The weapon of peace

Parenting can feel like a battle. Whether it’s chores, homework, screen time, sibling dynamics, or just ‘the way his face looks’ the potential for conflict seems never ending. It’s so easy to get frustrated and take an adversarial stance against our children. Just a few days ago, I was feeling annoyed that our morning routine was getting derailed. Again. I found myself sighing in exasperation, rolling my eyes, and generally communicating to my child that he was the source of my irritation. My adversary. I managed to get them off to school (just a few minutes late) and I started thinking about what may have caused the rough morning. I remembered that I had spent a good chunk of the previous evening with one of the other kids, which likely left the derailer feeling left out and unloved. I found myself sighing again, in exhaustion this time, wondering how much longer I could continue to do battle against this invisible enemy, these voices in my child’s head whispering lies of unworthiness and impending rejection.

Thinking about our conflict as a spiritual battle got me to thinking about the armour of God Paul talks about in Ephesians 6. “For shoes,” he says, “put on the peace that comes from the Good News…” (v. 15). Hmmm… peace… that’s an interesting thing to take into battle. The more I thought about it though, the more it made perfect sense. When one of my children is feeling overcome by fear and shame, they don’t need me as an adversary, they need me as an ally. They need me to bring peace to help calm the chaos and confusion and pain in their minds.

Thankfully, I had a chance for a redo that afternoon. Conflict broke out over the use of Grandpa’s tools. Child A had had a long turn, and Child B was feeling jealous and left out. Rather than using good words to ask for a turn, unkind words were used and things got physical. Child B, likely ashamed by this point, escalated and had to be removed from the situation. Determined to behave better than I had that morning, I  stayed calm and stuck to a short script. “I’m not mad. You’ll get a turn with the tools. You’re not allowed to hurt people.” It took a few minutes (and a phone chat with Daddy) but we got to the point where an apology was given, respectful words were used to ask for a turn, and we were back on track. Peace won the battle!

Too often I respond to conflict situations with force. My weapons of choice often include sarcasm and shame. Lately, my ‘Voice of Authority’ has been a bit too shrill, and much too loud. So, in this season of ‘Peace on earth and goodwill to all’ I am going to be more intentional about bringing peace. Small adjustments to my body language and tone of voice bring great returns in conflict situations. My little people need to know that I’m there as their ally, not their adversary!

What's the point?

It was a typical morning in our house. I was keeping an anxious eye on the clock as I packed lunches and made sure the kids were getting dressed and eating their breakfast. The clock seemed to be speeding up as it got closer to 8:00, and I quickly realized that I would not have time to finish lunches. I explained to the kids that I would take them to school on time, then come home, finish their lunches, and drop them off at the office. One of the boys looked at me and said, "What's the point?" Not certain what he was getting at, and pretty sure "So you can eat!" was not the answer he was looking for, I asked, "What do you mean?" He replied, "What's the point of dropping off our lunches at the office if you're not even going to stay for a hug when I come to pick it up?" His response floored me. I had dropped off other things at the office in the past, and I had always left right away, partially because I thought it would be easier for them if they didn't see me. (Turns out it was mostly because it was easier for me.) I was glad he said something, as I had no idea he'd been carrying this hurt with him. I quickly assured him that I would wait for him so I could give him a hug, and I did.

His question got me thinking. As a mom, I'm prone to my fair share of "What's the point?!" moments. I grumble easily as I do my daily work - it's easy to wonder what the point of cleaning up is when it's all just going to get dirty again. What is the point of trying so hard to pack a lunch one of my guys will actually eat when most of it comes home untouched? What is the point of doing laundry when the one shirt someone can't go to school without is still dirty?  What's the point of putting in the extra effort to drop off lunches when the fact that I didn't stay for a hug is all that's remembered? What's the point of any of it when no one seems to notice, let alone show any appreciation? What's the point of showing love when the intended recipient doesn't seem to receive it?

