Managing my expectations at Christmas

Look at this gingerbread house. The cheerful candy has nearly disappeared and the icing sidewalk has been consumed. We built it just a few days ago. This wasn't how I envisioned our gingerbread village would look with a week to go until Christmas...
I just assumed that the kids were aware of how the whole gingerbread house thing works. You build it, you decorate it, and then it sits around until after Christmas sometime when you gleefully demolish it and nibble at the stale candy and icing, pretending that it's delicious. I forgot that, last Christmas, we built and decorated the gingerbread village at Grandma's house and then we left it there, where it was safe from little fingers. It took me a couple days of saying "No" at least a hundred times and dealing with escalating levels of defiance and disobedience before I realized my mistake. I had set us up for this misery by putting something they really wanted out in plain view and then expecting them to be okay with being told they can't eat it. It was, in hindsight, an unrealistic expectation.

I've known for a long time that one of our kiddos in particular has great difficulty handling disappointment. If things don't go the way he expects them to go, he can melt down very quickly. We've learned that this is fairly common for children from hard places - hearing the word 'no' and feeling like circumstances are out of their control can trigger a fight, flight or freeze fear response. They may be reacting out of a fear of abandonment ("When you say 'no' I feel like you don't love me") or perhaps they need to feel in control because life has been chaotic in the past and their fear is driving their need to be in charge. Whatever the underlying beliefs are that our children brought with them to our family, the result is the same: they are incredibly fragile when it comes to accepting the word 'no.' This does not mean that we can't ever say 'no' to our kids. We will try to be gentle and compassionate, though, and give them chances - outside of the moment - to practice being okay with a 'no' through fun activities like role play and puppets. We'll also practice pausing before we say 'no' to figure out if we're reacting with a negative response for mostly selfish reasons when we could be giving a joyful 'yes.'

As I reflect on the now destroyed gingerbread village, I realize that I have a lot of expectations of how things will go at Christmas. I love times of anticipation, and I expected that my kids would as well. I remember picking up and shaking presents, savoring the feelings of hope and excitement. That kind of anticipation is almost unbearable for one of our children; the stress is just too much for his system. This year, we are spacing out the gift giving, instead of keeping it all for Christmas morning, hoping that helps him cope a bit better. The kids also started a new tradition with my mom - she took them shopping (one at a time) and let them pick out their own gift. They then wrapped it and left it under the tree at her house for a few days before they opened it. They did really well with that waiting! (And what a sweet Christmas tradition with Grandma!) So I find myself adjusting my expectations. Is it a big deal if we eat our gingerbread village within days of building it? Not really. Next year I might try buying two: one for eating and one for looking at. Is it a big deal if the kids know what they're getting before they open their presents, or if they get to open one a week or two before Christmas? Not at all. As they get older, we can practice waiting and guide them as they learn to navigate seasons of anticipation.

In the meantime, I will practice taking a step back, breathing deeply, and asking myself some important questions when I start to feel frustrated and impatient: Is this a realistic expectation? Is my expectation based merely on tradition, and is it a big deal if things don't look the way I thought they would? Am I looking at my children with eyes of compassion and working to understand where they are coming from? Ultimately, I am grateful for the demise of our gingerbread village. It's been an important reminder of the need to slow down, reflect, and try to make this season, the one that's supposed to be all about joy and hope and peace and love, a little less stressful for our family.

I'd love to hear more ideas - what do you do to take the pressure off your kiddos at Christmas?

Imagine with me!

I got a phone call yesterday that kind of broke my heart. A woman, also heartbroken, explained her friend's situation then asked, "What can we do?" Her friend was caring for an 18-month-old girl who was likely going to be apprehended by child and family services. Her friend had cared for this girl before, had seen the girl's mother come back into her life, and had taken the girl back when the mother left. Again. Already overwhelmed by her own situation and unable to care for this girl long-term, this woman called her friend, who called me. What can we do? 

I wanted to thank her for calling me and to reassure her that we could help. I wanted to tell her that we knew of a number of families who were licensed foster homes, ready and willing to welcome this precious child and surround her with the love of Jesus. I wanted to be able to connect her with people who would not only welcome this precious child, but who would commit to building a relationship with the girl's mother, if possible, and assist her in her efforts to parent her daughter. I wanted to tell her that we were surrounded by an army of like-minded people, people who knew firsthand the redemptive and restorative power of our great God and were eager to see redemption and restoration become reality in the lives of foster children and their families. I wanted to tell her of a network of support, of people ready to provide meals and respite and listening ears and prayer. I wanted to tell her that I could connect her with people who had counted the cost, answered this particular call, and were living in the glorious freedom of faithfully following our Lord into the broken and messy places.

Instead, I told her that unless she knew of a licensed foster home, there was little we could do. I explained how the system works, or what I know of it, and I listened to her. I offered a couple of ideas for ways to stay connected with this girl, perhaps through respite. I hung up, my spirit restless and discontent. I know foster families like this exist. I know there are people who view foster care as a calling, who commit to walking out this calling with courage and compassion. I've heard stories of birth mothers welcomed into families, and given the opportunity to learn from the foster mother. I've heard of mothers eased back into motherhood by being allowed to rock their babies to sleep in a foster home. I know a foster mom who took a young mom under her wing and taught her how to throw a birthday party for her child. I have read of another foster mom who has committed to staying connected with children that have been in her care, and makes herself available to provide respite (relief care) for the biological family who is working hard to keep it together. I know of a foster family being stretched way beyond what they thought they could do so that they can keep a sibling group together. I know foster families who have welcomed a child temporarily, then realized that this child was home, and become that child's forever family through adoption.

