Remembering Month

November is my remembering month.  I just realized that this morning.  I’ve always thought of November as my giving-thanks month.  How has it taken me so many years to realize how the two—remembering and giving thanks—are related?  

Remembering is everywhere this month.  Today I got out our Thanksgiving decorations.  When I unpack my favorites, the two pilgrims my mother-in-law always had on the Thanksgiving table when we visited,  my mind—and heart—are always flooded with memories.  

Woody and I are teaching a Sunday School class on Deuteronomy.  Here we find Moses’ final address to his (God’s!) people—one last chance to impress on them what really matters most. “Take to heart all the words I have solemnly declared to you . . . they are not just idle words . . . they are your life!” (Deuteronomy 32:46-47) 

And what are some of those words? “Remember,” Moses tells the people 16 times.  “Do not forget,” 6 more times.  Hm.  I guess he knew that, like us, his people were fast forgetters.  We need to be reminded to remember!

And what are we to remember?  Many things. But here’s a start:  

• Remember where you came from.  “Remember that you were slaves in Egypt.”  Five times (at least) Moses reminds the people of their past.
• Remember how you got where you are.  Over and over Moses reminds the people of how God led them out of Egypt with a mighty hand, with signs and wonders and divine drama, to bring them to the land He chose for them.
• Remember where you’re going.  They’re headed for a place God Himself chose and will provide for them.
• Remember Who goes with you.  “Be strong and courageous.  Do not be afraid or terrified . . . for the Lord your God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Deuteronomy 31:6)

So what does all this have to do with us?  Everything!  What a difference it would make in cultivating a grateful heart if we remembered 

• where we were “before God/without God,”
• Who it is who found us and redeemed us and gave us Life,
• where it is we are ultimately headed, and
• Who goes with us every step of the way.

Common denominator?  GOD.  God in our past.  God in our present.  God in our future. 

Recently we were singing with two of our grandsons as we put them to bed.  We sang the requested hymn: “Amazing Grace.”   When we finished,  Nils, who had selected this song, looked up at Woody and asked:  “Farfar?" (our grandchildren’s name for Woody, which means “father’s father” in Swedish) “Who was lost?”  After a brief discussion about John Newton and his life and conversion with this 4-year-old and his 7-year-old brother, Nils thought for a while and then said, “Oh, I get it.  ‘Lost’ means he was bad and then Jesus found him.”  

Lost.  And found!  Something to remember.  Reason indeed for gratitude.  For the Israelites—and for us.   

When the Garage Door Goes Down . . .

It’s that time of year again. Everyone is busy, busy, busy. Schools have started. Churches have launched “Vision Sunday.”  Fall programs are beginning. Calendars are filling up. And everyone—especially moms—seems to be on the run.

Lives look full to overflowing. We’re connected all over the place. Not just through our smartphones, but right here in our communities—through the classroom, the gym, the coffee shop, the carpool. Or are we?  

When the garage door goes down . . . well, maybe not so much. I suspect—in fact, I’m quite convinced—there’s a lot of loneliness amidst all this busyness. A lot of emptiness on the other side of that garage door. Oh, I know, I know, folks are connected all over the world via the internet: texting, tweeting, emailing, posting statuses, checking Instagram. We’re overconnected, if anything.

But are we, really?  Who knows when you’re hurting via Facebook?  Who brings a meal when your kids are sick and you just had a miscarriage?  Who sees—across the internet—the tears that lie just below the surface when you talk about missing your family?  Who hears the pause in your voice when you’re asked how your kids are adjusting to school this year?

It can be pretty quiet on the other side of that garage door. A couple of statistics our pastor quoted Sunday back up my suspicions: one in four Americans say they have no one to talk to about their joys and sorrows.  One in four!  One in two say that, outside of family, they have no one to turn to in time of need. Yes, that’s half.

So . . . why do we need Mom to Mom? Why do the leaders need it just as much as the member moms? Why do we need to be on the lookout in our neighborhoods, on our playgrounds, and in our churches for people who, though they look busy busy busy,  are feeling lonely on the inside—and maybe a little scared?

