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Learning Hospitality from the World’s Worst Housewife

5 / 10 / 215 / 10 / 21

Hospitality is a word that has confused me most of my life.  Growing up in the church, I remember hearing some adults being referred to as having “the gift of hospitality.” So with that very little context, I assumed that hospitality was either something you were good at or something you just weren’t.  And I quickly concluded early into my adult life that hospitality was NOT a gift I possessed.  

There were certain household tasks I was not particularly good at (really I’m still not good at them even though I am trying to improve.)  If I invited anyone over to my house, it would take me a good several hours to pick it up and clean it first.  The art of keeping a house clean on a regular basis mystifies me. 

I can also tell you that it has taken me a long time to feel comfortable around my kitchen.  I do not have any meals that I cook particularly well. I do not enjoy cooking, and preparing dinner for other people actually causes me stress a good amount of the time.  When we lived in Vegas, our church community used to have a meal train sign up for people who needed a little extra help after a surgery, move, new baby, or other circumstance. I NEVER signed up.  Wait.  I take that back.  I think I signed up once and picked up a pizza for the family.  And I just chalked all this up to not having the gift of hospitality.

Well truth be told, I believed I did not have the gift of hospitality because I was raised by the world’s worst housewife.  

In all honesty, she is NOT the world’s worst housewife.  (I have seen episodes of Hoarders – she isn’t even close).  But keeping a house clean was not her specialty.  Our family was really good at the last-minute company clean marathon.  For a few hours before any houseguests arrived, we ran around the house like maniacs shoving everything from counter A into Box B and everything from counter C into desk drawer D.  You know, we had a system, so when our guests departed, Mom could find that permission slip she was supposed to sign because she knew just where she put it on counter A.  I am not sure we really fooled anyone because by the time anyone arrived at our house, we all looked like we had stuck our fingers in light sockets with a mix of panic and exhaustion on our faces.  

That is how I grew up taking care of our house. Everyone pitched in, but it was never a regularly clean place.  It was lived in – well lived in.  

And it was this way because my mom believed there were more important things than cleaning a house.  She was busy reading stories to us, playing games, making cookies for a friend in need, creating, laughing, and being a great mom.  In fact she was such a great mom that most of my friends would come to hang out with her even when I was not there.  She is beloved by many, and no one ever seemed to mind the untidiness of our home.  

This is how I grew up, and today this is still grounded into my beliefs.  My house is well-lived in.  I would love for it to be clean all the time, but that isn’t where my priorities lie.  Because like my mom, I am busy reading stories, creating art, making muffins, and playing games.  When it needs to be cleaned, everyone pitches in. But my house also has that well-lived-in feel when you walk through the doors.  

It wasn’t until I set foot in the Dominican Republic in my mid-thirties that I began to understand hospitality in a whole new light.  Living in a missionary culture that was greatly influenced by the Dominican culture helped me understand Biblical hospitality.  Yes, the Dominicans do a great job of cleaning their house, their tile-yard, and even the street in front of their house, but hospitality runs far deeper than the status of their home.  

If you were welcomed into a home, you were offered a beverage and something to eat.  It did not matter how little they had.  You were their guest, and they were showing you honor and neighborly love by feeding you.  Some of my girls’ favorite memories include when they would go over to the casa de nos vecinos (neighbor’s house), and she would give them a little cup of Fruit Loops.  But more important than feeding your body, you also had their undivided attention.  They wanted to sit and talk with you.  It wasn’t a quick “how are you doing?” with the expected answer of “fine.”  It was a real and honest talk about life’s ups and downs.  

The visit was also not on a scheduled time limit.  You had as much time with your host as you wanted.  It would not matter if they had somewhere to go.  It was ok; they could be late.  In fact, this has a lot to do with why many Latin American cultures often do not run on the same time-based schedule as we are used to in the United States.  Time and schedule are not the priority.  

Shortly after we moved into our house in the Dominican Republic, I realized how often I would be having people into my home.  Often, they were other missionaries and sometimes they were travelers.  I quickly had to adapt either my housekeeping skills or my standards of clean-enough-for-company.  With the mix of dust in the air and living in an extremely warm and humid climate (that makes household cleaning tasks that much more exhausting), I can assure you that my housekeeping skills did not improve.  (Well, I would like to think that over six years they did improve some but not well enough or fast enough to make a difference those first months).  

