them. Those grains of wheat – they were just planting themselves in order that lovely stalks might grow again.

We might no longer have candlelight dinners. We might not be able to sleep as many hours. We might not have extra time to play games and do what we like. We might not have the luxury of feeling like we know what we’re doing. We might have to spend hours and hours training and teaching and demonstrating again and again what it means to be a servant of God. We will probably feel overwhelmed at times, and frustrated, and exhausted. That’s because we’re dying. Our selves are planting themselves in the ground as we attempt to birth and raise other selves – the ones that are lovely, made in the image of Christ.

And what will grow? I hope it’s another generation. I hope it’s kids who will learn to add 1+1 and read Dr. Seuss and Shakespeare and write letters to the editor and vote against abortion and fill up churches and run for president and eventually have kids of their own, another round of sippy cups and Cheerios and math books. I hope it’s kids who will carry on the vision of their father and their grandfather of opening their hearts and homes and hands to people in need, giving freely of what they have to help others. Generation after generation who will study God’s Word, preach the law and the gospel, receive forgiveness of their sins, baptize THEIR babies, and give food and water to the poor and hungry of the world.

Sometimes as I sit and hold Jonah, I think about what he might turn into. As I sing to him, I pray “Lord, make this child strong and faithful.” As I bring him with me to take muffins to our older friend from church, I think to myself “see, Son, this is what we do. This is how we BE the gospel to the world.” I hope he catches on. I hope he sees through the Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed to know that the Hope of the World is living in our hearts. I hope the smiley faced pancakes show him the face of Jesus and his homemade overalls show him the covering Christ offers for his sins. I hope as I rock him and sing to him, he feels the hands and voice of Jesus. I hope my whispers of love are the echoes of the Holy Spirit's.

I will gladly trade my year-old title of “bride” for that of Mom, because I trust that sooner or later this death will bring forth a new title – “mother of the bride” and then “grandmother of the bride”. It’s that death that brings life.

So, goodbye old self. Bury yourself in leaves and dirt and yesterday’s Frito bag in the yard. I can’t wait to see what you’re going to turn into. 

When you come by my house, you might hear Skinnamarink and the state capitals and maybe occasional disciplining and the hum of the dishwasher. But I hope what you smell is rot – compost. And I hope, if you check back in 20 years you will hear Skinnamarink in my daughter’s house next door. 

Looking for home

Today's post was written by my dear friend, Katie Jo Otte.  I love her reflections about "home," and the ways it changes over the years. What comes to mind when you think of "Home?" How has it changed over the years?

Home

by Katie Jo Otte

It means so many different things to different people at different times in their lives.

      For about twenty years, home was a two story farmhouse in the midst of the most trees you will find in most of Central Illinois.  It was dirt and bugs, hay sweat and sunsets, crafts, dress up clothes, stuffed animals, and two loving parents who made themselves available to support whatever I set my stubborn mind to doing.  Home was two church families and knowing all the “neighbors” for miles around.  Home was a Methodist church full of neighbors, with a dove in the domed ceiling, sun shining through stained glass as my brother and I proudly carried the light in and out for the candles, gaining confidence singing with my choir buddies, and an old pipe organ that rang through the beautiful sanctuary and beyond.  It was a dimly lit but beautiful Lutheran church with “old ladies” who watched me grow and old men whose joy was contagious.  I did a lot of learning and growing, laughing and serving in two damp church basements that felt like home.  Home was also being involved in just about everything the community offered, many of which my parents helped facilitate; 4-H, Girl Scouts, LWML, church, choir, cantata, plus most non-athletic (and even some athletic) activities possible at the school.  School never really felt like home, but about 5^th grade, I found another home.  East Bay Camp, and later Girl Scout Camp Peairs, became homes, as well.  They were places I could test myself and push my boundaries, in atmospheres of support and perceived safety, despite risk. 

In high school, I found home in the choir room and on a beautiful wooden stage.  I found home driving in with “little brothers” at 6:00AM for Madrigal practice.  Home was a heavy, old, “wine and smoke” colored, velvet dress, two of my mentor altos wore for Madrigals before me.  For a while, I found home at a boyfriend’s house, where he and his grandparents made sure I was fed, despite my hesitancy to eat.  I found home at a Bible Church youth group, with people to listen and embrace me in my “existential angst.”  I found home strumming my guitar and asking deep questions of a youth pastor who always made time for us. 

I tried to return to my camp home, after high school, but there was no longer a place for me.  Home went South, to a sweet director with a Southern drawl, some good old country boys, and my first experience with (lots of) ticks.  Hot and sweaty, crawling with ticks, twisted ankle, fast convertible rides, plentiful deer, camper insults, camper triumphs, facing fears, pushing boundaries, all became my new home.  Those good old boys, along with the rest of the staff, became my family for the summer, and oh, what a summer it was.  One of those good old boys became the man who would define my “home” for the rest of our lives. 

