lessons

Ephraim is learning to read. One of the things i've learned to be good at as a homeschool mama is consistency. Learning to read requires consistency, a daily habit of study and effort; and so we have diligently followed through.
It has been hard.
Many days, he leans his little blond head on my shoulder and almost persuades me with his charming, diverting conversation starters to abandon books and to cuddle and chat, but instead, i tap the thick black words printed in the book and we labour over letter sounds and blends. Week after week as our book got harder and harder, we worked - and he stumbled more and more, pausing, confused, guessing...
Softly, "Mama? This is really hard..."
"Yes. It's so very hard, Ephraim. Should we go back ten lessons and start there and work our way back up again?"
"Can we do that?"
The blue of his eyes is beyond description. It's light and vibrant - like the sky. It's impossible to gauge the depth of that colour. His skin is ivory and his white curls frame his sweet face as delicately as his thick lashes frame his eyes. He is looking at me earnestly, scanning my face for disappointment or disapproval.
i keep my voice light as i smile encouragement on him.
Of course i don't want to go back ten lessons. Of course i want all of our work to be easy, i have followed every instruction, we have been consistent, we put in our hours of work... we deserve to be moving along, swiftly... to go back now feels counter-intuitive.
i'm tired, i'm selfish. i want to be done.
But the reality blinks at me as i meet his tender gaze.
My goal is to hold his heart, my goal is to model patience, love, joy and peace to his sprightly spirit as i teach him to read. Ticking boxes, book completed, time recorded working - all of this has such a small role to play in fulfilling that goal. How many times have i lost focus of my true goals in motherhood as i impatiently shoved my little ones down paths they weren't ready for, through concepts they didn't understand, into expectations that i borrowed from whoever put them on me? Is it my goal to have a spotless house? Or is my goal to encourage thoughtfulness, consideration and etiquette? Is it my goal to have my kids clean their plates? Or is it my goal to teach them to listen to their bodies and learn to nourish them thoughtfully and carefully? Is it my goal to finish curriculum? Or is it my goal to create a desire to learn? Sometimes meeting those goals is messy, backwards, slow, plodding progress... Sometimes we pick relationship over rules, heart over success, our little person... over perfection.
We flipped the pages counting backwards, 68, 67, 66, 65... as though those hours of work had never been done... starting over again. 64, 63, 62, 61... the stories got shorter. The words were simpler. He scooted closer to me and we counted back together. 60, 59, 58... "K, buddy. That's ten lessons. Let's try to read this story and see how we do, ok?"
"i remember this one!" He offered quietly, his eyes still waiting, watching for me to sigh, frown, roll my eyes... i smiled genuine pleasure. i love him.
My mother's finger found itself attached to my hand and it tapped the first word.
His speech impediment burrows into my heart, softening, blessing, ministering.
The words flow. Murmured reminders escape through my barely parted lips as we read.
He pauses.
He's looking at me, and i look at him.
"Mom?"
"Yeah?"
"i'm fast..."
"You sure are, buddy. That's some fantastic reading right there..."
And we soak in our lessons... absorbing what we need, learning and growing... teaching each other.

questions

Cairo's fiancee asked if i'd be willing to answer a series of questions for a class he was taking a year ago. i sort of feel like anytime someone asks about your relationship with God, you should probably take the time to answer, so i did. These questions often only allow you to see how a person feels in just a snapshot of a moment - this was 'where i was at'... But it's a valuable exercise both to ask these types of questions, & also to answer them... When i found this post in my drafts folder, i decided i'd post my answers here just for posterity. 

1. Please describe how you became a follower of Christ and some of the changes that took place in your life after surrendering your life to Jesus Christ?

I was born and raised in a Christian home, and even from the tenderest first years of my life, I remember making the choice to be His. The changes that He has made in my life since my childhood conversion have never stopped – it has been a constant growth, ever more surrendering, a constant wrestling out my faith with fear and trembling – with very little, “arriving”.

2. Why are you a follower of Christ?

I am a follower of Christ because He is faithful. His worthiness softens my hard heart and His kindness makes me want to be more like Him.

