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Does it tell you anything that it’s now 15 minutes into a new day and this is the *third* installment of my day??? If you missed the first two, they are here and here.
Thank You, LORD that Your mercies are new EVERY MORNING!
Upon arriving home, my sweet baby girl is still not feeling well. I call the pediatrician’s office and wait for the doctor to call me back. LittleMan has inhaled two more pancakes during my dialing and fretting. LittleBit is sitting on my bed, covered in blankets with the ceiling fan on high.
I’ve boiled the chicken for barbecue and fajitas and browned the ground beef for chili and spaghetti when the doctor calls back.
AAaaaand we’re back in the car.
Gas is $3 a gallon and we’re going to Publix.
Publix doesn’t have what we need. So we pay for some juice and walk to God’s Truck. Upon opening the truck door, LittleBit gets teary and says, “Mommy, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry!” Oh sweet baby, *I* am sorry! Back into Publix.
Now we’re driving farther into town to CVS.
Did I mention gas is $3 a gallon?
CVS has what we need. We are waiting in line along with the other half of our county when a uniformed, name tagged girl huffily brushes by LittleBit and shouts to the wide-eyed youth attempting to check e-v-e-r-y-b-o-d-y out, “Call Carla so I can go EAT!”
Thank you, precious child. And enjoy your meal.
We say thank you for the medicine and our receipt and we’re steps from the door when Little Bit grabs my arm again.
If we ever get home, maybe my baby can feel better.
Once at home, I give LittleBit and teaspoon full of fake-cherry with a Pedialyte chaser and feed LittleMan another pancake (his request). We sit on the couch and play a few games on Playhouse Disney. I am so hungry but since one baby can’t eat and the other has had breakfast a-l-l-d-a-y-l-o-n-g, I’m going to wait.
Because he pitched a fit in Publix (while I was safely locked in the stall next door with his sister), LittleMan had to go to bed a half hour early. This gave me 30 minutes of uninterrupted time with LittleBit. We played matching games, she showed me how to “paint” the pictures on the screen, her feet resting on me the whole time. It’s the first *real* happiness I’ve seen from her in hours.
We snuggle together and pray our goodnights and then she looks up with the longest lashes ever and says, “Mommy, can I sleep in YOUR bed? Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease?”
She’s tucked in on Daddy’s side of the bed.
Once they both drifted off, I made myself a quesadilla, put the chicken pot in the fridge next to the ground beef, eyed my “to do” list again, switched loads of laundry, checked on the Littles, flipped on the tv, picked up my laptop, and ate.
It’s been a L-O-N-G day.
Not a bad day, just a long one. I won’t lie, today I would have flown Darren home if I could have. The kids were wired, I was wired, we were busy, we’re having company tomorrow night — it’s just a hot mess (the day, that is… well, and the house too).
*But hear me* — I wouldn’t trade it.
God wouldn’t have invited Darren to do what he’s doing if He didn’t call me to it as well. And lest you think I’m writing this saga to whine, please know that it is these kinds of days that absolutely crack me up! It’s just too random to make this stuff up! I love that! And it won’t always be like this; one day, things will look shockingly different and I’ll wonder when it happened. So I’m ok tapping out my amusement here (and it’s cheaper than therapy).
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed. Tomorrow I have a lot of housework to do, beginning with the bathroom stools behind my headboard.
In case you missed Part 1, suffice it to say that I have HAD A DAY, friends; and it is a good thing that the LORD made it because I might not be writing about it otherwise.
18 minutes out of the driveway, I am on the phone with my favorite aunt and we’re hustling into our church to pick up said item and rush madly to the UPS store before noon. I discover that retirement-genre aunts do not do well with background noise from two small children and 58 seventh graders passing on their way to lunch. I offer to call her back after retrieving the item. She delightedly agrees.
