Grooves of Grace—for Lent and for Life

“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.

God’s Waiting Room: My New Home?

Is there anyone else out there who feels as if you’ve been sitting in God’s waiting room for so long that it’s beginning to feel like home?  For months you’ve been camping out there, thinking “surely this is only temporary!”  OK, so you’ve brought in the coffee pot and a few beloved books.   But now, let’s face it:  You may as well move in all the furniture.  Looks like you’ll be here a while.

That’s how I feel on this February day.  2013 has gotten off to a rough start in a lot of ways.  But the house . . . It’s been on the market over ten months now.  Approximately 75 showings.  It sold.  And then it unsold (due to buyers’ personal circumstances).  And now the clock is ticking toward the closing on our next home.  And we are still waiting.  And praying.  And praying.  And praying.  And praying.

I think a lot about God’s sovereignty in the waiting room.  I feel like those three young men faced with the fiery furnace in Daniel. They knew what God could do. But they didn’t know what God would do. Either way, He was still God. Either way, they would still worship Him.  And only Him.

As I sit here on my bench in the waiting room, God keeps reminding me of words from Andrew Murray which seem to have been written directly to me:

“In time of trouble, say, “First, He brought me here.  It is by His will that I am in this place; in that I will rest.”  Next, “He will keep me here in His love, and give me grace in this trial to behave as His child.”  Then say, “He will make this trial a blessing, teaching me lessons He intends me to learn, and working in me the grace He intends to bestow. “  And last, say, “In His good time, He can bring me out again.  How and when, He knows.”  Therefore, say: “I am here  1) by God’s appointment,  2) in His keeping,  3) under His training,  4) for His time.”

—Andrew Murray, quoted in Calm My Anxious Heart, by Linda Dillow, p. 171

Hmm.  God’s appointment.  His training.  His timing.  And words about grace: He will “give me grace in this trial to behave as His child . . . working in me the grace He intends to bestow.”  How should His child act in this trial?  What does “grace bestowed” look like?  Well for starters, not the way I often act: anxious, fearful, pacing, worrying myself and everyone around me to distraction.

So here I am, still in the Waiting Room. Under His training. I have a lot left to learn. But I want to share with you just a few tips I’m learning in my prolonged sit-in. Call it “Things To Do While Waiting”:

1. Cry when you need to.  God hears our cries.
2. Vent when you need to.  That’s what friends (and husbands) are for.
3. Read the Psalms.  A lot.  Almost any will do, but good starters are Psalms 42-43, 46, 37, and 34.
4. Whine as little as possible.  I should say, “Don’t whine.”  But I’m just being realistic.
5. Follow Oswald Chambers’ advice and “Do the next thing”—whatever that may be.
6. Try living Philippians 4:6-7, turning your worries into prayers.
7. Remember that you are not alone.  God sits with you in the Waiting Room.
8. Remember that, despite what may seem evidence to the contrary, God is good—all the time.  And loving—all the time.  And sovereign—all the time.
9. Keep praying.  Keep talking to God, even if your voice is barely a whisper.
10. Ask Him to help you with trust, which is the bottom line.  “Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief.”  Help me, Lord, to learn to trust you more.

This is definitely not a finished list, but just some thoughts from my bench in the Waiting Room.  I pray that one or two might help someone else out there in another Waiting Room.

Happy New Year—and Take the Light!

It’s happened again. The Light. Just showing up when and where I least expect it. I’ve written before—in past Christmases, I think—about that “certain slant of light” that sneaks across the nativity set on our mantle on certain early mornings when the sun shines here in Wisconsin.

But this happened in the dark. Just the day before yesterday. I got up and stumbled into the kitchen, before coffee, and it was cold. And dark. Very dark.

And there it was. One single candle on the mantle, just to the right of the Bethlehem gathering, with its bulb lit. The candle next to it (both of them battery run) remained dark. They had, after all, been turned off before we went to bed.

