Redeeming Grace

When the Holy Spirit prodded me to share this story.....ten years ago.....I said, "You want me to what?  Um, no, it's been ten years, and that's behind me now."  When God grabs hold, though, no isn't an option, even if it takes ten years.  When God began using my 7 experience to transform me last year, I prayed that He would use my blog for His glory.  If God chooses to use my writing as a ministry then I need to be prepared to be up front and not hide behind a facade of hypocrisy.  I am tired of pretending like I have never stumbled.  I have fallen down been broken and bruised then pasted a got-it-all-together grin on my face and never looked back.  Opening yourself up is scary, terrifying, actually, but I hear the Holy Spirit gently saying, "I can't use you if you're not honest, if you're hiding, because the person you can minister to the most might benefit from hearing your story of wrecking and MY story of redemption."  My prayer is that He uses this post to speak tenderly into the ear of a beloved and remind her, "There is NOTHING that can separate you from my love....nothing."

A few weeks ago a guest pastor at my church challenged us to really search the Bible and catch a glimpse of who God really is on the pages of scripture. So, I pulled out my bible a few days later and opened to the first verse of Genesis, eager to receive a fresh glimpse of my Father.  I read to about Genesis 3 when I was struck by God's reaction to Adam and Eve's transgression in the Garden of Eden.  No, I didn't find His reaction to their sin surprising, but what I found stunning was that God made them coverings before He expelled them from the garden.  After they had just breached His trust and condemned mankind to death, God, knowing that Adam and Eve were now aware of their nakedness, made them clothing. This verse struck me as a tender image of God showing love despite, I imagine, disappointment and frustration.  I had probably read that verse hundreds of times, but because I was searching to see the character and love of God, I read it differently that day.

If you had asked me as a child to draw my image of God, I would have drawn a scowling judge, pointing a reprimanding finger, scolding my disobedience.  I'm not sure why; my parents showered my siblings and me with unlimited unconditional love, but somewhere along the way, I began to see God as someone I had to please to receive love.  I eagerly followed Christ, but my relationship with Him centered more on performance than grace.  Christianity became a game of rules.  Those who kept the rules won and those who didn't lost.  I was in it to win and rules I could handle.  The list of dos and don'ts brought this overachieving people-pleaser security.  It was much less scary than making myself vulnerable to a true relationship with the Creator of the universe, or so I thought.

When I arrived at my large university, I was still playing the game, still jumping through hoops to please a warped image of God that I had created in my mind.  I was also perched in an ivory tower of smug self-righteousness, looking down on all those poor souls at this large partying institution, those folks who just couldn't get with the program.  I was also drowning in a sea of insecurity, unsure what I wanted to do with my life, and feeling the pressure I placed on myself to achieve perfection in every area of my life.   One day, when the enemy whispered, "Go ahead, what will it hurt?" I decided, fed up with doing it God's way,  that I, too, wanted to be pretty, popular, and part of the crowd.  I had grown weary of standing on the outside looking in, so I accepted an invitation to a party and took my first real drink.  I justified it by patting myself on the back for waiting until just months before my twenty-first birthday to consume alcohol.  What followed was a downward spiral into a struggle with alcohol that would last for years.

Suddenly, I became the stumbling drunk girl on the strip that I had pitied my first three years on campus.  Lest you think that I allowed anyone who "mattered" to see me blemished and dirty, not a chance.  No matter how late I arrived home on Saturday night, I polished myself up and attended church every Sunday morning.  I was desperate, desperate to stop the cycle.  Drink, party, repent, drink, party, repent.  I hosted Bible studies in my apartment, anything to earn my forgiveness.  I will spare the details, but it became the loneliest, most miserable fight of my life because my foolish pride forced me to hide in the shadows and battle alone.  Fortunately, we can't hide from God, and He reached into the pit and pulled me out and began to teach me what grace and His love are all about. Praise God! 

Last week, when everyone was so up in arms about Miley Cyrus, my heart actually broke for her.  I could have been one bad decision away from dancing on stage intoxicated with giant teddy bears.  Before my experience, sure, I had sinned, but in my mind, they were minor infractions.  You see, though, all of us who follow Christ were bought at a price.  His blood was shed for all of our sins.  We justify our sin as not as bad as someone else's, but your sin cost just as much blood as the murderer and thief.  Even as I write this, I want to explain that my experience was just like so many others I met on campus, but there is no justification. My sin felt worse because I covered it up with more hypocrisy than any Pharisee.  Paul said he was the chief among sinners, but keep in mind, he wrote that before I was born.  What God has shown me very recently as I've wrestled with Him over this and over the fact that I've been forgiven for my past transgressions is that while I've repented of my behavior, I never repented for my hypocrisy until now.  We still had work to do on this. 