So I adapted my expectations of myself and my home.  If you set foot in my Dominican casa, you could attest that my floors were rarely sparkling, my counters had clutter, my walls had children’s art, schedules, and random words taped up on them.  There were probably toys you would have to step over and perhaps a stack of homeschool papers you would have to push aside to sit at our table when you would come by for a visit. 

The house may not have been up to Martha-Stewart standards, but at our home you were always welcome, you could stay as long as you wanted, and there was always something for you to eat (even if all I had at the time was goldfish crackers). 

Do you know what surprised me?  People still came over.  It didn’t seem to matter much that my floors hadn’t recently been mopped or there was a pile of dishes in my sink.  People came over, sat at my table among the watercolor paints, drank some coffee, and stayed awhile.   They came over without notice.  They came over at all different times.  Sometimes they would stay for a few minutes to discuss some sort of finances with my husband, and sometimes I could convince them to stay for dinner.  

You see, I learned something those first few months when we were in the Dominican Republic.  When we would go to other’s houses, whether it was planned or we happened to be walking by and invited in, we were shown hospitality.  We were given a place to rest, a place to sit down, or often a bed to sleep in if we were tired.  It did not matter if we were spending the night. If we needed a nap, there was a place to nap. We were given something to eat and drink, water, coffee, freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, cheese, and crackers. There was always a plate of something on the table and drink in my hand. I learned quickly how much a snack can gently lift the spirits of a wearied traveler.  

But more than taking care of our bodies, it was the check in on our mental and emotional well-being that really made the difference.  When we had sat down, eaten a bite, taken a breath, and relaxed,  then someone would ask, “How are you doing?” “Really?”  That is hospitality.  It is caring for the whole of a person who enters your home, caring for them both physically and emotionally. It is loving one another as Christ has loved us.  

“Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.  Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling. Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms. If anyone speaks, they should do so as one who speaks the very words of God. If anyone serves, they should do so with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To Him be the glory and the power forever and ever. Amen.”

1 Peter 4:8-11

Once I figured out that hospitality had nothing to do with the cleanliness of my house or the quality of my home-made meals, I realized that God had given me the best example of hospitality growing up.  

Our house was seldom clean if you dropped by unannounced during my childhood, but that never stopped many people from dropping by on their way to and from church or school without any warning.  Our pastors would frequently come by after church if they had a voter’s meeting Sunday afternoon just to grab some food and kill some time.  It didn’t matter if there was a prepared meal.  It was common for anyone to walk in the kitchen, get a plate from the cupboard, and serve themselves something they found in our fridge.  In fact, my mom always said, “You are a guest only once in this house. After that you are family, and you can help yourself.”

My seventh-grade teacher would stop by after school on Back-to-School nights and take naps on our couch before she would have to return to school for the evenings.  We would often have different friends drop by during dinner, and someone would just set them another place and pull up a chair.  Our house was always a revolving door of different people coming by because they had free time, or they just wanted to catch up on life.  And as far as I could tell, no one seemed to care that the house was a mess.  They still came over.  My mom made sure everyone was always welcome.  And without me ever realizing it, she was overflowing with the gift of hospitality. 

Whether or not I have inherited her gift of hospitality, I understand the importance of caring for one another in the body of Christ just as we are called to do in 1 Peter.   

We are no longer in the Dominican Republic, but I will always remember what it was like to be a sojourner, to travel from place to place, to be welcomed into someone’s home, and to be cared for, valued, and loved.  

If you let me know you are coming over and plan to stay awhile, my family will run around like maniacs cleaning up all the odds and ends, scrubbing the sinks, sweeping the floors, and shoving counter A into box B to prepare for your visit. You will have clean sheets on the bed and fresh towels in the bathroom.  We will prepare a meal or nice snack for you and sit with you, pretending that our house usually looks like this. 

