Parenting
What is Love?
No, I’m not referring to Haddaway’s 1990’s hit, revived by the SNL ‘Roxbury’ sketches.
Every year around Valentine’s Day, 1 Corinthians 13 trends on Twitter and Facebook because of its references to love. The same passage is so commonly used in wedding ceremonies (mine included) that it’s almost a pre-requisite.
I’m tempted to roll my eyes at the litany of 1 Corinthians 13 Tweets and status updates, because the word used in that passage for love is a Greek word (agapē). Agapē describes the love that only God can manifest, not the romantic love (eros) touted on February 14th. Agapē is the word used in 1 John 4:8 to describe God Himself. By contrast, the Greek word used in the Bible to describe the interrelationships of humans is phileō.
Not Even Eyelids
He was perched atop his booster seat, at the table in my kitchen, hair wild from a nap and up to his elbows in raisins. I was full-time Auntie for the weekend, while my sister and her husband were away. In his parents’ absence, my nephew came to me for all things: his injuries (which, thankfully, were few), his delights (which, thankfully, were many), and his various needs like shoe-tying, snack-making, book-reading, and more snack-making. I enjoyed what felt like celebrity treatment from him and we had a terrific weekend together.As he enjoyed a bounty of raisins with his brother and my children around our table, an ‘incident’ occurred. Nothing major, mind you, but an infraction on his part that required correction. I was tempted to overlook it, desirous of preserving my rock star status in his eyes, but it was [sigh] necessary.
Due to the patient and dedicated teaching of his parents, my nephew’s conscience was already pricked over his wrongdoing. I knew because I saw it on his face: his head was cocked ever-so-slightly away from me, and his eyes squinted shut, the smallest crows’ feet wrinkling his perfect three-year-old skin. You see, he’d gone to his own special place. Away from me. His toddler rationale: if he couldn’t see me, then I couldn’t see him. And if I couldn’t see him, I couldn’t discipline him.
Nice try, slim.
It was as darling as it was absurd.
We’re not able to conceal ourselves and our wrongdoings from God any more than closing his eyes eclipsed him from my vision. Much as I wished to lovingly teach, correct and restore my nephew, so too the Lord invites our confessions:
But if we confess our sins to him, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all wickedness.
— 1 John 1:9 NLTPeople who conceal their sins will not prosper, but if they confess and turn from them, they will receive mercy.
— Proverbs 28:13 NLT
Our Father spared nothing, not even His Son, to secure our forgiveness. The knowledge that forgiveness has already been extended should liberate us to freely, though not flippantly, seek Him for restoration.
As a parent (and Auntie), I pray my children find me merciful in hearing their admissions of guilt. I hope I demonstrate, in some small fashion, the loving instruction and grace so generously offered to me in Christ Jesus. As a child of God, I pray I will run to my God for His merciful forgiveness, trusting fully in the sacrifice made to secure it for me.
We needn’t hide. Nothing we do, no sin we commit, can separate us from God if we have trusted in Christ. Nothing. Not even eyelids.
And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.
— Romans 8:38,39
Returning Thanks
What if you woke up today with only the things you thanked God for yesterday?
This question was posed by a friend’s Facebook post last week. I read it and paused to thank God specifically for my husband, as I’d just traded email with a woman who recently lost hers. I did a quick inventory of what I’d thanked God for the day before and duly noted that I wasn’t returning thanks to God for so much as a fraction of all He’s given me. Must do a better job of that, I thought.
How that thought has haunted me since…
My husband called me when he arrived to pick up my daughter from her art class but she wasn’t waiting outside, “Is she with you?” I replied that she wasn’t. He said he’d call me back after he’d looked some more. I prayed, asking God to show us where she was. I wasn’t panicked… yet. After checking with the art teacher, and a more thorough search of the surrounding area, he called: she was nowhere to be found.
I prayed again. Then I called the police, issuing information about her: name, age, description, last known location, what she was wearing, and that this was unusual behavior. My other children instinctively put on their coats and shoes amidst their tears. We prayed as I drove us all to meet the police and my husband at art, my eyes scanning feverishly as I looked for her on the rain-drenched sidewalks along our route. Officers were on site when I arrived; my husband was relating more details about her. We handed them a photo of our daughter. It was utterly surreal.
Had I thanked God for my child yesterday?
I called a neighbor to ask for prayer. I called two other friends as well, but couldn’t get through, and couldn’t bear to leave the message. Both patrol cars left to canvass the area; my husband departed to do the same. I stayed in front of the art building, in hopes of her return. Calling for her. Pacing. Crying. Praying.