Through my whole college and early adult process, Jesus taught me the ugliness and hideousness of my sin; he helped me grasp this so we could move forward in our relationship.  Some of you may be saying, "Big deal, kids will be kids. College students drink all the time."  Sin is clearly defined in the Bible, and nothing justifies grieving the Holy Spirit.  Others may be saying, "What?  You fake."  While I want to address everyone I love and respect, I'm writing this for you dear prodigals who have never had the courage to talk about your stumbles because, like me, you were afraid your Christian friends would no longer accept you if they ever discovered the mistakes you made.  If that's true, dear me, what gospel are we preaching?  

Why am I sharing this?  Other than the fact that I feel very led by Christ to do so.  Because maybe there is one person out there who needs to hear this, who needs to know that we're all broken in some way.  While I don't believe God ever desires for us to fall into a lifestyle of carnality, I do think it's possible that He allows us to pass through the fire to refine us.  Please do not misunderstand, I am not saying it was God's will for me to disobey, but I do think when we're most broken, His love is most beautiful.  Before when I read the story of the prodigal, it was just a nice parable about a young man I could never relate to, foolishly squandering his father's inheritance. The big brother, well, there's a guy I could get behind.  Now, that story resonates.  We crawl back broken, hopeless, and fallen, and God doesn't wag a finger of reprimand in our face.  He lifts us from our pit, dusts us off, and celebrates our return.  Praise God at the mere thought of His mercy and love!  

I've always loved Beth Moore because I relate to her own prodigal story, and I admire her willingness to share it with others as a ministry.  Maybe, I'm sharing this because God is preparing me for something through my writing or teaching.  I don't know.  In my career, I often work with girls who are insecure, who are looking in the wrong places for affirmation; maybe God needed to know I was willing to share my story of brokenness and redemption before I could be trusted to minister to others.  Maybe I've been hiding a testimony that can help others heal. How can I serve Jesus and help the broken if I don't allow anyone to see my own brokenness?  As my sister beautifully reminded me, God's power is made perfect in our weakness.  Maybe someone needs to know that the Hound of Heaven doesn't give up.  If pouring myself out like a drink offering draws someone closer to Him then so be it.  Jesus was broken for us; as His disciples, what makes us think we can escape being broken and humbled and exposed for the sake of the gospel. 

While I was just fine keeping this all to myself, I feel that God wasn't.  I finally see that He didn't deliver me from my struggle with alcohol simply for my own sake.  He is giving me an opportunity to share hope with others, so for all you dear women who've messed up along the way and hide in the shame of your sin, please know that God's grace, God's mercy, the blood of the Lamb who was slain covers that sin when you repent and turn to Him, truly turn to the God of love that He truly is.  You are beautiful, your are redeemed, you are restored.  

In the ten years since, God has blessed me with so much: an amazing husband who came along at the exact right time, two beautiful children, a fulfilling career, but He's also allowed me to wrestle, to question, to struggle with my past and with my need for affirmation and with my need to earn His approval.  He's teaching me that He loves me no matter what.  There are days I replay what might have been if I had said no and fled from temptation, but I'm gently reminded that through my faith in Christ, He's redeeming my past and hopefully, using my story to bring Him glory.  I cannot change the past, but I can choose to believe God is who He says He is and loves as He says He loves to believe that it applies to me and that I'm not the only person alive who's exempt from His promises.  Now, when I think about God, I see Jesus, stooping down and gently lifting my chin and saying, "I love you.  I take great delight in you; in my love, I will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing." (Zep 3:17)  

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Hope Despite Despair

A friend of mine recently lost her job and now faces an uncertain economic future.  I have a friend who has decided to courageously fight and overcome an obstacle that has plagued her for years.  Another friend has spent weeks in a hospital at her mom's side, rotating shifts with exhausted family members, balancing the needs of her family with the needs of her mother, not knowing each time she leaves to care for her three children, if it will be the last time she sees her mom alive.  My grandmother speaks wistfully of a desire to return to her home, leaving the assisted living facility where she now resides, knowing that her longing will most likely never be fulfilled.  My cousin missed her daughter's college graduation to rush to her father's side as he fought for his life in a hospital.  Today, a dear friend, who had just comforted neighbors who lost their son to suicide, learned that her best friend lost her young daughter in a drowning.  I don't know her friend, but because the experience of motherhood is universal, I wept for her loss because no friend cries alone, no family member cries alone, no mother cries alone.

The pain of life is palpable and its taste is bitter.  The pit of despondence is deep and the surprise with which the enemy attacks is overwhelming.  Life sometimes spirals out of control, and there are no words, no neatly spoken platitudes than can fix real hurt, real despair, real pain.  How do you comfort a mother who just lost her child?  How do you help the friend whose best friend just lost her baby?  How do you choose between a sick parent and graduating daughter?  In this world, children are sold to brothels for a lifetime of slavery when they should be skipping carelessly through their backyard, dreaming of bright futures.  Parents drop their children off at orphanages in a desperate attempt to secure adequate food and shelter.  Millions long for a simple cup of clean water, water that won't leave their children ravaged by disease, fighting for their lives.  Orphans long for a forever family.  Men and women kill and maim in the name of God.  Earthquakes, floods, and fires ravage and devastate, leaving families destitute and wondering why, how, what now?

