Let Her Celebrate!

Let the mother of many celebrate her numbers
and glory in the ornaments which decorate her life.
Let her not be swayed by the scoffers,
nor riled by the ignorant.
Let compassion be her way
and humility guide her thinking.
Let her pin her badge of many blessings
to her breast and be known
for what the Lord God has called her to do.

Let the mother of some celebrate her bond
and relish the closeness that more time permits.
Let her not feel scorned by Leah or Hagar,
nor be jealous of their cup.
Let diligence be her walk
and contentment lift her prayers.
Let her perceive what is hers
and freely pursue wonderful things for the dear ones
that the Lord has entrusted to her care.

Let the mother of one celebrate her treasure
and delight to invest her whole self in this one.
Let her be convinced of the harvest to come
from this Isaac, this John.
Let fear be her beginning
and wisdom be her trail.
Let her seek the Lord
and proceed with awe in raising up for Him
this blessing so special as to demand her all.

Let the mother of none worship the Lord
and praise Him for drawing her close to His heart!
Let her rise up and look beyond her gate
and make her good works available to others.
Let trust in His plan be her sustenance
and service to His will be her drink.
Let her revere the gift He has given
that she should have liberty to love Him
with a love freer from distraction.

Composed by Grafted Branch of Restoring the Years

A Land Flowing with Milk and Honey...

More of Him; less of me.

More listening; less instructing.

More patience; less guilt.

More building up; less tearing down.

More ease; less weight.

More charity; less recompense.

More beauty; less style.

More togetherness; less "ministry."

More in the moment; less for the future.

More flexible; less brittle.

More resolve; less compromise.

More humility; less authority.

More general; less specific.

More people; less networking.

More compassion; less disdain.

To work with my hands, to be about my business quietly, to love mercy, to do justly--to walk humbly with my God.

These are the things for which I am trusting the LORD to teach me anew as I seek to return to my first love...that wondrous, far-away place that flowed with the milk of His salvation and the honey of His love when first I confessed my sin--my need--and received Jesus as my King. It was the land of my rebirth after He led me out of the bondage of my Egypt: the place where Self sat upon the throne and addiction disguised itself as freedom.

I didn't know much for the first years. I lapped the milk of the Word and didn't give a second thought to the meat that would come later. I was busy relishing the liberty that swelled in my soul: liberty to say no! to sin rather than to enjoy its fleshly pleasures and be indebted to its death; liberty to know and be known of the One Who made me; liberty to stop kicking at the goads and take up my side of the yoke and simply become who the LORD made me to be.

But the meat came too quickly, and though I was confused and discouraged, I did not choke. Instead, I gathered with others in a simpler place until my teeth budded and I could better chew the truth and beauty of this glorious God Who is the same yesterday as today and will be tomorrow.

Today I'm thinking that it's a beautiful thing to realize that He sees us in our Egypt--our house of bondage. And when our suffering is ripe, we cry aloud for rescue and He leads us out because He is so merciful. And sometimes fear and uncertainty drives us to doubt or whine, but even so, He seeks to save us from our trouble in the dry desert riddled with serpents. Some do not believe and so they perish in the midst. Others obey Him and look to the sin staked upon the pole--and live.

The gift of eternal life came like that: Jesus Christ was made sin and nailed to a cross. Saved from our common condemnation are those who look to Him--from every tribe and nation--any who will take heed of His existence by the evidence of His creation and then seek to know Him more fully in the revelation of His Holy Word.

It's there that you may seek peace and pursue it....

Growing Legs To Walk the Talk

In a faraway place there is a girl
who is six and very capable.
All the day long she says, "I can!"
and does her mother's bidding.
She is plain and small,
and keeps her hands on her hips,
with her chin held high.
She has no time for puerile pleasures,
and wears only the hint of a smile.
This girl will do well.


In a faraway place there is a girl who is eight
and very cheerful.
All the day long she playfully shirks the work
to assuage her pining need for whimsy.
She is dark and adorable,
and adorns herself
with all that is good about being a girl.
She plays with dolls,
and has fun wherever she goes.
This girl will do well.



In a faraway place there is a girl
who has barely embarked on the years
that will lead her to adulthood.
All the day long she mentors and guides
the young ones in her charge.
And hangs the laundry. And fixes dinner.
She is strong and smart and studious,
and would rather curl up with a good book
than do just about anything else.
This girl will do well.

These are not my girls--but they could be.

And now...
they are.