            

         It took me a while to find home in college.  I found it at an old friend’s house, after he drove me out in the country, where the tightness in my chest relaxed, and I could breathe, again.  I found home in his family’s generously welcoming me, and feeding me, whenever I needed… and I still do.  I found home with an atheist roommate who listened to me read the Bible and struggle.  Eventually, I found home at Wittenberg Lutheran Center, as I had dreamed I would.  It took a new Vicar and his wife, who became my protectors, comforters, and confidants, as they did for all of us.  I found home, with them, then, as I do whenever I go back. 

My good old Indiana boy convinced me to make my home at a different camp, the next summer.  Our summer at Lakeview was rocky for me personally, and for our relationship.  I had some run ins with injuries, conflicts, and disappointment.  I also made some great friends and finally learned to ride a bike! My camp home migrated, again, after this summer, from trying something new, and because there wasn’t a place for me, anymore, once again.  It was a painful time of growth, for me.  Sometimes home is like that.  Camp Peairs was home for a summer of physical and emotional growth, getting Lifeguard certified and obtaining the title “Safety Luna” while gaining confidence playing and testing myself “in the wild”.

The next summer, Luke came home on leave to start building our home together.  We were married June 5, 2010 at the church we hoped we would be able to call home, some day.  We started putting down roots at White Creek, knowing they would have to hold long distance, if at all. 

Home in the military is where you make it.  In the best of times, home is where you can be together.  You make friends, you make connections, you find ways of being “you” wherever you are.  Home in the military meant driving out to New Jersey, the week after our wedding, with just what we could fit in an old Jetta with no air conditioning.  It meant staying in a hotel and doing my first married cooking in a microwave with a big Pyrex measuring cup we dug out of the back of the car.  We home searched, then, driving around, checking to make sure base housing and temporary lodging were really not options for us…  Looking at neighborhoods for the first time and wondering about the “for sale” signs and the commitments that would come with them.  Thankfully, it meant taking a break, getting to a “random” Lutheran church “accidentally” an hour early for the service, and meeting a sweet couple who had recently downsized…  and were looking for a family to rent their beautiful home at a price that was a steal for the area.  It meant long nights awake, alone, waiting for Luke to get off of 16+ hour shifts, so we could finally sleep together in our home.  I slowly got to know a bit of the neighborhood, timidly, as I had no vehicle, and had to walk wherever I explored, knowing Luke wouldn’t be home for hours.  We kept the house boiling in one of the hottest summers locals could remember and 50-55 degrees in an extra cold winter, with electric heat, and some of the highest electric bills I could imagine.  Home is finding family where you are.  We got involved in that little, old, Lutheran church, Rose of Sharon.  The organist, and her husband, our landlords, became our best friends.  We were mistaken for mother and daughter, multiple times, but we told people we were “soul sisters…” the truest term we could find to define our friendship, mentorship, relationship.  They welcomed us into their church, the choir, their Bible studies, and both of their homes.  We had a home there, for a while.

Before long, though, home meant hearing his voice or seeing his writing when I was in my original home back in Illinois, while student teaching and his deployment to Qatar.  It meant getting into a strange new normal in a place that had always been my normal.  I was home under my parents’ roof, but the head of my married household was halfway across the country, then halfway across the world.  It was lovely to be home, but it was a complicated balance for all of us.  I was back in my home churches, where they prayed for my husband with “those serving our country,” and I was so proud.  I melded right back into many of my community roles, almost as if I had never left...  I even went back to my home camp, East Bay.  It was good to be back, but so much of me changed when I became a wife.  Some of that home was better and more secure than ever, but oh, how I missed him. 

After deployment, we hoped home would be that big two story house we moved out of, when Luke deployed.  It was not to be.  Though the friendship remained, we had to find a new place to stay.  Home became an experience of base housing with friends we vaguely knew.  …and then knew better and better…  Some days we knew each other better than any of us wanted, but home remained with them.  We participated in parties more enjoyable than what we imagined we missed at college age (him in the military, already, me studying too hard and too conscientious to party, anyway).  We had campfires, community friends, my first roughing it camping trip, ballerina time, shared meals, lots of weed whacking, intense workouts, cat sitting, creative possession stacking, Christmas light hanging, and much more.  Again, home was a complicated balance, as two young married couples each tried to develop the dynamics of head of household and submission while sometimes stepping on each others’ toes, and still remaining friends.  Home also became a new church community, Holy Cross Lutheran, unlike any Missouri Synod church I had experienced.  Challenges and opportunities galore met us, there.  I was still dependent on Luke to drive me anywhere farther than the work I biked to over the summer.  We shared in helping with youth group, providing meals to the hungry, singing and doing sound for praise band, lots of drama and feelings, and some wonderful friendships.  Home at Holy Cross looked like Pastor’s family taking us in for Christmas and his wife providing me a personal retreat when Luke was TDY to Africa over our second anniversary.  It looked like support, even when my presence made waves.  It looked like a family taking us out for the most expensive meal I had ever had before Christmas Eve service, because they had military family and wanted to make us feel at home.  Home was also the sweet “senior members” I talked to about Hymns, who reminded me of my LWML ladies growing up. 

