One Foot In Front Of The Other

He hangs and swings from the high cupboard door impulsively and down it comes, heavy, hanging on just a hinge. I rush forward, holding it, grieving.

Why does he do these senseless things?

The same day he hangs his jacket, a nice one from Burlington, on the fence. Retrieving it with a yank, it rips ugly down the back, exposing down batting.

It all weakens my spirit, these and other annoyances. My emotions run high on hormones, besides, and I feel like crying.

I tell him he must clean the entire playroom by himself to help pay for the jacket. This brings torment and fits of anger, for the room resembles a cyclone.

He fusses long that he can't do it. It's too messy and he simply must have help.

A mountain of clothes taunt me from the couch. Dishes on the table, the counter, the sink, remind me of my inefficiency. Visible crumbs and debris shout at me from the floors and carpets.

I feel like my son...it's too messy and I don't want to do it and I. need. help.

I'm now treating eight pink-eye infections, two eyes per victim, and the three times daily drop schedule exhausts me, along with Beth's medicine and Peter's medicine and my own headache medicine.

The dryer threatens to go out and I raise my eyes to heaven as I'm apt to do when it all goes wrong at once. One day no heat, another day the timer won't advance, another day it works seamlessly. When can we even get to the used appliance place, with all these illnesses raging?

Peter's fussing from the playroom detours my thoughts. Self-pity, I shout at myself. Stop the self-pity!

"Peter, I have dishes and laundry and crumbs screaming at me and I feel exactly like you do. How can I do this to the glory of God, when all I feel like doing is crying?"


"The answer is the same everyday, Peter. We can do nothing apart from His strength. We're going to pray right now."

"Dear Father, help us to obey you and do our work for your glory. Help us to remember, before we fuss and complain, to come to you for help." 


Nothing changes immediately. We still feel like crying and Peter says it didn't work.

But in half an hour Peter makes significant progress and I have the dishes cleared from all surfaces and in the dishwasher, now humming away. I remind both of us to put one foot in front of the other and keep going...a long obedience in the same direction.

In no time the work completes itself as we mold our will to His. And we don't cry after all. 

"It worked, Mommy. Jesus is helping me. Look how much I got done."


I praise Him and agree that yes, Jesus helped us.

He always does.

My mind settles on this thought: Put one foot in front of the other and parent these children and suddenly, one day, as fast as the dirty dishes, they're gone.

And my eyes pool. Because I love this job and I hate this job but mostly I love this job.

And He whispers it.

"It's not about the dishes, the clothes, the crumbs, the broom. It's not about the chores, any of them, ever."


It's about the heart...yours and theirs.  In the mundane, in the moments, in the process, show them what journeying with Me is really about.

Is He Your Lord?

I need to write something to a fifty-year-old, previously widowed Christian woman who filed for divorce from her non-Christian husband of 3 years. Her reasons? He won't go to church and he's too fat. He wasn't a Christian when she married him either, mind you. The husband's developed a belly but don't picture a nightmare of a weight problem. He's not obese and even if he was, her conduct is reprehensible.

The real problem is that this woman, like so many Christians, never had the benefit of discipleship, either because of her own stubbornness or because the Christians in her life couldn't be bothered.

The letter will be long and I don't really have the time. The laundry isn't caught up and the floors need mopping. Books are on hold at the library and need to be picked up.

Oh, sure. I could let it go and not get involved. My hands are full here already and didn't she make her bed by marrying a non-Christian in the first place? What makes me think she'll listen to biblical counsel anyway? It's a waste of my time.

Isn't it?

And what right do I have to be acting like a counselor? Teachers are not counselors...I'm not equipped.

Right? (Hint: If you have knowledge of the Word and love in your heart for the student, then you're equipped. God disciples through us, not because of us.)

Here's the shameful part, in the form of a confession. Three years ago when the pair contemplated marriage we knew it was a grave mistake on the woman's part due to the prospective groom's non-Christian status. I'm related to the groom and I like him, though for most of my life I didn't know him. That means I didn't and still don't have knowledge of what kind of husband he makes. But none of that matters, for these were issues of the Word only. 

Do not be unequally yoked, the Bible says. Pure and simple Scripture that needed to be impressed upon a baby Christian woman who had never made Jesus her Lord. Jesus was Savior to her only and that's what He still is today.


