I am losing

I am losing.

These three words came out of my mouth the other day. And it surprised me how much they sum up my state of heart when it comes to being the only spiritual leader in my family.

On any economy, I am pretty much scraping the barrel, most days, if the currency is the bpm of spiritual life among my family members.

If I listen to the demand of Christian parenting gurus out there, then I am absolutely not living up to the “supposed to”’s as a mom. If I allow those who subscribe to modern culture to frame up what Christianity is supposed to look like, then I am the biggest loser.

When was the last time we prayed over a meal? When was the last family devotional time? When was the last time my kids sat in church two Sundays in a row? And when was the last time I fit into the mold of a Christ-centered marriage?

Years and years.

A lot of folks leave the church with the greatest reason being undue guilt and shame that guise as “good Christianity”.

But if that means that a self-help, checklist approach to being a Christian is valid, then I think the cross is buried in pragmatism with a tightening thread of plastic.

I drove to church today, alone, thinking I am the worst. I lost. I set myself up for this brilliant life back when I thought Christianity was all about knowing. And I tried with all my strength to pump my knowing into my little children.

But Christianity is nothing if it’s only about belief. Christianity is so much more than believing and saying a word. It’s about falling in love. It’s about being so compelled by Love, that nobody can stop you from meeting Love on Sunday—not the children who you love nearly as much nor the marriage that is growing more and more in grace than any self-help guru would believe.

I AM losing if I believe my kids’ Love of Christ is really about me. I am the biggest loser if I think forcing belief or demanding respect is what true Christianity calls for.

But I am not lost.
I am found.
I am glad I went to church today. And I am thankful that believing is so small a part in this journey—because sometimes I can’t even think straight, and that’s when Love takes over and my heart beats without my permission. And I release all my losing to the One Who’s already won. 

A Prayer, Mama

Today, I watch the snow fall in heavy descent. And while the earth is blanketed in white, my thoughts are pressing into the dark corners of my mind. My heart curls its fists as I realize the reason for the additional peace of a snow day—the fact that this day is void of the niggle of stress that comes with this mom sending her kids into American classrooms. Every school day, my lungs function a little less than 💯 until my babies gather at home again.

This is true. Some might think I am dramatic. I can’t help that it’s a true “confession” of me. And I don’t think I am alone.

This quiet morning, with my children sleeping soundly in their beds, I chose to open my Bible instead of entertain an internal debate spurred on by the cultural norm of idolizing opinion. Mine being first.🙄

And the only reprieve I find from my turmoil is in one beloved cry that comforts and calms and preserves my energy and words for a timely use in some future…conversation…ballot..heart to heart.

And that cry, one word:

✨Mercy✨

This word has been a constant in my vocabulary lately.

A constant prayer on Sunday—

Lord, have mercy.☦️

And in that Mercy, I find the only peace and eternal hope in the Love of God.
Because, Mercy is “the compassionate, steadfast love of God on sinners”. If the only supplication from my heart is “Lord, have mercy” then I call upon Love and Love covers a multitude of sins. Love covers me, my flaws, and my worries.

And I must admit, I forget the power of laying my heart prostrate in a cry of Mercy when my lungs are functioning a little less than 💯.

But now, with full breathing in the peace of my nest being full, my soul cries Mercy for those mamas out there facing the next 8 hours of shallow breathing.

Lord, have mercy. 🙏 (while it’s easy to initiate that cultural norm and debate in the comments, I ask that you refrain, and pray with me—for mercy and abundant Life for all).❤️

Humility, Love, and Pre-Teens

I am in the thick of teaching my youngest about what it really means to Love sacrificially. A big idea for an eleven year old. But, as I hear about her encounters at school, the societal pressures of a whole student body of pre-teens, and the acceptance rate according to your appearance and your “in” factor– I see a danger zone of misconceptions of what it truly means to Love each other (and Love is the Word of God. True Love is really not about an iota of materialism or fuzzy feelings wrapped up in our own desires).