Home was the draw that helped Luke sign separation papers from the military.  There was a house, and a job, and family waiting back home in Indiana.  Home was full of promises, for Luke, and I committed to follow him.  This homecoming was not what we had hoped.  Things fell through, moved out of range, changed direction, when we showed up.  The physical home he had dreamed of, that was promised to us, was unavailable at the time.  Thankfully, his parents welcomed us into their spacious, woodsy home, which smelled of lavender laundry and wood smoke.  Home became a treacherous tightrope walk of living with his boss/father.  Though they had generous good intentions, it was all too much to balance and for too long.  Home was briefly a summer of lake living, where I got to kayak to work at camp, but outside stress and conflicts almost beat the life out of our marriage. 

A new home in this place meant new church membership.  We began attending the church in which we said our marriage vows, the church we always intended to come back to.  We met new family at St. John’s White Creek.  I finally met the Pastor’s wife I had read so much from, whose children’s names I had memorized, as I tried to learn their personalities from words on a screen.  She opened her home to me… to many women and families.  She taught through words and actions, with Grace.  We studied God’s word, talked about things we could not, elsewhere, cared for each other and each others’ children in the midst of the coffee and chaos of Bible study and Thursday mornings that often turned into Thursday afternoons…  I learned preschoolers are actually interesting.  She was one of the first to hear when our family was growing.  I got to experience chasing a toddler while pregnant with my first.  Though they are at another home, now, that parsonage and that family will always hold fond memories of one of the places I first brought Jimmy home.

About that dream we were waiting for…  the cozy farm house with the beautiful trees and inviting barn…  It was more than we bargained for.  We planned our first overnight visit for the day I took my first pregnancy test.  The home wasn’t ready to move in, but we wanted to anchor this memory in the home where we hoped to raise our children.  We were scared.  We were elated. It was 90+ degrees, the air conditioning did not work, we had no fans, and I was nauseous before the wood roach crawled across my leg.  At about 3 in the morning I convinced Luke we had to go back to his folks’ house.  After months of nausea, work, stress, and expense, for both the owners and ourselves, we moved January 2, 2014.  I was 5 months pregnant.  Remember those New Jersey electric bills?  They paled in comparison to our new winter bills. 

A property that has been unoccupied for over 20 years has more needs than an outsider can imagine.  More than that, a property full of multiple people’s dreams and memories holds more blessings and obligations than I can describe.  We had a 90+ year old man visit and cry telling me how he wished he could show his momma what we did with the place.   We had three sisters visit at different times and share their stories.  There were tears over memories of time spent at the kitchen table, just looking at and imagining where it was.  We heard from another brother and sister of their memories, as well.  Pride, joy, regret, hope…  life happened here for so many, in so many different ways.  Surprisingly, we all had so much in common, despite the changes that have happened in the physical building and property through the years.  We heard stories of God’s faithfulness, as parents prayed for returned health for a dying child (the 90+ year old about 80 years earlier), listened to children saying prayers, taught them to embrace family and hard work… It made the place even more dear to our hearts…  Another positive pregnancy test, another baby brought home, fed here, kept safe and loved, here, and this home will always hold a place in our hearts.  The tears, laughter, prayers, memories and lessons will always be a part of this house, but we are learning they, and we, cannot stay here. 

As I learned with camps, God is not limited by location.  Before this world had form, and long after these walls, these trees, this ground has passed away, He says, “I AM.” 

We are looking for a new Earthly home.  The path is unclear.  We have hit some road blocks, just as we were building up speed.  We pray God directs us and puts a “hard stop” in the way of anything not according to His will.  Sometimes answered prayer can be disappointing, in the moment.  We pray for continued trust His knowledge and goodness, which are not limited by time, space, finances, or human understanding.     

The Sheepfold (guest post)

The Sheepfold
-- Pastor Cook

I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me,   just as the Father knows me and I know the Father; and I lay down my life for the sheep.   And I have other sheep that are not of this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd. For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life that I may take it up again.  No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have authority to lay it down, and I have authority to take it up again. This charge I have received from my Father.”  John 10:14-18

This past Sunday the Church observed Good Shepherd Sunday. On this Sunday, once every year, we focus our attention on Christ our Shepherd and ourselves, his sheep. Because sheep were important livestock for mankind for thousands of years, the people of Jesus’ day knew a lot about sheep. Not many of us today have had experience with sheep, so let’s take a quick moment to educate ourselves about just one aspect of sheep – their need to belong to a sheepfold.

We learn the following from the website http://www.sheep101.info/201/behavior.html

Normal sheep behavior
“Changes in normal behavior can be an early sign of illness in sheep. The most obvious example of this relates to the sheep's most natural behavioral instinct, their flocking instinct. A sheep or lamb that is isolated from the rest of the flock is likely showing early signs of illness (unless it is lost). Even the last sheep through the gate should be suspected of not feeling well, especially if it is usually one of the first.”