We should have stepped in and privately counseled her three years ago, as the Holy Spirit prompted. Obviously we both feel terrible about this. Responsible for it even, in a small way--a responsibility we share with other Christians, for she was a churchgoer and didn't keep this relationship a secret.

We were conducting our busy lives and didn't want to upset other members of the family. It just seemed easier to let it go and pray for them.

Going back three years, here was the scene: We arrived at their small wedding reception just in time to see them greet the last of their guests. It appeared they were in some sort of an argument by the time we, the last in line, shook their hands and congratulated them.

We drove home feeling like cowards, knowing the scene in the coming months wouldn't be good.

The next day they drove to California, where the groom resided at the time; it was a long-distance, mostly phone relationship prior to the wedding. (They've lived here for eighteen months now, however.)

Out of sight, out of mind. I mostly forgot to pray for them because Beth was a tiny baby and I wasn't a prayer warrior back then.

How many times have you failed to get your hands dirty for God, for fear of this or that consequence?

The Gospel offends. The word obedience offends. The word sacrificial offends. All the words necessary to disciple another Christian, offend.

I will write this woman that though she married a non-Christian, she still must obey God and stay with her husband unless he decides to leave her. Her husband may never attend church with her or become a Christian. He may never lose weight or support her in the fashion she desires. Yet God still calls her to treat him with respect and let him make the important family decisions. 

What must happen in her heart, for these words to penetrate?

It's the same for all of us, isn't it? 

In order to obey God, we have to give up our sense of entitlement. We aren't entitled to happiness.

The Cross is enough, period. 


And yet if we submit our will to His, God gives us even more. When we make Him our Lord, and not just our Savior, we're given a peace that surpasses all understanding.

Life eternal in Heaven. Peace in our journey here. Are you rejoicing yet?

If not, ask yourself about a sense of entitlement. Do you have one, in regard to your home, your spouse, your children, your friends, your family, your possessions, your health?

Throw that sense of entitlement away. Get on your knees and give thanks for what you do have.

It is enough. Far more than you, than any of us, deserve.

Disclaimer: It certainly might be a valid point that someone who hasn't made Jesus their Lord, really isn't saved in the first place. I don't pretend to know if the two must exist at the same time, but I do know that many people who claim Jesus as Savior, haven't been discipled. Discipleship happens through us--through Christians. We have a responsibility to guide new believers, even if it means offending them. God doesn't need us to do this. The God of the universe doesn't need us to do anything for Him. But I think one believer guiding another--called discipleship--is His preferred way to grow the Church.

Think about your sphere of influence. Who can you disciple right now, other than your children? Our first commitment is to those under our roof, but He will prompt us to do more at times. And we must obey. We must make time for Kingdom matters...for the eternal over the temporal

photo credit

Counting My Blessings

~ Our sweet barber gave Peter a copy of Birds and Blooms magazine. It didn't take long for him to fall in love and wonder how he could obtain his own subscription. I awoke this morning to find this notice taped to the cupboard:


Peter's Propotey Mantanence


- vacuming
- weeding
- digging
- planting
- transplanting
- folding
- dusting
- raking leaves
- making beds for other people
- organizing
- dead heading
- I can trim some things


Job prices depending on size of job.


I kissed him on the cheek and told him how precious this was to me. He smiled and said, "I thought you would think that. My first draft was terrible. You wouldn't have liked it."


Getting him to do second and third drafts is a nightmare, so just knowing he improved it on his own made me silently thank God for his faithfulness to me, a homeschooling Momma desperate to help an unconventional learner like Peter! I needn't fear; He is with me! 


Whenever you fear, this might help. It's an excerpt from Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts, p.161.  She imagines God having this conversation with her:

All fear is but the notion that God's love ends.  Did you think I end, that My bread warehouses are limited, that I will not be enough?  But I am infinite, child.  What can end in Me?  Can life end in Me?  Can happiness?  Or peace?  Or anything you need?  Doesn't your Father always give you what you need?  I am the Bread of Life and My bread for you will never end.  Fear thinks God is finite and fear believes that there is not going to be enough and hasn't counting one thousand gifts, endlessly counting gifts, exposed the lie at the heart of all fear?  In Me, blessings never end because My love for you never ends.  If My goodnesses toward you end, I will cease to exist, child.  As long as there is a God in heaven, there is grace on earth and I am the spilling God of the uncontainable, forever-overflowing-love-grace.