But there it was. Stubborn, persistent, wonderful light. Penetrating the darkness and the cold with the reminder that the Light of Christmas isn’t extinguished after the holiday. It remains—persists, even—right on into the New Year, into the January of our lives.

Startled as I was by the light, I had a sudden flashback. One dark night long ago, early in our marriage, Woody and I were working as short-term missionaries in a very remote area in Northern Kenya. We had just finished dinner with a missionary couple and were leaving to cross a winding dirt road to the little cottage where we slept. As we started out the door, the missionary ran after us with a flashlight: “You’d better take this,” he said.

We resisted: “Oh no, we won’t need it,” we assured him. “There’s moonlight, it’s a short distance, and we know the way.”

“Oh, if I were you I’d take it,” he insisted. “There’s a leopard that likes to hang out around that road at night. But he’s very afraid of the light.”

We took the flashlight.

The memory came back to me as I contemplated that candle. I reflected on the closing days of 2012 and wondered about 2013. There’s been a lot of darkness lately. And 2013 is looking a bit murky just now. You never know what leopards might be lurking around. What did Peter say? Something about lion-like evil that prowls around, seeking to devour? (I Peter 5:8)

But there’s that Light. It’s persistent. Steady. Stubborn, even. John said even the darkness can’t put it out. (John 1:5) So I feel I can wish you—even despite and amidst any darkness in our world, or in your personal world—a Happy New Year.

And don’t forget—Take the Light!

Emmanuel: Into a Weeping World

“A voice is heard in Ramah, weeping and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children And refusing to be comforted, Because they are no more.”

These words from the Gospel (Matthew 2:18) have haunted me ever since the first unthinkable reports began coming out of Newtown, CT, last Friday.  Weeping.  Great mourning.  Howling grief.  What other response could we possibly have to such unimaginable horror and evil?

The world weeps with Rachel.  Our hearts are broken.  Our prayers are continual.  Our arms are extended.  Mothers all over the country—and the world—feel it at a deep, visceral level.  I know people who left work on Friday, sick with the news.  A friend left our neighborhood Christmas party, bought low by the day’s events.  Every mother—and grandmother—I know wanted to rush to school instantly and flee with her child.  We see the faces and hear the names—and they are our own children.

Weeping with Rachel.  And for all our children who grow up in a world in which such things can happen.  In Newtown, Connecticut.  Or Syria.  Or Congo.  As Nicholas Wolterstorff observes in his memorable book Lament for a Son, it’s the only appropriate response to such raw grief and loss: “Come and sit with me on my mourning bench.”

“Weep with those who weep,” the Scriptures tell us (Romans 12:15 NKJV).  And that’s just what our Lord did.  He wept with friends at the death of their brother (See John 11).  He wept over the city of Jerusalem and the devastation that was to come (Luke 19:41-44).

But here’s the really amazing thing: He chose to come into a weeping world.  A world in which violence under Roman rule was the norm.  A world in which a wicked king could order the death of all babies two years old and under in a quiet, unsuspecting village.  A world in which God Himself could be nailed to a cross.

Emmanuel.  God with us.  “The virgin shall be with child and will give birth to a son, and they will call Him Immanuel, which means ‘God with us.’” (Matthew 1:23)  He came into a wicked, broken, weeping world—and He wept with us.  He chose to do that.  He still does.

But He did much more.  He gave His very life that sin and death might be defeated.  That’s what we celebrate at Christmas.   That He came.  That He lived.  That He died.  That He rose again, defeating sin and death and opening the gates to eternal life.  That He Who became God with us, who brought God to us, will one day bring us to God.  To eternity in a place where there will be “no more death or mourning or crying or pain.”  (Revelation 21:4)

Now that’s something to celebrate—even in a weeping Christmas.

Advent in I-Don’t-Know-Ville

It occurred to me recently that the answer to almost every question in my life right now is: “I don’t know.”   With Woody’s recent retirement, we have made plans to move “back home” to New England.  We are in the process of purchasing a condo under construction in the Boston area.

