A Longing for Home

Cottage

Thomas Kincade, Painter of Light

 



Going home.  The sound of it is so inviting.  For some of us throughout our childhood, home represented the fabric of family blended together in a beautiful pattern that created safety, security and a collective identity of what our family stood for and did together.  For others of us, home brings a chill to our spine, or even a turned stomach at what violated us.  Sometimes the mere absence of significance for a child is enough in this culture of technology, accomplishment and image-based parenting.  Regardless of your experience, whether close to perfection or the most traumatic, the truth is, Mamas, we are all orphans searching for our Home.

How do we know this?  By our lost and lonely hearts.  If you ever search for your significance through what you do or who you please, you are, in that moment, acting out of your orphaned heart.  If you have ever questioned your safety or well-being, or have ever tried to control your environment or relationships so that you will not experience pain, you are, in that moment, an orphan.  And if you question yourself, spend time analyzing your thoughts, actions, or words (I have yet to meet a woman who doesn't), or perhaps spend much time on your outward appearance, you are experiencing the insecurity of an orphan. 

You see, I think we'd be hard-pressed to find a Mama who hasn't experienced her orphan heart in these ways.  I know I have, and when I find myself acting as an orphan, I have only recently realized that it is Jesus inviting me to come Home, rest in His arms, and re-realize my adoption by Him. 

My orphan heart tends to surface when I get into a place of "taking it all on."  We Mamas are famous for this.  Because I am still learning to recognize the incredible care of my Father, I find that I often forget how much care and love He extends to me, as well as His incredibly intimate involvement in my moment-to-moment daily life.  I know that I reach this orphaned place because it is usually signified by stress, feelings of being overwhelmed, and a lack of joy.  That is a red flag, Mamas!  That red flag should stop us in our tracks and remind us that we just drifted away from Home. We started walking around the block, forgetting that our Father and King -- the One with all the answers, hope, freedom, grace, and joy -- is right back at Home, waiting for us.  In fact, the Word tells us that His love is centered upon us; He dances and sings over us!  Now that does not sound like a father who abandons and leaves us on our own.  No, He delights in every breath we take and cannot wait for us to understand more deeply that we belong to Him. 

What I am realizing in this journey of motherhood is that the more I can stay Home in my heart, drinking in the love and care of my truest Father, the more I reflect an earthly home with my own children that Jesus Himself would keep.  You see, that is the cry of my heart.  I want my home to be the presence, the joy, the wonder, the delight, the love, the peace, the freedom, and the grace of Jesus.  Not only do I want my own children and family to experience it, but I want others who visit our home to feel it too.  And this is not something I can create in my own strength, through some magical or formulaic thinking -- no, this only comes as a gift from God as we travel Home and stay there ourselves. 

This week, Mamas, as we begin a new week after a long holiday weekend, let's all open our hearts to Home.  Ask Jesus to show you the orphaned places in your own heart.  Ask Him to reveal the beauty and freedom of living in His house each day. 

"For the Spirit which you have now received is not a spirit of slavery to put you once more in bondage to fear, but you have now received the Spirit of adoption [the Spirit producing sonship] in which we cry, Abba Father! The Spirit Himself testifies together with our own spirit, assuring us that we are children of God."

~Romans 8:15 (Amplified)

I'm Ba-ack

Hello Mamas.  You thought I forgot about you, didn't you?  Welllll, it turns out I have been here all along, doing what we all do: trying to survive.  I cannot describe to you the intensity of the past couple months, but to sum it up, I will say that Jesus is awesome.  For being Himself, for creating reliable childcare help, and for Diet Coke at 3:30pm.  For this and so many more reasons, I love Him. 

I have been in a place of utter dependence upon Him, and I suppose that was the point.  And what I've realized is that all my silly attempts to "have my act together" are completely in vain, because of the simple Truth that I am not supposed to have my act together.  And neither are you, silly goose.  We are supposed to be completely lost, flailing around like a helpless child, and then we are supposed to land in His arms and remember Him.  However, I recently realized that I was stuck on the flailing part, thinking to myself, "Why can't I keep it all together here?  Everyone else makes this (motherhood) look so easy!"  Then I would think about my patterns of sin and lost-ness and wallow there for awhile.  Then I would talk to my girlfriends, and we would dwell together on how terrible it is to be so lost and what books we should read about being so lost.  Then we would cook each other dinner whilst talking about feeling so inadequate, share a glass of wine over our failures, throw our hands up in the air in despair over our powerlessness , and do it all again the next week. 