But if you happen to be in my neighborhood and just drop by, you will be welcome to sit at our table. And just go ahead and push aside that pile of math papers and chalk drawings.  We will offer you a drink and some form of nourishment for your body.  It may be a wonderfully grilled steak (if you happen to come on the right evening) or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  If you are tired, you may take a nap in our bed (coming from the mission field, it is not weird to offer someone a nap in your bed).  If you need to wash your clothes, you may use our washer and dryer.  If you come in the afternoon, you will be welcome to stay for dinner.  

After you have sat, eaten, and rested a bit, we will ask how you are doing, really doing.  Because, dear friend, you are cared for, you are loved, you are a child of God, and you are important to us.  

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Walking A Gracious Road

5 / 7 / 195 / 7 / 19
Pregnancy after loss: the day Joanna was born

It was just after 2:00 in the early morning of May 7, 2018, the day that I had a C-section scheduled for 11 a.m.  I woke up to light pains just like I had had many other nights. They never lasted long, so I picked up my ipad and began passing the time lettering a Bible verse.  I sometimes struggle to find the right verse to letter. This time I picked the last verse that showed up on my facebook feed, and I don’t even remember which friend had shared it.  So I lettered and created until I reached the point where I had to break during the contractions. I decided to get up and use the bathroom to see if that would help lessen the pain.  

And just after 4:00 a.m., my water broke.  

How do you know when your water breaks while going to the bathroom?  I don’t know. You just do. So I gently called to Blake, “Hey, honey, I think my water just broke.”  Wow, did he shoot out of bed! This wasn’t the plan. There was a schedule. Not because I wanted it, but because that is what the doctors thought would be safest for me and this baby.   And by only a miracle, this sweet baby had waited patiently inside me through six weeks of hospital bedrest for preterm labor and then nine weeks of home bedrest. Nothing else about this pregnancy had gone as planned so why should the birth?  

I was thankful my water broke.  I didn’t want a C-section, because I wanted this baby to be born on God’s timeline, not a day I chose.  I had put everything about this pregnancy in His hands when it all had gone awry, and I hated the idea of picking a day for this baby to be born. So I was thankful that May 7th was also the day God chose.  

I was calm that morning.  Too calm. Maybe I didn’t quite understand the urgency of everything.  I told Blake he could take a shower–we had time, and maybe I should do my hair.  He decided not to be calm. He decided we still needed to be urgent. That was a good decision.  We were out of there in twenty minutes.

4:22 a.m.

We had made it.  We had made it full term.  We had made it to the day this baby was to be born.  We have made it so far and yet, while driving to the hospital, the idea of holding a baby in our arms still felt so far away.  Pregnancy after loss was one of the hardest journeys we had walked. It had wreaked havoc on our marriage, on our emotions, and our family.  There were so many possibilites of heartache around every corner. We knew that heartache all too well, and what we didn’t know was if we could survive it all over again.  We were still fragile. We were still broken. We were so unsure if our hurting hearts could bear the weight of leaving a hospital without a baby in our arms again.

God has promised us many things but a baby is not one of them.  Many times when I was so afraid and I confided to those around me, I was given a response of “you just need to have faith.”  Faith in what? That is what I wanted to ask but never did. Faith that my baby will be born healthy? Faith that this pregnancy will not end in loss? Faith that everything will be ok?  None of that is promised to us. My faith would not bring me a healthy baby. My faith is in God and His promises, but that did not mean that I would end up holding a crying baby in my arms.

So what should I put my faith in?   Where do I turn in the moments of fear and doubt?  How does one survive nine months of anxiety that grips at a heart?  His promises are written in His Word. He keeps His promises. I can have faith in that.  What were God’s promises to me?

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;  
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,  
and the flame shall not consume you.”  Isaiah 43:2

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted    
and saves the crushed in spirit.”  Psalm 34:18

“We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair;  persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed” 2 Corinthians 4:8-9

 “And if I go and prepare a place for you,
I will come again and will take you to myself,
that where I am you may be also.” John 14:3

He does NOT promise good things, happy days, or healthy babies.  

He promises that we will not be consumed by the flames that might threaten us.  He promises to save our crushed spirits. He promises to give rest to our souls. And He promises a place for us that He will take us to Himself.  

My heart may be fragile, but it will not be crushed.  I WILL NOT BE DESTROYED. He promises that. He promises to be with me no matter what this day holds.  