~ As Beth nursed at bedtime last night, I could feel my body relax from the day's stress. Several minutes into it I said softly, "I love you, Beth." I could feel her body relax further and then she put her head up and returned, "I love you too, Mommy." Then she continued nursing, only to stop again and put her head up, telling me, "I really do, Mommy." 


Sometimes it takes a whole day for a moment like this to arrive. This mothering thing can seem so hard. But then God sends these graces, these gifts. I really do believe they are His words, tucked into a child's vocabulary. For the moment I hear them, I am certain being a Mommy is exactly where God wants me to be. 


The world's voice can be a cacophony in our heads sometimes. A woman should do this or that important thing, not spend 24/7 with her kids. But God asserts His voice above it all, from the mouths of the babes we nurture. And then it becomes clear, crystal clear, once again.


~ Another moment of purpose clarity came with Mary at bathtime. She seems so wise all of a sudden, like the Holy Spirit's begun to dwell in her: 


"Mommy, sometimes when I cry it looks like I'm sad, but I'm really happy." 


"Yes. That's true. We cry when something touches our hearts, not just when we're sad." 


"I think it's God that touches our hearts, Mommy." 


Yes, child. That's exactly it.


~ A cold, snowy Saturday meant no outdoor play so we made sugar cookies and chocolate chip cookies while Daddy worked his half-day shift. When Daddy arrived home he noticed the chocolate chip cookies first thing and munched away. "These are so good. Thank you, Honey."  His love languages are quality time and physical touch. I've known this since the first year of marriage. But the true way to his heart--something I've learned in the last couple years? Food. He's 5 foot 8 inches and 158 pounds. Don't ask me where it goes, but he does work very hard 55 hours a week!


~ Mary and Beth are best friends. They even share their pink-eye infections. They're happy about it too, since it means they can keep playing together. Let's hope there are enough drops in that minuscule little bottle, because every time we go back to the doctor we come home with some new and uninvited germ, no matter how much hand gel I slather on. Tough February for illnesses; we're on round 2 with colds, too.


Have a blessed Sunday, friends. Fear not, count your blessings, and know that motherhood is the highest calling.

4 Ways To Love Your Neighbor

We all know this command by heart:


Mark 12:31
 ³¹The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’^[b] There is no commandment greater than these.” source


But how many of us really know how to love our neighbor as ourselves? What does it look like? My husband and I discussed this a lot recently, based upon the times we've felt unloved. Those discussions led to the four How To Love Your Neighbor points I'm sharing today:


1. Acknowledge Your Neighbor 


The first step in loving your neighbor is to acknowledge your neighbor. Don't drive by your neighbor without waving. Say hello to fellow employees and churchgoers in the halls. Shake hands with newcomers at church. Greet the check-out employee, the meat workers, the produce workers, the mailman, the custodian, the support staff at hospitals and cafeterias. If you're shy like me this doesn't come naturally, but that's no excuse for leaving these simple, loving gestures out of our social repertoire. God created us to need love and the first step is to be noticed. 


Did you know that 60% of Smart-phone users are addicted to their phones? (A fact gathered from the John Tesh radio show featured on my Christian radio station.) Do you go to the library with your kids and see all the moms with their eyes on various electronic devices, rather than on their kids? That tells you a little about the human need to be noticed. Are they checking e-mail or social networks? Some of them are self-involved to a fault, but others are isolated daily with their kids and simply feel unloved. They're looking to see who acknowledged them.


In the past people lived in one place longer and interacted with their neighbors more. Mothers were mostly homemakers and they networked around the neighborhood. We've become more mobile and more diverse, but our love needs haven't changed. It's just that now we meet our needs in other ways, such as online. This method comes with drawbacks, but used wisely it's a blessing.


2.  Acknowledge Their Pain 


I sent Christmas letters out last year to friends and family, some of whom hadn't heard from us in two years. Simple information about Beth's arthritis diagnosis was tucked into a paragraph. Even though we got reciprocal letters or cards back, not a single person acknowledged that my daughter suffers from something painful. Not a single person said they'd pray, even. My husband took it in stride, but I was hurt. Beth's life changed drastically, as did our whole family's, and it meant nothing to people, or so it seemed. Pain is an expected part of life, but it still smarts. It still needs to be acknowledged.