Life spirals, the world spins, leaving a wake of confusion.  We hurl our questions to heaven with an ache that leaves us breathless.  Why?  We fall to our knees as tears pour into our open palms and we ask, "How?"  The heart-shattering moan of a mother who rocks back and forth unable to be comforted by the loving arms of those who long desperately to ease the pain, if only for a moment, echoes throughout the house, the world, reaching the ears of One who can.  What now?  Sometimes its more than we can bear because tragedy is ruthless and relentless.  There are moments it seems the world is spinning off its axis into an abyss of despair, and if we're not careful we can get sucked into the lie that there is no hope.  But despite loss, despite the dark cloud of desperation that blocks out the light of hope, it's still there; even when we can't see with our eyes, He is there.

We question, we doubt, we wonder, we cling.  We cling desperately to the truth that though in this life we face trouble, Jesus has overcome the world.  We grasp hold of faith tightly with both hands as if our lives depend on it.  Faith doesn't mean we have the answers; it doesn't mean we understand, it means we trust the One who does.  It means we continue to wrestle even when life doesn't make sense.  As my mind raced in church this morning while I prayed for a way to comfort my friends, the Holy Spirit kept bringing me back to Luke 22, where Jesus, who knew from the beginning what must come to pass, wrestled with His mission.  "Father, if you are willing take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.....And being in anguish he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground."  God reminded me that Jesus isn't someone who can't relate to our pain.  He came as flesh and blood; he experienced every aspect of life.  He faced moments of joy, delight, but at times, He was so full of despair and anguish that He sweat blood, while praying to the God He had seen face-to-face to spare the pain of death.  Yet, because of Christ's willingness to take on the sin of the world, we have hope; anyone willing to reach out and accept Him in faith has hope.  Your Savior knows the sorrow of feeling abandoned and forsaken, "My Lord, my Lord, why have You forsaken Me?"  Jesus, as human, called out, "Why?"  He asked, he wrestled to the point of bleeding, yet He continued.  Why?  How? What now?

When life heaves a blow I think I can't bear; I hesitate to question because I fear God.  He is holy and mighty and who are we to question Him?  Yet, He allows the questions.; Psalm is full of questions; scripture is full of men and women who struggled with doubt.  I think the questioning is what builds intimacy in our relationship with Jesus.  When Lazarus died, Mary didn't shrug when she met Jesus and say, "Well, I guess it was God's will, and I will accept it in silence."  No, she ran to Jesus and said, I believe, in a somewhat accusatory tone, "If you had been here my brother would not have died."  In her grief, she honestly told Jesus what was on her heart, and knowing that He was about to bring Lazarus back from the dead, Jesus was so moved by Mary and Martha's grief that He wept. He didn't become angered by her audacity; He comforted her.  Jesus shared in their grief just as He shares in the grief and anxiety of my friends.  Even though we don't understand the reason for suffering, we can cling to Jesus, who even though He knows the answers to our questions, doesn't lecture us with explanations, he shares in our grief.  He doesn't hit us over the head with theology; He weeps alongside us.  He doesn't trivialize our pain, He bears it with us.  Why, how, what now?

Isn't it strange how it often takes death to put life into perspective?  After my friend shared what had happened to her friend, my first instinct was to run to my two children, gather them into my arms, and never let them go.  All through church, my mind raced with promises to never take for granted those little moments, to extend extra grace, to err on the side of mercy, to call my grandmother everyday, to work less, love more, never turn away those little arms when they reach up for a hug or beg for one more book.  It's tragedy that often shakes us back to the reality of what matters.  Because it's not a matter of if, it is a matter of when. When loss, stress, and despair knock us off our feet, the fire of it all refines our focus. I left church with the questions: why?  how?  what now?  I left with the lingering thought, "What if I lived everyday with the perspective that tragedy brings?"  What if I lived in the moment, focused on the present?  What if I stopped trying to figure out the "right thing to say" and just grieved with my friends?  While tragedy is wretched, it offers an opportunity to "bear one another's burdens."  It gives us an opportunity to look beyond our own pain to see the pain of others.  We live in a world filled with tragedy and pain, yet we also are filled with Hope, and Hope is a person, Jesus.  Tragedy allows us to share that Hope with others and help provide healing to a broken world.

To my dear friends who can't see through the cloud, know that Jesus loves you, that your church loves you, and that I love you.  "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.  When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned the flames will not set you ablaze.  For I am the Lord your God.....Since you are precious and honored in my sight, and because I love you....Do not be afraid for I am with you."  Isaiah 43.

"Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne.  Though she may forget, I will not forget you!  See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands." Isaiah 49

"The faithful love of the Lord never ends!  His mercies never cease.  Great is His faithfulness; his mercies are new every morning." Lamentations 3:22-23

Learning the Hard Way

After navigating "tax-free" weekend bumper-to-bumper traffic for thirty minutes to travel three miles, after staring at thousands of options for home school curriculum, after waiting in line for ten minutes, I place my items on the counter and triumphantly pull the coupon I remembered to print from my purse.  I check to see if I have spent the amount required to use the coupon and notice it has expired.  I clench my fists, roll my eyes, sigh, and dramatically place the coupon back in my purse.  After watching the grown-up version of a tantrum, the clerk asks, "Has it expired?"

I pause, breathe, and say shortly, "Yes, it has."

 "Oh, sorry," she coos, "I can't help you.  They're so strict on our coupon policy here."  I glance longingly out the window at a nearby Chick-fil-A, wishing they sold school supplies because their coupons never expire.

I should have stopped with my curt "yes," but respond sarcastically, "Well, I tried to use it a week ago when it was in-date, but your store won't accept coupons via phone, even though I pulled up a perfectly good copy on my email.  I went home, printed it out, and when I could finally manage to get back here, it has now expired."

Looking as if someone has just stolen her last cookie, she quietly says, "There's nothing I can do about it. The company has a strict coupon policy."  Behind me stands a long line of antsy customers, customers she's been helping non-stop all day during the store's busiest season on one its busiest days of the year, and I hear the hint of exasperation and exhaustion that has crept into her voice.

"Well, it isn't good customer service," I snap, grab my bag, the hand of my daughter (oh, yeah, she was there, too), and walk out of the store and.....I.....feel....horrible.

I sulk to the car, wait for A to buckle, then turn on the ignition.  I feel the Holy Spirit nudge, reminding me of all the beautiful verses I love to quote but just failed miserably to follow, so I say, "Okay, God.  I know," and turn off the car.  "What are you doing, Mommy?" I hear from the back seat.

"Mommy needs to go apologize.  I was rude to the lady at the counter."

"You were rude, Mommy."  Oh, my sage seven-year-old.  A takes my hand, and we walk back into the store.  I get back in line looking very inconspicuous with my merchandise-free hands.  The lady in front of me has decided to purchase all of her classroom needs for the entire decade at one time, and I fidget as the sales clerk rings a pile of posters.  I hope she doesn't notice me until she's finished, so I can whisper my apology as indistinctly as possible.  She looks up and asks, "Did you forget something?"  Rats.  Why, yes, my manners and dignity are right there under that giant stack of Pilgrim posters, and I'd like them back. Christmas may no longer be allowed in public school, but by George, Thanksgiving is getting celebrated in one classroom.

I stand for a moment while the clerk and now, the pilgrim-poster lady, both stare waiting for my reply.  "I would like to apologize for my rude response.  I know it is not your fault that my coupon expired, and I directed my frustration at the wrong person.  I hope you will forgive me."

She politely acknowledges my apology with a cautious nod, then says, "It's no big deal.  I didn't take it personally."

"Well, it was rude, and I know you didn't need that on a day like today." or any other day.

"Thank you for coming back and apologizing."  I say, "You're welcome," smile then leave and send the home office an email that outlines my frustration as politely as I can muster.

Few things are more humbling than having to admit you were wrong in front of an entire store of shoppers on one of its busiest days of the year.  It's hard to admit a mistake let alone make sincere amends for it in front of an audience.  Even if I had a legitimate beef with the company, I didn't handle it in a Christ-like manner; add to that the fact that my daughter was watching and absorbing the scene.  Granted, even though I didn't shout, swear, or lose my cool too much, I failed to handle myself the way I'd like or the way I'd like A to handle a similar situation one day.  As if it isn't difficult enough to make sure our children are fed, showered, educated, and well-rested, we're also called as parents to model and to teach our children to love God with their whole heart, soul, and mind and to love their neighbor as themselves.  I've really been convicted lately about being the kind of person I want my children to become.  There's a great picture making the rounds on Facebook of a boy praying beside his father and the text reads something like "Your children are watching.  Be the man you want them to become."  That's daunting.

Of course, I'm not suggesting that we become perfect parents.  That's impossible.  Actually, the above scenario prompted a rather odd reflection.  It caused me to wonder how often do we allow our children to see us make mistakes, and how often do we allow them to see how we respond to our failures?  My reaction to frustrations or failures is to so often hide them from my children, from the world.  I tend to hide my true self, covering everything with a "mommy's got this" smile.  Mom gets disappointed, burns dinner, dislocates her toe, gets a call that a student actually lost points on the ACT?  I'm smiling; I'm happy; I'm good.  Mom isn't sure how to handle a challenge that arises?  No worries. The kids decide to give the dog a bath in your shower while fully dressed minutes before you're expected for family photos. (It hasn't happened, yet, but I fully anticipate it.) Super mom will grab her cape and be right back.  It's disingenuous and chances are my kids see right through it.  How unsettling to have a mom whose reaction to everything is to grin, bear it, and try harder.  Never let them see you sweat, right?  While I don't think it's healthy to lose it when things don't go my way, I do think it's okay to express disappointment in a Christ-like way.  Jesus expressed frustration on more than one occasion in scripture.