So, why did I not have more to offer on the phone yesterday? I'm sure there are many reasons. I'm sure we could do more to raise awareness, and to get connected with foster families, and to be more intentional about seeing this vision become reality. I'm also sure there is great need for more families to rise up in obedience and answer the call God has placed on their hearts to care for the most vulnerable in our society. What can we do?? How can we build a community of families determined to see God's kingdom come, His will done, His children cared for? Will you pray with me that the Lord will raise up people committed to bringing His justice - His restoration and redemption - to the world? Let's do this. Let's lay aside our expectations for how our lives will look, and let's ask the Lord to give us eyes to see what He has for us, and for our world through us.

Vision check

I need new glasses. It's been a few years, and I've been noticing that things are starting to get a little fuzzy. I think I might try a Groupon this time, seeing as my mom had a good experience with one recently. My plans for new glasses aren't really worth writing about, but it's got me thinking about vision in general. In Deep & Wide, Andy Stanley writes about the need for churches to have a "God-honoring, mouthwatering, unambiguously clear vision." (page 270) He asserts that without this clarity of vision, churches will not be able to make the types of changes necessary to do what they are meant to do. I believe this applies to our individual lives as well. If we don't have a clear vision for our lives, then we are likely to make decisions that simply move us further along the path we're already on. Is this a problem? For me, at least, it is. My heart has been gripped with a deep desire to live a life that's about more than just me. I don't want to default to the path of ease and comfort, the path that I'm told I deserve. I want a path that gives me opportunities to be part of making a difference in the world, even if it is messy and uncomfortable and doesn't look much like the path our culture tells me is most desirable.

This past weekend we had the great privilege of hearing from two former senior pastors as we celebrated the 75th anniversary of First Alliance Church. It was a wonderful service, and I was reminded of just how much I appreciate Terry Young's preaching! He spoke about story, and how many of us get caught up in a story that's all about us. He pointed us to Jesus, and reminded us that we are part of a much bigger story, a story of redemption. I want to be part of that bigger story. I want to be part of something that points people to freedom, that helps them find a path that leads them to the love of Jesus.

This is where our vision can start to blur, though. We are faced with opportunities every day. Suffering and need are everywhere - where do we start? How do we help? Children without families, flood victims without homes, slaves without freedom... The needs can be overwhelming and paralyzing: in a world with so much need, how can I make a difference? This, I believe, is where vision comes in. The fact that I can't do everything should not stop me from doing something, so I need to figure out what that something is. I need vision. I am reminded of something else Pastor Terry said once. He was talking about what we spend our lives doing, and how many people talk about their need to learn to say 'no.' He suggested that perhaps we really need to learn to say 'yes.' Maybe we need to figure out what it is we're meant to do, say "Yes!" to that, and the rest will fall in to place. This is clarity of vision. Too bad there's no Groupon for that!

So, what is my 'yes'? What is my vision? Am I going to default to the comfortable, relatively easy path of living for those things our culture tells me to live for? Or am I going to let God expand my vision and lead me to a path that lets me be part of something much more adventurous, messy, breathtaking and significant? If I am not intentional about pursuing a God-sized vision, I'm in danger of settling for a Colleen-sized vision. I'm convinced there's more to life than that. I believe our world needs us to pursue a vision that will take us far beyond ourselves, a vision that will "bring good news to the poor and proclaim freedom for the prisoners." (Luke 4:18)

Lord, give us a vision of what it means to be your hands, your feet, your heart, your body in a world that desperately needs to know You. Help us see!

Why I will continue to tell my daughter of her beauty

Okay. This one's been brewing for a while, so it may turn into a bit of a rant, but the time has come to inject another perspective into the discussion. I'm sure you've come across some of the same articles and graphics as I have on Facebook - you know, the ones that say we should praise our daughters for things other than their beauty. That we should avoid words like "pretty" and "princess". That we should focus on other qualities so that they know they're worth so much more than how they look. And I agree with a lot of that stuff - I definitely want my daughter to know she's valuable and loved for more than her looks. I'm just worried that the pendulum is swinging a little too far to an extreme that says, "It's wrong to want to feel beautiful" and "Let's avoid the topic of physical beauty altogether when talking to girls." What I do agree with in these articles is that we have bought in to a very narrow and life-sucking definition of beauty. I most certainly do not want my daughter to grow up believing that she has to be a certain size, have a certain hair colour, and wear just the right clothes to be considered beautiful. But let's not throw the baby out with the bath water. Just because we live in a culture that tries to sell us the lie that we must meet a certain narrow standard of beauty in order to be desirable and worthy of love, let's not abandon the idea of physical beauty altogether.

As a young girl, I knew I didn't meet the cultural standard for beauty. I can remember comparing myself to the other girls in my class as young as 5 years old, and consoling myself with the fact that there was one other girl who was at least as heavy as me. By the time I got to junior high and a boy tried to hit on me at the back of the bus on a band trip (!) I laughed and tried to act all flirty, but I was actually terrified to take him seriously - he couldn't possibly find me attractive so there was no way I was going to make myself vulnerable enough to do what he was suggesting and get laughed at by everyone when the joke was revealed. By the time I was 29 years old and dating Brian, my belief in my own lack of beauty was so entrenched that I couldn't quite understand why he would call me beautiful. I liked it when he told me that, and his love made (and continues to make) me feel beautiful on the inside, but I struggled to make sense of how he could look at me and use a word like 'beautiful'. I still struggle to accept his compliments after nine years of marriage, and I think that's a shame.