It reminds me of a church we visited when we had just moved to a new part of the country. There was a shelf labeled “For lost and lonely Bibles.”  How about lost and lonely people, I wondered?  Or how about folks just needing a listening ear, a shared laugh, a word of encouragement, a helping hand, or just someone to walk alongside?  Where do they go? 

To Mom to Mom, I hope.  At least some of them. If they get invited.  

So this Fall, instead of just assuming all those busy busy people around you have all the community and support they need, take a chance.  Invite them to come along with you to Mom to Mom.  Or tell them about the group at your church.  Or invite your neighbors in for coffee.  Or a book club.  Or a Bible Study.  Extend a hand through that garage door. Then stand back and watch what God will do.

A New Favorite

cindy-livethesewordscover

As soon as I began reading, I knew it was going to be a new favorite.  My friend Lucinda Secrest McDowell (known to me as Cindy) had asked me to read her new book in manuscript form and possibly endorse it.  Knowing Cindy and her writing, I knew I would like the book.  I just didn’t know I would love it — and eagerly read it again as soon as it was published.  And now, a third time . . .

Live These Words: An Active Response to God captivated me, first, because I love words.  And the words in this book are powerful because they are not only Cindy’s words, but words from God and from a wide range of great “fathers and mothers of the faith,” both ancient and contemporary.   Each of the 40 short chapters focuses on one action word (come/trust/wait/hope/pour) and is based on one verse of Scripture.  A great start.  

But each chapter also includes wonderful quotes—wise and penetrating words from folks as diverse as Pooh and Piglet to St. Anselm and Teresa of Avila to Frederick Buechner and Richard Foster and Ann Voskamp.  And each chapter ends with a prayer, again from a wide variety of sources.  The prayers alone are worth the price of the book.

Cindy’s own words are also very real. She shares from her own life with a transparency that welcomes us to walk alongside. And her words are full of grace:

“I spent half a lifetime trying to do enough for God. Enough that He would love me, accept me, and find me worthy to share in His Kingdom work.  But I could never quite get it right. . . . Many years ago, God took me through a ‘grace tutorial’—teaching me how to accept grace as His free gift, one that I can never earn and never lose.”

She shares that gift with her readers. 

This is a book for both contemplatives (or would-be contemplatives—who of us really get there?) and activists.  Frederick Buechner observed: “The magic of words is that they have power to do more than convey meaning; not only do they have the power to make things clear, they make things happen.”  (This is the first quote in the book—and one of my favorites. How can you not love a book that begins with a Buechner quote?)  Live These Words helps make things happen.  Each chapter motivates us to action by including some practical suggestions and exercises for giving feet to our words—and more importantly, His Words.

So this is a book for both Marys and Marthas.  And a good book for moms and leaders of moms with limited time.  Each chapter is short and self-contained.  Great devotional reading—or a perfect book to stash in your bag and pull out while waiting for car pool kids to finish a practice or at a doctor’s office.

Live these Words: a new favorite, a new challenge.  Thank you, Cindy! 

Random Tips on Summer Fun (thanks to my grandkids!)

#1 Playdough in PJ’s is a super way to start the day.

#2  A closet makes a great craft and coloring room.

#3  Even Chuck E. Cheese can be a bonding experience.

#4  Kids of all ages love stories.

#5  Everyone needs a little glam in their life.

#6  Touching the nose is a good way to get acquainted.

#7  There’s nothing like Oreo cream-filled donuts to cheer you up.

#8  Cousins play hard and stick together.

 

#9 Ice cream is essential.

#10  Silly families are the best.

Thankful for a July of “glorious chaos” at our house.  Here’s wishing all of you a Happy Summer!

Chairs: A Father's Legacy

Chair

I opened my Daily Light devotional earlier this week, and there it was: The Date: June 9.  

My father’s birthday.  He would have been 100, had he lived to celebrate it on this earth.  How much better—for him at least—to celebrate in heaven.

Suddenly I couldn’t read another word in my devotional.  My eyes filled, and I was flooded with memories.  Pictures, actually.  

The first picture that came to mind was Dad kneeling at his prayer chair in our tiny living room in the house where we lived when I was a little girl.  Like him, I was always an early riser.  When I woke and tiptoed out of my room, he was always there first in the living room, kneeling as he did before his Lord at the beginning of every day.  I don’t think he ever referred to a “prayer chair.”  It was just the way I always thought of it.

