Rejoicing and Weeping

While we are called to live peaceably with all as far as it concerns us, there are degrees of relationship.  The closer the relationship, the more energy we are called to invest in it to keep it healthy and safe.  Each of us has a different capacity for relationship; we are not called to be equally intimate, to invest equally deeply in everyone we know.  Some relationships are to be given priority by means of proximity (loving your "neighbor" - see Luke 10:29ff) and sibling relationships are certainly some of those "neighbor" relationships.

Romans 12:10 says that Christians are to "love one another with brotherly affection" [emphasis mine].  Even the use of the word "brotherly" as an adjective suggests that there is a naturally assumed closeness and affinity between siblings.  So, what does "brotherly affection" look like?  There are four main topics addressed in the verses which follow:

1. Live peaceably with all.
2. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.
3. Outdo one another in showing honor.
4. Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

In the previous post, we talked about #1 (Peace is an Uphill Journey) and I promised there that we'd expand on what it looks like to actively seek peace in the household. Today let's start a discussion about #2: rejoicing and weeping.  The verses in Romans read as follows:

Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another. Romans 12:15-16a

Part of what it means to love brothers and sisters is to "harmonize" with them, both in their joy and in their sorrow, to tune our chords to the major and minor keys of their melody.  This sounds commonsensical, but it isn't always easy.  We are naturally self-focused and concerned mostly with our own experience and emotions.  It takes a great deal of purpose and intentionality to observe what is happening in the lives of those around us and to engage with them in the rejoicing or weeping it produces.

When several children are playing outside and one falls and is hurt, others need to stop and see how they can help.  It is "discordant" for everyone else to laugh and play happily while a sibling cries nearby.  On the other hand, when one child receives a special treat or privilege, it is important for siblings to learn how to be happy for that child and rejoice with them rather than robbing them of a part of their joy by spite or negative comments.

Mama, when one of your little ones comes to you excited about a drawing or a nature find, do you enjoy it with them?  When a child is upset about something that seems to you like a minor problem, do you belittle their concern, or relate to their hurt?  This sharing in the moments of life - even when they arise at inconvenient times - builds emotional capital in the relationship bank.  This proactive, self-sacrificing, other-focused attitude is a huge part of the daily seeking of peace.

This isn't a "quick tip".  Your children will struggle to do this.  You will struggle to do this.  It goes against the grain and takes a great deal of self-knowledge and self-control to engage with another in their joys and sorrows, especially when those emotions happen to be contrary to what we ourselves are currently feeling.  Imagine how difficult it can be to rejoice with someone's new home purchase when you are experiencing financial struggles, or how difficult it can be to tuck away enthusiasm over a new baby in order to weep with a friend who has just experienced a miscarriage.

Sometimes, as a mother, you will have to counsel in both directions at once.  The child who gets to spend a weekend with the grandparents needs to keep from gloating over his privilege and to identify with how sad his siblings will be to miss him and to miss the fun with grandparents.  On the other hand, the siblings need to rejoice with him in his special treat and not try to make him feel guilty for having this priveledge.

What is the balance?  Who gives more?  What emotions are appropriate to share, when and to what degree?  This is not the stuff of rules, checklists and flow-charts.  This is the stuff of living side by side and walking through the experiences of life with your children in a wisdom-building, grace-instilling way.  This is enough work to fill up a lifetime.  But it is good work.  And it is work with eternal value.  Dig deep, mama.  Lean in.  Not a moment is wasted, not a tear or a prayer goes unnoticed.

This post is a part of the Mama Marriage Counselor series.

Mama Marriage Counselor

I'm starting a new series on the blog today and along with it a new page to collect the related posts.  You can find the text below on the Mama Marriage Counselor page (also a new tab at the top of the blog) and look there to see new posts as they are added.

Who had it first?  Who does it belong to?  Where did she find it?  What did she do to you after that?

Do you decide for the plaintiff or the defendant?  And which one is which anyway?

I used to view my role in sibling disputes more like that of a judge: hear the facts, render a verdict and hand down a sentence.

And then one day, everything began to change When God Turned the Tables on Me.

And now, I am learning, slowly, that being a mama in the midst of little people is more like the role of a marriage counselor than the role of a judge.  Sure, I can make a ruling on who gets the ball, who gets to sit there, or whose turn is next.  That is much simpler and quicker.  And it is of value to my children ... for about the next 35 seconds until another dispute erupts.  Or, I can walk alongside them and teach them how to understand what is going on in their own hearts.  I can view each "episode" as a learning opportunity for understanding people, their needs, our needs and our own tendencies.  And that is of eternally lasting value.

