relentless showing up

 A parsonage with high ceilings and polished wood in a tiny Wisconsin town, a home run by a mother who loves that small town, her church, the snow, and her husband.  She is skilled in making a house a home and her careful touches shine from every corner. Our guest room had a basket with clean towels, water bottles, and snacks; it was more warm and personal than any hotel room could have been.

And her children are everywhere! 

A tiny superman robe, booster seats for the car, job lists and burp rags and legos and early bedtimes… I inhabited this world for so many years, but we no longer live here. I joke with my son about his old superhero PJs and how I used to have to reattach his cape like it was my full time job. I pat his broad shoulders and look up at him; it’s even hard for me to believe this man-child once had a tiny boy body.

Those little kid days were so wonderful and sweet and relentless and utterly flattening. I watch my friend serve and love in her circle and then widen it out to include us, so gracefully; I want to tell her I think she’s a superhero but I'm not sure how to say it.

So I tell her yes,  I slept great and thanks so much for the coffee and sausage. And I lean my head on my big-girl's shoulder for a minute, before we say goodbye, and I know my other kids are wondering if I’m going to cry “like nana always does.”

She’s apologetic because she has to leave to run a child to a thing. Of course we would love to stay and chat for days, but her relentless job is calling and so is mine. 

Relentless: that’s what I remember about the younger years. Delightful moments, squeaky voices, and constant, relentless needs. And I remember how hard it was to keep showing up, to every day put hands and heart and back and voice into a job that was never done, that was never completed perfectly, walking on crunchy floors, trying to hard to see and catch little bits of beauty but just feeling so, so tired and so, so needed.

She just keeps showing up, and it’s not perfect, and she has to pray for strength and help so often that she wonders if she is nagging God or doing the right thing in learning how to lean on Him in prayer every five minutes.

And that’s family:  showing up, with the kids and the questions. Making a home.  And sometimes, down to your very body, BEING a home.

For a little while.

Until the seasons change, and showing up starts to look more like letting go; like handing over the keys, hugging goodbye, saying less and praying more.   And I have to pray for strength and help so often that I wonder if I am nagging God or doing the right thing in learning how to lean on Him in prayer every five minutes.

The growing pain-joys are relentless, and my eyes stream with grief-gratitude as I drive home.  

Father, keep showing up for us as the seasons change. May your presence and your grace be as relentless as our need for it. Amen.

living out the vision

the first thing you’ll notice is, the vision is too big to fit into a day. It uplifts and suffocates at the same time… what can this lofty vision have to do with math facts and reminding someone to wipe the kitchen counters for the millionth time?

start from the vision and break it down: 

if the vision is to point the children to Christ, to be the mom who pours out, 

(He breathes out and she breathes in and they are given life)

the first thing you’ll notice is that it starts with Him. 

The breathing-in is essential.

and for the littler jobs, when you were young and fewer people needed you so desperately,

it may have been sufficient to breathe deeply just once a day

but for the trenches of motherhood you will need air far more often

break down the day that is moved by the vision into hours, and highlight breathing time

mind renewal time

time to come in out of the wind and rest, even just for a moment, in what is true.

the next thing you’ll notice is that your hours are limited

the vision doesn’t fit all in one day, 

the service done for each child

the work God is doing in each child

doesn’t fit on a spreadsheet that contains days or weeks or years even

and you can’t always see what is happening even when you zoom way out.

So take your curriculum and your academic goals and pray for each child

and slot your priorities into the hours

but write this part in pencil, or on sticky notes

so you can easily move these (oh so important) agenda items to the next day 

when (not if) life and God and the ever-changing needs of the people

dictate other things for your precious hours

try not to take all this rearranging personally

(it’s for your good, too.)

 

what's the vision?

 (This poem is a spin off from another (better) poem called The Vision- watch the original, better version here. What follows is my attempt to personalize it in the context of my own vocation. Lines marked with ** are direct quotes from The Vision poem)

The Vision (rewrite, for motherhood)

So this lady messages me and says,

"What's the vision? What's the big idea?"** 

I open my chat and words come out like this… 

The Vision?

The vision is JESUS – passionately, imperfectly, desperately Jesus.

The vision is an army of women.

You see mamas in yoga pants? I see an army. And they are FREED from vanity.

They are free and yet they are slaves**

of the tiny and whiny and crying

laying down their rights and their precious little wrongs**

They work while it storms, plunging hands in dirty dishwater, ignoring the howls of the wind and world, serving and loving with eyes on JESUS.

They make their temporary homes, their blanket forts, with care, 

ready to be transplanted at a moment's notice

Hospitality flows inside, as they light candles and arrange flowers

chosen so as to remind of the garden to which they head, 

the light which spurs them on and calls them home.

