"What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us." -Emerson

Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Because sometimes there are shanks...

I’ve likened motherhood to a cross between having a frat house and prison mixed together, minus the questionable morals, alcohol, and shanks…but sometimes there are shanks. It’s tongue and cheek of course, but it’s pretty much true.

We had a party this summer and one of my children was caught pooping on a pile of dirt. Pooping. With about 30 of our friends at our house.

I got the kids a slip and slide because they hadn’t had that child of the 80’s joy. They started doing it naked.

I texted my husband the other night, saying I had just gotten to the store, and he told me I was lucky because I was missing all the fun. The fun being a two year old peeing in the dog’s water bowl.

I once came home to a trashed house and a mysterious white substance on the dog, couch, floor, and walls. It was Boudreaux’s Butt Paste…which is virtually impossible to clean up with water because it was designed to protect wetness from well, your baby’s butt.

So yea, frat house mixed with a prison sounds about right somedays most days.

It has been a hard season lately. I’ve got three kids in three completely different stages of life: one is a pre-teen who is struggling with being diligent and following directions because she just feels like an adult (her words, not mine), another is a preschooler who can’t seem to communicate much without a whine or whimper in his voice, and one is a toddler who is perhaps the strongest willed, spiciest girl I’ve ever met and that says a lot. I’ve had an anger I’ve never experienced before as I’m trying to navigate three different stages with three very different needs, all the while trying to catch my breath [which I can’t seem to do]. I’m short tempered. I yell more than I ever have before. I mess up so much each and every day. And then I go to bed each night, defeated and discouraged, vowing not to screw up tomorrow.

Lately, perhaps because I’m already so sensitive to my kids and their challenges right now, I’ve started to notice little comments people make about them, just in passing, I’m sure with no mal intent. Just little pricks in an already deflated balloon about their spice or behavior or a little joke at how crazy they are and my momma heart sinks a little deeper. Because at the core of every mother is the raging critic, questioning and telling her she’s not enough. Because no matter how much truth we know, we all equate our kid’s behaviors to our worth and competence as a mom. All of us do. And we lie in bed, counting all the missteps of the day, drowning in the fears about how you are truly messing your kids up and vowing tomorrow we.will.be.better. Please God, make me better tomorrow. But tomorrow comes, and the pre-teen doesn’t listen again, and the preschooler whines again, and the two year old is still a two year old. And you lose it. Again. And all those things you know your kids are struggling with and being pointed out by others seem to suffocate or perhaps worse, highlight the fact that maybe you are just messing this whole thing up.

Motherhood in this generation is more painful than any before it. The fears are greater, the noise is louder, and we have picture perfect, impossible aspirations thanks to Pinterest. We are never going to measure up to the line that has been drawn for us. And our world is filled with so much clamor about how we need to do more and be more when most of us feel like we can’t add anything else to the crumbling plate and we have nothing more to give. This place feels so harsh for those of us trying to raise these beings we’ve been gifted. It seems like we can never win, no matter which way we turn.

I’ve been praying for God to help me in this place, to show me where He lands on this whole motherhood gig and He keeps bringing to mind this simple verse:

He tends his flock like a shepherd:
    He gathers the lambs in his arms
and carries them close to his heart;
    he gently leads those that have young.

{Isaiah 40:11}

Oh mamas, He has such a heart for us. He is so gentle and so patient, even we are not. He is constantly lifting our fallen chin, quivering from the tears and discouragement, and so ever softly whispering, “We are enough.” That lie that you’re not enough, being shouted through the megaphone of this place, is only partially true, you see. You alone will never be enough. But you and Him together, it is enough. He will fill in all the gaps and pour salve on all the wounds that our imperfect flesh inflicts on our kids. He so quietly, so serenely, so calmly calls us to follow Him along the still waters that our parched souls ache to drink to quench our thirst.

One of my favorite quotes that I remind my mama friend’s all the time of is, “Your kids will stop sinning when you stop sinning.” The seasons and challenges will change, but this all-out battle against their own humanity will remain until the end, just as it will for us as moms and as humans. So we don’t place much stock in their behaviors as a reflection of how well we are hitting the mark on motherhood. Instead, we teach them what to do with all this messy sin. We crouch down and say our I’m sorry’s when we yelled when we should have guided. We cuddle the boy who can’t even tell that his voice is whiny. We reassure the pre-teen crying because she knows she messed up again that we still love her so much and that mom messes up, too. And we just laugh at the reality show level of crazy that the two year old brings to our house, because it’s the comedic gold great Facebook statuses are made of. And we carefully speak words of life and encouragement about the children in our lives because we sense that secretly every mama is feeling dry underneath it all and you never know how God may use one kind word from you to help lift that chin up because, you know… sometimes there are shanks.

 

Friday, October 28, 2016

On Jen Hatmaker

As soon as the article and controversy surrounding Jen Hatmaker came out, I started getting emails and calls from friends wondering what I thought about it. This isn’t the first time this has ever happened to me. A well-known Christian, whose books or preaching have spoken to me in some way and stirred my affections even greater for my Savior, becomes engulfed in a controversy in Christian circles and in many cases, their ministry or platform starts to crumble or be called in to question. It can kind of feel like you just picked the wrong horse in the race. But, here is what I’ve found in this situation time and time again, they were never my horse. Because my horse is and always will be, Jesus. That’s the one I just placed all my bets on. No single person, no matter how smart or witty or great I may think they are, will be the one I’m pushing all my chips towards.