Joy or sorrow, He is with me.  

So we walked into maternity triage, and it wasn’t long before bells began to ring and anxieties were flowing.  There was meconium in my water. They were not going to take their time getting this little one out. We didn’t even wait for a wheelchair.  I walked straight up into the O.R. and sat down on the table. Then the alarms went off. The heartbeat had plummeted.

I had listened to the heartbeat so many times.  The sound of a baby’s heartbeat is so comforting and beautiful.  During my six-week stay in the hospital, they had monitored the heartbeat three times a day, and I always asked them to leave the volume up.  I have listened to a monitor before and not heard a heartbeat. I do not take the sound of a heartbeat for granted, and it is always beautiful.  

So I know what a heartbeat is supposed to sound like, and, oh, how the heartbeat in that O.R. on the morning of May 7th sounded so very wrong, so slow and faint.  I remember the lump forming in my throat. I remember the nurse screaming to the anesthesiologist, asking what was the right code to call. Then I remember the alarms going off.  I remember the nurses and doctors running in. I remember them asking if I was numb yet so they could begin cutting. I remember reminding them to go get my husband out of the hallway.  Blake walked in at 6:04 a.m. I told him the heartbeat was low. And he said, “Ok.” I told him I was scared. And he said, “I know.” He walked in at 6:04, and she was born at 6:06. A beautiful baby girl.  


Joanna Grace.  

A name we had settled upon when I was first admitted to the hospital at 23 weeks.  Joanna, after one of the women who had gone to the tomb. One of the women who accompanied Jesus on his ministry.  A woman forever written on the pages of the resurrection, associated with the good news of the Gospel. A name forever tied with the grace, love, and the forgiveness of our God.  

Joanna walked a road, a good and gracious road, laid ahead of her by our Father.  She walked the road with her Saviour as He cared for the lost and hurting. She walked the road to the tomb preparing for sorrow and heartache, preparing to care for the body of her Lord.  She walked with a heavy heart expecting pain but instead she received joy. She received the good news. She was in His hands the entire journey even when she thought all was lost, even when she was filled with grief.  Our God is gracious. There is joy at the end of this journey no matter how painful each step may be.

"Restore to me the Joy of your salvation." Psalm 51:12

The doctor held her up and she made the slightest little cry.  Then they whisked her away, and we waited.

The silence felt like it would never end.  I couldn’t think or speak. I just kept breathing.  Not panicking. I knew that panicking when all your insides are exposed is not a good idea.

God is good.  

No matter what.  God is good. All the time.  God is good. Nine minutes. That is all it was.  That is how long we waited. Nine minutes normally flies by, but it didn’t then.  Nine minutes after the pediatric team took her out of the room, a nurse came back in and said, “Tell mom and dad the baby is doing great.”  

That was the first time in nine months I could breathe a sigh of relief.  The baby was ok.

There was extra monitoring the rest of the morning, and it took us a little longer than normal to make it out of recovery, but the baby was ok.  She was in my arms. Finally. She was going to be ok. We were all going to be ok.

We soaked in those first moments we had with her, marveling at every tiny feature.  She was perfection–created by a loving God. Created by the same God who had placed the stars in the night sky, who had created the towering redwoods, who had created the wings of a hummingbird, who had created her sister Ella two years before.  Fearfully and wonderfully made by a good and gracious God.

I firmly believe that every child is a perfect and precious gift from God.  And I was overjoyed to meet and hold each of my babies the day they were born.  But there is something different in the hospital room of a baby born healthy after a family has experienced the loss of a baby.  There is a joy that runs deep, an appreciation for the gift of life that isn’t promised, an awe at the sheer handiwork of the Creator.  The joy and appreciation in that room was so palpable you could almost scoop it up and hold it in your hands.

My most favorite moment from that day was when Joanna’s two big sisters walked into the room.  Their excitement and anticipation to see if they were about to meet a baby brother or a baby sister and their chance to experience a hospital room full of joy instead of sorrow or fear are memories I will treasure forever.  Their lives the past two years were shaken as well. They had experienced grief in all its rages. They had experienced the loss of a little sister, and they had been living with parents who were broken and hurting. They, too, knew that a baby was not promised at the end of a pregnancy.  They, too, were worried, anxious, and cautiously hoping to bring home a baby this time. There is something extra special in a hospital room of a baby after a family has grieved the loss of a baby before. You might know firsthand or you might have to take my word for it.