So what did I need as a young girl? Did I need people to focus on my strengths? I think I did that quite well on my own. I became quite confident in my intellect, my sense of humour, and other 'internal' qualities and strengths. I enjoyed excelling at things like math and science, partially because a lot of other girls didn't. I knew the 'real' me was loved by friends and family, but I still felt like the physical part of me was an unfortunate and awkward package. For most of my growing up years and well in to my twenties I feared that no man would ever see past that package to the beauty I knew/hoped was within. And this is one of the things that concerns me with so many of these articles I've read recently: if we ignore our daughters' physical beauty, we are leaving them to form their self-concept and their understanding of their appearance from other sources. They will go to their peers and magazines and movies and all sorts of other shallow, largely incorrect sources to determine how attractive they are. This is not where I want my daughter to get her sense of her own beauty. I do not want her to grow up believing what I believed: "I may not be beautiful, but at least I'm ______________."  I want her to be able to hear the words, "You're beautiful" from a good man in the [very distant] future and know that he is speaking the truth to her. I do not want her so desperate to hear those words from someone, anyone, that she will fall for the first opportunist that comes along.

Ultimately, I want her so grounded in her identity that neither the impossible ideals of our culture nor the shallow praise of people will prevent her from knowing how beautiful she is, inside and out. And this is the other thing that concerns me with so many of these articles that are telling us how to talk to our daughters about their bodies and their beauty: I believe we have lost sight of our true identities. We see clearly enough to know that the beauty ideals showcased in magazines and movies are false and harmful, but rather than search for the truth regarding our own physical beauty, we react against those ideals by shunning the idea of physical beauty altogether. This is not helpful. We can't avoid this topic and believe that our girls will somehow grow up more healthy and balanced than we did. We must search for what is right and true and speak words that give life.

So what is my right and true identity as a woman? What should I be trying to teach my daughter? For this, I must go to the source of all truth and beauty: my Creator. And what does God say about my identity and my beauty? First of all, Genesis 1:27 assures us that we are created in the image of God. This means, among many other things, that I am marked by the beauty of God. The same God who created mountains and lakes and trees and flowers created me! "Then God looked over all he had made, and he saw that it was very good!" (Genesis 1:31) Those words are spoken over me. I am beautiful. In Ephesians 2:10, we learn that we are God's masterpiece, a work of art, a poem. I am beautiful. In Song of Songs, we read of the love between a man and a woman, and we see the pleasure and satisfaction that can come from the enjoyment of physical beauty in the context of romantic love. From this, I learn that my desire to be seen as beautiful is not somehow wrong or shallow, but an important part of who I am created to be. I am beautiful. In Hosea, we read that the love between a man and a woman is symbolic of the love God has for us. Romantic love gives us a glimpse of the strength and passion with which God loves us. Psalm 45:11 says, "The king is enthralled by your beauty; honour him, for he is your Lord." I am beautiful. There are many other passages I could use, but I will end with the story of Leah. In Genesis 29, we find Jacob travelling in search of a wife. He meets and falls in love with Rachel, who is described as having "a beautiful figure and a lovely face." (verse 17) Rachel has an older sister named Leah, who is not considered beautiful. Their father tricks Jacob into marrying Leah as well, and she lives with the knowledge that Jacob loves Rachel more than he loves her. God does a beautiful thing for Leah, though - He makes her part of the lineage of Jesus. It is Leah, not Rachel, who gives birth to Judah, ancestor of Jesus. This speaks to me so profoundly of the way God views us. He does not see us through our culture's distorted lens; He is not limited to a narrow definition of worth and beauty. He sees us as He has created us to be: beautiful and loved. I am beautiful, and I am loved. This truth, that I am loved by God, is the core of my identity. And when I experience the love of God, I am filled with peace and joy, and I know, deep down, that I am beautiful. It is this experience that I want my daughter to have. It is this life-giving truth that I want to speak over her, and live out in front of her. This is why I will not be afraid to tell her she is beautiful.

I believe words are important. In fact, they're so important, let's not let society ruin them for us. Let's take back beauty. Let's dare to own our desire for beauty. Let's even dare to acknowledge our own beauty - not in a shallow way that merely mimics the culture around us, but in a deeply profound way that honours our Creator and brings glory to His great and beautiful name.

The Time-in: a Confession (and a Plan)

I have a confession to make. Despite being nearly 2 years in to Empowered to Connect's trust-based parenting approach, we have not yet established the time-in as a working strategy in our home. Shocking, I know! I've always loved the idea, and we tried a number of times to get it to work, but the kids didn't buy in to the idea of voluntarily removing themselves from a situation (more shocking news!) and we likely gave up our attempts far too soon. Anyway, the time has come. I'm done with placing myself as the barrier between whoever's melting down and the rest of the house. To borrow the 'clean' version of this year's Stampede slogan - we're doing this time-in thing, come heck or high water!

