Blog Addict

Dear Mimi,
It's been a while. Not because there hasn't been time or I haven't anything to say. But becasue I got a little tangled in the web.

Oopsy Daisy.

It was nothing gray- just basic blog babysitting and social media consumption. Their place in my life had become a priority. I should be able to pass by my iPhone without need a fix.  But I wasn’t. I came to the realization that my friend-status with the web was being spelled A-D-D-I-C-T and confess that the whole social media and blogging business was starting to enslave me. So I cut my ties for a bit there.

It was bondage. God knows about bondage. You’ll remember that story when He parted the Red Sea, allowing His beloved children to leave slavery behind in Egypt. He rescued them – plucked them right out of peonage. You’d think they’d be grateful, right? Not so. They moaned. They bellyached. They actually wanted to go back.

Not saying my little hiatus from internet enthrallment was like that. Or maybe I am. The Israelites knew God was taking them to the Promise Land, the land of milk and honey. Problem was – they couldn’t see it. As God Himself nudged me to take a break from my connection – I surely couldn’t see what He had in store for me. But I knew that place in the wilderness, where I wondered around with a little time on my hands, left me emptied for God.

“Search me, O God, and know my heart; Try me and know my anxious thoughts; and see if there is any hurtful way in me, and lead me in the everlasting way” (Psalm 139: 23-24).

Be weary of things that suck you in like that. I had begun seeking the internet for my virtual approval and as a result, created a screen of affirmation. Nothing but a screen. The thing – and it is a thing- should not exist in my life to glorify me. Because if it's there to glorify me - can it glorify God too? I'm doubtful.

 

More about Larry

I can't leave my imaginary friend Larry behind with just one post. His mantra is central to finding joy and peace as an unshowered, average, goobered-on climbing gym -err- mother. Never seeking to be on a best-sellers list or even pitch his idea to an editor, the quiet monk shared how he practiced the presence of God with a friend in a humble hand written letter.

 “I do this simply by keeping my attention on God and by being generally and lovingly aware of Him.  This could be called practicing the presence of God moment by moment, or to put it better, a silent, secret and nearly unbroken conversation of the soul with God.” 

Brother Lawrence didn’t do anything great, per se. And it wasn’t what he did at all, but rather his frame of mind in doing tedious, mundane, dare-I-say boring work. In his words, “We must not grow weary of doing little things for the love of God, who looks not on the great size of the work, but on the love in it.”

It’s not the size of the task, but the love in it that matters. I just adore that he figured that out while doing the humdrum. If he practiced the presence of God while fighting war or under severe persecution, it would mean less to me - but he did it washing dishes and fixing shoes. I think it was what the Apostle Paul meant when he wrote "whatever you do, do it all to the glory of God” (1 Corinthians 10:31).  It just becomes real to me written by a quiet monk. Paul was, well, Paul.  

God sees my heart. A heart that certainly does not glorify him every step of the way as Brother Lawrence honed his heart to. My attitude while parenting can’t possibly be pleasing to God some, well more than some, of the time. My daily mental conversations could be called colorful at best. In honesty, there are moments of drudgery. Don't misunderstand me, its easy to be thankful for the big picture. I have a deep deep joy (which I cannot even put into words) found in this journey of being a mom. But still, there are flashes of hair pulling hassle, and even the occasional over-dramatized pity party. How can it all be done for the glory of God?  Not just the important stuff, but all of it?  I think of my pal Larry and his example of practicing the presence of God, of love being poured into the minute tasks, when I’m changing diapers, cleaning dishes, and when I bend over for the millionth time to pick up whatever toy has just impaled the arch of my foot.

At a distance, the small tasks of being a mom seem palatable. Put baby to sleep. Clean gooey baby food and noodles off floor. Wipe boogers. Help brother in bathroom. Help sister do homework. Taken one at a time, they seem trivial.  But sometimes the baby won’t sleep and I’ve cleaned the floor 3 times already today. I struggle to disregard the size of the task and focus on the love I could pour into it for the glory of the Lord.

At some point, when your little brother was an infant, I had the following experience, all before 9 a.m., and scribbled it down on a piece of paper.

Today – for the record

·         The baby fussed all night

·         My hands smell like poop.

·         The computer crashed

·         I need a band-aid, possibly stitches, on my chest

For the preservation of your innocence, I've just deleted the full explanation of that last senario. Your welcome. I will say that nursing is not all bliss- and that if you don't take care of problems early, it can get rather gory and leave you making that infamous bitter-beer-face every time the babe latches. This would not have been a problem for your brother however, he could have successfully nursed a coconut. My point being- how can I possibly give glory when the small tasks get insurmountable?

It makes the challenge to “Render service with a good attitude, as to the Lord and not to men” (Ephesians 6:7 HCSB) unfathomable.

As moms, we serve.  If we serve for our children there is reward some of the time. But here is what I’m starting to realize, if we focus on serving Christ as parents rather than focus on serving kids, there is always eternal reward.  Perhaps the duties become mundane because, the skills required to change a blow-out aren’t highly esteemed. But that’s just what Brother Lawrence spoke against; he said it’s not the size of the task. It is the love in it.

Who knows- if you take your eyes off the diaper mess for a moment you might just notice the gummy smile of the babe staring up at you. Glory.