As a homeschooling mom, I have the unique vantage point of watching my children as they learn and practice new educational concepts.  I've noticed my daughter has developed quite an aversion to making mistakes in her work.  If she doesn't get something on the first try, she tends to close her book, push away from her desk, and exclaim, "I'm not doing this.  It's stupid."   Effective, I know.  I'm bothered by her notion that it isn't okay to make mistakes along the way to learning a new concept, that she has to get it right on the first try.  As her teacher, I usually encourage mistakes and try to explain that it's through our mistakes we learn how to do something correctly.  She's grown tired of the tales of how many strikes Babe Ruth had, how many failures Thomas Edison encountered on his way to the light bulb, and how many races Danica Patrick has failed to finish.  I encourage her to try and if at first she doesn't succeed to try again.

I teach her how others have responded to their weaknesses, failures, and mistakes, but how often do I model that for her myself?  When something fails to go my way or I get overwhelmed and my daughter asks me what is wrong my usual response is, "Nothing sweetheart.  Mommy just has a lot to do today."  Wouldn't that instead be a great opportunity to model for my sweet girl what true dependence on God looks like, to say, "Mommy is overwhelmed with planning lessons for a new school year and isn't sure where to start, but you know what, I 'm going to pray and ask God to help me come up with a plan."  How exciting to share with her as God does help me develop a plan and overcome a challenge as I lean into Him for help and for direction.  Sharing challenges that she's mature enough to handle and that would serve as good examples, I can model what Christ's strength in our weakness really means.

While I'm disappointed in myself for losing my cool at the store this weekend, I'm actually glad my daughter was there to witness the event.  She saw Mom have a real reaction to a stressful situation, she watched as I followed the prompting of the Holy Spirit, she observed Mommy swallowing my pride, humbling myself, admitting a mistake, and asking for forgiveness from a complete stranger.  Plus, A helped me come up with ways that I could have better handled my disappointment.  When God called us to be parents, I don't believe He called us to be robots who never make mistakes.  Rather, I believe He expects us to be (appropriately, based on their ages) real with our children, to teach our children what it means to truly depend on and follow Jesus, to show them that we make mistakes, we fail, but in His infinite mercy and grace, God forgives us and guides us.  We can discuss with our children how to handle their frustration, failure, and disappointment, but showing them how we handle our own frustration, failure, and disappointment in a way that honors Christ carries so much more impact.  It's a lesson that is difficult for our children to grasp if they never see it
in action.

The Real Deal

A's cheeks flush and nostrils flare.  I watch as she lifts her hand in frustration and brings it down sharply to strike my arm.  I can't even recall what prompted the tantrum but whatever sparked the meltdown, it has now fanned into an all-out flame.  I know the routine well.  Mild-mannered and sweet most of the time, every few months my child draws the line in the carpet and digs her heels in deep, hands on hips, glaring a dare that would make a grown man tremble.  I catch her arm in mid-air and sharply say, "Stop it, now.  Calm down and breathe."  She picks up her Kindle and slams it into the floor.  I silently pick up the Kindle and march it upstairs to my room, where I place it on the top shelf of my closet under a quilt.  "You've lost electronic privileges until Friday."  I watch the painstaking unraveling of my daughter and hold back tears as she shouts at me before running into her room, where I know she has flung herself onto her bed to erupt into sobs.  I fight the urge to do the same.  Instead, I open my prayer journal and pour out my heart to God, begging for wisdom.

My daughter emerged from the womb strong-willed, once she finally decided in her own time to make an appearance.  She broke my water to let me know she was on the way but fought doses of pitocin and other painful labor-inducing procedures for hours, insisting she come on her own timetable.  If I wasn't aware of her strong will then, I became keenly aware, when after three months without sleep, a sweet soul volunteered to keep my infant angel while I desperately tried to secure some much needed shut-eye.  I had barely laid my weary head on the pillow when the phone rang and a harried voice on the other line sighed, "She's been screaming ever since you left.  I'm so sorry; I don't think I can do this."  I'm pretty sure I passed out and when I came to, I somehow drove to pick up my sweet girl to bring her home for another two years of no sleep.  She brought the cry-it-out experts to their knees.  Go ahead, Ferberize my day!

I caught another glimpse of this strong-willed spirit when at three, I spent two hours trying to put her in time out.  Inspired by an episode of Supernanny, I silently and patiently placed her little body in the time-out chair time after time after time as my own mom, who was visiting, watched the ordeal.  A and I had both drawn our lines and, by george, neither of us was giving in.  Bless my mom for not saying a word as this inexperienced mom battled an iron, independent will.  I devoured Dr. Dobson's Strong-Willed Child and Cynthia Tobias's You Can't Make Me.  Nodding in affirmation as I checked off every item on their list of strong-willed tendencies.  I encourage you all to refer to the story of Little Red from the park for further examples of my baby girl's strong will. http://sportymamajules.blogspot.com/2007/09/hair-raising-revelation.html  (Mark my word, though, when God tames, not breaks, but tames, her strong spirit for the right purpose she will be unstoppable, and I love that one day the same will that sometimes frustrates her mom will one day leave me awed and proud.  I'm also hoping she uses that same "whatever" glare when her peers try to talk her into doing something she knows is wrong, but I digress.)