I’m a reader. I’m a thinker. I love theology and doctrine. I love going deeper and gainer greater understanding in scripture. I am constantly seeking out sound teaching from so many sources, old and new. I just finished C.S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity. I am currently obsessed with the sermons of Charles Spurgeon. I want to go to lunch with Tim Keller. Matt Chandler and Francis Chan are on repeat in my house. Tozer is my jam. Elisabeth Elliott is my mentor. Beth Moore is my #goals when it comes to becoming a student of the Word. George Mueller changed my life…for reals. I love, love, love the minds and lives of the body of believers.

But every so often, one of those minds says or does something that starts ripping the Bride apart. And if you think the world is quick to tumble down its celebrities once they stumble or say something the majority don’t agree with, you’ve never seen what happens to Christian “celebrities” and how quick followers of Jesus are ready to light the stake they hammer a well-known figure among them, on. It’s fast and it’s so often harsher than anything “the world” does to those it has elevated to any position of influence.

I’m a teacher and there is nothing more important to me than right doctrine and theology. I take it very seriously in my own ministry. I am in constant prayer that I never teach something against God’s Word or intent. I handle God’s Word with the utmost care and I’ve been finding more and more how so much what I thought I knew about scripture was completely wrong or out of context. I think it is why James was so adamant to be careful about exercising the spiritual gift of teaching when he said, “Not many of you should become teachers, my fellow believers, because you know that we who teach will be judged more strictly. We all stumble in many ways. Anyone who is never at fault in what they say is perfect, able to keep their whole body in check.[James 3:1-2]

It’s why Paul was constantly telling his mentee, Timothy to, “Watch your life and doctrine closely. Persevere in them, because if you do, you will save both yourself and your hearers.” [1 Timothy 4:16] Our life, what we do, and our doctrine, what we think. Watch them, Timothy! They are going to save you and those who listen to you from veering off in this race. They are going to save you from stumbling. Watch. Them. Closely. Because all of our doctrine is off somewhere and our lives don’t align with what we say we believe in all areas and we need to keep looking at it, finding the blind spots, making adjustments so we land where God wants us to in both our minds and actions.  

What God has been teaching me the more and more I read from great thinkers and theologians and teachers of our time and past is that I don’t need another book than the one He wrote. This sounds hypocritical from the girl who has an Amazon book delivery just about every week much to my husband’s chagrin, but the Creator of this universe thinks He gave us everything we’d need to figure out what He wanted us to figure out this side of heaven in one book. So while I love and appreciate words from those who love my God, I’m not banking on the people behind the words. I’m thankful for how they may spur me on in my walk or open my mind to new things I had never considered about God or how He has called me to live. But, I’ve never banked on these people. My first and foremost source is always the Bible. I spend more time there than the books of people’s thoughts on it because I believe that the Holy Spirit is the greatest Bible teacher of our time, more so than any pastor or teacher I may listen to or read.

But beneath all of this controversy is an even greater issue. There are things our generation is facing as a whole and as a Church that we aren’t unified in how we are supposed to handle them. We aren’t always sure where to land on some very complex subjects facing our generation. From refugees to the LGBTQ community to who should be president, the Church is all.over.the.board. I don’t have all the answers except we keep scouring God’s word to figure out how He wants us to navigate seemingly murky waters. But perhaps most importantly, He never intended for us as a family to figure it out over the internet, where words get spliced and people get brave to the point of sheer meanness and harshness. You know where Jesus most often worked out the tensions between truth and grace? The dinner table. Scripture shows us time after time Jesus wrestling through questions that were tripping the generation up reclined at a meal with a ragtag mix of company, from Pharisees to prostitutes. Because Jesus got something we are totally as a generation missing the mark on: important conversations DO NOT HAPPEN across impersonal computer screens, they happen at the most intimate of places—at home, face to face, looking one another in the eye.

The Church has failed in so many ways with so many groups of people. We have ostracized and antagonized when we should’ve extended an invitation to our most holy of spaces: our homes. We have made people think “Christian” was more of a political party affiliation than a radical, counter cultural revolution of following the savior of the world, Jesus. We’ve jacked up in more ways than not. And we have burned bridges of what we need most for the precious truth that so many of us are quick to tout: relational leverage. Jesus always gave truth in the right context of a face to face relationship. He engaged in situations where he could look someone in the eye. He didn’t compromise on His stance, but He always did it in a personal way. Facebook isn’t that place. I’ve said time and time again, I have never met a single person who has had a deeply entrenched view have it changed via Facebook. I’ve never met anyone saved by someone’s you’re going to hell posts. This is not the place where we dig deep and wrestle with hard issues like refugees, abortion, LGBTQ, Donald Trump, and the like. We do it face to face, where we may be a lot less brave and our voices may shake at times because we are trying to not completely devastate a relationship in the midst of disagreement.