Thankfully, Jesus was able to contact me during my complete and total focus on myself and introduce me to a new dear friend.  We have never met, but I swear I would give her a big hug and kiss if I ran into her at Sam's Club.  Because that is the only place I ever go, and I would be thrilled to run into her in the Diet Coke aisle.  Her name is Elyse Fitzpatrick, and she has written many books, but there is one you MUST read.  That is, if you are a mother, and if you have not yet "arrived" to perfection on earth.  It is called "Give Them Grace: Dazzling Your Kids With the Love of Jesus." 

I am warning you.  She shares this incredible Story with you called the Gospel.  It is so eye-opening.  It talks about this man named Jesus who came to Earth, suffered and died for all of our shortcomings, just because of His deep love for us.  Then, just when you thought it couldn't get any better, she points out the key portion of this Story is that nobody who Jesus loves is supposed to have their act together.  I know!!  Incredible!!  The most scandalous part of the Story is that this man, Jesus, prefers that people simply accept their status as complete and total failures, so that He can shine through them and love them no matter what. 

Then she writes this preposterous notion that God is ultimately responsible for the outcomes in this life, and that He alone is the only heart-changer in the world.  For anyone.  Mamas, kids, and husbands who don't take out the trash. 

In case you're not catching my note of sarcasm, I am completely flat-out humbled, convicted, even baffled at my own silliness for, ahem, missing the entire Gospel message when things got hard.  The most basic Truth of Christianity -- Grace -- had gotten lost in a world of achievement, accomplishment, self-focus, and self-reliance.  My apologies, Mamas, I completely don't have my act together.  But isn't it refreshing that we are not supposed to?  Let's quickly shift our focus from wallowing to worshipping the Man who does really have it together.  That's the place to dwell.  And that's the message that Mamas, babies, and every person in the world needs to hear.  He got what we deserved.  Because He loves us. 

So simple.  So Jesus.  I love Him.  The End. 

"For by grace are you saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God."

~Ephesians 2:8

Vulgar & Scandalous

I've been kind of quiet lately, I know.  I have to be honest.  I've been stuck on this little topic, and I can't seem to move past it.  I hope I never do.  It's called Grace. 

I know, I've talked about it a lot, but this past week I have been meditating on what it really means.  Grace, by definition, is undeserved favor.  The nod from God when we all know we are far from perfect.  Jesus kindly and graciously accepts us, no explanations.  He effortlessly waves the thief into heaven, as he is dying from the torture of undeserved sin.  He washes the feet of people we snub on a daily basis.  And you know what?  I want to have a revelation of it in my own heart, and more than anything, I want to share it with every single soul I meet.  Brennan Manning describes this Grace as "vulgar and scandalous," and I could not agree more. 

I have been meditating on this:  Through what lens does God see us?  I want to understand this, of course, in a fresh way, and not in a rote, what-the-church-taught-me-growing-up kind of way. 

Well, of course his lens is Jesus.  Perfect, clear, rosy-colored Jesus.  Love, wisdom, light, and Truth, the unmistakable image of himself -- that is how he sees us.  Striving and works-based theology mean nothing to him.  My mistakes, my victories, all of it -- ridiculously meaningless.  The time I swore in front of the kids when I spilled hot coffee all over -- forgotten.  Striving in my own strength (again) and ignoring his attempts to connect with me -- actually.... expected.  In this culture of "doing" and accomplishing, I need a fresh revelation of "being" with Jesus and settling in my own heart the question of my worth and value. 

And yet again, the conclusion I have come to is that my story is truly irrelevant.  Because when I surrender my life to him, my story gets swallowed up in his.  I believe this is what Grace really means.  To focus upon my own mistakes or shortcomings and how I can "do better" only takes the focus off of his incredible, life-changing, totally transforming Story and onto my petty and insignificant one.  It's like going from the Ritz-Carlton to Howard Johnson's.  And if I was Jesus, I'd say that isn't fair.  But then again, that's the whole deal here.  He *expects* us to see the HoJo. 