But from there on it’s all questions.  When will we move? I don’t know.  It depends on selling our current home.  When will the house sell?  I don’t know.  What will it be like to move “back home”?  Is it even possible to do that?  Or was novelist Thomas Wolfe right when he famously proclaimed “You Can’t Go Home Again”?  I don’t know.  What about that biopsy you’ve been putting off?  When will you get that done?  I don’t know.  It depends on getting a major insurance mess straightened out.  How long will that take?   I don’t know.  And what about the results…?  Well, you’re getting the picture.

I’ve noticed that I’m not the only one living in I-don’t-know-ville.   Tons of people I know and love are living there, too.  Will the never-ending international adoption saga never end?  When will we meet these children?  WILL we ever meet these children?  When will my prodigal come home?  WILL he/she come home?  Will this court case ever get resolved and justice—and mercy—prevail?  Will the doctors ever figure out what’s wrong?  Will the money last till the end of the month?  To name just a few questions in my prayers for those I love.

It seems to be an Advent season of I-don’t–know.  Which brings to mind the fact that there were a lot of I-don’t-know people at that first Christmas.   Joseph and Mary must have had plenty of unanswered questions on that road to Bethlehem.   And when they had to flee to Egypt.  And a thousand other times in the parenting of Jesus.  What was God up to in allowing life for His son to look like this?  And the shepherds and the wisemen: What does this amazing birth mean?  And Simeon and Anna in the years they waited to meet Him: “How long, O Lord, how long?”

But they did know one thing, and it’s the central truth of Christmas: God is now with us!  “And they will call Him Immanuel—which means, “God with us.”  (Matthew 1:23)

I don’t know about you, but I don’t like living in I-don’t-know-ville.  It makes me nervous.  I am, after all, half-German, firstborn, and off the charts on the Myers Briggs J-scale.   I like answers better than questions.  But maybe there’s something to be learned here from those first Christmas people.  And more importantly, from the God who invaded their world.

Amidst all the unanswered questions of our lives, there is one Big Answer.  What we don’t know, He does.  What we can’t control, He can.  Wherever our future takes us, He is there already.   It’s something BIG to celebrate in Advent.  A cause for great joy—yes, Joy!  Even in this Advent season of I-don’t-know.

Unlikely Thanks

I just returned from the North Central Hearts at Home conference in Rochester, Minnesota.  Loved it!   What could be better?  2750 moms.  Great speakers.  A hilarious improv comedy team.  The opportunity to speak to hundreds of moms in workshop sessions—and to speak with many face to face at our Mom to Mom table.   A chance to see my sweet husband “working” the table and telling lots of moms about what Mom to Mom meant to husbands—a first.  Thank you, Woody!

I always come home from such weekends with my head—and heart—full of stories.  Yes, lots of smiling moms and funny stories and good laughs.  But also stories of  hard places—very very hard places.  Stories of struggling kids and gasping marriages and leukemia and hospice and moms (yes, even moms) making bad decisions to leave families for old flames or imagined love.

Maybe that’s why the pilgrims on my dining room table are so important to me this week, this week before Thanksgiving.  The pilgrims belonged to Woody’s mom.  They were always on her dining room table.  Thanksgiving was Mom Anderson’s holiday.  Most years we traveled to spend it with her, especially in the years after Dad Anderson died.

Which brings me to what the pilgrims most remind me about.  It’s Psalm 34.  And it takes me back to one Fall many years ago when Woody’s dad was in the hospital for 9 weeks, dying by inches of a rare and never-diagnosed blood disease at the age of 52.  Every day, Mom drove from her home in the suburbs into Chicago to sit by his hospital bed all day long.  And nearly every day they read together a paraphrase of Psalm 34.  This paraphrase was read at Dad’s funeral.  That Christmas, we commissioned an artist friend to do a beautiful calligraphy of Psalm 34 which hung in Mom’s living room till she died.  Years later, the same paraphrase was read at her funeral—the day before Thanksgiving.