Come to think of it, I often picture his life in chairs.  Ironic, really, since he was perhaps the hardest-working man I ever knew.  A college professor, an interim pastor, a writer, even a sometimes gardener (having grown up on a farm, he actually didn’t like gardening so much; but it was a way to make ends meet to grow as much of our food as possible, so Saturdays often found him—and me!—working in a vegetable garden plot provided by Wheaton College to help professors supplement their meager salaries).  He was always on the move.

But still, there were the chairs.  Some years after the prayer chair, there was the chair he sat in on those early mornings when I was in sixth grade.  We lived in a parsonage next to the church where he served as interim pastor while writing a textbook on the Old Testament.  Mornings were his best writing time, and since the piano teacher I then studied with required 3 hours of practice a day, Dad and I would make our way over to the church at 5 AM many a weekday morning so he could write in the study and I could get an hour of practice in on the piano at the church.  I can still see the chair he sat in.

Then there was the chair he kept across from his desk in the home study he had in a subsequent home.  When my brother or I bounded up the stairs at the end of a school day, Dad was almost always there working at his desk, his classes over for the day, writing or studying.  The study door was always open.  It was clearly intentional.  I knew he was hoping David or I would pop in and talk about our day—which we usually did.

In his latter years he and Mom moved to a beautiful condo in Florida where they eagerly awaited visits from their now grown-up kids.  I can see the chair he sat in during the last conversation I had with him, just before the opening of a major new chapter for Mom to Mom.  After years of experience with publishers, he savored every detail about the publication process that was underway.  Always, always interested in his kids.  Always wanting to listen.  Always praying for us . . . and for every one of his grandkids.  In fact, that same listening chair doubled as a prayer chair when he and Mom prayed together every morning. One of my favorite memories is the mornings I got to join them when visiting.

Toward the end of his life he spent more and more time (when he wasn’t swimming or playing tennis—I told you he was always on the move!) in his favorite rocking chair, which he positioned so he could see the sunset out over the water on lovely Florida evenings.  This quaint antique rocker now sits in our lower level family room. Most of the time it sits silent these days, a quiet reminder of the importance of chairs. And of fathers who take make time for their children—both to sit and listen, and to kneel and pray.

Happy Father’s Day to every one of those fathers!  

Generational Wealth

“We will tell the next generation . . .”  Our pastor alluded to it last Sunday.  I re-read it this week in Psalm 78.  And I saw it in action recently in a Mom to Mom group where I spoke.

You could call it “generational wealth.”  I’ve heard the term used in the context of legacy giving and non-profit donations: inherited wealth passed on generation to generation.  Churches and charities love it.   

But the generational wealth I’m talking about is far richer than the largest donation, the greatest bequest.  The Psalmist expands on it in Psalm 78:3-7:

“. . . what we have heard and known,

what our fathers [and mothers] have told us

We will not hide them from our children

We will tell the next generation

The praiseworthy deeds of the Lord

His powers and the wonders He has done . . .

So the next generation would know them,

Even the children yet to be born,

And they in turn would tell their children.

Then they would put their trust in God. . . .”

It’s the Titus 2 principle, on which Mom to Mom was founded, fleshed out.  And I saw a wonderful example of it in a precious Mom to Mom group in Meredith, NH.  Four generations in Mom to Mom: Titus 2 leaders Mini and her daughter Mary, Mom to Mom member Carrie (Mary’s daughter) with her daughter Rose.  It was a first, for me, to meet four generations of one family in Mom to Mom.

In that same morning there were many memorable interactions with women about “real mom” life: particularly challenging children; grown kids in crisis; marriages that died—some brought back to life again by our resurrecting Lord, some still dead but with daily strength supplied by that same Lord.  And then there was the mom who wrote this in a note to me: [Mom to Mom] has inspired me to trust in the hope of Christ for those in my family who are still unsaved.  I also have faith that God will redeem the years that the locust has eaten—from all the mistakes I have made in raising my children.”     Can’t we all say “Amen” to that?!

