BRAVE

My children are the bravest people I know.

Of course, none of them are actually children any more. And while I suppose there may be braver people in the world, there are none braver within my circle of intimate acquaintance. By their brave example, my children encourage me to be brave, too.

* * *

When my passel of kids were all very young and I was feeling overwhelmed, I asked a wise older friend, "Does this mom thing ever get any easier?"

Her answer: "Yes, it will get easier...at least physically. You won't always be as exhausted and physically stressed as you are right now. But as your children get older, you will be stressed in different ways. Your body will not be so tired as it is right now, but your heart and your soul will be stretched beyond anything you can imagine."

One of the most difficult things I have ever had to do was give my children the freedom to fail in hugely significant ways. I'm not talking burn-your-hand-on-a-hot-coal or back-the-truck-into-a-fence-post kind of ways, although those were difficult for this mama, too. I'm talking break-your-heart and break-your-body and scar-your-soul kinds of ways. Not refereed tae kwon do sparring on the blue mats at the gym, but no-holds-barred and no end-of-match bell in the fight-cage of life.

This mama gig is hard, people. It's downright terrifying sometimes. I get that - I really do. It knocks you to your knees. As my youngest put it to me recently, "There's nothing like having a bunch of kids to invigorate your prayer life!" Amen, little sister!

Ask any of my kids, "What is your mom's 'Big Three?'" - and they will tell you, "God is sovereign. God is good. And He loves me very much." The Big Three - I believe them, in my head and in my heart, all the way into my very core. YES, I believe that God is sovereign, He is good, and He loves me very much - I really do!

But believing that for myself and believing it where my children are concerned: those are two entirely different things.

In my 53 years, God has taken me to some terrible places, dark places, painful places, scary places, and He has said to me, over and over, "Do you still trust me, Camille? Do you trust me even here?" And in every place God has taken me, He has proved himself trustworthy.

No, I don't particularly want to go back to any of those hard places, but I would not trade the deep soul assurance and peace God worked in me in those places for anything in the world, certainly not for a life of ease or a life free from pain.

But my children, Lord?!

Do you still trust me, Camille? Can you trust me even with your children, even here?

So, to my friend whose beautiful, young (and, yes, vulnerable) daughter is moving halfway across the country (as my own daughter, at a very tender age, headed halfway around the world - God, be merciful to me and to my child! Please, go with her" Stay close!), I want to encourage you: your daughter is stronger than you think. But more important, God is with her, and He is stronger than we can imagine.

Yes, your sweet daughter may get battered, even broken, in the brave living out of her life. But even in the scary broken places, remember (because it's just as true for your daughter as it is for you, dear friend!): God is sovereign, He is good, and his love for your daughter...well, let me put it this way...your love is a drop in the ocean compared to his love for her.

You can trust Him.

And to my friend who is struggling to loosen her protective grasp on her adult son, fearful to give up control of his life - But I know the temptations he will face! What if he falls into gross sin? What if he ruins his finances? What if abandons the faith his father and I have diligently labored to teach him? You don't know the dangers he may face?! The risks are too high...I cannot afford to let him fail! -

Dear friend, your beautiful son is already a man. Give him the freedom to stand or to fall as a man. Yes, he may fall - indeed, he probably will fall. I know the thought of terrifying consequences frightens you - I have sons of my own, and I have known this great fear, too

But I want to encourage you, friend: it is at that place of fiery trial, not under the sheltering protection of your motherly care, that this faith will become his own. It is there that your son will meet God "face to face." It is there that your son will see for himself that God is sovereign, God is good, and He loves his children very much. Would you "protect" your son from that?

You can trust God with your son.

* * *

My children are the bravest people I know. By their lives, they are teaching me to be brave, too - not only for my own sake, but for them, also.

Earlier this week, one of my daughter's posted this on FB: "I want this to be my theme song." Tasha Cobbs, "Break Every Chain." I LOVE IT. Take a few minutes to listen - you'll be blessed.

My theme song for this season of life? "Brave," Sara Bareilles. Turn on the music and dance with me!

("There's nothing like having a bunch of kids to invigorate your prayer life!" Dear sisters, I love you, and I am praying for you and for your children. Mamas, let us be brave. Let us be encouraged: we pray to a God who is sovereign, who is good, and who loves our children very much!)

GONE FISHING

Several years ago, I wrote here at the blog about how much I loved to go fishing with my Pap when I was a little girl. (Read that post HERE.)

Pap on the lake

I loved being near the water, soaking up the sunshine, listening to summertime thrum of the cicadas, waiting for my red-&-white bobber to dance. I loved catching fish, and then eating them for dinner.

Fish for dinner!

But mostly, I loved being with Pap. Fishing, you see, wasn't nearly so much about fish as it was about being with the sweet man I loved.

Last week, I shared how my youngest and I are going to try to go on at least one adventure together each month. (Read about our 2018 adventures HERE.) Why plan an adventure every month? For fun. To learn something new. Because Mom is prone to work too much and play too little. To put an end to "if we ever get around to it."

One of the activities on our adventure list: "Spend an afternoon fishing."

I haven't had much interest in fishing since the summer my Pap died. Too hot. Too many mosquitoes and chiggers. Too slimy. Too stinky. Too sweaty. Too plain messy.

My youngest, however, loves to fish. Seems the fishing bug jumped clean off of me and onto her.

I haven't had any interest in fishing for years, but this year, I want to go fishing. Forget the mosquitoes and the sweat. I already know I am going to love being near the water, soaking up the sunshine, listening to the thrum of the cicadas.

Maybe we'll catch some fish and fry them up for dinner. Mostly, though, I am looking forward to making memories with someone I love.

(A big "Thank you!" to my sister Alix for the pictures!)

ADVENTURE OF THE MONTH

Hiking frozen Reelfoot Lake back in January. SO COLD!!!

I am a house mouse. My youngest is an adventurer.

For the sake of my daughter's sanity, I am trying to come out of my shell a little, expand my horizons. Because I do anything better if I have a plan, I have resolved to plan and execute one adventure with my daughter each month this year.

Helen and I brainstormed a list of possible "adventures." Some are indoors, for cold or rainy weather; some are outdoors, for when the weather is nice. Some are close to home; some are further away. Some are free; some would require us to save up a bit of moolah ahead of time. Some are silly; some are serious/educational.

Here is our list so far:

1. Tour a historic house/property.
2. Visit an art gallery or a museum.
3. Spend a day at a botanical garden.
4. Hike the trails at a state park.
5. Spend an afternoon fishing.
6. Explore a cave.
7. Go kayaking or canoeing.
8. Attend a concert.
9. Take a handgun class at a shooting range.
10. Go horseback riding.
11. Ride a train.
12. Have a spa day.
13. Take a cake decorating class.
14. Plant a garden planter or hanging flower basket.
15. Camp out for a weekend on Granddad's farm.
16. Host a dance party.
17. Book an airplane tour of our home county.
18. Go out for burgers and a movie.
19. Tour local cemeteries and look up dead relatives.
20. Organize a picnic with friends.
21. Go Goodwill shopping.
22. Plan and host a dress-up party for the nieces and nephews.
23. Visit the zoo.
24. Take a photography class.
25. Go creek stomping.
26. Try a new restaurant.
27. Audition for a play.
28. Volunteer to read and help with crafts for story time at the library.
29. Plan a mini-concert for nursing home residents.
30. Visit a fancy dress shop and try on evening wear.
31. Enter some kind of creative competition (art, music, writing).
32. Check out a student art exhibit at the university.
33. Have a cookie decorating party.
34. Attend a piano recital.
35. Plant a tree.