Though they remain in their faraway lands--
in Equador, Peru and Indonesia--
These girls are ours now to pray for, to rejoice over...

to love...

as with the hands and feet of Jesus, through Compassion International.


ht: Melanie, This Ain't New York

The Soundtrack of This Season

New scales on Fifi's violin, to build agility in the fingers of her left hand.

Guttural humming of an indecipherable, random tune that accompanies Cuddlebug's every move.

Dumpling reciting her favorite movie line every time she puts on one shoe, and before she pulls on the second, "Oh David! I lost my heel; look at me walk!" (Guess that movie, if you can. Hint: Katherine Hepburn delivered it.)

Daughters doing chores and singing along with the measures they remember of my latest rehearsal project, Mendelssohn's "Lift Thine Eyes."

The sound of Fifi "raising the bar" by an octave--and my vocal chords hurt just hearing it.

"Row, Row, Row Your Boat" played just as fast as Cuddlebug's little curved fingers will let her.

Loud, uninhibited 'neighing' from Dumpling as she runs gallops around the yard on her stick horse.

The mechanical whine of Cuddlebug's jeep as she drives it around the yard.

An impressive Irish accent employed by Fifi to express her every thought, answer, and explanation.

Little voices chanting, "Ready? Set? Go!"

Cackled giggles over an arched-back cat chasing children with its sideways gait.

Lots of claws scrambling over hard wood floors as the cat and the beagle play chase and wrestle.

The rhythmic sound of the kitten's suckling a piece of batting he has worked out of the dog bed.

The sound of bedsprings overhead where there should be water running to brush baby teeth.

The calming rumble of the clothes washer and dish washer doing their work.

The small squeaking sound of Cuddlebug sucking her thumb, and the too often exasperated sound of my voice telling her to stop it.

The delightful harmonies of Bud & Travis singing Mexican ballads and folk songs on Husband's Tivoli radio.

The breathtaking counterpoint compositions of Baroque era composers.

The words of Jeremiah spoken to me from the cd player while I fold and iron clothes a few evenings a week.

Husband's deep, friendly voice reading God's Word to us in the evening.

The sweet sound of a child's voice speaking up to share what the Scripture has inspired her recognize or remember.

The still small voice that speaks life into my soul whenever I can find a quiet corner in which to be still and quiet and prayerful.

The Windows

Raising children is a journey riddled with windows. Windows of opportunity. Windows that slowly close and leave a parent forever fighting for a chance at second best.

There is a window to instill a love of reading in a child;
and to teach her the 26 letters with relative ease.

There is a window for teaching a child to ride a bike without fear;
and to trust that her daddy will catch her and not let her die!

There is a window to train a child in the habit of mannerly behavior;
and to relish a simple afternoon of hospitality and fellowship.

There is a window to nurture a child's inherent desire to work;
and know the sublime satisfaction of a job well done.

There is a window for leading her thinking along the path of righteousness;
and to win her heart, that you may daily preach the Gospel to her.

And there is a window to help a young woman-in-the-making understand herself--who she is in the Kingdom; how great and terrible her power as a member of the fairer sex; who is her Brother in Christ; and what is her responsibility to him and others.

I found this scribble hanging in Fifi's closet earlier in the season when I was switching out summer clothes for winter things. Which, in South Texas, is a complete waste of time--but that's beside the point.

It is a quote made by a peer during a speech on a mission trip. Fifi read it on the girl's blog.

What does it mean? At her age and older, I certainly would not have known. It is a statement of love. And it is a statement of self-sacrifice. Sacrifice of ease. Sacrifice of comfort. And certainly a sacrifice of attention.

Wouldn't it be a lovely world if everyone dressed and adorned themselves each day with a question of Godly motivation in mind? Let it start with the Body of Christ.

Lock-Step

The alarm goes off while it is still very cold and still very dark outside.

I pull on my robe and shuffle across the hall to awaken Fifi. Thankfully, she is already up and in the shower, but I can see by the stack of textbooks on her desk that it was a long night. I wonder to myself how she's going to get through this day with little sleep, tedious classes to listen through, a violin lesson this afternoon and a babysitting job after dinner.

Next I wander over to the little girls' room and nudge Dumpling awake because she's a little slow to stir from her slumber. She's a grumpy waker-upper. Cuddlebug, on the other hand, awakens with a big grin. I spend too many minutes asking them to get up and get going before I finally give up. Now I'm making their beds for them and barking at them to get dressed and get downstairs for breakfast.

I realize that all the best moms in black-and-white with pearls and heels feed their families hot breakfasts of eggs, toast or waffles with o.j., but I don't ever remember seeing their kids race out the door in the dark to catch the school bus. Mine have to be at the curb at the unreasonable hour of 7:40 a.m.

