Where did she come from?

I never imagined myself walking beside a teen daughter. I think, with her being my last child, I just figured I would step into the next season without much consideration. I’d been mothering for a long while already.

However, it really is different than raising teen sons. I was a teen daughter once.

And there lies the rub.

And it’s because of my past experiences that this role as the mother is problematic for my sometimes troubled heart. Actually, I have discovered how faint of heart I can be in the thick of our arguments, in the pathetic reactions that escape me.

I often long for the sweetness of her younger years, and then battle through our conflict with less grace and unnecessary emotion. I am reminded how much maturing I still have to do in the dual against a daughter who might just be more mature than me. No joke.

When I step back and observe her reactions to this world, I realize that she’s grown so far past how I was at her age, and she is everything I wanted to be at her age, too. It frightens me that she might have a lacking mother in parenting. I remember far too well the grief of broken moments from my own teen years, and the self-doubt implanted in my core. Even now, I find myself striving to be accepted for who I am because I believe my flaws are too much. Deep down, I don’t trust I am enough. Actually, I think I know it. Deep down, I will never measure up past my mistakes. Especially among those who’ve known me longest and have tended to confirm as much.

Bitter echos of “Where did you come from?” threaten to materialize on my lips in the most heated moments with my daughter. While I hear myself demand respect and create the perfect storm of a broken moment, I haven’t gone so far as to cement the self-doubt with that shame-filled question, “Where did you come from?”

Inflicting shame is my greatest fear as a parent; a boundary that I dare not cross. I know the consequences of it. I don’t want my daughter to think she’s lost her acceptance because of that rhetorical dagger, “Where did you come from?”

Yet, can a mother ask that question with wonderment and joy and awe of the daughter estranged from her mother’s weaknesses?

Where did you come from?

Can a mother be so very glad that her daughter came from her and flourished in a way so different than her that the daughter is nothing like her at all—and that is a good thing?

When I see my daughter’s willingness to step into spaces regardless of who she knows and who knows her, the 14-year-old girl within me is shocked by such autonomy.

When I witness my daughter’s compassion for someone hurting, and her fierce desire to act, she’s bolder than I ever was.

And when I am reprimanded by my daughter because I speak critically or judge another, I can’t even correct her—because she is right. I was never taught to rebuke the vice of criticism or judgement. That vice was a way of life in my own early years. And it haunts me still. But my daughter has no tolerance for such a way.

Where did she come from?

I am so thankful she didn’t come from the worst part of me. I am thankful for the grace of God allowing her to grow into a better human than little Angie.

My daughter is not me, and I am so glad she isn’t.

Goodness

No matter how folks twist who they think Christ is in these days of power and policy, let us remember Who Christ was by what He didn’t do…and what He did. Who He was and is and always shall be:

“Have you ever wondered why Jesus, the God of the whole universe…did nothing to stop His persecutors and tormentors? He was captured, tortured, and killed—all passive things. Yet when He came back from the dead, He declared that He had defeated death, overcome the world, and conquered evil. At face value He didn’t appear to do anything, but this is the twist: He didn’t have to. If Christ had done battle with a personification of death or engaged in single combat with the devil, itmight make more sense to us visually, but it would send a very different message: namely, that might makes right, that Christ defeated evil by virtue of His superior power. That would imply a problematic universe, one of no moral content at all apart from the use of power. But this is not the message of the gospel. That Jesus conquered evil and death without force is a witness to the ultimate reality of Goodness…Goodness doesn’t need to use force to prove its reality if it is reality. This is the same reason Jesus couldn’t stay dead: He is life itself, and life itself cannot die.” (Dr. Zachary Porcu)

Traces of Hatred

I am desperate to weed out the anger, the hatred, the prejudice from my heart.

There is nothing in the way of Christ that looks like the climate today—the twisting of politics and doctrine, the excuses for hate speech and elitism. Why is it so easy to fall into the tossing waves of this world and risk a drowning soul?

I am desperate to keep my head, and my heart, above the chaos.

Staying away from social media is one way I have found to help. The rabid posts cause me to spiral, and a tidal wave threatens to slam me to faithlessness. The vicious claims and errant logic are unrecognizable in the God I love.

I keep having to remind myself that God isn’t defined by humans, even if He loves all of them. He’s also not conditional in His love, even if their love for Him is destroyed by hatred.

So, I am trying to stay centered on the Truth of God, in Love, with repentance, hanging onto faith even if it’s brittle and thin.

Through it all, my constant heart cry is,

Lord Have Mercy.

So, what are you doing to keep the hatred out?

Traces of Hatred

I am desperate to weed out the anger, the hatred, the prejudice from my heart.

There is nothing in the way of Christ that looks like the climate today—the twisting of politics and doctrine, the excuses for hate speech and elitism. Why is it so easy to fall into the tossing waves of this world and risk a drowning soul?

I am desperate to keep my head, and my heart, above the chaos.

Staying away from social media is one way I have found to help. The rabid posts cause me to spiral, and a tidal wave threatens to slam me to faithlessness. The vicious claims and errant logic are unrecognizable in the God I love.

I keep having to remind myself that God isn’t defined by humans, even if He loves all of them. He’s also not conditional in His love, even if their love for Him is destroyed by hatred.

So, I am trying to stay centered on the Truth of God, in Love, with repentance, hanging onto faith even if it’s brittle and thin.

Through it all, my constant heart cry is,

Lord Have Mercy.

So, what are you doing to keep the hatred out?

Coldness of Heart

“In our culture, if someone spoke about coldness of the heart, we would likely describe it as an emotional issue, and dismiss it or diminish it as merely unfortunate. If, on the other hand, we were to speak about something interfering with our acquisition of information, we would treat it as a crisis of first-order. We do not understand that the greatest crisis in our lives is found in our coldness of heart. Indeed, even our acquisition of information is distorted by coldness of the heart.” (Father Stephen Freeman)

Lord have mercy.