I'd like to say I have no idea who passed along this mystery gene, but I'm sure that same mom who watched her daughter struggle to put a mini-tyrant in time-out thought back to the time she asked her own daughter, a girl who looks remarkably similar to me, to clean the bathroom.  The story goes that this girl cleaned the bathroom, but it failed to meet her mom's standards, so after a few failed attempts, the girl stomps sullenly into the bathroom, grabs a can of Comet, and in an all-out tantrum flings the entire can of cleaner all over the room.  Let's say once the green Comet dust settled on my her skin the only thing missing was ripped blue jeans and bulging biceps and the resemblance to the Incredible Hulk would have been eerily similar.  Needless to say, someone spent hours with a vacuum cleaner hose on her hands and knees sucking up tiny, powdery particles.  I'm sure my siblings could tell tales of my infamous tantrums.  I really hope you're all shocked to learn this and are exclaiming, "Not, Julie Anna!"  After years of prayer, God taught me how to channel my frustration into more productive endeavors like running and truly delivered me from a short temper. I understand the helplessness of not being able to adequately express extreme frustration or of not being able to have control in a situation where you feel you should have a say, but I also understand the unbelievable grace of a heavenly Father, who not only forgives but also promises that we are an incomplete work, and He's not finished, yet.

I walk into my daughter's room and pull her into my arms for a hug.  "Grab your shoes and let's go."  Baffled, she slips her feet into her pink-striped flip-flops and follows me to the car.  I load A and her brother into the car and take them to Sweet Frog.  (I know, "you what?")  Over frozen yogurt, I explain to a calm, remorseful A the concept of grace.  "You know, Pumpkin, your behavior didn't exactly earn ice cream, today, but Mom decided to extend grace and give you something you didn't deserve, much like Jesus chose to give us a gift we didn't deserve or earn."  She nods and asks if I can extend more grace and give back her Kindle early. It's not quite the a-ha moment I was hoping for.  "Um, no.  That's a consequence for a poor choice.  God also disciplines those He loves, but our behavior and poor choices don't stop Him from giving us His grace. There's nothing you can do that will ever make Him or me stop loving you. Mommy doesn't always know the right thing to do or the right way to respond but God does, and we can always ask Him for help."  Like so many times before, my daughter and I pray for God's guidance for both of us.  While the tantrums leave me weary, those quiet moments following, where my daughter and I grasp hands, bow our heads, and seek the Lord's guidance leave me breathless with gratitude, grateful that I can share such moments of faith-building with my daughter, that I can teach her where to turn when life leaves her baffled because I've been there before, and I understand how she feels.

I'm not sure what that moment communicated to my daughter, but I hope what resonated is that God's grace is real, that He doesn't expect us to jump through hoops or follow a bunch of random rules before He accepts us.  I pray that if I teach my children anything about faith it's that Jesus is into a relationship, not rules or religion.  That our obedience is the joyous outpouring of gratitude and love.  The truth is that as a church we are losing an entire generation of young people.  Young adults are walking out the doors and not looking back.  I wonder if it's because we present God as simply a referee who throws flags and calls fouls, who is only interested in us when we do the right thing.  Could it be that we don't model a real faith for our kids?  Is it that we attend church on Sunday but don't mention or follow God the rest of the week?  Do our kids see us walking daily with Christ?  Do our children see us when we struggle to find the right answers, or do we constantly act like we've always got it together as if we know all the answers because we're afraid that if they think we have any questions or doubts or fears that it will somehow turn them away from Jesus?  Do we insist our kids have a relationship with Jesus when we fail to have one ourselves?  It's hard to model genuine faith when we don't practice it.  Is that lack of authenticity, is our lack of making faith an active part of our daily lives driving people from Christ?  If it's so important then why aren't we living it?  If it's so life-altering, then why aren't we allowing Him to change us?  I ask myself these questions often because I know children see when we proclaim something with our lips yet fail to live it in our day-to-day.

