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Where There is Faith

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I remember the way he used to react when I walked into a room. All the time I was growing up, through all the awkward phases, the big hair, the oversized glasses, the braces, the fashion disasters. My uncle never failed to tell me how beautiful he thought I was.

He could tell a story in a way that would make you laugh until you were begging him to stop, tears mercilessly flowing while you tried in vain to catch your breath. He would stand around in the kitchen at my parents’ house, drawing a crowd around him as he turned a recent colonoscopy into the most hilarious experience that anyone has ever heard of. And after he entertained everyone he could just as easily sit down with me and ask me question after question about my life, helping me decide what I should be, encouraging me to use the gifts that God had given me.

Today I stood next to his casket, looking on this man who has blessed me in so many ways, his body ravaged by the brain tumor that finally ended his life on this earth. I looked on the body that I love and I cried for his suffering, for his pain and his spiritual growth and his fierce loyalty to me and to my dad and to all those he loved. I cried because his life intersected with mine in a way that only God could orchestrate, an uncle with his own children and grandchildren, who had the heart and the goodness to gift his niece with his love and attention and genuine care.

Death hurts. It always hurts. It reminds us that our existence here is just like one snap of the fingers. It’s as if you breathe in and then suddenly eighty years have passed and you breathe out and life here is done. If it weren’t for the hope of Christ, how could any of us bear the sorrow of death? His goodness is never more real to me than on a day of mourning, when I can look at a war-torn body that I love and know that the battle is over forever, and all of that pain was instantly erased by an encounter with the Savior of the world. All sorrows are forgotten. All of the human struggles are silenced. And there is complete healing.

On those days, we who are left behind can remember once again why we are so desperate for a God who can make everything right again. Death is coming to each of us. We may get eighty years, or we may not last this day. But, every time we stand at the front of the church, looking one last time on a dear body that we will miss so much, we should be overwhelmed by the goodness of Jesus. We should get on our knees and thank Him for the hope, for the confidence, for the faith. For the fact that we can trust Him with the ones we love and, someday, when the light is fading and we are slipping into eternity, we can trust Him to make us new again, too. He is so good. Death is no match for this living God.

Nine year old Sawyer cried and cried after the funeral. He felt it so deeply–the sorrow of death. The pain of saying goodbye. The strife that comes with being human. We walked to the car, me crushing him to my side while I spoke the truth of the gospel over his sandy brown head. This is why we need Jesus, I said. He nodded while the tears flowed. We need our Jesus to make everything right again. We climbed into our minivan and wiped our tears, and I prayed that he will remember this day forever, the day we saw so clearly how good a death-conquering God can really be. The day we stopped to mark the truth that death hurts, but sorrow and suffering are only temporary. The day we realized, once again, how complete our need is for a Savior who stands between us and destruction. In Him, we place our hope.

At the cemetery, all of the adults were standing around talking while Sawyer sat alone in the funeral tent, obviously burning up in the jacket and tie he had insisted on wearing on a hot fall day in Texas. I could still see traces of tears on his freckled cheeks. He was already thinking about going to Granny’s house and playing with his cousins. My uncle would have liked Sawyer’s jacket and tie. He would’ve commented on how tall he is getting. He would’ve asked if Sawyer is playing football. He would’ve been standing in the middle of a circle of family members, telling some story that would make everyone roar with laughter. And, he would’ve told me that I am beautiful.

I’ll miss him. But, I mourn with great hope. With trust in my Savior. And with confidence in His goodness. Death has no power here, where there is faith in Jesus. And so, I can smile through the tears and I can tell my baby boy with all certainty that we don’t have to mourn the way the world does. And I can picture my uncle, perfectly healed, sitting at the feet of Jesus, the angels drawing near to hear his stories.

I can almost hear the laughter, ringing throughout eternity.

For the Ordinary Women

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Today was a long day. By the time I finally cruised into the dollar store to buy cat food at nine o’clock tonight, I’m sure I looked as tired as I felt. I practically zombie walked to the aisle I needed and then went straight to the counter to pay.

At the cash register stood a young girl with a nose ring. Her hair was pulled back, but long blonde ringlets framed her face. There is no telling how many hours she had been on her feet in that store, but still she smiled and asked how my night was going. And then, while I fished in my gigantic black hole of a purse for my wallet, she told me that I look pretty tonight.