When Jesus speaks about us as sheep, one of the things that he is teaching us is that we belong in community – we need to belong to a flock. Not belonging just in name, but in a real and meaningful way – through regular flesh and blood interaction. God has created us with a need to interact with other Christians. We need to be fellowshipping, praying, worshiping, and studying God’s Word together. When we don’t do those things, it is a sign of illness, just like it is for sheep. For sheep, if the illness is ignored, it could lead to death. For Christians, in a like manner, if the sickness is ignored, it can lead to spiritual death.

It is for this very reason that Jesus has come to be a Shepherd to his sheep. He desires that we all remain spiritually healthy by staying connected to him and to one another through the gifts he has given – his Word and Sacraments, his Church, and his People. Jesus laid down his own life so that we would not be separated eternally, from him, and from one another. As we listen to his voice he brings us into the sanctuary of the sheepfold. By his grace he allows us to gather together as the Body of Christ. Our attendance isn’t just something we “should do,” it is vital and necessary to our life together as Jesus’ little lambs. His voice calls to us all today, and it is our joy to listen!

--- Pastor Cook

God, gather us together,

increase in us faith toward you

and fervent love for each other.

Thank you for the gift of community.

moving tips for children / the miracle...

The craziest thing happened today. It was a mini-miracle in my own living room, during our family devotion time.  It almost made my heart stop. My son, with hands folded and head bowed, said in his prayer, “Thank you God for calling us here.”
..........
Read the rest, including tips on helping kids through a movie, over at Katie Luther!

9 things learned from the Big Move

It is now spring in the new place, and we are on the other side of the upheaval.

Join me over at Sisters of Katie Luther where I'm discussing some things God has been teaching us as He dragged/carried us through these past few months.  

Nine Lessons by Emily Cook

On Passive Love and the Blessing of Neediness

On Passive Love and the Blessing of Neediness

by Haleigh Morgan

I am watching the family interact with our new member. This member does nothing. Contributes nothing materially to the household. He does not mouse or guard. In fact, at the moment he is a material drain. We do for him. We feed him, wash him, hold him, pay for his needs. He literally does nothing ... Except receive the love we give.

That is a huge nothing. We do all this "work" and feel blessed by it. In fact we *are* blessed. It is more than a perception or a mere feeling. There is real blessing in getting to love. Not just to feel contented, affectionate emotions - to do things that are loving for another who simply receives them.

Does he feel like he is a burden to us? Does he worry that he is not productive or useful? Does he fret that all he does is take? Not at all. He is doing his part for us by simply receiving what we give.

Think about that. His gift to us, his "work" for us is just to receive. He loves us by receiving the love we would give. And we delight to give it and are blessed by the giving.

Important stuff to write when you don't have Important Stuff to Write

A guest post by Rebekah Curtis

I've read a number of books on writing, and somehow the one I liked least has one of the lessons that stuck with me most. The book is The Right To Write by Julia Cameron, and there isn't anything wrong with it, it's just not my style. But I thought the author had a useful perspective on publishing: who cares? If you like writing, write. Go out of your way to do it. 

I have been very blessed to have some of my writing published. But I have also written a whole bunch of things that have only been published on my home printer. Writing for your church is a low pressure way to contribute to the life of your congregation, and homes can also gain some great things from a writing family member.  Here are some of the ways I've gotten my write on in my regular life.

For church

1. Write a Christmas program. I stumbled into this because it was such a pain to try to fit our parish's kid-resources into a pre-fab program. It was easier to write around the kids we have than to try to makeshift and substitute. You can tailor to your congregation, both in terms of what they're able to do and which ideas they'll benefit from hearing more. Your pastor is your doctrinal reviewer; I always learn something from his comments and edits.

2. Write press releases or articles about things going on at your church for your local newspaper/media source.

3. If your church has a secretary, ask politely if she would like some of the church's stock letters updated. A lot of churches have been ker-chunking out the same cradle roll letter or fundraiser notification for the last 40 years, and sometimes they get a little mildewy. (But some are too funny to change, so use discretion. Our church's Dinner Auction letter is gold, and includes such formulations as: "Callers will be in contact to find out what your donation is by April 7. THIS DOES NOT MEAN YOU HAVE TO HAVE THE ITEM READY ON APRIL 7. NO!")

4. Write notes to shut-ins, college students, snowbirds, deployed members of the military or people in the congregation who are working away from home. Sometimes I think this sounds trite until somebody sends a note to me and I remember again how nice it is to get one. This also helps if you're an awkward person and better on paper than in conversation.

5. Write silly songs* for Rally Day, the church picnic, the last day of school or Sunday school, your pastor's ordination anniversary, and for something to do that isn't unloading the dishwasher. Add a ukulele, and you can live in a house of squalor and beautiful homemade music indefinitely.

For home

1. Use a dry erase maker to write very menacing notes about basic courtesies on the bathroom mirror.

2. Make memorable events in your life into a story or poem. If you're a lot less lazy than I am, you could even have it printed up at Walgreen's or something and make a historical document out of it. Make sure you pick something significant, like the time the kids caught a leech in a creek and you had to treat it like a cherished family pet for four days.

