Posts Tagged ‘grace’
So it’s January. In fact, we’re already halfway through January, and I feel I’m just coming out of my post-Christmas stupor, blinking my eyes against the sometimes harsh light of the new year. I hate having Christmas over. I’ve always had a problem with saying goodbye to Christmas for another year. My family will tell you how I used to spend New Year’s Day curled up in a fetal position on the couch while Woody took down the Christmas decorations and hauled out the dry bunch of needles that had been our tree.
But there’s also, once I get past my goodbyes to Christmas, something good about January. A sort of cleansing. The house looks pretty good after all without all the clutter of Christmas. And there’s something hopeful about turning the calendar page on to not only a new month, but a whole new year. Who knows what possibilities lie ahead?
There’s a reason why the month is called January. It traces back to the legendary Roman god Janus, who had two heads, one looking back and one facing forward. He was the god of doorways, gates, and bridges, symbolizing beginnings and ends. Reflection and remembering the past. Hoping and praying into the unknown future.
But you moms of young children are not, I am quite sure, spending hours in reflection. You probably feel jolted into January. Back into school routines and (for us in the North) early morning jackets and boots and lunch boxes. And homework. Yes. Homework.
The month doesn’t slow down. Suddenly all the realities of the world we live in can hit hard. New diagnoses. New challenges at work or school. Back to the grind . . . it can be jolting. Suddenly (or so it seems to me since I’m not the one to whom it is happening) I’m hearing of sad goodbyes two of my friends are saying to their beloved fathers. Two precious ones I pray for are either awaiting or receiving stem cell transplants. My only remaining aunt, dearly loved, is facing unexpected surgery. And one very brave very godly young mom I know is commemorating, along with her four precious children, the sudden death of their husband and daddy in a Marine helicopter crash one year ago in mid-January. There can be a lot of tears in January. And a lot of Hope.
All this is why I am delighted to have a great book to recommend to you. It’s a daily devotional by Paul David Tripp called New Morning Mercies. Wait. Don’t stop reading because the last thing you need is a new devotional to stack with all the other unread volumes—or someone putting you on a guilt trip because you never get to any devotional time at all with young kids needing you every waking moment (even those intended for sleep)! Before you give up, let me tell you what I love about this devotional.
First, it grew out of daily tweets that the author sent out, and every day’s reading begins with a tweet-length thought that will fire up your day even if that’s all you get to. Also, it is saturated beginning to end with grace. And if there is anything we moms need, it is grace. That’s because it is full of Biblical truth (thus infused with grace). This truth is passed through the filter of the author’s experience (seminary training as well as training and experience as both a counselor and a pastor) in such a way that it hits us right where we need it. Yes, it is convicting as well as comforting (remember it is Scripture-saturated). Nearly every day it feels as if it were written just for me. Maybe you, too.
I want to leave you with just one favorite quote. But it is very hard to choose because nearly every page I’ve read is totally marked up with “favorites.” And by the way, a note for you Type A Firstborn Perfectionists (How do I know you so well?!): Do not hesitate because you didn’t start with January 1. I first got this book in September and started reading from there. It works perfectly well wherever you start.
From January 10: “The DNA of joy is thankfulness . . . [but] If my heart is ever going to be freed of grumbling and ruled by gratitude, I need your grace: grace to remember, grace to see, grace that produces a heart of humble joy.”
Grace to remember what God has done in the past. (In his Introduction, Tripp reminds us that “remembering is spiritual warfare; even for this we need grace.”) Grace to see His work in what is before your very eyes. Right now. Right here. Even in January.
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness. (Lamentations 3:22–23 ESV)
There’s a lot of groaning in my world lately. Not whining. Not self-pity. Not, to use the Irish word that says it perfectly, whinging (it’s pronounced “win-jing,” and according to my daughter, my Irish grandkids do it a lot. I think I do, too). Groaning. There’s a difference. Whining, self-pity, whinging—they’re all full of words. Groans are wordless. They’re the deep-down ache of ongoing, private pain.
Ask the people who know. A woman struggling to start over and find new life after seven years of a nasty divorce settlement. A mother who has just learned that the cancer has returned to her precious little daughter’s body, after several years of thinking it was gone. The many moms with special needs kids who get up every day and courageously face not only the ongoing daily challenges but also the battle of advocacy for getting their kids what they need. A wife bravely determined to mend a hurting marriage amidst multiple losses. Moms grappling with the deep invisible wounds of mental illness—in themselves or in their families. Caregivers wrestling with unspeakably difficult treatment decisions. A “sandwich generation” friend whose roles as wife, nana, daughter, and daughter-in-law keep her care-giving in all directions. Life at a dizzying pace.