3. What is holiness?

When I think about holiness in a Christian walk – I think about our, “otherness” – how this earth is not our home. When I think about holiness, I’m not thinking about a set of rules and obligations that I need to fulfil in order to somehow magically force myself to be holy, spotless and blameless. I’m thinking about how i have become His – and how as a result, there was a death to the old man (my sinful nature), and now I am new, alive and set apart. God is Holy – and because I am his girl, *I get to be holy too*. This holiness is the evidence I have of my life in Christ! Faithful Father that He is, daily, hourly, in every moment - He strips away the old, the dead, the diseased… and He clothes me in righteousness – inviting me not to strive, but instead to surrender. Holiness happens because *I am His*. 

4. What is the purpose of Church?

That’s a hard question because The Church is the bride of Christ – the body of believers… but when we talk about church, most often we’re talking about the gathering of people at a building to worship together and to grow. I wrote a little blog post about church a couple of years ago – and I think it describes some of the purpose I see in this gathering…

this is the church i go to...

Hey, let me introduce us...

We're the broken - the sick - the lost - the dying...

We've struggled with death and disease, some of us have come here looking for answers, not knowing if we believe in heaven at all... some have become hard and calloused and don't even know why we're here Sunday after Sunday. Still others of us come because we need fellowship with other people who love Jesus...

Some of us are struggling with infertility, some of us have been cheated on, disrespected, abandoned by spouses who should have known better. Some of us have been happily married for decades. Some of us are lonely, guilty, shy, boisterous, bitter or happy. Some of us are reeling from circumstances that have spiraled far beyond our control.

This is the church that i go to...

Some of us mouth the words of the songs because our hearts would break if we *really* sang those words. Some of us are unemployed, former addicts, present day mess-ups, control-freaks or successful businessmen. Some of us are grieving our babies lost to miscarriage - others grieving our children lost to abortion - & still others are gratefully anticipating new life with swelling bellies and tearful gratitude.

This is the church i go to...

Our childhoods are as varied as the rest of our lives... Some were happy.... Some of us were neglected, abused, ignored or abandoned. Some of us were motherless, others fatherless - some of us got good grades & some of us are drop outs. Some of us still feel stuck in those years - the hurts won't heal & we come here looking for answers... looking for Jesus... so we can quit wasting away and start living.

This is the church i go to.

Some of us come straight from work, others from hellish, unimaginable situations, & some straight from a good night's rest... Some of us go home to empty houses, or warm lunches, or out to work again...

But on Sunday morning, we gather as a congregation...

We, who are daily becoming aware of our need...

Jesus.

He is the cup - and we are thirsty - parched, crawling and almost delirious with our need.

Jesus.

He is the bread - our frail bodies are wracked with hunger.

Jesus.

We're clinging to the cross...

This is the church i go to.

I guess, in short , I believe the church is a place to gather to pray, take communion, teach and to worship corporately  with other broken, needy people. 

5.How did you discover God’s will for your life?

I feel much the same about this question as I do about question 1 – in that there has been much growing, learning and changing – with very little arriving at a vocational destination. There have been times though, where I found that I had to do something to be obedient – any other action would have been flagrant disobedience. For instance, when I was 19, through my own disobedience and sin, I found myself pregnant and single. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that God’s will for my life was for me to lay down my own dreams, desires and plans – in order to be a good parent to the small child who had come about as a result of my sin. Abortion wasn’t a thought – neither was adoption. She was mine, and I would spend the rest of my life protecting her like I should have by waiting to have sex until I was married and it was a safe place to welcome a child… God’s will is often less confusing when we realize that it’s about laying down our own rights and the things that we feel are owed to us in order to minister to the least of these…

5. Would you describe your experience with spiritual disciplines, in which have you participated?

By spiritual disciplines, are we talking about prayer, devotions, bible reading, weekly church attendance? i’ll share a couple of stories that have shaped me in these. When I was around 27, I found myself hungry for answers. I had a million questions for God – and specifically on one topic that I found baffling in the lack of teaching on it in the church. After asking several pastors, and getting what I felt to be half hearted opinions that felt like a dismissal, I decided to open my bible, and see if I could find any truth there. Over a period of three and a half months, I read my bible cover to cover, highlighting each verse that I felt shed some kind of light on the subject. I found when I reached the end of my bible that I was satisfied with the answers that I had found there – the cultural ambivalence about the subject mattered less to me, now that I had read how my Father felt about it.