“I feel at times as if I can never cease praising God.  Come and rejoice with me over His goodness!”  That’s how the paraphrase starts.  An unlikely place to begin when you’re sitting by a hospital bed.  Or worrying about a sick child.  Or how you’ll make the money stretch to the end of the month.  An unlikely Thanksgiving Psalm.  But a good one.  A psalm for all seasons of life.  For all those twists and turns . . .

So I share it with you as my Thanksgiving Hymn this year.  I hope it can be yours, too.

I feel at times as if I can never cease praising God.

Come and rejoice with me over His goodness!

I reached for Him out of my inner conflicts,

and He was there to give me strength and courage.

I wept in utter frustration over my troubles,

and He was near to help and support me.

What He has done for me He can do for you.

Turn to Him; He will not turn away from you.

His loving presence encompasses those who yield to Him.

He is with them even in the midst of their troubles and conflicts.

He meets their emptiness with His abundance

and shores up their weakness with His divine power.

Listen to me.  I know whereof I speak.

I have learned from experience that this is the way to happiness.

God is ever alert to the cries of His children.

He feels and bears with them their pain and problems.

He is very near to those who suffer and reaches out

to help those who are battered down with despair.

Even the children of God must experience affliction,

But they have a loving God who will keep them and watch over them.

The godless suffers in loneliness and without hope;

The servant of God finds meaning and purpose

even in the midst of  his suffering and conflict.

From Psalms Now, by Leslie F. Brandt

Twists and Turns, Anyone?

Do you ever feel your life has just a few too many twists and turns in the plot?  With the devastation of SuperStorm Sandy on all our hearts and minds, I hesitate to write from the smaller stage of my life.  My prayers are continually with all those on the East Coast whose lives have been turned completely upside down.

But here on my homefront (and maybe yours?) the roller coaster of daily life is making me a little queasy.  More accurately, it’s giving me whiplash.  A house is sold—and then it’s not.  The schedule for the next few weeks looks under control—and then it’s upended by a conference cancellation, airline change fees, and unpredictable weather.   Yet another little boy in our family breaks a leg.  And unbelievably, this is Nils, the younger brother of Soren, who at almost exactly the same age broke his femur.  A long leg cast certainly does change things.  Throw in another jolt or too (try an inconclusive mammogram!)—and we’ve got ourselves a wild ride, ladies.

All of which has me living in Hebrews 12.  It’s a familiar place, this passage on a race and too much baggage and witnesses cheering us on.  Oh yes, and where we’re supposed to “fix our eyes.”    Hard to do on a roller coaster.  But all the more important, at least when the roller coaster is your life.

I’d be thinking of Hebrews 12 about now anyway.  Next weekend I’ll be speaking at the Hearts at Home conference in Rochester, Minnesota  (BTW, there’s still time to register—I hope I’ll see some of you there!)  One of my workshops, “In the Middle of the Muddle: What Matters and What Doesn’t,” focuses on Hebrews 12.  It’s a fabulous passage for moms—all that racing around.

But then there’s Hebrews 12:3, which talks about one huge benefit of fixing our eyes on Jesus:  “so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.”  Now there are 10 words to live on!  Did you know the words “we do not lose heart” also appear in 2 Corinthians—twice!  (2 Corinthians 4:1 and 2 Corinthians 4:16)   I learned that just last week when our Pastor spoke on 2 Corinthians 4.

So here I am, nursing my whiplash, hanging on for the ride—and thinking of all of you moms out there.  I’ll bet I’m not the only one experiencing a few too many twists and turns.  Life often feels out of control.  Maybe most of the time.  In fact, I know hardly anyone who would say life is turning out just as they’d expected.

