Love is Different

Oh, it was a morning. One of those mornings full of protests and tantrums and oh my goodness the whining. World War 3 almost broke out during bath time. Somehow we survived and as we were miraculously walking out the door to get in the van, you perked up at a sudden memory (funny how fast things can change) and said, “The candy! Mom yesterday you said we could have some candy this morning!” And it’s not what you wanted to hear and not even what I wanted to say, but Honey I don’t think that’s such a good idea right now. “But you said!!!” Yes I did but things have changed.

And as we walked to the van I tried to explain, which is the part of me that I sometimes can’t stop even when I need to. It’s not that I want to punish you, but think about this morning. When we are already struggling with bad attitudes and tempers and tiredness, sugar is the last thing we need to add to the mix. It would only make things worse and harder to control our emotions. I think that waiting is the best thing for you. I’m not trying to punish you. I’m making a decision because I love you.

I am not here to debate the merits of allowing or withholding candy from children. “Let each one be convinced in his own mind,” and in eternity I doubt our convictions on sugar will be the hottest topic of conversation. But in that moment, candy convictions aside, you muttered something significant as you climbed into the van.

“It doesn’t feel like love.”

I get it, honey. You are so right.

Now, you don’t know this but before I was a mom I used to be cool and listen to music other than “Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed” and “Let it Go.” There was this one song in particular by Caedmon’s Call that went like this… “Love is different than you’d think, it’s never in a song or on a tv screen; and love is harder than a word said at the right time, and everything’s all right…oh love is different than you’d think.”

And it is.

We think love is romance and sunsets and happy endings. And there are those things, but there is also a collision of two self-centered worlds, and the hard work of learning to put someone else ahead of yourself. The daily grind becomes a crucible of self-denial, and you come to realize that love looks a lot more like struggling to become one flesh, learning how to forgive and be forgiven, laboring to extend grace instead of judgment, letting go of expectations. It looks like being fully known, learning not to hide, resting in a covenant, and trusting another person with your heart.

Love is different than you’d think.

We think love is on a Pampers commercial where a beautiful, rested, and clean mother smiles tenderly at her calm, happy, clean baby. And there are certainly those kinds of moments to savor (maybe minus the “clean” part and definitely minus the “rested” part), but much more often there are sleepless nights and crying-baby-induced despair and days without clean clothes or a shower. There are hours of pacing with a baby in your arms and hours of pacing with empty arms when you realize your baby is growing up.  There are soiled sheets during the potty training days and crumbs on the floor and then you realize that love is different than you thought. Love is embracing the person your child is, not who you thought they would be. It is a constant pouring out until you think you can’t go on anymore, but then you realize that yes, you can. It is reading books on the couch, teaching the art of brushing teeth, addressing heart issues instead of just behavior, and realizing that your very heart is walking around and you can’t protect it forever. It is teaching those babies how to think and respond and discern truth, and giving them up to their Creator a thousand times over because you understand more every day that you have no power to change their hearts.

Love is different than you’d think.

And you think that love is when your mom lets you have unrestricted access to candy, or at least a few pieces of candy. And I get that, I so get that. Because I think that love is when my Father gives me the desires of my heart, all of them, and now. But so often, love looks more like a potter molding his clay, smoothing rough edges and bending it into submission and firing up the kiln to make it strong. It looks like a shepherd’s rod and staff which guide, correct, and protect. It looks not like a change of circumstances but a change of heart – joy in the midst of trial, peace in the midst of trouble, hope in the midst of a storm. It does look like a Father giving His children the desires of their heart, but often only after He gently and over time changes what those desires are. And it looks like a holy and righteous King who sees humanity drowning in depravity and death and rebellion, and who trades His riches for ashes and dwells in the midst of the filth so that He can pay for all the debt that our sin has incurred. It looks like a Man dying on a cross with scoffers and gamblers and oblivious bystanders all around. It looks like an empty tomb and a satisfied God and a gift that we don’t have to earn because it’s already been paid for and we couldn’t earn it anyway. 

You have a lot of years to think about this and learn it. I have twenty-six years on you and I still don’t get it. But I’m starting to.

Love is different than you’d think.

All the Things that Matter

I’m so sorry, she says, with big eyes and a downward tilt of her head.

I’ve heard that already. Two other times today, sweetheart, for the same thing.

Mommy I’m so so sorry.

I forgive you. And I am not angry. But I love you and I want you to know that this is not okay, so this time I’m going to have discipline you.

And I hand down the sentence, what it will be and how long it will last, and the change is instant and stunning. Remorse flees and in its place, red hot anger.

Fine, she says, with flashing eyes and a proud cock of her head. I won’t even eat supper for three days. And I’ll sleep outside.