The second spiritual discipline that had an enormous impact on my life was my participation in 40 Days for Life – a local prayer vigil outside of our city’s abortion clinic. Never in my life have I had such times of agonized prayer, lonely petition, praise and worship or just companionable silence with God. I learned that praying for an hour, for two hours – was hard. I learned how to pray scripture – how to listen for His voice. I learned to question the value and purpose of prayer – and IN PRAYER, I found the answers to these – and many, many other questions. I fell in love with my community and with the people in it… God changed me, challenged me and grew me when I met diligently with Him in prayer…

6. What does it mean to fear God?

When I talk about “fearing God”- I mean respect and honour. When I got pregnant at 19? I think that I had ceased to fear God. I loved Him, but my sin was precious to me… you know that Thomas Watson quote, “Till sin be bitter, Christ will not be sweet. ”?  I guess it’s sort of that – my sin isn’t funny, mild, small, petty… precious. It’s bitter… and fear of the Lord – is the beginning of the wisdom that takes me far from it. 

It's a new season - HOPE

i thank God for fresh new mercies every single morning...
But i do get  special breath of inspiration after the winter break as the new year dawns and i feel more refreshed and bold - full of optimism and confidence as i look ahead. It has become a bit of a habit to choose a word in the new year, but this year instead of choosing a word for the new year, my word chose me...
Hope.
It came to me in verses, instagram posts, conversations. It was pointed out by friends, my kids, in our devotionals... It became almost comical as i laughingly predicted out loud to my kids one mid-December day that the word would be confirmed to me one more time and then texting them the mind boggling confirmation hours later.
i've wrestled with hope over the years. The delicate balance that exists between contentment and desire - between drive and acceptance; this has always been something i carried awkwardly. i could easily jump on to eternal hope - but got bogged down when i tried to carry hope into the here and now of my life. i'd lose hope when things got hard, when things didn't go my way, when i didn't see any possibility of redemption this side of eternity.
But Hope chased me down at Christmas time and i let it catch me. Winter melted into spring and hope was relentless. Summer burned itself out and the blazing glory of fall colours refused to sing an ending song; instead they called me to hope - ever louder, with increasing urgency.
A friend recently encouraged me with an off hand remark that she admired my flexibility with life.
It almost made me cry - this friendly encouragement about something that has been so hard won. i've been wrestling with and praying about this new season that we're heading into, (not having babies and simultaneously my oldest babies stretching out wings and preparing to leave the nest). i think i've felt at times almost like i could lose myself... like so much of my identity rested in child-bearing that i wouldn't know how to navigate the transition. i didn't want to transition. i resisted transition, fought it, cried over it, grieved it... And finally, i buried my face in my Father's chest and poured out my heart... "My hope is gone. The end of this season of life, brings the beginning of the season of death, and i'm not ready... i don't want it."
Gently, tenderly, mercifully... He has been leading me to a deeper understanding of hope. Hope that transcends time - hope that sustains me in the here and now... It has gone hand and hand with surrender, of all things... surrender.
Surrender of beautiful, worthy things is hard. i know it... And it often feels like this surrender is in direct opposition to hope. But when we surrender and our hope becomes not a specific thing or time or person - but instead we begin to hope for what most brings Him glory - it is life giving. When you think you hope for solitude, but God sends noisy, boisterous teenager company... You learn to joyfully hope for those teenagers. When you think you're hoping for your husband to come home, but he's gone and instead you have more time to devote to little boys and stories and all the housekeeping that gets shoved to the side when he's home, you learn to hope to fill your time wisely. When you hope for life to be easy, but instead it's hard, you learn to hope for the fortitude and the character to do hard things.
These lessons didn't happen overnight. The beginning was agonizingly tedious as i'd habitually want to control things that weren't mine to control. i kept track of each set-back... noticing when surrender felt impossible and even wrong... i gave myself a time line - two hundred days of surrender... of hope. Two hundred days where i would be flexible, hope for the good in the change and welcome joyfully all that came to me uninvited. i didn't know what would happen after the two hundred days, but i felt like i could shut my mouth for two hundred days... make notes of my rants, discomfort and failure... and practice a little grace. This summer, i celebrated my two hundredth day and it passed like any other - no fanfare, no burning desire to free myself from the shackles of hope. Maybe it was evidence of my own transformation that i let it pass in anonymity and woke up the next morning ready for more of the same.
i'd like to tell you that everyone around me was amazed by my efforts and by the fruits of obvious change in my life... but i don't know that anyone really noticed... except me. There was the discomfort and pain of surrender, and i knew that part was gonna be hard, but i wasn't prepared for the joy. It snuck up on me the same way the green sneaks up on the grass in spring. Less fierce control - more of the flexibility that my friend assumed was just something that had always been a trademark... There was a fierceness to my newfound joy. My happiness was genuine. i felt good, i felt strong, i felt hope in the here and now, in the daily grind, in the mornings and in the afternoons too. i was transformed by hope.
And i guess part of what i've noticed each year that i learn to recognize my Shepherd's voice is that the things i think i know - are always almost unrecognizably unfamiliar when God teaches them to me. It's so hard to explain a heart change in words - it's so hard to acknowledge His hand when it's internal, eternal, impossible to hold or describe. Surrender, flexibility, humility, joy... hope... words that are familiar and yet now, they're somehow changed; they're strange and new to me... These are the words that He's stirring in my heart in this season, and i'm doing my best to pay attention.

