Advent thoughts

Last November I read a great post about Advent - "Advent, Not Christmas" - and I've been thinking about it ever since. I don't recall learning much about the liturgical calendar as a child, so I always thought of Advent as a countdown to Christmas, often involving chocolate! I have learned that it is much, much more. In Stacey's own words:

Christmas is a season of triumph and joy. We rejoice in the coming of our King; we rejoice in the knowledge that God lowered himself, and took the position of a human baby so that we might know him better. Advent, by contrast, is a time of sober reflection and preparation. Advent is the experience of waiting with Israel for the Christ – and waiting together as the church for the second coming of Jesus. It’s the fast that makes the feast taste extra good.
What are we missing when we skip over Advent?
The fast before the feast, yes – but also something else. Advent gives us the opportunity to tell God that things are still not right down here. We weep over the state of the world; we bring to God those things in our own lives that aren’t right. Advent establishes in the people of God a renewed sense of longing for Christ’s second coming – for the day when all things shall be renewed under the lordship of Christ. As we wait with Israel, we feel some of Israel’s pain and desperation – and we join our own pain and desperation to it. We see oppression, war, and hunger in the world and we acknowledge that this is not the way things should be, that this is not God’s intention for the world. We stand in the face of injustice, sorrow, and sickness and say: “Come, Lord Jesus, come.”

Things are still not right down here. Those are exactly the words I need right now. I was feeling a little overwhelmed with sadness last night... Four families I know and care deeply for have experienced the loss of a loved one in recent days. A couple we met a year ago are ready and willing to bring 4 precious children home from Uganda, and they are facing delay after excruciating delay. Other adoptive and foster couples are sharing their hearts with us, opening up about the difficulties and heartache and despair of raising children from hard places. And then there are natural disasters, and school shootings, and it feels like too much. However... when I read Stacey's words and I think about the season of Advent, I realize it's okay to be desperate and hurting right now. This is not the way things should be. Families should not be facing such tragic losses. Children should not be falling asleep tonight without knowing the love of a family. So we bring all these things before God and we tell Him about it. We mourn and grieve and get mad and wonder how these things can possibly be happening...

But Advent is not all about darkness and despair. We acknowledge our pain and our desperation, and we also look forward to the coming of the One who will make all things new. We celebrate the birth of our Saviour, the One who is already and always in the business of rescuing us. We give thanks that He is present, that He is with us, in the middle of our despair, and that He has a plan to redeem it all. In the words of Sally Lloyd-Jones in The Jesus Storybook Bible (as she paraphrases Revelation 21:3,4):

One day, John knew, Heaven would come down and mend God's broken world and make it our true, perfect home once again.
And he knew, in some mysterious way that would be hard to explain, that everything was going to be more wonderful for once having been so sad.
And he knew then that the ending of The Story was going to be so great, it would make all the sadness and tears and everything seem like just a shadow that is chased away by the morning sun.

So, we wait. We acknowledge the darkness and we look forward to the time when the Light of the world will dispel the darkness forever. O come, o come, Emmanuel!

(illustration on pg. 185 of The Jesus Storybook Bible)

Living Out the Incarnation

I just read an incredibly beautiful post by Sarah Bessey. All of her stuff is beautiful, but this one is especially gorgeous because it's about the incarnation and that's one of my favourite topics, especially in December! It's a post about not sanitizing the Christmas story, and about being real, and about seeing beauty and redemption and love in the middle of the messiest situations. I loved it!

The only part that didn't resonate with me was the giving birth part. Even though I've processed some stuff related to infertility, it still hurts sometimes. This was one of those times. As much as I loved what I was reading, there was still an ache in my heart as I realized I couldn't identify with this part of the Christmas story. And then I reflected on these words of Sarah's, written to articulate why we avoid the messy humanity of the Nativity:

It’s too much pain, too much waiting, too much humanity, too much God, too much work, too much joy, too much love and far too messy. With far too little control. And sometimes it does not go the way we thought it was supposed to go and then we are also left with questions, with deep sadness, with longing.
 

She was talking about childbirth, but it struck me that this is universal. I'm a part of this. Any human being in relationship with another human being knows this - the pain, the messiness, the joy, the love, and the lack of control. As an adoptive mom, I know this. I have waited, uncertain. I have known pain, confronted with the messiness of our children's histories and the grief and loss that will always be a part of their stories. I have questions. Things have not gone the way we assumed they would.