I don’t agree with all my friends, many of whom love and follow Jesus. I can get fired up when people start talking about shutting down borders or limiting the number of refugees who enter our country. I can let people’s political posts change my views of them as humans, because I don’t agree with them and God is working on me in that area. I have strong, strong views on this election and how people should vote, and the majority of my very close, Christian, conservative friends and family strongly oppose my take on it. But, the ones who want to know where I stand, we have hashed it out in real life, over lemonade on my front porch or on the phone, not via social media. We’ve agreed to disagree on some very important topics. And I still love them and they still love me.

You know what I did when I heard about the Jen situation? I prayed. I prayed for her that the Lord reveal to her where her theology is wrong or off as I pray for myself as a teacher. I prayed for her and her family as she is about to feel the force of falling from “Christian grace" amongst majority evangelicals. I prayed that all the good that God has done through her writing and ministry, will not be discredited. Because Christians, perhaps more than anyone, are so ready to throw the baby out with the bathwater. But, more than that, I prayed for myself. For God to reveal to me where I am off, where I have misunderstandings or where I have misspoken. I prayed for Him to show me how to traverse our current terrain because so many things are not just impacting “the world,” but also Christian families as well who are wanting to know how to love people yet be truthful in where they stand. As Jennie Allen put it, these aren’t issues, they are people we are talking about. There are a lot of hard and messy conversations we as a family need to have. But, we’ve got to do it at the right place and the right time and with the right spirit. So where do we go from here? Well, you know what will I do next? I’m going to open my Bible and place my bets.

Sunday, June 12, 2016

Don't mess this up, Church...


Dear American Christian,
Here we are…again. I hate how we keep landing back in this same spot. Deadliest mass shooting to date, the headlines are blaring. Gay victims. Muslim shooter. The world is rupturing seemingly at its core and we find ourselves in a position to either stop some of the bleeding or to walk away. It’s hard in these moments, where we get tested, where everyone pulls out the iPhone to film us, just to see what we will do. Where we step will determine a lot of the rhetoric that will play out: in the media, on social media, in the minds and hearts of all the onlookers.

People are dying. A lot of people are dying. And the world is ready to trip us up with our very own words. They want to see if we will wield them like a sword of political agenda or if we will use them as a salve on the wounds of the casualties. The world is watching. And perhaps their angle is just to say see, I TOLD you what they were like or perhaps they really want to know if this Jesus thing is real.

So here we stand with opportunity abounding for us to make a real move towards something different. Something struck me today, more than perhaps ever before. Something I think I need to ask you, to ask me, to ask us all, Christian or not: how do you like your victims? Because when tragedies strike, it seems like our hearts ache and throb when the faces of the deceased look more like ours and I’m wondering if this is it. If this is the reason we can stand by, almost apathetically and numb it seems at times, while the whole world is hemorrhaging.

Let’s face it, we can sometimes be stingy when it comes to our compassion and empathy. But right now, fifty faces and counting. Fifty plus sons, daughters, husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers are lying dead because of the ravaging fire of hate. The hard question I have for us is this: do our prayers, our sorrow, our sympathies extend deeper and further when the names and photos released look more like “us” instead of “them”? Do we allow politics to dictate our love more than we do our Savior? Because this is a question that each of us has to ask ourselves at some point in some way. If this was a white, protestant church instead of a gay nightclub, would we pray a little harder? Feel a little more? Give more attention?

But the instructions are so simple so I am hoping we don’t mess this one up:

…mourn with those who mourn.

[Romans 12:15]

Regardless of whether you vote red or blue, in spite of what you believe about who should use what bathroom, and no matter where you stand on gay marriage, don’t mess this one up. Mourn with those who mourn. This is our bread and butter. This is our specialty. This is what we’ve been training for. Put on sackcloth and wail. Cover your face with ashes. Let the tears spill down your cheeks. Mourn with those who mourn.

I watched a few days ago on the news, two men dressed as Hassidic Jews, walk into a cafĂ© in Israel and open fire. The images were plastered on the screen in a busy gym, while I ran on a treadmill and I thought, here I am watching people die, real people, and everyone around me is just continuing on with their workout, I’m continuing on with my workout.

We can’t be this sedated. We can’t allow Hollywood’s depiction of violence to lull us into complacency when we see all hell breaking loose. We can’t let status quo of this place, violence, pain and suffering, not even phase our American existence. We’ve got to start being like Isaiah, delving into our world with a purpose far greater than the next election or our laws. We’ve got to:

proclaim good news to the poor. [Act as if He has] sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners…to comfort ALL who mourn, and provide for those who grieve…to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.

[Isaiah 61:1-3]

Let’s not collectively mess this one up, Church. Mourn with those who mourn. Period. This is what will speak volumes about the love and redemption and grace and mercy of our Jesus more than anything else.

I know you can do it, sweet Bride of Christ.

Your biggest believer and number one fan,
-C.

Wednesday, June 1, 2016

On New York, Humanity, and Pacing...