The time-in is a beautiful way to connect while correcting. (Watch Dr. Karyn Purvis explain it here.) It's different from a time-out in that it does not separate the child from the parent. The child stays physically close to the parent until they are able to self-regulate and calm themselves, then any issues are resolved and life carries on. It's designed not as punishment, but as a way to give our children the time and space they need to self-regulate (while staying connected to us) so they can then help bring resolution to whatever situation got them to time-in in the first place. One of the reasons I love the time-in idea is that it is a physical expression of the way God parents us. In His word, He promises never to leave or forsake us. (see Deuteronomy 31:6) He promises that no matter where we go, we can never run away from His love. (see Psalm 139:7-16 and Romans 8:38,39) I think that's a beautiful thing to show our children: no matter how they're behaving, we won't reject them. We'll stay close and help them dig out of whatever pit they've got themselves in.

With all of that behind the idea of the time-in, why haven't we done it yet?! There are a few reasons, but mostly it's due to a lack of consistent effort on our part. When we first took Empowered to Connect training, we heard of families who have a designated time-in (or 'think it over') seat that the parent and child will go to when the child needs to be removed from the situation. For at least one of our kids, this was too similar to a time-out, and therefore unbearable. We've also heard of another family who has a time-in basket with a variety of activities for the child to do when they need a time-in. This seemed like it would be a better fit for our family, so we tried it, but we never got past the "kids wanting to play with the basket of puzzles and fidgets all the time" stage. In other words, I got frustrated and impatient and gave up too soon!

So, we've come up with our own version of the time-in. We've been using "How Does Your Engine Run?" with the kids for some time now, and they like the idea of their engines overheating when they're angry. This is not surprising, given their love of all things related to trains and Thomas the Tank Engine! They are steadily improving in their ability to communicate what their body needs to get their engine back to green. We've decided to call the time-in a 'Cool Down' and they get a choice of activity as they cool down. I chose the activities based on things I know will appeal to each child, and they're activities that they can do any time. When they choose it as a cool down activity and take a stick out of the cup, the other kids have to go somewhere else to play.

 

We're only two days in to this new routine, but so far so good! We haven't had any major melt downs yet, but they have been practicing going to a 'cool down spot' whenever they need a break from their siblings. I'm optimistic, and I'm hoping that by blogging about it, I'll have the needed accountability to stick with it this time! And, as always, I'm depending on the Holy Spirit for the patience and perseverance to see it through. Without Him, my most innovative and creative ideas can fail spectacularly!

 

For some guidelines and tips to set up the time-in with your family, check out "Keys to an Effective Time-In With Your Child".

 

Do you use something similar in your home? How does it work for you? What have you done to customise it for your family?

Dependence is the New Independence

Independent.
Self-sufficient.
Able to accomplish whatever she sets her mind to.
Strong.
Capable.

It seems like a rather complimentary list of attributes, doesn't it? I'm starting to wonder...

I was never the thinnest, prettiest, or most popular girl, but I always comforted myself with thinking, "At least I'm smart!" I got good marks, excelled in all subjects (except PE), and pretty much based my self-confidence on my brains. I didn't really have to work too hard, and it was easy to get a little arrogant. (My brother might say I was more than a little arrogant, but whatever.) Fast forward to my current season of life: PARENTHOOD. In typical Colleen-style, I have accumulated a great deal of knowledge about parenting. My brain is chock-full of really good stuff. If I didn't actually have to parent real kids, I'm convinced I could be an international expert on the topic. The problem, you see, is that all that fantastic knowledge does not automatically translate into fantastic parenting. I'm rather disappointed - I seem to have misinterpreted some well-intentioned messages from my school years. Turns out that learning is a little bit more than the accumulation of knowledge and the ability to effectively communicate what you have accumulated.

The thing about parenting is that the best information combined with the best intentions are simply no match against ME. Even after learning and practicing and teaching what I believe to be the best information out there for parents of children from hard places (Empowered to Connect), I still screw up daily. Often hourly. I still get tired and raise my voice yell at the 5-year-old who just stomped angrily on a brand new loaf of bread that I hadn't put away yet. I still resort to using shaming messages when I'm particularly upset by misbehaviour. I threaten and manipulate and whine. I roll my eyes and sigh and ask rhetorical questions that overgeneralize and don't accurately represent reality - "Why do you always leave your cars here?" or "Why don't you ever listen?" Some days, when I am quite at the end of my rope, my heart feels cold and hard and I don't even feel like loving my kids.

I know, I know, we all have bad days. We all fail - we're human, after all. I should cut myself some slack, right?! Extend a little grace to myself and stop beating myself up for my mistakes. None of us is perfect. I should focus on the things I did well! ... And I do believe we need to be gracious with ourselves, pick ourselves up after we fail, ask for forgiveness from those we've wronged and carry on. But that's not my point. My point is that I don't have what it takes to be the parent I want to be. I'm too self-centered and proud and imperfect. I look at Galatians 5:22,23 and 1 Corinthians 13 and I want to love with that kind of selfless love. I want to be patient and kind and gentle with my kids. But no matter how much I want it and how hard I try, I only get so far. In fact, the harder I try, the quicker I burn out. I find myself feeling trapped, and strategizing about how to get some time to myself, and fantasizing about escaping.

It seems to me that this struggle is a perfect example of the tension between law and grace. The "law" represents the ideal: the parent I want to be, the strategies, attitudes and approaches I try to employ. The law sets a clear standard of excellence. And the law reveals my inadequacies and shortcomings. I find that the more I strive to be self-sufficient and strong, the weaker and less capable I feel. And, as a nasty little side effect, I become more critical and judgmental of others. Desperate to feel better about myself, I look for the ways in which others are failing. The law has no power to transform me.

