Wobbly

"I think the entire 4th grade was there.  I was surprised there were so many of us."

Her words surprisingly cut through me and I felt an unexpected pang of something {I couldn't quite name} deep inside.

As she innocently shared the highlights  of last night's National Elementary Honor Society assembly, the words of a fellow classmate of my son's lingered like heavy fog as I processed them.

We weren't there. 

My son wasn't among the "entire" or the "so many".

While not typically a competitive person, I found myself lurking in the muddy water of envy and jealousy, of anxiety and adrenaline.  I even asked the sweet 9-year old what the "criteria" was for inclusion into this elite club.  After all, my son is a good student too...

But this isn't about my son, now is it? 

I often feel like a newborn pony as she tries to stand minutes after she's born:  awkward.  I hear God's sweet message of  "love, love, love" and the world's relentless voice telling me "go, go, go".  Can we do them both?  And can we do them well?

I am very aware of my approach to parenting.  I'm a choose-love-over-achievement kind of parent.  I encourage more often than I push, expect more often than I force.  I deliberately choose childhood play over a jam-packed agenda and intentionally reward effort over performance.

But today, like many other days, I question:  Am I parenting in a way that draws out the best in each of my kids?  Is my approach enabling them to sit in comfort rather than rise to their capabilities?  If I "drove" them harder, would I ignite some untapped "excellence" that is in hiding in each of my children?  Are they capable of more? 

And by "more", do I mean more "of this world"?

I don't mean to imply that making the National Elementary Honor Society (or any other achievement) is "of this world".  On the contrary, I know that God delights in us using our gifts for His glory and blesses our work when we give our best:

"Servants, do what you're told by your earthly masters.  And don't just do the minimum that will get you by.  Do your best."  (Colossians 3:22 MSG)

But I'll admit that I awkwardly parent when trying to send the message that "you are more" when their glorious souls pour out joy to the world, yet don't make "the cut" despite how hard they've worked.  Often it feels like a trade-off...as though the pursuit of achievement-oriented excellence (here on Earth) is somehow at the expense of growing in...and representing...Christ to the world.

Frankly, I'm still trying to master this.  It's ridiculously hard for me to linger in compassionate space when my to-do list enables my performance idol.  I flail with my prayer life when I've filled my calendar, even when it's with "good" things.  I struggle with mastering a skill or even offering my own gifts because to do so means I can't do other important things.  So it's no wonder I am struggling with how to lead my kids to do it.

So until God lifts the layer of fog on this issue for me, I stand in this truth...and mother from the same place: 

"So, chosen by God for this new life of love, dress in the wardrobe God picked out for you: compassion, kindness, humility, quiet strength, discipline. Be even-tempered, content with second place, quick to forgive an offense. Forgive as quickly and completely as the Master forgave you. And regardless of what else you put on, wear love. It’s your basic, all-purpose garment. Never be without it."  (Colossians 3:12-14 MSG)

Saying goodbye...

I’ve been avoiding it for years.  It’s as if hanging onto it all somehow kept them young.

Among it, the Parents instrument set that Carter got 8 years ago for his first birthday. It entertained all of us, including Addison 4 years later, with hours of stomping around the living room, creating an orchestra of noise. Then there was the Little People train and barn set, also a classic, that sparked Carter's 4-year train obsession, provided Addison with her first opportunities for imaginary play, and me glorious floor time with each of them.  These coveted friends journeyed with us for almost 9 years and finally departed our home in trash bags, each giving their final “beep” or “jingle” as if to say, “Thanks for having us…we’re onto something new."

It was the triggering event that finally dislodged the lump in my throat that's been lurking for the months leading up to Addison leaving for Kindergarten. I fell apart. I'm now a Mother of school-age kids; the process of cleaning out our playroom brought to light that my life stage of kids-still-at-home is over.

Sure, the de-cluttering process has been freeing. Carter unapologetically told me which of the (thousands of) toy cars could go, as well as the various stuntmen that drove them and the action figures that tried to blow them up.  The millions of tiny pieces (Tinkerbell's 1mm-sized shoe) that once had to find safety on Christmas morning (to avoid being tossed with the wrapping paper) is now safely among its kind for the next child to adore. I can see our playroom floor and the items that filled every square inch of my living room now feels “clean”.  And I take great joy in knowing that we are passing along bags and bags of treasures to kids who would otherwise not have them.

But beyond the "cleaning out" lies the reality that yet another chapter of my life is over and the pace at which this next one will pass will be twice as fast.

A friend of mine sent her oldest son to college this year and of the many emotions she expressed, one of them was “weirdly natural”.  I’m not quite there yet. While I know the “stuff” doesn’t make the “stage”, I'm sad to go from Geotrax to Minecraft, from Princesses to apps.