There are, however, two problems with this second approach.  First, it takes a lot longer.  It is a lot more challenging mentally, physically and emotionally to really invest into people's lives, to sit with them in their struggle and to be a safe place for them to turn their hearts inside out and dump everything onto the table for you to peruse.

Secondly, it will inevitably lead to your own journey of self-discovery.  You will never be that safe place unless your heart is inside out on the table, too.  But hold onto your hat, sister.  Once you start this journey, side by side with those little people who live in your home and breathe the same air you breathe, you will never be the same again.  It is like drinking from a fire hydrant.  So much testing by fire (or by water?) that sometimes you will wish you could go back to being the impartial judge and sentence-declarer.

And this is why we need to, we must take this journey in community.  Will you join us here?  Think of this as the counselors' meeting room.  Let us stir one another up to love and good works!

When God Turned the Tables on Me

Note: Even though I am new to blogging, I have been writing for years because it really helps me to process my thoughts.  Most of the things I write have just hibernated on my hard drive.  But I have shared a few things over the years, and this is one of them.  So if you know me in real life, this may be a re-run.

It was a fairly routine morning.  We had slogged through breakfast and clean-up and we were somewhere in the middle of making it through the morning.  I don’t even remember if this was one of the days when we attempted to accomplish some school work or not.  What I do remember was that the children were at each other with bickering and arguing.  I also remember that I was tired of dealing with it and just wanted it all to stop.  So, I did what (I thought) any good Christian mother would do.  I marched them all into the living room and sat them all on the sofa so that I could beat them over the head with some Bible verses (figuratively, not literally).

Although I knew better, I tended to treat Scripture as a handy list of how-to’s which, if I could conform my children closely enough to, would lead to a smoothly-run and peaceful household.  This particular day, I wanted to persuade my children of the importance of dealing with inter-personal problems according to the simple and straightforward method laid out in Matthew 18.  Follow this recipe, I wanted to convey, and we will all be a lot happier.

I opened up to Matthew 18 and scanned down through the verses until I came to the part about your neighbor trespassing against you.  I was reading to them from the King James Version and in that version, verse 15 begins in this way …

“Moreover, if thy brother shall trespass against thee …”

I’ve listened to enough sermons in my lifetime to know that if a verse begins with something like “Moreover” or “Therefore” it means that the current statements are based on the context of what came before it.  So, in an attempt to be a good Bible scholar, I decided to back up to the beginning of the passage to put the pertinent verses in their context.  But an amazing thing happened as I read and explained.  I realized that God had turned the tables on me.  It was I who was being “beaten over the head” (although with far more tenderness and compassion than I had myself managed to muster) with these verses.

In Matthew 18, Christ begins by talking about little children.  In order to enter the kingdom of heaven, we must become like a little child.  In fact, God’s love for his little children is so deep and so fierce that he has stern warnings for those who cause one of his little ones to stray.  He compares himself to a shepherd who will do whatever it takes to seek after lost sheep.  And it is in this context, directly on the heels of the sheep-seeking illustration that the “Moreover” of verse 15 arrives.

Suddenly, it hit me.  Verses 15 and following are not intended primarily as a neat and orderly protocol for mediating human disputes and achieving justice (though in God’s providence, that may result).  Instead, these verses are a quick-reference guide on the active practice of participating with Christ in the sheep-seeking mandate.

So, what does someone sinning against you have to do with seeking lost sheep?  Well, presumably, if the sin was committed against you, then you were the first one to know that one of Christ’s sheep strayed off the path.  You were watching when he wandered out of the pasture, so, naturally, the first responsibility falls to you to run after him.  And, if you can’t manage the rescue on your own, you need to get help!

Even in the moment, I felt the difficulty of these words.  Wait a minute, someone sins against me, wounds me, disrespects me, treats me wrongly … and God is expecting me to joyfully jump up and go cheerfully after him, coaxing him to come back and hang out with us?  In a word, Yes.

Thankfully, the Lord anticipated my incredulity, and apparently Peter could relate to it, too.  You can hear the tension in his voice when he asks the Lord how many times one is expected to do this.  Doesn’t there come a point when we are released from the seemingly-impossible task of running after someone who has just hurt us?  Isn’t there some kind of limit or breaking point?  As was often his way, the Lord responded to Peter (and to me) with a parable.