A few weeks ago, I moved towards conquering my fear of flying, got on a plane with my mom, and headed to New York, New York to visit my baby sister. It was a trip unlike any other for me in many ways. First because I literally had no expectations, which for a Type-A Planner says a lot. I had been to the city just once before for a whirlwind weekend when I was a teenager and so everything I knew about New York was truly that which was depicted in movies.


The city is huge. It reminded me of the North Carolina State Fair in many ways: the same amount of personal space and the same fried food meets body odor smells emanating from all directions. It was loud and busy, everywhere you turned. It was sprinkled with more F bombs than I had ever heard in public. There was constant activity and constant movement. Yet, there was more…

Surprising to this North Carolina beach girl, the big apple was filled with something I didn’t expect…humanity. In every nook and cranny of this overwhelming place, there were glimpses of people connecting and relating. In the middle of the large seating spaces off of Broadway were weary travelers sitting and chatting with old friends, catching up on life. Young girls giggling and talking at warp speed at 1am down the avenues. There were friends bumping into one another, needles in a haystack, on overcrowded city streets. Policemen offering directions to lost visitors. And perhaps my favorite glimpse of humanness, the old lady singing most off key to a Beatles tune in the middle of a subway. I thought she was crazy, but then at the end, I realized she was just trying to make a buck as a kind, tired soul next to me smiled ever so slightly and tossed a dollar in her bag.

I never thought a place like New York would have so many hints of people’s goodness and kindness. It gets so lost so often in the speed of life, yet here in one of the biggest cities in the world, there it was. Not as loud as the honking or the cussing at crazed drivers, but in the quiet moments scattered amongst the five boroughs. It reminded me that no matter where in the world people live, there is an underlying desire from us all to connect.

I saw New York as a microcosm of our culture. In many ways, it is the heartbeat of America. And while this yearning to know and be known stealthily peaked out from many unexpected places, there was also something else I saw in New Yorkers, in us. It hit me most on the 1am subway ride back from Serendipity, the home of the world famous frozen hot chocolate seen in the movie bearing the same name as the restaurant. There on that train was a complete cross section of life: students, elderly, young professionals trying to make it in the place where dreams are made of, blue collar workers just hoping to make ends meet. I sat there as we listened to the sounds of the old lady with a thick German accent singing Let it Be. I looked at the eyes of all the fellow subway riders that night, many heading to the farthest points of the line because that’s where life is more affordable. There was a weariness I had never seen before or perhaps, I just have never noticed. The eyes I saw were loaded and tired and dreading tomorrow when they would do it all again. Wake up. Get the kids off. Take the bus to the subway station. Hop on the subway. Walk 5 city blocks and a couple of avenues and do it all in the reverse just in time for bed. Maybe the rest of us aren’t in a metropolis like NYC, but I see it in my friends too, everyone is just plain tired. It’s too much this hustle, the rat race is completely running us down to the core. The hamster wheel has fatigued our little legs and we can’t seem to make it around anymore. So what do we do? Where do we go from here?

We’ve set our pace far too fast for far too long. Technology, smart phones, and information is supersonic. We can go, go, go well beyond what was ever intended. God’s natural rhythms: the sun rising as our beginning and setting as our day’s end, have been ignored and instead we go until our eyes can’t take any more of the glow of our screens and we pass out in response. So many of us are just empty. Nothing more to give because there is nothing left. And it doesn’t take us living in a place like New York City to get like this, everyone from stay at home moms in Wilmington, North Carolina to third shift workers in Ohio are feeling this drought of epic proportions. People are stressed and tired at levels we’ve never seen before.

Something has to give and it isn’t a move from a big city to suburbia or vice versa. It has to happen right where we are, no matter our season or life circumstance. New rhythms must be created and priorities shifted. We are doing far more at a pace exceedingly greater than our design.

There is a way to more peace and rest than we’ve ever known, a rhythm to life that ebbs and flows like we were meant to:

 “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” – Jesus [Matthew 11:28-30 The Message]

Humanity is all around us, in the big cities to small, coastal communities. So many people are thirsting for connection and the opportunities abound if we can slow and steady our stride for but a moment to engage in it. What would our cities, our communities, our world look like if the small streaks of human kindness didn’t have to be noticed like Waldo hidden in a picture but instead were the focal point of our everyday? What would your world look like if you slowed down, if but for just a moment, to refill your glass so that you could pour out once again to the woman who crosses your path divinely or the child crying at your feet to be held for just a minute? I’m thinking that is the stuff worlds are changed by.

Here is to lessons from big cities and a slower pace for all!

Until next time,

-C.

Tuesday, March 22, 2016

When Grief Remains...


                I’ve been thinking a lot about grief lately. I know that sounds weird. It is kind of weird. But I’m a deep empathizer, probably in a super unhealthy way at times. I can take on people’s grief and experience it as if it were my own. People have given me the gift of their stories and so often I can feel a reverberation of their ache. It is a gift, but it can be a heavy one at times.

                Lately, there have been so many stories swirling in my peripheral of pain and grief. There are the nationally televised ones about a country singer openly documenting his wife’slife and recent death from cervical cancer. There are the stories of helicopter crashes and children who in an instant become fatherless. Seven hundred mile marches of the comrades and widows of fallen Marines from the place where they took their last breaths to the place they called home. Then, there are the stories closer to home of parents whose hands became empty in a split second right outside my neighborhood. Children and daddies with cancer, friends grieving unimaginable losses, broken hearts abound.