I don't know about you, but I feel once again like the longer I live the Christian life, the more basic my needs become.  I want to know and experience God's love.  I want to understand this completely counter-cultural thing called Grace.  For me, it is still like a vapor I am trying to catch -- I just can't seem to bend my mind around such a concept.  Jesus loves me, this I know.  Or do I? 

For this reason, I have been asking Jesus for a picture of how he sees me.  Something visual that would help me to understand more deeply what Grace really is... a picture to hold onto that captures his love for me just as I am, not as I should be. 

He gave me the most gentle picture of a newborn in his arms.  In fact, I saw myself as a newborn in his arms.  So simple, and yet something we can all relate to as Mamas.  Because what does one expect of a newborn?!  Absolutely nothing.  They are innocent, pure representatives of God's holy art found in human life.  They are admired, cherished, adored, loved, held, and talked about simply for *who* they are, and no one gives a hoot if they ever do a thing.  But gassy smiles are a bonus!  Because simply for who they are, they minister to us.  Their newborn scent, their facial expressions, and their utter dependence upon us makes us all melt and feel forever connected. 

And this, my sweet Mamas, is how Jesus sees YOU. 

So, the next time you screw up, imagine yourself in Jesus' arms and his utter admiration of you.  Remember, he does not see you for who you should be.  He sees you for who you are, snuggled in the warm blanket of his sacrifice.  And he is so happy with you.  And content.  And he does not expect a thing more.  The essence of your purpose and worth and value is simply in being loved by him. 

This is my Sweet Baby boy as a newborn.  Credit given respectfully to Heather Hanson Photography. 

Dinnertime, Jesus & Broadway Showtunes

It seems to happen everyday.  Dinnertime.  Why do these sweet little things ALWAYS need to eat?  I mean, seriously.  Ten minutes after I clean up breakfast, they ask, "Is it snack time yet?"  And they are serious.  And so am I when I say, "No.  You should have eaten more of your breakfast."

I am wondering about something today.  How in the world can I keep my sanity (and Jesus) close at hand during something as daily (try three times daily) as a meal?!  I start off my days and our meals with the same heart:  happy, content, loving the children.  I glance over and admire their cuteness as they attempt to spoon the corn into their mouths, mimicking what they see from an adult.  But then, failing miserably, all the corn goes trickling down into their bibs and onto the floor.  Oh, ha ha, I say, isn't that adorable.  The floors are not important -- this moment is.  Oh yes, treasure this -- it is so darn cute.  I ever-so-softly remind them to say, "May I please," when asking for more fruit.  I don my apron and perfectly coiffed hair and serve up a meal that Martha would be proud of.  Every food group represented.  On a gender-specific divided plate.  Ah, yes.  A proud moment for any Mama.  And this of course would be my delirium speaking.  This is not at ALL how it goes down. 

The real scoop is that we scramble to the table.  My stress level climbs and climbs as Sweet Baby cries louder and louder as his meal is prepared.  I stomp around the kitchen like I'm large and in charge.  I get stuff done.  I plate all the food, neatly arranged on divided plates, and say a prayer for my recently-washed kitchen floors.  The kids whine and scream for more "Dora," to which I always say no, but they still ask and throw a tantrum afterward.  Sweet Baby is at full-force now, mimicking the F-16s in movies.  He grabs a handful of my hair and it comes out because I am still nursing.  It lands in the ravioli.  I take a deep breath.  Kay.  We can do this, Jesus.  I actually remember to remember him.  Get everyone buckled in, and throw the plates down and now the commencement of the shoveling into Sweet Baby's mouth.  I probably have not shared that Sweet Baby is in the 97th percentile for *everything*, and it shows.  I take bites of my own cold food.  One bowl is not enough for Sweet Baby, so I hysterically run to refill his carrots and green beans as he screams and causes the neighbors to consider calling Child Services, whilst the other kids scream for seconds.  I remind them to eat their other food.  Another thing that I say every single time, and yet no one seems to accept I will not budge. 