I walk the little ones down the street and holler at Fifi to please remember to take her keys today because I won't be here when she gets home. I'm doing volunteer work today, and will be helping to train a new crew late this afternoon. They'll be eating take-out for dinner, 'cause I won't be home until late.

Once all the girls are gone, I get around to the daily chores. Cleaning, laundry, phone calls--and I do it with no interruptions. I could get used to this. No squabbles. No accidents. No questions. No needs. At least, none with which I have to deal.

I'm productive. I'm fulfilled. I'm enjoying adult conversation.

Right around lunch time, Fifi calls me from her cell phone to check in and say, "hi." Her flattering tone betrays an ulterior motive. I ask her how her day is, and she simply says, "Oh, fine." She wants to know if she can go over to her friend's house after school. I ask her if the girl's parents will be home. She tells me that she thinks the mom will be home, but she's not sure.

She says I should trust her more.

It's easiest to just keep the peace and determine to believe her. But to do that, I must stuff down what I know of being her age; I must reject the vivid memory of my many deceptions.

At 2:30, I drive over to the elementary school to pick up Dumpling from 2nd grade and Cuddlebug from Kinder. Cuddlebug isn't wearing the big grin that she was when I last saw her, and I ask her, how was her day at school? She bites back tears to tell me that two little girls in her class were whispering loudly to the children at an adjacent table--mean words about her teeth. And later, nobody played with her at recess.

I ask Dumpling what she's got in her backpack--it looks heavy. She says she has homework to do: math, reading, social studies. Later, I'll notice that her whole body is contorting to bear the burden of the books up the path to the front door.

A few minutes into the car ride to the babysitter's house, I hear Cuddlebug ask Dumpling to play with her. She has two little people puppets that she made in class today, and she offers one to Dumpling, but Dumpling says, "No. That's dumb," and instead pulls out the Gameboy that her Uncle sent to her for Christmas. Cuddlebug looks on, hoping for a turn that is never offered.

It's easiest to just keep the greater peace and pretend I don't see it.

As we pull up at the baby sitter's house, I pray a little prayer that the Lord would hedge His protection around my girls. I don't really feel comfortable with this arrangement, but it's as good as I could find. I mean...I'm doing a good thing in my volunteer work, right? Surely, I'm serving the Lord, so I can trust Him to guard their hearts with all diligence against the worldly influences that they'll be exposed to when the sitter's middle school children come home next hour...right?

It's just a few hours, after all. What could happen? I know that the other children will probably watch some television, but surely my little ones won't be interested, and will otherwise occupy themselves. And if the older children think it will be great fun to start a MySpace page for my girls, surely Dumpling and Cuddlebug will remember that Mommy has said, "No."

And even if, it'll be o.k. Surely. People do it all the time. It's just the way things are today.

I drop the girls and go get lost in my good feelings volunteering at the local women's shelter. Before I know it, it's 7 p.m. and time to head home. If I hurry, I'll get to kiss Fifi goodbye before she gets picked up for her babysitting job. She says she'll be home before 11:00. I meant to talk to her about something she said in passing the other day, but I guess that will have to wait for the weekend. I hope I won't forget.

I make myself a sandwich, take a shower and unwind with a tired husband in front of the newest pop culture addiction. I feel a little funny spending my time with such a ridiculous and frivolous past time, but I justify it in my own mind by telling myself that it keeps me connected with my kids. They love the show. It's all they can talk about as the finale draws closer.

As I climb into bed, I open my Bible and read--just a little. Mostly, I replay the day. My heart is heavy because I know my 12 year old is drifting from me, even if she knows well how to tow the line within the walls of our home. I try hard to convince myself that it is what it is. She's a tween. It's to be expected. It's part of growing up into an independent, productive adult.

But really, I wonder if the Lord agrees. Does it have to be this way? Is it to be expected?

My heart is heavy as I see my young ones are hardly friends since they started going to school and spending more hours with strangers than anyone else. The somewhat small age disparity between them has grown into a large chasm. They hardly giggle anymore. At least not with one another.

And with the exception of the occasional complaint, or grudging act of service, Fifi doesn't interact with her sisters at all.

And I want to cry. I just want to crawl into my prayer closet and...

*gasp*

I am mercifully awakened from my nightmare.

I Am Bound by a Code

I am bound by a code.
It stems from my faith in Jesus Christ.
I know, and do not merely believe, that He is my strong tower,
And that He will keep me
In the midst of the strongest attack.