So far this year, in addition to freezing our patooties off at Reelfoot Lake in January, we have...

...visited the beautiful Victorian Village district in downtown Memphis, TN. (BONUS: A stop to catch up with sweet friends on the drive home!)

...and something educational in this gal's particular area of interest: we attended Beef Field Day at the University of Tennessee at Martin, and then later the same week, had the privilege of attending a lecture by Dr. Temple Grandin

This year -  2018 - is off to a fun start. Let the adventures continue!

YOU MAY BE A MOM IF...

My youngest and I were tracking through WalMart behind a young mother with four little children. On the dairy aisle, Helen leaned over and whispered, "I think I've heard 'Mom!' shouted fourteen times in the last five minutes!"

I laughed. I remember days when my own children were small, when I thought the incessant "Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!" would drive me crazy. Occasionally, I would announce, "My name is not Mom today. I changed it, and I am not telling anyone what it is!"

Yesterday, I was working on an article about coffee. Specifically, about how many times I reheat a cup of coffee in a given morning, before I actually have a quiet moment to sit down and drink said coffee. Which got me to thinking...

YOU MAY BE A MOM IF:
(in no particular order, because moms don't have time for that kind of nonsense)

• You have ever exchanged "Mom" for a secret name known only to yourself.
• You have ever heated your cup of coffee more than five times before drinking it - or - you completely forgot about your cup of coffee in the microwave (eg., found Monday morning's coffee sitting cold and forlorn in the microwave on Tuesday morning).
• You pick spinach off of other people's teeth or boogers out of other people's noses.
• You seem to have an inordinate preoccupation with poop...not your own, but everyone else's in the family.
• You have ever locked yourself in the bathroom, not to use the toilet but to have two minutes alone to yourself so you can breathe.
• You are the only person in your house who knows that light switches and electronics have an off position as well as an on position.
• You have a secret stash of chocolate in the freezer or on the top shelf of the pantry.
• You make a circuit to flush all the toilets before you leave the house.
• You have ever woken up terrified at 3:00 am because a small child was standing next to your bed staring silently into your face.
• You sleep with "mom ears" - no matter how exhausted you are when you fall into bed at the end of the day, you are suddenly wide awake at the sound of the faintest bad-dream or tummy-ache whimper from down the hall.
• Your idea of an all-nighter is getting five consecutive hours of uninterrupted sleep.
• More times than you can remember, your lunch has consisted of half-eaten PBJs and leftover Cheetos that got lost in the clutter on the kitchen table.
• You have ever held the hem of your shirt up to a small person's snotty face and said, "Blow!"
• You have ever caught throw-up in your hands.
• Little people have waked you up in the middle of reading a bedtime storybook because you fell asleep and they did not.
• Comments like "Do you want me to pick up pizza on the way home?" - or - "Let me take care of baths and bedtime with the kids tonight" - or - "Here, sit down and enjoy a glass of wine while I wash the dishes" are sooooo much more romantic than "You sure do make those jeans look good, Baby!"
• You feel like the inside of your heart is bigger than the entire universe because of the space your children occupy in it.

SIX EASY WAYS TO GET YOUR CHILDREN TO COME TO WHERE YOU ARE

I know I can get a little heavy here at the blog. Overthinking things...that's my spiritual gift. I am not generally a person characterized by levity.

Other people have the gift of levity. That's one of the reasons we need each other in the body of Christ: we all bring different gifts to the table. Thinkers, lovers, do-ers, emoters - we help each other grow and stretch in different ways. Clearly, God loves diversity and thinks it is a good and necessary thing!

That said, Madam Heavy has something she wants to share with you other moms out there.

Moms, have you ever had difficulty finding your children when you need them? difficulty getting your children to come to where you are?

Dinner is on the table getting cold - or - you're standing at the door with your car keys, ten minutes late to leave for a doctor's appointment - or - the dog just threw up and the baby is crawling across the floor and you just can't get to both the dog and the baby fast enough - and you yell, "Hey, kids! I need everyone down here NOW!" - but NO ONE COMES.

You wonder if your darlings relocated two states over while you were switching the laundry from the washing machine to the dryer. Were they abducted by space aliens? Where the heck are the precious little dumplings?!

This seasoned-mother-of-seven has learned the secret to getting your children to come to where you are FAST. Today, I want to share with you...

 SIX EASY WAYS TO GET YOUR CHILDREN TO COME TO WHERE YOU ARE

1. Mop your floors. Don't know where the kids are? Sweep and mop your floors. Your kids will swarm into the house like flies into a hog barn. They will probably be wearing muddy boots.

2. Try to use the toilet...alone. Grab a book, lock yourself into the bathroom, and settle comfortably on the porcelain throne. I guarantee that within minutes your children will gather right outside the bathroom door, and they will all be screaming. Your toddler will need to pee NOW!, your six-year-old will have a medical emergency, and your 8-year-old will be yelling something about an explosion in the microwave.

3. Whisper. As in, a secret or something confidential. Now, this won't work if you're just whispering for the sake of speaking softly. Whispering - "Kids! I need you here right now!" - won't accomplish a darn thing. You actually have to be whispering something that you absolutely DO NOT want your children to hear. Whisper something confidential, and you kids will pop up around you like whack-a-moles: "What? What was that? What did you say?"

4. Reach for your secret bag of chocolate. You know those dark chocolate baking chips hidden in the back of the freezer? The mini-Snickers on the top shelf of the pantry, pushed back behind the box of oatmeal and the jarred spaghetti sauce? Yeah, that chocolate.

The same children who cannot hear you calling their names at the top of your voice, they develop Spidey senses the minute your fingers touch a package of hidden chocolate. It doesn't matter how quietly you open that bag of chocolate...your kids will hear the faintest crinkle and come running.

5. Make an important phone call. You need to talk to a representative at your insurance company about a claim they denied again - or - you need to give Angie the sad news that the cat she left in your care while she spent the summer in Europe, well, the cat died (maybe you won't tell her the part about the coyote) - or - maybe someone calls you, a friend who is going through a major life crisis, and she needs an ear to cry into before she completely cracks up.

Get into one of these phone conversations, and I promise, your kids will come out of the woodwork. Not only will they be present, but will be ridiculously needy and vocal, too. "Mom, I'm starving!" "Mom, I can't find my favorite bra!" "Mom, I need help NOW!" "Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!"

Shush!-ing - and - the Can't-you-see-I'm-on-the-phone! death look - and - the I-am-going-to-kill-you-if-you-don't-be-quiet finger across the throat - totally ineffective. You will swear that the Apocalypse has begun right at your elbow. And your noisy kids will not go away: they will stick to you like burrs in dog fur...like noisy burrs.

6. Get naked with your husband. The kids are upstairs playing with Legos or outside in the back yard building a fort. Dad comes in from mowing the yard to take a shower. When Mom brings Dad a fresh towel, you both get to thinking - forget the towel: how about a little "afternoon delight" instead?!

Get romantically tangled up with your husband. Before Mom's undies have time to absorb the water on the bathroom floor, everyone under the age of ten who lives in your house will have paraded into the bathroom, and Mom and Dad will both be scrambling for towels. Works like magic.

* * *

Your turn: what tips do you have for finding your children? Please share!

WELCOME TO ADULTHOOD

My youngest explained to her older brother last week that she was faced with a mountain of work she simply did not want to do. She was struggling to find the motivation to tackle tasks she needed to complete. "I guess I just have to push ahead and do the next thing," she sighed, "whether I feel like doing it or not."

Her brother's response? "Welcome to adulthood!"