I spent the better part of a day mulling over this last question, and I've been thinking about it off and on ever since. One of our kiddos has a difficult time resting securely in the knowledge of our love. And, to be honest, I grow weary of it. I get tired of pouring out, of making the effort to show love every day when I can't be sure if or how it will be received. The realization of my weakness, of my lack of desire to do the hard work of loving can lead to despair; I'm tempted to give up. What's the point?

But in these moments I am reminded of my relationship with my heavenly Father. How often do I forget that I am loved? How often do I not notice the countless ways He shows up for me, and then wonder why I don't feel Him near? And yet, He never stops loving me. He never gives up. He never writes me off as pointless, as not worth the effort. In His eyes, I am precious. Worthy. Worth dying for. As His love fills me up, I realize I can face another day of pouring out. His example teaches me that love is never wasted, and that the value of love is not in whether it is received or reciprocated. Love is not dependent on results, or on the worthiness of the recipient.

I still have many moments of wondering if it's worth it, if I even have what it takes to keep showing love. It's hard to persist when I don't seem to see any results. Perhaps, though, the results I need to concern myself with are in my own heart. Perhaps it is my willingness to persevere even when it's hard that is the result I should focus on. And perhaps it is when love seems least deserved that it's needed most desperately. As Paul reminds us in Romans 5:8, "God showed his great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners." Turns out love itself is the point.

Follow the Script!

I've always had a secret dream to be a famous Hollywood actress. Other than a few brief moments in the spotlight in church plays and a high school production, however, my acting career never really amounted to much! Maybe my love of theatre is part of why I'm drawn to the idea of scripts as a parenting tool... I get to produce, direct and star in my very own show!!

Seriously, though, I first learned about scripts in the parenting context when reading The Connected Child. The book includes a section with a list of 'Life Value Scripts.' These are positive ways to teach skills to our children that focus on practicing and praising the desired behaviour. Scripts such as "Gentle and kind" and "Show respect" encourage our children onto the right path. One of my favourite scripts when the kids were a bit younger was "Stick together" - an essential skill when venturing out in public with little ones. Come to think of it, we still practice this one whenever we cross a road!

One of my recent favourites is "With permission and supervision." I used this script one day with two of my kiddoes, who had been quiet upstairs for quite some time. Spidey senses tingling, I went to check on them, and found little piles of dog hair in their bedroom. As soon as they saw me, they hid their hands behind their backs and claimed they didn't know anything about it! I continued to gently pursue the truth, and they soon confessed to giving the dogs haircuts. Other than looking ridiculous, no harm had been done to the dogs, so I decided to try and keep things positive. (Besides, the fact that they tried to hide what they had done proved that they already knew they shouldn't have done it. No further teaching was required on that point!) I told them that sometimes I do trim the dogs' hair, but that in the future they would need permission and supervision in order to do it. They seemed relieved as they handed over the scissors and helped pick up the dog hair. The script had helped me to stay positive and focused on the desired behaviour, rather than reacting with negative emotions and an unnecessary lecture. And, because this is a script we use in other situations (lighting candles, handling tools, anything they can dream up that might involve hospitalization or an insurance claim...), I'm confident that they won't cut the dogs' hair without permission again!

Scripts are also beneficial in shaping my behaviour as a parent. We deal with our fair share of meltdowns and extreme behaviour, and many times we have come away from one of these episodes with the realization that our words did not help to de-escalate the situation. I was starting to get very frustrated as I found myself saying the wrong thing over and over in the heat of the moment. Try as I might, I couldn't stem the flow of harsh, punitive words. I kept lecturing and threatening consequences, driving my child further into destructive behaviour rather than offering a way out. My husband and I decided to give ourselves a script to use when one of our kids was out of control. We agreed on the following phrases:
I love you.
You're not in trouble.
Let me help you.
We still often say the wrong thing and make the situation worse. But when we focus on our script, things get resolved a lot sooner.

