Desperate

The word "desperate" comes to mind often these days. There are a number of reasons.

This winter’s weather, for many of you. It seems there’s a new storm on the way every few days. Every plan made feels subject to cancellation, and I see a lot of moms in supermarkets with that desperate look in their eyes.

Then there are the conversations with my daughter, whose two-year-old is being very two. And it’s wearing his mother down. Yep. Desperate. That would describe many a day with that charming little whirlwind of a boy. And his two sisters.

In the midst of this long winter for weary moms, I’m preparing to speak at a local Mom to Mom. They haven’t met for a month now. Three “snow days” bled into school vacation week, and I suspect there are more than a few moms feeling desperate.

All of this—and much more—is why I’m so glad Sally Clarkson and Sarah Mae Hoover wrote Desperate: Hope for the Mom Who Needs to Breathe.

Sarah Mae is a young mom with three small children and Sally is an older (or should I say more experienced?) mom with four grown children. Each chapter begins with an exchange of notes in which Sarah is looking for help on a particular issue or with a particular stage of her parenting. Sally is able to provide hope from “on up the road apiece.” I like the dual perspective.

If you are a young mom—or an older mom—or if you know a young mom or an older mom, you really should get this book. Here’s why:

• It’s real. Sarah’s descriptions of mom-feelings, beginning with the introductory “I can’t be a mother today, Lord. I’m just too tired,” are honest, authentic, and written from the heat of the battle. They help moms sigh with relief: “Phew! I’m not the only mom who feels this way.”
• It recognizes the depths to which being a mom can sometimes send us. Sarah has struggled with depression, and she writes about it with raw authenticity. And Sally responds with heartfelt encouragement both practical and Scriptural.
• It reminds us how much we moms need each other. We were not meant to do this mom-job alone. God knew what He was doing when He provided the Titus 2:3-5 model of older women teaching and encouraging the young women. It is the heart of our small groups at Mom to Mom, and I love the one-on-one example of this which Sally and Sarah provide.
• It points us Godward. Rather than providing parenting formulas or models of mothering perfection, Sally gently and wisely steers Sarah away from perfectionistic mom-models back to our Perfect and All-Powerful God. She encourages Sarah to trust her own God-given instincts about herself and her family, relying on His Word and His power and help and strength rather than searching for the perfect parenting formula.

One caveat: I am so grateful for the transparency with which the very real problem of depression is addressed. And Sally’s responses to Sarah are full of empathy as well as practical and Scriptural encouragement. But I wish they had been clearer about the need for professional help in some cases. Moms need to draw on a wide range of resources for this very prevalent problem, and I wouldn’t want moms who need this kind of help to miss it.

Bottom line: This book lives up to its subtitle: “Hope for the Mom who Needs to Breathe.” Read it. And breathe.

What Do Your Kids Hear Mommy Say This Thanksgiving?

A little girl was helping her mother as she bustled around in a frenzy getting ready to serve dinner to a large group of guests.  When they finally sat down to eat, the mother asked the little girl to say grace. “But I don’t know what to say,” the child protested.

“Oh, honey, just say what you hear Mommy say.”

“OK. Mommy: Dear God, why on earth did I invite all these people to dinner?”

Sounds like me—or you, perhaps?—in that moment of total exhaustion when we drop into our seats after preparing a big meal.  And all the more so if you’ve cooked Thanksgiving dinner!

At this super-busy time of year, it’s all too easy for November to pass us by on the way to December.  Even our kids pick up on the November-December craziness (read my recent guest post at “Pass the Bread, Mom”).  Yet November offers us an opportunity we don’t want to miss: to cultivate gratitude—in ourselves and in our kids.

Thankful hearts do not come naturally in this “all about me” culture.  An “attitude of gratitude” needs to be both taught—and caught.  Of course that’s true all year round,  but making November your “thankful month” is a great way to start.

How often do your kids hear you express thanks throughout the day?  In one of our kids’ homes, they set a timer on their phones several times a day.  When the timer goes off, everyone stops a moment to name one thing they’re thankful for.

Two of our grandkids have a “thankful tree,” (described in my guest post at “Pass the Bread”).   Last weekend when Woody and I were with them, we got to add some of our own leaves.  And I noticed that just walking by the tree throughout the day became a constant reminder to me: Give thanks, Linda!

What am I most thankful for this Thanksgiving?  First: Our Great God, Who in His mercy, love, and grace has given us all the reason in the world to give thanks.  What did G.K. Chesterton say?   “The worst moment for an atheist is when he feels a profound sense of gratitude and has no one to thank.”

And second: The gift of watching parents cultivate in their kids (especially when they’re our grandkids!) a thankful heart.

Happy Giving-of-Thanks to all of you!