We did get to bring a baby home from the hospital with us this time.  That privilege was not lost on us. Too many parents do not. I did not know why we got this privilege, but I was grateful.  We had the privilege of late night feedings, messy diapers, newborn cries, sleepless nights. All of it treasured. My arms were full, my heart grew, and my smile, finally, was genuine.  I was so grateful, but a baby born does not replace a baby lost.

My heart will always long for Ella, to know her, to hold her, to watch her grow.  I wonder what her personality would be. Would she be soft-spoken and thoughtful like her big sister Abby? Or would she have spunk and love for life like Rachel?  I long to watch them all play together. Four girls. The giggles, the squeals, the frills and the fun the four of them would have had together. Another baby, another baby girl will never replace the baby I did not get to raise.  A mother’s love never fades over time. Ella taught me of the love and faithfulness of our Heavenly Father, and Joanna taught me of His grace.

Fearfully and Wonderfully Made
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When to Talk to Your Children about the Bad Stuff

10 / 3 / 1710 / 4 / 17

       Yesterday my heart broke into pieces.  Yesterday a city I once called home experienced the worst shooting in American history.  Yesterday I watched Facebook for hours upon hours waiting to see my Pacific time zone friends check in that they were safe and unharmed by the chaos during a concert.  When you have lived in a city that experiences such a horrific act, you are bound to know someone, if not many, who were directly affected by the mass shooting.

       I saw one of my friends post on Instagram the questions so many of us moms and parents face on a daily basis.  Do I tell my kids?  How much do I tell my kids?  How do I shatter their innocence with the evil that exists in our world?  How do I burden their heart with the pain that so many are experiencing?  There are no right answers, and for each child and every family the right answers may be different.  But I don’t have those questions anymore.

       Yesterday a mom had to tell her little ones their dad was in the hospital.  Yesterday a dad had to tell his littles that their mom had died.  Yesterday parents had to tell their children their big sister had been shot.  Yesterday students lost a teacher.  Parents have a choice to talk or not talk about the bad stuff until it is unavoidable.  And for so many yesterday, it was unavoidable.  The pain, heartache, and tears were all unavoidable.

        When we found out our baby Ella no longer had a heartbeat at 24 weeks, the conversation of death was unavoidable.  As a mom, I am so thankful that was not our first conversation of death.  We had merely hours to prepare our girls for what was to come.  We had merely hours to talk about death, heaven, sin, reasons why, and wipe away tears before we left them with grandparents to head to the hospital.  Those were also hours when we as parents were experiencing a whirlwind of emotions ourselves.  I can only imagine how much harder those hours would have been if that was the first conversation our family had had about death.

       Death is a part of life.  It is a painful part of life and a topic we adults usually prefer to avoid.   But it is still a part of life.  Evil exists in this world.  Sin is all around us, and sometimes it comes out in unimaginable, horrific forms.

        A few weeks following the death of Ella we got together with some friends.  They had just experienced the unexpected death of a family member.  There we were.  Two moms sipping coffee while our children played.  Both so fragile.  Both so broken by recent events in our own lives.  Both so unsure of how to parent through this phase of life neither of us expected to be in.

        Then it happened.  Our two oldest began a conversation.  We were in the middle of clearing and rinsing dishes when we heard my seven-year-old and her six-year-old begin a conversation about death.  Our two children matter of factly discussed the recent events of their lives.  They talked about burning bodies and spreading ashes.  They talked about the decaying process after a person dies.  They talked about heaven, heartbeats, and brain waves.  They repeated conversations we had with them in the prior weeks.  They repeated our answers to the many questions they had for us during funerals and mortuary visits.

        We listened to their innocent voices discussing topics we never intended to bring into their lives at this age.  We were two broken moms clinging to each other’s arms, holding each other up.  Each of us wondered if we had answered their questions correctly.  Had we shared too much?  Did we not share enough?  Did we guide them well?  Did we teach them how to process the last few weeks?  Did we prepare them to discuss this correctly with friends and strangers?