We’re moving on and I know that what awaits me around the next corner of their lives will be delightful and exciting. And I know that God has prepared me to Mother them differently; to love them in this next stage...

But for now, I’m missing the one where they’re just little.

 

 

 

Backstage...Not Invisible.

It's been a particularly rough month for my husband at work. He runs a real estate company and has the daunting task of balancing Entrepreneur and Salesman, CEO and Negotiator, all in the midst of an economy that has the housing market in a vice. With many deals volatile, each day presents a unique set of intricacies to keep them all afloat. It is incredibly stressful on him and equates to very long hours (from our home office), weekend commitments, and mental space that is predominantly occupied with work-related concerns.

These seasons are particularly difficult on me as well. I dance between being grateful for the business and missing him at home. I assume the lion's share of the post-6pm requirements (after already being "at it" since 6:00am) of homework, dinner, baths, meltdowns, story time, and cleaning...and finally fall on my couch around 10:30pm, incapable of uttering any meaningful speech.

I realize I am not unique; beyond that, I know I am immeasurably blessed with a Godly man who is tirelessly serving in all areas of his life. But playing the consistent supporting role in our cast of characters during long seasons of emotional and physical "unavailability" by the person I love most is hard. I begin to feel like the contributions I make are simply the expected...the norm; yet what it requires to make the "basics" happen are nothing short of exhausting. Adding to that, "expecteds" don't come packaged with feedback: there are no "high-fives" for prepping our son for his cumulative math test, no bonus checks for pets to the vet or sitting in the car dealership for hours to get work done. There are lists with task after endless task that only grow in volume and complexity with seemingly no tangible reward. Isolation only steepens when no one asks me about my work, how "business" is, or how I'm holding up under the intense pressure of raising our next generation.

Days and weeks go by and the subtlety of the powerful enemy slithers in. He holds the blanket of self-pity and adorns me like a gown. He seeps into my sub-conscious and tells me that the only thing really valuable is bringing home a salary...like I used to. He is the IV of condemnation when I mishandle my children and lash out at my husband. He is the broken record that sings this tune:

"You...

Are...

Invisible."

The result? A 41-year-old child. Yep. I pout and pierce like a little girl who got chosen last (again) for the kickball team. The enemy conjures up all kinds of "stuff" for me - stuff I'm not even sure I can name.

I know I'm not alone. In fact, I hope you are reading this and maybe even feeling a place in your heart all too familiar...because in the painful familiarity, I pray you will hear this:

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but was is unseen is eternal. -2 Corinthians 4:16-18

As Sarah Young writes in Jesus Calling, "Welcome problems (or seasons) as perspective-lifters. My children tend to sleepwalk through their days until they bump into an obstacle that stymies them. If you encounter a problem with no immediate solution, your response to that situation will take you either up or down. You can lash out at the difficulty, resenting it and feeling sorry for yourself. This will take you down into a pit of self-pity. Alternatively, the problem can be a ladder, enabling you to climb up and see your life from My perspective. Viewed from above, the obstacle that frustrated you is only a light and momentary trouble. Once your perspective has been heightened, you can look away from the problem altogether. Turn toward Me, and see the Light of My Presence shining upon you."

I have given the enemy victory over my Savior. I have given him the power to shout louder than my Father. I have lost perspective, friends.

The TRUTH is that the light of our God's presence is just as bright backstage as it is onstage! And when I tilt my head back, chin to the sky, I feel its intensity like the glorious radiating sunshine that He created to warm my soul...and remind me of my individuality as His princess.

I matter. And so do you. Let Him help you get to the top of the {perspective} ladder.

In-Between

The need to be needed.

I assume it is innate for most of us. A pull...a strong desire to add real value, to contribute, to shape the outcome of someone's life. Yes, to make the world a better place. We crave opportunities that will allow us - the "us" that is unique, distinct, one-of-a-kind - to leave a lasting footprint somewhere. 

God wants this too. It's Biblical. It's written all throughout scripture that we were created in His image, for the purpose of His good. He gifted us with unique talents and attributes to be used for His glory, all in His perfect timing.

No wonder the search for significance is insatiable.

I don't know about you, but this knowledge actually makes me anxious. Most days I feel like I'm standing on the edge of some great adventure...some huge calling...some magnificent "thing" that will finally answer the "Am I doing what I should be doing?" feeling I've had most of my adult life. I find myself in a hurry, never able to quite move fast enough...yet introspective, wanting to slow down to ensure I don't miss "it".

Somewhere in-between "on the cusp" and "not yet", I am left feeling unsettled. Is this it? Is this how you want to use me, Lord?