I recently came across a third way to use scripts in parenting. I've been reading Deborah Gray's book Attaching Through Love, Hugs and Play. At one point, she discusses the importance of entering into interactions with our children with a positive mindset rather than a grouchy and overwhelmed mindset. She shared how she would 're-set' her brain when she was driving home from work so that she wasn't bringing the stress of her job home. She would practice some relaxation techniques, then repeat a simple "mission statement" to herself. This statement focused on who she is and what she's about. A mission statement might remind us of how important our families are to us and what a privilege it is to be a parent. She describes them as "'big picture' descriptions [that] help us put things into perspective and to have more balanced brain patterns." (p. 74) I realized that I need a mission statement because I often enter challenging interactions with my kids feeling distracted, grouchy and overwhelmed. My self-talk in those moments is negative; I think about how unfair everything is, and what a failure I am... Our children pick up on our moods very quickly. If I'm being driven by frustration, resentment and shame, that's what I'll elicit in them. After reading this section in Gray's book, I decided to script my self-talk. Multiple times throughout the day, but especially when I'm starting to stress about certain behaviours or situations with the kids, I say this to myself:
I am deeply loved.
I'm a good mom.
Through the power of the Holy Spirit, I have the skills and strength I need to meet every situation with the joyful determination to be emotionally present, and to see the preciousness in my children.
As I speak these truths over myself, I feel fear and shame fade away, and strength and peace return.

Scripts are in no way a quick fix! Rather, they are a long-term discipline. Merriam-Webster's online dictionary offers a few definitions of 'script' but my favourite is "a plan of action." I like that because it acknowledges the link between our words and our behaviour. As we practice speaking words that are positive and focused on the behaviour that we want to see, we will see behaviour changed as a result. So let's be intentional with the words we use with our children (and with ourselves!) because our words have the power to transform our actions.

What do you need?

I took the kids camping all by myself this summer. Actually, a friend was there with her kids, and we were at a campsite in a town, but still…! Any time I tackle something like that without Brian, I’m going to consider it a major accomplishment! Anyway, the first night was a little rough. One of the boys was taking a long time to settle down, and I was starting to panic. I still had a bit of unpacking to do and I was already dreading the early wake-up I knew I’d have to face the next morning. In an effort to practice trust-based parenting, I kept asking my son, “What do you need?” Every time I asked, he would reply, “Exercise!” and start bouncing around. At this point, my trust-based parenting skills fell apart, because I would then say, “No, you don’t. You need sleep. Now settle down and close your eyes.” We must have had this exchange half a dozen times, and both of us were getting frustrated. Meanwhile, I was also texting Brian, hoping he would have some wisdom and perspective for me. When I mentioned that our son was claiming to need exercise, he texted back with, “So why don’t you let him go outside for 5 minutes?” Exasperated, but willing to try anything, I asked if he wanted to help me unload the cooler contents into the fridge. He jumped at the chance (literally) and within 10 minutes the work was done. Within another 10 minutes, he was asleep. Why did I argue with him for so long?!

As part of our Empowered to Connect training, we teach the importance of meeting our kids’ needs. We discuss how crucial it is to faithfully meet their needs if we want to build trust, and we encourage parents to give joyful yeses whenever they can. We highlight the fact that “What do you need?” is a much more helpful and productive question than “What’s your problem?” or “What’s wrong with you?” I wonder, though, if we neglect to cultivate an attitude of true curiosity within ourselves. When I’m asking my children to tell me what they need, I’m usually pretty sure I already know the answer. At best, I’ve got a short list of acceptable answers in mind. When their response doesn’t match my preconceived ideas, I feel suspicious of them. I wonder if they’re taking the whole thing seriously, and I may even argue with them. Sometimes, I find myself dismissing their needs because they are actually just wants, and I want to get down to the true underlying need. But what if my child doesn’t even know what he really needs in that moment? What if meeting their expressed needs gives them the freedom and ability to trust me with their actual needs?