At the UPS store, I hand the gentleman the package, the thingy from church, some packing material, the printed label, and ask him to please make sense of the hot mess at hand. He does so and in packing recognizes the equipment and begins to ask me band-ee kinds of questions (”So where do you get your ears? I need a new set, I’ve got Big-Name-You’ll-Know’s and does your company do molds?”) Fortunately I know *JUST PRECIOUS LITTLE ENOUGH* not to embarrass myself and give him the Fabulous Company name and SuperSalesman’s name and ask him if he’s already using dual drivers and explain how SuperSalesman can ship him a mold kit he can return for custom ears. He seemed surprised and interested.
Have I ever mentioned that the discussion of “ears” and “molds” and such actually reminds me of Lord of the Rings rather than sound equipment?
As I turned to collect my children from the Oh-thank-You-Lord-for-the-UPS-store-Lego table, I run into — nearly literally — another church member who asked me where everybody was today and where they’d be this weekend. I tell him they were and where they’d be and when they’d be home.
He hath no clue I know only b/c I just mailed something. He thinketh I am a good wife.
We’ll leave it that way.
As I slide into God’s Truck, my phone is ringing. It is one of my favorite girls who was once my in my Sunday School class and is now in college, phoning to see if we can meet for lunch since her roommate is in town. Considering the grating tones and painful whines from the backseats, I say yes before she can finish the question and drive Andretti-style to the Chick-fil-A to carb our attitudes before the girls arrive.
One expired coupon, two fruit bowls, and three nuggets later, my children are once again the shining angels of perfection I adore.
Until LittleBit attempts to slide down a padded pole in the play area and gets a tremendous scratch and LittleMan nearly tackles a whining 2 year old whose sobbing at the end of the slide is nearly more than my perfect son can tolerate. Nice.
Time flies with the girls. It reminds me that relationships — iron sharpening iron — are of Kingdom importance. The sweetest days with my children, the moments laughing with my husband, the conversations with “my girls” aren’t the icing, they’re the essentials.
After we left Chick-fil-A and the girls and the playground and the crying 2 year old, we went to Wal-Mart. Hast thou traveled the Wal-Mart with thy young? It is a joy, oh yes, and it is a joy.
We are 3 aisles away from the bird seed (our purpose in coming) when LittleBit sits down on a shelf and says she feels funny. We go to the bathroom.
Then we go to the bathroom after we get the bird seed.
We go once more after check out.
But I am assured that everyone is quite well to go to the Dollar Tree.
At the Dollar Tree (because lo, we have priorities), LittleMan climbs out of God’s Truck and walks ahead of me. THUD, COLLAPSE, SCREAM.
My son has just been clothes-lined by the rear view mirror on the sedan next to us. And I am nauseated by the divot on the side of my baby’s head. LittleBit prayed for him as we knelt on the sidewalk trying to assess the damage. I knew he was going to be ok when I said, “Ok, let’s go home and we’ll get you some ice for your head” and he *emphatically* retorted, “NO, MOMMY! But I want to go in!”
So we’re halfway down the fourth aisle of the Dollar Tree when LittleBit grabs my arm and says, “Mommy! I have got to go again! I am SO SORRY!”
Do you know how many Dollar Tree bags it takes to hold $22 worth of happiness?
S-e-v-e-r-a-l
If you’re not bored to tears, there will be a final installment (it’s ok, you can breathe while waiting for me to hit ‘publish’ but please remain on the edge of your couch, it makes me feel important)
We had only been awake 20 minutes when LittleBit decided it was a good idea to get in the tiny crevice behind our headboard and then couldn’t get out, so LittleMan threw both bathroom stools over to her so she could hoist herself up.
I hear the clunking of the stools toppling off each other and the frantic whispers from the culprits on my way from the laundry room.
Did I mention that they both got sick last night and wound up in my bed? And that we all three squeezed into one bed because their sheets were dirty?
Yeah.
So, anyway, 22 minutes after we woke up and I started the sick sheets and then heard the brouhaha, I walk into our bedroom and rescue my now-bawling daughter from her precarious perch.
We had a raw-ther firm Come-to-Jesus meeting in the bathroom and she seemed fully recovered.