3. Write a Christmas letter people will like reading, or one you like writing.

4. More songs, more ukulele. I'm pretty sure if you write songs for kids, you don't have to do puzzles with them EVER.

5. Blogging, duh. Our kids love to gather round ye olde family blog and reminisce about the months of yore.

6. Write down the family stories from your grandmas and grandpas. Ask them to edit your drafts, and do your best to preserve their voice.

7. Teach the kids in your life to write. I love it that when my kids have writing assignments for any class, I feel like I am really able to help them think about and improve their work. Every grownup has to write sometimes, and the practices you show little writerlings along the way will shape them as writers in whatever writing work life gives them. Help a little poet with his meter; help a narrator never use the words "awesome" or "amazing"; help a reporter economize.

*There is also hymnwriting. I think it's best to wait to be asked for the use of one of your hymns so as to avoid becoming That Hymnwriter. There are several good hymns out there, so demand isn't huge, plus it's really hard to tell if your own hymn is good.

Writers gotta write. Who better to write for than the people you love most?

Rebekah Curtis and her sister Rose Adle are co-authors of LadyLike, a collection of essays from Concordia Publishing House.

Book link: 

https://www.cph.org/p-28440-ladylike-living-biblically.aspx

Social media:

https://www.facebook.com/LadyLikings

https://www.pinterest.com/ladylikings

http://ladylikings.blogspot.com/

Haitus (guest post)

Warmest welcome to my sister Amy Orban. Today she writes about writing (and life, of course.)

Haitus by Amy Orban

I haven’t written much lately.

You see, I decided to take a writing hiatus this summer.

I started school again in the Fall of 2013. Now, by started, I mean tackled ferociously, I mean attacked head-on like a starving drooling lion ripping apart a hearty wildebeest. Adrenaline, excitement, pure joy, and the hunger that only a college student can have pushed me through sleep-deprived days and nights. I devoured the nourishment of theological musing to my heart’s delight.

Friends, it was pure joy, like jumping into the shocking and brilliant cold of Lake Michigan. Like perpetually being startled by the intense smell which accompanies the rain in the summer. Like that first kiss, like that first time you saw two lines on the pregnancy test. Like when you were a child spinning in the merry go round at the playground and realized it was going too fast and you were about to fly off and get a face-full of woodchips.  Most of the year was like standing under a great waterfall, getting pounded by its weight, just trying to grab and keep as many droplets as I could.  

By late Spring, I was ready for a nap. A summer-long nap. A hiatus. I couldn’t squeeze anymore creativity out of myself, because I was exhausted. Not just a break from the work, because work is not really work when you are madly in love with it.

A break from myself.

Dearest writers, do you ever need a break from yourself?

When I write, I have to draw out of a deep well. This well is an elusive place inside of me, a place that at once bubbles over with gifts and yet has cost for this writer. Before you judge me as an intellectual martyr, whining over the pathetic woes of being so “deep”….well, that assessment would be somewhat true; but nevertheless, please read on.

This well somehow captures and keeps those things that I see, the sadness and beauty and grace, the pictures I capture because I know I have to explore them later.  It is the storehouse for all of the times when life is so beautiful that I get goose bumps and have to leave the room to cry and gather myself. It is also the storehouse for my alcoholism, for the distorted perceptions I can have, for the heavy weight of life and depression and the way I would still like to escape the feeling of feelings.  These things are all mingled together in the well…it seems I cannot have the beauty without the weight of sadness, nor the grace without the lurking ghost of insanity.

The well is the thing in me which holds onto that smile on my little boy’s face, so I can slow down and stare into it later. It is that place inside of me which sprung forth tears this summer when I hugged my sister after our family vacation together, and was, in one hug, flattened by the reality that mom and dad are getting older, that our kids are growing up, that we live in different states and that time is like sand running through our fingers.

There is beauty, delight, and profound wonder in this well…..but frankly, I cannot live there perpetually. It is exhausting to live in the place of constant deep feelings, reflection, and examination. Feeling feelings sucks the life out of me, and gives me life at the same time. What I really wanted this summer was just some time to disconnect from myself, from the depth and the seriousness of life. Maybe I just wanted to be shallow for a little while. Is that so bad?

I don’t think so.

Like children, we have seasons for exploring, for wrestling, for growing and examining. And we have seasons of just being. I am just being right now, but even in the being I am storing up gems for later. Sometimes I am afraid that I will lose them if I leave them in the well for too long, but the truth is that the best ones will stay there forever, waiting for me to travel the writing journey with them.  (For example, that farewell  hug from my sister was in June, and has been living down in the well, crying out to me like a gift begging to be unwrapped, ever since).

I read over what I have written so far, and I know without a doubt I sound like a fruit cup to some, but I also know I speak the heart language of others. I am writing today, only because I told myself that I would not write again until it came from a natural spring rather than from a bone-dry desert as I found myself at the start of summer. The spring is beginning to well up, and slowly I will start to draw from the well again.

I am always befuddled when people compliment my writing. I feel like this well in me, this place where it all comes from….it was something that just came with me when I entered the world, just this thing attached to me.  I have never been without it.

