How We Should Risk Big on Ordinary Days

Pastor called out questions that hung thick, “Are you willing to take a big risk? ... To give your whole life to love people who may break your heart?  Relationships are risky business.”  Ah, to say the least, right?  His take on the parable of the talents (Matthew25:14-30) was that the servant whom the master praised for bringing the best return on his investment was obviously the one who had taken the greatest risk. 

Sometimes I look at my children, and I wonder who they will become.  I have flash backs of all these kids I knew who grew up to break their parents hearts—chased hard after all the wrong things.  I look in the wonder-filled eyes of my own, and quietly ask the Lord, “Is this one going to break my heart?”

 

Sure, I’ve had a broken heart but not the kind that your own children can give you. 

The Lord whispers back, “Maybe.  But they’re always worth the risk, aren’t they?  Give them your whole life.  Love them with everything I pour into you—pour it into them.  Let them break your heart a thousand times.  Through them, I’m making you look more like Myself.  Practice.  Practice dying for them by dying to yourself, giving yourself in love a thousand times a day.”

When you want to throw in the towel on hard days or on difficult people, remember loving is always worth the risk.  Jesus said so – showed us so.

The Toy Rapture: How I Waged War on Ingratitude Among my Little Tribe Today

This morning I whispered a prayer, “Lord, please help me to be patient with my children.  I don’t want to parent out of anger but out of love—all day.”  Today was the day—I was going to lean into God.

The war began at breakfast (of course).  Not a war against my children but the one for their hearts.  The bacon wasn’t crispy enough, she complained.  The ice in her juice hurt her teeth.  There were no “thank yous,” no “pleases.”  Demands smacked hard.  When I would normally sling biting tones back about being grateful, today I just whispered my prayers.  The Lord is so gracious to give wisdom when we ask for it. 

 

As my girls ate (or didn’t eat) their breakfast, I walked back to my girls’ bedroom and started to pack up dolls, doll furniture, play kitchen stuff…what felt like nearly every toy that China or Wal-Mart has to offer…and quietly carried the boxes to the attic. 

Then the pleas of my eldest began, “What are you doing?  Why are you doing this?” 

“I will explain it to you in a few minutes.”

I really wanted to rattle off the facts--how privileged they are, that they are in less than five percent of the world’s population of children who have this kind of stuff, this kind of food, this life of ridiculous lagniappe, that there are starving children in the two-thirds world who would love to trade places with them.  But I held all that in.  None of that would resonate with little round faces who just had almost all of their possessions hauled off. 

So I took a deep breath and for once in my life didn’t say anything sarcastic.

I just sat Indian style on the floor of the big empty bedroom and said, “This morning I realized that I’ve messed up.”  I recounted their words to me at breakfast and then quietly said, “I want you to learn to be thankful, and the one who is supposed to teach you that is me.  I haven’t done that great of a job, so this is just a little project we’re going to try for at least a week to see if it helps you to appreciate what you have, to take care of your stuff, and to say “please” and “thank you” to your mama and folks who do things for you.”

To my amazement, there’s been no weeping and gnashing of teeth since our “Come to Jesus” meeting.  Instead, we’ve walked around a little more light-hearted today.  We took our “read-aloud” book outside and sat on the quilt in the shade this morning.  They played with the grass, made a card out of grass and construction paper and put it in the mailbox.  They found that an empty toy box has all sorts of fun uses, like climbing in it for a boat.  And some long lost toys that didn’t get snatched up in the toy rapture were rediscovered.  

 

The conversation has been hilarious:  “Mama, I like this little thing we’re doing.  I don’t have to pick up so much.”  “Hey, when company comes, we can just pick up our two things and have it all looking good.”  “Mama, thanks for cleaning all the furniture out of this doll house; I’ve been needing to dust it!”  “You know what?  We have so much more time without all the stuff!”  …and that from the mouth of a five-year-old.

Time.  That illusive thing that we crave while it slips through our fingers.  If I’m not careful, my time with them will be gone before I’ve had a chance to teach them all these things I’m dying for them to understand.  If I waste it, chances are they will just grow into entitled adults—just larger versions of the five-year-old who complains about her hot breakfast.  I’ve seen an adult like that a few times…in the mirror, and it’s a war for her heart too.

Wherever you are, be all there.

            We sit in meetings and check our watches, our tweets, our texts, our calendar app, our to-do list.  At home we feel guilty for not being on the job; on the job we feel guilty for not being at home.  (Or for the stay-at-home mom, we feel guilty for being enslaved by the to-do list rather than playing with the children.  When you relinquish it to play in the yard, you feel tugged away by all the demands inside.)  During supper we think about the clean up, the night-time routine, the exhaustion, the things to do before crashing.  During breakfast we worry about getting to the next thing on time . . .  How often we miss the joy of simple conversation and laughter during supper, miss the chance to sing crazy songs in the car-ride, miss a moment God was trying to teach us something during that meeting, miss the chance to show that person Jesus.