I am now sweating.  I'm starting to get pissed.  Seriously pissed.  I started off this meal content, happy, and honestly grateful.  Now I am scraping the inner bits of mushy ravioli off of the underside of my kitchen table and wondering what in the heck I was grateful for again?!  This is after hosing down each child and cursing the moment I chose to eat inside rather than outside on the deck.  Brother and Sister are doing the screaming game, you know the one -- to see who can scream more loudly.  Sweet Baby screams and wins.  Mommy thinks it might all be a trick to see how long before she loses it and takes a sweet sabbatical at a locked facility.  Jesus, where are you in this?! 

Then, as massive clean up begins, Sister and Brother begin fighting.  Selfish hearts, unloving hearts, disobedient hearts -- all of these get disciplined, and I come around the corner.  I lovingly tell them the way Jesus would do it, and I encourage them to ask him for help.  They are sorry, I forgive.  I repeat the mantra in our family, "I love you no matter what."  Sweet Baby is still screaming.  Why won't he stop?! What is wrong with him, why does he scream like this, what should I do -- oh man, the dishwasher is hanging open and Brother is crawling inside.  Sister dumps out the laundry that I folded during nap time (yes, during my supposed break from the madness), and then Sweet Baby spits up everything I shoveled into him ten minutes earlier, all over the counter, floor and Bumbo chair.  With that, I am toast. 

I want to crumble in a heap and shout, "Why does this have to be so hard?!!!!  Why is it frowned upon to swear in front of my children?!!!  Where is Jesus when I need him????!!!" 

And yes, this is only dinner.  We actually eat 2 other meals throughout the day.  I don't know about you, Mamas, but I am seriously starting to think I don't have what it takes.  Where are those pristine mothers and their secrets?! I need to know how to keep it together when everything gets so LOUD and messy.  I would also like to know about the memory loss my children seem to have when they ask me the same inane questions and get the same answers every. single. day.  Seriously. 

It all gets topped off when Daddy walks in reading my text warning him I am in a foul mood, and I just need some help here... and that's when I drop Sweet Baby in his hands, retreat to my room and talk to you.  Because this is my Jesus time.  I am lost without him, and apparently with him too. 

I don't know about you, Mamas, but I am unsure of how to "succeed" in these moments.  Success, I think, would be keeping my cool, regardless of my circumstances.  Staying in peace, as they say.  I want to follow after that peace, but I am completely undone by the noise, chaos, demands, and mess that young children bring.  And I might add, there is a LOT of it.  I waffle between thinking I am "normal," to feeling like I really could've done a better job glorifying Jesus.  Then I get all "big picture" with this.  Is it ok to be completely undone by circumstances that are messy, out of control and frankly, annoying?  And what would glorifying Jesus look like exactly?  Well, it turns out I asked him. 

He said something stunning.  He said "success" was simply turning to him in those moments.  Loving him, clinging to him for dear life, sharing my heart with him. 

I glorify him by asking him for help under my breath.  In doing this simple act, I am acknowledging him as God and humbling to his power and might.  That is glory for him. 

I glorify him by approaching each mealtime with a glad heart and a grateful heart for this food and for my kids, even though historical evidence would prove there are daily experiences of how much it sucks for all the reasons listed above.  Like childbirth, I somehow forget how bad it gets and enjoy the beginning of it. 

I glorify him by taking the time to discipline precious hearts that are his, rather than ignoring it and going about my cleaning up.  Eternal over the temporal.  In doing this, I further God's agenda (training my kids to be like Jesus) and let go of my own (cleaning the kitchen in less than 2 hours). 

I glorify him by being honest and real, allowing my kids to see how Mom actually needs God and yes, does have a limit.  They learn that they do, in fact, have a choice and when they exercise some self-control, love, and selflessness, it goes a long way.  I glorify him by allowing that boiling point to be known because otherwise they will think Stepford Wives are the norm. 

I glorify him and please him by accepting his scandalous grace.  It is so undeserved and completely mind-boggling.  He truly loves me just as I am.  Today's special was one pissed-off mother at dinnertime.  I can hardly wrap my mind around it. 