I have been a mom - nonstop, 24/7 - for almost three decades. Have I ever had days when I thought, "You know, I just really don't want to do the mom thing today?" Yes, indeedy. But then, I did the mom thing anyway.

You can't really skip work when your job is The Mom. Kids have to be fed and clothed and nurtured, whether Mom is having a good day on the job or not. Kids are such great motivators!

If you are a mom or a teacher or a cashier at WalMart, being an adult means taking responsibility for the things you need to do, whether you're psyched about doing them or not.

Adulting 101: Doing things you don't particularly want to do - because they need to be done and it's your job to do them.

Sometimes, I take on more responsibilities than I ought. Sometimes, I say "Yes" too many times - and then feel overwhelmed by the number of things that must be done. My problem is not that I have so much work to do, but that I need to learn to say "No."

Again.

Saying "No" is a lesson in which I frequently need a refresher course.

Adulting 102: Learning to say No - how to have reasonable expectations and to limit your workload to something that vaguely resembles what is actually humanly possible.

You work hard, right? So, you know what? You deserve a break.

We all need time to relax, do something fun, and recharge our batteries. Yeah...but maybe not today. Maybe today, what I really need is to knock out those writing assignments, so that tomorrow I can enjoy some play time.

Adulting 103: Delaying gratification - rest is much more restful when it is free from the stress of a looming deadline or an unfinished assignment.

I don't know about you, but for me, as a parent, I want my children to grow into mature adults. Yes, I want them to be happy and to enjoy life - but the truth is, life isn't always going to be - isn't always going to feel like - a Saturday picnic in the park.

Will they (will I?) have the discipline to do what needs to be done, whether they feel like it or not? Will they have the wisdom to limit themselves to making realistic commitments? Will they appreciate the value of delayed gratification?

I don't want my kids to content themselves with some kind of weak, whiny, perpetual childhood. I want them to aspire to vigorous adulthood.

Adulting 104 - What would YOU add to the above list? Share in the comments!

DARK DAY

DARK DAY
- originally posted Monday, October 24, 2011

Underlying the monumental endeavor of rearing and schooling a house full of kids, there exists a constant tension. As a mom, I want to push my children to do their best, but I don't want to be overbearing. I want them to strive for excellence...but don't want them to be enslaved by perfectionism. Structure to our day and to our activities is essential...but I must not be obsessively bound to a calendar or a clock. I want to respect their personalities...but I don't want to cater to their personal sins. Add to all of this the struggles I have with my own sinfulness, my own wrong attitudes and motives.

Always, in the back of my mind, there is the question, "Am I doing what's best? Am I asking too little of my children, or am I asking too much?" This question is a thin blanket over the fear that all my prayers and good intentions and hard choices and personal sacrifices and lifelong labor are working not to build up my children and encourage them on the path to godly adulthood, but rather are warping and twisting them into self-absorbed, perverse, angry malcontents who know nothing of the holiness, grace, and mercy of God.

There are good days and bad days in this mothering journey.

What makes a particular day "good" or "bad"? Maybe it's just that today is gray and cold, whereas yesterday was warm and sunny. Maybe it's the anticipation of a fun weekend ahead, or the emotional come-down after a holiday. Maybe it's a particular day in my monthly cycle. Maybe it's that we all are well-rested and well-fed...or exhausted and due for some comfort food. Maybe it's unresolved issues with my husband, or undesirable influences of my neighbor.

So today is a bad day. Oh, we got all our schoolwork done. The laundry is caught up. Dinner is in the oven. I even got to go for a walk back on the farm - but I spent most of it crying, wondering what on earth I'm doing, and why am I doing this, and did I just totally misunderstand what I thought was God's direction in my life so many years back, and am I just screwing up all the people I love most? Praying, God help me! Make something clear! Show me what You want, and help me to obey!

What's to be done with the bad days? With the heavy emotions?

Before starting supper, I checked Facebook. A dear sister had posted this quote from Lydia Brownback as her status: "Real prayer includes letting go of your insistence on a particular answer or timing. If you have really prayed, you can simply rest and wait for God. Trust Him with your concern, and your anxiety will clear away."

Rest. Wait. Trust.

So it comes back to that again, to the Gospel. Where I have erred, Christ must redeem, in His own way and in His own timing. He died to cover my wife-ing, my mothering, my home-schooling...because I just keep smearing those precious things with sin. But, yes, I am confident that His grace is sufficient to redeem all of this.

And I must trust that His grace is sufficient to redeem the children that, as a sinful and twisted woman, I am mothering with a fallen, broken heart.

Trust. Wait. Rest.

HONORED

"Honor your father and mother, that your days may be long in the land that the LORD your God is giving you." - Exodus 20:12

I had joined my youngest daughter and a couple of her friends for lunch on campus yesterday. We were sitting around a conference table in a large study room that opened into the main hallway of the science and engineering building.

A man passed by the door, then stepped back and looked into the room. Crossing to where our lunch group sat, he looked at me and asked, "Are you Benjamin Kendall's mom?"

"Yes."

He smiled and thrust his hand toward me. "I thought so!" he exclaimed. The engineering professor told me his name as he shook my hand. "It is a privilege to meet you, Mrs. Kendall!"

(Yep, I'm the mother of a celebrity!)

* * *

"Honor your father and mother..."

Dad and Mom and I have been through some rough patches over the years. There have been times when I've thought, "Yes, I love my parents, but how on earth am I supposed to honor them? What does that even mean in light of present circumstances?!"

During one of these difficult periods, a friend challenged me this way: Honoring your parents, he explained, does not mean always agreeing with them. When you are an adult, it does not mean always doing what they say or want. What it does mean is that you strive to live in such a way that others assume very good things about your parents. It means, you endeavor to be an honorable person, one whose life reflects honorably on her parents.

My friend's words were so freeing. At the time, I couldn't "fix" what was wrong in my relationship with my parents. I could, however, try to live in a way that brought my parents honor.

As if to confirm my friend's counsel, God blessed me soon after in this way:

Dad had just arrived at our house from out-of-town for a visit. Stopping by on an errand, my pastor pulled up in the driveway right behind Dad.

When I introduced the two men, my pastor's face lit up and he held out his hand. "It is such an honor to meet you, Mr. Stricklin!" 

"You shouldn't say that, young man," Daddy teased, shaking the younger man's hand. "You don't know a thing about me!"

"No, but I know your daughter," my pastor explained, "and so I can truthfully say, it is a great honor to meet you, Mr. Stricklin."

I almost burst into tears on the spot, grateful that my pastor thought well of my dad without having even met him, simply because of the things he assumed about my dad from having known me. It felt like I had both been given and been the giver of a precious gift.

* * *

"Honor your father and mother..."

My own kids have honored their mother greatly - not by always doing exactly what I would choose or by giving me fancy gifts or by winning prestigious awards, but, in a strange sort of way, by covering my nakedness.

I have failed abysmally at times as a mother, as a teacher, as a mentor, and as a friend. But instead of letting my failures define how they relate to me, my kids have chosen to relate to me with forgiveness, gratitude, and affection. Out in the big wide world, they have lived in such a way- in all their great variety of ways! - that others assume (not always rightly so) good things about me and incredible things about my role as a mother.

I could go down the entire list, name my seven children one by one, and tell you about all the times someone has said to me, "You are ------'s mom? Oh! It is such an honor to meet you!"

No. The honor is not yours, dear person that I just met - oddly enough, and not because I merit it, the honor is mine. I am overwhelmed.

DEAR YOUNG MOTHER...