        Eventually their conversation moved to another topic, and our grip on each other lightened as we both began to exhale.  Our fragile mama hearts were still ok.  Our children discussed death and all the information their little brains had soaked up in the past few weeks.  They didn’t say anything offensive, hurtful, incorrect, or negative.  Most of their conversation was purely factual and very casual.  In so many ways they spoke about death so much better than we do as adults.  We looked at each other, and without saying a word, we both knew what the other was thinking.  We had done ok.  We taught them well.  We answered their questions correctly.  We had brought them to this moment when they could talk to their friends about death.  In our most difficult parenting moments, we had done ok.

        Following the death of their baby sister, I learned a lot about my two girls.  They understand hard truths better than I used to give them credit for.  They have experienced pain.  As their mom, I wish I could have shielded them from that pain.  They have seen me cry, break down, and fail.  They have seen me grieve.  There are so many times in the last year and a half I was sure that I was failing them, but I look back now and see how they have grown and what they have gained.  They experienced pain, but they have gained compassion.  They understand death, but they also see the beauty in heaven.  Their innocence will never be the same.  But they have gained wisdom.  So often they have the ability to talk about their feelings, death, and the bad stuff so much better than we do as adults.

        Parenting is hard.  Momming is hard.  Did I guide them through the hard stuff perfectly? No.  But I did the best I could.  And they are ok.  They are stronger.  They are more prepared for the hard stuff.  And with each hard conversation, we get the opportunity to talk about the good.  Because with all the bad stuff, there is always good.  There is always hope.  There is sin, yet there is forgiveness.  There is death, yet there is heaven.  There are people who cause pain, yet there are people who help.  There is Satan, yet there is Jesus.

        This mom business is no joke.  There are so many situations we face without a clear path.  Do you share the bad stuff?  Do you shelter your children?  Is there a right answer?  I still don’t know.  But I do know that we should expect the bad stuff. That truth is written for us in Scripture.

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

        The trouble is coming.  It is coming for us.  It is coming for our children.  And when the bad stuff knocks down your door, when you no longer have the choice to shelter your children from it because it has shattered your world, I pray that God gives you the words to guide them through the bad stuff.  I pray that when you face the trouble, you are able to navigate the many questions that will arise.  I pray that you can take heart.  I pray that you will have peace in Christ.  I pray that with the peace of Christ, you will know how to help your littles face the bad stuff. 

        Dear moms in Las Vegas and around the world who have suffered from the shooting on October 1 and to the many parents who do not have a choice to shelter your children,

I am praying for you.  I am praying for the many difficult questions you will have to answer in the coming days and weeks.  I pray that you have the strength to show your children how to live and love through pain and uncertainty.  I pray that you can find the good to point to amidst the very bad you are currently facing.  I pray for you as you help your children grieve when you are grieving yourself.  I pray for you as you send your children out into the scary world that they are no longer sheltered from when they go to school, to friends’ houses, and to classes.  I pray for your heart as it aches with fear.  I pray for you during this unimaginable time.   Take heart, dear mamas. He has told us in this world you will have trouble, and it has knocked down your door, but our Savior has overcome this world!

 

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25 Things This Mom Wants INSTEAD of Breakfast In Bed

8 / 23 / 178 / 23 / 17

Dear Children,

My birthday is coming up and before you decide you want to make me breakfast in bed, I thought we should clear something up.  Most moms do not want breakfast in bed.  I am not even sure where this idea started in the first place. Breakfast in bed usually makes a mess (from the kitchen all the way up to my bedroom – and oh how this will bring in the ants). On my birthday or on Mother’s Day, I really do not want to clean up a mess.  I am pretty sure all moms would like a day off from cleaning messes.

Also, I am not a big eat-breakfast-right-away person.  I am more of a sip-coffee-in-silence person and eat later.  So eating breakfast in bed does not appeal to this mom on several levels.  And to follow the art of gift-giving, you should always strive to give a gift that the receiver would want.

But you want to make me breakfast in bed. That tells me that you have an amazing heart that longs to serve others, and I love that about you.  So this year, I came up with a list of 25 ways you could celebrate me instead of bringing me breakfast in bed.  Pick one or pick a few.  