These are all stories I’ve heard this week. All people I pray for—and groan with. And there are many more. “. . . sorrows like sea billows roll . . .” (from the precious old hymn, It Is Well With My Soul)
But I’ve also seen a lot of grace this week. Not just groans. Grace. Love. Stubborn love. Perseverance. And courage. Lots of courage. I’m reminded of the little sign Woody gave me years ago: “Courage does not always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, ‘I will try again tomorrow.’”
So where does this courage come from? I think it comes from groans and grace. I find it so encouraging that according to the Bible, we are not the only ones who groan. In writing about our fallen world and our desperate need for redemption, the Apostle Paul writes, “We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pain of childbirth right up to the present time. . . . In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us in groans that words cannot express.” (Romans 8:22, 26) Ahh, so we are not the only ones who groan.
In another of his books, Paul writes about where the strength comes from in the face of trials that just aren’t going away: “My grace is sufficient for you,” the Lord told Paul after not removing from Paul something he was struggling with, “for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9) So that’s where the grace comes from. I see so much grace in the women I mentioned earlier. And power. Power to keep moving. To keep persevering. To keep “trying again tomorrow.”
The secret? They—and we—know that they are not alone in their groaning, in their feeling, on some days, “I just can’t get up and do this all over again.” It’s in their very weakness that God displays His power. And His grace.
Max Lucado nailed it when he said “God answers the mess of life with one word: grace.” (Grace: More than We Deserve, Greater Than We Imagine) And, as Ann Voskamp has observed, “You can always breathe when you know all is grace.” (The Greatest Gift, p. 40)
Groanings and grace. They do go together after all. God hears us—and joins with us—in our groanings. And He promises us His grace. Grace sufficient. One day at a time.
The house is quiet now. Way too quiet. And way too orderly. Only the ticking away of my Mom’s grandfather clock, reminding me that time moves on.
For 38 glorious days, our home has been filled with the voices of children. My ten favorite children, to be precise. Shouts and giggles and fun and laughter and crying and bickering and “time outs” and whispered conversations between cousins coming from the “craft closet” (our master bedroom closet, repurposed) and loud games interspersed with “No, it’s my turn!” . . . You get the picture. 38 days of glorious chaos.
And now they’ve all gone home. As I write this, I shiver with remembrance of that unforgettable sentence about Hannah after her annual visits to the temple to see the son she had dedicated to God: “Then they would go home.” (1 Samuel 2:20b) Not quite the same, for sure. But still, the going home.
Our recycling and trash tell the story. Well, part of it anyway. Yes, the party’s over and they’ve all gone home. But I am left with so much more than the after-the-party remnants. I am a different person. More exhausted, to be sure. But so much more. I am a grateful Nana filled with new memories made over the past 5 weeks.
Games of Candyland and Chutes and Ladders and Sorry and Animal Bingo. Stories read, some by me and some by the children, who range in age from 10 years to ten months. Pirate stories told by “Farfar” (their name for Woody—“father’s father” in Swedish). Trips to splash parks and playgrounds and petting farms and the gorgeous York Beach in Maine—and the Lego Store and Build-a-Bear and the much-loved Superstore of Used Books. Diapers (“nappies” to my Irish crew) changed and tears wiped and grievous wounds cured(!) by Dory or Star Wars bandaids and nights of protest (“But it’s not bedtime yet!”) and disputes of nearly international scope about who got the most wiffle-ball pitches from Farfar. What seems like hundreds of hot dogs and PB&J sandwiches and pizzas and birthday cakes and ginormous ice cream cones consumed.
Ah, summer with grandchildren. I really didn’t want it to end.
Yet as I write this, I am reminded of summers long ago when I felt a bit more ambivalent about summer’s end. The start of school looked pretty good then! ☺ So as I ponder (the end of the annual summer visit) and miss (all of them!) and cherish (such precious memories), I also think of all of you moms out there. Some of you also missing grandkids who’ve gone home. Some counting the days ’til school begins (please Lord, soon!)—or wishing your kids were old enough for school! Others celebrating because school has already begun in your world. And then those moms who’ve made that first long journey (long whether an hour away—or thousands of miles) to college. For all of us, those mixed emotions that come with being a mom/grandmom.
May we always be grateful. May we always savor the memories. And may we always have the necessary strength that comes only from the Father of us all (and the joy as well). Summer, we salute you . . . it’s been oh, so lovely.