And finally, I glorify him by remembering to use the saving grace of The Sound of Music.  Sounds crazy, right?  It turns out that being a former musical theatre major DOES have its perks, in that I know the words to all sorts of musical numbers that stop the madness in its tracks.  I belt out a chorus of "The hills are alive," and the children stop screaming.  By the time I get to "when the dog bites, when the bee stings," in "My Favorite Things," we are laughing and enjoying each other again.  And sure enough when I sing "How Do I Solve a Problem Like Maria?" and change the words to playfully reflect our horrific dinnertime, I've just sung myself happy.  A miracle in my midst -- amazing.  And that's our Jesus.  Playful.  Unexpected.  Gracious.  Jesus knows dinnertime sucks, and he wants to be right in the thick of it with me, enjoying a Broadway show tune. 

Now I get it, Jesus.  If dinnertime didn't suck, I would never have known that you are secretly a musical theatre buff.  Once again, you've shown me another side of your heart.  See you tonight around 5pm, Jesus.  Maybe we'll try Guys & Dolls this time.

Failure Flash Mob

You know, in the last post, I made failing sound so super great.  And talked about how we value failure in our family because it gives Jesus an opportunity to shine.  Well, the part of failure that I'm experiencing today is how failure.... stinks.  It really is no fun.  Like dating "for fun" in my 20s was also no fun, failure is empty, lifeless and a totally lame way to spend a Friday.

It's like music stuck on one beat, or that endless din of background, annoying noise at suburban restaurants like Ruby Tuesday's.  It's unoriginal, common, dull, and completely unspectacular.  It completely lacks the punch of a fresh palette of spring color, and matches the drab, dreary, non-winter outside.  And today, I failed miserably again.  Which supposedly I believe in and celebrate, according to my previous post.  And it just so happens that today I'm not-so-ok with it, and so I have come to a shocking conclusion:  I fail at failing.  Imagine that!

I will just say that it's been one of those days with the kids where I wonder what happened to those sweet munchkins I tucked in last night.  Where did they go?!  Is this some sort of candid camera experiment to see how long before I lose it and drive myself to a "special place" for mothers like me?  I am holding out hope that what I'm seeing isn't the truth.  Because if it was, it would be pretty damn discouraging. 

I have decided that life is one big "flash mob," really.  This big earth full of billions of people gets together and plays something they call "life."  In defining a flash mob, Wikipedia states that flash mobs are groups of people who assemble together in a public place and perform "an unusual and seemingly meaningless act for a brief time."  That sounds like everyday life to me.  At least my life.  I get up, I get together with these little monkeys, and then we do this thing called family or togetherness which at the moment seems very meaningless and unusual to me.  But then I fail at it.  Again and again.  And so it becomes one day after the next -- a failure flash mob. 

Now before you think I'm being hard on us moms, let me just say this.  We have every right to fail, and it is no wonder we do.  Recently, our children brought my strong, incredibly steady Sweet Husband from playing chase-and-tickle happily for hours with them, to practically rocking himself in the fetal position during their naptime.  I found him laying in bed, and he was groaning, sort of like he was in pain.  You see, Sweet Husband had a hard day. He had my better-than-normal day with the kids. He got up one hour later than I normally do and fed the baby. Then he got the other sweeties up and fed them breakfast and cleaned up. He watched as I dressed them, potty-sat them, and changed their diapers, and then Sweet Husband helped as I made lunch. I went out at naptime and ran 14 errands and then ran out again with my little sweet 2-year-old and had a special date at Home Depot and Sam's Club. While I was gone, Sweet Husband watched movies and ate candy with the sweet 3-year-old. Then I brought home dinner.  Then came this moment where Sweet Husband collapsed, and could barely speak, as he told me how difficult his day was.  I will add that on this particular day the kids were fairly well-behaved and really in a loving, generous place in their hearts. 

Now before you think I'm being hard on Sweet Husband, the truth is, this parenting 3 little monkeys under 3 years old really is like a marathon.  You moms who have more than 3 close together are like those crazy women who do the Iron Woman race.  I don't get you.  But I admire you, and I thank Jesus for the ideas you give me and others on how to parent many kids well.  But just like a marathon, if you don't have your daily training in, it will LEVEL you.  That's what happened to Sweet Husband.  His leisurely drive-to-work-with-a-warm-cup-of coffee kind-of-morning got bitch-slapped by the bring-you-to-your-knees-systematically-with-lots-of-tantrums-and-typical-childlikeness-kind-of-morning.