58 minutes after the rescue effort, my son picks up a plastic climbing wall piece (that will be used in a swing set this spring, right, Darren???) that had just come in and was leaned against the wall. Because I, Betty Crocker, was busily milling wheat and mixing batter for our oh-so-wholesome pancakes, I did not hear exactly which bad guy LittleMan was excitedly battling, but I *did* hear the sickening WHOOOOOOSH of the plastic piece as it coasted down the entry stairs and the gi-nor-mous SMASH as it hit the entry and nailed the door.
I cameth a little u-n-g-l-u-e-d.
15 minutes after the second Come-to-Jesus of the day, we sit down to eat our pancakes and I make a list of what we needed to do around the house. Three bites and two items in, the UPS man shows up with a package. I call Darren to tell him and learned he needed the package and something from church shipped next day to Somewhere-In-Northland.
45 minutes after that conversation, both children had been showered, the shipping labels printed, the item’s location confirmed at church, and we were walking out the door.
With no makeup on, mind you.
But fabulous hair.
Because I’m not shallow. I’m southern.
I call for the third time to check on my bff who was having outpatient surgery this morning and learned that the doctor had been running late and she had just been taken in to surgery. Oh, and that I didn’t need to make chicken for them tonight. Some other kind Baptist ladies beat me to the bird.
If you’re happily flying along, stay tuned for Part 2. If not, pray for me — you just read the slow part of the day!
by my husband of all people 
So, since he’s identified me here, I suppose I should properly introduce myself to you. My name is Sarah Hughes; I’m married to the amazingly talented and wonderfully gifted Darren Hughes (who is now blogging, oddly enough). Darren is the production manager for a band called Casting Crowns. We’ve been in ministry with these guys and gals since way back in Daytona.
We are parents of the two most AMAZING children ON THE PLANET, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. They are the diamond on my life’s pendant; other links may have value, there is precious metal to be found, but nothing compares to the fire and brilliance of our daughter and son. The *greatest* gift of my entire life is worshiping with them — to hear them sing to Him, pray to Him, learn Scripture, and love Him loudly leaves me humbled and speechless.
My life is so far beyond what I could have ever imagined; I have definitely traded the miniskirt for the minivan, and grad-school took a *serious* backseat to preschool. The reality is, I’m one fabulous teddy-bear-laden sweater atop a denim jumper away from my own shock and horror — but I *love* it! (the life, not the sweater-jumper-combo, folks, no offense).
So, for those of you who’ve been here before… some stuff I’ve written before makes more sense. And now that my husband’s blogging (wow… never thought I’d type that) I will likely return to more frequent posting. Competition fuels the market, right?
Anyway, it’s nice to “meet” you again!
We *love* to sing! Some days it’s more “joyful noise” than “Heavenly refrain,” but we have a VERY good time! And I’d like to share some of our favorites with you.
We are currently LOVING Phil Joel’s Deliberate Kids CD! You *need* to check out both the Deliberate Kids and Deliberate People sites; Joel’s passion to see people involved in a daily walk through God’s Word is contagious.
VeggieTales’ Worship Songs has a great story line (Bob & Larry come to help the kids during children’s choir rehearsal) and a host of powerful worship songs. Featuring an appearance by Matt Redman, the Veggies introduces children to a host of popular worship choruses arranged for them to understand and sing. We were excited that our Littles were able to join us singing the same songs in worship at church!
Hillsong for Kids is AMAZING! Its Biblically based, energetic worship gets our kids — and all their friends! — jumping and moving and worshiping in body and song.
Our next music purchase for the Littles will be Seeds Family Worship. On a recommendation by one of my favorite authors/bloggers/people, Ann V., we checked the Seeds site and *LOVED* what we heard! Each song teaches a specific verse or passage with accuracy and appealing repetition. I can’t wait to get my hands on each of the Seeds CDs!
I think the sweetest gift God has given me is that of worshiping with my children.
And finding tools that help us meet Jesus together definitely works for me! Hop over to Shannon’s for more great ideas!