So in this sense, writing is much less something that I do, than it seems to be something that just happens to me. I am nothing more than a cup that someone set out on the back porch, and I am collecting precious droplets of water whenever it rains. My hope is always simply that as I filter the water of words through my own channels, they will come out sweetly refreshing to anyone who reads them.

Or perhaps I will just be viewed as a raving lunatic, which, after all, sometimes has more appeal in terms of expectations than being called a brilliant writer.

Law & Gospel in the Home

A warm welcome to today's guest blogger: Haleigh Morgan! 
I encourage all who are facing the difficult task of teaching children "right from wrong" well also showering them with the grace of God to read the article below.

-- Emily

I was recently asked by an online friend to chime in on the question of Law and Gospel within the context of the home. That is, how might we parents approach the task of parenting, knowing when we are to give our children Law and when we are to give them Gospel? 

Let me state upfront that I consider myself supremely unqualified to instruct others on just about anything, most especially on the monumental calling of being a parent. I can only speak from my own experience and what I know to be true from scripture and from our Confessions. As a sister in Christ, I can offer mutual conversation and consolation of the gospel. Beyond that, the reader may be cautioned to have loads of salt ready to go (with which to take anything written below.) ;)

In the question of law and gospel and how to parent in these terms are suggested a few additional ideas. First, we constantly run the risk of erring too much on the side of one or the other. If we are too focused on law, we become despotic legalists or “pietists,” thinking that if our Milly or Norbert could be taught to behave just so and say and do all the right things, then all will be right. The other side of this coin is antinomianism. When we err on the side of little or even no law, we run the risk of raising hedonistic, selfish tyrants whom not even we like being around. No loving parent knowingly and deliberately takes either of these two paths. Thus our conundrum. How do we, parents who are presumably very concerned that we fulfill our duties to God, to our children, to society, go about knowing which is called for in any given situation? If we choose wrongly at some time, will we forever muck things up, potentially scarring our child for life? These are questions that lurk in the back of our minds, keep us up at night, and make us second guess ourselves. Before we go any further, let me say, “Peace. God chose to entrust these children to you for a reason. He has equipped you to raise them, though you will most certainly not do so perfectly. Your own Father, who never fails, is working to love your children through you. He is their Father, too.” 

Ok. Now back to our regularly scheduled program.

I would like to begin any discussion of parenting within the context of Christian vocation. We are told in the Small Catechism that we are to examine ourselves in light of the Ten Commandments and of other scripture that outlines the duties attendant to the various estates established by God. These are comprehended in the 2^nd table. These commandments establish how God would have us to fear and love Him in how we interact with our neighbors. (Luther’s explanation of each commandment after the 1^st begins, “We are to fear and love God that we may…”) We are also told that love is the fulfillment of the Law. Thus, these commandments also outline how we love our neighbors and how God loves them through us.

The fourth commandment, in particular, relates to all rightful worldly authority, beginning with parents and radiating out from there to the civil realm and the Church. In the Large Catechism, we are taught that God holds all authority. He entrusts portions of that authority to the various estates so that people called to administer them may carry out their duties legitimately. The Church has the Office of the Keys – authority to bind or loose sins. Magistrates have authority to make civil laws and compel citizens to obey. But, “all (earthly) authority flows and is born from the authority of parents” (LC, 4). Civil fathers, “masters” (employers), and even spiritual fathers derive their authority and honor from the office given to parents.

What does all this talk of the 4^th commandment, which speaks most directly to children of their duty toward their parents, have to do with a parent’s duty to his/her children? No vocation exists in a vacuum. Each is a diad. Governments are not governments without the governed. Citizens are not citizens in the absence of a country. A husband is not a husband without a wife; nor is a wife a wife without a husband. A pastor has hearers, and hearers have a pastor. So it is with children. All children, by nature, are born of a father and mother. There is no child ever anywhere (except Jesus) who didn’t have both an earthly mother and father. And, every mother and every father is a parent by virtue of the fact that they have received a child. So, when the 4^th commandment addresses children and their duties, it also suggests something to parents. The command to honor our father and our mother enjoins all people to respect those placed over us in authority even as it enjoins those exercising authority to do so for the benefit and betterment of those placed underneath them.

So, what are the duties that a parent owes to her children? When is it time to lay down the law and when is it time to give them grace? Parents are first and foremost commanded to bring children up in the fear and admonition of the Lord. That is, we are aware that any authority we have as parents is not really ours but is God’s authority, and our very first responsibility as parents is to bring them to God. It is not only our rules in our home that we must train them to obey. “He does not assign this honor to [us], that is power and authority to govern, so [we] can have [ourselves] worshipped.” We are to provide physically for our children, but most importantly we are to “train them to honor and praise God.” This is not something that we may do or might do but must do. It is “not left to [our] pleasure and arbitrary will” but is “God’s strict command and order, to whom [we] must give account for it” (LC, 4). We also know that none of us can even begin to keep this 1^st command (to have no other God, to fear, love, and trust in Him above all things) without first being regenerated and reborn of God. How does such rebirth happen for us, for our children, or for anyone? We are saved by grace through faith. How does faith come? Faith comes by hearing and hearing through the Word of Christ. Where and how do we receive this Word of Christ? We receive it through the proclaimed Word and through the Word combined with water and bread and wine. We must make sure that our children receive this, too. If we do nothing else as parents, this we must do. Bring them to the font. Bring them to the Word.