the ring

i was 19 when he gave it to me 19 years ago. i felt like i was disgraced and i had mumbled red faced that not only did i not deserve an engagement ring, i didn't want one anyway. My mom didn't have one and i wanted to have a simple gold band, just like her.
He didn't care.
He went to the store and bought the tiny diamond held in twisted gold... inexpensive, yet extravagant in this tender hour of our lives.
i was embarrassed to wear it to school. i missed him. My morning sickness was severe, classes were hard. i imagined knowing smirks on my classmates faces as my body rounded, my grey face making obvious the changes as my body grew.
i bought our wedding rings with gig money. Simple gold bands... His was large enough to engulf mine. Mine was notched out to fit the bend of my delicate engagement ring.
"You can get them soldered together after the wedding," the jeweller suggested as i tried them on together, admiring them on my hand.
At night, i would replay his sweet proposal...
i almost took it away from him with all my words, "You don't have to..." i interrupted him, knowing what was coming.
"No. Let me." i'm so grateful he insisted. i needed to hear those words affirming his love. Our love. The tender bud that we promised that night to nurture forever and ever.
And now, the mists of time have stolen his words from me. The only ones i remember were his gentle insistence, "It's not because of the baby. i want you to be my wife..."
It was dark and cloudy that February night when he put that little ring on my finger and i agreed to be his.
And she grew.
We loved her.
Together, we loved her.
i finished school and came home for good only one week before our wedding, and when we were finally alone, i pressed his big hand to my belly so he could feel her kicks. i searched his face for fear and found none. If he searched mine, i am confident that all he found there was adoration.
This love?
We got something we didn't deserve.
Oh the grace... Oh the mercy... Oh the kindness.
And this week, i gave that ring away. i pulled it off my finger, like i've known i was going to do since that tiny pale creature told me when she was wee that my engagement ring was something she would like to have one day. i pulled it off my finger like it didn't matter to me - and i placed it carelessly in front of the boy who had just asked us for our permission and blessing to ask her to be his wife.
He had started off with words running over each other, nervous, maybe a little flustered, "i had a fancy speech prepared, but i'll forego it..."
i didn't want him to regret rushing, so i stopped him.
"We want to hear it..."
And so he wove his words carefully, looking us in the eye and telling us his hopes and dreams. Their plans and wishes... Hers and his. Together.
The ring sat on the table.
"You can have it." i said.
It means less than nothing to me when you compare it to my love for the girl who will wear it from now on.
Our girl.
And maybe one day, she will write about the ring. Maybe one day, she will chronicle her happy marriage, and her mother's before her.
Let love be the theme that runs deep and wide from my love story to hers... and to any and all that follow.