I almost didn't write this.  I could hear the voices of all the parenting critics chastising me in my head.  Well, strong-willed, shmill, she just needs a spanking.  I'll tell you what you're doing wrong.  If it were my child, I would.....(Please tell me I'm not the only one who hears voices....of self-doubt from time to time.)  Parenting can be messy, lonely, frustrating, and scary.  Faith, too, can be messy, lonely, frustrating, and scary.  We all struggle with doubts.  We all have questions that aren't neatly answered.  Faith is complicated.  But grace isn't.  Jesus isn't.  I know where to turn when I don't have the answers.  When my children wake up one morning and apparently conspire against me while I'm stumbling to find my first cup of caffeine, I know in Whom my hope resides.  But do my kids?  Does my daughter know that when her emotions are spiraling out of control, and she's not sure why she's so frustrated that it's okay to feel that way, and there's a God who loves her and promises He'll help her or guide her to someone who can teach her to handle those emotions constructively?  Does my son know that God forgives Him when he messes up, that obedience should be the goal but that in His flesh he'll make bad decisions, and when he does God, mom, and dad still love him?  When A's heart is broken or she doesn't get picked for a team, will she have a relationship with the great Healer?

Parenting a strong-willed child and parenting a boy (my boy moms know what I mean) has driven me to my knees more than I ever imagined it could.  I have knee pads next to my Bible.  (Not really.) It is a humbling experience, but God is teaching me in a very real way about dependence and finding strength in Him in my weakness.  He's teaching me that it is my role to disciple my children into a real, authentic relationship with Him, that it won't happen accidentally, that it isn't the church's job, that it isn't the school's role.  It is mine, it is daily, and it takes deliberate effort.  God admonishes us in Deuteronomy 6:7 of the importance of being deliberate in teaching our children about Him, and the last command Christ gives on earth is to go and make disciples teaching them His commands.  My family is my first mission field.  If I'm completely honest, it is one of the main reasons I home school. That in this life, sure, our career is important, that our college choice matters, good school districts are fine, but all that pales in comparison to our walk with Christ.  When it all comes down to it, there is nothing more important in my role as a parent than modeling and encouraging for my children an authentic relationship with Jesus, and I simply can't do that if I don't have one myself.

My experiences parenting my sweet little ones have shown me what humility (never ever say never when it comes to parenting) and complete dependence on God look like.  When I had the nerve to pray that God would humble me, He blessed me with children.  When I asked Him to help me understand grace, He blessed me with children.  When I asked Him to help me understand what His love for me is like, He blessed me with children.  God is using parenting like so many other experiences to mold me into the woman He wants me to become.  And just as He's called me into the most rewarding but difficult phase of my life, I can rest in the assurance that He will equip me for whatever challenges A and C decide to hurl my way, both literally and figuratively.  It is in the most difficult parenting moments where God brings me to the end of myself because that's exactly where He's leading me because it is only there where I become completely dependent on Him.  It is from that place where He empowers and equips me to teach my children what true dependence on God looks like, what a true relationship with Christ resembles.  Through the tantrums, the lines in the sand, the explosion of giggles when science projects go bad, broken hearts, soccer successes, beach trips, long talks after books are read and the lights are out, and all of those special parenting joys, my prayer is that I can guide my children closer to the One who blesses us with each moment.

Birthday Wish

One week from today is my birthday.  I'll be 38.  Thirty-eight isn't an age that elicits a huge celebratory response, but nevertheless I love my birth date.  There's swimming, the release of blockbuster movies, lightning bugs, crickets, longer days, and a few days before, there's usually a big fireworks display to get people fired up for my big day; oh, wait, that's America's birthday, but how many of you can boast that you and America share the same birth month?

My hubby, best friend, and July birthday buddy

Thirty-eight, like 37, evokes more of an, "Oh, today's your 38th birthday.  Well, happy birthday."  Thirty-eight is twenty years past 18, two from 40.  From what I hear 40 is kind of a big deal.  I've been told it's when everything starts to fall apart, but if the aches and pains from spending two nights on a rickety, metal bunk bed at church camp with my daughter are any indication, I've apparently gotten a head start.  Like all birthdays, this birthday has evoked a myriad of emotions and reflection.  At 38, my skin isn't quite as glowing as it was even last year; my love handles are providing an even more ample gripping surface than before; my eyesight, well, let's say it rivals bats, but unfortunately, echolocation doesn't come with age.  Yet, this year, instead of counting wrinkles, I'm vowing to count blessings.

The Holy Spirit has taken me on quite a journey this past year.  One year ago on my birthday, I had no idea that God would lead me to two books, 7 and Interrupted; two books that would turn my world on its head and would rip the safe, comfortable rug of casual Christianity right out from under my complacent feet.  I can truly say that I enter 38 with a much different perspective than I began 37.  As I stand on the threshold of a new year, I'm eager to see how Christ continues to move me and to change me in the coming year.  Not one to travel alone, this year, I'm actually hoping to encourage a few of you to join me on the journey to living on mission.  I'm just getting started and have a long road ahead, but I promise if you come along, you'll never be the same.

God has opened my eyes to the plight of the poor this past year.  Books like 7, Half the Sky, and Radical have shed light on the immensely disproportionate gap between the haves and the have-nots in this world.  Both reveal the depths and devastation of abject poverty that exist around the globe, not just poverty of material need but also a poverty of spiritual well-being and hope.  While we think we may know poverty, consider that half the world lives on less than $2 a day with no safety net from their government.  There are billions of people dying without clean water, without adequate sustenance, and without Jesus.  In fact, someone dies of hunger every 16 seconds (Hatmaker). Back in December, the Holy Spirit gave me the idea of asking, not for gifts for Christmas but for donations.  Gifts is certainly not my love language, but I know it is the love language of many relatives and friends, so I decided not to rob them of the joy and instead put the idea away for my birthday seven months later.

