The Best Sort of Gratitude

I scrape tomato sauce off plates over the sink as we finish up dinner so that we can move on to the rest of our evening.  Dinner is the together time that we have between work, school and the evening activities.  Tonight is a bit rushed, for I forgot to put the lasgna in the oven before I left, and we have a deadline to swallow the meal and get out the door.

The Stinker interrupts my clean-up with a yell, "Oh, Mom!  We forgot our thankful leaves!"

His face shines with anticipatation at the sitting down together and writing on paper leaf cut-outs our gratitude for a gift of that day.  It is a tradition started a few years ago, for each to write down every day in November something we're thankful for and stick it to the wall for all to enjoy.  In times past, a paper trunk has made the tree seem more tree-like, but often it's just leaves -- colorful spots of gratitude posted as reminders of the abundance of blessing.

I pause, frustrated that I've forgotten already about this anticipated evening ritual, frustrated at the rush that pushes thankfulness aside and focuses on the urgent.  Shouldn't there always be time for gratitude?  Then, I stand thankful for the young one of my own to remind me of the important, thankful for time to give thanks, and thankful for so many blessings to record.

As the pen is passed and the leaves are chosen, we smile at one another's blessings for the day:
     books and warm blankets
     Pizza King
     a brother and sister to play with
     wipes in the car (to clean up The Princess when she cried so hard she vomited)

Small gifts, some amusing and some serious, fill our walls each November.  And as the trees outdoors lose their leaves, our tree inside branches out.

Our hearts branch out too -- towards each other and toward the Giver of all good gifts. 

For shared gratitude is the best sort of gratitude.










And the gifts go on.  Praising a generous God for gifts #401 - #418:

gratitude lists of many kinds

people to remind me to give thanks

spots of color on my wall as evidence of blessing

remembering that giving thanks allows our lights to shine before men

a phone call with an old friend

pajamas with a pink tutu

Baby Girl's bowed head and folded hands

"1, 2, 3, 5, 5, 6 . . . " is the way she counts

a heart that accepts correction

tiny twin pony tails

family that are also friends

loving my husband more each day

a clean floor (even if only for a few minutes!)

a Sunday dinner without having to cook a thing

ladies at church who pick up my slack

movie night at home with my family (Toy Story 3 this time)

texts from my brother

a son who writes "I love you" on my to-do lists

A Giver who gives even when we forget gratitude

The Best Sort of Gratitude

Give Thanks With Me

Why do we need to be told to give thanks?

This is the question I pondered as I pushed the cart out of the store after a frustrating discussion with my son.  He wanted something; I said no.  He sulked; I lectured. 

I silently fumed at his ungrateful attitude as I counted all of his blessings . . . a dinner out with family at his favorite restaurant, a fabulous soccer game the day before and meal out after that, his getting to wear the pair of shoes he wanted to church and getting to ride with his cousin on the way to the restaurant afterwards.  The list continued in my head with each step, until a familiar Voice interrupted my thoughts.

"What about your ungrateful attitude?  How many times have you been told, 'No,' and sulked?"  And I realize the lecture that I gave to my son could have been said in front of a mirror.

We are forgetful creatures, happy to enjoy the blessings we are given without remembering from Whom they come.  Quick to complain when we feel we're missing out on something good, yet slow to remember to give credit when it's due.

Let's not be like those with darkened hearts and foolish thinking that know God but don't acknowledge or give thanks to Him (Romans 1:21).  Let's not be like the nine lepers who were cured by Jesus, but did not return to show their gratitude (Luke 17:12-17).  Instead, together let's

     Give thanks to the LORD, call on his name;
     make known among the nations what he has done.
     Sing to him, sing praise to him;
     tell of all his wonderful acts.
     Glory in his holy name;
     let the hearts of those who seek the LORD rejoice.
     Look to the LORD and his strength;
     seek his face always.
     Remember the wonders he has done,
     his miracles, and the judgments he pronounced.
                                                 ~1 Chronicles 16:8-12

Intentionally remember and give thanks with me today.  As I continue my count to One Thousand, I ask you to share with me that for which you are thankful. 