Just like that. She handed me that grace. That generous gift to a tired mama who almost certainly doesn’t look pretty tonight.

And I was surprised by how shocked I was.

I was blindsided by my utter disbelief that my version of forty years old is pretty, especially at the end of a very long day in the middle of a small town dollar store. But the word hung there between us, and all I could do was tell her thank you, genuinely grateful for the tender mercy of that phrase falling from a stranger’s mouth: you look pretty.

It’s getting harder and harder to feel pretty in our world. Pornography has changed our standards. Photoshop has created unattainable idols. And, the ordinary women of the world are left stranded in the wreckage, searching for some way to feel like we measure up. Waiting for some sign that we are worthy to be called pretty, that we are good enough in face and in body to be wanted by anyone.

So many lies are shoved into our faces every day–dishonest images from industries who care nothing for our hearts or souls. Imaginary bodies that have been altered to perfection. And we believe in them. We look at our own stretch-marked, acne-scarred, wrinkled selves and we despair. Every lie informs the way we feel about these bodies that God designed, and when someone finally speaks the truth to us–when they see a beauty in us and say so, we simply don’t believe it. A magazine cover of impossible proportions, yes, but a sincere comment from a sweet stranger in a dollar store someplace, no. Can’t you see these bags under my eyes? we wonder. Don’t you realize that my belly is too soft and my hair that was once a shock of vibrant red is growing dull? I mean, look at me. No falsehoods in this face or body. I am an ordinary, aging woman.

This is real. The lines around my eyes that reveal how often I’ve laughed. The round belly that cradled three babies while God knit them together. The freckles that are like a scrapbook of all the days I’ve played under the big Texas sun.  The extra pounds that I picked up over a million meals with the love of my life. The non-manicured hands that have washed dishes and babies and dogs, that have held tiny hands in the backseat, that have picked up lost blankies and matched up lost socks and wiped away thousands of little kid tears.

There is no perfection here.

But there is most certainly beauty.

I wish now that I had told that young cashier at the dollar store how striking she looked standing there, with her nose ring and her blonde ringlets. I wish I would have told her what that moment really meant to me, an exhausted, ordinary mother with a bag of Meow Mix cradled like a baby in her arms. I wish I would have shown her how most of the messages of this world are soul-crushing lies, but that we can’t believe them, we ordinary women who were intricately designed in the image of the one true God.

I left the dollar store and absentmindedly fed the hungry cat. She purred wildly as I stood there, bag of cat food still in my arms. She ate until her belly was round, and then she dropped at my feet in that carefree way that cats lounge. I thought of my own sandy-haired daughters and how hard they will try one day to meet impossible standards of beauty. I thought about how they will soon learn the heart-wrenching truth that there is no way to airbrush real life. And I prayed that they will grow into ordinary women who look in the mirror and see God’s hand.

The God of the Hurricane

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They found her today, drifting there in the middle of the chaos of flood and hurricane, clinging to her mother’s lifeless body. She is only three. She has probably learned all kinds of words and phrases and ideas in the past year of her life. I remember when Emerald was three, and she handed me her cup. Here ya go, precious lady! she said, and I giggled and watched her big blue eyes and promised myself I would never forget it–such a grown up thing to come out of that tiny, heart-shaped three year old mouth.

I wonder where the little girl in the flood will find the vocabulary to express what she has been through today. I wonder where she will find the heart to survive the tragedy of watching her only mama, that precious lady, drown before her eyes. Her mother was trying to save her. And she did. The dear little girl was rescued from the swirling, teeming water by nameless men–heroes who keep going back into the turmoil of a world washed away by Hurricane Harvey.

So many stories are emerging from the wreckage of south Texas. But, this is the one that wrecks me. One tiny girl, clinging to the body that brought her into this world, holding tight to the mama who gave of herself in every possible way. Plucked from the choppy water. Kept by God. Sheltered by her sweet mother and a multitude of angels.

I’ve read of another mother who sheltered her baby in the water. She made a basket of reeds and placed her chubby son inside, shoving him out into the unknown, just grasping at the chance to save his life. He, too, was kept by God and guarded by angels until he was plucked from the treacherous waters of the Nile river.