I believe that if we want to build trust and effectively meet our kids’ needs, we have to honour what they’re telling us. If we approach the conversation with a dismissive “I know better than you” attitude, they’re not going to believe that their voice matters, and they’re not going to trust us to meet their needs. Meeting their needs teaches them that they have a voice, and that they can trust us.

Jesus models this so well for us! In Luke 18, we read of an encounter he has with a blind man. The man is shouting as Jesus and his entourage go by, trying to get the Lord’s attention. People around Jesus are trying to shush the man, but Jesus insists on speaking with him. When the man is brought to him, Jesus asks, “What do you want me to do for you?” (Luke 18:41 NLT) I love how Jesus takes the time to give this blind beggar a voice, approaching his need with gentleness and curiosity. There’s not a hint of arrogance or presumption. How beautiful! Of course, when the man responds with, “I want to see!” he is healed. Jesus could have healed him without that bit of dialogue, but I believe this is an important glimpse into God’s heart – he wants us to know we can trust him with our needs and desires. He invites us into relationship by encouraging us to speak our needs: he gives us voice. And when we do trust him and bring our needs to him, there is no ridicule; we are not dismissed. Instead, we are heard. We are seen. And we learn to trust.

This is the attitude I want to bring to my conversations with my children – a genuine curiosity to hear what they have to say, and a willing heart ready to meet their needs.

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.

Roy

I met a man named Roy one Saturday. Had it been any other Saturday, our meeting would not have impacted me as much as it has. But it happened that Saturday. The day I seriously started praying that God would show me how to live with my eyes wide open.

I should back up a bit. We (Brian and I) have felt, well, kind of restless for the last while. Like there's more to life than what we've been living. We've felt a tension, an uneasiness, a sense that something needed to change. We've been increasingly, uncomfortably aware of just how easy our life is compared to the difficulties so many face. It's been kind of like the freezing wearing off after dental surgery: a throbbing ache, a growing awareness of pain that hasn't stopped us from going about our daily life - it's just thrown us off a little.

Then I started reading Jen Hatmaker's stuff (7 and Interrupted), and finished Mercy Triumphs, Beth Moore's study on the book of James. The discomfort grew. I was becoming more and more convicted that I'd been somehow missing the point of how I was supposed to be living. That too much of my time was spent perpetuating my family's comfortable lifestyle, and not enough time was spent in using our abundance to help those who really needed it.

So, after I finished reading Interrupted, I felt that I needed to get serious about praying for clarity and direction from God. If He was truly leading me to make significant changes, then I wanted to know what the next step would be. I decided I'd stay off facebook for a couple days (sort of a fast) and every time I felt the urge to check it, I'd pray instead. I started praying that my eyes would be open to opportunities right in front of me. I figured I probably walk past hurting, vulnerable people every day, so I just prayed that I would be able to see the needs around me and have the courage to step in and meet those needs. After all, James 4:17 informs us that "if you know the right thing to do and don't do it, that, for you, is evil."

Enter Roy. I was at Chinook, having coffee with a friend, when another friend (one I haven't seen in years) approached our table with her mom and an older gentleman. She introduced us to Roy and explained that he had lost his wallet and his keys, and that he was rather distressed about it. She was glad we were there because he needed a place to sit while she went to try and find someone who could help. I was astounded that God had worked this quickly. (My actual thoughts went something like, "Seriously, God?! I'm half a day into my fast and you've already placed a vulnerable person in need in my path?! Wow.") What happened next revealed to me just how inexperienced and ill-prepared I am for all this.