A precious gift given to me summed up the morning.  One mom had painted on a beautiful plate a verse I had alluded to in their last session (Session 16 of Growing Together).  This same mom had several years ago painted Mom to Mom sayings on her bathroom walls—the only place she got to sit down in those days!  No, she didn’t present me with a piece of the wall.  But the verse on the plate captures it:

Generational wealth: Pass it on!

Images courtesy of Susan Brown. Used with permission.

In His Hands

“Mommy, when you were a little girl, I was nowhere.”  (My 5-year-old granddaughter to her mother.)

“That’s true.  God hadn’t made you yet.”

“Yeah . . .  I was in His hands.”

In His hands.  Another lesson from the lips of a child.

In His hands.  A place I woke up thinking about this morning.  A place I need to be.  A place I am, actually, all the time.  But I need reminding.

I need reminding when life feels uncertain.  When I feel unsteady.  When other people’s hands break away—or were never there in the first place.

When I am scared, when I am lonely, when I am uncertain of the next step, when life feels wobbly, when I can’t seem to see farther than 6” in front of my face . . . what do God’s hands do for me?

These huge, strong hands that shaped and formed me from the beginning—when I was “nowhere.”  These warm, strong hands hold me.  Guide me. Steady me.  Lead me.  Mold me.  Lift me.

The same granddaughter, yesterday, in Belfast, Northern Ireland, where we are visiting, comes running in from the circle where she’s been riding her bike with her friends.  She’s crying inconsolably.

“What’s wrong, Gabriella?”

“I want to do something.  But I can’t.  Because I’m so scared.”

Warm Nana hands reach out and lift her to my lap.  Loving arms enfold her while she pours out her story of wanting to take the “stabilizers” (training wheels) off her bike but being too scared . . .  She cries and talks and cries and talks . . . And then she runs back out to Daddy’s hands to give it another try.

I think of the hands of God.  And how we—and our children—need to be reminded of them.  I hope you feel His grip today.   

A Lenten Lesson from a Four-Year-Old

It’s a dark and stormy Friday night.  We’re driving through thunderstorms and heavy traffic to visit The Boston Children’s Museum with our two grandsons, Soren (7) and Nils (4).  It’s taking a lo-o-ong time, and the boys remind us of this regularly.  We make conversation about all manner of things, some of it focusing on the recent Olympics and how amazing some of those athletes are.

Out of the blue (as is the way of children), Nils pipes up: “But when I grow up, I want to be Jesus!”  There is silence in the car as we ponder this stunning statement.  Four adults—two parents and two grandparents—process the theology.  We are at a temporary loss for words.

But not Soren.  Soren, you see, is never at a loss for words.  He feels a sense of responsibility, as the older, very grounded-in-reality big brother, to help Nils stay better connected with reality. Nils has a wonderfully wild imagination, complete with “camo-friends” who attend the University of New Hampshire, live underground, and camouflage themselves when adults approach but reveal themselves only to Nils.   You see the situation.

“But Nils,” Soren corrects emphatically, “ you can’t actually BE Jesus.  You know that, right?  You can’t really BE Jesus!”

I’m still processing the conversation.  (Nana minds are slower than 7-year-old minds.}   An interesting theological dilemma.  Of course we know the uniqueness of Jesus, the One and Only Son of God. But aren’t we supposed to be in the process of becoming more and more like Him?  What is that verse about being more and more “conformed to the likeness of His Son”? (Romans 8:29 NIV) There seems to be an “already in process” and a “not yet” aspect here.  I’m grateful for the future promise: “But we know that.when He appears, we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is.” (I John 3:2)

In the meantime, we are called, are we not, to become more and more like Him. How does this happen? A question far beyond this humble blog post. But a question I think it’s good to ask during this Lenten season.