Maybe one day someone will tell the little rescued Texan about baby Moses. Maybe eventually, when she begins to wrestle with the truth that God’s ways are higher than ours, when she wonders with heartbreak what hurricanes have to do with the glory of God, when she looks toward Heaven and cries out to her maker, Why?–maybe the church will be there with answers from God’s word. Maybe she will find a local body of believers who will take her in, who will nurture her with the good and true words of the Bible. Maybe she will find comfort in the greatness of a God who always has a plan, who wastes no storm, no heartache, no tragedy.

We need churches who will be there for her and for millions like her. Churches who refuse to bow at the altars that this world erects. Churches who unapologetically proclaim that God is sovereign and He is trustworthy–yes, even here, in rushing flood waters in Beaumont, Texas, in August of 2017. He is good, even here, in the death of one heroic mother and in the life of her cherished three year old daughter. He is powerful, even here, when the why is easy to ask and hard to answer. One thing we know for sure: He is righteous.

The God who directs the wind and the waves does what He will.  But, we must never forget, when we look at this sweet three year old miracle, that the God of the hurricane is also the God of the rescue. His ways are high. His purposes are good. And, His church should always be a light on a hill for those who wonder why. I pray that my church will be that. I pray that yours will, too. And, I pray that this sweet baby will one day run into the arms of a church that will teach her the truth that God had a good purpose in all of it.

The men were amazed and asked, “What kind of man is this? Even the
winds and the waves obey him!” Matthew 8:27

The Lord is good, a stronghold in the day of trouble, and He knows those who take refuge in Him.
Nahum 1:7

When Our Beautiful Mess Isn’t

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I’m not going to lie. The kids and I have spent a lot of time listening to the Beatles lately. As one who was raised on the Beatles by Baby Boomer parents, I take some satisfaction in hearing all three of my kids belt out “She Loves You” at the top of their lungs while we drive home from school.

They are quite concerned about the spiritual well-being of the remaining members of the group, and Adelade and Sawyer are each currently writing letters to Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr, inviting them to come to our small town for church. But, if the traveling is too much of a hassle, Sawyer advised Ringo, “You don’t even have to come here for church. You could just go to First Baptist London.”

Yesterday in Sunday school, Emerald’s class was studying Paul’s letters to Timothy. As part of her lesson, she was supposed to write a letter to someone who has taught her something, thanking them. And, here is what she came up with:


Not exactly the “Sunday school answer” her teachers were probably looking for. Thankfully, they all have a great sense of humor and seem to be somewhat delighted when kids (especially the pastor’s kids) are a little weird.

Despite the fact that Emerald is possibly corrupting everyone in her Sunday school class, we really do occasionally listen to Christian music. Just a few days ago, I turned on a Christian radio station in time to hear a soundbyte from one of the DJs: “Just remember, nothing in your past is a mistake….if you learned from it.”

While the electric guitar kicked off the next song, I sat there shaking my head, wondering how it is that this is where mainstream Christianity has landed, in a place where sin is nothing more than “beautiful messiness,” where our pasts have to be declared good in order for us to feel that we can be redeemed from them.

God’s goodness is beautiful. His grace. His redemption. But, our past sin? Our current sin? Ugly. And all a huge, rotten, stinking mistake. If we call it anything else, we are denying our need for a Savior, and we are refusing to live in a posture of repentance and gratefulness for all that God’s love can rescue us from.

Can you imagine David looking at the overwhelming sins of his past and saying that they weren’t mistakes because he learned from them? Instead, he talked about his “broken spirit,” his “broken and contrite heart.” (Psalm 51) We don’t have to live under the condemnation of past sin, but we do need to have a proper view of what our sin means in the gospel story, and we don’t ever need to forget how depraved we really are. Once we start dismissing our past (or current) sin as nothing more than a good learning opportunity, then we have lost sight of how much we need Jesus and how far He had to go in order to redeem us in our sinful state. It should always grieve us to know that we sinned against God, even if He gave us a happy ending despite our disobedience. Anything we glean from past mistakes is a gift of the Holy Spirit, but it isn’t a means of justifying what we have done.

We are so desperate to call sin anything else that even our Christian radio stations assure us that there is no such thing as a mistake. Don’t be fooled, friends. Sin is waiting at your door, eager and willing to devour you heart and soul. I know a twelve year old and a nine year old who are willing to write letters to two brilliant old rock stars to tell them the truth about the sin that is killing them. Shouldn’t we be able to expect the same of each other? Of our Christian radio stations and books and pastors? Shouldn’t the church be about truth-telling and truth-believing, and not glossing over sin because that’s what seems most pleasant to do?