My youngest attended her first dual-enrollment class at UT Martin yesterday. Yes, she is definitely excited about taking a "real" college class, on an actual college campus, with a "real" college professor. This is my baby I'm talking about. When did she become so grown up?!

I have been occupied with the business of homeschooling my children for over twenty years now. When I pause to think about the women who have encouraged me during this journey, one in particular stands out. Not because she tipped me off to the perfect math or science curriculum. Not because all her children grew up to be rocket scientists and neurosurgeons. No, she stands out because she was honest with me about the tremendous labor of being a mom and homeschool teacher.

She admitted that there would be days of tears and attitude battles and physical exhaustion, days when I would be forced to admit that I was not equal to the task. Yes, there is a lot about homeschooling that is fun and wonderful, and I wouldn't trade this life for any other. But there are also days in this 24/7/365 job that can only be described as tastes of hell.

NEWSFLASH:  Homeschool Mother of Seven Ends Week-long Drinking Binge, Joins Mystic Guru's Ocean-side Meditation Compound After Overdosing on French Fries and Chocolate.

It could happen folks. Seriously.

Anyway, the friend I mentioned above - who has always been honest about the good, the bad, and the ugly of homeschooling - she has also always, consistently reminded me:  This is a good work. Persevere.

And, when I was able to sit regularly at her feet and glean from her wisdom, she also consistently pointed me to Jesus. "No, you are not adequate for the job. You need Jesus. Let's go to Him together..."

All of this to say, with my youngest now perched on the edge of the nest, fluttering her little wings, what advice would I offer the young mom coming along behind me?

First, I would reiterate Linda's counsel:  This is hard work, but it is good work. Persevere.

Second, give up the idea of perfection. God uses the weak and foolish things of this world to make known his power and glory. If you have it all together - if your house is clean and your family eats fresh-baked bread and eggs you gathered this morning for breakfast, if your kids have perfect handwriting and their clothes actually match, if you have an entire school year's worth of math lessons organized into Zip-loc baggies with appropriate manipulatives and worksheets before the first day of August, if all of next month's nutritious, organic meals are already tucked away in your freezer, if you organize the church nursery and lead the women's Bible study and teach Zumba three nights a week and do it all with a lilt in your voice and a spring in your step - well, you probably don't need Jesus. And if you don't need Jesus, how on earth are your kids going to learn by watching you just how very faithful and good He is to broken, messed up people?

If you insist on maintaining the delusion of perfection, you are going to end up teaching your kids a lie ["I am adequate"] - OR - you are going to crack and end up in an ocean-side commune with Mr. Mystic. Which is also a lie. Either way, if you insist on perfection, you are living a lie.

Let.

It.

Go.

Trust God with your children's souls. This seems obvious, but can be tricky in practice. Satan's lies are so subtle! Compromise is so natural! It is easy to slip into wrong thinking, easy to begin to believe the lie that homeschooling will save your children. Or dressing a certain way. Or not reading certain books. Or not listening to that music. Or whatever. And then you slip into the lie of believing that YOU must save your children's souls - did you choose the right curriculum? the right youth program? the right homeschool group?

But the truth is:  You cannot save your children's souls. Trust me. The good news is:  God can. Trust Him. Rest in the Gospel. Breathe it in deeply (more deeply, deeper, keep inhaling...), and then sneeze it and drool it and splatter it out all over your kids.

Pray.

Believe the Gospel.

Trust God with your children's souls.

Celebrate differences. Celebrate the unusual, and, yes, even the annoying.

Personal confession:  I am a Type-A person. Straight A's all the way through high school and college. I like organized closets and vacuum-cleaner strokes on carpet. Ketchup is for French fries, not for fried chicken, and ranch dressing is for salad, not pizza.

I am not a big fan of clutter, raw fish, loud rock music, hippies, pink hair, ghost peppers, un-ironed dress shirts, or tattoos.

Well, I didn't use to be a fan, not back in the days before Reuben started painting, and Martha came back from Japan and made home-made sushi, and Tom introduced me to "Back in Black," and Emily went all raspberry, and I had to admit that, yes, the Sharpie-marker sleeve tattoos were actually pretty cool, and I learned that car dancing with Helen to American Authors was a great mood booster, and...

Wouldn't this world be a dreary, boring, terrible place if everyone in it was preoccupied with wearing matching socks and making tidy vacuum cleaner stokes in carpet?!!!

What is it about your kids that annoys you? I'm not talking sin - I'm talking personality differences, personal preferences, personal expression. Instead of getting annoyed, take a deep breath and endeavor to listen, taste, see, engage, dance.

Personal confession:  This will probably involve some embarrassment on your part. It did for me. Your kids will embarrass you. And, as you enter their worlds, you will embarrass yourself. But the embarrassment only stings for a little bit, sort of like when you peel off a crusty, hardened scab to reveal the healthy new pink skin underneath.

Don't be afraid of the different, the unusual, the eccentric, the annoying. I've learned that there is a great big beautiful world outside of my little white picket fence, and God is doing great big beautiful things out there in it.

* * * * *

Okay, there is actually lots more advice I could offer a young mom, but I've been thinking and typing and rewriting for over an hour and my brain is beginning to turn into goo. It just happens.

I need to go make lunch, check Helen's math, and reply to some emails.

Life awaits!

(READER:  What advice would YOU like to share?)

HYPOTHETICAL SITUATION

Hypothetical situation:

Dad volunteers to fly solo at home with the kids so that Mom can enjoy a much-needed rest from the demands of motherhood. As Mom leaves to spend two stress-free days relaxing with her best momfriends at a cabin on the lake, or for a weekend women's retreat with the ladies from her church, Dad assures his wife, "I've got this, Baby. Don't worry about a thing. Just relax and have fun. Enjoy yourself!" With one toddler on his hip and three-year-old wrapped around his leg, Dad smiles as he waves goodbye from the driveway.

And then...

The party starts.

Back-to-back movies and non-stop video games. Forget chores: laundry and vacuuming and dirty dishes can wait until Monday. Getting the kids down for naps is impossible...we'll all just sleep late tomorrow morning. Lucky Charms for breakfast, McDonald's for lunch, and frozen pizza for supper. Plus, a late night run for ice cream, just because this is kind of a holiday, right?, and Dad is cool like that. Besides, we're all sleeping in late tomorrow, so what difference does it make what time the kids come down off their sugar high and finally get into bed?

And so Mom rolls back into the driveway Sunday evening, refreshed from a restful weekend, and is greeted by...

A houseful of tired, nasty, strung out, over-sugared, fussy kids, an overflowing laundry basket, Doritos crumbs stomped into the living room carpet, and the awesome-est Dad in the universe.

Mom's relaxed muscles beginning contracting into steel cables down her neck and across her shoulders.

She smiles and hugs the kids. Re-entry - Monday morning - is going to be hell.

Oh, well. The holiday was nice while it lasted!

* * * * *

Hypothetical situation:

Mom volunteers to hold down the office so that Dad can enjoy a long-anticipated fishing trip with his buddies. "Don't worry about a thing, Baby...I've got this!" she assures her husband as he loads rods&reels, tackle boxes, and a cooler into the bed of his pickup. "Have fun and enjoy your trip!"

And then...

The party starts.

Mom hauls all the kids into the office so she can keep an eye on everyone while she answers the phone, checks emails, schedules appointments for next week, and invoices customers. She lets the toddler redecorate Dad's work area while the 4-year-old depletes all of the dry-erase markers on the filing cabinets. Forget checking emails and scheduling appointments - funny cat videos on YouTube are so much more entertaining!