                I think about their specific grief often. And I also think about grief in more universal terms. How grief impacts a person over their lifetime. How tragedy can change a person’s trajectory without any notice. How grief never really stops or goes away, it just becomes a part of a person. Perhaps it’s the psych major in me or just that I study people, but grief is an unavoidable part of our personal and collective experience as humans. A hard one.

                Yet, what I find is that so often people are afraid of the grieving. We believe there is a right and wrong thing to say in a person’s deep anguish so in an effort to avoid the wrong thing, we avoid the grief all together. Grief has a loneliness to it that ultimately compounds its presence. After the dust literally and figuratively settles at the graveside, the phone calls and check ins start to diminish because we as a culture don’t know what to do with the kind of pain that words can’t seem to shake.

                What scares us so much about grief? I recall my darkest season and how people’s reaction to my pain really impacted how I would forever interact with the hurting. There were the infinite amount of blatantly stupid comments. People say things in an effort to minimize our pain. Not because they don’t think it matters, but because they don’t know what to do with it. You see, grief isn’t a problem to solve. In our instant gratification of a society, this is hard for us point and click-ers to muster up. Grief truly never goes away, not this side of heaven at least. Sure, perhaps time will partially heal a wound or maybe the ache won’t be as profound as it once was, but scars always remain. When pressed and poked, wounds will re-open, blood will ooze, and more attention and care will be required. But grief isn’t something to be avoided, it’s something to be engaged.

                Silence isn’t the answer to someone’s grief. Sometimes it is. Sometimes pain begs for no words, but just tears and mourning. But, walking away and keeping your distance in an effort to not say the stupid thing is not what is wanted either. People don’t want solutions for their grief, they just don’t want to be alone in it and have it ignored. A grieving person is going through a process that will usually last their entire lifetime and they don’t want you to go away, they just want you to be willing to walk through it with them, on their terms, not your own. Don’t we want everyone to deal with their grief for our sakes? It’s hard to go down into the trenches with someone and to not tip toe around like everything is going to come crashing down. It’s hard to not act like the pain has magically disappeared so that you can keep conversation about the shallow topics within your comfort zone. How are you? takes on a whole new meaning when asked to a griever. It’s loaded and our fear of what we will be asked to carry from that question’s answer can keep us from asking it.

                I know a lot of people who mourn so well. They do it with a certain amount of transparency and authenticity that inspires. They carry their grief in a way in which it isn’t a burden, but rather a gift that draws them to depths where only Christ can heal. Grief is this blanket that covers its host and brings them into a place that is both simple and vivid. Those that grieve in their being because of the brutality of this life have something to offer us that we mustn’t let our fears keep us from. Grief simplifies the complexities of this modern world. The meaningless fade away when shadows of heartache hang overhead. The unimportant goes away. Grief is hard and it hurts, but in it is a gift both for the sufferer and her friends. May we never be afraid to walk through others pain with them…

 

Here’s to when grief remains…

 

Until next time,

-C.

Friday, February 19, 2016

Because we are all just stuffing popcorn kernels in our ears...


Wednesday was normal. It was regular. I did what I do on a lot of normal, regular days during the witching hours of 3pm-6pm when I am about to my max out with mothering and just need a minute of quiet and no complaining or arguing before dinner and dad’s arrival home. I turned on a movie, popped some popcorn and handed three kids a bowl of normal, regular, Wednesday witching hour snack.

While munching on that normal, regular Wednesday snack, my middle child, a beautiful blond hair blue eyed self-professed mama’s boy did something out of our normal, regular Wednesday witching hour routine. As he mindlessly munched, he got to the bottom of his favorite snack only to find unpopped kernels of snack time deliciousness, the bottom of the bowl, all that was left. One kernel in particular caught this engineer minded little boy’s attention. A kernel that was perfect in its size and shape. One that would fit somewhere easy and familiar. His ear canal. And so this blue eye, blond haired middle child stuck that perfectly normal, Wednesday bottom of the bowl snack time remnant in his ear without prompting or informing those around him. And there it sat. It was the first in what I’m sure will be a string of poor life choices.

At about 8pm, he alerted me to the fact that there was something in his ear. The consummate picker, I assumed it was a good chunk of earwax (TMI I know…) that required my expert skills with a cotton swab so I got my tool ready for use. Only to find it wasn’t what I was thinking, but rather one lone kernel of unpopped popcorn. Dad had just walked in the door so we began to do what one does in this scenario. We began to weigh whether or not this constitutes an emergency situation and proceeded to contact every medical professional we knew that would take a call at 8pm without offense. And thus began what I will affectionately always refer to as Kernelgate 2016.

45. That’s how many hours Kernelgate took to resolve. 8. That is the number of medical professionals it took to finally remove the kernel.

                Medical professionals #1-3 suggested trying to float it out with water and so we submerged a boy in water to no avail.