Don’t try to turn your sin into a show of you pulling yourself up by your bootstraps, of pride and self-satisfaction. There is plenty in your past and mine that is a mistake, no matter what we learned from it. Sin is wicked and wounds God’s heart. Let’s not ever let ourselves be lulled into believing otherwise.

Following Jesus is a Different Kind of Safe

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Dear Adelade, Sawyer, and Emerald,

The other day I received an email from some company or other, asking me to help promote a new children’s book. The book is about Jesus, whom I love. It is meant to teach children that Jesus is their friend and that He will always watch over them and keep them safe.

But, I couldn’t do it.

I couldn’t help spread a message to kids and their parents that as long as we follow Jesus we will not be put in dangerous situations. That bad things won’t happen to us. I can’t even pretend at bedtime, when you get philosophical in your pjs and your fresh-from-the-bath wet hair, that I am certain we will all live to be ripe old ages. Or that nothing like sickness or poverty or mental illness or emotional pain will ever touch us. I can’t lie to you with any kind of believe-ability about the kinds of horrors that are in our world, even about what you could see on the internet in five minutes that could change the whole trajectory of your life. There are life-altering moments going on all over this world as I write this. Devastation is real and it’s powerful and it’s prevalent in this dark place.

Christians are not immune to the horrors, kids. We are not always safe in a world of natural disasters and man-crafted disasters and the heartache that comes from them. Jesus never promised us that He would make sure that physical pain and suffering and death wouldn’t plague us while we are on this earth. In fact, He promised the exact opposite. “In this world you will have trouble,” He said plainly to His disciples. And, scripture and tradition tell us that eventually all but John would go on to die for their belief in Him, one by one–stoned, beheaded, speared, crucified.

You have been in the hospitals. In the funeral homes. You have watched grieving families wail together. You have seen the nursing homes, filled with the sick and the frail, those bent by old age, those who don’t ever seem to smile anymore, staring blankly at some invisible mark on the floor. You have seen Christian people suffer. And, you know that heartbreak comes to each of us in different ways at different times. There is no guarantee against pain and catastrophe.

But, you don’t have to despair, little ones. When Jesus told His followers that they would have trouble in this world, He also told them this: “But, take heart. For I have overcome the world.”

Following Jesus is a different kind of safe.

It is knowing that we don’t have to fear people or illnesses or death. It is knowing that even when we are suffering, when we are dying, when we’re in unreal pain, when we’re struggling just to get up in the morning and put one foot in front of the other, we are still in His hand. It is realizing that nothing in this is wide world can separate us from the love of Christ. It is seeing first-hand that His way is the way that protects our hearts the best. And, it is knowing that even when our hearts get shattered into a million pieces, when all is lost and there is no hope in anything that any human being can offer us, Christ is enough. And, He is forever. And He is in control.

When it hurts, we can trust Him. When a dark cloud seems to be settling over us, we can believe in His goodness. When we are standing next to a precious one’s grave, we can take comfort in His purposes. When we are facing certain death, we can know a deep peace that is a mystery to those who don’t know Him.

You may one day be staring down some terrifying circumstance. You will face trouble in this life. Your bodies are frail, and life is short. But, you are not bound by these bodies.

There are plenty of ways to die. But, there is only one way to live.

You see, kids, knowing Jesus is the only safety there is. He is the only way. The only truth. The only life. He will never leave you or forget you or decide He doesn’t want you. And, your precious, unique, fearfully and wonderfully made selves–your souls–can never be harmed while you are in His care. And, you are always, always in His care.

So, I guess the writer of the children’s book wasn’t completely wrong when she said that Jesus will always watch over you and keep you safe. But, it’s a different kind of safe. And, it’s the only kind that really matters to eternity.

I pray you live long and joyful lives on this earth and that you love Jesus more and know Him more with every passing year. But, when you face trouble, when you are standing at the foot of a mountain that makes you weak in the knees, when you are trembling from the inside out, remember that no matter what happens in this life, you are completely safe in the hand of Jesus Christ. Live with peace and joy. Take heart. He has overcome the world.