My Pal Larry

Sometimes I miss Portland Oregon, where you spent the first four years of your life. We enjoyed being an afternoon's drive away from the beach. I remember once such trip when you were two, maybe three years old. I spent much of the drive listening to you sing The Itsy Bitsy Spider over and over without tiring of your precious voice. It was nearly a flawless family outing, but you tumbled down the steps leading to the sand. As your face glowed red, and tears wet those tender cheeks, an expression of painful frustration erupted. Once the sobbing lessened, it was me you wanted.

"Hold you! Hold you!" you cried.

I was right there to offer hugs. As you clung to me, I said not a word about the fruit juice you squeezed all over my freshly laundered coat. Clean coats don't matter when I see my girl's tears. I love to be needed.

If only you needed me more.  Once on the beach, I saw the breeze in your ponytails, sand in your toes (and hair and diaper) and felt a twinge in my heart as you ran, giggled and played with your mama. As for me, I was stuffed into the yellow purse alongside the empty juice box.

I am your beloved Newman, the unconditional friend, the under-appreciated stuffed dog.

Oh the lengths I’ve gone for your beloved Newman. Pretend meals have been prepared. An embarrassing number of diapers have been donned complete with meager tail-hole. He’s been seen as the sole occupier of my stroller. The stories he’s told. The baths he’s endured. Frankly, I’m happy to oblige your imagination. At the peak of your friendship, Newman could get you to your place at the dinner table instantly and work a near miracle in cheering you up. As a mama-gone-ventriloquist, I have come to appreciate his squeaky little voice that always gets a smile, even in the worst of moods. 

An imaginary friend has the power to change perspective whether you are two or thirty-two. And so it is with Brother Lawrence. He’s my imaginary compadre of sorts. As a Parisian monk who lived in the 1600’s, he was a simple man.  He worked in the monastery kitchen, fixed shoes and ran errands for people. His uncomplicated motto for living has been recorded in his letters and conversations,  and so through reading, Brother Lawrence became my imaginary friend.  ‘Practice the presence of God’ – this was his mantra. 

 “I do this simply by keeping my attention on God and by being generally and lovingly aware of Him.  This could be called practicing the presence of God moment by moment, or to put it better, a silent, secret and nearly unbroken conversation of the soul with God.”¹ 

I envision him, my pal Larry, shuffling down a cobblestone lane, noticeable limp to his gait, head down, and elusive grin on his face, mumbling something about the Alpha and Omega.  

1. The Practice of the Presence of God. Brother Lawrence. 1895

Dragon Breath

Our family production of Saint George and the Dragon commenced at 8:30pm Sunday night.  On the corner of Strong and Five Mile Road the dragon appeared in the driver’s seat of our otherwise yuppy Jeep Wrangler. 

“…They heard a hideous roaring that filled the air with terror and seemed to shake the ground. The dreadful dragon…came eagerly to do battle… A cloud of smothering smoke and burning sulfur poured from his throat, filing the air with its stench. His blazing eyes, flaming with rage, glared out from deep in his head. So he came toward the knight, raising his speckled breast, clashing his scales, as he leaped to greet his newest victim.*”

Or victims rather. Ages 5, 3 and 9 months.

Let me paint the background.

Dad, because he is Dad, spent last week in an impoverished community tending to the poor, sharing God’s beautiful rescue plan, going on prayer walks and growing in Christ.

I, on the other hand, spent the previous 9 days 10 hrs and 30 minutes with you kids.

You did remarkably well. You played together beautifully, only drawing blood once. You made my birthday special by creating nearly one card for each year of my life. One of the three people that reads this blog suggested I swing wide the front door at your dad’s arrival and proclaim with pride, “Look! They’re alive!”

Yes, Dad served Christ in Ecuador, and I did my best to serve Him here at home.

But somewhere around 112,560 minutes into this 112,590 minute journey of single parenthood, I spewed fire all over the back seat of the Jeep. We were actually on the way to the airport. Pity me.

This dragon breath is best defined in James 3:6: “The tongue is a fire, the very world of iniquity;  the tongue is set among our parts as that which defiles the entire body, and sets on fire the course of our life, and is set on fire by hell.”  Well said. My words…your words…our words have the potential to bless the people around us, building them up with encouragement. They also, in a flash, can ruin breakfast. In a spark, wreck the ride to school. In a blaze, make a statement a child will remember for a lifetime.

I’m sharing this because I know I’m not alone. I’m sharing this because we can do better. My mama always said, If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all. Good advice, which I had put to the test last week, when I was tasting embers in my mouth. I actually tried, for a full hour, maybe even two, to keep my words to these four statements:

AWESOME

THANK YOU

TELL ME MORE ABOUT THAT

YES

It was a bit awkward ordering a mocha at the drive-up window, but otherwise it went tremendously well. During that time span, no one killed themselves. People actually thrived under it.

Yes there is a place for right discipline, and in my defense, just prior to the Wrangler inferno, two of three back seat passengers had managed to be childish, defiant, and disrespectful all at once.  Not saying names, just saying. Even so, these offenses deserve calm consistent consequences, not the dragon lady.

Lord help us control our tongues. Help us use them to bless our children, to build them up, and to make them strong and courageous for you. Catch us in the moment Jesus. Remind us of your love, your patient and kind love.