His indwelling Spirit makes me sure that He will be my defense.
I can go to the slaughter
Without opening my mouth.
He is well able to make all people
Be at peace with me.

Or not.

The Lord is faithful.
The Lord knows.

When they search and conspire to strive with me,
When their feet run swiftly to mischief,
When they meddle in strife belonging not to them,
When they gossip and catch me unawares,
When they tear down and stir up contentions,
When they can not forgive,
When they seek to exacerbate an offense,
When they form alliances and cast veiled threats,
When they repeat a matter and separate friends,
When they slander in secret...
When they exploit my code,

I will not defend myself
With the very instruments of my destruction;
Because I am bound by a code.
I am bound by my faith in Jesus Christ.

Don't I Know You...From...Somewhere?

I met a lot of people this week.

Some I knew. Some I knew of. Some were just new.

And time after time, I was intrigued to discover something...something the same about so many. And I was able to recognize this sameness through the viewfinder called genuine.

Maybe you saw it too?

It was there in the man who was generous with his time and attention in passing along his know-how to a stranger new acquaintance, making him feel so welcomed--even favored--in the midst of a crowd of dozens.

It was there in the girl, not my own, who quietly and graciously deferred first choice of the merchandise to the undisciplined youngster who impulsively snatched it from her hand.

It was there in the teen boy who praised the Lord quite naturally--almost privately, but not shyly--when he was complimented for his extraordinary gift with a sketch pencil and paper.

It was there in the sprightly acceptance of our family by another's, just in time to heal the hurt and confusion of still another family's rejection of us outright.

It was there in the humble apology and offer of restitution of one who had unwittingly offended a stranger Sister in Christ,

And it was there, too, in the gracious forgiveness of another Sister who was caught in the middle when she had to listen to the offended one speak words and attitudes that would have been better left unsaid.

I met many people this week, and many showed me something that made me think, "Don't I know you from somewhere?" And then I realized what it was...

Or maybe I should say Who it was...

It was Jesus in them.

Love. Care. Concern. Sacrifice. Availability. Humility. Patience. Forgiveness.

An intangible holiness.

Or maybe it was more what was missing? Criticism. Contempt. Pride. Arrogance. Rejection. Judgment. Contention.

Self.

Misplaced Judgment

This week, Lord,
like last week,
I'll likely meet someone new.
Someone who doesn't know,
or even care to know--
You.

They might see my daughters--
covered up
and conspicuous
in their joy,
in their care,
in their respect for their elders.

They might notice
the clock and conjecture
by our presence,
that we are homeschoolers.
And they might make the leap
and presume that we
follow You.

They might not be able
to help themselves,
and for reasons unknown
but to You,
they will throw up that wall
that protests the judgment
that they ascribe to me and mine.

Has someone hurt them badly--
in Your name?
Has someone cast them aside--
for Your sake?

In that moment, Lord,
help me.

Let me not stay silent
and allow that root of contempt
be sown between
two of Your creatures
on yet opposite sides
of Your glorious grace.

Give me words, Lord.

Let me be like You were
with the woman at the well
when You made her feel validated
and showed her, her worth to You.

Let me also make inquiries,
or give compliments,
or simply speak about the weather...

Give me words to say
to the one who would decide
that Your people
are filled with
contempt
and bitterness
and judgment
and hate.

Show me how, Lord.
Show me how to express Your love
to a world that doesn't know how to accept it--
in a world where others
have tragically misrepresented it.

Show me how to do my part, Lord,
trusting You all the while to accomplish
what is Yours.

Wait

Edited to include author information. Originally passed around as "author unknown," the poem now is attributed to a man from my own city! It was passed to me as Child, You Must Wait, but is originally entitled, Wait.

Russell Lee Kelfer, 1933-2000, San Antonio, Texas

Desperately, longingly, humbly I cried.
Quietly and lovingly my God replied.
I pled and I wept for a clue to my fate,
And the Master so gently said, “Child, you must wait.”

“Wait?” You say, “wait?” my indignant reply.
“Lord, I need answers, I need to know why!
Is Your hand shortened? Or have You not heard?
By FAITH I have asked, and am claiming Your Word.”

“My future and all to which I can relate
Hangs in the balance, and You tell me to WAIT?
I’m needing a ‘yes,’ a go-ahead sign,
Or even a ‘no’ to which I can resign.”

“And Lord, You promised that if we believe
We need but to ask, and we shall receive.
And Lord, I’ve been asking, and this is my cry:
I’m weary of asking, I need a reply!”