There are *some* things about which I don’t mind my children ratting on each other: if one of them deliberately, maliciously hurts the other (or Lord, please no — someone else), or if the behavior will result in a co-pay and stitches. However, as of late, my five year old has decided it is *her* job to provide a running narrative of her brother’s activity. It is obvious by her tone that this more than mere commentary; she’s perfected the art of tattling.
New rule? For every one thing LittleBit tattles, she has to tell me *three* good things about her beloved brother.
Three.
Do you know how long it can take for one surreptitiously prattling kindergartner to think of THREE nice things to say about the target of her criticism?
Yep. About that long.
EDIT: This turned out WAY, WAY long. And that is not an apology; count it instead as fair warning.
A few weeks ago, after I got IttyBitty in his bed for a nap and LittleBit on hers for rest time, I plopped myself in front of the tv for a few minutes. I happened upon a CSPAN presentation of Vanity Fair journalist Leslie Bennetts discussing her book, The Feminine Mistake. Now, let me warn you… I’ve been writing and mulling and editing and mulling and writing this post for the past few weeks. I have a *strong* opinion about this; you should know that before you continue reading.
Eyes wide and breath held, my stomach sank as I listened to Bennetts describing her work: interviewing working mothers, compiling statistics, formulating theses on the long term social ills produced by stay-at-home wives and mothers. For example, a study has shown that working (outside the home) mothers live healthier lives (to which the host said, “Oh yes, smaller butts and better breath.”) and are generally less depressed (Bennetts’ comment: “Housework doesn’t make anyone happy. Big surprise… If you asked a man if he’d like to stay at home, keep up with the children, endlessly reorganizing the linen closet, of course he’d say no. Why are we so surprised that women don’t enjoy it either?”).
But when asked directly, “What about the woman who wants to stay home, who places priority on being home for childrearing?” Bennetts dropped her bombshell: “That’s fine, as long as she understands her responsibility when the children are gone, when she’s in retirement age.” She then proceeded to unpack a startling set of “data” stating that stay-at-home mothers are financially draining the economy — “socially irresponsible” I believe were her exact words. We who work at home need to be aware that, “… a man won’t always be there to provide; someone won’t always be there to take care of you… if you’re prepared for that inevitability, then fine, stay at home.” Bennetts is quick — QUICK, mind you — to point out that findings by Dobson’s Focus on the Family have misinterpreted data, but we are to rest assured that *her* data need not be questioned for reliability.
Now, in fairness, before I begin detailing my absolute abhorrence for her conclusions, you can watch the interview here. In fact, I encourage you to do so; this is a strikingly clear picture of what many in our culture believe — partly as result of the “Mommy Wars” — about stay at home v. working mothers.
Apparently, Bennetts has met with tremendous opposition in the blogosphere. I’d just as soon not be added to the list of “We can’t stand her!” but I will tell you that I do take issue with *many* of her conclusions.
Bennetts asserts that girls should not be setting aside chunks of their lives for family and home, but should be continually involved in what she terms as “meaningful work.” Here’s the problem — in her interview, she discusses the need for “meaningful work” yet defends many of her “financial responsibility” arguments with data from women who are forced to work in areas that you and I will readily recognize as not-so-meaningful work (example, the mother who’s pulling as many hours as the Wal-Mart greeter to keep food on the table, the woman whose husband has lost his job and she’s with the temp agency). Bennetts only attempt to reconcile these is her assertion that if the woman didn’t depend on the man to make the money, if she’d pursued meaningful work, she wouldn’t be in the predicament she’s in now.
That flies ALL OVER ME. Let me tell you why:
I am the product of a single, full-time employee parent. I am neither dumb nor desperate; I do NOT believe the lie of egalitarian marriage (because who gets to decide where 50% really is? and because I’ve seen first hand in my divorce ridden family’s multiple marriages, it doesn’t work); I *was* brought up to place value on a career (again, divorce ridden, “you never know what could happen”); I chose “meaningful work.”