The parable he tells is about the wicked servant who is forgiven an impossible debt by the king and then refuses to forgive a small debt to a friend.  Essentially, Christ was saying, “Well, Peter, I’m only asking you to do a small fraction of what I did for you.”  How can Christ expect us to run lovingly after someone who has just spit in our faces or slapped us or mocked us?  Because that’s exactly what he did for us.  Except our sins against him are sins against the infinite God and Creator of the universe, whereas the sins of others against us are simply sins against finite, created human beings.

When someone sins against us, we should be concerned about the offense that was committed.  But we should be concerned about it more fully as it serves to hamper that person’s relationship with the almighty God than in whatever sense it damaged that person’s relationship with us.  David recognized the much weightier sense of sin as an obstacle to his relationship with God when he said, in Psalm 51, “Against thee, thee only have I sinned …”  Certainly it was true that he had sinned against Uriah, Bathsheba, Joab, his soldiers and even the people of Israel as a whole.  But in the ultimate sense, the greatest weight of his offense was found in sinning against God.

So, here I was facing my children with a Bible in hand that I had planned to use like a wrecking ball to smack them around a little bit and whip them into shape for my own personal pleasure and convenience.  And instead, the Lord used Matthew 18 to say to me, “Are you running after these little sheep like I would run after them, to coax them back tenderly?  Or are you doing a better job of chasing them further away with your arrogant, self-centered attitude?  Watch out.  I don’t take kindly to those who cause my little ones to stumble.”

I considered myself warned.  Instead of lecturing, I confessed my sin to my children and I asked their forgiveness.  Thus began my journey into understanding that, while there is something truly unique and special about the privilege I have been given to be the mother of these dear children, there are also many ways in which my relationship with them is very like my relationship with my other brothers and sisters in Christ.  And because of this, there is no shortage of wisdom in all of Scripture, and in Matthew 18 about how to be a good mother to the little portion of the flock over which my Father has given me particular care and jurisdiction.

This post is a part of the Mama Marriage Counselor series.

Pruning the Dead Branches

Thought about and searched for this tonight ...

Spurgeon's Morning and Evening: Morning for April 29th

"Thou art my hope in the day of evil." --Jeremiah 17:17 

The path of the Christian is not always bright with sunshine; he has his seasons of darkness and of storm. True, it is written in God's Word, "Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace;" and it is a great truth, that religion is calculated to give a man happiness below as well as bliss above; but experience tells us that if the course of the just be "As the shining light that shineth more and more unto the perfect day," yet sometimes that light is eclipsed. At certain periods clouds cover the believer's sun, and he walks in darkness and sees no light. There are many who have rejoiced in the presence of God for a season; they have basked in the sunshine in the earlier stages of their Christian career; they have walked along the "green pastures" by the side of the "still waters," but suddenly they find the glorious sky is clouded; instead of the Land of Goshen they have to tread the sandy desert; in the place of sweet waters, they find troubled streams, bitter to their taste, and they say, "Surely, if I were a child of God, this would not happen." Oh! say not so, thou who art walking in darkness. The best of God's saints must drink the wormwood; the dearest of His children must bear the cross. No Christian has enjoyed perpetual prosperity; no believer can always keep his harp from the willows. Perhaps the Lord allotted you at first a smooth and unclouded path, because you were weak and timid. He tempered the wind to the shorn lamb, but now that you are stronger in the spiritual life, you must enter upon the riper and rougher experience of God's full-grown children. We need winds and tempests to exercise our faith, to prune away the dead branches of self-reliance, and to root us more firmly in Christ. The day of evil reveals to us the value of our glorious hope. [emphasis mine]

 Tonight I am giving thanks for pruning.  It's never fun.  It's never easy.  But looking back and seeing some of the things that have been dropped (or ripped away?) from our homeschool as of late, and how much healthier we are, how much more good fruit is coming from those few things we are left to focus on - even from the things in which I play no direct part except observation and delight - I am in awe at the beauty and sovereignty of my God.  Would I ever have made these choices and changes if we weren't under "duress"?  I don't know.  But I see where we are now and I am glad.  I am at peace.  At least tonight.  And so, tonight, I give thanks.

Singing in Sorrow

A friend mentioned that she's been taking great comfort in Psalm 13, so I've been reading over it today, too.

To the choirmaster. A Psalm of David. 