Then quietly, softly, I learned of my fate
As my Master replied once again, “You must wait.”
So...I slumped in my chair, defeated and taut,
And grumbled to God, “So...I’m waiting...for what?”

He seemed then to kneel and His eyes wept with mine,
And He tenderly said, “I could give you a sign
I could shake the heavens, and darken the sun
could raise the dead, and cause mountains to run.

All you seek, I could give, and pleased you would be.
You would have what you want -- but you wouldn’t know ME.”
“You’d not know the depth of My love for each saint;
You’d not know the power that I give to the faint;

You’d not learn to see through the clouds of despair;
You’d not learn to trust just by knowing I’m there;
You’d not know the joy of resting in Me
When darkness and silence were all you could see.”

“You’d never experience that fullness of love
As the peace of My Spirit descends like a dove;
You’d know that I give and I save...for a start,
But you’d not know the depth of the beat of My heart.”

“The glow of My comfort late into the night.
The faith that I give when you walk without sight,
The depth that’s beyond getting just what you asked
Of an infinite God, who makes what you have last.”

“You’d never know should your pain quickly flee,
What it means that ‘My grace is sufficient for thee.’
Yes, your dearms for your loved ones overnight would come true,
But, oh, the loss, if you lost what I’m doing in you!”

“So, be silent, my child, and in time you will see
That the greatest of gifts is to get to know Me.
And though oft may My answers seem terribly late,
My wisest of answers is still but to wait.”

Decrescendo: verb, Grow Quieter

I saw what you did for them, my lovely;
Even though you thought none noticed.

And I heard your silence amidst their music;

It was very loud.

Privately, I made you confess your kindness;

Grappling all the while with
Your strong sense of humility.

And I was right; I did see what I thought I saw.
I did hear what I thought I did not hear.

But did you see what it did to me?

Could you see my heart swell with praise?

Perhaps you noticed how I bit on my tongue

So as to hold back my torrent of tears?

At that very moment
Inside of me,

The Holy Spirit of God smiled

And pulled from my spiritual shelf

The Scripture that reminded me...

Look not every man on his own things,
but every man also on the things of others.

Philippians 2:4

How beautiful was the work of your faith
As you lived out the love in that verse.
A benevolent child of the King are you;
And the Lord blesses me as His grace is poured upon
Your yielded soul.

Redemption

by Johnny Cash

From the hands it came down

From the side it came down

From the feet it came down

And ran to the ground

Between heaven and hell

A teardrop fell

In the deep crimson dew

The tree of life grew

And the blood gave life

To the branches of the tree

And the blood was the price

That set the captives free

And the numbers that came

Through the fire and the flood

Clung to the tree

And were redeemed by the blood

From the tree streamed a light

That started the fight

'Round the tree grew a vine

On whose fruit I could dine

My old friend Lucifer came

Fought to keep me in chains

But I saw through the tricks

Of six-sixty-six

And the blood gave life

To the branches of the tree

And the blood was the price

That set the captives free

And the numbers that came

Through the fire and the flood

Clung to the tree

And were redeemed by the blood

From his hands it came down

From his side it came down

From his feet it came down

And ran to the ground

And a small inner voice

Said "You do have a choice."

The vine engrafted me

And I clung to the tree

Bedtime Prayers

Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep

If I should wake before I die
I pray I'd stop from telling lies

To the one in the mirror
During my evening routine
I promise I'll be better
With the dawn of morning.

To get more done
Around the house
And with the chores
And in the school.

To drink more water
To exercise harder
And to leave off eating
After dark.

To count my blessings
In the midst
And practice the kind tone
I require from kids.

To do more
And delegate less
And read a book
And have a blast!

To complete a project
Or dust a shelf
That hasn't seen me
For at least a month.

To clean the car
And call my mom,
To read my Bible
In a peaceful calm.

And tomorrow,
I'll pray it
Again.

Small Things

My darlings...

When you are grown
And doing big things,
Who will you be?
Where is this path to take you?

Will you be a frugal homemaker
That blesses her husband
With a lovely space to call home?
A place of calm and care, respect and regard
That he can't wait to come home to each night.

Will you educate your children at home,
Teaching them first to seek Christ's righteousness,
Trusting Him to then provide for your every need?
Helping your children see past themselves--
To be like Christ--
To look toward serving the needs of others.

Will you be an author
Who weaves her words to bring beauty
Or wisdom
Or companionship to her readers?