Now, imagine having a normal day with no Sweet Husband home, and the children channeling Spongebob, or something worse.  I don't even know Spongebob, but what I've gathered is that he fits into the sassy, LOUD, disrespectful, selfish, and un-loving hearts that I saw today.  Demanding, entitled, ungrateful, and unaware of compassion.  Good heavens, it was enough to send me to bed and just start over tomorrow. Because this is a failure flash mob, right? It'll all end, soon? Pretty please, Jesus?  I got hooked.  The sin I saw hooked the sin in me.  My own discomfort with me being a failure extended to them.  There were lectures.  Talks about children who have no homes, no parents, and no divided plates at lunchtime.  It was dramatic.  Even funny now as I write this.  Because the looks on their faces were priceless.  Like, "But, I thought you loved us when we fail, Mommy?"  *Sigh*  And there it was.  Smack-dab in the middle of a Friday, my need for a Savior. 

And this is the *moment* I am writing about on this blog.  But my true confession in this moment is this:  I don't like needing him.  This is why we "play church" and avoid real stuff in our hearts.  This is why we pray AT God but don't listen as much.  We don't want the Real stuff because it hurts.  It hurts because there is no answer except dying to our own wishes of being great, celebrated, recognized, and having what we want.  And nobody likes to die to themselves, especially not those who specialize in failure, like me. 

So, I find myself again hearing Jesus invite me.  He whispered this little thing to me that I just can't get past:

If you don't specialize in failure, Love will never become a headline. 

Because we won't need him.  If we don't fail, we don't get to this desperate place for his fullness and life.  His love and grace washes over me if I will simply get over myself and allow him to have my heart.  All of it.  Not just the little bits I give over.  He wants to occupy all of it, and once again, to have me then go to the Ruby Tuesday's and Chili's of the world and bring my spicy, Jesus-beat to dullness of what we see.  He does NOT want me to go, go, go in my own strength all the time, hit the wall, and then decide I need him.  Oops.

Failure is the entry to Grace.  Grace is him loving us as we are, not as we should be.  Grace revives our hearts with his, and then spreads like wildfire to others who fail too. 

So, I'm challenging myself and you today to think of failure as it truly is.  It is the Answer, the Key, and the Way to Grace.  If we're gonna make Love a headline, we have to experience it ourselves. 

I just love this Jesus, who literally in the past 30 minutes made me feel like a million bucks for failing today, instead of allowing me to sink into discouragement.  I think he's proud, too.  After all, he got to rescue a precious bunny in the Nursery today, and up Love's score in the world by 1 point. 

Now to all the Shabby Mamas, go fail!  Fail miserably in the name of Love and Grace!

Dearest World

Dear World,

I am sending you a gift.  You might picture a beautiful box with a polished, satin red bow, but I need to adjust your expectations.  This gift is likely one you've met and overlooked before.  It is also one that might seem quite ordinary.  But I promise you, it is the best gift you've ever received. 
This gift is my shabby children. 

It's important that you know they won't seem very extraordinary at first.  They won't be especially polished or wear name-brand clothes.  Academic pursuits will be placed below more valuable ones.  Their list of worldly accomplishments will vary from what you hold dear and cherish.  But what will really catch your attention about them is their hearts. 

You see, dear World, I have been grooming them just for you.  What you would consider foolish to pursue, they will spend their lives seeking.  And what you cherish, they will likely reject.  But not because they are judgmental or self-righteous, but because they have been trained through all of their growing-up years to follow after love, servanthood, purity, innocence, and shabbiness. 

Yes, you read that correctly.  My children will seek to be shabby, tattered, and about as imperfect as possible.  We will highlight being shabby as a strength in our family because without it, we fall into the traps of independence and self-sufficiency that you provide.  The trap of "doing it ourselves," which leads to life without God and therefore, misses the point.  We will pledge allegiance to Jesus by being proud of our humanness, rejoicing in our hugest mistakes.  Because it is only here that we really connect to the whole reason behind being human.  That is, finding our true Love.  So that Love can come to you through our itty-bitty hands, feet, and hearts. 