How long, O LORD?
Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I take counsel in my soul and have sorrow in my heart all the day?
How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?
Consider and answer me, O LORD my God;
Light up my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death,
Lest my enemy say, "I have prevailed over him,"
Lest my foes rejoice because I am shaken.
But I have trusted in your steadfast love;
My heart shall rejoice in your salvation.
I will sing to the LORD, because he has dealt bountifully with me.

He truly has dealt bountifully with me.  Even when I "have sorrow in my heart all the day" that doesn't change his steadfast love.  It's still worth trusting.  Light up my eyes, Lord.  Help me to sing.

Three Things

This morning I was not looking forward to church.  It isn't that I don't like our church or that I don't want to hear God's word.  It's just all the getting there.  And the managing of people.  And, today, the taking food and eating there.  But it was worth it.  So worth it.  Came back far richer than I went in.  Here are three things that jumped out at me, that I needed to hear today.

• The prayer of a grandfather.  One of the newest little members of our congregation was baptised this morning.  Her grandfather, an elder in another church from another town, led the congregation in prayer for her and her parents after the administration of the sacrament.  He prayed that her parents "would have the strength to call on you in prayer."  Isn't that just so true?  We even need to pray for the strength to pray!
• The prayer of an elder.  Each Sunday, one of our elders leads the congregation in prayer.  This morning, the Elder who prayed thanked God "for leaving us in the world".  The longing for eternity?  I get that.  The being thankful for being left here to do the good work God has for us?  I've been forgetting that recently.  But it's true.  And it's worth dwelling on.
• The encouragement of a pastor and session.  Our dear pastor preached to us from 2 Timothy 1:1-7 which ended with these words " ... for God gave us a spirit not of fear, but of power and love and self-control."  He publically encouraged all of us.  And then, during the church lunch, he came over and repeated those same words quietly, near to the ear of my oldest, my 10-year old son, just before it was time for him to go and meet with the elders to give a testimony of his faith in order to join the church.  Each one of the elders in that room (including my father) showered my son with tender love and encouragement, speaking to him as a fellow-heir.  As Pauls to a Timothy.

I am so glad that God's faithfulness and goodness are unchangeable, objective realities completely independant of my feelings about them.  But I am also thankful that some days he also reaches through the fog, in mercy, and speaks even to and through my feelings.

A Smile Doesn't Have to Mean You are Happy

Sometimes we smile as a demonstration of what we are feeling inside.  Sometimes we smile as a reflection of what we see outside of us.  Both are true, genuine and valid.

A smile can say ...

"Good morning.  I hope you have a lovely day."

"I am so glad to see your face."

"I am thankful to be your Mama."

"That outfit looks great on you."

"Don't worry.  You are going to be OK."

"I am so proud of what you accomplished."

"It is good to be in church today.  This is what my heart needs."

"I feel comfortable and safe in your company."

"I appreciate how you have served my family."

"Thank you for letting me cross the street in front of your car."

"What you said was witty and amusing."

"I love what you made/brought me."

"I'm not upset that you were standing in front of the celery I was reaching for."

"Thank you for your hospitality."

It is alright to smile even when you are not feeling peaceful, fulfilled and happy in every sense.  It's not being fake.  It's giving of yourself in a way that blesses others - even strangers.  In fact, sometimes the greatest acts of love are when we give from our lack, rather than our abundance (Mark 12:43-44).  When you have nothing else to offer, you can often still give a smile.

Of course, the flip side of this is to remember that we can't always read those we love by how many smiles they have to share.  A person who struggles with emotional highs and lows learns how to continue on with life, how to encourage and comfort those around her, even if she doesn't feel encouraged and comforted inside.  She knows that her feelings may or may not reflect the reality around her and she learns how to reflect in her face what she believes to be truth, rather than just simply how she feels about it.

She smiles at a toddler with a scraped knee to say, "Don't worry.  We'll get you all taken care of.  You don't need to be afraid" even when she would like to cry from sheer exhaustion.  She smiles at a child and says "I am so glad that you are my son and I am your mother.  I am living the life I always dreamed about" even if she can't figure out why her emotions haven't seemed to get the message.

So please, take time to ask good questions and be ready to listen.  She who smiles much gives much of herself.  And maybe, just maybe, she might be in need of some re-filling.  It's not necessary (or sometimes even possible) to "make her happy".  It is only necessary to ask, to listen and to affirm that what she is doing is good, beautiful and valuable.  And to reassure her that you are a safe place where she can talk, cry and be refreshed in order to go back into the world and smile one more time.