As Kate walked away to find someone, the inner debate started. I felt a strong desire to do something to help. After all, it couldn't be mere coincidence that Roy was sitting at our table! But isn't that the kind of thing security is supposed to look after? It's their job, I reasoned. Wait a minute, isn't that the kind of thinking that's gotten us to this place of keeping ourselves distanced and insulated from suffering in our world?! Smarten up, Colleen. So we conversed (awkwardly) with Roy. Kate returned, unsuccessful, and attempted to get a phone number from Roy. She called it - no answer. When security staff came, they got an address from him. Immediately, I thought that maybe I should give him a ride home. But what if he's just pretending to be helpless? What if I'd be putting myself in danger? And what if the address he gave us is incorrect? I'd be stuck with him for who knows how long. We soon discovered that he still had his bus tickets, so he would be able to get home. I felt instant relief. The security personnel had left a message at the phone number Roy had given, and they assured him they'd check on him again in an hour. We made sure that he had something to eat and drink, and went on our way.

Driving home, I continued to wonder what else I could have done. Did I do enough? Should I have offered him a ride home? What would have been some way to help?? Then it hit me - I could have waited with him. If someone I knew and cared about was alone and vulnerable, I would have waited. But waiting would have made us late for church, I argued. This next thought slammed into my brain with the force and speed of a wrecking ball: Is it more important to sit in church, or be the church? Ouch.

I have two main thoughts after meeting Roy. First, I'm going to have to change the way I see and think about the world. Other people's pain and discomfort are not necessarily someone else's responsibility. There may be something I can do to help. At the very least, I can dignify the suffering of others by being aware of their existence. Second, I'm not nearly as smart as I thought I was. I know very little about how to actually live moment by moment with eyes and heart wide open. I'm going to have to approach this with a little humility and take advantage of opportunities to practice being the kind of Christ-follower I believe I'm called to be. It's time to be the church.

Someday...

Brian and I were in BC, on the lower mainland, for an adoption conference this past weekend. We found ourselves starting sentences with "Someday..." We talked about our 10th anniversary, only 2 years away. We talked about holidays we'd like to go on with (and without!) the kids. In short, we were dreaming. Thinking of all the great places in the world we'd like to see and experience.

Then we heard some amazing stories. One woman in particular, Kim England, said something that made me stop and think. She was telling us how God led their family to adoption. And how, with 4 biological children, they adopted a sibling group of 4 boys! She shared some of the craziness, then she told us what her husband says when they are faced with the reality of how much their life has changed. He says, "Living out a miracle is way better than living out a dream." I started thinking, and the more I thought about it, the more I liked it.

I thought about the typical dreams many of us have. Dreams for ourselves and our families. Dreams about vacations and homes and wardrobes. Dreams about fame and fortune and accomplishments. Then I thought about the lives that inspire me. People who have sacrificed comfort and "freedom 55" and many other things we've been taught to expect. People who have stepped in to the brokenness of our world and are making a difference for the hurting and the vulnerable. People like Kim and her husband who are witnessing miracles - watching the transformation as children learn to trust, experiencing the love of their very own family.

I'm not against dreams - they can focus, motivate and challenge us. I'm just wondering if our dreams are too small, if they limit us sometimes. Are we so focused on where we hope to be in the future that we're missing out on stuff right now? Are there miracles right under our noses? My prayer is that my eyes will be opened to what God has for me today, that I'll be able to see and be a part of the miracles He's performing, and that my dreams will start to reflect His heart.

[in?]fertility

Ever since I can remember, I've wanted to be a mom. "Wanted" isn't nearly strong enough for what I felt! Forget teen mom - I used to daydream about having a baby in elementary school. I'd imagine elaborate scenarios in which babies I knew would get deathly ill and only my presence by their crib would give them the will to live. I practically stalked new moms at church, hoping like crazy they'd see me lurking behind them and ask me if I wanted to hold their baby. It was a bit of an obsession, to say the least! In addition to wanting a baby, I naturally became fascinated with the idea of romantic love. Traditionally, one needs a man to experience motherhood.

So you can imagine my disappointment when I entered my 20's without any prospect of marriage. I allowed myself to become discontented, which led to turning my back on God and getting involved in a relationship with no real prospects of motherhood. When I finally got right with God, got out of the relationship, and met Brian, I had surrendered many of my expectations to God. I was so grateful to be back on track with Him, and experiencing His presence in my life like never before, I figured I'd be all right even if I never got to be a wife and a mom. And I have no doubt that I would have found joy and fulfillment had that been my path.