Will you be a musician
Bringing the most beautiful language of all
To large crowds or small congregations?
Will you invite youngsters into your home
And pass on your skill and knowledge as have
Musicians for thousands of years before you?

Will you design buildings
With wonderful rooms and stairs and drawbridges
As you do with your brissle blocks
And Lincoln Logs?

Will you offer your members an instrument of the Lord
For the healing of the sick?
Will you be the soul on the other side
Of the call button?
The one that comes running
To offer care, concern or comfort.

When you are grown and gone
And busy being the wife,
The mother,
The educator,
The writer,
The musician,
The mentor
The architect,
Or the nurse,

You won't remember
The hard work you're doing today.

It's the hard work of learning your letters,
And the patience you practice in writing your numbers.
You won't remember how long it took you to
Recognize the difference between "d" and "b" and "p,"
And you won't have any recollection of
How many times you sounded out "that" and "and."

You won't remember a time
When you didn't know
How to decipher the code of the musical staff.
You won't recall flashcards and drills and
"Naming the notes."

You won't remember feeding the dog.
Or cleaning the dishes.
You won't know what I'm talking about
When I reminisce about the months and years
It took to develop your habits of discipline.

And you'll wonder who I'm speaking of
When I amuse myself with the memory
Of your "little brain" and
How you tried so hard to make it grow fast
As you tried so hard to remember to pick up your toys.

I hope you won't remember how many thousands of times
I told you to take your thumb out of your mouth.

You won't remember your intricate block buildings.
You won't remember counting black beans
Or naming the Math-U-See rods...
One pea
Two carrots
Three little pigs
Four bananas
Five glasses of water
Six plums
Sevenilla
ChocoEight
Nine scoops of mint-chocolate chip ice cream

You won't remember copywork.
You won't remember making your first salt-dough map.
You won't remember when you first knew
That "ph" says "ffff," and that "tion," says "shun."

When you are grown and gone and doing big things,
You won't remember how hard you worked for every. little. step. here and now.

But I'll remember for you. I promise.

But He Was Not In The...

...homeschooling.
He was not in the family-integrated home-church.
He was not in the full quiver.
He was not in the mission trip.
He was not in the acreage.
He was not in the grain-grinding.
He was not in the bread-baking.
He was not in the modest dress.
He was not in the inductive Bible study.
He was not in the orderly conduct.
He was not in the disciplined prayer life.
Nor was He in any of the other
Virtuous--even profitable
Christian convictions that are
Everyday, lived out
In the lives of those numbered in
The Body of Christ.

He is
The Triune God.
3 Persons. One God.
Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

Just as God was not in
The evidences of His power
That moved mountains and stirred the wind,
He is not in the sum total of my convictions,
However good or bad they may be.
He will not be made in my image.
Or yours.
Or his.
Or hers.

He is God-Man-Savior.
He is the great I AM.

So He said, "Go forth and stand on the mountain before the LORD " And behold, the LORD was passing by! And a great and strong wind was rending the mountains and breaking in pieces the rocks before the LORD; but the LORD was not in the wind. And after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake.

After the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of a gentle blowing.

When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood in the entrance of the cave And behold, a voice came to him...

1Kings 19:11-13a

Doing The Good Things That Don't Really Matter At The Expense Of What Certainly Does

Once upon an epiphany, a mother awoke to the bright dawn of morning and encouraged her daughters to be diligent this day, for this was to be a very special day--they were expecting visitors for dinner. And with that, she gave a list of the day's tasks to each girl, and they embarked on their chores with giddy anticipation.

It was decided that a menu of orzo with olives, broccoli and pine nuts would join baked sweet potato to lay beside herb chicken on the family's best dishware. It wasn't fancy, but it was white and understated to allow the beautiful colors of the food to show forth. And taking into careful consideration the dietary restrictions of the guests, a sugar-free creme pie was planned for dessert. The shopping was accomplished, and the cooking could begin.

Later that day, the mother endeavored to clear the table of the long-term project that had taken up residence for so many weeks, and her eldest daughter was close behind with the shiny flatware which had been bestowed upon the couple by the children's grandmother only a few years earlier.

Fancy napkins were folded. Spotless goblets were readied for ice and water.

The younger daughters had spent this time washing the windows and doors, inside and out--working as a team and singing the morning's hymn tunes to one another,

"Bringing in the sheaves, bringing in the sheaves!
We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves."

There were slipcovers to remove and launder, floors to vacuum and mop, toys to tidy, commodes to brush and flush, animal beds to hide, fan blades to wipe, front steps to sweep, kitchen counters to clear and sinks to scour.