Looking for Answers

Things still feel rough around here.  I still feel like I'm searching for answers.  I've made some progress on the track of practical solutions.  But I also have to admit that practical solutions are, at best, a temporary relief.  But (I should know this by now!) the answers that are of eternal good, that help despite the circumstances are the ones that transcend the circumstances.

Through a series of (super encouraging, life-giving) conversations with my brother and my mom, the Lord led me to 2 Corinthians 4.  I was looking for that "jars of clay" passage and I found more than I bargained for to nourish my soul.  This is what I am thinking on and praying today.


Therefore, having this ministry by the mercy of God, we do not lose heart.

[Having this ministry.  It's a mercy.  That's a new thought.  And it's a reason not to lose heart.  Interesting.  Help me not to lose heart, Lord.  And to think of this ministry to my family as a mercy.]

But we have renounced disgraceful, underhanded ways. We refuse to practice cunning or to tamper with God's word, but by the open statement of the truth we would commend ourselves to everyone's conscience in the sight of God. And even if our gospel is veiled, it is veiled to those who are perishing. In their case the god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, to keep them from seeing the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God.

[I'm here for the gospel.  It's not my job to train my children to perform academic parlor tricks that make me look like an expert.  It's not my job to convince others that I've found the right or best way to homeschool so that I can gain a following.  It's not even my job to arrange things so that I feel successful.  It's about the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God.  Help me, Lord!]

For what we proclaim is not ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, with ourselves as your servants for Jesus' sake.  For God, who said, "Let light shine out of darkness," has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.

[I'm not here to seek my own kingdom.  I'm here to serve my children for the sake of Jesus.  Light of the Knowledge of the Glory of God ... in the face of Jesus Christ ... that sounds like it might be something important to keep in mind.  That sounds like the foundations of a purpose statement for our homeschool.]

But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.

[Oh, Lord!  Oh, Lord!  That thought both humbles me ... and raises me up.  I am a jar of clay, Lord.  Weak and broken.  And yet ... that isn't an accident?  The fact that you've entrusted these children, this task of proclaiming life-giving truth to real human beings, to someone who is so lowly, so insignificant and so, so frail herself ... that was a part of the plan?  I know what that means - as much as I don't like to admit it.  It means that I should stop holding my breath, stop longing for that day when I'm independent of your mercy, strong enough to cope without grace, too savvy to need to cry out to you in prayer.  I really do want the world to know that the surpassing power belongs to you.  And honestly, Lord, right now, the way you've got it set up, I don't think anyone would mistake me for the source!]

We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh. So death is at work in us, but life in you.

[How much suffering can I handle?  How long can I last?  How hard is too hard?  It seems like there must be this delicate balance, Lord.  This tiny margin between "afflicted" and "crushed", between "perplexed" and "despairing".  How could I find that small space?  How would I know how to measure out my own suffering?  How would I know how much my body could handle to have Jesus manifest in it today?  If I am afflicted, Lord, let it be from your hand.  Let no one else strike me down, Lord, but you, whom I trust to work death in me, and yet hold me back from being destroyed.]

Since we have the same spirit of faith according to what has been written, "I believed, and so I spoke," we also believe, and so we also speak, knowing that he who raised the Lord Jesus will raise us also with Jesus and bring us with you into his presence. For it is all for your sake, so that as grace extends to more and more people it may increase thanksgiving, to the glory of God.

[This is the big picture, this eternal, kingdom goal - more grace to more people, more thanksgiving, more glory to God.  That is a big, big thing to be a part of.  That gives purpose and hope beyond what I can accomplish in a day, even in a lifetime.]

So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison ....

[Is it overly dramatic, Lord, at age 37 to say that my outer self is wasting away?  Because it does feel like a wasting away.  And yet, if the counterpart to that is my inner self being renewed day by day, then no time is too soon to embrace that pattern.  Momentary.  Light.  Affliction.  Eternal.  Weight.  Glory.  I believe, Lord, but help my unbelief.  Keep me, here, from being crushed.  And then, in eternity, crush me with that eternal weight.  Smother me with your glory. I'll be ready for it.  I'll be desperate for it.]

... as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal. 

[See, that's just where my struggle is, Lord.  The "seen" is so much easier to "see" than the unseen.  But I suppose you're trying to remind me that how easy something is to see has a lot to do with where I am looking.]