But this is where the incarnation really starts to take on profound meaning for me: I have the opportunity to live it out. As Jesus chose to enter the world and redeem it in all its messiness, so I can choose to enter in to life with my children, and parent in ways that will bring healing and redemption - recognizing always that only God is the true Healer, and I am but the one He has chosen to do this work, with these children. I am humbled and awed as I realize that I get to be a part of this. As I strive to "be with" those I love - to be fully emotionally present - I am participating in the redemptive work of Christ in the world. As I learn to lay aside my expectations and my preferences, and learn to parent in a way that takes my children's histories into account, I am living out a bit of the incarnation. And as I celebrate this Advent season, I am looking forward to the day when the Great Healer will return. As Sally Lloyd-Jones puts it in The Jesus Storybook Bible, the return of Jesus will "make all the sadness and tears and everything seem like just a shadow that is chased away by the morning sun."

Until then, I will celebrate Emmanuel - God with us - all year long. Laying aside, living it out, and longing for His return.

(http://www.thatartistwoman.org/2008/12/how-to-make-nativity-silhouette-art.html)

Crazy?! Definitely.

Why do difficult parenting moments have to happen at church?! In theory, I'm all for keeping it real and letting other people see us as we really are, I just wish it didn't feel so uncomfortable...! Take Tuesday morning, for example. We had a very busy weekend with family and friends in Saskatchewan, and we probably should have stayed home for the day, but I had already missed the previous week's study and I really wanted a little time away from the kids. Everything went well until one of the boys dug in his heels and refused to go in to his class. This happens with this particular child once in a while; I'm still trying to figure out what motivates it. Sometimes I wonder if he's over-tired, other times I sense that he is needing extra closeness - perhaps because we got a little tense and impatient in the process of getting ready to go to church?! This particular morning, I suspect he was needing a quiet morning at home (as quiet as it gets at our place, at least) and some cuddle time with mommy.

Even though I knew what was likely motivating his resistance, I still felt frustrated when I saw his little body flop to the floor and his bottom lip jut out. My mind quickly calculated how many minutes of "me time" I was going to have to sacrifice to get him to a point where he'd be willing to go in to his class. I tried a few potential quick fixes, hoping that if I stayed connected and compassionate he'd hop through that doorway and I'd be free. No luck. By this time, a couple of kind souls had already tried to cajole him in to detaching from me, but this just made it worse. He responds to those types of interventions by burrowing his face in to whatever part of me is closest, and I respond by getting defensive and annoyed. I was now finding it extremely difficult to stay compassionate to my son's emotional state because I was busy imagining the mix of pity and criticism with which other people were viewing the whole situation. Wondering if I'd have to just pack up and go home, I decided to try one more thing. I put on my mental blinders in an effort to shield myself from my perception of other people's opinions, and headed down to the cafe. I bought a coffee for myself and a yogurt for the boy, and we sat down at a table. I'd like to say it was a warm and fuzzy time of connection, but it wasn't. He ate his yogurt while persisting in his insistence that he wanted to stay with me. I drank my coffee while persisting in my efforts to not let self-pity and frustration overwhelm me. Within 10 minutes he agreed that he could probably go to class, so maybe low blood sugar was part of the issue. Whatever it was, I was finally able to drop him off and join the ladies at my table.

At some point in the morning, our conversation turned to the topic of how critical and judgmental we are of each other as parents. We talked about the pressure to be "Super Mom" and how none of us feel up to that challenge. We agreed that we all feel judged (at times) by others, and that we are all prone to feel critical (at times) of others. I think that if we are serious about pursuing deeper relationships and developing our ability to treat others with grace and compassion, we need to deal with both ends - our tendency towards both superiority and inadequacy. Parenting isn't a competition; it's a relationship. And if I'm caught up in the trap of comparing myself to others and worrying about what they're thinking, then I'm not free to be fully present for my children, and my relationship with them will suffer.

As I practice keeping my focus on my children and what they need, I am encouraged by the example of Jesus in John 4:6-42. While resting at a well, a woman comes to draw water and he engages her in conversation, asking her for a drink. She is surprised and his disciples are shocked that he would speak to a woman in this way, let alone a Samaritan woman. But that's one of the many cool things about Jesus - he doesn't let the opinions of others, even his closest friends, stop him from seeing and meeting the needs of hurting people. The fact that he sees this woman (and offers to meet the deepest needs of her soul with grace and love) changes her life and the lives of many in her village. It's a beautiful picture of just how crazy he is about us - that he would risk acting scandalously to bring healing and hope to our wounded souls. I'm pretty crazy about my kids, and my prayer is that I will keep my focus on what's most important as I parent them.

The Pursuit of Comfort

I really had no idea that becoming a parent would involve learning so much about myself. I was prepared to learn about my kids, to learn some strategies, even to learn about God. I thought I knew myself fairly well... turns out I've got a lot to learn about a lot of things!