The mother and her daughters were each so busy all day long that the hours flew by as the anticipation built. All were so very excited!

And finally, the dinner hour arrived. Lights were lit. Pleasant music was played. The father returned home and the family waited.

And waited.

And no one came. And no one called. It was a lonely evening.

Despite the grand preparations,
the attention to aesthetics
and the diligence displayed in doing the work,
it soon became obvious that it had all been in vain.

It was realized that all of the grand preparations,
the attention to aesthetics
and the diligence displayed in doing the work
had been superfluous to the heart of the matter:

No one had bothered to invite the guests to dinner.

This story was inspired by my reading of Ezekiel 3 this week, in which the prophet is commanded to tell Israel the Lord's message. It is explained to him that they may listen, or they may not--but that if they die in their sin without being warned of their doom, their blood will be on the prophet's hands! So, the question becomes...why aren't we being bolder for the Gospel? What do we fear? What are we busy about doing in working out our salvation that keeps us from sharing His love with the lost of this dark, doomed world?

If you enjoyed this, don't miss this from Elise.

Husband, I Don't Need...

...rose petals to vacuum up off the floor.

...lit candles to burn down the house.

...an evening away from the kids @ $6.00/hour.

...or a week away to wonder and worry about them.

...anything being marketed by anyone who says
that you should spend 2 months salary
to show how much you cherish me.

...to read or watch or seek out any new-fangled thinking
on how to love you or respect you, biblically.

...you to read or watch or seek out
any of that superfluous material for my sake, either.

...dinner out (though I appreciate it very much).

...dinner in (though I appreciate it very much).

...for you to bring me flowers
(though I think the ones you chose are lovely).

...anything, really
except for you to just keep being exactly who you are in Him.
And for you to come home for dinner every night.
And kiss the kids, read the Word,
Share your smile and sense of humor.

And maybe take a minute with me to remember and reflect.

After 19 years,
we're more comfortable,
more sure,
more together,
more committed,
more like-minded,
more in love
and more married than ever before.

If the Lord tarries and gives us 1 more year
or the 50 that I've asked Him for,
I will someday rest contented in the
truth that you have been my Prince Charming,
Rescuing me from a life of mediocrity,
Loving me with a tenderness that so beautifully reflects our Lord,
And raising together, the three loveliest girls we've ever met.

And I am blessed that you chose me.

Happy Anniversary, Husband.
I love you.

You have my heart, my trust, my respect.
And I'll follow you anywhere, anytime, for any reason.
Or...
we can just stay right where we are.

Rocks and Dust: A Mother's Day Tribute

A mother is a jewel.
Precious to the one who holds it,
And regarded by the rest.

In them both,
The splendor of creation is made manifest.
Like its sparkle,
Mother's smile of approval
Gives dazzle to the eye and joy to the soul.

Like its prism cut in many angles,
Mother practices to become to her children
The many different things they need of her.

Just as it shines forth radiant specks of blue, gold, pink, white;
Mother is nurse, teacher, mentor and friend.

But, deep inside the facets,
As with many a jewel,
Mothers are not without their imperfections --
Their foibles and their frailities.

A jewel is just a rock,
And Mother is but dust.

She hurts, she doubts, she lacks, she fears.
She worries and wonders and wants.

And in the midst of her humanness,
She struggles against herself
To do that for which she was made to accomplish.

She rises above her own weaknesses
To take care and preserve
That which sprang from her own body.

And in time, perhaps...
She heals, she hopes, she's full and she rests.
She trusts and knows and is contented.

-Grafted Branch
Reposted from the archives

The Road To Regret Is Paved With Good Intentions

Once upon a time there was a young woman who married the boy voted, "Most Likely to Succeed," and became the devoted mother of 4 children: 2 boys and 2 girls.

As the children grew, their dreams began to bloom and the mother's ambitions took root. She was determined to afford her children every advantage toward a successful life, and despite her Christian upbringing, had come to believe that a successful life was one marked by accomplishments, accolades, trophies, popularity and parental pride.

So she played the game that way.

When her children came of age, she signed them up for soccer leagues and baseball teams; she shuttled them to every game and scrimmage.

She found each child a skilled instructor in the instrument of their choice and waited for them through weekly lessons.

Mother went the homeschool route and attended every meeting and conference that came within a 100-mile radius of her home.

In the summertime, she arose early each morning to ensure her children's place on the swim team and happily cheered them on to the winner's platform.

She got them to their co-op classes.

She attended Wednesday night prayer meeting for the bigger purpose of getting her children into the local Baptist church's Awanas class.