            It was on the car ride after a hectic morning routine of waking the girls, feeding, clothing, brushing teeth, hurrying into the car, that it hit me – maybe not hit me for the first time but hit me harder . . .

            A friend in my church family went to Africa this summer and encountered a missionary who gave her this one line:  “Wherever you are, be all there.”  She brought the line back to me.  Much more succinct than I’ve ever said it, but I’ve been thinking it over for about six years now . . . “How can I be fully present where I am at all times?” 

            Jesus lived it.  On a mission, with purpose, often surrounded by crowds, but never in a hurry. 

            What hit me in the car was this:  “What if I only had one more month to live, but I still had to do all of my daily responsibilities (full-time mom, part-time ministry job) within that month?  What would I do differently than what I’m doing right now?”  Certainly, I wouldn’t want my girls remembering a mother who just rushed them out of bed, to breakfast, to car, to drop them off—all in one hurried blur.  If I still had to go to work and my elder child still had to go to her “school” (home school program 2 days a week)—in other words, if I still had to be away from them for several hours several days a week—with what would I want to leave in their precious little memories.  I would want them to remember a mother who woke them with a smile, who had kindness on her lips, who cooked them a yummy breakfast, and who encouraged them even if their bodies were still sleepy and minds foggy.  Love – that’s what I want them to remember.

            Practically speaking, then, how can I be fully present where I am at all times?  I haven’t mastered it yet, but here’s what I’m aiming for:

1. Slowing down where I can.  How?

-          Being realistic about what I can accomplish in a given period of time.  (Of course, this is my hardest one.  I’m forever the optimist.)

-          Not being too proud to receive help.  (God doesn’t call us to do family or ministry alone.  In fact, that’s the opposite of what God wants for us.)

-          Not being too proud to say “no” when I can’t do it all.  (Yes, for people-pleasers and performers, it’s a pride issue.)

2. Paying attention to the blessings in the moment.  (Learned this one from Ann Voskamp’s book One Thousand Gifts.  LOVE her blog too; she writes about this slowing down often.)  Naming the gifts.  (I’m on #899 – writing down thanks to God.)
   
   
3. Praying for spiritual eyes to see what’s most important—the one thing needed. 

-          “Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “You are worried and upset about many things,  but few things are needed—or indeed only one.  Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her” (Luke 10:41-42 NIV).

I have so far to go.  Tell me, how do you live this line – “Wherever you are, be all there”?  Don’t be shy.  Leave a comment for those of us who need it!

The Times I Mess Up the Most (sin against them the most, to put it bluntly)

     It’s always when I’m in a hurry.  Hurry to get them up, fed, teeth brushed, clothes on, bathroom visited, out the door . . . out the door with the diaper bag, lunch box, her back pack, my back pack, ballet clothes . . AGGGHHH!  Did I mention that I get up really early, and yes, I know all that about putting your stuff by the door the night before, yet something always seems to come up right at the last minute with little ones! 

Hurry to get to church, to school, to bed, through the store, through the next thing so that we can get to the thing after that that has to be done before that other thing can be done!  My hurry and my flesh collide and spill my sin all over my children.  It’s an ugly picture of loud huffs, little grace, and later…regrets.

     I don’t remember who said it (maybe it was a seminary professor or maybe it was in a book), but “they” said, “Hurrying is the way of the amateur.”  Then, I am definitely in the little league.

     So here’s how I’m working on this one:

1. Yes, by preparing what can be prepared (but that is very little sometimes)
2. Yes, by eliminating superfluous activity for which I don’t have time in this season of my life

Those are the easy two.  Here are the more subtle, challenging ones:

3. By accepting that I’m going to have to disappoint others sometimes (whether it be my children because they have to give up a toy or certain pair of shoes they are demanding or whether it be the people/person to whom I’m in a hurry to reach)
4. by making it my goal to please God in the midst of the tasks and hurry
5. by remembering that my attitude is more important to God than my accomplishments, punctuality, or appearance (of myself, my children, my house, my messy car!)  “A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a broken spirit saps a person’s strength” Prov. 17:22 NLT).

     God wants my children to see Himself through me.  I forget this, but thankfully God and I meet on the front porch again in the morning, start over, and He fills me afresh and graciously gives me another chance to do it differently.

Where does my help come from?  
My help comes from the Lord,  
the Maker of heaven and earth.

. . . He will watch over your life;
 the Lord will watch over your coming and going
 both now and forevermore.

(Psalm 121:1b-2, 7b-8 NIV)