Because I need to give thanks for gifts #288 - 304

a nephew's decision to be baptized

dinner with family to celebrate

fried green tomatoes, shared

attending church and being surrounded by those I love most

money to buy what we need

a Voice to interrupt my self-righteousness

teaching moments

a husband's help when I have a headache

cuddling on the couch with the one I love most

beautiful weather

a bike ride with The Thinker

holding his hand as we walked down the lane (and he didn't pull away!)

the thoughts of my beautiful accountability partners

resisting temptation

new beginnings

His mercies are new every morning

much for which to give thanks

Give Thanks With Me

The Monsters are Real

He comes to me crying.  I'm washing my face at our bathroom sink while salty tears are bathing his.  The hurt on his face is real.

"What's wrong?" I ask, alarmed. 

A sob escapes his lips.  He takes a deep breath, "I read something I shouldn't have."  Pause and sob.  "I'm scared."  Another sob.

I listen as The Stinker explains about the back of his Nate the Great book -- the part that tells about vampires and werewolves.  And I realize this boy with a sensitive heart has been lying in his bed paralyzed with fear, lying with all the lights turned on, afraid to get out of bed because of what he fears could be true. 

We talk about what's real and what is not.  I speak truth, and he nods.  He knows, but he's still scared.  He has been blessed with my imagination.  He can picture a man turned wolf, and it terrifies him.  It's not rational;  it just is.

I follow him to his room and slip under dinosaur sheets with him.  He pulls my arm tighter around him and nestles in.  My middle-who-was-the-baby-for-six-years.  My squeezed one, wanting squeezed tighter.  How long has it been since I've done this with him?   "Too long," my mama heart sighs with guilt.

We pray together.  I speak words of comfort over him:

Protect his heart and mind in Christ Jesus.
May your angels surround him.
You are a strong and mighty God. 
Help him to not be afraid. 

And I realize this is what I want.  When my mind is running rampant with the fears of this world, when my heart is quaking from thoughts of real monsters who hurt people and real diseases that consume lives and real disasters that steal beauty, when I'm too afraid to take that step out of my doors and my comfort because of what I am imagining . . . I want His arms.  I want His truth spoken over me . . . .and I want to snuggle in and be held close.

And He says, "As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you" (Isaiah 66:13).

image by dawilkin

Comfort us, Lord, because the monsters are real.

"The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. 
He makes me lie down in green pastures,
He leads me beside quiet waters,
He restores my soul.
He guides me in paths of righteousness for His name's sake.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for You are with me;
your rod and your staff, they comfort me."
~Psalm 23:1-4


I am comforted, LORD, because YOU are real.






 

Counting Comfort:  Gifts #223 - 240

God is real

He's greater than the monsters

some day the monsters will be no more

in the meantime, He comforts

many fears are only in my head

His perfect love casts out fear

snuggles with my middle

The Chronicles of Narnia

read alouds coming to life

carpets cleaned (the day after The Princess spilled purple paint)!  She was so lucky!

a new soccer season

a Saturday lunch with girlfriends I haven't seen in years

sharing memories and catching up

seeing the beauty they have become

a Sunday church picnic

sunshine and shade

easy conversation

too much food to choose from

The Monsters are Real

He Carried My Heart in His Pocket

The night before that first day of school, we cuddled close, discussing the next day.  The Thinker asked oodles of questions; I tried to ease out his bundle of nerves.  It was time to say goodnight . . . the end of the day marking the end of ten and a half years of togetherness.  A trail of silent tears marked his climb up the stairs after he kissed his baby sister goodnight.

I followed him up a few minutes later to tuck him in, determined to mark this moment with the positive.  From my dresser top, I lifted the treasure I had found on our beach trip:  a flat, heart-shaped stone the size of his palm. 