My mother was the example of all the BAD that comes when the Body of Christ straps itself to ideology and misses Grace completely: her Baptist church basically stopped talking to her; the friends there she thought she had didn’t know what to do with a divorcee in the 70’s with a little baby and no husband who wanted to work in student ministry. She was pitied by the families at both the Catholic school I attended first and later the Christian one because “oh, that little girl is growing up in a ‘broken home!’ How sad! Have you thought about marrying again?” as though any man — ANY man — would improve our situation. She was humphed at and eyebrow-scolded for working full time in the banking industry, for buying cupcakes and arranging them on platters rather than baking made-from-scratch cookies for the bake sale. And no matter what, there were always the questions, “Do you think Sarah will be ok?” “Don’t you think she needs a father figure?” “How is she going to learn about marriage and family?”
Answers? I am 30-something with two beautiful, bright children who love to laugh and are growing in wisdom and stature before both God and man; I am happily married to a man with whom I share complete honesty, absolute trust, and SCADS of fun.
So shut up.
And you know what, Ms. Bennetts?
YOU shut up, too.
Yes, I believe in “meaningful work” — that is why I’m home.
I believe in “fiscal responsibility to society” — that’s why I don’t burden the childcare crisis with my own because I have the luxury of keeping them with me.
I believe in “facing the reality” of providing for myself — that’s why I’m willing to work from home, work part time, work full time, work at what I love, work at what I tolerate, or work at what I hate in order to help provide for my family ANY time the need arises.
Ironically, I agree with Bennetts in one area: I do *not* see staying at home as a status symbol: I see staying at home as a success symbol — I have successfully arranged MY life to do what *I* am called to do. My aunt wasn’t called to stay at home, my mother couldn’t, my grandmother didn’t really want to, some of my best friends are *absolutely* called to work outside their homes; but at the end of the day, each of us goes home to look in a mirror and speak to a God Who establishes the work of our hands for us. (And fyi, the Proverbs 31 woman — wonderful as she is and abused by liberals and ultra-conservatives alike — was NOT solely a mother! She even went out and worked: check out her vineyard, her sashes, and her works that praise her, where? In the city gates).
I am SICK of high-minded feminist attitudes like Bennetts who assert that apart from a career, I’m doing fundamental damage to myself, the community, and my children. I’m sick of women like her standing on the backs of mothers — LIKE MY OWN — who have no choice but to work in order to say that women should work. Who’s to say “should”? I thought the feminist movement was all about choice? Or is that only in regards to who’s allowed to breathe and who isn’t?
And I am SICK of the Christian community as a whole sitting back doing NOTHING to live an example that DEFIES such overblown pompous hullabaloo. Again, Galatians: “If you keep on biting and devouring each other, watch out or you will be destroyed by each other.” (5:15) I’m sick of overly proud stay-at-home families (both the moms and the dads) who act like theirs is the ONLY way to live and other mothers — LIKE MY OWN — who choose/must work are somehow inferior or missing out.
At what point do we, as the Body of Christ, get to stand up and LIVE in such a way as to render these discussions moot?
At what point does “what God has joined together” reflect such stability that our *lack* of divorce points to something about marriage others would want? (Oh wait, that might actually be close to the real meaning of marriage) At what point do we heed God’s scriptural warning to put aside that which causes dissension and carry one another’s burdens in love? At what point do we take our freedom in Christ seriously enough that we don’t worry about “eating meat” — we accept that one person’s faith allows them to stay home and one person’s faith allows them to work and only our Master can make us stand or fall?
As absolutely stunned, saddened, and completely enraged as I feel at Bennetts’ conclusions that somehow I’m burdening my children’s generation by staying home or that I’m a complete twit for depending on my husband’s income to support me, I simply cannot wait to prove her wrong!
In the interview, Bennetts is speaking of the girls who say they’re going to have a career for a while and then stay home with family and then come back if needed when she says, “Let me show you 15 years from now; I’m old, I know how these things go. Your husband isn’t always going to be there to provide for you. You’re going to need the investment in your career.”