Maybe it’s a good reminder that we’re not in control anyway.  And better yet, a great reminder of Who is.  When we fix our eyes on Him, it doesn’t necessarily prevent all the jolts.  But it does make for a different kind of ride.  And it helps us not lose heart.  Even those of us who are half-German first-borns who are high on the Myers-Briggs “J scale” and like peace and predictability.  Just in case there are any others of you out there!

Moms, Moms Everywhere

Moms, Moms Everywhere—that’s actually the title of a LifeWay webcast in which I participated recently  (to be aired today at noon (CDT),  Tuesday, September 18 and available at Lifeway Women Live).  But it’s also how I feel this time of year.

OK, so I see moms everywhere all year round.  But recently I’ve been particularly impressed by how much we moms need each other.  As the school year opens, I always hear (and sometimes see) the excitement of moms reconnecting at their Mom to Mom groups—or starting a new one.  This coming weekend I’ll be with hundreds of moms at the wonderful .Mom conference in Birmingham (I think you can still register!)  Then next month I’ll be in Colorado with loads of moms at the Hearts at Home conference in Colorado Springs.  And then in November with many more at Hearts at Home in Rochester, Minnesota.  Moms, Moms everywhere—and I love it!

But it’s not just at big conferences or even in Mom to Mom groups.  I see moms in our neighborhood, at the supermarket, at church, at the mall—really, everywhere I go.  They are old and young, biological moms and adoptive moms and foster moms and blended-family moms, grandmoms raising grandchildren—all kinds of moms.

But there’s a common theme.  I see it in their faces and body language and I hear it in their tone of voice.  Moms need encouragement.  Lots of encouragement.   Last week I spoke at a local Mom to Mom, and a conversation with one mom captured it.  It was this woman’s first time at Mom to Mom.  At the end, she stopped and talked with me.  She wanted to thank me for “doing this.”  She told me about her own mom, her husband and family, and how she was doing as a mom.  “I think I need spiritual mothering,” she said.  She went on to tell me why.  But she ended her conversation with this:  “Thank you. This has been so helpful.  I just feel so encouraged.”

Praise God!  Just want we want to do at Mom to Mom: encourage moms.  Just what the people who plan big mom-conferences want to do: encourage moms.  And just what every one of us can look to do in our own lives: encourage moms.  Whether you’re a new mom or an experienced mom with grown kids or grandkids, whether you are part of a moms’ group or not—wherever you live, whatever you do, there are moms everywhere around you that you can encourage.  With a smile.  With  a word of affirmation.  With a helping hand at the door of Walmart or the public  library.  With a meal to a sick mom.  Or, best of all, some spiritual encouragement: let a mom know you’ll pray for her (and DO it!), invite her into your moms’ group or Bible Study, or watch her kids when they’re sick so she can go to her Bible Study or moms’ group.

A challenge:  Look around you and look for a mom you can encourage—today.  It’s much-needed.  It’s fun.  And it’s Biblical: “So encourage one another daily…”  (Hebrews 3:13)   Do it!

And if any of you have some creative suggestions for encouraging moms, or can share an experience where you were encouraged by another mom—I’d love to hear from you!   Or,  if by chance you’re going to be in Birmingham September 21-22; in Colorado Springs October 12-13; or Rochester, Minnesota, November 9-10, come see me.  We can encourage each other!

Unusual Silence

Remember the son I mentioned having sent off to Kindergarten just yesterday---and now his son is off to his first day of Kindergarten?  Well, this son, Bjorn, also has a wife, our daughter-in-law Abby.  Today she sent me a beautiful and poignant email which I asked her permission to share with you.  So here it is, a first guest post from Abby Anderson:  "Unusual Silence."

______________________________________

I'm sitting in silence right now, unusual silence. This is the time of day the house is typically quiet, but today is different. Nils, he's napping peacefully upstairs...quiet, as usual. What brings the silence today is the absense of spontaneous songs from another room, the faint sounds of The Jesus Storybook bible being read on cd, crashing Legos in a dramatic battle, our Duplo bin being rummaged through, or the occasional "Mommy, I need to go potty" or "How much time is left in my rest time?" I've been pretty good all morning--only a few tears--but this quiet is hard for me.