Give them Jesus.

Give them Jesus!

We must also train them to honor and respect us as God’s representatives to them. Since children are commanded to “honor their father and mother” we are simply not at liberty to allow them to do otherwise. God has not given us the authority to set aside this commandment any more than He has given us the authority to set aside the 1^st, 5^th or 6^th or any of the others. Our will and word are entirely subordinate to God’s. “For if God’s Word and will are in force and being accomplished, nothing shall be valued higher than the will and word of parents, as long as that, too, is subordinated to obedience toward God and is not opposed to the preceding commandments” (LC, 4). So far the hierarchy is established as: 1.) God, 2.) Parents.

Third, we must train them also to function in civil society. That is, we must equip them to be useful, to be able to provide for their own children someday, and to have the skills and manners that contribute to a peaceful and orderly community. To accomplish this duty, we typically have to establish rules and routines for the household – expectations for work/chores, etiquette, lessons, study, practice, etc. – and both model and enforce these expectations. The family is a microcosm of the world. Children learn how to be a part of the greater community by first learning how to live in the community of the family.

So far this sounds very law heavy. Parents must DO. Children must DO. But, where is the grace? I am asking this question as loudly as you surely are. Here, I try to remember that every vocation is at its heart a picture of how God relates to us. Yet, it is more than just an illustration. It is real and material. God works among us through the estates (the vocations) He has established.

God’s work in the world is not simply an intangible, subjective, spiritual thing. It is very material. Remember, God is a God of means. He uses material means to accomplish His work among us so that we have objective assurance and can receive His work substantially, really, and truly – both physically and spiritually – because we are not purely spiritual creatures. We are material creatures with a rational soul. So, He works among us in a material way. God is hidden in vocation just as surely as He is hidden in the Means of Grace. This is not to say that parenthood, marriage, and citizenship are Sacraments in the strict sense. But we may safely say that they are “sacramental” and mysterious. Paul tells us that marriage is a mystery and that in speaking of marriage he is really speaking of Christ and the Church. Christ is hidden in marriage (Eph. 5). God the Father is hidden in the vocation of parenting. He provides for His children and brings them to Himself through parents. Parents bring children to the font and the rail and the assembly; they feed, and clothe them, and they train them up in the way that they should go. The earthly father doesn’t just symbolize something about God. But, in actuality, God is the real father. Christ is the real husband. The Church is the real wife and mother. Our earthly vocations are dim images of the real thing going on with God (paraphrased from Gene Veith, Interview on Issues Etc.4/16/12 #1and #2).

God doesn’t only provide 1^st article gifts through us parents. He also has enabled us to participate in the giving of forgiveness and absolution (2^nd and 3^rd article gifts) – grace at its sweetest. It goes without saying that we participate in this not as primary actors. Faith, forgiveness of sins, these do not originate from us nor take their efficacy from us. But, God can and does use parents as agents of grace.

How does this grace look in the family? First, we must try to remember that if our child is already heartbroken and repentant over something, it does him no additional good to be given law. We don’t need to stand over him and remind him of the rule he has broken or the disappointment he has caused. He is already contrite. The Law has done its work. However, if he is being head-strong and recalcitrant, then law is what he gets – first God’s, then ours. 

Is this the face of contrition?

Second, we must try to distinguish between matters of immaturity and matters of genuine disobedience. Sometimes this can be pretty tricky. How do we know whether our child is willfully disobeying a command he could obey or if he is simply not understanding or is not yet mature enough to obey in that particular command? If we are certain that the child knows what is expected and has demonstrated that he can obey what he has been given to do, then willfully failing to do so is a matter of obedience. If he does not understand, does not have the skill or maturity to obey, then it would be cruel to respond with more law. Mercy is called for. 

Third, we also try to be very honest with ourselves about whether we have done our job of teaching and leading prior to resorting to punishment. Discipline sometimes requires punishment, but punishment is not always discipline. If punishment does not teach, it is not discipline. It is just revenge. It is easy to forget that something that may be terribly obvious to us and a matter of common sense may not be to a new, little person. Children are our disciples in that we lead and teach them what they need to know as they grow up. We must first give them the gift of loving instruction and nurture. This is discipline. If the child obstinately refuses the instruction, then it may be time to use punishment to redirect their heart and their actions back to the better course.

But, most importantly, we practice absolution. Parents and children alike must know that even when we royally muck things up, confession and contrition always receive forgiveness, no matter what. And the matter is done. Even if we know for a fact that tomorrow we will likely go through the whole thing again. We know that we can speak the comfort of the gospel to our brothers and sisters in Christ. This is the mutual consolation that Luther talks about. Our children are our smallest brothers and sisters in Christ. They need to receive our forgiveness freely, and they need us to remind them of the forgiveness that is theirs in Christ.