Mom orders Chinese, delivered, because the kids need to eat some vegetables and because fortune cookies and chopsticks make lunch feel like a holiday, right? Mom is cool like that. Never mind that Billy slings lo-mein noodles into the fax machine and Jane squirts soy sauce on the computer keyboard.

Mom and the kids stop at Cracker Barrel for dinner on the way home (don't worry about the weekly grocery budget) because they serve vegetables - and kids need vegetables - and because one parent shouldn't have to cook if the other parent is out of town, right? Forget washing and ironing Dad's shirts and khakis for next week - Mom is exhausted after a day at the office, and, anyway, this is a sort of a holiday. Right?

And so, wearing a rumpled shirt and last Friday's not-too-terribly-dirty khakis, Dad sits down to work Monday morning to a sticky keyboard and a jammed fax machine. When he tries to check email, he discovers that his internet tabs have been reset to Pinterest, FaceBook, and sites for flash-mobs and baby hedgehogs. And he can't find the stapler, the hole puncher, or the answering machine, anywhere.

Oh, well. The holiday was nice while it lasted!

* * * * *

It happened again last week. I saw a dad out with his kids, and when I asked him how he was doing, he answered, "It's a little bit crazy at our house right now...sort of a weekend long party! I'm babysitting this weekend so Sally can enjoy a couple of days of rest."

"No," I replied, "you are not babysitting. You are the dad:  it's called parenting."

What I really wanted to say was, "It's called parenting, Dad, and it's your job. Yes, it's hard work. Are you leaning into the harness this weekend so that Sally's rest isn't undone her first day home, or are you just skating by until Sally gets home to clean up behind you?"

Kids don't take time off from being kids just because Mom or Dad needs a break. Whether at home or at the office, parenting children is a 24-hour-a-day, 7-days-a-week kind of job.

Are you ready for Active Duty?

JUST DO SOMETHING: PARENT!

Warning: The following post is a rant!

While youngest child has been spending long days learning wonderful things and making beautiful music at piano camp this week, I have been hanging out at a local coffee shop and writing for several hours each day - it's been like a little bit of heaven.

I have enjoyed meeting some of the regular customers who stop in each morning. I have appreciated Kim and Megan's friendly hospitality, letting me occupy a table and warm a chair here for so many consecutive hours - they haven't once pressed me to move on out the door! And I've enjoyed listening in on all the interesting conversations initiated by patrons:  a coffee shop is like an open forum, where even complete strangers can present topics and engage in dialogue with others.

Which leads to today's rant.

One morning a young mother came in for her jolt of caffeine. Approaching an older, 30-something woman already in line at the counter, she said, "Can I ask you a question? How do you deal with the problem of biting?"

Synopsis: The young mother had a toddler who kept coming home from playcare with bite marks and bruises. This happened at least twice a week, and had been going on for several months. There was a notorious biter in her daughter's class, and, although the staff had tried repeatedly to remedy the situation, her own small child was still coming home with bite marks. The young mom felt like the playcare staff was not adequately dealing with the problem, and she wondered what she needed to do to keep her little daughter from suffering any more trauma. Exasperated, the young mom asked, "Do I need to call Child Services and report the playcare center for abuse?"

The full-figured 50-something mother of seven sitting at the other end of the coffee shop bit her own tongue and fought mightily against an overpowering urge to yell, "Are you kidding?! I think you need to call Child Services on yourself! You've been sending your baby into a classroom, month after month, where she is repeatedly bitten so hard that she comes home with bruises and scabs? What are you thinking?!"

The solution to this mom's problem seemed glaringly obvious to me:  parent her child herself, at home.

Okay, that sounds rude and insensitive.

A couple of thoughts following said conversation...

Protecting and parenting my young children is my responsibility, not someone else's. And when there is a problem - like biting - it's my responsibility to take care of it, not someone else's.

And, yes, some kids are biters. That doesn't make them monsters from hell, and it doesn't make the adults who are trying to stop the biting - albeit without much success - monsters, either.

I had a child who was a biter. I had other children who were bitten. As their mom, I had to deal with - discipline, love, comfort, forgive - both kinds. And for the sake of brevity, let's just say here that the biting was not a problem for long. Mr. Biter quickly figured out that he needed to find a more socially acceptable way to express himself.

So, young woman, if your toddler coming home a couple of days a week with bite marks and bruises upsets you as much as you claim, do something about it. Put your big girl panties on, and be The Mom.

Now that my spleen is vented, Dear Reader, what advice would you offer the young mother at the coffee shop? Perhaps you can answer her question with more gentleness and grace than the grouchy woman at the corner table!

WHY ARE MY PANTIES IN A WAD OVER FREE EDUCATION?

WARNING:  SOAP BOX RANT AHEAD!

People, there is no such thing as a free education.

Period.

Got that?

Some folks erroneously think that their children can get a "free" education at the local public school. Wrong. Here in Obion County, the local board of education reported that in the 2011-12 school year, they spent $8409 per student on so-called "free" education. Folks, $8409 is not "free."

Poking around on-line, I found that the nearest private school, Christ Classical Academy in Dyersburg, listed tuition rates as $3600-$6625 per school year, depending on grade level. That is also not "free."

I'm a homeschool mom. School is cheaper for my family now than in previous years because we are re-using textbooks we purchased for the older kids; however, homeschooling is not by any means free. Tallying up registration fees, textbooks, music lessons, etc., for one student, I estimate that we've probably spent about $1500 this year on school. Back when I had seven kids at home around the kitchen table, the total was definitely higher.

Recently, I've had multiple conversations with parents who are considering homeschooling. However, these folks keep running up against a huge stumbling block: they want education to be free.

Of course, they don't say that outright. No, instead they say things like...

"If I homeschool my kids, I'll have to give up my job to stay home and teach them." Translation: "Homeschooling costs money (as in giving up a second income), and I'm not sure I want to pay the cost. I mean, my kids' education should be free - I shouldn't have to pay for it myself."

-OR-

"I can't afford private school tuition, but maybe I can find someone to tutor my kids at home for a minimal fee." Translation: "I really don't want to pay what a good education is worth - it should  be free, after all - but maybe I can convince some poor, bored stay-at-home mom to do the job for a pittance." (BTW, paying someone else to "homeschool" your kids for you is NOT homeschooling, and, at least with the umbrella school where my kids were registered, is not even allowed.)

-OR-

"Barb should teach my kids for me, as a ministry, an act of Christian service. She's good at teaching, and she doesn't have anything else to do with her time anyway." Translation:  "I don't want to send my kids to public school. I can't afford private school. I want to homeschool my kids, but I don't want to sacrifice my career, my time, my freedom, my finances - I mean, after all, my kids' education should be free."

In addition to the $$$$ that must be shelled out for each child, there are other less-objective educational costs: worldview/philosophy, socialization, safety, etc. These aspects of education don't have a price tag on them, yet they are potentially of much greater value than the cost of textbooks or a teacher's salary.

People, education is not free. Never was. Never will be. Public education is not free. Private education is not free. Homeschool education is not free.

That said, the challenge facing parents is deciding how much they want to spend on their child's education (monetarily, professionally, socially, philosophically) and where they want to spend it.

Why, you ask, am I stating the obvious?

Why? Because I'm a little weary of parents coming up to me and whining about how much education costs and how they just don't know what they're going to do and is there anything I can do to make the process and the decisions easier for them (ie, education should be free).

These are two-income parents, driving late model cars, living in nice houses, taking annual vacations, buying the latest technology, wearing the latest fashions...