She drove them to playdates.

She drove them to this place.

And to that place.

She drove them here, there and everywhere.

And when they were grown and gone, she reflected back on a life well spent teaching her children to...teaching them...

She struggled to recollect just what she had -- herself -- found time to teach her dear children.

Had her daughters learned how to plan a menu? Or cook a meal? Had she taught them to work with their hands in a skillful way: to crochet, to knit or to sew? Had she shown them how to organize and clear out a room full of clutter? Or to care for a young one? Had she demonstrated and explained how to be an effective family historian?

Had she taught her girls and boys alike -- about Jesus, their Saviour? Had she taught them what it means to call Him, "Lord?" Had she helped them to know how to love others as He loved them? Had she been a faithful librarian -- stocking the shelves of their memory with the rich reference of God's Word?

What had she taught them?

When she honestly considered her life of good intentions, she realized she had taught her children one thing above all others;

She had taught her children...

...to drive.

For The Record

When I started writing over a year ago, I wanted more than anything to leave my daughters a reasonably honest and transparent account of what it is to be The Mom because it can be pretty challenging...which is to say that if the Lord wasn't so faithful in His promise to complete what He has begun in me, I would have run away a half-dozen times already.

*gasp* Did I just write that aloud?

When I started writing over a year ago, I was being shaken out of my denial as I watched one of my most influential mentors lose complete control of her oldest child and loose perspective in the shepherding of another. A different friend was losing her children to the world as fast as they could graduate and legally run move away. A third was turning a blind eye to the abyss of darkness and worldliness that her youngest was plunging into -- or maybe she wasn't blind to it, wherein lies another motivation for my blog.

I find it frustrating, irritating, discouraging and even debilitating to look up or over at the example being purposefully set by other committed Christian parents -- especially homeschooling Christians -- to find only the happy, happy, shiny, pious, holy side of life. And for a long time I believed the best and assumed that what I was seeing was the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, and it made me want to throw up my hands and give up.

But it wasn't the truth -- which means they were either ignoramuses, lunatics or liars.

Because the truth is that people are people and foolishness is bound up in the heart of a child and pubescents find themselves the host field for the most violent of battles in the war between the spirit and the flesh. Bless their hearts.

Mothers worry and then repent for being slow to cast their cares as their sweet Savior advises. And there are other times when Mother's arm grows weary from holding up the shield of faith to quench the fiery dart of the devil that seeks to convince her to give up, share the burden with Big Brother and get a pedicure during those glorious midday hours when nobody would be the wiser.

Fathers are tired from a long day's work. They've been trudging their testimony through the quicksand of the world's wickedness -- holding it tight and at times, fighting hard to be a witness. Sometimes worship and family prayer are somewhat...well...abbreviated.

Little sisters are learning the finer points of socialization, and thereby fight negotiate matters loudly more often than not in their play. Sometimes sisters just want to be alone. Sometimes they have to be shepherded about the seeds they're planting in their heart-garden.

It has been brought to my attention by a good and gracious friend that my writings have unwittingly portrayed a standard that I never meant to let stand alone.

The fact is that I have the three most incredible children ever. They are magnificent. I love them like crazy. I stand in awe of them for so many reasons. I am so excited to see what the Lord has in store for them; I know the most noble life is one spent seeking and submitting to whatever His calling for them. My girls are humble, meek, kind, compassionate, tender-hearted, spiritually-minded, intelligent and talented.

And I hope and expect that every parent can say the same or some reasonable facsimile about their own children; and if not -- why not?

But the rest of the truth is that Dumpling isn't driven to do anything but play, Cuddlebug exasperates her sisters and me sometimes because she's a bit willful, and Fifi is becoming a teenager -- which is to say that she sometimes lingers a little too long in her "mood." And sometimes it makes me crazy and I try really hard to talk her out of it. And sometimes I can hear her thinking that it would be really nice if I would just leave her alone, but because I'm parenting in reaction to my own teen angst and solitude, I just can't seem to zip my lip and leave her be.

Too often I become entangled in my fear and desperation and neglect to cry out to the Lord. I forget to ask Him to teach me what to say, and so I speak my own words. My tone. My way. That's what it is to tear down one's house.

So, for as wonderful as it can be 'round here, in the end people are just people. We're just a bunch of sinners trying to serve one another the best we can.

And all the while our sin is ever before us. And our need -- our utter and complete reliance on our Savior's work on the cross is ever present. Not just recognized with words, but realized deep in the core of who we are.

To God be the glory!