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

Neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:39

My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one will snatch them out of my hand. John 10:27-28

Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” John 14:6

What I Still Haven’t Really Learned at 40

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Today I’m 40 years old. The kids have been so into my birthday. For two days Emerald has been saying, “Happy birthday, Mama! You’re 50!” And all I can picture is me walking around in stretchy pants, doing high kicks, declaring that I’m 50 years old. Thankfully, I am not quite there yet, although I did recently discover that I can still do a cartwheel. It’s funny how things that every kid can do become suddenly impressive when you’re 40. I suppose that’s one benefit of getting older.

I’ve been working out my salvation with fear and trembling for about 32 years. God has been so good. He has been patient and kind and encouraging and powerful. He has turned me around and forced me to look up and has put a burning desire within me to speak the truth and to try to live the truth. I have grown so much in these 40 years, but there are some things I still haven’t really learned. And, these are the things that keep me tethered in large and small ways to this world, that make me love myself more than I love Christ. If I could only pray one prayer for my next decade, it would be that I truly learn that these are the things that stunt my sanctification and that grieve the good God who rescued me.

It isn’t about me. Everything within me reaches for glory like a sunflower reaches for the sunlight. I have to constantly fight my need for praise and honor, and it shows, in my parenting, in my marriage, in my blogging, in my ministering. It’s a sickness, this urge to steal the glory that belongs to Christ. Lord, help me to live for your glory alone. Help me to be reminded, even when it’s painful, that this life isn’t about me. It’s about you.

Rule following doesn’t equal holiness. I am a rule-lover from way back. It’s easy for me to rest in my ability to follow the rules, and I have very little patience with those who break rules. I am lacking in compassion when it comes to those who are struggling, even though when I struggle I expect patience and understanding. My love for rules often trumps my love for people, and I tend to have more of a relationship with moral behavior than I do with Jesus. Lord, please help me to remember that rule-following doesn’t please you if my heart is hard and prideful. Open my heart to people and help me to grow in compassion and understanding.

Out of the mouth, the heart speaks. I often feel convicted about what I say. I talk when I should be quiet, and I say things that I should never allow to leave my lips. I say that I have a hard time controlling my tongue, but the truth of the matter is that what comes out of my mouth is only a symptom of what is really inside of me. So, it’s not my mouth I need to tame, it’s me. My sinful and selfish heart. Instead of harsh words or gossip, prayer should be what’s pouring out of me. Prayer and praise and encouragement and love. Jesus, help me to tame my heart so that I can tame my tongue. Give me the desires of your heart instead the selfish wants of mine.

Every milestone in life is a good opportunity for some soul-searching. At 40, these are a few of the ways that I clearly see I need to grow and change. I know I can, with Christ’s help. One thing I have learned through the years is that I never have to give up hope that He can change me and make me more like Him. If I want to be a more fruitful disciple, a more loving wife, a more influential mother, a wiser friend, then these are three areas that I know must change. Maybe by the time I’m 50, I can put on my stretchy pants and do a few high kicks, knowing that Jesus has had another decade to mold me into someone more like Him. He has already proven that He is the most faithful friend. I love Him. But, I want to love Him more. I believe, Jesus. Help me in my unbelief.

It Turns Out That Mom Shirts Matter

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My Facebook newsfeed is filled with little boutiques that are marketing to moms like me, basic church-going women with 2.5 kids and a dog and the proverbial white picket fence who want to look cute when they’re running errands. I’ve noticed a huge rise in tshirts with little saying for moms: #momlife, Running on Coffee and Dry Shampoo, Mama Bear, Messy Bun and Getting Stuff Done, Mommin’ Ain’t Easy.

You get the picture.

The stuff is cute and harmless and lets moms show a sense of humor about our day-to-day struggles in parenting. But, as this trend has caught on, it’s also produced a different kind of tshirt that is a symptom of some things that we really need to consider as Christians. There is another breed of mom shirt that goes more like this: I love Jesus (but I cuss a little),  All I Need is Jesus with a side of Gangsta Rap, We pray on them Sundays, and we cuss on them Mondays.

These tshirts are adorably printed and at first glance may seem like a harmless way to point out that none of us is perfect. After all, admitting that we are sinners is an essential part of salvation and sanctification. We have to continually be mindful of our tendency to do what we shouldn’t–how else will we maintain a proper (humble) view of ourselves when compared to the perfection of Christ? But, I believe there is more to these shirts than a striving to stay humble.