This is where grace comes in. Grace is a gift from God, reassuring me that neither my greatest accomplishments nor my worst failures affect God's extravagant love for me in any way. Thanks to the grace of God, we are not condemned to perpetual failure and an inability to measure up. He provides a way out. When we surrender to his leadership in our lives and admit our utter dependence on him, he promises his strength. In fact, he promises that his very Spirit will live within us, transforming us from the inside out. This is good news!

The Apostle Paul puts it this way:

So I say, let the Holy Spirit guide your lives. Then you won't be doing what your sinful nature craves. The sinful nature wants to do evil, which is just the opposite of what the Spirit wants. And the Spirit gives us desires that are the opposite of what the sinful nature desires. These two forces are constantly fighting each other, so you are not free to carry out your good intentions. ... But the Holy Spirit produces this kind of fruit in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against these things! 

~Galatians 5:16,17,22,23

So, what does all this mean for my parenting struggles? Well, I'll still have to work at it - Paul's writings in the New Testament are filled with enough marathon and warfare analogies to indicate that I'm expected to play a role. But I'm not meant to go it alone. As I humble myself and admit my need for God, I find strength and power beyond me. As I confess that I don't have what it takes, I find that God is willing to give me what it takes. As I live in the freedom of all God is doing in, for, and through me, I find that I am released from that critical, judgmental spirit and able to extend grace to others.

In light of these realizations, here's my new list:
I am dependent on God.
He is all-sufficient.
I am able to accomplish whatever he calls me to do because of his Spirit living in me.
He is my strength.
He is able.

(And, just to top it off, here's a Steven Curtis Chapman song called "Declaration of Dependence" that pretty much says it all!)

Picket lines, lobby groups, and other democratic discomforts

I have never considered myself much of an activist. I would much rather keep the peace than make waves. I could blame my personality, the sometimes-bland political landscape of my country, and my Mennonite heritage (this isn't a judgment, just acknowledging that my ancestors were people who tended to relocate in pursuit of freedom rather than stay and fight for it), but the fact remains: I am uncomfortable with activism. Out of necessity, I joined a union when I was teaching, but I didn't know quite what to do with myself in strike seasons. So I didn't do much. My plea to the various sides in a conflict is usually this: Can't we all just get along?!

Pacifism, peace-keeping, consensus-seeking... These are all good things. But are they the right tools for every conflict?? The more I have learned about human trafficking and sex slavery, the more I have felt the need to rouse the sleeping activist/warrior within me. I picture myself face-to-face with a victim of human trafficking, offering excuses like, "I'm just not an activist" or "I didn't want to offend any of my friends by going all radical" or "I'm just one person - I honestly didn't think I could make a difference" and suddenly my excuses don't seem that solid.

One area in which I've been resisting the need to get involved is the political arena. Even the thought of emailing my MP or MLA seems daunting - I'm not really the type of person that emails the government, am I?! I'm thinking I need to be... There's currently a case before the Supreme Court of Canada seeking to challenge the prostitution laws in Canada. This is certainly a complex matter, but it seems to me that decriminalization will lead to increased exploitation. A lot of people with a lot more knowledge than me have written on this - check out http://www.defenddignity.ca/ for more information and resources on this issue, including how you can contact your Member of Parliament. Many people are lobbying our government to pass legislation similar to Sweden's law - read more about how Sweden approaches prostitution here: http://www.thesolutionsjournal.com/node/895.

http://www.defenddignity.ca/canada-can-do-better/ 

No matter how uncomfortable I feel, I can't just stick my head in the sand and hope for the best. It is absolutely vital that we stand up and advocate on behalf of those who are being exploited. Let's make the time to increase our awareness and send an email or two. On June 11th, join with a group of people at First Alliance Church who will be praying specifically about this issue. And let's ask God to align our hearts with His so we can start doing the important, uncomfortable, out-of-our-comfort-zones, life-changing work that needs doing.

Let the oppressed go free, and remove the chains that bind people. (Isaiah 58:6) 

Please don't send me to Africa...

I grew up going to churches that celebrated "missions." I have fond memories of meals made by missionaries to give us a taste of their daily lives. I remember slide shows - the kind where you had to slot each individual slide into the carousel then click through, and inevitably there'd be an empty slot or an upside-down slide...! I also remember dressing up in clothes from various countries. It was all very fascinating! (Now I feel like driving out to my parents' place and setting up the old slide projector. I'm pretty sure the kids would think it was the coolest thing ever!)

As a young girl, I often wondered if God would "call" me into missions. I was somewhat relieved to never get the call, whatever I thought that would look like. I remember a song called "Please Don't Send Me to Africa" - if you've never heard it, or maybe you want a little blast from the past, I found it on YouTube. Here's the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ITmHLf1DB_0 (the song starts around 1:50). It's a fun poke at the pew-warmer, but I suspect a lot of us felt like this. Missionaries seemed like a different breed: they make huge sacrifices, often saying goodbye to friends and family for years at a time. They struggle to learn new languages and cultures, and eat unfamiliar foods. I viewed them with awe and admiration, thinking they must be pretty amazing to do what they do. (And, for the record, I still think they're pretty awesome, living their lives in whole-hearted surrender like that. It's a beautiful thing!)

Then came the day I first heard the "We're all supposed to be missionaries!" talk. The main idea, as I recall, was that those of us who stayed home weren't somehow free of the responsibility to tell people about Jesus. We should all be actively sharing the Good News with our friends and acquaintances. I remember thinking it was a good point, but didn't it somehow diminish the radical and sacrificial nature of what missionaries were doing? Inviting a friend from school to attend a youth event with me doesn't exactly compare to selling your house, leaving everything familiar behind, and moving around the world. Won't the "real" missionaries resent it if we elevate ourselves to their level without making any of the sacrifices they're making??