Recently I've come across a few well-written blog posts detailing an individual's or a family's pain and suffering. Countless comments mentioned how inspiring the stories were, but very few people added, "I'm sorry you've experienced such terrible pain...I'm sorry your husband left you...I'm sorry you deal with chronic pain...I'm sorry you're suffering from a broken heart, etc.


When we comment that a story is inspiring, we're writing from our own perspective. We're focusing on how it helps us. It's a nice thing to say and the writer will feel glad they've taken the time to recount their story, but will they feel loved?


If someone loses a baby, a spouse, a job, a home, mention it in conversation. Ask how they are doing in the grieving process. Dana, who lost her son when a dresser crushed him, mentioned early on how it hurt when people skirted around the death of her son in everyday conversation, as though the topic were taboo. Nothing hurts more than saying nothing. If you can't find the words, simply give a hug and whisper "I'm praying"; or send a card that says, "I'm so sorry you're hurting. I am praying for you." Nothing elaborate or poetic required.


Usually the people who acknowledge pain are those who've experienced pain. If you've been spared serious personal pain, you'll have to try harder to acknowledge the pain of others. Pray for a compassionate heart. Pray that you'll not judge, but love. 


3. Lend Your Support 


~  Don't ask the new mother just home from the hospital if she needs anything. Of course she does. She needs meals, diapers, babysitting, grocery runs. She also needs laundry folded. If she knows you and trusts you, just show up at the door and tell her you love her and want to be her maid or babysitter that day. "Don't worry about the house", you add. "I've been there." 


~ If you know someone is having a surgery, bring a meal. Or call and ask how it went. Pick up some milk, bread, and fruit for them and drop it by. People don't often ask. Maybe they're too overwhelmed or too disorganized to know they need help, until it feels too late. 


~ If someone lives alone or is still single, invite them to your home. Or stop by and visit. Give the gift of your time, especially to those with little or no family around. The sense of isolation can be terrible for them, but they may be too ashamed or proud to articulate it.


~ If someone is struggling with infertility, don't ask if they're pregnant yet, but do ask how they're doing.


~ Participate in a prayer network and really commit to praying. Or start a prayer network if your church or friend group doesn't have one.


4.  Learn The Love Languages


Have you heard of the Five Love Languages? We all have a primary and a secondary way we'd like to receive love--quality time, physical touch, acts of service, affirming words, receiving gifts. We tend to express love the way we'd like to receive it, rather than the way our neighbor needs to receive it. I encourage you to learn more about the languages by clicking the link and having each person in your home take the love language quiz.  Apparently we all have an apology language too.


So there you have our two cents on loving your neighbor. 


1. Acknowledge your neighbor 
2. Acknowledge their pain 
3. Lend your support 
4. Learn their love language


What have we left out? Please share what's been important to you over the years.


photo source

Blessings To Count

~ Girls who will finally let me fix their hair with bows and ties. oh the joy.


~ Miss Beth's eye inflammation, associated with her arthritis, did not return.  What a weight off our shoulders for now! We go back in three months for another check. She's sleeping much better but her weight is dropping fast; that's still a huge worry. The eye doctor mentioned that cancer and inflammation patients can get incorrect "I'm full" signals from the brain. He suggested I ask the rheumatologist about appetite stimulants, or possibly getting a referral to an endocrinologist. She's skin and bones only and looking at her is so painful! The rheumatologist thought the weight loss was due to her medication so she changed it six weeks ago.


~ Miss Beth telling the eye doctor that when she grows up, she will be a doctor like him. Next, Mary said she would be an animal rescuer, a cowgirl, a farmer and a mother. Doctor giggled. Peter said he would be a farmer and Paul promptly added that he would be a teacher. So there you have it. The future is planned and I get to spend lots of time at a lovely two-sibling family farm, which is just what I've always wanted. I kid you not.


~ Miss Beth crawling between us on Sunday morning and hugging us both, telling us we're her "best frens forever."


~ Miss Mary praying for Hunter's fat, injured lip at dinner. "He's not my friend at AWANA but I just like being nice to people. His lip looks just like Paul's did when he hurt it."