the most important part of motherhood

If i was asked by a new mama what the most important quality is for a mother to possess in this life-long journey of motherhood (parenthood), i don't think i'd hesitate.
"Humility." i'd offer. Simply, plainly - there is no other quality that has saved relationship, opened doors of communication or allowed for thoughtful discipline and discipleship.
We exercise it during our pregnancies - allowing our bodies to grow and stretch to accommodate the life of another precious human being. Stretch marks, exhaustion, a gentler pace, appointments and care make it a good time to lay down ego and see ourselves in a new context - one where we become "a part of" rather than the whole.
Humility grows during childbirth. Our bodies each break in unique ways. It's empowering - but also humbling - to be brought to that place of surrender as we birth and are born ourselves as mothers. In post partum - we heal at different rates, some struggle to breast-feed, some are plagued with depression. There is joy, euphoria, satisfaction and goodness - but it's all better when it's accompanied by humility - the willingness to forego hubris and instead connect to those around us, acknowledging need and allowing ourselves to be fed as we learn to feed another.
But these are only the sweet beginnings of the blessing that humility brings. Maybe your tiny one will melt down in public, call someone fat or tell you they don't like you. Pride demands a red-faced reaction, "No child of mine!"... Humility tends to their heart. Later, when they're the last one to learn to read, humility brings patience - the ability to compassionately teach those letters again and again and again... consciously blind to deficiencies - always aware of our own insecurities and struggles, humility lets us keep their heart when pride would have lost it. Our children learn that it's safe to talk to a parent who is humble. Whispered shame-filled confessions aren't met with shock and revulsion. This can be a tough one... We can get so used to white-washing our kids' behaviour that when we see something put before us so black and white - something that we can't explain away - we want to distance ourselves from it... from them.
Humility closes that distance.
Humility breaks down boundaries, it binds the broken-hearted, it is the kindness that leads to repentance. It allows us to keep our eyes off of the judgemental glare of the world and instead gives us eyes to see roots in our lives and our children's lives that need to be either plucked or tended. It allows us to close our ears to the cacophony of advice and instead, we can learn to hear the heart-cry of the tiny human we were given to shepherd. Humility makes us worry less about what others think of our parenting, and instead helps us to become better parents.
Let's make every effort to respond without shock to each and every indiscretion our children bring to our lives. Let's keep the horror from our faces - so that they're not afraid of us - and so that the older ones don't cynically label us a self-righteous hypocrite. Our reactions matter - and they're not something that is beyond the scope of our control.
Humility sees past the awkwardness of the pre-teen, the acne, the grammatical errors, the outbursts. Humility refrains from reacting in anger, vengeful pride or embarrassment and instead extends a gentleness that is resilient in the face assault; a kindness that is more stubborn than selfishness, a compassion that is bigger than self-consciousness.
Humility has single-handedly shaped me as a wife and mother - taking away my need to explain the actions of my husband or children and instead giving me a greater capacity to understand, empathize, to love.
So, if i was asked by a new mama what the most important quality is for a mother to possess in this life-long journey of motherhood, i don't think i'd hesitate.
"Humility." i'd offer. Simply, plainly. It'll come whether you want it to or not - and wisdom would suggest that you welcome it as a friend.

Vulnerability

Man, it takes a lot out of a girl to submit a little piece to a magazine devoted to documenting stories of motherhood. It's kinda like going outside naked & smiling & waving at the traffic driving by... Mamalode published a couple of my pieces a while ago, and it took me 4 years to gather up my courage to submit more. They're publishing two this summer and the first one went live today! Read it here if you'd like! 

http://mamalode.com/story/detail/to-the-mama-afraid-of-change

Kindness leads

Elmer walked past me with a small stick in his hand, and it grazed my foot. At nearly two, my flinch caught his rapt attention & he turned back to me.
 I was certain in that moment that he would scrape me again with the stick. He's such a little boy & I thought he would be eager to reproduce the results of the first scrape.... I watched him as he tenderly bent his tiny body and kissed my foot before walking away...  & I don't know why the softness of his response moved me so much.
Sloan & I were talking about kindness the other day & she said, with the certainty of one who has tasted the truth of their own words, "changing parts of your personality is hard.."
"But I'm so glad it's possible..." I replied.
"I know. I've done it..."
& we can learn, can't we? To be kind? To kiss the wounds inflicted by ourselves or others... to minister to the hurting, to pause mid-stride and heed the whispering admonition of a loving Father who bids us to become holy...