Do the Next Thing

I just love this poem.  Some sites credit it to Elizabeth Elliot.  Others mention that she shared it as from an anonymous author.  I haven't been able to find out for sure who wrote it, so I'll leave it unattributed for now.  I have had a copy of this poem for quite some time and think of it often.  But recently it seems to have risen to the surface of my soul as a kind of "theme song" of our homeschool (or at least the theme song of my own processing of thoughts about our homeschool).

Do The Next Thing

From an old English parsonage,
Down by the sea,
There came in the twilight,
A message to me;
Its quaint Saxon legend,
Deeply engraven,
Hath, as it seems to me,
Teaching from Heaven.
And on through the hours
The quiet words ring
Like a low inspiration
 “DO THE NEXT THING.”

Many a questioning, many a fear,
Many a doubt, hath its quieting here.
Moment by moment,
Let down from Heaven,
Time, opportunity,
Guidance, are given.
Fear not tomorrows,
Child of the King, 
Trust them with Jesus,
“DO THE NEXT THING.”

Do it immediately;
Do it with prayer;
Do it reliantly, casting all care;
Do it with reverence,
Tracing His Hand,
Who placed it before thee with 
Earnest command.
Stayed on Omnipotence,
Safe 'neath His wing,
Leave all resultings,
“DO THE NEXT THING.”

Looking to Jesus, ever serener,
(Working or suffering)
Be thy demeanor,
In His dear presence,
The rest of His calm,
The light of His countenance
Be thy psalm,
Strong in His faithfulness,
Praise and sing,
Then, as He beckons thee,
“DO THE NEXT THING."
-Author unknown

Just a random picture that makes me smile.

Flu and Freedom

After Hazel's surgery, Matt got the flu.  And then he kindly shared it with each of us in turn.  I thought I had the worst of it Saturday, Sunday and Monday.  I was wrong.  Tuesday was so bad I had to ask Matt to stay home from work.  Yesterday I was just barely well enough to be the grown-up in charge.  And it was a wonderful day.  Not in every way.  But in some ways of good, long-term importance.

Sarah Mackenzie, author of Teaching from Rest also has a blog and a podcast.  (See ... that's why I didn't want to read her book.  What kind of normal mother of six children can do those things?  Plus in her blog pictures, she looks perky.  And showered.  Clearly she is in super-woman territory and I don't fit in that category.  But I digress ...).  The same friend who finally convinced me to read Teaching from Rest has also been "pestering" (and I use that term in the nicest possible way) me to check out Sarah's podcast.  There is a members-only side of the site that includes author events, extra resources and what she calls "Master Classes".

So, because I was stuck in bed and needed encouragement even more than I needed physical healing (which is saying a lot) I decided to take the plunge.  After all, I am forever grateful that I finally gave in and read Teaching from Rest.  So the chances were good this friend knows me well enough to know what will bless my soul.  I took a Master Class she recommended (and was also taking) called "Focus and Align" and it was UH-mazing.

Sarah led us through several steps in considering our particular family, our gifts, what works for us and what is important to us.  For example, in one of the exercises, Sarah asked us to imagine that our children were sitting down to a meal with friends some 20 years from now and someone asks "So, you were homeschooled. What was that like?"  What words do I hope will come to mind?  What are the things that I most want my children to remember as their experience of childhood and homeschool?

These activities helped to take me beyond the ground-level focus on "math" and "handwriting" and more towards the goals, practices and atmosphere of my home.  We then used this thinking and exploration to create our family "Rule of Six" - six things that are foundational to our family and which we hope to do every day.  Here is how ours turned out.  (And below it are two other prettier versions from my Sarah Mackenzie-pushing friend that she fancied up for me!)

I completed this activity Tuesday evening.  By Wednesday, when I was on my own again with all the kiddos, somehow, "homeschool" seemed more manageable.  If these were the six most important things to do every day, in big, broad brush strokes, then I could adapt them to something I could do from the bed as well.  In fact, we opened our homeschool day by talking about our new "Rule of Six".  The kids were excited.  Tonight at dinner we talked about what we did yesterday and today that involved each item on the list.  It may seem like a small thing, but it reminded this Mama that good, important and grace-infused things are happening right here, every day.  Even on flu days.