The nests they make become fortresses, as God takes blankets and turns them into stone walls to keep out the howling winds of the world.

They raise armies under blankets with read-aloud stories of courage and faith and JESUS.

They walk with swollen bellies, heads up, proud to be living gardens of life

and bearing the scars from brushes with death, 

the wounds of taking the risks of love

in a broken world.

The flowers they raise are not tame;

they turn from soft beauty into soldiers, fortress-makers, light bringers

They see past the sulking, the rage tornado storms in the heart of the adolescent

they see the barely-lit ember of faith, smoldering

and they breathe on it

The shrapnel pierces.

play-dough gets stuck in the cracks and seams are torn.

They keep breathing life.

He breathes out and they breathe in**

 and all have eyes on Jesus.

With clear eyes and open hands

sowing seed recklessly

fighting for joy

sharpening arrows

preparing to launch them

They pry each other’s eyes open, straining glances past the rubble to the promised land

Shooting up defiant gratitude that flies past the dark clouds into heaven and is received gladly by their Maker.

They shun sloth and instead choose service, with heart and flesh and womb and hands

Bruises and stretch marks and wrinkles and heartaches are their battle wounds and they wear them proudly

They pour out and out, 

crawling empty to the altar where they are forgiven and filled 

where they grin quietly upwards** 

and hear the crowds chanting**

again and again**

ONWARD!

With blood and sweat and many tears, with sleepless nights and fruitless days, they pray as if it all depends on God and live as if it all depends on them.** 

When they have wiped the last mouth

and launched the last hope-bringer into the the wreckage of this world

they will proudly take their seats

smiling tired, matronly wisdom

commending the garden to Jesus 

Boldly resting in the presence of Jesus

Hopes, hearts, outcomes, 

bodies, breath, life, death, all in the hands of Jesus.

YES.

---

I type this out and then I lay down exhausted. 

This vision is far too big for a regular morning

when we slept in late and the house is a mess and I don’t want to sacrifice that last piece of bacon to an ungrateful child.

But maybe that’s the point.

The vision is too big because I don’t have it in me

If this is going to come to pass, 

it will be done by the strong, miraculous hand of God,

who finishes what he started in us.

I close my laptop,

but my small, shaking, empty hands stay open

under God’s open heaven

My feeble, whispered, faithless prayer invokes a thunderous, resounding, bone-shaking great 'Amen!' from countless angels, from heroes of the faith, from Christ himself.**

Amen.

Come Lord Jesus.**

No Mere Idea

I am not equipped for this-- for this month of marches to the cemetery. I do not have the words to soothe my children when grief and fear strikes in the night. I cannot explain “why,” not to them, and not to myself. I can only hold them close, and it doesn’t seem like enough.

Yes, daddy is with one of the sad families again. Ask me your question. Wait, never mind, don’t ask, because I don't know. Let's crawl under blankets together instead.Life in this broken world often seems like a war of ideas. And circumstances conspire, and speak loud words into our hearts, and we hear “God is not good. He doesn't care. He's not in control.”

We fight back, of course. We soak up God's Word; we breathe in His grace and promises.

A child sings his memory verse: “The Lord your God is with you wherever you go,” and I wonder if the words will inoculate him from all the attacks on his faith. It feels a little bit like feeding him a salad and hoping that it will keep him healthy for the rest of his life.

Our efforts would be futile if this were a mere war of ideas. But Jesus is not an idea, He’s a person.

This is the only reason I dare hope for my children, for myself.

We dare not hope in our righteousness, because we have seen it fail time and again. We dare not hope in our circumstances, or our intelligence, because these things are as fragile as our health. I cannot even guarantee that my arms will be there to embrace them in the night when the fears strike. I am not enough.

But Jesus is not an idea, He is a Person, and He is enough. I cannot be their Jesus, but with the help of God I can point them to Him. I carried each of my children to their Baptismal waters, and there, God adopted them, and gave them new life with Him. He nurtures that life through His Word and in His church. Parents and children alike are invited to come and drink and live; to seek and find and be found.

Christianity is not an idea. Christ is a Person, a God-man who has died and risen and overcome death and the grave. The promise is for us and our children.

Let us take the hands of our friends and our children who suffer, and let us go to together to meet Him in His Word and Sacraments. Let us go together to Him, who binds up the brokenhearted, who heals our wounds, and who renews our hope.

Christ holy vine, Christ living tree
be praise for this blessed mystery
that word and water thus revive
and join us to your tree of life.

(LBS 595)

originally posted 10/2014

My Weakness His Strength: The Heaviness of Motherhood

“I'm the Mom. I can't afford to be weak. 

I have so many responsibilities on my shoulders that if I am weak, 

well then...

everything collapses.”

-- Jenny, commenting on the first post in this series

How many of you relate to this pressure, this terrible pressure?