Well, it is seven months later, and a few weeks ago, I excitedly asked my siblings to make donations to one of my favorite causes in lieu of gifts.  First of all, there is absolutely nothing that I truly need, and second, how awesome to know that in celebration of my birth, God is using my siblings' gifts to give hope and possibly, eternal life, to someone half-way across the globe.  I'm sharing this not for accolades or pats on the back.  I'm sharing this because I want all of us to consider this year on our birthday, or for a family member or friend's birthday, to relinquish a gift or two and request that your friends and family give to someone in need instead.  Notice, I didn't ask all of my family to replace my usual gift card request with a donation, but I chose my siblings because I felt comfortable asking them, they always ask me what I want, and I knew they would honor my request.  I also asked my mom for a gift card to an amazing company called Noonday that creates beautiful accessories and scarves, while providing women and men in impoverished villages a steady income (noondaycollection.com). You can even shop and help; is there a better combination?  Whatever we choose, together we can create a ripple that travels around the world and into the future and possibly, eternity.

Where can I give, you ask?  Well, because I'm the almost-birthday girl, I'm going to shamelessly plug a few of my favorites.  I would love for you to sponsor a child from Compassion or World Vision in honor of your birthday. I also love Matthew 28, which provides for orphans in Haiti.  A bonus:  I know one of the founders and can personally vouch for his deep love for Christ and for his fellow neighbor (www.matthew28.org). Another favorite is Samaritan's Purse (www.samaritanspurse.org).  Samaritan's Purse is unique in that it provides for hundreds of specific needs in hundreds of countries.  One of the struggles Christ has really shown me this past year is the plight of women in countries such as India and Cambodia, where young girls are often trafficked as slaves.  It truly is the most deplorable situation you can imagine, and women face it daily.  Twenty-seven million children and adults are currently trapped in slavery because of economic crisis, so I asked my siblings to give specifically to a program through Samaritan's Purse that provides a way out for these women, many of whom are still children (http://www.samaritanspurse.org/donation-items/children-in-crisis/).  You can also give to provide wells and fresh drinking water throughout Africa and Central America.  Samaritan's Purse also works with storm and fire victims right here in the United States.   What I love about all of the charities I've mentioned here is that they also provide the Bread of Life, Jesus Christ, who provides the only true hope to the hopeless.

I also like Kiva, which provides microfinancing to individuals in developing countries (www.kiva.org).  This allows individuals to create small businesses which support their families.  I cannot overestimate the potential these small loans have on not just the individuals receiving them but also the communities and even the countries where these individuals live.  I have invested in two companies in India, and the process is simple and as inexpensive as $25 per loan.  That goes a long way in Uganda, Haiti, and India.  The loans are eventually paid back, and you can cash out or use the money to provide another loan, so it's a low risk venture with remarkable benefits. Where else can you invest the cost of a week of Starbucks and absolutely change the lives of men and women in desperate situations?  These micro-loans can actually help eliminate some of the conditions that force individuals into slavery.  Imagine the impact and the doors opened to share Christ in the places receiving these loans. Imagine the hope you give to someone struggling to provide the most basic necessities for her children!

These are just a few ideas.  Donations tend to be down in summer because most of us give around Christmas.  Local shelters and ministries always need assistance.  Many of us probably know someone who is raising money for an adoption.  A local couple creates beautiful crosses and is selling them to raise adoption funds (http://jennyandbrooksadoptioncrosses.blogspot.com/).  I have several in my home and have also given them as gifts.  They even come in pink, as my daughter can attest.  Need exists everywhere; we need only slow down long enough to notice.  I say that to myself as much as I say it to you.  I had lived 37 years pursuing my own desires, rarely considering Matthew 25 or Isaiah 58.  Not that I ignored others; I was active in a church with a very mission-oriented vision, but I just didn't "get it," yet.  Praise God that I asked Him in prayer one day to break my heart for what breaks His.  My life hasn't been the same since.

So often, we're handed a beautifully wrapped scarf or pair of earrings, and for a moment, we're thrilled.  As time passes, the gift is added to the collection of scarves gathering dust and the drawer of earrings tarnishing among the tens of others.  Not to take away from the beauty of the gift or the intent but at some point, when is enough stuff enough stuff.  Imagine if our family and friends honored us on our birthdays by fulfilling Christ's call to help the least of these, while also following His command to fulfill the Great Commission.  We've already been given the perfect gift, Jesus, and He made the ultimate sacrifice that by faith and through His grace, we can have the most amazing gift of eternal life.  This year, I invite you to use your birthday as a starting point for creating a legacy that outlives your life.