P.S. Our assignment was to make up our own Rule of Six and share it on social media, tagged #RARruleof6.  If you want to see what other folks have come up with, check out that hashtag.  What is so beautiful is that they are all different!  There is not one "expert version".  We are each the experts on our own homes and our own children!

Letting Go

My mother has always been a master of illustrations and analogies.  I can still vividly recall dozens of picture images she used to explain spiritual and intangible concepts to us as children and even now that we are adults.  Once a few years ago at a gathering of young moms, she used the story of Jesus feeding the 5,000 with five loaves and two fish as an analogy for our job as mothers.  There is no possible way we can accomplish feeding 5,000 hungry people (raising our children to godly adulthood) in our own strength.  Instead we must allow him to use our bread and fish (our gifts and resources) to accomplish his purposes.

Sarah Mackenzie uses this same analogy in Teaching from Rest in Part One: Whose "Well Done" Are You Working For? (Please note: Even if you aren't a homeschool mom, please keep reading.  This has nothing to do with homeschooling - really - and everything to do with being a finite human tasked with kingdom work!)

Just like the disciples, I see this huge throng of people to feed - this seeming impossibility.  The shaping of souls and raising of children, the mopping of floors, washing of dishes, bandaging of scraped knees and hearts and worries, the teaching and admonishing and doling out myself.  It's all too much ... I fall to my knees and I cry out to God.  We're a throng of hungry people in the desert, and I'm supposed to feed them. On an ordinary Monday, I am in need of a miracle of biblical proportions.  

It isn't that I have nothing, exactly.  I have my little basket.  I can read aloud pretty well.  I'm good at organizing things on paper.  I can make a decent pot of chili and I know how to push a vacuum.  I love my children with all of my being and I have a real desire to watch them grow to love and serve Him.  I don't really have any idea how I'm supposed to tackle everything ahead of me in this day, this year, this decade when that's all I've got.  It's just a couple of loaves of bread and a few fish. 

Apparently that's all He needs.

As I have contemplated this recently, one thought that came to mind was that the little boy who brought the loaves and the fish had to do something really hard.  Offering his food to the Lord meant letting go of the only thing he had.  He was a hungry person in the desert, too, after all.  He didn't get to hold back on a loaf or two, giving the rest to the Lord for miracle-working.  He had to give it all up.

I don't want to try to read things into this Biblical account that aren't intended to be there.  God doesn't tell us (and if he doesn't, he must have his reasons) how the boy was feeling, if he had much time to contemplate the request or if his parents were there to help him process it all.  The only thing we know is that he gave all his food away, that he (like everyone else) was fed until he had enough and that his letting go was one small part of the unfolding of God's plan.

So what does it look like to "let go"?  Does that mean sitting on the sofa and waiting around for God to work?  Does it mean making no plans or refraining from giving my children any structure or direction?  Does it mean that planning, activity and effort are signs of resistance and rebellion?

I'm still chewing on this thought, still working through what it looks like to trust the Lord with my gifts and resources, to use them to seek first his kingdom and trust that "all these things" will be added unto me.  But one place I have been convicted is my lack of prayer.  (What follows are my own reflections on me.  Apply only as applicable.)

If I'm honest, I have to admit that when I'm up in the morning before the children, I find far more comfort in using a 15 or 20 minute chunk of time to get some laundry started, pay some bills or do something else that gives me a feeling of productivity and a foothold on the day, than I do taking that time to pray.  I don't think that Scripture requires us to pray for 20 minutes every morning or to pray every morning or to pray instead of paying bills or anything specific like that.  However, I do know that my heart usually runs first to "doing" rather than to "trusting".

Sarah Mackenzie writes,

An indispensable part of bringing our basket, prayer puts aside "doing" in favor of "being" and "becoming": being in his presence and becoming more like Him.

It's not that prayer is a twisting of God's arm to enforce the meeting of our desires.  Rather, prayer - handing over my basket to God - is a way for me to acknowledge that it was never mine to begin with and that I'm OK with him using it however he sees fit.  I'll leave you with two more gems from Teaching from Rest ...

Before we attempt to live a day well, teach our children, or tackle our to-dos, first we put the whole thing at his feet.  We beg God to use us to fulfill His purpose, and then we see that every frustration in the day ahead is an answer to that very prayer. [emphasis mine]

We are weary because we forget about grace.  We act as though God showing up is the miracle.  But guess what?  God's showing up is a given.  Grace is a fact.

Why would I not want to start my day by soaking in that truth for a while?