I don't know quite how to tell you this, World, but what you've got going on is not exactly the cat's pajamas.  You need some help.  I don't know if you have noticed, but there is not a whole lot of goodness resulting from your efforts.  I know you haven't exactly asked for help, but I am here to serve you and love you, and so are my kids. 

Would you like to know how I'm going to do it?  I'm so glad you asked.  Well, first I am going to start with being a complete failure myself.  Yes, failing miserably is really the entry point to this kind of living.  Then I am going to fail a whole lot in front of my children.  They are going to know what "human" is, whether they enjoy it or not.  I will hurt their feelings and ask for forgiveness, make embarrassing mistakes in front of them, and let them watch me squirm as I make amends to those I impacted.  I will let them see the ugliness in my own heart and let them listen as I bring it all before Jesus for redemption.  I will narrate my life and heart in front of them.  Especially the part of talking to him.  That is going to be the main skill honed for their lives and careers. 

While other mothers are coaching their children in several foreign languages, I will be coaching mine to hear God's voice to their hearts.  While other families immerse themselves in media and entertainment, we will immerse ourselves in awesome reading about nature, poetry, music, and history.  We will read the classics aloud and dwell on all that represents goodness and Love.  Rather than being fascinated with violence and fear, we will be fascinated with how Jesus shows up in our daily experience.  Amongst the Legos, trains, and Dora blocks.  Or maybe even the Little People farm. 

Now before you go and put me in the category of "those people," and set me neatly on a shelf to be disregarded, let me just say one thing.  We are not going to do ANY of this because we are so great.  We are going to do all of it because we are not-so-great.  We acknowledge that we do not have the answers, and we know Someone who does.  We are willing to embrace a different way of life that counters yours.  We are willing to follow after a life that radically alters you and connects you with the Real Thing.  Like the receptionist or Fed-Ex guy, our job is simply to hook you up. The truth is that we are way too shabby to do this in our own strength, and frankly, we don't have the desire.  We are sooooo over it being about us.  So remember, we are just these shabby bunnies that hope to have very little of ourselves left when He is finished with us. 

Our greatest hope is not to have worldly accolades, but to be transformed by him, to resemble him, in every regard. 

Our excitement each morning is to read about him, sit with him, hear from him, and to have the honor of being used by him to love you. 

Our lives will be marked by a willingness to fail personally, so that you might get to know him.

Our resume will be full of ways we failed at doing all of this, and how he rescued us, just the same.

This is our gift to you.  We love you. 

The Best Love Story. Ever.

Speaking of baths, I had myself one today.  But what you won't believe is that Jesus took me with him into the empty tomb.  Hilarious, symbolic, lovely.  I know, kind of creepy at first.  Until you hear the rest of the story.  I just love how he does things.  Let me explain. 

I have been striving lately.  Working so hard at everything -- all the tasks associated with life & motherhood.  You know the list: meal-making, butt-wiping, diaper-changing, house-cleaning, meal-planning, laundry-washing, playdate-planning, workout-going, discipline-giving, constant-nursing, nap-coordinating, preschool-activity-planning, Bible-storying, airplane-ride-giving, Scripture-learning, special-time-spending, spontaneous-day-planning, regular-routine-planning, hair-combing, teeth-brushing, doctor-appointment-making, bath-giving, potty-training, family-photograph-outfit-coordinating, closet-cleaning, subsequent-clothing-bin-organizing, home-improvement-coordinating, and goodwill-donating -- and don't forget the cheerful attitude amidst it all.  I sigh to Sweet Husband about these tasks and how I feel weighed down somehow.  Sweet Husband reflects.  Then he offers this advice, "Sweetie, maybe there's a way to cut a corner or two?"  I look at him curiously.  Cut a corner?!  What does that even mean?  (You must remember I don't know how to do anything except with intensity).  Sweet Husband mutters something about how if he stayed home with the kids, he would put them in the playroom with the gate up.  Then he would throw a bunch of blankets and fishy crackers in there and call it good.  I don't think he was kidding. 