My phone rang. It was the neighbor I’d reached. She saw my daughter walking up our street towards home, in the rain. My daughter was safe. Inexplicably, she’d walked herself home… something she’d never done before, nor anything we had ever asked of her. It was out of character and out of protocol. I marveled at God’s sovereignty: the one person I’d reached was the one person who saw her.
I called my husband and notified the police. I sobbed as I ran to my car, thanking God. We raced home. I couldn’t get there fast enough; I had to see her – hold her – myself to confirm her well-being. There were no words of chastisement during that embrace, only gratitude to God for the gift of my daughter.
I know not all similar stories have such simple explanations and happy endings. In fact, I know it well. I certainly don’t contend that missing children are a consequence for ingratitude, but He used those interminable moments of worry to show me mine.
God has been exceedingly generous to me. He owed me nothing, yet has granted me immeasurable blessing, demonstrated singularly in the sacrifice of Christ. Oh, but how much more! Yes, I’ve experienced losses and continue to face challenges, but His gifts abound. And He was gracious enough to reveal my presumptuous nature that I would enjoy another day, another hour, of such prosperity.
It is His right to give, His right to take away. It is my responsibility to return thanks and acknowledge the Giver.
While [Job] was still speaking, yet another messenger came and said, “Your sons and daughters were feasting and drinking wine at the oldest brother’s house, when suddenly a mighty wind swept in from the desert and struck the four corners of the house. It collapsed on them and they are dead, and I am the only one who has escaped to tell you!”
At this, Job got up and tore his robe and shaved his head. Then he fell to the ground in worship and said:
“Naked I came from my mother’s womb,
and naked I will depart.
The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away;
may the name of the LORD be praised.”In all this, Job did not sin by charging God with wrongdoing.
–Job 1:18-22
Suggested reading: Ann Voskamp’s One Thousand Gifts.
Related music: Great is Thy Faithfulness
Tangled
Muffled whimpers escaped the closed bathroom door. It was past the time when she was due downstairs for the morning, so I’d gone upstairs to check on Boo. This darling daughter o’ mine is a basketful of surprises: I had no idea what I’d find when I opened the door. Perhaps frustration over getting earrings into her recently-pierced ears? Sadness over one escaping down the sink drain?
I found her dripping wet from her shower, trying to extricate a comb wound so tightly with hair that I feared removal would require surgical intervention. She was pulling and twisting, ratcheting the hair tighter with every failed attempt to free it, like a Chinese finger trap.
“Why didn’t you ask me for help?” She was afraid I’d laugh. Laughter was a generous assumption of my response, given the dictates of the over-filled morning that lay ahead. I tabulated the number of minutes remaining until we needed to leave for the bus stop, knowing breakfast hadn’t been consumed nor backpacks loaded. I silently asked God to help me put those concerns aside to meet her needs, physically and emotionally. She didn’t want my help, but she needed it. If she didn’t trust me to do right by her, we weren’t going anywhere – literally or figuratively.
I cajoled her into getting dressed and coming downstairs. (Or did I threaten?) She finally appeared in the kitchen in a school-appropriate outfit and a terry cloth wimple she’d constructed from her towel to conceal her ‘issue.’
The best strategy I could devise to salvage as much hair as possible was to pour oil on her head, hoping it would lube the locks. I massaged it into the gnarled comb-hair mass. I tugged. It hurt. She cried. I fetched wire cutters from the garage and snipped teeth off the comb, in hopes of freeing still more hair. It was tedious work with dismaying results, sometimes loosing merely a few strands at a time. It pushed the limits of my patience. And hers. Still, she needed my help. Eventually, it was clear that scissors were warranted. I snipped carefully and finally liberated my daughter from her encumbrance.
As I washed the oil from her hair in the sink, I gently inquired what caused her predicament. She couldn’t offer much explanation for motive, except that she wanted to see what would happen, and really thought she’d be able to get it out. She lay outstretched on the counter, her head cupped in my hands over the sink, and she looked up at me, her Disney Princess eyes finally free of tears and embarrassment. The vulnerability of her gaze and position were striking to me. There was closeness, intimacy, in being trusted to help, and proving faithful to it.
How often I’ve found myself in a tangled situation, facing an outcome I hadn’t predicted. I retreat into my misery, whimpering as I tug on the strands of error, lack of forethought, and sin. I hide my face from the Lord, covering myself with other competencies and busyness to conceal the glaring problem-that-can’t-be-hidden. Ultimately, though, there are messes in my life that I cannot unravel; I need Another’s help. Though I may not want to feel so exposed, I need His help. Sometimes His tools are fragrant oils that wash easily away, other times wire cutters and scissors are necessary, with more painful and enduring effects. In either case, I must lay myself out on the counter – the altar, place myself into His cupped hands, and in trust look up. In that vulnerability there is Holy intimacy. And He is faithful to help, never forsaking me.