So I've decided it's time to explore that unsettledness. I'm journeying through some exciting things right now; healing I've been putting off for years. (I'm capturing it in my cool journal.)

Heart exploration is intense work. It is here I discovered that one of the messages I received when I was very young led me to believe I wasn't wanted. Not in the "oops, you were a mistake" kind of way, but in the subtleties of "don't ask much of me" and "it's really easier on me if you don't have any needs." I don't recall being "delighted in", nor do I recall my gifts being acknowledged, much less nurtured. So early in life, I learned to stay out of the way, figure it out, and keep my needs at bay...while certainly never expressing feelings of disappointment or hurt. 

So imagine how exciting (yet awkward) it is to realize that my Father wants quite the contrary:  that He wants an intimate relationship with me...and that He designed me with a specific purpose, an important role to play:  one that will be far richer when I learn to need Him, to call on Him when I am lost, and to (gulp) rely on Him for every fear, every worry, and every possible need I could have. And that even when I do, I AM DELIGHTFUL.

I believe that it is in my utter reliance that I will hear Him most clearly. Thus, I will know with more certainty how I am to serve Him. Until then, as I sit on the shores of "learning to trust" and dance with sideways evangelism, I'm still actively listening. I'm still asking. I'm still praying, everyday, to be used by Him and for Him.

So in the in-between, I'm less anxious about the BIG role (if there is one) and instead, beginning to peel back the layers to understand my heart and inviting God in to keep me safe in the process.

"Therefore I am now going to allure her;

I will lead her into the desert

and speak tenderly to her.

There I will give her back her vineyards,

and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope."  Hosea 2:14, 15

I'm excited about what He's got planned and what He's already done. I know that this relationship we are building...this intimacy...is the enabler to the next call. While the lure of "I know you've got more in store for me" is still there, I am mindful of doing His work in my space each and every day, little by little, touch by touch.

And so can you.

What are you waiting for?

Love is in the Air - Where are You?

I was walking the hallways of my son's school this morning, awkwardly looking for a classroom to jump in and observe, as part of the "In-House/Open-House" event for parents. Also traveling the same hallway were other moms of rising 4th graders, presumably chatting about what they had observed for next year's curriculum, which teacher they hoped their son or daughter would get, and how quickly time is flying.

New to this school, I don't know many of the moms and dads; we don't live close by, we don't go to the church with which it is affiliated, and I don't get to spend a lot of time on campus. Acclimation, while no fault of the school's, has been slow for me. So when I saw the clump of women, I assumed it was an existing friend group and that "someday" I'd be among one at the school too.

As if reading my (subconcious) thoughts, one of the women turned around and offered a warm smile, left the group and walked toward me, hand extended, and introduced herself to me. "I'm Beth; it's our first year here.  What is your name?"

Taken by her warmth and quietly giggling that Beth was applying the "how to make new friends 101" advice I give my children, we began chatting. Quickly covering foundational topics ("What brought you to this school?", "How is your son transitioning?", yada yada), we very seamlessly drifted into topics that many close-knit friends have yet to cover, let alone new acquaintances. As Beth shared some of the challenges she faces with her children, I found myself freely sharing mine as well. We had much in common that extended far beyond our choice for a Christian-based education or acclimating to a new English curriculum. 

Beth mentioned a small bit of information about her son that happened to be something I am working through with Carter. I gingerly - and with permission - asked if she would share more. And she did. 

What strikes me about this morning's interaction is that I continue to be met with new ways of thinking as it relates to God's charge of "loving one another."

John 13:34:  “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another."  

Biblically, love is simply more than warm feelings; it is an attitude that reveals itself in action. But here's what I'm learning:  You have to begin somewhere. Even as action-oriented as we all seem to be, "love" usually has to have a trigger. In day-to-day interactions (by contrast to more obvious opportunities to serve), discipleship (for me) often first begins with storytelling..."I'm struggling with something."  And storytelling begins with a willingness to share..."I'm considering sharing my struggle with you." And a willingness to share begins with the offer of another's heart..."Do I feel safe to share my struggle with you? Am I willing to risk it for the sake of building relationship?"

While perhaps a simple example, today Beth approached me. Then she shared her struggle. Then she offered more upon my inquisition...which allowed a connection beyond the superficial and into the important. Her storytelling invited mine. We reciprocated vulnerability. We offered loving words of encouragement. I cried. She compassionately responded with tears of her own.

While there is plenty of opportunity to make John 13:34 far more alive in this single interaction - and we may as we continue the journey of our shared struggle - we got started.  That's the point. We began somewhere. We invited the Holy Spirit into our conversation and interaction today and He showed up. I believe He sent Beth to me today. And perhaps me to her.

But we never would have known had we not been willing participants of "love"...even in its infancy.