The thing about the blanket and fishy cracker idea is this.  First of all, child protective services.  I get it.  Ok, next.  I think what I picked up on from Sweet Husband was freedom.  I knew I didn't have any.  While the fishy cracker and blanket idea was preposterous, I could tell Sweet Husband was not bound in the same shackles as me.  That familiar, not-so-friendly-friend named Guilt was there to blame me when I cleaned because I should be spending more time with my kids.  When I spent more time with my kids, Guilt was there to remind me of my very long and ever-growing to-do list.  In the midst of it all, if I wasn't joyful, happy every second, experiencing a blissful utopia in being with my kids constantly, Guilt was there to remind me of how ungrateful I must be, for many mothers don't have the luxury of staying home with their children.  If I left my children with Sweet Husband in the evening to replenish my soul by visiting with a girlfriend or (gasp) browsing through Target without an agenda, Guilt was there to convict me of every purchase, no matter how conservative, and to remind me that a good mother would never want to leave her children, especially in the hands of some fishy cracker-doling dad.  Certainly, a "good" mother would not need a break from a 3-year-old, 2-year-old, and 5-month-old.  She is supposed to be treasuring every moment.  While I deep-down knew that Guilt was there, I had no idea how to be released from its tight shackles. 

Somehow Guilt had snuck into my party uninvited.  Shame too.  Boo.

Well, Shabby Mamas, the day I realized it was when I did not have joy or lightness in approaching my day with the kids.  It all felt heavy, dark, and well, depressing.  This is when we all need to pause and realize, "Wait a minute.  This isn't God."  Precious discernment is often the first casualty in the blur of parenting young children. 

Here's what happened.  I felt God invite me to spend time with him and sort it all out.  It was subtle, and I could have easily missed it.  But I suppose my misery and desperation made me more open or aware of it.  It was unmistakably God, who wanted to meet my heart and help.  Some days are just like this -- easy to find him.  I determined that once all the kids were down for their naps, I would lie on my bed, X-body style.  You know, arms and legs completely extended, flat on my bed.  I always start the time the same way:  "Jesus, show me where to start."  A feeble prayer, but totally a Shabby Mama sort of prayer, and I am confident one of his favorites. 

Instantly, he showed me a powerful picture.  I was in shackles next to horrific figures called Guilt, Shame, Condemnation, Depression, Self-Hatred, and Anxiety.  I looked around in horror to find myself a prisoner to these things.  I was speechless and felt powerless to become free of them. 

In a moment, Jesus reminded me that all I need to do was call upon his Name.  I still felt powerless to do it.  He playfully reminded me, "You can ask me for help."  A-ha.  Yes, that's right.  You're the Savior and defeated all this ugliness 2,000 years ago.  Kay.  Here we go.  I asked for help, and in his name, they were gone.  Just like that.  Instantly, I saw the brightest place you could imagine.  It was like going from the darkest room where you literally see nothing in front of your face, to the glaring sunlight, where you have to shield your face with your hands.  The contrast was staggering.  I was captivated by the BIG-ness of God.  His majesty.  And then, in a flicker, he was back down to normal size, and seated next to me.  Inside the empty tomb.  He looked at me and said, "This is where death became life."  And then, right there, he spoke the words my heart so desperately needed, like the rush of cool water to my parched soul: 

"Dawn, you are ALREADY everything I had ever hoped you would be." 

You have got to be kidding me, Jesus.  You mean, all these years, the striving, the quest for achievement, even for you... all of that means nothing to you?  But what about all that I did for you?  What about the times that I even ministered in your name or got lost in your presence? 

His answer to this was quite simple. 

All that I had ever hoped you would become was Mine. 

He has this way of shutting me up with his grace.  Speechless, dumbfounded, amazed.  The Gospel of Grace is so incredibly un-worldlike that it leaves us confused.  When he says these things to me, I feel like I've been reading the Bible upside-down my entire life.  But here's the thing.  I needed him to say it again.  And again.  And again after that.  Because that's how my heart changes and gets it a little more on this layer of the onion. 

So, he's my precious Valentine.  It's all about him today and everyday, not about my silly attempts to escape his grace.  I keep forgetting.  I am just a Shabby Mama on the shelf.  My ears are disheveled, and the soft, pink satin is wearing through on my tummy.  But what I do like is my reflection.  I think he prefers it, too.  It's starting to look a teensy-weensy more like his. 

Let's all ask Jesus what he thinks of us today.  I can't wait to hear what he says to you, his special Valentine. 

Here's a song to get you started.  xoxo