Our world is so…transactional. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a name brand for acceptance, an opinion for a label, kindness for kindness. I admit, I rely so heavily on reciprocity in the bounds of my relationships, that my feelings get hurt often by the ones I love most. Yet, hurt feelings are usually hurt pride…and if there is one thing I’ve learned over the past two years of diving deeper in my faith, it’s that there really is no room for pride. True Love is grounded in humility.

The sacrifice of Love is true humility. Sacrifice means giving up ourselves for someone else AND their benefit…just as Christ gave Himself for us. If we truly Love, then there is no self-benefit motivating that sacrifice. If we worry about what we get from the sacrifice, then that’s not really a sacrifice, but an inconvenient means to an end.

If I’m not careful, I find myself caught up in leaning more toward my daughter being happy than learning humility. I teach her on Sundays about worshipping the God of the Universe, but then I minimize Him throughout our week, allowing her “typical pre-teen ideas” to guide her in how she views those humans created with as much care as He created her.

God isn’t just filling me and my loved ones, but every single ounce of His creation. All things. Sacrificial Love has nothing to do with my perspective, my mental reasoning, and my position in society. Same for my daughter. Love is about pouring ourselves out for others for THEIR own benefit. Yet, Christ’s grace abounds, bestowing the benefit of filling us with Himself even so. And the only thing my mental knowledge is good for is this: to make me all the more humbled. I hope my daughter learns it quicker than I do!

Letting Go in the End

I am living these words right now…not in the same circumstance, of course…but in the same role as a mama, none-the-less. While I may have thought motherhood was a journey of keeping my children safe and secure, motherhood is more of a journey toward letting go. And in this moment of my son’s first week away at a new university, I’ve finally realized my usual posture of clutching and conforming and controlling is well past its expiration.

I am letting go. A counterintuitive act if I allow fear to call the shots.

I finally realized it the moment I found myself frantically looking up all the life-giving ways he could connect on campus and then worrying about him not seeking them out. Yep, this was me the week we moved him in.

I couldn’t help my initial response, because that’s who I’ve always been–making the most out of opportunities, especially when my kids are involved. But really, even before that. Back in my college experience. life was chock full of opportunities taken with vigor.

Uh… Yeah, I went there…”back in my day”….

My teens hate it when I do that. LOL.

But my thinking was challenged when I became the mom instead of the student while we set up his apartment. I thought back to what my mom had done with me. I went to “back in her day” and as much as I resisted that growing up, I am glad for “her day”…as a grown up now.

What I remember about my mom back then, is….

She moved me into my dorm.
She met my roommate.
She gave me a kiss.
And tearfully walked away.

That’s it.

She didn’t scour the campus catalog and suggest I take this kind of elective over the other…she didn’t seek out organizations and the “right” kind of campus ministry for me. My mom walked away and let all her years of mothering carry me along…without her.

“She held me lightly, lightly”. And she let me go figure it out. Always willing to offer advice and support, of course. But not holding my hand in a way that might have eventually had me run the other direction to find freedom out of some desperate measure.

This excerpt from Brandi Willis Schreiber on Mary’s restraint from controlling follows up with “How could she? She was not God.”

And while she was the Mother of God, she was still a mother. With a heart so filled up with the love for her Son and no doubt a fierce amount of self-control to resist not interfering with all that came at Him.

I am glad to learn from the mothers in my life. Not the ones who demand control in the name of fear…but the ones like my mom, like Mary, who relinquish their grip when the time has come.

Motherhood in the name of Love means letting go in the end, while trusting in a God who never lets go of our babies. Small and big.

Land of My Stories

The landscape is important to my creativity, I have a Landscape Architecture degree, after all.

Road trips inspire—and Iowa never fails to do exactly that. Some call it flat (but they’ve never rode a bike in RAGBRAI), some say it’s too cold (but they’ve never sat with Iowans around a fire pit), and some say there’s nothing to do in Iowa (but they’ve never bundled up to gaze at thousands of bald eagles).

Iowa.Land of my stories.Place in my heart.

A Mom’s Peacemaking

A long time ago, a friend spoke some truth to me that went dormant in my heart. Lately, it is pressing on me more and more.