                Medical professional #4 began with an uncontrolled fit of laughter in a small, ugly pink pediatrician’s office. She would return with medical professional #5 who would try to unearth the kernel with a small, scoop like instrument. With no luck. #4 would then return a second time with #6, all the while still giggling and trying yet another fruitless attempt with a syringe of water and a bowl designed to catch things coming out of ones ear. #4 would strike some fear with mentions of sedation and ear vacuums.

                Medical professional #7, a salty ENT nurse, would throw some shade in my direction as she gathered information as to what had been tried. Water! That can make it swell. Well lady, it’s what medical professionals #1-7 suggested and #4-6 tried. She would give me the rundown of my role, sit in the chair and wrap his legs under yours while holding his hands across his body, and give me the worst case scenario, if this doesn’t work, you’ll be in the OR tonight.

                Enter Medical professional #8, an ENT doctor, an expert in the exact crevice my boy inserted a popcorn kernel in. Not a man of many words, just a quick how did this happen? (Side note: seriously…do we even need this question? He is three. He has an ear hole the size of a popcorn kernel. You have an advanced medical degree. Take a wild guess.) And an explanation of what we were going to do. A thin metal pick like tool was going to be strategically placed in the ear behind the kernel. It’s not going to hurt if you don’t move and let me work. If you do move, we are going to have to go on to something harder.

Eight medical professionals later, the popcorn kernel was skillfully excavated without an OR visit. 45 hours after one bad decision led to a slew of phone calls and doctor visits. For a popcorn kernel. For. A. Pop. Corn. Kernel.

[The chair of redemption]
It got me thinking though as I schlepped my boy from doctor to doctor over the course of three days: Aren’t we are all just shoving popcorn kernels in our ears?  Those little, seemingly innocuous nuggets that just seem to fit perfectly: that thing in the schedule, that relationship, that additional role or responsibility, that one decision that seems so small. Things that on their own have no inherent harm and we ultimately shove them in because they fit. Only we discover, if we leave them there, there is a chance for some serious damage to take place. Destruction to that which is most precious: our ability to hear. But, inside each of us is a three year old boy, who isn’t really thinking through the ramifications of putting that kernel in our canal, but who is only thinking but. It. fits.

Here is what I gleaned from Kernelgate 2016, priceless little kernels of truth for us crammers of things that seem to fit just right:

1.)    One small bad decision can lead to a pretty intricate redemption plan: If faith the size of a mustard seed can move a mountain, then poor decisions the size of a popcorn kernel can interrupt and rearrange life like a tidal wave. Hours at the doctor’s office, calls to multiple friends and babysitters to work out a logistical plan for other children, disturbances in the only two calendar days in months that literally had nothing on them. All because of a popcorn kernel. Something so small causing such a great amount of work and grief and requiring the most skilled of professionals to keep it from leading to permanent, irreversible damage.

2.)    Even though it fits easily, it doesn’t mean it’s meant to be there: Just because I can take on one more task or just because a relationship is available, doesn’t mean I’m supposed to fill a space. That small little kernel has the potential to swell, given the right set of circumstances, or to get lodged further down, in the depths where our precious ability to hear what we are supposed to can get threatened. A schedule crammed to the max, a relationship that constantly brings us to the brink, another responsibility that just wasn’t meant to be there will clog us up and block our capacity to really hear. And it all starts because we say to ourselves, but it fits.

3.)    In the midst of a bad decision, the remedy requires being held tight and following the instructions of the ultimate professional to a T: There is only one way out of this mess of stuffing our earholes with popcorn seeds. Sit still. Very, very still. Even though it goes against your squirmy, wormy nature little one. And let the one who knows exactly how to take out the thing you’ve perfectly lodged in your space do what only He can do. If you listen, really, really listen and do the things He tells you to do, allowing yourself to be held tightly in the process, He will take it out. If you don’t, this saga will continue and that skilled master will have to strap you down and start operating. Don’t let that kernel lead to an avalanche of unnecessary pain.

I’m guessing this was a beginning of sorts. Helping my little guy maneuver his poor decisions as he grows into a man. This one was fodder for funny Facebook and Instagram posts and illustrations for blogs, but the next ones might not be. The next proverbial kernel shoved in his ear, or mine for that matter, might cause a lot more damage. May we all learn just because it fits, doesn’t mean it’s meant to be there and that when we do face the consequences of what started out as something so small and meaningless that there is one professional, ready to help us fish out those things we’ve shoved deep in crevices on a perfectly normal, Wednesday afternoon. Sit still. Listen carefully. Let Him do what only He can do. And this whole crazy, whirlwind of a story will come to an anti-climatical ending.

Here’s to all the kernel stuffers and poor life choices that teach us a little something in the process…

Until next time,

-C.

Monday, February 8, 2016

On Sin and Motherhood


Yesterday, we entered in to a new phase of parenting. We discovered one of our children (who shall remain nameless) had been lying to us in a pretty significant way. It was calculated. It had been going on for a long time. It was deceptive and perhaps worst of all, she had encouraged her younger friend to join her in the “fun”. [Don’t worry, we aren’t at the level of selling drugs on the corner yet, but the details aren’t important for this blog purposes.]
 