C.S. Lewis said it best: “We may ignore, but we nowhere evade, the presence of God. The world is crowded with Him. He walks everywhere incognito.” (from Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer, p. 75)
Yes, He often walks incognito through our world. But now and then we get glimpses. I’ve had more than a few “God glimpses” recently—and most of them seem in some way to involve mothers.
First, there is the flurry of activity among mama birds in our neighborhood. We walked by a picturesque little robin’s nest a couple of days ago. We also have a mama bird (I think it’s an Eastern Phoebe) building a nest in our front entrance. It’s really quite a mess (not at all picturesque like the robin’s). But I have learned that warm and cozy and safe homes don’t need to look Pinterest-worthy. They just need a mama. (I don’t dare try to take a picture of this one, BTW, because mama bird is very skittish and protective, and I don’t want to jeopardize our relationship.)
Then there are other mamas through whom I have seen God lately. Mamas who embrace their children with God’s love even when they are lonely (Dad’s gone again for work?) or chronically sleep-deprived (Whaat? This 7-month-old baby still isn’t sleeping through the night?) or even comforting their children (“It’s going to be all right, honey”) when their own heart is shattered by grief into a million pieces (All right? How can it be all right when the love of my life, the father of these children, is snatched away from me in one tiny terrible moment?) Through these mamas—and so very many others, I see God. He’s the only explanation.
Last Thursday I had the joy of hearing moms at a local Mom to Mom share their hearts about this past year. These are just snatches of what I heard (composite paraphrase):
- I’ve recently come to see how different parenting with God is from parenting without Him. Also how different parenting alone is versus sharing the journey with other moms.
- This is the church being the church. It is my primary source of spiritual nourishment.
- Mom to Mom has ignited a fire within me that has been simmering for a long time.
- Here I can be completely myself. I am listened to without judgment. I am reminded that I am not alone. Both my Titus 2 leader and the very practical biblical teaching help me release my burden of perfectionism and trust God with my kids.
- Moms suffer from a kind of occupational irony. We spend our lives continually caring for others. Who cares for us? This is the one place in my week where I don’t have to prepare anything: coffee, goodies, or childcare. Here I am not only cared for but also given dignity and confidence in my role as a mom. A rare gift in our culture.
- In this past year, not much has changed in my circumstances. But a lot has changed in my heart.
Two recurring themes in what I heard: We are cared for. We are loved and accepted—even welcomed—here, just as we are. No matter what. Really. No matter what. And our hearts are changed.
Hmmm. Sounds a lot like grace. Sounds a lot like God. “Surely the Lord is in this place . . .” (Genesis 28:16a) Because the deep deep love of Jesus flows through the “Titus 2 Moms” who have themselves received that love, these moms feel loved. And they can pass that love along to their children.
One reason, I would guess, why “the world is crowded with Him.”
So, as Mother’s Day 2016 approaches, a shout out to all of you who love your children, another mom, or even a would-be mom (I have not forgotten) with His love. Through you we see glimpses of God.
Happy Mother’s Day!
“Every hour is grace.” Nobel Peace Prize winner and famous author Elie Wiesel said that. I’m not familiar with the context, but I suspect his definition of grace may be different than mine. Still, I can’t get the quote out of my head. It seems to capture the essence of my life.
For me, as I’ve written elsewhere, this is a season of grace. A season both on my calendar and in my life. I seem to come across grace everywhere.
I recently read a fascinating novel entitled Ordinary Grace, by William Kent Krueger. There’s a lot about grace woven into this piece of fiction. A quote from the ancient Greek playwright Aeschylus about “the awful grace of God” provides background music for the whole story.
I’ve also been working on a new retreat topic: Gritty Grace. I’ve been combing through scripture verses on grace—124 of them, it turns out. I’ve also come across some great quotes on grace. I like how Max Lucado put it: “God answers the mess of life with one word: Grace.” One of my favorite Philip Yancey books is What’s So Amazing about Grace? I remembered this recently when I saw the title of his latest book: Vanishing Grace: Whatever Happened to the Good News? I can’t wait to read it.
Then I exchanged emails with our son-in-law about his most recent sermon. “This one was harder to prepare, he commented. “It was on grace . . . so maybe it should be hard to understand?” Richie has a way of saying some pretty profound things in short sentences—a gift I’d like to have! But it got me thinking.
Grace is indeed hard to understand. God’s relentless, remarkable, amazing grace. Free, but not cheap. Costly grace. Oh, how it cost Him. Words from an old hymn come to mind: “Amazing love! How can it be? That Thou, my God shouldst die for me?” I resonate with Anne Lamott’s words: ”I do not at all understand the mystery of grace—only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.”