And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns.
— Philippians 1:6 NLT
Recommended reading (or listening!): Psalm 40
Story told with permission from the hair ‘stylist,’ who felt blessed to know that her story taught me something, and was then willing to have it shared with you.
Jealousy, Scars, and Forgiveness
Everybody was happy. At least they should have been. Surrounded by food and friends, there was no cause for complaint. Except that there were siblings involved. My child became frustrated by the intrusion on time she preferred to share exclusively with her chum. Tears flowed; accusations were hurled. As a result, our time was cut short.
Once home, we talked. Accounts were reconciled. But the shame lingered in the heart of the offender. Together, we sat entwined in a chair as she cried. My heartache over the offenses were eased by her open admission and confession of the root of the problem: she had been jealous.
I’ve been reminded through my recent study of the Bible that God doesn’t anticipate we will live perfectly. Rather, He presses us to acknowledge our failures, to accept His grace and forgiveness, and to strive to honor Him.
We prayed together, asking for that forgiveness, and I was nearly crippled by the way she buried her face in my body – a reflection of that shame. I couldn’t help but think of Adam and Eve as they hid in the Garden, knowing I do the same.
Afterwards, as I sat with her, face to face, as she was finally able to raise hers after receiving God’s gift of grace. I wiped tears from her cheeks. She searched my eyes and found my grace, too. Still looking at me, she suddenly noted a scar on my face, near my nose. She asked what it came from, to which I honestly and ironically replied, “Jealousy.” I recounted the story of when I’d taken my sister’s coveted toy. I had attempted a get-away, became ensnared by the toy’s pull-string, tripped and fell, cutting open my face.
How good of God to use my physical scar for His purposes. How lovely that though I bear the mark of my sin, my Savior bore the consequences. I don’t have to hide my scarred face, instead He lovingly lifts my chin with His scarred hands and says, “I forgive you.”
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. –Hebrews 12:1,2a
Superlatives
I recently spoke with a woman who has six children ranging from married to 10. Plus she’s been a foster parent to about nine more kids over the course of the years. I asked her about her parenting challenges and strengths. In the course of our conversation, she told me a story of when she’d been shopping at a thrift store about 10 years ago and saw a “World’s Greatest Mom” mug. She decided that she didn’t want to wait 20 years for her children to give her one, so she splurged and bought the 50 cent mug. Her oldest son was putting away the dishes the next morning and stopped, looked at the mug for a few minutes, and then asked, “Did you buy this for yourself?” It’s become a joke in their family and she routinely gets such items in mugs, t-shirts, and other various forms.
I’ve been ruminating on that story for the last few days. It puts a smile on my face when I think about it – I find it humorous. But, I’ve been really pondering the phrase “World’s Greatest Mom.” What makes a woman the best mom? In a child’s eyes, that mother would give them anything they wanted and would likely be more of a friend than authority figure. To be honest with myself, I’d love for my kids to feel that way about me. In an adult’s eyes, a woman is thought to be an excellent mother when she seems able to simultaneously embody patience in all circumstances, juggle an inordinate number of tasks, retain oodles of superfluous and substantial information, drive while passing out snacks, have an infinite supply of creative ways to entertain children, and (incredulously) look good while doing it.
In the end, I know it’s God’s eyes that matter. For Him to say that I am the “World’s Greatest Mom” would somehow be akin to hearing “Well done, good and faithful servant” (Matthew 25: 21, 23) for the only job I’ve found intrinsically satisfying. Ideally, if I do my job in such a way that I please and honor Him, then my children – as they mature into adulthood – would find themselves in agreement with God. But, I know I have no assurance of that. I really may come to the end of my days without the enthusiastic appreciation of my children. I hope not, but it’s possible.
The next time I see a mug or t-shirt or pin with that superlative description on it, I’m going to buy it. Not because I am. Not because I’ll ever be. Not because my kids agree. Not because they don’t. Not because they’ll buy it for me in 20 years with sincere feeling and I’m just giving myself an “advance.”
I’ll buy it because I want to be inspired to do my job faithfully, the very best I can.
Thankfully, I know my Inheritance is so much more than a mug… but perhaps I’ll also enjoy a nice cup of coffee with my Lord in heaven someday.
Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. – Colossians 3:23-24