In the middle of my newfound contentment, however, I met Brian! We were married within the year and my dreams of being a mom were brought back to life. It soon became clear that conception would be difficult, so our hearts turned towards adoption, and the rest of the story is familiar. It all happened so quickly, and we felt God leading us so strongly, that I didn't really take the time to explore any unresolved grief over my infertility. There were physical factors that had prepared me to expect difficulty getting pregnant, and adoption had always been something I wanted to do regardless of biological children, so I didn't dwell on it for too long.

Lately though, as I've been practicing gratitude in all things and believing that we are to find a reason for joy even in the midst of difficult circumstances, I've been thinking about my infertility. And my thoughts have taken an interesting turn. In the past, I've always summarized my feelings on infertility by saying, "Sure, there's a part of me that will always be sad I didn't get to experience the whole pregnancy thing, but I'm so incredibly grateful for the kids we do have that I'm not hung up on it." I'm wondering if there's more to it than that. More than just "infertility sucks but we've got great kids so it all balances out." What if we had never adopted? Would I still have been able to be grateful? Find joy? I have to believe that there would have been a way. That the promise of Psalm 30:11 applies to this: "You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy." (NLT) We don't merely dance while we're mourning, or put joy over top of everything else. (Although this kind of intentionality and discipline can be a part of it.) It seems that the source of our mourning can literally be transformed into joy.

One of the movements I've been following is called "People of the Second Chance." They ran a recent campaign called "Labels Lie" and I started thinking about the label of infertility. Is that a label I need to wear for my whole life, or is this something that can be transformed? Redeemed? Replaced with a truer identity? If labels do lie, then could I be considered fertile?! According to the free online dictionary, fertile can mean more than just being capable of reproduction. It also contains the element of growth, maturity, and productivity. It is often used to describe things other than reproductive ability, as in "She has a fertile imagination." I wonder... I think about my life. I have grown a LOT in the last few years - spiritually, emotionally, relationally. A feeling of increased maturity has accompanied this growth. Then there are the little ones in my care. They are growing and maturing. I must be providing fertile ground for their growth. As for productivity - I have written a lot in the last year! I am involved in a brand new adoption and foster care ministry in our church, and we're preparing to teach the Empowered to Connect material to a group of parents in a few weeks. My days are marked by a certain productivity, even if much of it is forced by the physical and emotional needs of the kids! I feel productive, most days. As I explore these definitions and reflect on my life, I realize that "fertile" is a more apt description than "infertile."

As I start to embrace my fertility, I realize that much of what has happened in my life would not have happened without my inability to conceive. There's the obvious - we wouldn't have the 3 great kids we do! But there's more. I wouldn't have trusted and depended on God in nearly the same way. Once again, surrendering 'Plan A' forced me to trust in God's goodness and His plan for my life. I am closer to Him as a result. Had I conceived biological children, I likely would not have seen my family grow from zero to three children in less than 1 year. This has forced a daily dependence on God as I deal with the demands of parenting 3 so close in age. I have been humbled. Many times. And I have learned to be more patient, not to mention more gracious with others! I have learned about sacrifice as I daily put the needs of others before my own. I have felt the thrill of being a part of something much, much bigger than myself as I've watched the birthing of a new ministry. I've felt completely overwhelmed with the knowledge that God has placed me here and now to accomplish His purposes in the world. I get to be a part of a growing movement that will see more families open their homes to children who need them.

Joy and gratitude flood my soul as I consider my infertility! I could laugh out loud over all the ways my life has been made fruitful. Fertile. Full of growth!

You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy, that I might sing praises to you and not be silent. O LORD my God, I will give you thanks forever!
                                                                             Psalm 30:11,12 NLT

Where were you on 9/11?