Grace: It came with Christmas. The Gospel writer John heralds its coming: “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth. . . . For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.” (John 1:14, 17)
This is a good season to be thinking about grace. Of course, that’s true of any season. But Advent may help us focus. I’m finally reading Ann Voskamp’s The Greatest Gift: Unwrapping the Full Love Story of Christmas—way behind many of you, I suspect, as it came out in 2013. I’ve just started the book, and grace has found me again. I love how she describes Advent: “This slow unfurling of grace.” (p. 5)
Wishing each of you a “slow unfurling of grace” in the days ahead.
“Grooves of grace.” I first heard that phrase many years ago from a great giant of the faith, Dr. Vernon Grounds.
Dr. Grounds was a man with a brilliant mind and a huge heart. President of Denver Seminary for many years, he is now with the Lord he served so faithfully. I once had the privilege of hearing him speak about daily disciplines that helped him grow in his relationship with God. I remember particularly his time in the Scripture and daily prayers walks. These routines, he said, provided “grooves of grace.”
Recently in my Lenten readings I have been reminded of the importance of daily disciplines in our spiritual formation. And in my daily life, I’ve been reminded loud and clear that I am 100% reliant on my morning time with God to get through each day. As I read God’s Word, pour out my heart to Him, and try—really try—to listen better to His voice, I feel His presence and His peace pouring into these grooves of grace.
These days I actually have time and space for “morning time with God.” But it wasn’t always this way. When my kids were young, they were—as many of you Mom to Mom friends know—some of the world’s earliest risers. My days began as if I’d been catapulted out of bed into a traffic jam of constant noise and activity. So where were the grooves of grace then? Often in a whispered one-sentence prayer before the launch: “Lord, please help me get through this day. I can’t do it without You.” OK, that’s two sentences. But some days I only managed a single word: “Help!” Even that opened up a groove of grace. Sometimes it was a Bible left open in the kitchen, with a passage I needed to focus on amidst the frenzy. Or a verse posted on a bathroom mirror. Or favorite Scripture I could meditate on during a stroller walk. All were grooves of grace.
God’s grace. It’s what we live on—and live in—every moment of our lives. Or at least we should be living on. It’s always there. Abundant. Rich. Free (though not cheap, as Bonhoeffer reminds us). But are we providing the grooves into which God can pour that grace? Sometimes I wonder if the grooves are filling in with other “stuff,” blocking access to God’s grace. Busyness. Fuzzy priorities. Mom-life.
Or, in my case, anxiety. Going through testing and inspections and contingencies amidst the sale of our home is providing plenty of that. But I wonder: Is it clogging up the grooves of grace? What am I opening up more access to: what I’m worrying about or what God says?
How about you? Are you opening up grooves of grace in your life? Some days it may feel like just a trickle. Enough for that day. But sometimes it floods in. You can almost feel it sloshing around. Either way, it’s worth digging out the trench.
Nothing has revealed my sinfulness and need of a Savior like being a mom. Parenting my children showed me aspects of myself that I never knew were there–and didn’t like much! I never knew, for example, that I had a problem with anger until I had kids. In my teacher-life, I’d had plenty of students that pushed my buttons. But never the way my 2-year-old or 10-year-old children could.
Maybe that’s why I was so struck by one of my Lenten readings this week from Walter Wangerin’s Reliving the Passion. Wangerin points out that one of the reasons for reliving the Passion of our Lord during Lent is that it helps us to see our sin. He talks about how his relationship with his wife becomes a mirror in which he can see, when he sins against her, the suffering his sin has caused. A mirror that hides nothing and breaks through his denials and excuses. He calls it a mirror of dangerous grace.
That’s what my family is to me. My husband—and especially my children—are mirrors of dangerous grace. When I put self ahead of them—or even them ahead of God, a subtle but tempting idol—I see in their faces and behavior both my sin and its consequences. I see my desperate need of a Savior. A Savior Who actually chose to bear the consequences of my sin (while my kids, of course, had no choice).
When I apologize to my children, as I’ve had to do countless times, and receive their forgiveness, I am reminded of my need to confess to God and be forgiven. And I learn what the freedom of forgiveness feels like.
I’m also reminded of my constant, daily, moment-by-moment need of Jesus. Recently my daughter, the mother of a 3-year-old and 6-month-old, posted on her Facebook page: “My needs today–sweat, coffee, Jesus.” A friend commented: “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.” Two moms who know what their deepest needs are. Sort of a “severe mercy” (borrowing from C. S. Lewis) that we receive by being a mom.
I suspect the words will haunt me throughout Lent: dangerous grace. Dangerous because I see my sin in all its awful reality and realize that (Was it Luther who said this?) “We carry His nails in our pockets.” Grace because He came. He died. He rose again. He forgives. He lavishes His grace upon us. He grows us all the way into Glory.