...and they are whining to a woman who fed her kids almost exclusively oatmeal and PBJ's when they were little, who doesn't know what it's like to drive a vehicle with less than 180,000+ miles, who only went to the doctor when she was 7 months pregnant or bleeding to death, who thinks a "vacation" is eating dinner at Grammy's.

I have reconsidered the cost of staying home and educating my kids - the very high cost of their education - and it was worth every sacrifice, every PBJ sandwich, every missed summer vacation, every vehicle breakdown on the side of the road, every untreated medical condition, every missed career opportunity. Absolutely, unquestionably worth the cost.

But it's starting to get up my nose when these other parents come to me whining and wringing their hands. I understand how hard the decisions are that these parents are facing - I really do. But I am running out of sympathy.

One of my young-adult children has a saying: "You signed up for the job. Quit complaining."

Yep.

What he said.

WOW! ONE OF EACH!

When you are a married woman, and you give birth to a baby girl and then, two years later, a baby boy, people assume you are "done" having kids.

"Wow! A girl and a boy - you are so lucky!" Seems the assumption is, whew!, you don't have to keep trying for the gender you haven't yet had. Thank God that you got what you wanted - one of each - on your first two pregnancies.

So, with four kids in my nest already, my turning up pregnant again did not elicit the "Wow! You're so lucky!" comments. No, I had been promoted to "What? Are you crazy? You're done having kids now, right? This is ridiculous!"

My OB assumed that when I delivered this fifth baby, surely my last baby, I would want to have my tubes tied. Do something permanent to prevent this from happening again.

But I wasn't ready.

"I feel like someone is missing," I explained.

When you are a mom of a bunch of kids, you spend a lot of time counting heads. "1-2-3-4," I checked off my list. Yep, all present and accounted for. At the grocery store. At church. At the park. At the zoo. Seems I was always counting. And I wasn't at ease until everyone had been counted and I knew that all my chickens were with their mama hen.

So, with this fifth pregnancy, I had a vague sense that someone was missing. I was afraid that when I started counting "1-2-3-4-5," there would be the great uneasiness that comes from knowing I had missed someone.

About five or six months into the pregnancy, my doctor ordered an ultrasound. By this point, after several pregnancies, I could read the black and white ultrasound monitor just about as well as the technician.

The tech placed the ultrasound scope on my swollen belly. Immediately, I recognized the white ring that was the baby's skull. "This is your baby's head," she began, then slid the device across my abdomen, "and here is your baby's...."

Well, it was obvious to me:  that white circle was the baby's other head.

"Hang on a minute." The technician went back to her starting point. "Here is your baby's head." She slid the device across my belly again. "And here is..."

She sat back in her seat and looked hard at the screen a moment. I was biting my lip, trying not to giggle.

"Well," the tech finally continued, "did you know you are having twins?" She looked at me with raised eyebrows.

"I do now!" I laughed.

And so I was right:  there was someone missing. Only that someone wasn't missing at all. She was right there all along:  1-2-3-4-5-6. (Which still wasn't a full nest. Where was #7?)

My fifth pregnancy resulted in these two cutie-patooties. A boy and a girl. One of each. Wow! I certainly AM a lucky mama, don't you think?

Happy birthday, beautiful babies!

SCHOOL'S IN SESSION!

Local county schools missed an entire week of classes last week due to ice and snow. According to Facebook posts by the parents...

Day 1 was fun.

Day 2 was blue.

Day 3:  the situation was no longer fun or funny or anything like amusing.

Day 4:  the parents were asking for drugs.

Day 5:  many of them were babbling on-line incoherently.

I'm sure everyone is very happy that school is finally back in session today. I thought I could hear the exhale of a thousand-thousand sighs of relief when I stepped out on the front porch this morning.

I'm sure the stress and frustration and exhaustion these parents felt last week was not because they don't like their kids. I'm sure that, in most families, it wasn't because the kids were absolute hellions the entire time they were home from school.

I suspect the frazzled nerves, tense neck muscles, dark circles under the eyes, and incoherent babbling were caused mostly by the the radical change in the normal daily routine. These parents were having to use muscles they didn't know they had.

(I attended a pilates class last week for the first time ever. I loved it! But that workout absolutely kicked my patootie. I walked around for three days feeling like I'd been kicked in the stomach, wincing every time I bent over, stood up, or sat down. Ouch! My muscles had been called upon to put out in a way they were completely unaccustomed to, and, yes, it was a little stressful.)

Which got me to thinking.....

(WARNING! MILD MOM RANT AHEAD!)

Why in the name of Sam Houston do our public schools control and define nearly everything about our lives and how we operate as families?

Why do they determine how much time is "normal" for parents to, well, to parent? An hour in the morning, a couple of hours in the evening (maybe, if there isn't a mountain of homework or ball practice). Any more than that and, parents, you'd better look out - you are not going to be able to handle it. The stress is going to get you. The school calendar is making us moms and dads into a bunch of weenies!

Why does the school system tell us when we can go on vacation, or go visit Grandma in another state? Sorry, folks, we have to make up snow days. You're not going to be able to make it to Cousin Susie's wedding. You'll just have to adjust your plans...

Why does it tell us how to spend our weekends? Cheer competition, band fund-raiser, football practice...aren't weekends supposed to be free time? A break from the demands of school?

Why does school tell us when and how we can worship? Not during the playoffs. Not when we have a meet out-of-town. Not when a college scholarship is on the line. Like ANY of those things can hold a candle to God Almighty. (Read Al Mohler's thoughts about The New American Religion HERE.)

I suppose this rant may seem strange coming from a mom who has lived pretty much 24-7 with seven children (and only 11 years difference between the oldest and youngest) for more years than she can count. A mom who doesn't cancel school when the weather is bad, although we do miss school occasionally when the weather is beautiful - Mom can't resist the urge to get out in the sunshine.

What I'm trying to say is...have you and your kids been rolling along in the family Conestoga, and then suddenly, you look up, and it's not Dad and Mom driving the wagon anymore but some entity known as "school"? Parents, are you - like me - wondering:  "What in the heck is going on here?!" Does it not strike you as odd that so many moms and dads were freaking out on Facebook last week because they were suddenly aware, in a somewhat painful way, of the amazing reality that they had kids and the kids were their own to feed and discipline and occupy in some productive way?

I'm not writing this to bash parents who choose public school over homeschooling - homeschooling is definitely NOT for everyone! No, what I really want to do is to encourage all parents to jump in with both feet and parent with vigor. Engage you mind and your muscles. Strengthen your parenting abs. Don't let a few snow days take you down!

Remember, YOU are the mom. YOU are the dad. YOU are the one responsible for driving the family Conestoga. Jump up there, grab those reins, and get ready for an exciting ride!

A COUPLE OF THOUGHTS

I am persevering at my goal of memorizing the eighth chapter of Romans. So far, I have verses 22 through 39 pretty solidly committed to memory. Monday, I'll be adding a couple more verses. (Okay, in case you were wondering, I'm working backward through Chapter 8. I learned the last verse first, and then added each previous verse until, now, I'm at verse 22. Guess I just have a tendency to do things backwards - what can I say?)

So, I read through verses 22-39 several times again this morning, then had Nate check me on my accuracy at reciting them. I just want to say - reading and reciting Romans 8:22-39 several times each morning is incredible. It's like standing on the threshold of Glory. Sometimes, half-way through the passage, I just have to stop because I am so overwhelmed by the goodness and mercy of God.

Yep, just stop right now and grab your Bible. Read Romans 8:22-39. Read it again. Read it one more time, slowly. See what I mean? Read it another time and you'll be dancing and shouting, "Hallelujah!"