Every year around this time, I get the inevitable question, "Do you remember where you were on 9/11?" Usually I respond with my physical location, but today it occurred to me that I could answer that question very differently.

10 years ago, I was a hollow shell of myself... Desperate to extricate myself from a co-dependent, unhealthy relationship. Unable to see light at the end of a very dark tunnel. Aware that my actions and my deceit had deeply wounded those who loved me most. Feeling far from God and wondering if my life would ever regain its colour and joy. Certain that my actions had ensured a future of singleness since no one would want someone with this kind of past.

Today, I am being made whole. Firmly rooted in healthy relationships free from secrets. Able to enjoy a life filled with light and colour and joy. Feeling close to God and filled with wonder at the fact that I was given this second chance. Grateful that my past does not define me, or doom me to a miserable present.

This year, when I reflect on the tragic events of September 11, 2001, I will remember those who lost their lives. I will also take time to thank God for the new life He has given me since that day. I will remember where I once was, and give praise to my Creator for lavishing His love and grace on me.

But God is so rich in mercy, and he loved us so much, that even though we were dead because of our sins, he gave us life when he raised Christ from the dead. (It is only by God's grace that you have been saved!)                        ~Ephesians 2:4,5

A Potty Training Analogy

Much of the last 18 months has been spent potty training our 3 kids. While I do feel fairly experienced at potty training, I do not feel like an expert! Because the kids are so close in age, the youngest 2 trained despite my best efforts - they mostly learned from each other. (In other words, don't ask me for advice... it's been a bit of a whirlwind and I honestly have a hard time explaining how it all happened!)

Early on, I was struck by the observation that I am not that much different than a potty training toddler at times. This observation was sparked when I caught myself thinking things like, "They know what to do, so why don't they do it?!" and "It's so frustrating - why don't they realize how much more freedom they'll have this way and how much better life will be for them??" I realized that the same could often be said of me. So often I know what I should be doing but I don't do it. I know that I need to exercise more, eat less junk food and more fruits and vegetables, and go to bed earlier. I know that I should procrastinate less and keep my stuff more organized. The list could go on and on, which is tempting because I do like making lists... part of the procrastination thing, I guess! Last week, while I was going through stuff for the garage sale, I came across a journal entry from 2003. I had written about the conviction that I needed to spend quiet time with God every day. I wrote about the need for a distinction to be made between physical rest and spiritual rest, and how even if I got adequate sleep at night I would still feel exhausted if I wasn't replenishing my spirit. I read this journal entry and had to shake my head at myself. Eight years later and I'm still working on this one! It is only in recent months that I have finally started getting up early to spend time with God, and this is only because I was desperate - I found myself in the midst of a very busy season and knew I would not be able to cope unless I took drastic measures. It has made an incredible difference in how I've been handling things, so why does it take so long to figure stuff like this out? Why is it that we so often have to get to the end of ourselves before the necessary changes are made?!

I am reassured to know that I'm in good company on this one. In Romans 7:15, 18 and 19, Paul writes, "I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do... I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do - this I keep on doing." I'm so glad I'm not the only one! But why do so many of us struggle with this stuff? I think part of the reason is that if it was easy to be perfect, we'd be consumed with pride and arrogance (and, therefore, far from perfect...). I think that once we realize we can't do it on our own we are in the right spot for God's power to be unleashed, and that's the only way true and lasting change will happen. For me, willpower and determination only last for so long. It is only when I acknowledge my dependence on God's power that I see results.

So, here's hoping I have learned my lesson and stop being content to live anything less than the abundant life to which I've been called. And when I do forget to be a big girl, I will remember that God has everything I need to help me grow up and do what needs to be done!

Helicopter Parenting

I like predictability. I am also a big fan of structure, routine, and met expectations. I truly enjoy making to-do lists and checking off each task as I complete it. If I knew my husband wouldn't injure himself laughing at me, I'd probably even put things like "get out of bed" and "drink coffee" on my list - just to give myself a few more things to check off! I feel a deep sense of satisfaction when everything goes according to my plan... As my motherhood journey enters its fourth year, I am realizing more and more just how much I like to be in control.

