I tend to want to fix my kids with my power. I want to say and do all the things that will produce the desired effect in their hearts and behavior; to smooth out their rough edges with solid biblical parenting; to mend their flaws and melt their fears so that I can feel really good about my kind, obedient and happy kids.
You can be a mother humble enough to fail because she trusts the God who doesn’t.
While we often talk about motherhood being a high calling, it's not the highest. Being made more into the image of Jesus is the highest calling for us all.
I couldn’t figure out why I always felt so angry. Why I struggled to feel nurturing towards my children. Why I flew so quickly to rage in the face of perceived injustice.
I don't know you. But I do know that while some families are planning their Mother's Day around church services and brunch gatherings, for some, there is no planning at all.
I count the reasons my family should appreciate me—every momentary death a point on my scorecard—and as May approaches, I’m ready to cash in.
How many children in middle school and high school do you know that can speak confidently to adults while looking them in the eye? How many children do you know who are assertive and initiate contact with others, seeking others out in meaningful conversations? If you live in the same world that I do, the answer is probably not many. That is because conversation is a learned skill.
Children are a gift from God precisely because they are a heritage. Parenting is valuable because as one participates in the activity of it, it produces something of worth. Something that brings significance for both the parent and the child.
We have, yet again, entered a new season in our household. It is no longer just dirty diapers and nursing sessions; but now it is those things plus getting homework done, consistent discipline and realizing that we are helping to form sufficient adults one day. I could be so tempted to try and just get through it. But if I’m being honest, doing life that way makes me sad.
Sometimes I like to think about how exhausted Jesus must have felt as whole towns followed him around (Mk 1:33). I like to think about this mainly because while I don’t have whole towns following me around, sometimes having chatty little children feels like it.
The overly talkative child, the bossy child, the child with endless energy, the child who collapses in tears at the smallest upset, the child whose imagination means homework never gets turned in - these are a few of the personalities that plant themselves in our orderly homes, posing a threat to our expectations and our patience. Our first temptation may be to bring those behaviors to an immediate end. But I want to suggest a better way.
I fully understand that my children only have one mother, and that’s me. It is my job to anticipate their needs and help them grow into mature adults. That is why there is hands down absolutely nothing else in this world I want my girls to know more than the fact that I love Jesus and that their parents desire to give their lives for Him. But the way they know that is by watching us actually DO that.
I was so concerned about the appearance of motherhood, that I was barely surviving actual motherhood. But putting my hope for fulfillment in by identity as a mama will never fully satisfy me . . . just like being a wife, climbing the corporate ladder, buying that great pair of shoes or having the perfect home . . . will never fully satisfy me. Yet I run to these things time and time again.
As a mother who has never aborted my child, if you are a mother who has, we are no different.
This Sunday is Mother’s Day. Mothers are something to be celebrated, no doubt. Among the greatest blessings in my life are the amazing parents with whom God graced me. But Mother’s Day has been a major source of grief for me, flamboyantly flaunting all that I longed for and couldn’t have.
I realized my jerk syndrome had gotten out of hand when a new friend genuinely apologized to me for using cloth diapers and making her own baby food. I cringed inside as she spoke realizing the very thing I hate about the mommy world – pervasive comparison – was what I inflicted upon her as I tried to explain my aversion to “mommy-ness.” Yes. I am the reverse-discrimination jerk mother. And what a fool I am to think myself outside of the supposed “mommy war” just because I despise it.
The very fact that I hate it tells me I am very much inside of it.
I had my first child last December and we have been living in the Polar Vortex ever since. I expected exhaustion, hormone swings, for it to be hard in ways I couldn’t imagine, and perhaps even to face the dreaded “baby blues.” What I did not expect was how much that squirmy little babe with the bright black eyes would threaten to rock everything I “knew” about my temperament and way of looking at and responding to life. Enter “Baby Blues”: the mysterious and taboo phenomenon of depression and anxiety following childbirth.
I think the main question over why Moms are not using the nursery is: what are they missing in worship? And does it matter? It matters because worship is a means of grace. Wayne Grudem writes in his Systematic Theology, “means of grace are any activities within the fellowship of the church that God uses to give more grace to Christians.“
It all started with a tweet. I was scanning through my twitter feed when a single tweet caught my eye. My sweet friend, Jana, a mom of 3 beautiful girls and wife of a Nashville church planter posted this. . .
When people say things like "I don't know how you get out the door in the morning" that isn't very encouraging.
This tweet was so disturbing to me. I had so many thoughts like…How dare someone say that to a young mom!? Why would anyone make such an awful and discouraging comment?
There has never been a time in my life that women were not considered equal (or better) than men, that women weren’t working in the same jobs as men, that we didn’t have the same voice as men, or that we weren’t allowed to vote. Since birth, my world has been a place where women are the same... the same as men with equal pay, equal opportunity, and equal ambition.