Let me tell you something — I’ve got 10 out of the 15 in and this is how it’s lookin’ — and this is how it’s gonna be because I am JUST ornery enough to live to tick somebody else off:
If the God Who created me decided that I needed to go back to work full time, I would do so with bells on and tell those know-it-all self-righteous women who think that’s a “sin” they ought to worry about standing accountable for their own callings.
If the God Who made me the way I am, with the brain I have, the dreams I hold, the passions I long to pursue, gave me permission to stay at home with my children full time for the next 18 years, I absolutely shout “GLORY!” and we’d break out the watercolors.
If God, Who created my husband, decided to call him Home, then I would do WHATEVER my hand found to do to provide for my children and our home, whether it was meaningful, meaningless, menial or magnificent — and no six-figure salaried, cushy journalist-from-home or feminist on the campaign trail is going to tell me which definition my work falls under whether it’s at Wal-Mart, Wachovia, Wall Street, or Wood World.
If God, Who knit us together and wants NO man to pull asunder, watched as I became foolish and tore my own house down or my husband forsook the wife of his youth, He would redeem our lives, our children, and our futures. And I — alone — would be accountable for what choices — career or otherwise — I made in the wake of the Master saying, “Go and sin no more.”
And if God, Who is able to make me stand, will grant me length of days, I fully intend to live in such a way that my marriage and my home blows the mind of these feminist rhetorics, my attitude will reek grace to those who assume they have a corner on the Savior, and when He DOES come to get me, I’ll hear two things – “Her children rise up and call her blessed (happy, fortunate, and to be envied)” and “Well done, thou good and faithful servant.“
Though never formally invited to a Meme, I am going to do one (please understand, I am enough of a goober to thoroughly ENJOY made up questions and the multitudinous possibilities of “what if,” the land of imagination, and excuse to talk… err… type).
1. If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?
Pizza. Honestly, I just love the stuff. My gut reaction was chocolate, but three meals a day of chocolate would possibly burn a hole in my esophagus and require a crane to move me in and out of bed. Not to mention, I have distractable tendencies… at least I could vary the toppings on the pizza.
2. What’s the most nerve-wracking close call you’ve ever had? One evening while D was on the road, I picked up the phone to call him and had no sooner hit “send” when IttyBitty began to choke — like REAL choking — face blue, gaspy little coughs, it was TERRIBLE. Obviously, I threw the phone down, LittleBit is panicking so I told her to go to the living room and pray, I did the best Heimlich I could (which didn’t seem to help) and prayed and quoted Scripture over him, hung him upside down and shook the best I could, D called back and I answered long enough to say, “He’s choking! PRAY NOW!” and hung up, Heimliched some more, and finally, FINALLY the little guy started coughing heartily and turning red. The whole time, I was “steady” in that only-by-the-Holy-Spirit way and could hear my daughter praying through her tears in the living room. I held both angels tight and we took turns thanking God for His healing and His rescue! We called Daddy and told him the good news — he’d hit his face before the LORD and was teary. That was WAY too close a call for me… I pray we’ll NEVER see anything like that ever again!!!!
3. Name five features your ultimate dream house would have.
1. A real Hibachi grill in my kitchen island (hey, this is “ultimate” right???)
2. 7 bedrooms (we LOVE having company! oooo! and I want them decorated)
3. Gi-stinkin-normous kitchen/dining room combo with a fireplace (can you tell where I like to spend my time?)
4. 4 car garage/workshop for my husband
5. Amazing yard with creek and playsets and tire swings and old trees for the angels and their friends
4. Who has been the most influential non-relative in your life? KB; we taught Sunday School together for several years and I was AMAZED at her love for the Word! She knew it, she breathed it, she could teach it, and she LIVED it. Being with her gave me a thirst to truly soak up Scripture so that it would pour out of me the way it poured out of her — in action and in word.