Well, I'm starting to wonder if we haven't missed the point altogether with the way we often view missionaries (and others in full-time ministry) and set them apart as so very different from the rest of us. In fact, I'm wondering if my safe and comfortable life hasn't missed the point. When Jesus gave the Great Commission in Matthew 28, He didn't preface it with "If you feel called..." - He simply reminded His followers of His power and authority, then said "Go." (There's the call. It's for all of us.) His disciples, overwhelmed by His love and empowered by the Holy Spirit, lived radical, transformed lives. How is it that so many of us who call ourselves followers of Christ look more comfortable than radical? Maybe our mistake hasn't been elevating missionaries, but allowing ourselves to be content with complacency, comfort, and safety. What if our lives, as Christians, were marked by sacrifice and purpose? What if we actually approached our days with a sense of urgency and passion? I bet we'd see God's power unleashed in unimaginable ways. I bet we'd see less poverty, more children adopted into families, and chains of oppression breaking around the world!

For many years, I (subconsciously?) bought in to the idea that I wasn't called to live a life of radical surrender to God. I thought that was just for a select few. I'm starting to think that's the only way to really live. As J.D. Greear says in his book, Gospel, "gospel-centered people offer themselves to God, joyfully, and then do whatever He directs them to do, knowing that only what He empowers them to do will do any real good. That's what we are responsible for - offering all we have to God and asking for His direction." Let's do that! Let's offer all we have to God and then do whatever He leads us to do. And then let's get together to eat some good food and watch a few slide shows and celebrate, in stunned awe, what our great God is doing in our world!

Fear is poison. What's the antidote?

A number of years ago I read part of a book entitled "Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway." The premise of the book, articulated so succinctly in the title, was that we can conquer fear by being brave. Once we force ourselves to let go of our fear and do the thing that needs doing, we'll find we didn't have that much to fear after all, which will lead to less fear in the future. (I'm sure there was more to the book than that, but it's been a while and that was my take-away!) At the time, I figured that was true - many of our fears are irrational and without foundation, so challenging them head-on seemed wise.

I'm questioning that premise these days. I still believe there's truth there, and I put it in to practice every time I go to the zoo with my kids. It goes something like this: Snakes. [shudder] "Hey, guys! Look at that one curled up around the tree!" As I face this particular fear, it is fading a bit. I still have zero desire to get close to a snake, but I can at least look at one behind glass without feeling panicky!

My question has to do more with the ultimate cure for fear. Since we first started learning about Empowered to Connect and the needs of our children, we have learned a lot about the chronic and pervasive effect of fear on an individual. And the more we learn about our kids, the more we realize how fear-driven they can be. One of our children is easily startled and can be very fearful of things that don't seem to warrant such a strong fear response. We have learned that saying things like, "Don't be silly! There's nothing to be afraid of - just do it!" is not a helpful strategy. The part of his brain that could respond to logic is basically off-line when he's afraid. The fear is real and paralyzing in that moment. Suggesting that we don't believe he has anything to be afraid of communicates that we don't really understand him or have empathy for him. This will reduce his ability to trust us, decreasing the likelihood that he will come to us for help the next time he's afraid. This is not our goal! We want our kids to feel so secure in our love that they'll come to us with their hurts and fears so we can figure it out together. We want them to know that we will acknowledge their fear, comfort them, then walk with them as they face whatever obstacle is in their path.

I believe trust is the only lasting cure for fear. As our kids trust that they are safe to share their fears with us, they will find comfort in our presence and an increased confidence to face their fears. The awesome thing about this is that it's exactly how God deals with us when we're afraid! I started to think of examples in the Bible when people are afraid and God invites them to trust Him, and many came to mind. One is Moses at the burning bush in Exodus 3 - Moses had good reason to be afraid, but God didn't try to talk Moses out of his fear; He responded by displaying His power and assuring Moses of His presence. In 2 Kings 6, when the king of Aram sends his army to take out Elisha and Elisha's servant cries out in fear, God once again displays His power, enabling the servant to see the angel armies all around him. When Jesus invites Peter to walk on water in Matthew 14, Peter has a legitimate fear of drowning. Again, the message from Jesus is, "I'm right here! You can trust me!"

In all of these examples, it was not forced bravery but the presence of God that made all the difference. In the same way, I believe we must be present for our children and be a safe place for them to share their fears; then they can learn to trust and let go of their over-developed fear responses. And, as always, I am learning at least as much as I'm asking my children to learn... I've found myself fighting fear often over the last couple of months. As I have surrendered my fears to God and trusted in the presence of His Holy Spirit, I have found peace and confidence. The reasons to be afraid might still be there, both for us and for our children, but we can learn to trust in God's presence, and find that His perfect love drives out fear. Every. Single. Time.

*For more on the fear factor when parenting children from hard places, please read this excellent article from Empowered to Connect:

Learning to Trust and Let Go of Fear « Empowered To Connect

Identity

I'm having an identity crisis, of sorts. I use the word 'crisis' because it's all a bit uncomfortable, but a better word might be awakening. Or resurrection. It's not exactly a mid-life crisis, or maybe it is, but I'm not about to trade the minivan in for a sports car or abandon my family in search of the 'real me'!