Who do they say that I am?

“Note that he is not asking them their own opinion. Rather, he asks the opinion of the people. Why? In order to contrast the opinion of the people with the disciples answer to the question “But who do you say that I am?” In this way, by the manner of his inquiry, they might be drawn gradually to a more sublime notion and not fall into the same common view as that of the multitude.” St. John Chrysostom

And the multitude didn’t know. Yet, their answers weren’t completely against goodness. They compared Jesus to good men they knew, but they obviously didn’t know who Christ was. Rumors among the multitude fell short. I think about how similar our society is these days…everyone infusing their own opinion, their own idea of goodness. Allowing quick words to amplify the noise of opinions.

Just because a notion tied with God fits my perspective, or it sounds good, doesn’t mean it’s accurate. My assumption could be distracting me from the Truth of Who God is. I could be crafting my own little god and not worshipping the actual God of the Universe at all.

I need to know Him like the disciples knew Him, not the multitude who claims a variety of things in a relativistic culture. I must seek the “sublime notion” of the disciples, the men whom Jesus entrusted to build His Church in perfect timing. And it is in His Church that I can find the Truth.

I am amazed how, later in the passage, after Peter declares Who He truly is, Christ tells the disciples not to tell anyone. He knew the plan. The timeline. I suspect He cared more about their understanding in that moment than His reputation among the multitude. His Church would be built by the men who knew the Truth, not by those stuck in the fray of opinions, no matter how loud they were, or how certain.

**The Scripture image is from the Catena App. This is a great way to explore the early Church Fathers’ Biblical commentary**

Too Great


“Christianity is a lifestyle – a way of being in the world that is simple, non-violent, shared, and loving. However, we made it into an established “religion” (and all that goes with that) and avoided the lifestyle change itself. One could be warlike, greedy, racist, selfish, and vain in most of Christian history, and still believe that Jesus is one’s “personal Lord and Savior” . . . The world has no time for such silliness anymore. The suffering on Earth is too great.”
           

Richard Rohr

Even the demons believe.

Exposing Decay

“We call the elevation of the individual and selfish will to this paramount status “democracy,” but more and more it will come to resemble a berserk state, a self-deification through the collapse of concern for anything other than the self…Today our common political and social program is the self–a paradox that either will open a window to the Church or will be seen as the suicide pact of the human race. I mean, the fact that it is necessarily a common project can lead us to see that we exist in and through each other, in communion, or we can choose merely to make a temporary alliance with others in order to expedite each soul’s flight into gnostic aloneness and thus the abyss.” (Timothy G. Patitsas)

I am realizing what stirs anxiety in my stomach and creates a war in my heart. It’s the way opinions drive bad behavior. And not just others’, mine is first to be flamed.

I see redefinitions of the Fruit of the Spirit in justifying an allegiance to whatever seems most important to an individual (ah, the worship of individual is the greatest idolatry of our time). The edge of my faith is softening, becoming pliable, less reliable to stop me from slipping and falling into despair.

My bent toward justice is causing me to keel over at the witnessing of opinions motivating bad behavior…with the sickness of my own heart exposing my own decay.

How post-modern of our culture to elevate opinion to the very top of the moral framework, allowing what we think to manipulate what is acceptable, justifiable, and true.

But if the teaching of Christ is true, then we have lost our way. Thinking is nothing but vapor. Ideas are play toys of demons.

The edge of faith has caved in on itself and I wonder, is any true faith left?

Despicable Me.

Hypocrisy.

Hatred..

Weaponizing.

Tribalism.

Arrogance.

Demanding.

Elitism.

Stubborn.

Pride.

These are the things I try to weed out of my heart. These are the reasons I have stepped away from social media. I see it, I’ve been there, and I despise myself for slipping in and out of these as if they are okay…ever…in the right setting…in the right place and time.

NEVER.

Lord have mercy.

“…if we believe Christ is Risen, we must forgive all by His Holy Resurrection, we must forgive all and be reconciled with all…And so, we embrace one another in our hearts, those near us and those afar off, we embrace them with the love of Christ. We no longer have enemies, only brothers and sisters with whom we share the joy of our Risen Lord.”

Bishop Alexi

To Love Fiercely

To love fiercely is a mama navigating the dark, early hours to comfort her newborn.

To love fiercely is trying what’s best for a little one, even when there is no guarantee and exhaustion has set deep.

To love fiercely is doing what’s best for a child even if it doesn’t offer comfort—for babe or mama.

To love fiercely is letting go of a child’s hand so they can grow beyond home, depart from a mama’s watch, even for a little while.

And the little while grows long and wide and is filled with all sorts of life and heartache and joy and others…and it’s good, even when it doesn’t seem so in the moment…but the love is fierce and unwavering.

To love fiercely is a mama following her child following his dreams and trying to not take the lead—no matter how much distance he’ll gain ahead of her.

To love fiercely is letting go.

When it’s time.

When they’ve grown.

When all the fierce loving has navigated and tried and managed and the effort’s proven well.

And then…

Loving fiercely is watching her child disappear, leaving behind man-size footprints etched toward the horizon, and trusting he’ll come home again.

In that ripened time of accomplishing all a mother can control beneath her roof, even so, the mama’s heart is wretched most of all— for yet another babe is ready to dive into uncharted waters (uncharted for the mama, at least)—and grief and pride and love abounds.

Yet, doubt arises.

She wonders if she’ll ever rid herself of the ache.

But she’ll never shake the habit to love fiercely.

To love fiercely is who she is.