I know this is one of many times I will be asked to let go of my kids. And I realize this may be one of the easiest "letting go's" I walk through (Soren is 1/4 mile down the road in a safe kindergarten class he loves, not asking for the keys to the car to go pick up friends for the night or hundreds of miles away at college or boarding a plane to visit a girl he loves, etc). Still, it's a letting go.

I keep coming back to the pain in childbearing blog Bjorn sent this week. I feel like my heart is experiencing "growing pains". As the boys grow, life changes, letting go is required, and I see that I need to inhale and exhale (in order to steady my anxious heart and practice trusting Him, whose they ultimately are anyways) and then push—push through the pain that brings sweet and good growth (in me and in Soren and Nils). Soren is growing up today of many days. He ate lunch today without me and Nils next to him. I think he'll love it, but goodness, it hurts for me. Even as frustrating as a meal time can be, battling the potty talk and reminding of good manners, I'm with him. Today, I wonder...did he eat alone? did he need help with his lunch and have someone to help him? did he talk to others? what did they talk about? I've exchanged 7 days of lunch with him a week to 2. That reality alone has caused me to ask the Lord, "Are you sure you don't want me to homeschool? Today, it sounds appealing." We feel quite confident that that is not the road the Lord has us on, but man, I can see the temptation in it for me—to avoid the pain in childbearing.

In all this change, pain, inhaling and exhaling today, I know that the Lord has His hand on Soren. I know that this is a wonderful and healthy step of growing up for Soren this year and beyond. I know I will treasure this school day time with Nils for the next couple of years. I feel sure that Soren will love school and learning and his teacher. So, I'm now being stretched to remind myself that these boys are not mine to hold on to; they are the Lord's! He is with Soren every moment of his day, even if I am not. He speaks wisdom and truth into his spirit in ways that I can't and now in times when I'm not there. He is Soren's protector, comforter, and peace. I am not. This is a good reminder for me today. In the letting go, I think I will pray more! I have to. They are the LORD'S! (I'm just going to keep telling myself that for the years to come and hope it sinks in!)

I think 3pm has just taken a new level of significance in my day. Soon, we'll walk down and pick him up and hear of his day.  I can't wait . . .

I better re-do my makeup before I see his teacher.  :-)

Back to School Thoughts on Motherhood as Spiritual Formation

The other day I was talking with one of our sons about a big moment coming up in his life: sending his first son off to kindergarten.  We reminisced about his own first day of Kindergarten, a day I will never forget.  There we were, both Woody and I (he had taken time off from work to come home and see Bjorn off) standing at the bus stop in the rain, waving through our tears.  I’m not sure that Bjorn was crying.  But we both were. Fast forward 13 years.  A long drive across 7 states and over 1000 miles to take him to college.  More rain.  More tears—lots of them. Windshield wipers going the whole way—both outside and inside. And a new realization:  This motherhood thing is even harder than I’d realized. One releasing after another.  And another.  And each releasing feels somehow physical.  There’s an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach that by now, many years later, has become familiar.

So just last week this same son (the one whose first son will soon be off to Kindergarten) sent me a link to an article posted on The Gospel Coalition blog entitled, “The Truth about Pain in Childbearing” by Jen Wilkin. I really resonate with her perspective.  I’ve always believed that parenting affords a unique opportunity for spiritual formation.  And this blogger sheds a great deal of light on why and how that is.

A favorite part: “Childbearing saves me because it faithfully (albeit painfully) reminds me over and over again that I am weak.  It reminds me that I am not self-sufficient, that I do not have what it takes to protect and preserve my children, but that my heavenly father does.  It saves me from the belief that I am God.”

I hope you’ll read the whole article.