Ultimately, when in doubt, we must try to remember Paul’s instruction. “We who are strong have an obligation to bear with the failings of the weak, and not to please ourselves. Let each of us please his neighbor for his good, to build him up.  For Christ did not please himself, but as it is written, ‘The reproaches of those who reproached you fell on me.’” (Romans 15:1-3, ESV) Diligently teach; graciously give. Bear with our children’s weakness and build them up. Let all that you do be done in love. (1 Cor. 16:14)

For further reading, if you are interested, Rolf Preus has written a fabulous post featured on Steadfast Lutherans titled “Steadfast Dads — Discipline”.

Father, use our hands to bless your children, our children.  Amen.

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A country mama: What it's like

This is my home:

Isn't it beautiful?

You can see the church and school, literally across the back yard.

My dear friend (who also happens to be the first grade teacher) lives in the white house.

That's our house at the bottom.

What's great about this picture is that you can't see most of the kid stuff in the yard- 

It's on the other side of the house!

What's it like to be a mama of six out here in the sticks?

Check out my post today at Loving Our Journey!

Guest Post: Weak, Loved, and Healing

Meet Angie, my timid writer friend.

I hope you enjoy her first post!
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Weak, Loved, and Healing

by Angie Durnil

I don’t always take the opportunity to read as much as I did before my children came along.  However, in the last year, I have read more books than in the past 5 years put together.  Why you ask?  I was searching for answers, so I made time for myself to read.

I work full time.  I am a full time mom.  Approximately 50% of the time, I am solely responsible for our household.  My husband travels, sometimes without much notice and usually is gone for a week at a time.  This leaves me in charge of the girls and all of their activities, homework, the household, the finances, the animals, the yard work, etc.  You get the picture.  Now, I am not saying that I do any of this particularly well, especially the cooking, but it does get done.  Ok, most of it anyway.

Crumbling

In this last year or so, I had to make decisions when our youngest daughter kept getting sick and the doctor’s didn’t know why.  I worked the finances between expense checks and pay checks and paid things on time.  I was doing all kinds of things around me, except for taking time for me.  I wasn’t strong in advocating for myself and taking care of myself.  In fact, I was quite weak and started to crumble.  I was only fooling myself into thinking I was strong.  I didn’t take care of my needs, my feelings, my health – mentally or physically.  My migraines were getting worse and my blood pressure kept going up.

It was a tough year on top of all the other things already described.  I found myself one day, very depressed.  Just sitting there… in this pit… this hole… this mire of pity and loneliness, sadness,  contempt, and rage,  even though there were family and friends around me offering to help if I needed it.  I found myself wondering, How did I get this far in this hole?  How did it get this bad?  What can I do to get out of this place?  I had bouts of depression before, but nothing this severe.

What to do?

I was desperate for answers.  I had convinced myself that I was praying ALL wrong; that I was saying the wrong words, imposing my will on His and He wasn’t hearing me.  I would pray at night for hours in lieu of sleep, trying to get the right words out, only to fall in a heap of tears and desperation when I was sure I was failing at that too.  

I reached out for help, finally.  I was told to think about all the things I was doing and saying.  I wasn’t praying wrong, not really, I just wasn’t trusting God with the burdens I was carrying.  I was sure that I could do it better; after all, I was strong enough to do these other things.  If I could just get him to do this, and her to do that… I knew the answers, right?  Wrong!!!  I was already praying for all of the things going on around me, but I realized, I wasn’t praying for me.  I wanted everyone else to stop what they were doing wrong and that’s what I prayed for.  Those things overwhelmed me, and I so wanted and needed to be out this pit, but I wasn’t praying for it.  I was praying for the things around me to stop; or that I could change it; or that He would just tell me what to do; because I needed to DO something!

The very first book I read showed me the errors in my thinking.  I don’t need to DO anything, other than pray and trust that the Lord will prevail.  And He always does.  I don’t need to be strong for me.  I need to be weak.  I need to be like a beggar in my prayers.  I need to wholly trust that God will guide me, that He will put the lamp to my feet and guide my path.  I need to be patient and pray unceasingly.  And it is ok to be weak, because the Lord is strong just as he told Paul in 2 Corinthians 12:9 “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”  He will be my strength for me!  He hears my cries for mercy and He is near!

Weak, Loved, and Healing

 God loves me, wholly and completely.  He sent His Son to die for my sins!  He loves me even though I am weak and impatient.   I continue to pray and some things are better.  Some things haven’t changed.   My spirit is slowly lifting and I can feel the warmth of the sunshine again surround me like a warm blanket in the middle of winter.

 Although I cannot say my journey of reading and making some time for myself has cured me of my depression, it has helped me, along with prayer, medication and reaching out to others.  After all, now I know that it is ok to be WEAK in the eyes of God, because He LOVES me.

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Take a minute to encourage my dear friend with a comment, 

would you please?

Angie,
It is such a joy to see God's work in you!
May He wrap you in the warm comfort of His solid love for you.
Emily