I know that pressure. I’m the mom, I can’t break down or everything will fall apart.
I have to be strong for their sakes. I have keep going, to hold this all together because if I don’t, then what? Sure, the stress is leaking out of the corner of my eyes and I’m counting the minutes until bedtime.
Sure I was just praying and crying in my room, but now I will wash my face and put on a smile while I make them lunch.

Oh, I know that pressure.
And I can’t tell you to shrug it off, either. I really wish I could. I wish I could tell  all of us that we can just take a break from being mom today, just ignore and neglect them, and it won’t really matter in the long run. I wish I could tell you that they are tough and they don’t really need mom as much as they think they do. I wish I could tell you to lighten up.

the weight of it!

But it’s true. Being a mother is a heavy job.
We can’t just set it down and run away for a little while, until we feel healthy enough to pick it up again.
We have to do it sick, depressed, grieving, doubting. We have to do it with wounds and questions and unmet needs of our own.

Children are just so NEEDY.

What happens in your house when mom is needy, too?

In my house, it goes one of two ways:

1. I hide it, or at least I attempt to hide it.
I pretend I am fine, and get things done in a goat-like manner, barreling on through till bedtime, and letting my words and my attitude injure my family left and right along the way. I hope that I will just sleep it off, and if I do, I just excuse the whole thing as if it were acceptable under the heading “mama just had a bad day.” And I hope that their injuries are minor enough that they will forget them just as quickly.

2. I talk about it.
I can tell my family what is going on in my body or in my heart (if I know!) and I can ask for help. I can apologize for the little injuries, the unkind words spoken out of pain or exhaustion. I can ask for their help and their prayers. Yes, even the little people.

Brutal honesty here: #2 is a new concept to me, and I won’t pretend I chose it over #1 every time.
It sounds so nice on paper, so humble and honorable and easy… until it is time to actually DO it. When I’m the weak one, the one with the need (that my pride still tells me I shouldn't have in the first place,) fessing up to those around me seems impossible. It seems like something that takes entirely more courage than I actually have.

But Jesus says, “Let the little children come,” and you are one of those children. He says, “Come to me, and I will give you rest,” and He knows how to give rest to weary mothers. We may not receive that vacation on the beach that we think we need, but He will give us rest, through His Word, and through other people. (Accepting that second one- that’s the challenge, isn't it? Wait, the first one is not so easy either.)

Grace frees us to ask Him for help, and then to accept that help, even when it comes through other people. He has not given us one single thing to bear that we must bear alone.

Are you weary today?

• Remember first, who you are in Christ. By grace you have been saved, and now, you are fully known and fully loved, even with the heaviness that you carry. Does the heaviness seem to inflame the sin and selfishness in your own heart? Bring that heart to Him, again, and hear Him welcome you.
• Second, remember who THEY are in Christ: those children you are loving and serving. Remember that God Himself has also committed to finish the work that He has begun in them. Yes, you are an important part of it, but the weight of it is on Him. He can use other hands and other means. His faithfulness is their hope, just as it is yours.
• Ask for help. Confess your sins and your need to God, and receive His grace through His Word and through the people around you. Let them see your need, so that they may help you with the gifts that God has given them.

Do you dare to admit it?

What happens in your house when mommy is needy?
Do you need to let someone see your need today?


Coming up next:
What do children learn when they see mom’s weakness?

originally posted on 7/10/12

how not to handle a dog fight

I’ve lost my temper with the kids twice so far today, and it’s not even 9am.

Yesterday, after a volatile round of bickering, I screamed them all to their rooms while I tried to cool off. Then I gathered them up again and gave them a speech something like this:

“Look at our dogs; you love both of them, right? Now I want you to imagine you just came up on them fighting; you see them wrestling, hear Skip yelp , and notice his ear is bleeding. Then you see Skip take a huge bite of Copper, then Copper smacks Skip across the room and there’s bleeding and whimpering… Imagine how you’d feel if you saw all that. It would be awful, right? Because you love both of them, right? And would it matter who started it? Not at all… it would just plain, hurt, both you and them.

That, kids, is how mom feels when you guys tear each other apart, either with your bodies or with your words. You might think it’s just you all who are involved; but every time you rip and scratch at each other, your hurt your mother too.”

But if you bite and devour one another, watch out that you are not consumed by one another. Galatians 5:15

“I am weary of watching this, you guys. I am frustrated, and I am angry, and I am… just, sad, about what I see happening in this family. Now I need silence so I can think and pray.”

Yes, I know I was laying it on thick. But I just don’t think I am going to make it, if this keeps on going as it is. God, help us!