  1.     Clean your room – don’t roll your eyes at me.  Nothing makes me happier in the middle of the day than walking down the hall and seeing a clean room through the crack in your door.  When you have a clean room, it makes me feel like I am doing something right as a mom.
  2.     Let me sleep in – Oh, how I miss sleep!   Ever since you bounced into my life nine years ago, sleeping in is a rare treasure.
  3.     Draw me a picture – show me your talents and skills. Draw our family or something you love.  Take your time and use all the colors.  I love watching you develop your artistic skills and treasure your art throughout the years.
  4.     Play a game with your sister – without complaining or whining or squabbling.  Play nicely.  Laugh together.  Have fun.  Let me hear your kind words to each other from the next room.
  5.     Give me some quiet time – I have hobbies and pastimes that I rarely get to enjoy in the midst of Mommy-ing and housework.  Letting me have some quiet time to read, write, or draw is truly a gift.
  6.     Do something kind for someone else – help Daddy, offer to play with the little kids of one of our friends, offer to help our neighbor with their chores.  Share kindness with others.
  7.     Read a book – I know you love to do this anyway.  Reading is so great for you!  You learn so much when you read.  I love that you are a reader.  Read to your sister, too.  Help her sound out the small words in her book.  Share with her, your love of reading.
  8.     Write me a letter – I love to read your writing.  I love to see your penmanship develop as you get older.  I love to read the way you organize your thoughts.  I will keep this letter forever because as your mom I know how quickly these days will fly by and your thoughts and ideas and penmanship will continue to grow.
  9. Write your grandparents a letter – it is hard for them that we are so far away.  It makes them smile, and it makes me happy to know that you can still have a relationship with them even though the miles between us are so many.
  10. Clean up the playroom – I know, I know.  The playroom is such an overwhelming task but it makes me happy to see it organized.  I am also much more likely to let your friends come over in the future when the playroom is neat and the toys are put away.
  11. Make yourself breakfast – help your sister make breakfast.  I have taught you important skills.  Making your own breakfast is one of them.  Do that without needing me and you can also achieve #2 in the same act of kindness.
  12. Play me a song – you love music.  I love that you love music.  I love to see you practice at the piano or recorder.  I love to see you put time and effort into developing skills.  I would love to hear a song for my birthday.
  13. Give me a whole day without complaining – is that possible?  I bet you could do it.  It might take you some extra thought but I bet you would be able to go the whole day without being negative.
  14. Empty the trash – all the trash.  Don’t stop with the kitchen.  Empty the bathroom trash, too!  And the bedrooms!   Take it all the way to the outside trash can.  Make it disappear from my sight.  I think I would be much happier if I didn’t see trash at all on my birthday.
  15. Memorize a Bible verse – write it on the tablet of your heart.  I love to hear you recite God’s Word and watch you read the Bible.
  16. Sort through your toys – you know how I say put your toys away in the RIGHT spots.  I know you don’t always do this.  I know there are dolls in the box of Legos.   I know there are game pieces in the puzzles.  Sort through your toys and put them all back in their correct spots.  Order makes me smile.
  17. Clean up your clothes – actually fold your laundry and put the clothes all the way in the drawer.  You know, so it doesn’t look like your drawers are throwing up shirts and pajamas.  It would be great to walk by your room and see your drawers closed without clothes peeking out.
  18. Put together a give-away bag – go through some of your toys, clothes, and shoes.  Find the items you don’t play with anymore or the ones you have outgrown.  Put them in a bag and let’s give it to someone who would be able to use them.
  19. Give me a whole day without arguing – this is possible, too.  I know you can do it.  No comparing life with your sister.   Life isn’t fair anyway, so no need to point it out and get upset about it.  Your sister got the United States placemat before you did? That is great for her.  Tell her you think so.  Your sister wants to ride bikes, and you want to play Legos–maybe you can do both or just play separately.  I am sure for one day you can solve all your problems with kind words and cooperation.
  20. Clean your desk – get it ready for work to be done.  A clean desk provides a better workspace and allows for more concentration and productivity (look it up).  Clear off the entire top; don’t just push papers to the side.  Clean underneath it.  Stack your books nicely on the shelves.  Remember how much I love organized spaces!
  21. Sweep the patio – I know it is not your fault that life is dirty and things like the patio just get dusty and filled with leaves.  But help out the family and sweep it just because you are kind and want to be helpful.
  22. Clean out the car – Oh, is this a big one, and unlike #21, this one is probably your mess.  It especially gets bad when you find that two-week old juice box that your father bought you.  I know it stinks, but if you think so, you should have cleaned the car back when you were just two years old and found your milk cup that rolled under the seat from who-knows-when.  But again, it’s a job that needs to get done and it will make me happy if I don’t have to do it.
  23. Flush the toilet – can you do this all year?  If I never have to remind you of this again, I will be overjoyed!  Why don’t you remember this on your own?  It doesn’t matter, but can you start remembering now?
  24. Write me a story – just like your letters and drawing, I love your imagination and creativity.  I love to hear your thoughts and dreams.  Write them down.  Dream up a character and a place and write them down so I can treasure it forever.
  25. Give me a hug and tell me you love me – there is no better gift on my birthday than your love!