She said, “You shouldn’t let your kids offend you.”

This was after I admitted to being personally offended by my school age children’s words.

It’s so hard to not take their words personally now, when they aren’t sassy 10 year olds, but teens and young adults desperately trying to stretch their wings…and sometimes knocking me in the process!

Yet, I think I get too sensitive at times, because I so desperately want to be accepted by my children. They are the most important beings in my life. And, as I prepare them to leave, I am bound by fear of them staying gone. Their reckless words and opinions now, torment my heart and feed my fear. That is the crux of why I act in offense—I am centered in fear of a future outcome. And yet, I become the battling opponent which makes little sense to satiate my fear. Because who wants to return to that?

So…what might happen if, instead, I become the PEACEMAKER in their lives, and let go of my ease of being offended?

Sure, correcting in love, but wearing my armor against their reckless words and behaviors, too, so my words don’t become rash and I don’t run the risk of holding grudges against my own kids!

Maybe the best thing I can model for my growing adults is PEACE in conflict most of all.

I am thankful for the New Year…a new day…and a chance for change. Because if I am the peacemaker in their lives, then one day, they will learn to make peace in their own families, and I can hope that includes me, too.

Journey Toward Nativity: The Treasure of Life

The treasure of Life?

I think I’ve gotten caught up in the stuff one might consider as “treasure” more than I care to admit. I often find myself searching for the next great Christmas experience–the best place to immerse ourselves in the so-called Christmas spirit. I crave that music, that movie, that red and green decor. I expect it when I go to the mall, a restaurant, and especially, a church.

Has the meaning of Christmas been reduced to a whole bunch of stuff leading up to a quickly told children’s story on Christmas Eve? For me, I am afraid it appears that way some years.

You know that whole milk vs. meat in the Bible? I think our culture expects a reduction of the hard stuff to make it easily accessible to all. But in doing that with our faith stories, we miss the beauty of their depth, and sometimes the whole point of the unbelievable actions of God.

My greatest craving this past year has been authenticity in my belief system. For a while there, the explanations and interpretations just felt…fake. Like lip service. This is why I love reading the Church Fathers (some are the same saints who made the big decision on which letters became the New Testament), because they are beyond our culture and illuminate the wonderous depth of what God reveals. St. John Chrysostom is exceptional at this. This quote is from his Nativity sermon:

“For this He assumed my body, that I may become capable of His Word; taking my flesh, He gives me His spirit; and so He bestowing and I receiving, He prepares for me the treasure of Life…”

Christ the Word came, not for us to read around a Christmas tree, but for us to Live into eternity. The Word is so much more than letters on a page. The Word is Who Saves us for LIFE. May we remember the magnitude of this upcoming Feast day. Merry Christmas just doesn’t sum it up like I might have demanded in the face of Happy Holidays.

“Merry Christmas” is only a greeting. The Word is so much more.

Stretches of Growing

I am sitting from a distance, watching my kids do amazing things.

Maybe it’s amazing to me because I know what they’ve been through, what their struggles were/are, and yet, they have overcome to achieve things I would have never guessed.

As a parent, I can ally and guide, but what lies beyond—that is a mystery. I don’t think I would have it any other way—not knowing—in good and bad. I need to remember that the sweetness is in the journey—and the occasional looking over the shoulder and exclaiming,

“Wow, that went by in a blink.”

I received a sweet note from my literary agent this past week. In a handful of words, I felt seen. I am known. My life as a writer isn’t just this secret hope-to one day, it’s part of me in a permanent way. I might fail and win within this life of crafting words, but I am doing it—I am here, with much overcoming behind me, and the journey continually before me.

It’s good to be known over the stretch of growing time. Even if sometimes as a writer, I look over my shoulder and say,

“Wow. This is taking so long!”

Maybe the ability to look back is why I am in constant wonder as I raise my kids. I see their whole stretch of growing.

And as a writer, it’s good to have colleagues and friends remind me how far I’ve come—how I am growing, even if the journey is a mystery sometimes.