It’s almost as bad as the time she was two years old and, so angry that she could think of no other words, she looked at me square in the face and shouted, “You’re a seventy-two!!!”

And I sigh deeply in my spirit, because I know how she feels and I am coming to know the gravity of this thing called sin. And I wish it didn’t have its claws in my six year old but it’s how we come into the world, and there is only one way to deal with it and that way is not within ourselves. But she is wrapped up in herself right now, and I know from experience that if you are wrapped up in yourself, you will never see the Savior.

Why are you angry? I ask.

I’m not angry, she replies, seething.

And more to myself than to her, I wonder again, Why are you angry? Is it because of the consequences? Or is it because you know you messed up?

Because if she is fuming because she will be deprived of her treat for three nights, then she doesn’t understand sin. But if her anger is spilling out of shame because of her offense, then she doesn’t understand grace.

And you can’t really have one without the other.

If you don’t know that you fall short of the glory of God, then you won’t know that you need to be redeemed. And if you don’t know that the wages of sin is death, then you won’t know that it’s impossible to be your own redeemer. And if you don’t know that the free gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus our Lord, then you won’t know where to find a redeemer. And if you don’t know that He died for you while you were still a sinner, then you won’t know that His love is unconditional and extravagant.

These are all the things I know, and all the things that matter. They are all the things that I long to teach her, and they all are swirling around in my head and my heart and she is sitting in front of me with fury in her face and all I can do is cry out in my soul. Cry out in humility because she is me before I knew. Cry out in gratitude because of the depth of Your love and the sufficiency of the gospel. Cry out in surrender because I can’t do anything to save my daughter from her deepest problem. And cry out in hope because You can.

Words

Last night at bedtime I saw the stark contrast in my two daughters. We had been snuggling on the couch watching a movie when 8:00 rolled around. Let’s just get this out of the way: 8:00 is sacred. SACRED. Because 8:00 means that my beloved children who bring me such joy but who also talk without stopping for at least thirteen hours straight and say the word MOMMY four hundred billion times a day will now go to a separate room, fall asleep peacefully (yeah right), and allow me to eat my melted-then-frozen-peanut butter-coconut oil-maple syrup-chocolate chip-every single night treat in…get this…silence.

Sacred, get it?

So when the clock struck 8 I got off the couch to turn off the movie. “We’ll finish this one tomorrow, it’s time for bed!” (Can you hear how chipper my voice is getting now that it’s 8:00?) And that’s when I saw the difference, not for the first time.

Claire: “Mom, can we please, please, please just watch five more minutes? I remember what’s about to happen and it will be a great place to stop if we just watch a little more. Actually, I think if we watch just a few more minutes it will be exactly halfway done. It’s really not quite halfway yet. Mom, I promise we will not complain if we can just watch a few more minutes…”…and on…and on…and on…

Honey, I’m sorry but I’m not going to change my answer. It’s time for bed.

AK: “No it’s not.”

And there you have it. The six year old lawyer who argues her case for 10 minutes straight and the 3 year old free spirit who simply denies reality. A pretty accurate picture of these two small characters who live in my house.

I’ve been thinking a lot about words lately. Even from the youngest age, we are ever using our words to try to define our reality, whether it’s through logic or sheer determination.  Maybe it’s because we’re made in the image of a Creator who loves to use words.

It started in the beginning, when the universe held its formless and void breath to see just how He was going to do His mighty work. If I didn’t already know the answer, I would have guessed that He would use His hands – maybe wave them or point them or clap them together. But no. He only spoke. Just words. But words that resulted in existence and beauty and light and life. 

Now, He did use more than words to create humanity. He used His hands and the dust of the ground and His holy breath. But then He spoke.  He spoke over His newest creation words that resulted in blessing and purpose and identity.

And then darkness crept back in, and the first man and woman believed the lie over the truth and the deceiver over the Creator and then they hid. And here came the sound of the Lord walking in the garden and His words – words that resulted in exposure and confession because nothing can be hidden from the eyes of the One who made them all. 

And everything seemed hopeless and ruined. And the words came that brought sorrow and grief and justice because the wages of sin must be paid.

But.

There is the Creator with His words, always weaving life and light and beauty and existence because this is who He is. As just as He is merciful, and as gracious as He is holy. And the words came that brought hope. The seed of a promise, hope for redemption and a happy ending.

Maybe that’s why words are so important to us. Maybe they reflect this part of His image, as broken as it might be in our crooked souls. And maybe instead of arguing for a later bedtime, or denying that it is bedtime, or screaming “Everybody go to bed so I can eat my chocolate!!!”, we should recognize something that in our deepest souls, we crave desperately: our Maker’s words of life. May we seek out and meditate on and treasure these words, because this – this is where life is found.