As I ponder the challenge, two observations:

1. We become like the people we hang out with.  Becoming more and more like Jesus is, at least for me, a lifetime challenge.  But odds are that more progress is made as I spend more time with Him.
2. Becoming more like Jesus seems to have a lot to do with seeing Him—actually seeing Him.  I think of  Mary’s dazzling cry on Easter morning: “I’ve seen the Lord!” (John 20:18)

My prayer for us all as Holy week approaches is that we may we see Him with new eyes, bask in the reality of His presence in our everyday ordinary lives, and live with this future hope:

As for me, I will see Your face in righteousness; I shall be satisfied when I awake in Your likeness.  (Psalm 17:15 NKJV)

No Greater Joy

I went to the funeral of a great man this past Saturday.  George F. Bennett lived a long life, dying at the age of 102.   He was a financial genius, known in his time as one of the most successful figures in Boston money management. He was a deeply devoted Christian. He (along with a small group) founded a church and was very committed to Christian education and camping. He served as Treasurer for both Harvard University and The Billy Graham Evangelistic Association and was asked by two different administrations to serve as U.S. Secretary of the Treasury (though he declined both invitations). He was a director of numerous diverse boards, from Ford Motor Company to Gordon-Conwell Seminary, to name two.  He left a gigantic footprint on the world of finance, higher education, Christian camping, missions… and the list goes on.  He was, in some ways, larger than life. He and his wife, Helen, were my parents’ best friends.  I first met them when I was in fifth grade, and I’ve loved them ever since.

But why am I writing about George Bennett here?  Because of what I both saw and heard about what mattered most to this giant of a man during his long life.

What I saw: The front rows of the packed church filled with his family—sons and their wives, grandchildren and their spouses, and many great-grandchildren.  Most all of them (perhaps all—only God truly knows these things) are following Jesus, living out the faith George Bennett so longed to nurture.  His legacy lives on.

What I heard: The verse the pastor honed in on was III John 4: “I have no greater joy than to know my children are walking in the truth.”   It was the one thing his pastor ever heard him boast of—that his children and their children were walking with the Lord.  It was what mattered most to him in all the world—not only for his own family, but for those who attended the church he founded, the Christian schools and camps he supported, and anyone else he had the privilege of influencing

Children walking in the truth.  It made me think of Mom to Mom.  Of all of you—young moms to Titus 2 Leaders—who yearn, along with me, for this to be our legacy.  We may not run investment companies or direct large corporations or be asked to serve in the U.S Cabinet.  But we share this man’s goal: that our children may walk in God’s truth.

How does this goal get accomplished?  Only by the grace of God.  And hours—and years—on our knees.  We mothers definitely wear out our knee-pads!

But along the way, I hope we can all share the one trait of Mr. Bennett that most endeared him to our family: his playfulness and sense of humor.  He was just plain fun to be with, always ready with a funny story or a tale of a long-ago practical joke.  Our kids remember him as the generous sharer of “Mr. Bennett’s beach” (when we vacationed on neighboring Cape Cod property) as well as “the man who loved cheeseballs.”  When we ate our picnic lunch at his beach, he knew we often had junk food, and he would often just “happen by” to see if we had his favorite, cheeseballs (remember those gooey bright orange delicacies full of saturated fats?).   “Now you don’t need to tell Mrs. Bennett about this,” he would say with a twinkle in his eye as he polished off his last treat.

Our son Lars said it best: “There was always a childlikeness about him.”  Maybe because he didn’t take himself too seriously.  Maybe because he knew Who was really in charge, no matter how powerful some humans might appear.  Maybe he just knew how to live out Dorothy Sayers’ observation that Christians can laugh better, because they know the end of the story and don’t have to be so worried about how it will all turn out.

Maybe it was all a part of his passing on the legacy of walking in truth.  For those of us still working toward our legacy, I bet he’d agree:  You gotta keep laughing—and you gotta keep praying.  The rest?  Leave it in God’s good hands.  He’s on it.

Five DOs and DON’Ts for Desperate Days

Three things happened last week.  We turned our calendars to March. (Could spring be just around the corner?)  Media weather forecasts were abuzz with the latest storm blasting across the country.  (More snow, sleet, ice, and general misery—not sounding much like spring!)  And I spoke to a group of moms who were winter-weary. ("Please help!  I love my kids, but they’re driving me crazy.  What’s wrong with me?") So I shared with these moms a few DOs and DON'Ts that have helped me through some desperate days (winter or not—just life!).  I share them with all of you with my prayers that you will feel HIS strength in your weakness, whatever level of desperate you may be feeling, weather-related or not.

 Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who are of a fearful heart, “Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God . . . He will come and save you.”  (Isaiah 35:3–4 NRSV)