On to another random thought from the squirrel cage that is my brain these days...

Today, I want to shout THANK YOU! THANK YOU! THANK YOU! to Helen Kendall. While I've been trying to figure out how to juggle all the various aspects of this writing business and working on wedding plans and moping about not fitting into sparkly wedding clothes and scraping chicken poo off my shoes and trying to solve the recurring puzzle of what to have for dinner each night and planning a women's conference and...

While I have been chasing the squirrels, Helen has: labored diligently at her school work, challenged me to have sunny thoughts, car danced with me to Avicii's Wake Me Up, switched over the laundry, shared her cookie, played beautiful music for me to work to, and generally been the most encouraging cheerleader a mom could ever have.

Helen. Is. Awesome.

(And, she's also really, really, really ridiculously good-looking. Just sayin'.)

Now, it's time for me to gird up my loins and march into the rest of Friday...

OUT ON THE OPEN WATER

I am NOT a very adventurous person.

My middle daughter jumped off 30-foot limestone cliffs into a river with her friend last summer. Just looking at the pictures makes me nauseous.

Number 3 Son actually thought Marine Basic Training was amazing. Seven hundred miles away in Tennessee, I had a stomach ache the entire thirteen weeks.

My young men make an annual tradition of swimming in the icy cow pond to mark the beginning of each new year. Brrrr! Me, I stand by with the phone, ready to call 911.

No, I have never had an urge to go sky-diving. Or bungee cord jumping. Or deep-sea diving with sharks.

Actually, I'd be pretty content to just sit at home with a nice cup of hot tea and a piece of buttered toast, curled up on the couch with Mr. Lewis. Or to take a leisurely stroll back on the farm. Or to lie on a quilt in the front yard and stare at the stars on a cloudless night.

My youngest IS very adventurous.

"Mom, wouldn't it be so cool to buy a couple of motorcycles and take a road trip to the Grand Canyon?" Um, nope.

"Ooooh, it would be so amazing to hang glide in the Andes." I don't think so.

"Mom, we should get a couple of dirt bikes and learn to ride motocross." Not going to happen.

Her idea of fun and my idea of fun are worlds apart.

However, most days now, it is just Mousy Mom and Intrepid Helen hanging out together, doing school, switching over the laundry, making grilled cheese for lunch. Poor Helen.

In the interest of not completely squelching my daughter's adventurous spirit, I am trying - really trying - to be a bit more "out there," a teensy more daring.

Last Friday, we woke up to below-freezing temperatures, pulled on a ridiculous number of layers of clothing, and headed to Reelfoot Lake for the Pelican Festival. And we canoed Reelfoot Lake.

Last time I went canoeing was nearly thirty years ago - I was very young and we were on a small river. Friday, Helen and I were on open water. Thankfully, the wind wasn't too high, or I'd have been completely freaked out. Yes, we saw oodles of pelicans (they are HUGE). But, of even greater significance, we totally owned that canoe. Paddled forward, backward, did turns and spins, raced our companions. And never flipped once. Oh, yeah!

A big THANK YOU to Alisha Weber, the Reelfoot Lake State Park staff, and Reelfoot Lake Outdoors Classroom for an awesome day on the lake. We can't wait to get on the water again.

Only next time, we're going for the kayaks. Oh, yeah!

Maybe not exactly "Master Paddlers," but we were pretty proud of ourselves at the end of the morning!

NORMAL

A story from my childhood, probably sometime in the late '70's...

Our family had a subscription to National Geographic when I was a child. One month, the new issue came with a bonus: tucked inside an article about research on whale songs was a square, floppy, black vinyl sheet. This magic page could be pulled out of the magazine, placed on your turntable, and - voila! - even in the hills of West Tennessee, we could hear the whales "talking" for ourselves!

Now, getting to hear the whales talk was going to be a rather exciting event. It seems the family agreed to wait until dinner that evening to play the little square record, while everyone was gathered at the table, so that Mom, Dad, and all us kids could together hear the whales for the first time.

This exciting event also occurred within a few days of Mother's Day. How do I remember that detail? Because at supper that night, Mom was wearing the orchid corsage us kids had bought her to wear to church the Sunday before. Mom had come home from work and changed into one of her house dresses - a light-weight, cottony shift that was something between an actual dress and a bathrobe. Loose, light, comfortable.

I do not remember what we were eating that night. But I do remember that Mom sat in her seat at the table, in her loose flowery house dress, with a fancy corsage pinned at her shoulder. The record player was set up in the kitchen near the table. Pop! Bzzzz! The needle hit the vinyl. Then the long, low melancholy oooooh-waaaaahhhs of the singing whales. All six of us sat transfixed, concentrating intently as we listened to this strange new music.

Then my brother's friend Terry walked in the back door.

A quick glance from someone at the table communicated, "No talking!" So, Terry just stood there, silent and motionless, with a confused expression on his face.

Waaahhh-oooooooo-aaaaannnn!

No one made a peep until the whales finished talking.

Now, no one who knows my family would ever make the mistake of calling us "normal." But what is "normal" anyway? I suspect most of us would define normal as simply, well, whatever we're used to. You know, just the way things are.

I was up early this morning cooking breakfast for the college crowd before they headed out the door for classes. Are they old enough to get breakfast for themselves? Absolutely. Would I really like an extra hour of sleep? Definitely. Was I tempted to turn off the alarm this morning and crawl back in bed after setting a box of Pop-Tarts out on the kitchen counter? Not at all.

Why? Because fixing breakfast and sitting down at the table with the kids in the gray morning dawn is normal. It's just what you do. Like brushing your teeth before bed. Breakfast with the kids is normal, because it's what my Mom did for me and my siblings every single morning when I was a child.

Sure, we have days when we sleep in and folks stagger downstairs willy-nilly, then grub about in the kitchen for a Pop-Tart or a bowl of cereal. But that is not the norm. That's the unusual, the "off" day. (The bleary-eyed morning after a late-night dance!)

And when it's time to eat dinner each evening, it's normal to all sit down at the table together. Even when we're having squirrel fricassee, which is not Helen's favorite. We eat dinner - or, in Helen's case, push our dinner around our plate with a fork - together. Every evening. It's normal.

So today's post is simply to say: THANK YOU, MOM & DAD, for all the normal, ordinary things about my childhood that I simply took for granted for so many years. Thank you for training me to think that breakfast together as a family every day is normal. Thank you for teaching me that sharing the things we learn each day at the evening dinner table is normal. Thank you for showing me that every bit of loveliness from even a days-old flower should be appreciated and enjoyed. Thank you for taking the time to stop, shhhhh!, and listen to the whale songs.

Maybe my childhood wouldn't have fit anybody else's definition of normal, but I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

WHAT ABOUT MY CHILDREN, LORD?

NOT YET
(originally posted 8/18/2012)

Amazing how a single verse can be so comforting.

I have just begun reading through 1 Samuel.  Hannah, grieved at her barrenness, cried out to the Lord for a son.  God heard that prayer, granted Hannah's request, and gave her a son - and then, in gratitude for God's gracious gift, Hannah turned around and gave her son back to the Lord, to serve in the house of the Lord at Shiloh.

At a very early age, Samuel went to live and work with the priest Eli...and with Eli's two worthless sons, Hophni and Phinehas.  These wicked men would abuse the Israelites who came to offer sacrifices, forcefully taking the best parts of the meat that was meant to be offered to the Lord.  They took advantage of the women who served at the tent of meeting, forcing them into adulterous sexual relationships.  They disregarded the correction of their father.  We read that Hophni and Phinehas "treated the offering of the Lord with contempt" (1 Sam. 2:17).  God sent a messenger to tell Eli that his two sons were such an offense to Him that He had resolved to destroy them both in a single day and to curse Eli's family from that time on.  These were two really bad dudes!  And they were young Samuel's new "family."