I think my true identity has been there all along - it's just been covered up by who I thought I was, and often by who I thought I was supposed to be. When I was very young, I identified myself as a good girl. I was called a goody-goody and I suspect more than one person found my goodness a bit obnoxious now and then. For most of my childhood (okay, let's be honest - for most of my LIFE leading up to my mid-twenties) I was intently focused on my future identity as a wife and mother. Other pieces of my identity included my success in school, my sense of humour, and the fact that I rarely got in trouble. I was, and am, a daughter, a sister, a Christian.

I spent an immense amount of time thinking about what was missing from my identity, though. I was so consumed by my dreams of marriage and motherhood that I became discontented and bitter. I was angry that God had not come through for me on these fronts - like He's a genie in a bottle, instead of the Creator of the Universe - so I experimented with other identities. I was a lesbian for a while, though I never would have called myself one, and still hesitate to label myself with that identity. A sign, perhaps, of my awareness during that time that I was not living in the light of my true identity. I also experimented with living apart from God. I stopped going to church and numbed myself - desperately denying the growing fear and darkness.

In the years since I finally surrendered to God and acknowledged that life apart from Him was unbearable, I have slowly started to become aware of my truest identity. I have found great joy and healing in being a wife and a mother, but I had to first accept that marriage and motherhood were not essential to my survival, or even my happiness. I am still waking up to the fact that the God who created the universe, in all its intricate, complex vastness, loves me. In fact, He loves me with an infinite and undeniable love - a love that He compares to (but is so much more than) the love of a mother, a father, a jealous lover... a love that died in my place and refuses to let me be content in any place that is not with Him. This is the core of my identity, that I am loved by God.

In the light of this awakening, I have begun to question other pieces of my identity that I always assumed to be true. Thanks, in part, to my gender, my Canadian-ness, and my culturally Mennonite upbringing, I have never been one to rock the boat. I've generally seen that as a good thing - I can get along with almost anyone, and I have a really handy polite mask that I can put on if I strongly disagree with you about anything. I can nod and smile and stuff a wide variety of unpleasant emotions and inconvenient opinions. Once I started embracing my truest identity, however, I started realizing that certain things could not be stuffed. My emotions have become - for me - quite unruly. I cry much more easily than I used to. I have started using words like 'passionate' to describe myself. The closer I have gotten to God, the more heartbroken I have become by the poverty and suffering and injustice in our world. In fact, now that my self-confidence is increasingly less about me and more about God, I find myself starting to care less about how my opinions will be received. I am even starting to embrace my inner activist. I might still feel like apologizing when I speak up, but I will no longer be silent and complacent and passive. I do not know how to go on pursuing a life of comfort, hoarding so much of the world's wealth, when I could have a part in relieving someone else's suffering. In light of God's love for me - for ALL of us - I must start living a life that looks like love.

So, I'm in the process of figuring out what to toss out, and what to take in. Spring cleaning my life in light of my identity. What is love - specifically loving God, and loving others - going to look like, exactly? I'm hoping it's going to look a lot like Jesus. I'm a little terrified, because He caused a lot of controversy and I'm more than a little uncomfortable with that. But I'm also thrilled, because He loves me and I know there's no place I'd rather be!

Sackcloth and Ashes

Sound the alarm in Jerusalem!

Raise the battle cry on my holy mountain!

Let everyone tremble in fear because the day of the Lord is upon us.

It is a day of darkness and gloom,

a day of thick clouds and deep blackness. (Joel 2:1,2)

Darkness and gloom. Thick clouds and deep blackness. Those words describe part of what I'm left with after attending Unbound 2013 - an anti-human trafficking conference. I knew I would be confronted with uncomfortable information. I suspected the subject matter would not be easy to take in. But I had no idea just how much I was going to be shaken. I had no idea just how horrific the situation is in our world - not just in Cambodia and Thailand and Moldova but also right here, in Calgary and across North America.

I recently read 2 Kings 6:24-30. The people are being besieged, and there is great famine.

26One day as the king of Israel was walking along the wall of the city, a woman called to him, "Please help me, my lord the king!"

27He answered, "If the Lord doesn't help you, what can I do? I have neither food from the threshing floor nor wine from the press to give you." 28But then the king asked, "What is the matter?"

She replied, "This woman said to me: 'Come on, let's eat your son today, then we will eat my son tomorrow.' 29So we cooked my son and ate him. Then the next day I said to her, 'Kill your son so we can eat him,' but she has hidden her son."

30When the king heard this, he tore his clothes in despair. And as the king walked along the wall, the people could see that he was wearing burlap under his robe next to his skin.

As I read this story, I remember being horrified, but thinking that I was grateful we don't live in such a savage time. Such actions are incomprehensible, and I tried to forget what I had read. It made me too uncomfortable. But then I was confronted with information this past weekend that did more than make me uncomfortable. In our world today, TODAY, parents - mothers and fathers - are selling their children in to slavery. These children are being abused, exploited, suffering unimaginable horrors. It is happening today.

I came home last night and I cried. I thought about all I had learned and I felt like putting on sackcloth and ashes and running out in to the street, wailing. I prayed, desperate, like the people of Judah in 2 Chronicles 20:12, when they cried out to God in the face of imminent defeat, "We do not know what to do, but our eyes are upon you." I don't know what to do with everything I've learned. It's too much to comprehend. But I do know this: what is happening in our world is not right, and something must be done.