I was shocked. I knew kids lied and sinned, but there is something in every mother that mistakenly believes not my kid or at least not in that way. The good news was this unmentioned child was pretty broken by her actions. She started down the path so many of us do when we are found out: I’m the worst daughter ever. You can punish me for the rest of my life. You can have the object (an iPod) that caused my sin. It was a bit on the melodramatic side. But, I am finding, that is where 8 year old girls tend to land.

So as I was processing through it all, I was ready to pounce, but thankfully, I have a wise and even tempered husband whom I found rocking her in the back room, speaking softly and quietly to her. He told her about relationships and about trust and how slowly it is earned and how quickly it is lost. He calmly explained to her how lies breaks relationships, how when we are hiding things from one another, we can’t have the fullness of fellowship. He told her about the importance of being an example to our friends and to lead them towards right and wise decisions. He displayed not only an earthly daddy who loved his little girl and wanted to guide her back on the path of righteousness, but also and more importantly, a heavenly one.
[Years ago, this unmentioned child and her daddy on a different kind of path]

Well, I’m not as calm and even-tempered as that man of mine. In my mind, I was thinking through my own melodrama: How could she do this? How did I not know? Didn’t I teach her better than this? Which launched into my own path of mommy guilt of epic proportions: I’m such a failure. What kind of mom doesn’t know there kid is doing something for this long? I should lose my mothering privileges. I should have been more aware. [She gets it from her mama…apparently.]

I wish I could say I started praying immediately, but instead I launched into self-righteous indignation. And then God hit me. I knew my kids would never be without sin. My favorite quote by a favorite author, Sally Clarkson, is “your kids will stop sinning when you stop sinning.” My child’s sin quickly revealed my own. I was not so much expecting, but I was undoubtedly wanting perfection in my children’s behaviors. But here was a kid crying, broken, and whirling in the emotions that can accompany sin: guilt, depression, feelings of failure and worthlessness.

And God spoke so clearly to me in that moment, in such a way that I think every mama needs to hear it:

Our goal as parents isn’t sinless kids, because that is impossible. Our goal as parents should be kids who know what to do with their sin.

So I took note of my husband’s wise ways and got down low with a sad little girl. I held her close because so often when our sin is revealed, we feel so so far from all the things we love. And we began a long discussion of what do we do with our sinful souls. We talked about Paul and how he too struggled with doing what he knew was right all the time. We talked about Jesus and how he was tempted to go against God’s will for Him and how He stood up to Satan’s attempts to force Him down a path of disobedience. We talked about how God always gives us a way out in our temptations to do wrong. We talked about how no matter what, if we have trusted Christ wholly and completely, He has fully forgiven all our sins: past, present and future. We discussed repentance and confession. We began the long and arduous road of helping this young disciple to deal with her sin.

There is a perfectionist that rages inside of me. She doesn’t want her kids to do wrong. Ever. She doesn’t want herself to do wrong. Ever. Slowly but surely, she is being broken down too and learning through teaching the souls entrusted to her that sin will indeed come, but it is all a matter of what you do with it that matters.

How about you? What has your kid’s sin taught you?

Here’s to #parentinggoals.

Until next time,

-C.

Thursday, January 7, 2016

The Year of ENOUGH


(Note: This picture has nothing to do with the blog that follows. It's just awesome and that is enough.)

Already, another year has begun. And every New Year brings a promise of a fresh start. We resolve this is the year. This is the one where we are healthier, smarter, more confident, more organized, more together versions of ourselves and every year, we fail. Again. Usually a few weeks after those resolutions are made. I quit making them years ago but instead have moved to choosing one word. Just a single word, one God and I come up with and together, we work towards. There has been the year of JOY, the year of PRESENCE, the year of UNDIVIDED and then it came time to pick a word for this year. Even with just one word, I found myself in a constant struggle. A cycle of failing. The exercise isn’t meant to produce that kind of thinking, but every time, I undoubtedly found myself struggling to find JOY, PRESENCE, and UNDIVISION. And I even considered forgoing the whole ONE WORD exercise again this year…but, then it hit me.

Growth always comes from struggle. Focusing on one single word for God to hone and cultivate in me wasn’t working as well as I’d hoped because often times it became a resolution in disguise. Just be more joyful, Catherine. Just be more present, Catherine. Just be more undivided, Catherine. These were things that I could never just be more of, but they were areas that He needed to prune in me and purify. Every new word, He always presented opportunities. Opportunities to choose joy instead of despair, to be present instead of disengaged, and to be undivided instead of scattered. Sometimes I chose correctly and sometimes I didn’t. But the exercise of the spiritual will to go to my Father with that word was what strengthened me and changed me and molded me a little better than I was before. That is what fancy theologians refer to as sanctification, the act of becoming a bit more like Jesus.