For the mama who is afraid of change

   There are a lot of words written about the wistful pain of saying goodbye to the baby years. It's so easy to wax poetic about that single damp dainty curl at creased neck, about tiny clutching starfish hands, and the smell? Ohhh, the smell of newborn baby - the mere memory of it makes me tear up. Babies are amazing. Those years are intense and we're immersed. Half drowning, half swimming, sleep deprived and constantly hungry, it's nonstop service - and we rise to the occasion, meeting every need and crooning over every sorrow. And I think it was partly the exquisiteness of the baby years that made me feel a certain trepidation over what was sure to come next.
   Little legs stretched out. Appetites blossomed, babbling words became complex ideas expressed. They pushed me away in the most normal, natural way - like a skilled swimmer using strong legs to push away from the side of the pool. They came back to me. They made me laugh. They entered, and exited the awkward stage, emerging with more grace and poise than I could ever have imagined.
   And maybe this transition is tempered in a way for me, because I do still have a little one in diapers who isn't talking about moving out, graduating college, falling in love or getting a credit card... Yet. But I feel like I was so deceived. I thought this phase of life was gonna be all sadness and melancholy and nostalgia. I thought the goodbyes to childhood would choke me and that my grief would steal my joy. Nothing could be further from the truth... It's amazing. That wild hearted faery princess twirling her dress around her skinny white legs, the one with sky blue eyes and hair as fine as dandelion fluff? She's still mine. Her hair is tamed - sometimes. She traded her velour Barbie dress for blue nursing student scrubs. But those ageless eyes will never change, and that fiery passionate heart didn't disappear, it only miraculously discovered both it's source and destination. It beats still, only what used to beat with questions and sometimes confusion, now beats with purpose and determination. It's breath taking. Her sisters and brothers follow close behind - just like they did when I had a flock of stair step tinies following me in years gone by. Now the stair steps are uneven as my second born grew taller than my first, and they no longer all trail behind, but instead some skip ahead or walk beside. My third and fourth born are taller than I am, and just this morning, my fifth grinned at me with a cock of her eyebrow, "back to back, mama?" There are piercings and hair dye. We listen to post secondary plans and make arrangements for graduations. We pay excruciating attention to both crushes and love songs. We've lived through acne and algebra. We've breathed a sigh of gratitude after no-injury fender-benders and broadened our music appreciation to include the taste of several eclectic teenagers. None of them stay little forever, and it's good and right - and even exciting... Yes, exciting... to experience this truth.
   So, grow little ones.
   Mama has learned not to be afraid.
After all these years, my first born is still teaching me. And as I snuggle my littlest one, tenderly trailing my fingers through his uncut tresses, breathing deep the fading scent of babyhood, I stretch my heart just a little more and  lean in deep to her instruction.

after you...

     I live in Canada - the land of reputed politeness and niceties. It's an often true reputation that pervades our culture and humor over the never ending stop at the three way stop with each idling vehicle nodding to the others genially, "After you... I insist..."
     I had a day dream the other day while I was sitting in a worship service in church. A man had invited guests to his home. It was a dinner party, and when the first guest arrived, he was given the task of opening the door for the guests who would arrive after him.
     As the doorbell rang, he ran to open it adding urgently, "No! Don't take off your shoes, leave your coat on... come here. I will serve you your dessert." While the host in the kitchen continued to prepare the meal for his guests to eat, the pseudo-host organized those who came after in a most bizarre fashion.
     He got them to switch seats, to sit, but then to stand, he asked them to eat different courses of foods out of turn. As a spoon of soup was brought to one mouth and a creamy dessert brought to another, the other guests looked at each other in confusion, knowing that something was awry. They waited for someone to take the first bite. The pseudo-host glowed. "Oh no! YOU eat. I don't need a thing. I will watch you all and serve you. I will fill your plates and bring you your next course. I will witness your satisfaction and you won't need to witness me getting my fill.
     Finally the real host gently stopped him, "Friend... I invited you here as my guest. i am the host and what you are doing isn't appropriate behavior.Your attempted kindnesses are not only robbing your fellow guests of the experience I intended for them, but you have chosen hunger over partaking. This isn't right."
     I opened my eyes and they rested on the pastoral staff in the front row - eyes closed, arms raised in worship.
     And it was like a little wave of understanding washed over me in that little moment of wonder.
Invited to God's house, they attended. Ushered to the throne room, they worshiped. They ate, they drank - not waiting for another guest's first bite, but partaking at the invitation of The King. Each course delivered in it's time. No guest's need escaping the tender eye of the holiest of Hosts.

“Come, all you who are thirsty,
    come to the waters" - isa. 55:1a