~ Paul, age 8, telling me during bath time, "Mommy, I just don't know if I will have a happy family when I grow up."  "Why do you think that?" "Because there just aren't any girls I like. Boys like to do things I like to do, like wrestle and be wild." "Well, Honey, you just aren't at the age yet for God to give you an interest in girls. You don't need to worry about this. When you're older you'll find the perfect girl and she won't care about wrestling and that will be just fine with you. You'll appreciate her gentleness. I am certain you will make a wonderful husband and father and have a happy family. Do you understand?" "Oh, yeah. You're right Mommy."


~ A husband to hold after a bad dream. I was running in a parking lot, chased by a stranger. I awoke while struggling to get my keys into the car door's keyhole before the stranger overtook me. 


~ A freshly vacuumed rug. Always a welcome sight. 


~ Fresh strawberries and blueberries in the store now.


~ Miss Mary planning a butterfly class and making a chart to record who would attend. When class started we circled which of her drawn insects were butterflies; each of us had our own handmade worksheet. Next we colored our butterflies. Then we had circle time, consisting of a hot potato game with teddy bears (because we don't have stuffed butterfly toys you know). Then we had snack, consisting of our regular breakfast food--oatmeal or shredded wheat squares. Then recess and later today we'll finish with other activities. Paul, intrigued by the idea, is now planning a ladybug class.


~ Peter with his head in nature garden books for days, planning a container pond, with a promise from Daddy that when Beth gets older, we'll have a bigger one. My hard-working would-be farmer dug that big whole all by himself! He also peruses nursery sites pining for a colorful maple tree. Our three large maples turn a boring light yellow in the fall, but provide plenty of summer shade. No, Peter, we cannot chop down all our trees so you can replace them with a more colorful variety. 


~ Daddy took the boys to a college basketball game for the second time. Mary went this time also and had a wonderful time, despite my concern that she'd get fidgety. She's been cheering for the college every day since then. Our township is small, without even a post office or its own zip code, but nearby is a college town that affords us some perks. 


~ Cuddling with Paul and Beth in the easy chair first thing in the morning.


~ Miss Beth awoke at 3AM because her legs got caught in the sheet and they were too sore and stiff to untangle on her own. I went into her room and untangled her and cuddled her. She asked to nurse but nursed only a few minutes before putting both her hands around my neck, lovingly stroking my skin. The moment was so sweet I marveled at the blessing she is to me! She fell asleep with her hands still cuddling me. Then I fell asleep and dreamt that a black menacing cloud was an impending tornado. I tried to shout at the children to get in the hallway, but my throat couldn't get the words out. Then I woke up, noticing that Beth's hands were tighter on my throat. 


~ My yearly perm, long since due, makes me feel like a million bucks! Who cares that studies show straight-haired girls get the most dates! My stylist sported the loveliest curls so I complemented her, only to have her laugh and thank me and say that she usually straightens her natural curls. We always want what we don't have, she marveled.


~ We've begun to reread the Jesus Storybook Bible by Sally Lloyd-Jones at dinner and we're still lovin' it. Even the boys get a lot out of it.


~ At the hair salon I started reading Writing Tools by Roy Peter Clark. I've long wanted to take writing-craft classes but there's no time or money. Writing is a some-day dream--something I hope to do instead of going back to teaching. My teacher's retirement will help us a lot after I hit 55 years old (it will make the house payment), but I'll need some side income. Husband will likely retire in about 15 years. 


So far I've learned I use too many -ings. It's best to stick to simple present or past tense and avoid the progressive. I also write too many short sentences. Ideally, long, medium, and short sentences should be mixed. Too many commas interrupt flow and irritate the reader. (Yes, I know. I use too many commas.) 


Fear not the long sentence, he opines. 


I also learned that J.K. Rollings, one of the very few writers who actually makes a full living at it (she's very rich in fact), writes in juvenile fashion, using too many silly adverbs. He provides examples from just a few of her pages:


"said Hermoine timidly"
"said Hermoine faintly"
"he said simply"
"said Hagrid grumpily"
"said Hagrid irritably"


I long ago learned that adverbs should be cut unless they change the meaning of the verb, like "she smiled sadly". And I guess I've known that the best writers aren't necessarily the ones on the bestseller lists, but this is discouraging. I haven't read J.K. Rollings and don't plan to. A good storyteller can sell books even if she can't craft the best sentences. The opposite is not true.