I love you my dearest children!  Thank you for thinking of me on my birthday.  Thank you for wanting to serve me.  Thank you also for taking direction and serving me in a way I want to be served.

You are growing up to be kind and generous young ladies, and I can’t wait to see how God is going to use you in this world.

Love always and forever,

Mom

 

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A Prayer From My Mama Heart

5 / 24 / 175 / 25 / 17

“Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it.” Proverbs 22:6

 

Dear Father in Heaven

This motherhood gig-–it’s no joke. It’s exhausting, full of difficult decisions, and some days I just need a break. My heart loves with a capacity that I didn’t know was possible. These children bring me more joy than I deserve. I love being a mom. But I feel so much pressure to get it right. There are so many moments I think I am failing them. Am I on the right track?

I love these littles You’ve given me. This year has been tough. I have learned lessons I never wanted to learn.  I have taught lessons I never wanted to teach.  I have learned that although they are my children on earth they really still belong to You. That isn’t always easy for my mama heart to grasp.


Today I need to lay my weakness at Your feet. I need to confess my sinful nature as a mom. But Father, please be gentle with me. My mama heart is fragile.

My love for these littles is so so great that too much of the time I spend in fear. Fear for their safety. Fear for their health. Fear for their future. And fear that I am not making the best choices for them. I have taken their well being out of Your hands and tried to carry that responsibility myself. That is not my job as their mother. And God, You and I both know that I am just not capable to protect them from the dangers in this world. Only You can do that. It is solely my job to train them up in the way they should go and trust you with the rest.

That is really hard for me to do. So be patient with me, I may fall into my old ways more often than I’d like to admit.

Back to that train them up thing, I need to make a confession here, too. When you said “the way they should go” – I realize that only You know what that way is for my children. I am guilty of thinking I know the best plan for their life. But You have shown me that Your ways are better (even when I don’t understand them). Forgive me for thinking I know best. I don’t.

So today from my tender mama heart I ask for Your forgiveness.  I lay my children in Your loving hands. I lay down all the ways I thought they should go.  I lay down all I tried to control.  I lay down their health, their future, their lives. Because truthfully, Lord, all I want for their lives is for them to honor You in all they do and to bring glory to Your name.

And if that means

They do not get into great schools,

They do not excel in future jobs

They do not marry and have children

The world does not recognize their talents

They are overcome with illness

or


They do not outlive me in this world

BUT

They love others the way You do

They selflessly care for Your people

They give cheerfully

and

They praise You in all circumstances

Then that is all that I could ask for in this life. I put these children You have given me back in Your hands (because they were never really mine to take anyway), and I trust You with their future.

One more thing, Father, when they do encounter challenges and struggles and pain in their life to ultimately bring you glory, can you help me adequately prepare them?  Help me train them today to face whatever You have in store for them tomorrow.  Help me model for them in word and deed.  Help the fruits of my life be an example of Your goodness. Let them see me love and care and give.  Let them see me praise You in all circumstances.  Let my life as their mama bring You glory.

Thank You for trusting me to be their mama.

Help me honor You in this job.

Amen

 

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