And I believe the first step for me is to repent. I have allowed myself to become comfortable and complacent. I have been complicit in the exploitation of others through my silence and willing ignorance. Like the king and Haman in Esther 3:15, or Joseph's brothers in Genesis 37:25, I have been content to eat and drink while others suffer. In contrast, we read of the actions of Nehemiah when he returns to Jerusalem to rebuild the wall and is confronted with the suffering of his people at the hands of their flesh and blood. Hear their complaint in Nehemiah 5:5 - "We belong to the same family as those who are wealthy, and our children are just like theirs. Yet we must sell our children into slavery just to get enough money to live. We have already sold some of our daughters, and we are helpless to do anything about it, for our fields and vineyards are already mortgaged to others." Nehemiah is angry upon hearing this and speaks out against the wealthy ones, saying, "What you are doing is not right!" (v. 9) Jesus makes it clear in Luke 10 that if we are to love the way God wants us to love, we must not turn away from the suffering that exists in our world. It does not matter who is laying bleeding on the side of the road - we have an obligation to stop and do what we can to relieve their suffering. We are all neighbours. We are all kin. So what do I do now that I have been confronted with my ignorance and inaction?

"Even now," declares the Lord, "return to me with all your heart, with fasting and weeping and mourning."

Rend your heart and not your garments.

Return to the Lord your God, for he is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and abounding in love, and he relents from sending calamity. 

(Joel 2:12,13)

So I mourn. I lay all my guilt and grief and gut-wrenching sadness at the feet of the King and ask for His forgiveness. I focus my eyes on Him, knowing that without Him, I do not have the strength to bear the burden of what I now know. I cling to Jesus, knowing that He alone is able to save us from the evil of our world, knowing that I have never felt closer to Him than when I have acknowledged my brokenness and surrendered myself to the only one who is able to restore me and make me whole.

And I claim the promise of Joel 2:25-27, which has rung out over my own life in the past, and which I believe we can claim for the devastated landscapes in our world:

"I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten...

...and you will praise the name of the Lord your God, who has worked wonders for you; never again will my people be shamed.

Then you will know...that I am the Lord your God, and that there is no other"

Weep.
Wait.
Be filled.
Then be ready to stand and move with our great God as He works through us to redeem the broken, the enslaved, and the oppressed.
Amen.

Enough

Shame
like a stain,
an ink bottle overturned,
blackness spreading, suffocating.
I strive and scrub and try to make it clean...
Futile.
I crumble, defeated.
Whispers from the darkness overwhelm me, accusations fly -

worthless
hypocrite
who do you think you are?!

And I am convinced that I am not enough.
Inadequate.

if only...
you were more organized
more patient
more self-controlled

if only...
you could get out of debt
get in shape
lose weight
get to places on time

then, and only then...

BUT THEN

Light breaks through!
The darkness trembles.
The only Voice that matters says,

I'm here, in this dark place, waiting... for YOU.
I AM ENOUGH.
You're covered.
I love you.

I realize - the choice is mine.
I turn - again - toward the light.
The darkness is banished
The hissing voice silenced

Truth washes over me like a rushing river
and I hear His voice whisper
and it feels like a roar -

You are mine.
You are beautiful.
I've got big plans for your precious life.
TRUST ME!

And I am undone.

Free
Loved
Complete
ENOUGH.

Walking a Tightrope, part 2

Last May, I wrote a post about the importance of high nurture/high structure parenting. I called it "Walking a Tightrope" because it's a tricky thing to do - it takes a LOT of practice, and it's easy to lose your footing and veer off to one side or the other. When I slip and land on the high structure/low nurture side, I turn in to a controlling, unhappy person: I'm so busy demanding right behaviour from my children (and being upset with them when they don't do the right thing) that I don't spend time connecting with them and making sure they feel loved and safe. Occasionally I fall off the other side where nurture is high and structure is low. At these times I'm usually too exhausted to guide them through the correct behaviour so I give up and end up reaping the consequences of being overly permissive!

Lately I've been recognizing another application of the high nurture/high structure approach. Not surprisingly, we've been dealing with some challenging behaviours since the Christmas holidays. One of our boys has been unable to handle the smallest disappointments, melting down over a lack of rice krispies in the cereal cupboard, for example! He's been taking out his frustration in unacceptable ways, and I have found myself turning into that unhappy, controlling mother - demanding better behaviour while attempting to punish him by withdrawing my love. What I've learned is that as structure increases, nurture needs to increase as well. In other words, the more behaviour I need to correct, the more opportunities I need to make to connect. This may mean reading stories on the couch when I'd rather be checking facebook. It may mean simplifying our schedule during the day and going grocery shopping after they're in bed rather than taking them along (the grocery store is NOT a good place for an emotionally fragile/volatile child!). It definitely means I need to go back to the basics of connecting while correcting - using playful engagement, being aware and in control of my voice and body language, and making sure that physical needs for food, drink, and activity are being met. Doing the right thing and digging out after a meltdown is hard work for my boy, but he needs to know that I haven't abandoned him and that I still love him. He needs reassurance that we're in this together, no matter what. The only way he'll know this is if I'm staying connected to him.

It's hard work. It's most certainly easier said than done! But it's absolutely crucial. And, as Paul points out in 1 Timothy 4:8, the training will pay off. As I persist in my efforts to be a "tightrope walker" I find that my ability to balance improves. I still have to fight the urge to be punitive and dismissing, but as I push past those feelings and take the time to connect, I find that the correction is a little easier too.