When my kids were babies (and they were pretty much all babies at the same time), this was all good. Bedtimes, naptimes, eating times, pooping times - I was on top of it all. Not that I felt in control of it all the time, but I was there for it all. I knew what to feed them, when to feed them, when to put them to bed and when to change their diapers. And they couldn't really do too much about it - I was in control of every aspect of their little lives and, looking back, I think I liked that. They're not nearly so predictable and easy to manage now. And I have to fight the urge to hang on to my need to know everything about them at every moment in time.

While I have been aware of how easily I could become a helicopter mom (ie. always hovering) for some time, it all came to a head this past weekend. We were in Saskatoon to celebrate Easter with Brian's family, and I had been looking forward to the big family gathering with some anxiety. I felt that I simply could not be expected to let the kids play without being checked on for longer than a few minutes at a time, and this had been a source of conflict between me and Brian since Christmas. He felt that my inability to relax was hurting me and my relationships with others. We had discussed it a few times, but had not reached a consensus by the time we left on our trip. After much openness, a great deal of patience, and a wee bit of irrational logic, we had agreed on a plan by the time we arrived: I would do my best to relax, trusting the older cousins and our kids' lungs to alert me to trouble, and Brian would make an extra effort to check on the kids a little more frequently than he thought was absolutely necessary.

I'm happy to say, it worked like a charm! The kids had a blast running around with their cousins, no one got seriously hurt, and no property was damaged (as far as I know). I was even able to enjoy a game of Wizard - as much as one can enjoy a game one doesn't win...! And I learned a lot about myself through my discussion with Brian. Turns out I was motivated more by my own insecurity and need to be seen as a competent mother than by a reasonable concern for their safety. I'm certainly not cured of my desire to be in complete control; I think this whole process of letting go and deciding when they can handle a bit more freedom and independence will always be difficult. I think it will require a lot of wisdom and discernment, and more than a little prayer. I think I'll always be tempted to hover. But I've learned a couple of important lessons - one being that Brian is sometimes right!! The other - my babies can't soar if Mommy's blocking their airspace.

Sacrifices

Making sacrifices is something I've thought a lot about since becoming a mom. Our family grew quickly - we went from 2 to 5 in less than a year. The sacrifices were immediate and life-changing! Sleep was one of the first things to go, along with free time and spontaneity. Initially, we made these sacrifices willingly and with great joy. We were so very excited to welcome these beautiful babies into our home! Over time, however, I've noticed a tendency to let self-pity and resentment creep in. I have found myself easily frustrated when my plans are sabotaged and my "needs" go unmet. I remember being forced to abandon my attempts to do yoga one afternoon when Kolbie started throwing the foam bricks at me. It's pretty funny when I think about it now, but at the time I narrowly avoided bursting into tears. I felt overwhelmed but really, what a small sacrifice I was making!

With Easter weekend approaching, I've been thinking about the sacrifices Jesus made for us. I've been reminded that we are called to live and love as He did. In Philippians 2:5-11, Paul writes

Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus:

Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death - even death on a cross! Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

This certainly helps bring those little, daily sacrifices into perspective. I am called to have the same attitude as Jesus - an attitude of humility and servanthood. Motherhood provides daily opportunities to put the needs of others first! Instead of viewing these sacrifices as necessary aggravations that must be endured if I want to be a mom, I can view them as ways to fulfill my spiritual calling - a life of decreasing selfishness and increasing love. Suddenly I feel inspired - I want to do more than survive the pre-school years... I want to be the best person I can be. I want to emerge more like Christ, and less like the selfish little girl who felt like crying when her yoga plans fell apart!

This Easter weekend, I want to reflect on Christ's great love for me, and renew my determination to live out that love. I want to reclaim motherhood as a high calling, made noble and sacred as we identify ourselves with Christ through our sacrificial living.