Some years ago, a couple of buzzwords started cropping up in Christian circles. Transparency. Being real. No perfect people allowed. We were reacting against a stuffy church culture where Christians felt like they could never admit that they had failings and sin issues. We didn’t want a church life filled with a bunch of people who were pretending to be perfect. We wanted to feel free to open up to each other about our struggles, to lay our sin bare in order to better kill it. At least, I hope that’s what we were trying to do.

But, somewhere along the way, worldly wisdom crept in, as it often does, and we began to see our shortcomings as some kind of badge of honor. We actually began to take pride in our openness and in the very sins that are killing us. We laughed about our vices and joked about the things that were separating us from God. And, here we are, years later, and we don’t even realize that we are buying tshirts that advertise nothing more than a nominal Christian life. That is, Christian in name only. Not in true repentance or in heartbreak over our sin or in power or in truth. When we don’t even see the folly in wearing a shirt that speaks the precious name of Jesus in the same breath as a love for gangster rap.

I don’t know much about gangster rap, but according to the internet, here are a few things the genre promotes:  crime, serial killing, murder, violence, profanity, sex addiction, homophobia, racism, promiscuity, misogyny, rape, street gangs, disorderly conduct, drive-by shootings, vandalism, thievery, driving under the influence, drug dealing, alcohol abuse, substance abuse, disregarding law enforcement, materialism, and narcissism.

I don’t see anything in there that should even remotely be linked to the Christian life, unless we’re talking about Jesus’ ability to rescue us from all of those things and more. Yet, sweet little mamas are buying these tshirts, not even understanding what they are saying about the Christian faith, about what it means to be a follower of Christ, about the true Christian’s serious call to holiness and godliness.

How can this be? Because we have allowed our faith to remain so intertwined with the world. We have said, Sure, I’ll take a little bit of Jesus, but I also want a little bit of cussing and a little bit of entertainment that is directly opposed to His word and a little bit of being okay with the sins that stand in the way of my growth and hurt my witness.  After all, I don’t want to get too radical about this stuff. I’m not a weirdo.

And, slowly, slowly, with every little wordly decision that we make, we teach our kids and our mom friends and the lady at the grocery store that Christianity is just a little bit of a life change. Jesus only expects a little bit out of us. And, His power is only a little bit relevant to our day-to-day lives.

You may have one of these tshirts in your closet. I’m not condemning you for ordering a tshirt. It’s really not about the tshirt, you see? It’s so much deeper than that. It’s the fact that we have become so numb to the sick way that our world operates that we don’t even mind opening our hearts and minds to the sins that are destroying us this very minute. We are all infected with it–with a love for the things of this depraved world. But, the second we decide that killing the sin in our lives isn’t a priority, that’s the instant that we turn Christianity into a powerless, not-much-of-anything religion that is a little bit useful only when a crisis arises. This is not the abundant life Jesus promised. We are trading in the abundance of Christ for a cheap, faulty, wicked world.

And then we buy the tshirt.

Why We Should All Work in the Church Nursery

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I remember when Emerald was tiny, and I was completely overwhelmed with my life. I had a first grader, a preschooler, and a new baby, and I couldn’t wait for those glorious two hours on Sunday when I could drop all of them off in their various classes and go have some adult conversation, without any tiny hands grasping for my dress, my hands, my hair, or any other body part. For two hours, I was my own, at least physically. I thanked God for those blessed men and women who volunteered to take a needy baby out of the worn out hands of her ragged mother, those saints who were willing to handle the crying, the spitting up, the diaper changes and the bottles. It was a magnificent ministry to exhausted, overwrought mothers like me.

Yet, the nursery always seems to be a touchy subject in churches. Everyone has their own ideas about how it should function and who should work in there. Some churches have more resources than others, some have more small children than others, some have an easier time finding volunteers than others. Just a few days ago I ran across an online discussion about church nurseries, and tired young mothers were declaring that they shouldn’t have to volunteer there, that other people should step up and take care of the babies and small children so that these exhausted moms can enjoy their time at church, one of the few respites that they get in their long week.

I understand why they feel this way. I have felt that way myself at different stages of life. But, there’s an important reason why mamas should continue to volunteer, even if it means that once or twice a quarter they will be rocking babies or playing with preschoolers during the church service. And that reason has nothing to do with the fact that churches need that young mama demographic to help out (although they do). The reason mothers should help in the nursery is because it gives us a chance to serve one another.