Coming Home

Was it Mark Twain who said it?  “Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”  For those of you visiting this blog in recent months, you must have wondered: What ever became of Linda Anderson?  Did she die?  Or run away from home?  Or simply succumb to irreversible writer’s block? None of the above.  But what did happen to her?  Well, a lot.

First, we finally sold our house in Wisconsin—after 14 months on the market.  We moved cross-country to a cozy little Boston-area condo.   Soon after, family came in from Ireland, Florida, and New Hampshire.  We began making memories in our new home.  Much rejoicing and praising God!

In mid-summer we got to “parent” our two little New Hampshire grandsons while their parents were away.   The week ended with a bang—literally.   A terrifying collision with a deer, especially scary because we had our two precious grandsons in the back seat.    But, praise God, we were all uninjured.  The car was totaled, but we are all whole, and still praising God for His hand of protection on us.

August and September brought two new “little women” into our lives.  Evangeline Linnea Cronin in Ireland—and, 6 weeks later in Florida, Annika Joy Anderson.  Lots of frequent flyer miles required—but such fun getting to know these precious little ladies.  More praising God.

So now we are home again.  After 10 years in Wisconsin, we have returned to the place that feels most like home for us (on this earth, that is): New England, where we’ve spent 30 of the 45 years of our marriage.  This is where we raised our children, and where we dug deep roots in church, in a community, in a Bible study. We are grateful—and, you guessed it, praising God.

Thomas Wolfe famously titled a book You Can’t Go Home Again. We’re finding that observation both true—and untrue.    The “home” to which we return is a different house.  In a different town.  And we are different people than we were 10 years ago.  We are writing a new chapter, in a new season.  We don’t yet know most of the words.

But God . . . He is the Same.   And He is the author of this new chapter.  We are eager to see what He will write.  The unknown can be a little scary.  But, as the sign on my desk reminds me, “You need not fear the future, for I am already there.”  (See Sarah Young, Jesus Calling, September 30) In the meantime, it’s good to be home.

And it’s good to be back to blogging.  For those of you who didn’t completely give up on me—thanks for coming back .  I have a lot more to share—both about Mom to Mom and from my life.  So stay tuned.

A Hug from God Every Wednesday

This week I got to do one of my favorite things.  I went to an end-of-year Celebration Brunch at a nearby church and listened as moms shared about their year in Mom to Mom.

It’s that time of year—and I love it!  Many Mom to Mom groups use their last meeting of the year to hear from women in the group about how God has met them in this year.  Sometimes I’m lucky enough to hear from these moms face-to-face.  Sometimes I get emails from moms in groups around the country.  But all the time there is a common theme: “God met me here.”

Yesterday I listened as one woman told of how God had changed her this year through Mom to Mom.  Changed her marriage.  Changed her perspective on what it means to build a Christian home.  Helped her prepare for the birth of their first baby.  (Yes, she came to Mom to Mom while pregnant with her first child in order to prepare to be a mom!)

Another mom told of how her group kept a prayer journal together.  How it had gotten her through this year to keep in touch with prayer requests by email even when she had sick kids and couldn’t make it to Mom to Mom.  Another told an amazing story of God’s healing in the life of her precious newborn as she was surrounded by the care and prayers of her group. The baby’s doctor said: “You know I am an atheist.  But I have to say this is a miracle.”

Another told of how hard it had been to learn of her child’s multiple food allergies; but God had “arranged” her group so that there were others with similar challenges that could walk alongside her.  Yet another told how she had modified her career plans and arranged her schedule to be at Mom to Mom.  “Tell your friends ‘You need to arrange your life to be here.  It’s that important.’”

There was a common theme summed up by one mom who said, “I’ve come to think of Mom to Mom as ‘the sisterhood of motherhood.’”  She was followed by a mom who shared a heart-wrenching story of her miscarriage at 19 weeks.  It happened on a Tuesday.  And she was at Mom to Mom the next day to be loved and prayed for by women who understood—not only in that day, but through the days and weeks that followed.  “It was like a hug from God every Wednesday.”

This group of moms has organized themselves to stay in touch over the summer.  They have a Facebook group of 77 families who try to stay connected.  They know they need each other.  One mom from another MTM group told of a time she was out pushing her twins on a desperation walk at the witching hour against a whipping wind.   Another mom drove by, rolled down her window and said, “It will get better.”  A message we all need to hear.

So I write this today as a salute to all the moms who come to Mom to Mom, and to all the amazing Titus 2 leaders who faithfully love and serve these moms.  We need each other! But we need God even more. A verse keeps coming to me from the Psalmist: “Where can I go to meet with God?”  Many places, of course.  But thank God that Mom to Mom is one of the best!

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.