One area I'm learning lots about these days is just how much I like being comfortable, and how my pursuit of comfort manifests itself in different areas of my life. I try to avoid discomfort in all sorts of ways in my parenting. I find it uncomfortable to move closer to the kids when I need to talk to them; I'd much rather holler from a distance. I don't really enjoy bundling them up to go outside on a snowy day; I'm much more comfortable indoors. Learning how to stay connected with my kids in the middle of the most trying moments has certainly been rewarding, but I wouldn't say the process of un-learning and learning different ways of parenting has been comfortable; it's distinctly uncomfortable at times. And here's one from this morning: I dislike offering sincere apologies to my children when I've screwed up. I find a certain comfort in the "I'm right, they're wrong, and they deserve what's coming to them" line of thinking; it's easier than humbling myself, acknowledging my harsh words and actions, and asking for forgiveness. I've written before about my love of comfort as a parent - apparently it's time to work on it again... and again...

What's really been hitting me the last while, though, is how very dangerous the pursuit of comfort can be. The consequences are fairly easy to see when I reflect on my relationships - an unwillingness to practice humility and 'inconvenience' myself will limit the depth of those relationships. But what happens when my unwillingness to step in to uncomfortable situations motivates me when I'm confronted with suffering in the world around me? Will I be too busy making myself comfortable to make a difference? Will I, like the priest and the Levite in the story of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10), avert my eyes and walk by because getting too close to suffering is inconvenient and painful? And what happens when entire groups of people - churches, cities, nations - actively pursue comfort? Is that perhaps, in part, what is perpetuating the inequities and injustices present in our world today?

This has been a bit of a journey for me. After meeting a man named Roy last July, I've had a number of interesting encounters. And it's all felt, well, uncomfortable. But I think that's the point. I think that growth, especially the kind of transformation Paul talks about in Romans 12:2, is going to feel awkward and even painful at times. Whenever Jesus spoke of the cost of being his disciple, he painted a pretty grim picture - see Luke 9:57-62 or 14:25-27, for example. And I don't think any of us can do this in our own strength. Learning how to see and think and feel and act differently will take a lot of hard work, but we're not alone - thank God, we have his Holy Spirit empowering us!

So, I'll press on. Daily, moment by moment, trying to remember to lay aside my desire for comfort, and replacing it with the pursuit of discipleship. Turning into, instead of away from, the messiness of life. And maybe, after a few thousand (million?!) baby steps, being uncomfortable will start to feel a bit more natural. And then I guess I'll have to step it up a notch - wouldn't want to get comfortable...

More mess, less math

I have a sneaking suspicion my left brain is a tad more well-developed than my right. I love predictability and order, logic and lists. I love that when the left brain is described, four words are used that all start with the same letter: Language, Linear, Logic, Literal. Alliterations please me. As do numbers that are the same forwards as they are backwards. Just ask my husband, my brother or my high school bff how happy I get when I see a number like this on my odometer:

(And please ignore the fact that my van was obviously not at a standstill when I took this picture. Clearly, I am not well.)

Math was one of my favourite subjects in school. Okay, I'll be honest, I just loved school. (Almost all of it - the relationships stressed me out, but that makes sense since relational stuff like nonverbal cues and emotion are part of the right brain's domain.) So it's not surprising that I've approached parenting from a left-brain, mathematical mindset. Deep down, I believe that if I can just do everything correctly, then I will get the results I want with my kids. Take sleep, for example. I find it somewhat distressing that no matter how hard I try to make sure I've done everything "right" (good food, physical activity, fresh air, little/no tv...) I still can't guarantee a good night's sleep for my kids. Shouldn't  A + B always = C?! And what about those dreaded transitions - if I give a certain son gentle reminders and a 5-minute warning, and I keep my voice calm, then he should be able to get his little behind into the van without stalling. If only parenting neatly followed "If, then" logic!

I am slowly discovering just how much my frustration level is linked to my belief that parenting can be reduced to simple arithmetic. I am learning that relationships are often messy and unpredictable, and that intimacy doesn't always take logical, linear paths. So how do I move from a left-brained approach to a more integrated approach? How do I parent in a more balanced, holistic way? Paying attention to the underlying beliefs that are driving my behaviour is a good place to start - my children are precious human beings with their own thoughts, feelings, and expectations, not numbers that can be manipulated to meet my need for order. As I am more intentional about embracing the right-brain stuff of life, such as emotions and nonverbal cues, I'll become more attuned to my own needs and the needs of others. This will enable me to know others and be known by others on a much deeper level - and that sounds like somewhere I'd like to live... A place where I'm known and loved, and am free to know and love others because of it. I've been warned that living like this takes a lot of hard work, and that it will often look a little messy, but it's like Curt Thompson said at the Tapestry Conference this past weekend: "Life is not about not being messy. It's about being creative with the messes that you have." So, here's to embracing messes as opportunities for creativity, something the kids in our lives already know how to do really well! Apparently this messy hall closet is actually a gondola (in case that wasn't immediately obvious)!

Now to convince the left side of my brain that it really will be better off if it works in harmony with the right side now and then. Remember, it's not a mess - it's an opportunity for adventure and creativity!