5. What one non-physical feature would you most like to change about yourself? Oooo… that’s a toss up (mainly because my mouth seems rarely James 1 ready), but probably my lack of follow through (read as: sheer laziness). I love, love, *love* to start things but struggle to finish them. Sometimes, I don’t even really get started; I get all “idea-ed” up and then go nowhere with something that would have been great. Ugh… makes me nauseous just typing that because it’s so stinkin’ true… 
Ok, so as part of my vast readership (stop laughing), consider yourself “tagged” if you’d like (ok, I mean it, quit laughing). Leave me a comment if you do it so I can read your fab-5 answers (you’re not going to do it, are you? you’re too busy laughing at the first sentence… I shoulda’ known…)
“For in Christ Jesus neither circumcision nor uncircumcision has any value. The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.” Galatians 5:6
Galatians 5 has been the heartbeat of my quiet time for the past two weeks. It is a beautiful chapter and I am so grateful that God has kept me there; D and I both come out of heavily legalistic backgrounds, so I love Paul’s insight (in all his writings) on legalism and freedom.
And this verse resonates LOUDLY in my heart; all the areas that *I* fear being judged/evaluated by, yeah, they don’t matter. In fact, the whole reason Paul had a problem with Peter was because Peter wanted to put on the right “show” for the Jews. So, my “show” doesn’t matter… Huh… who woulda thought that…
Neither clean house or cluttered house matters; the only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.
Neither homeschool or private school or public school matters; the only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.
Neither beautiful appearance or barely-made-it-out-the-house matters; the only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.
Neither gi-normous SUV nor tiny hybrid matters; the only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.
Neither fashionable clothes or Good Will finds matter; the only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.
Neither staying at home full time or working part time or working full time matters; the only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.
Faith expressing itself through love. God looks at the motives more than the actions. It’s not the what, it’s the why.
How freeing!
How GLORIOUSLY FREEING!
We are no longer bound by making “the right impression” — we are bound to the law of love. We are no longer held captive by the looming expectations of impeccable mothering or perfect helpmeeting. The blessing of godly counsel is just that — blessing, not Holy Writ. He is able to teach and train and remind us at every turn; how sweet of Him! How undeserved!
My little ones LOVE to paint. LOVE, LOVE, LOVE to paint. And right now, nothing delights them more than painting boxes. I don’t fully understand it, but I guess since a box is bigger than a paper, it’s more fun to do together and far less competitive. When they get to a stopping place and rush to get us to see it, we are THRILLED!!! It’s just too cute! I can hardly wait until Christmas because I fully intend to ship gifts in them! They’re FABULOUS!
And God has used them to drive home part of what He’s teaching me of freedom: when LittleBit and IttyBitty show me their boxes (feet dancing, arms flying, 90-to-nuthin words and all), it is a CELEBRATION! And when I went downstairs to switch loads of laundry and nearly stepped on one, I gasped. I had the same “freeze” moment as if I’d harmed a priceless piece of china. Why? Because it was THEIRS! And THEY are precious! And they worked hard to make something beautiful and fun and exciting! We couldn’t have been more pleased if they’d painted with real oils on canvas.
And the summation of this freedom-fest?
The mind blowing thought that when I step out to obey Him, He is NOT disappointed. God Almighty sees me holding up my messy “box” of obedience and He LOVES it! I’ve used my freedom to walk in His footsteps and He celebrates it with me! Sure, as I grow in Him, the boxes will get neater; I’ll probably move up to canvas one day, too. But His love won’t change; He won’t be more accepting of me, prouder of me, less punishing of me when things “look like they should.” He loves me infinitely NOW. And I am free to express my faith through love ANYTIME in ANYWAY He sees fit!
Holy God, You amaze me! I am SO honored by Your presence, and I am FLOORED by Your love! THANK YOU for choosing to make me one of Your own! I LOVE YOU, LORD! Amen!