---

Next day, it’s 9am and I’ve screamed at them twice, screaming boiling rage over their stupid, stupid little arguments and how they just refuse to bend to one another, refuse to let the littlest things GO for the sake of peace and quiet and their mother’s sanity, refuse to keep their bodies in check for 60 seconds while I go to the bathroom.

And my outpouring hits a relatively innocent bystander, and she starts crying.

We hug and I apologize.

I walk out the front door, tearful, telling them all I’m taking a walk.

--

This house is a training ground for me, too.

And often, a painful part of training is realizing what you can’t do. It’s failing, hard.

Praying, thinking, walking, avoiding eye contact with neighbors.

I consider the prayer I have learned to pray when facing other temptations, and how perhaps, before I scream next time, these words might be the lifeline I need, a mental grasping for the help of God when I’m up against that which I cannot handle on my own...

“Into your hands I commit my spirit. Free me from bondage that I may do Thy will. Place your yoke upon me and make my burden light.”

It feels epic when it’s time to turn around, when I must retrace my steps back to the house, back to the battleground, back to the place where I fail so often. I think, “He set his face towards Jerusalem,” and pray for his help to set my face towards my tiny, yet still impossible cross.

I discover they have done spontaneous, helpful things while I was on my cry-walk. I find the other one to whom my apology is owed. I cannot speak for the tears. Good thing he just needs a hug.

I gather them again, and when I can find my voice, I say, “Guys, remember how I talked about the dogs fighting yesterday and how your fights can be like that? Well… sometimes when I come on those situations I just start kicking both dogs, just to make it all stop. And that’s not OK, and I’m sorry.”

I receive hugs, quiet apologies, and even a soft comfy pillow that she says helps her when she is sad.

They kindly give me leave to finish my prayer/crying/writing in my room. And as I sit here, I realize I cannot wait out the emotions until I am ready to go back to the battle- that I will never be fully ready, never be capable in myself to manage it all with perfect love and wisdom.

God help me do what I am unable to do in myself!

Into your hands I commit my spirit. Free me from selfish impulse that I may do Thy will. Let Your love be the love with which I love these children. Amen.

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. 

Kiddo, Will You Pray for Me?

To be fair, mothers, I don’t think this is entirely our fault, this tendency to think we are the Ultimate Need Meeters for our families and children. Our job starts out this way.

As an expectant mother, my tiny child really is 100% dependent on me, and I am 100% required for his or her survival. The weight of it is on me, and there is nobody that can pick that job up for me, even for one minute, to give me a break.

when the "adult" costume isn't fooling anybody...

“Seriously, boys? Can’t we just have one car ride without screaming?” Glare, stomp, pout. So often I act as if trouble is an injustice to me, as if I deserve a day without boys fighting and dumping a box of Cheez-Its in the back of my car!

In this life we WILL have trouble! On paper, I expect it, but when it happens to me, I am still surprised.

Imagine something with me…

Imagine, with a faith-filled imagination, guided by the words of Scripture:

Imagine God, who is and was and ever shall be.

And us, His children, lovingly created by His hand.

Imagine yourself as a squalling infant, welcomed, fed, and cared-for, yet fighting against help and fresh clothing and a mother’s embrace. Imagine being so confused as to cry about the chill of the waters of Baptism, to fuss in response to the gift of eternal life.

Imagine yourself now, not much bigger (in spirit),

still breathing grace, still surrounded by His provision, His gifts.

Imagine your life, sustained and growing, as a branch on a vine.

Imagine our vinedresser is our Father, who loves us and cares for us as He has promised. Imagine He seeks only our good, our REAL good, the kind that has to do with eternal things and not just having a pleasant uninterrupted phone call.

Imagine we are still infants in many ways, so little in Christ that we have to be told what is good and bad, what is poison and what is blessing. Just like a two year old will fight gravity, and lose, so we fight to avoid falling down on the inside, because we like to pretend we are adults, like we can do it all by our OWN selves. Then something minor, like a broken lamp, sends us into fits, and our “adult” costume isn’t fooling anybody any more.

I rage and complain because it’s not fair! My time is much too important to be dealing with all this stupid little stuff! I have a RIGHT to not be inconvenienced!

Really, self, do you?

Does the universe OWE you a day without someone stepping in fresh raspberries and leaving footprints on other people’s stuff?

Do you dare storm before the throne of God and scream that you are entitled to a dry toilet seat, and water bottle without floaties?

In this world we will have trouble. Though trouble is not good, falling down on our faces can be good if it helps us remember who we are. He is the vine, we are the branches. We do not control the weather, or the traffic, or anything else that matters, really.  Yet, we remain in His hand, and nothing can take us from His care.

Father,

Help us to receive this day as a gift from Your loving hand. When it is pleasant, may we thank you for your grace. When we face frustration, may we look to you for patience. Sustain us in body and soul, for without you we can do nothing. In Jesus’ name, Amen.