It snowed this week in Wisconsin. Normally not an unusual event here. But we’ve had little snow so far this year. So when I woke up yesterday morning with a winter wonderland in my back yard, it took my breath away. All the dreary, shabby winter had been covered with pure, sparkling snow.
“Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be white as snow.” (Isaiah 1:18) Thank you, Jesus, for mirrors of dangerous grace. Thank you that I can say with the Psalmist: “wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.” (Psalm 51:7)
Tiger Mom is everywhere. Ever since the publication a couple of weeks ago of the now best-selling book Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, the author, Amy Chua, has been omnipresent—interviewed on TV news and talk shows, featured in a Wall Street Journal article, discussed all over the internet, and even featured on the cover of Time magazine.
The book, which extols the virtues of strict (some would say harsh and excessive) “Chinese parenting” over more permissive “Western parenting,” has ignited a firestorm of controversy. No wonder. Chu’s parenting rules for her two daughters, now both high-achieving teens (one’s a violin virtuoso, the other played the piano at Carnegie Hall when she was 14), include: no play dates, no sleepovers, no TV or computer games, no being in a school play (or complaining about not being in a school play!), no playing any other instrument than the violin or piano (or not playing either the violin or piano), no getting any grade less then an A, no being less than the #1 student in every subject except gym or drama—among other things. While the merit of some of these rules may be debated, it’s probably her tactics for enforcing them that have gotten even more attention. Stories of keeping a 7-year-old at the piano for hours without food, water, or bathroom breaks until she got a piece just right; of threatening to burn all her daughter’s stuffed animals if she didn’t practice; of throwing back in her face a birthday card one daughter had made for her because she knew it had been done carelessly and quickly; of calling her daughter “garbage” when she behaved disrespectfully. You get the gist.
But these attention-getting anecdotes (highly successful marketing tools no doubt) probably obscure her main message, which seem to be that kids need to be pushed to succeed—and will be happier in the end when they see how much they can do. She claims she drove her two daughters because she was preparing them for life. After all, that’s what her parents did—and now she’s a highly-educated professor at Yale Law School.
My purpose in telling you all this is not to critique the book—and certainly not to sell it! Rather, the “Tiger Mom” controversy has just gotten me thinking about some very important questions for us as moms. Let me share three with you very briefly:
First, what is our highest goal for our kids? Is it for them to become super-achievers in some field? Or is it that they grow up to love and serve God and others? Of course part of their love for God may include great achievement. But what is our highest goal? Kids know what matters most to us. For me, I can’t help but hear III John 4 here: “I have no greater joy than to know my children are walking in the truth.”
A second question: What do we hope will be the basis of their sense of worth and value? Chua claims that driving kids to do their best actually elevates their sense of worth and value. Conversely, when anything a child does is praised and rewarded no matter how little effort went into it, it’s de-motivating. There’s some truth here. Admittedly, the current American obsession with building kids’ self-esteem has become, in some cases, pretty crazy, with every child thinking he’s a genius and schools and teams completely eschewing any rewards for merit in favor of an “every child wins” philosophy. But as Christian parents, don’t we want our kids to find their worth in the redemptive love of Christ and in being sons and daughters of God? And, as they grow and develop, shouldn’t we be encouraging them to have a “sane estimate” of their abilities, as Romans 12:3 in the Philips paraphrase reminds us?
Perhaps the most important question of all: How much of how our kids turn out has anything to do with what we do—or don’t do—and how much is pure grace? It seems that in Chua’s parenting paradigm, children are clearly the product of their parents’ drive to make them “achievers” (as defined by the parents’ standards, of course). But isn’t each child a special creation of God, uniquely endowed with their own particular mix of gifts, challenges, personality, and passions? It seems to me that what we as moms want to do for our children is what a mentor of mine often described as “holding a crown over their heads and helping them grow into it.”
It’s always tricky, isn’t it, this balance between “works” and grace? Certainly what we do as moms profoundly impacts our children. But however we raise our children, they ultimately have the “terrible freedom” to choose to follow God—or not. And ultimately, aren’t we all living–really, when it comes down to it—by His grace alone?
I don’t know about you, but as I look at my own parenting—and the parenting of countless moms I know—all I can think is that “It’s grace. It’s all grace.” Certainly that doesn’t discount our giving parenting our very best efforts. We are called to do everything to the glory of God. But ultimately it’s by God’s grace that I am who I am as a mother—and my children are who they are.
In Chua’s world, it seems grace is in short supply. Not in ours, I hope.