The law of the Lord is perfect, restoring the soul; the testimony of the Lord is sure, making wise the simple. The precepts of the Lord are right, rejoicing the heart; the commandment of the Lord is pure, enlightening the eyes. The fear of the Lord is clean, enduring forever; the judgments of the Lord are true; they are righteous altogether. They are more desirable than gold, yes, than much fine gold; sweeter also than honey and the drippings of the honeycomb.

A Sleepless Night

So, last night was fun, except for not at all. Unless you think it’s fun when not even one of your three kids sleeps through the night, and two-thirds of them get up multiple times in the same night, and the three-year-old can’t stop coughing (bless her heart) and the baby won’t stop crying (bless my heart) at 3:00 AM. And your  husband is trying to get up to deal with it so you don’t have to (bless his heart) but you can kind of sense that if he keeps getting up you might end up finding the baby in the pantry or something bizarre like that because dads just aren’t wired the same way as moms at 3:00 AM.

But the weirdest things happen when you have the Holy Spirit dwelling in your heart. Because at 11:30 PM, 12:45 AM, 2:00 AM, 2:45 AM, 3:30 AM, etc., I had these very natural thoughts running through my mind…

Please, no, not again…please let them just fall back asleep…should I get up to take her to the restroom or just let her pee in her bed?...I’m going to die…can you die from lack of sleep?...he CANNOT be hungry, I’ve nursed him 89 times already tonight…please MAKE IT STOP…

But at the same time, I had these very unnatural thoughts running through my mind…

Count it all joy, brothers, when you encounter trials of various kinds…give thanks in all circumstances…My grace is sufficient for you…power is perfected in weakness…let endurance have its perfect result…in all things God works for the good of those who love Him…

And in my less delirious moments, I am able to cling to the promise.

My “trials of various kinds” are currently trials of the most mundane kind. But the promise holds whether I am grieving some tremendous loss or whether I am up all night feeding, rocking, or essential oiling my little ones. Because the promise doesn’t rest on the magnitude of my trial. It rests on the faithfulness of my Father.

Last night He didn’t allow me to die from being awakened one too many times. But He did give me a gracious reminder that my night was full of serving the least of these, and what a privilege that actually is, and that nothing goes to waste in His kingdom, and that “whatever you do to one of the least of these children of mine, you do it to Me…”

I’m still begging for a full night’s sleep. Is that even a thing? I don’t know anymore. But even in my inglorious trials, I can rest my soul in the promise of my Shepherd, who makes all things work together for my good.

The Importance of Taking my Three Year Old to the Potty.

At the almost end of a very long day, at a meeting to which I was a little bit very late, in the back of a crowded room where I was trying to herd sneak in three kiddos without drawing attention, you whispered to me in a defeats-the-purpose-of-a-whisper kind of whisper, “Mommy. I need to go potty.”

I drew in my breath and closed my eyes and faltered for a second. But potties can’t wait long for three year olds and so almost as soon as I got to the meeting I was exiting the room again to find the nearest potty.

“Come on, hurry, we need to hurry. Come on, honey. I’m already late. I didn’t come here to take you to the potty. That’s not why I’m here.”

Wait a minute. It’s not?

As soon as the words left my mouth I heard them, actually heard what I was saying to you, my daughter. 

I’m not here to take you to the potty?

Because, now that I think about it, that’s exactly why I’m here.

Martha, Martha, you are worried and bothered about so many things; but only one thing is necessary.

I’m worried about being late. No, I’m worried about what other people might think of me because I am late. I am bothered by not being able to sit in a meeting like a normal grownup rather than wrangling three ants-in-their-pants children in the back of the room with any semblance of dignity. 

But really? Only one thing is necessary. Only one thing really matters.

And right now? That one thing is you.

Because in the middle of worries and distractions and inconveniences, my Savior really only asks me to sit at His servant feet and take His yoke and bear His heart to the least of these. And right here, right now, is an opportunity for me to lay down my life for you. To meet your (urgent) need with grace and joy. To see what a gift it is to lay my pride and plans and comfort aside and show you that you are more important than a thousand meetings.

And so as long as you are mine, as long as motherhood is a part of my own upward call in Christ, I am here to take the graciousness of Christ that has been granted to me in my desperate need, and lavish it on you. And when I start to think of it as an inconvenience rather than a privilege, may I find myself like Mary, back at the Savior's feet, choosing the better part, and allowing His grace to cut through my pride and set my heart straight again.

I probably never thought I would sum up my life in a moment like this, but yes. I am here to take you to the potty.