Who can better sympathize with an overwhelmed, somewhat depressed, sleep-deprived, dark-circles-sporting mother than one who is there herself? Who will be most sensitive to a mother’s needs and concerns?  Other young mamas, of course. Who sees most clearly how frightening it can be to drop off a baby for the first time? Who can most sincerely take a young mother’s hand and say, I’m with you, sister. I am just as tired as you are, and there is solidarity in the two of us caring for each other’s children in the name of Christ.

Now, these young mothers can’t carry this task of serving one another all alone. We often hear older mothers saying that they’ve already served their time in the nursery. We hear men claim that the nursery is a woman’s territory. We hear young married couples say that they aren’t equipped to handle small children. But young mothers need help. They need our ministry and and our assistance and our encouragement. They need us to say, Just get here, sweet girl, and we will take care of the rest. It really matters. And it sets up a pattern in that family’s life–one of regular church attendance, of reliance on the church, of children who love to come to God’s house.

Sometimes we tend to think that when we are in the nursery we’re cut off from worship. We feel like we missed church. Even those precious young mothers may claim that they simply can’t worship if they are sequestered to the nursery. But, if any of us feel that way or try to use that as an excuse not to volunteer, then we are forgetting an important element of worship: service. Coming to church isn’t just about us getting our “Jesus fix.” It isn’t about seeing what we can get out of it or waiting around to be served. One of the functions of the church is to serve each other. We should be trying to out-do each other with love and help and servanthood instead of keeping score to see if enough is being done for us.

And, yes, dear church. These truths apply to the church nursery.

So, all of us–young moms, college students, grandmothers, dads, and all–should view the church nursery as an opportunity to serve the families of the church, which is a true act of worship. And, young mamas, don’t miss out on your chance to sympathize with and help out other women who feel just as overwhelmed as you do. They need your arms, your understanding heart, your gracious overlooking of the disheveled state of their hair. They need to know that you are all in this together, and what better way to show love to your fellow mamas than to love on their babies on Sunday morning a few times a year? I don’t think it’s too much to ask of any of us, no matter our phase of life.

Altar of the Feels

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If you have kids of most any age, chances are that today they felt all the feels. And, if you are a mama of said children of any age, then I’m betting that today you, too, felt all the feels.

I’m not really sure where that term came from, but it pretty much sums up society these days. We feel everything deeply, and feelings are considered the ultimate barometer for life. There’s no doubt that this feelings frenzy has affected our parenting.

We have been taught to pay special attention to our kids’ feelings and to validate them as much as we can. I’m not saying this is a terrible practice. I mean, it’s never bad to consider someone’s feelings. But can I say with all honesty that about 85% of a kid’s feelings about things are irrelevant? Kids feel 147 different ways before lunchtime. They get upset if their graham cracker is broken. They cry like their heart is broken because a dog licked their elbow. Worse than that, they will kick and scream like you’re murdering them because you’re trying to buckle them into a carseat or keep them from grabbing a hot burner or stop them from running into the street. If we pay attention to every feeling that a kid has, we will be paralyzed and completely ineffective as parents.

The truth is that God gave kids parents because they don’t have enough sense to raise themselves. So, why in the world do we give their feelings so much power in our homes? Stop the insanity, y’all. You are the parent. You know what is best. And, the best isn’t staying up until midnight (even if your preschooler is crushed that you are enforcing a bedtime). The best isn’t letting your kids yell at you (even if you are glad they know how to “express themselves”). The best isn’t  letting children decide if they “feel” like going to church or not (even if they are heart-broken that they can’t stay home in their pjs).

I’m being tough on you. I know. But there’s something else that you must remember, dear reader. It isn’t just the kids who try to make too much of their feelings. We do the same thing.

We think so much about how we feel about things that we lose all sense of reality. The self-help masters and the self-esteem gurus have told us again and again that our feelings matter. That we should follow our heart, trust our gut, that we can’t help how we feel, that every feeling is valid. That’s nonsense. Most of our feelings are 100% invalid. Most are just ways that our hearts lie to us. Most are just ways that we are filled with selfishness and pride and rebellion and sin. Yes, feelings can be sinful. And very many feelings are.

Our feelings say we deserve glory. That we know better than God. That what we want is more important that what God wants. Our feelings lead us astray again and again, and they will do the same to our children, yet we continue to bow down at the altar of the feels as if it’s the only way to be a human being.