Samuel served Eli in the tent of meeting.  You could say, Samuel literally grew up in church.  The doctrines and practices of the Jewish faith and worship were a part of Samuel's every day life.  Samuel knew about God, about God's people, and about their religion.  But, in the middle of all this - the messy family situation, the daily exposure to the religion of his parents - did Samuel know God?  Did God know Samuel?

I am a mother who once thought she would never have children (Hahahaha!), and who prayed fervently for a baby.  I am a mother who desperately wants to give my kids back to God - I want God to make them His own children, and I want them to know and serve Him.  I am a mother whose children now find themselves growing up in a world surrounded by godless men, men who mock God and who belittle and abuse their neighbors.  And, yes, my children have grown up in church.

Yet I find that sometimes I fear for my children's souls.  It is a daily, earnest prayer: "Lord, please grab hold of my children and make them yours!  Let them know the beauty of Jesus, and give them faith to trust in the sufficiency of His atoning work.  Give them a hunger for your Word, and a deep love for your church..."  I know that it is possible to "grow up in church" and yet never truly, personally know God or love His people.

Yesterday, I read this verse:  "Now Samuel did not yet know the LORD, and the word of the LORD had not yet been revealed to him." (1 Sam. 3:7)  You probably know what happens next, right?  The LORD came and personally called Samuel into a relationship with Himself and appointed Samuel to be a prophet in Israel.  Yes, by God's grace, Samuel did come to know God, to love Him, and to serve Him mightily.  Samuel was passionate about the things of God and lived a life of service to God's people.

So that one little verse - "Samuel did not yet know the LORD..." - encouraged this mother greatly.  Because it reminded me that knowledge of the living God comes from God Himself.  God initiates that relationship, grows it, and establishes it securely.  It's not my child, not the culture around him, not even his familiarity with sound doctrine, that determines if he'll grow to know and love the Lord.  No.  It is God.

As a mom, that truth comforts me more than anything else can - because I know that God is sovereign over the lives of my children, and that He loves them very much.  "...the word of the LORD had not yet been revealed to him."  I don't have to be afraid for my children, for their souls.  Instead I can earnestly pray - with great hope - that God will in time reveal Himself to each one of my children, that He will indeed make them His own.

The LORD appeared again at Shiloh, for the LORD revealed himself to Samuel at Shiloh by the word of the LORD.  - 1 Sam. 3:21 

I'M IN LOVE!

I got to see the new grandbaby this weekend! She is absolutely gorgeous, and so very, very sweet. Now, I know there are a lot of beautiful, sweet babies in this world, but there are extraordinarily few "most precious babies ever." I can count them on two hands (although I think that I may need more hands in just a few years, as the circle widens!)

When someone asked my daughter what she thought about motherhood and about this tiny addition to her family, she replied, "I'm in love!"

So what makes this particular baby one of those unique babies, set apart, remarkably different? What makes this little child precious above all others?

This baby is the one God has given us.  This baby is ours.

I have seven children, one awesome son-in-law, and a jewel of a grandbaby, and they are the dearest people I know. Their voices prick my ears, their smiles bless me, their concerns grab my heart, their joys delight me, their lives touch me in ways that no other voices or faces or lives can.

My children are growing up and moving out of the nest. Still, although they live and move "out there," in different worlds from my own, they are my dearest treasures, my brightest thoughts each day. Yes, they sometimes grieve me, even break my heart, but they are precious...because they are the children God has given me. They are mine.

I was reminded again this weekend, as I was enjoying my sweet granddaughter, that this is how God regards us. He regards us - His children - as beautiful and precious, as His dearest treasures. Not because of anything we have done or will do, not because of any inherent quality or merit in us, but because we are His.

Jesus, facing the trauma of the cross, could not even by that terror be distracted from the great love and care He felt for His children. He prayed earnestly for the children God had given Him, "I am praying for them. I am not praying for the world but for those whom you have given me, for they are yours" (John 17:9).

Again, in 1 John 3:1 we are told, "See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are!"  God speaks of His children in Scripture as His treasured possession, His beloved, His delight. That so amazes me - that God regards me that way! Even more, I am amazed that my position as God's beloved is eternally secure - that I can do nothing to thwart His love - because His love for me flows from Himself, is grounded in Himself. He loves me because He is my Father. As His child, I am the object of His eternal, unshakable affection.

Another thought also came to mind this weekend, as I was holding my granddaughter. Family is the seedbed, the nursery, the first proclamation of the Gospel. Only a short time ago, I had no more knowledge of my granddaughter than the vague thought of "some day, maybe..." Today and every day to come, on into eternity, she is a real and dear and powerful part of my life, a bright thought, a cherished gift.

This is as it should be - this great delight in and concern for this new person - and I think maybe this is why it is such a gross offense to God, such outrageous blasphemy, when we devalue the children He gives us. Neglect, abuse, abortion - these are not only crimes against another human (against our children no less, who should be those dearest to us) - these are crimes against the character and holiness of God.

Father, thank you for the children You have given me. Thank you for the blessing of knowing more and more of Your gospel love for me through them. Forgive me when I have not reflected the great love you have for me to the children You have given me, and help me demonstrate to them the love and sense of delight that You have faithfully demonstrated toward me.

THE SERIOUS BUSINESS OF PLAY

Martha stood looking intently out the living room window.  Suddenly, she burst out laughing.  "Guys! Come look at this!"

A tiny calf - maybe two weeks old - was charging around in circles on the hillside behind Granddaddy Kendall's red barn.  Tail held high and black fur glistening, he frolicked this way and that, lowering his head as he kicked up his heels.

Why was this so funny?  Well, the little fellow was very earnestly chasing blackbirds.  Seemed he had made it his personal job to keep the pasture free of the winged critters.  He would lower his head and charge at a cluster of the birds.  They would hop into the air just as he reached them, at the very last possible second, then flutter in the air a bit before settling back onto the hillside.  Undaunted, the frisky calf would lower his head and charge again.

Yes, it did look rather silly, and we couldn't help smiling at the calf's playful antics.  But to him, this was obviously serious business.

Which got me to thinking...

Play is the work of children.  I remember reading in a child-development textbook many years ago, "Little stones are for little children to gather into little piles."  Children - indeed, all young things, even calves and kittens - have serious business to tend to: it's called Play.

In our current sad age, we often think that, are often told by "the experts" that small children need to be busy doing other, more serious things.  Like watching Baby Einstein. (Don't do it, Mom! Don't plug in that DVD!)  Or memorizing word flashcards when they're three, "to get a jump start on school."  (Don't do it, Mom!  Don't buy those flashcards!)  Or practicing sitting still on a "thinking mat," like they won't get enough practice sitting still when they are too soon sentenced to 6-8 hours a day in a classroom.

No, small children should not be doing the work of adults.  They should not be clocking in at 7:45 in the morning and pulling an 8-hour shift.  They have more important work to do.

Stacking little stones into piles.  Chasing birds.  Digging tunnels in the dirt under the porch.  Making squash babies and mud pies.  Running, climbing, yelling, singing - enjoying and learning from the delight of being so very much alive in this big, wonderful world.

Mom, do you really want to give your baby a head start, a good foundation?

Put away the LeapFrog and the educational DVD's and the flash cards.

Do something far better for your child.  Go outside and play.