There is NOTHING like the love of my children to catapult me into who I LONG to be. I want — so, so desperately — to be that mom who walks with Jesus so that my children *see* Him walking hand-in-hand beside me. I WANT them to be so familiar with Him, so in awe of His glory, that worship isn’t something they “do” it’s part of who they are. I want them to offer themselves as living sacrifices without feeling that it’s a decision to be made, but as natural as breathing, everything, one step at a time, offered up to Him — therefore, *I* want to offer myself up as a living sacrifice without feeling sacrificial. I want this passion for what I say I believe be the fuel for my every day living.
It may just be me, but I struggle to *be* so they can *see* — the litany of dreams I have for them is always on my tongue; the fiery example to help them flesh those out isn’t as readily available.
The college pastor at our church taught an AMAZING lesson on freedom in Christ a few months ago (in fact, I think I’ve mentioned it in another post, and it’s absolutely worth discussing again). He said that freedom in Christ means being free to be who we’re called to be — free to choose that which will accomplish the desires He has placed on our hearts.
What does that true freedom look like? Because it sure sounds more ethereal and inspiring than empowering and enabling.
Freedom in Christ means I’m prepared and willing to share my walk with Jesus with my possibly unsaved brother because I am prepared in season and out of season, ready to give an answer for the hope I have, and I know that my Father is not willing that any should perish but that all should come to eternal life in Christ.
Freedom in Christ means I can embrace the unique rhythm of our lives; it means I am free to not shove us in a box of “shoulds” because for everything there is a season.
Freedom in Christ means I can walk away from a bowl of ice cream because I have the fruit of self control and am free to guard my heart with all diligence.
Freedom in Christ means I am able, willing, motivated, and consistent in homeschooling my children because He who started this good work is faithful to complete it and that which His hand has started, no one can stop. I have everything I need for life and godliness.
Freedom in Christ means I can choose to daily work on cleaning my home because I am a wise woman who builds her home, not a foolish one who destroys it with her own hands.
Freedom in Christ means I’m free to get up early enough to feel on top of my day and get in the bed early enough to get adequate rest because He grants sleep to those whom He loves and I will run and not grow weary, I will walk and not faint, I will mount up on wings like eagles; I am free to get up while it is still dark and find a quiet place to be with my Father as my Lord did.
Freedom in Christ means I’m free to answer kindly in response to others’ anger or annoyance.
Freedom in Christ means I’m not bound to worry when the cattle are lean and I’m faithful in stewardship when they are fat.
Freedom in Christ means that “feeling” depressed or harried doesn’t mean I am because I put on the garment of praise; I have come to Him for rest because I am a sheep with a Shepherd, and He has compassion on me.
Freedom in Christ means that the law of love in in my hands and on my facial expressions and faithful instruction is on my tongue.
So often (read as: too often), I am oh-so-ready to tell my children “what” we believe and fail to walk with “Who” we believe. Pretty sure St. Francis of Assisi was the one who said, “Preach the Gospel at all times; when necessary, use words.” Though I’m quick to paint that sign over my life outside these walls, it’s echo is in fact resonant within them. It’s my freedom in Christ that will both enable and fuel my day to day living here; by Grace I have been saved, and only in Him do I exist and hold together.
Interestingly, my devotion last night from My Utmost for His Highest contained this quote: ” we must decide whether or not we will accept the tremendous spiritual upheaval that will be produced in our circumstances if we obey His words.” I LOVE that Chambers says the upheaval comes “in our circumstances.” Yes, obedience ignites my heart; yes, it stirs my mind. But so, so beautifully, the application of His Word results in upheaval of all around me — as He changes me, as I am obedient, my little niche is transformed both in my own eyes and through the poured down blessings onto those around me. When I walk in the freedom of obedience, things change.
LORD, You know my heart; You know what I pray over my children. And, humbling enough, You know how and are working to bridge the gap between those prayers and my example. Please forgive me! And THANK YOU that You never leave me as I am; THANK YOU for moving us from glory to glory! THANK YOU that ten, twenty-five, fifty years from now, there will be fruit from the branches You’ve pruned and caused to obey. I love You, Jesus! Amen.
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