The Love Train

I follow a few blogs. (Surprising, I know!) Today, I came across a beautiful idea to help children cope when they're having difficulty handling being separated from someone they love. The context was helping children cope when a parent can't be with them, but it could be applied to any separation. The blog is written by Lisa Qualls - you can read the entire post here. She writes about how difficult it can be for children from hard places to believe that their parents' love is constant, that even though they're apart, they are still loved. She shares a strategy called "the magical cord of love" which reminded me of "The Kissing Hand"!

We're expecting a lot of snow tonight, and Brian's going to leave really early for work tomorrow. It's been quite a few months since our early riser has slept through his daddy's departure - and we're praying he sleeps through it tomorrow. In light of everything we've dealt with in this department, we thought we'd forewarn the guy. So, we explained the circumstances and gave him something to look forward to (namely, that he'll get to see Brian at church). Inspired by Lisa's blog, we talked about the fact that we always love him, even when we're not together. I also encouraged him to draw a picture of him and Brian, joined with a rope of love - something tangible to help him remember. He drew a picture of the 2 of them on a train, and then he asked me to draw a heart in the center - he practiced a few hearts but couldn't get it quite right!

Notice how he and Brian are holding hands! So sweet. (Apparently Logan's the driver.) Here's hoping the message starts to sink in. It's such an important message, too. I so desperately want him to have the security of knowing that we love him no matter what. I'm convinced that kids can face a LOT in life if they have an unshakeable conviction that they are loved, that they are precious, and that the love we have for them is but a shadow of the great love of our Heavenly Father.

And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God's love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow - not even the powers of hell can separate us from God's love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below - indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.
~Romans 8:38,39 NLT

A difficult day

Yesterday was tough. It felt like I was doing battle on multiple fronts - first there was the kid who refused/is unable to keep his seat belt snug. (Public transit seems like a viable option right now.) And then there were the two trouble-makers who conspired to empty a bottle of lotion, smeared it all over themselves and a bathtub, and left a few globs on the carpet, just for good measure. (Did I mention that I discovered the lotion disaster just as I was getting ready to leave to pick up my oldest from school?! I still haven't cleaned out the tub.) The after school/before supper stretch remained bumpy. Bumpy actually doesn't quite describe it - it was more like I was living in a game of Minesweeper, and I kept landing on mines and having to start all over. Thankfully my supper plans consisted of dumping a couple cans of mushroom soup on some chicken and sticking it in the oven, to be served over minute rice. I know, I know, I'm quite the gourmet cook!

As I reflected on my day after the kids were in bed, I realized that there were a number of small (yet huge) victories. Two stand out - first of all, I managed to stay fairly calm while dealing with the lotion incident. This was a tricky one to navigate. Had I vented my anger, one of the culprits would have ended up in his room, curled up in bed. I was able to express my frustration and disappointment without triggering a monster pout or causing them to lash out at me in self-defense. And we made it to school just a few minutes late!

The other victory came as I was trying to halt the downward spiral we found ourselves on after picking up Kolbie from school. I was unsuccessfully avoiding landmines, and wondering how I was going to get that chicken in the oven without facing more overturned toy bins and laundry baskets (or worse, injuries to siblings). At that moment I realized there was an internal battle waging. I knew what I should do - invite him in to the kitchen to open cans for me and help me get supper ready. But this was not what I wanted to do. I wanted to punish him by removing anything that could possibly be enjoyable to him. I wanted him to feel the strength of my disapproval - as if that would somehow get us back on track. I fought with myself - and did what I knew I should do. And we enjoyed a few minutes of peace and connectedness in the midst of an otherwise chaotic mess of an afternoon. I still ended up asking Brian to come home a few minutes early (which he did) and we still ended up dealing with a sizeable meltdown before supper. But we were able to restore our connection, and by the time we tucked the kids in to bed, we were all at peace with each other.

Isn't it funny, though, how so much of our kids' behaviour depends on how we behave? Who knew?! I certainly didn't expect to have to un-learn so much of what I thought I knew, and learn so much new stuff. I definitely wasn't expecting to have to fight my instincts - I figured nurturing my children and helping them grow to be secure beings capable of navigating the world would come a bit more naturally. I did not expect to feel like a failure on such a regular basis. Yet as I look back on days like yesterday, I am so grateful. I'm grateful that it hasn't been as easy as I thought it would be - how else would I learn humility and be able to extend grace to others? I'm grateful for answered prayer - how often have I prayed for patience and self-control and the ability to love others the way God loves me? I was kind of hoping those traits were available in the form of a speedy download, but I'm realizing they grow in me as I depend on God and practice, practice, practice. I'm grateful for the beauty emerging from the mess.

Difficult days are about so much more than survival. They are opportunities to grow and thrive and learn and love. After all, love that disappears on the hard days isn't worth as much on the good days.