But, what if we lived in a different way? What if we parented in a different way? What if we decided that feelings were going to have very little bearing on how we make decisions? What if we prayed that God would change our feelings and desires to make them godly? To make us want what he wants? To help us recognize when our feelings are opposed to his ways and his will? What if we decided in our families that all the feels were going to take a backseat to the reasoning, the prayer, the God following, the God honoring?

Imagine how it would change our families. How it would change us.

Feelings aren’t the most important thing. They were never meant to be. Don’t teach your children otherwise by trying to validate unreasonable feelings, and don’t let the way you feel rule the way you live your life. Feelings come and feelings go. But, the truth is always true. Make sure that you’re living in the reality of God’s truth, and not in a haze of your family’s feelings. Clarity comes when you reject lying feelings and cling to what you know is real.

Your kids need to breathe the clean air of reason and sense, and so do you. Don’t live in a foggy world of finicky feelings. God’s way is narrow, but it is clear: your heart will lie to you over and over again. Don’t follow it. Don’t trust your gut. Trust in the name of the Lord your God alone, and take your cues from His word, not how you feel about things. Teach your kids to do the same. Then the next time someone gives you the sage advice that you should follow your heart, you’ll be able to look at them with all sincerity when you say, I don’t feel like it.

There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way to death. Proverbs 14:12

What Your Kids Really Need is Your Authentic Christian Life

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I went to a conference a few years ago and sat in a room with a hundred other women, perched on the edge of my chair with my notebook and pen in hand. A mother of six children got up to speak, looking thin and radiant with her long blonde hair and perfectly made up face. Her clothes were freshly pressed and fashionable, and she had a humble yet confident air about her. She showed us graphic after lovely graphic filled with the brilliant ways that she teaches her children scripture. With the year-long schedules of their family worship times. With gorgeous pictures of her family on mission trips in exotic faraway places, her children lined up in a stair-step row in their crisp white shirts and dresses.

I scribbled like crazy in my notebook, wanting to remember everything this super Christian mom had to say so I could go home and whip my family into spiritual shape. We had no scripture flashcards or carefully cultivated family worship curriculum. We barely had time to say bedtime prayers at night after busy school days and after-school activities. I felt like the world’s most underachieving mother when it came to my kids’ spiritual development because I didn’t have a specific twenty minute time set aside every day to teach my kids how to be a Christian.

I came home overwhelmed. My notebook filled with ideas was tossed in a drawer, and life continued. Crazy, wild, busy, fun life.

Since that time I have learned that I missed the point that day when I tried to soak in all of the wisdom of the super mom. The truth is that I can knock myself out coming up with an amazing family worship hour every day, and I can quiz my kids on Bible verses at every mealtime, and I can tuck Charles Spurgeon quotes in their lunch boxes every day (I do none of those things, by the way), but what they really need from me is all at once simpler and much, much more challenging: they need to see my authentic Christian life.

The truths of God’s word need to be so real in me that I can’t NOT talk about them day in and day out. My faith needs to be so deeply ingrained in me that it informs every situation, every decision, every discussion. And, when that happens, before I know it I have spent a large part of my day with the kids just naturally talking about what the Christian life is all about, who Jesus is, and what the Bible says about things.

No matter where or how formally I try teach my kids how to be Christians, no words I say will ever be as important as they way they see me living on a day to day basis. A carefully crafted lesson about forgiveness means nothing if I hold a grudge against a family member or friend. A lecture about the importance of obeying God’s word is useless if they see me ignoring His commands.

As a mother, I can easily make this faith seem like a joke if I say one thing to my children and then live as if I don’t believe it. They are watching me to try and figure out what Christianity really looks like. And, they don’t care if I have beautifully illustrated Bible flash cards or not. They need to see a changed life. Not a perfect life, but a changed one.

So, you see, I found out that what God has called me to is much higher than lesson planner. I do need to teach my children scripture. I need to give them sound doctrine. But, I can teach these things to my children, as the Bible says, when we sit at home, when we walk along the road, when we rise up and lie down. In other words, impressing the things of God on my children is an all-day, every day, life-long pursuit. It is more than a curriculum. It is a way of life.

So, if you aren’t in a phase where family worship hour is a thing that’s really going to happen, take heart. What your kids really need from you is something so much bigger. They need you and your authentic Christian life.

Fix these words of mine in your hearts and minds; tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Teach them to your children, talking about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.
Deuteronomy 11:18-19

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