So this year has come and the question has been, what shall be my word? Last year felt frenzied and frenetic. It wasn’t overwhelmingly sad or happy, it was blurry and unremarkable in so many ways because the speed of which I lived left little room for memory making or soaking up the moment. It had hard moments, but I can’t even pinpoint them. It left me numb more than anything because I just.dont.know. what happened. When water levels rise and you feel like you’re flailing, recollections are the first things to go. It wasn’t a bad year, don’t get me wrong. It just was. And I’ve come to the conclusion that life is too precious and too short to have just was years. They need to be good and hard mixed together, bitter and sweet. Because the hard makes the good taste so much sweeter. It has to be a mix.

But when we pace ourselves on the hamster wheel at such a rate that we can’t even see anything, it’s too much. It’s time to step back and do some deep soul wrestling with God on how we make this a year we can taste and feel, even if it is challenging at times.

What word could encapsulate all I need God to teach and grow me in this year? I kept thinking how 2015 was just too much. It was too much on the calendar. Too much stuff as evidenced by a house busting at the seams with clutter. Too much go, go, going. But it was also not sufficient either. There wasn’t enough time to do all the things I had planned to do last year. Not enough memories made with my people because work and life just moved at a neck breaking speed. It was loud and noisy most of the time, there weren’t very many moments of silence. We were plugged in more than we should’ve been and there wasn’t any whitespace.

I said too many yeses.

I gave too much in some ways.

I felt like I didn’t give like I should’ve in others.

I was tired. Dizzy. Discombobulated.

There is a great Proverb that talks about these extremes. It says, “Give me neither poverty nor riches, but give me only my daily bread. Otherwise, I may have too much and disown you and say, ‘Who is the Lord?’ Or I may become poor and steal, and so dishonor the name of my God.” (Proverbs 30:8-9)

It’s talking about money, but its application runs much broader and deeper. When we are dealing with having too much: too much on our calendars, in our headspace, with our commitments and obligations, we start to disown God. We start to say “Who is the Lord?” because we don’t have time to find out, we forget that He is our sustainer of all our yeses and calendar and to do lists. We quit consulting Him and we trick ourselves into believing that we are the creator and maintainer of our world. It all relies on me. I am the master juggler and it is all my duty to keep all the balls in the air. But inevitably, they all come tumbling down and we learn the truth. Often times at the expense of our pride and our health.

But then there is the other extreme. The one in which we don’t seem to have quite what we need. Deficient on time we begin to steal it, usually from the people to whom we owe it the most—our spouse, our kids, our friends. We lack the margin to refresh and renew and so we take away the hours of the night meant to rest our weary bodies and build them afresh for the next day. And in doing so, we dishonor our God because the problem is the same as when we had too much: we think we are in control of our destinies and fulfilling our needs so thievery becomes a justified solution.

This year, I needed a word that dealt with both extremes because I am an extreme kind of girl. I’m all or nothing. 150 miles at hour or a screeching halt. There isn’t much in between with this one.

Enough.

I need 2016 to be the year of just enough. No more. No less.

I need to know that right now, as I am, it.is.enough. I need to be able to say to others, “hey, here is what I have to offer right now.” And let it be enough. I need to turn my eyes from always wanting more and more and let what I have be enough. I need to let Jesus be the source of my emotional state and for that to be enough. I need to be able to say no sometimes, without loquacious explanations and that be enough. I need to say “that’s a great idea! I’ll pray for and support you in the pursuit of that.” Without putting my hands on anything and let that be enough. I need to focus my energies and my talents on the things that set a fire to my soul and let that be enough. I need to be able to say “I want to spend time with you friend in my messy house without a spread of well thought out snack fare.” And that be enough. I need to have the faith of a little boy with a drum, offering what he can or a widow, with just two pennies to her name, putting it all in. Small offerings in the scheme, but everything they had to offer in the moment. That is what the year of enough must be.

I hesitate when I write these words because I know it automatically can get interpreted as a cry to stop asking for me to be a part of so many wonderful and inspiring opportunities. That isn’t what the year of enough is about. It isn’t saying no to everything that comes across my path. It’s about tempering my yeses with that which is available in my reservoir. God has been very clear with me on this year and the things He has for me. In some ways, it looks like more being added to my seemingly overfilled plate. But that’s not the case. He simply revealed to me the things that He has built me for. Three passions I have that I must filter my yeses through this year. If the question doesn’t relate to one of the three, then it will be too much. Enough is a balancing act of epic proportion because our individual “enoughs” are so specific to how we are built. I’ve realized my threshold is perhaps greater than most in some areas and lesser than most in others. It’s handing my puzzle pieces to God and letting Him fit them together in a way that is completely unique to me and me alone.

The year of ENOUGH is about letting the words Paul heard from the Lord thunder deep down in my soul, “My grace is enough for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” So then, I will boast most gladly about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may reside in me. (2 Corinthians 12:9)

His grace is it. It’s enough. It fills in all my gaps. He gives just what I need to do just what He has. All the time I need. All the resources I need. Everything. He gives just enough.

And God is able to make all grace overflow to you so that because you have enough of everything in every way at all times, you will overflow in every good work. (2 Corinthians 9:8)

I wonder if you’re searching for a word this year. If you’re tired of resolving and failing, resolving and failing. Maybe this is your year for just what you need, no more, no less.

Here’s to the year of enough!
Until next time,

-C.

Do you do “one word”? If so, what’s your word this year?