We sat on his twin-sized bed, side-by-side.

"Do you remember the day I found this rock?"

He nodded.

"What does it look like?"

"A heart," he answered.

"I'm giving this to you for tomorrow.  Put it in your pocket, and whenever you are nervous or a little stressed, you can squeeze this heart and know I'm thinking of you and praying for you."  We sat in the silence for a minute.  I asked one more question, "Who made this heart?"

"God did," he replied, with a grin.

"So when you squeeze it, you can also know that God loves you and is right there with you, wherever you are.  He put this rock in just the right place for me to find to give it to you.  He's been thinking of you all along, and He's not going to stop now."  We both breathed a little easier, the relief on his face my reward. 

The next day as he climbed aboard the bus for the first time, I caught a glimpse of a heart shape in denim.  He carried God in his heart and my heart in his pocket.




 

Gifts #206 - 222

a God who doesn't stop thinking about us

surviving the first week of school

early morning Bible studies with my thinker

a nice morning bus driver (who was also mine)

catching up at the end of the day

kind and good teachers

friendly students and familiar faces

new school supplies put to use

staying home with The Stinker and The Princess

more relaxed school days at home

games in the afternoon with my middle

peace about a decision

an Internet connection fixed

a chance to carry another's burden

a family gathering for birthdays

kind words from good friends

He Carried My Heart in His Pocket

Ice Cream: The Responsibility and Privilege

He came out carrying ice cream, and I knew.  We had made the right decision.

We were on our way to my in-laws' house, and we needed to stop at the store for ice cream.  For some reason I decided to send in The Thinker instead of towing all three of the rascals inside for such a quick purchase.  I gave him a few dollars, and told him to buy a quart of vanilla ice cream and some chocolate sauce.  He looked at me and said, "Alone?" 

"Yes.  By yourself."

He took the money with a smile, looked both ways before crossing the parking lot and passed through the automatic doors.  I drove around the lot to park beside the building where I could see the doors and waited. 

He emerged a few minutes later with the store brand of ice cream ("Because it's cheaper, Mom") and Smucker's Magic Shell Chocolate Sauce.  They weren't the choices I would have made, but they were perfect. 

"Those machines are weird, Mom.  They talk to you and everything."

"You used the machines?  Did anyone help you?"

"No, I figured it out.  The lines were too long to wait to buy just two things.  And I figured if I had trouble, I'd just ask someone."

He talked for awhile about choosing chocolate sauces, anticipating his dessert later that evening.  He read the back of the bottle and told me about what you need to do if you accidentally place the bottle in the fridge.  I stole glances at him as I drove.  He was sitting taller.  More confident.

All because of ice cream and a little bit of freedom and responsibility.

"And you know what, Mom?  I get what you've been saying about privilege and responsibility." 

And that's when I knew.  He's growing up.  And it's a good thing.

Just remind me of that later. 

Ice Cream: The Responsibility and Privilege

A Calendar of Forever

I look at the calendar, and I panic.

I picture myself with my hands in the air, trying to capture the days as they fly swiftly by.  As I pull my hands down and open them, I see that they are empty.  How can this be?  How is it that the days which once stretched before me into years have become distant memories?  And the memories have faded until only a few remain stuck in some corner of my mind to keep and replay and treasure and cling to . . . because it's all I have left of that time.  And yet, I can barely recall it. 

I hardly remember him like this:

My first baby is going to school, and my cheeks are wet.  He's ten, not five.  He's going to fifth grade, not kindergarten. . . and yet the hurt and the heartache, I imagine, are no different.  I'm not ready to let go.

And so I read the journal I've written for him over the years, and I come to July 8, 2003.  He's three and a half years old.  I have written, "A day after talking about Jesus walking on the water, you said, 'I can't walk on water, Mommy.  Jesus will just have to carry me.'"  And I cry for the little boy heart that has always been for Jesus, that has always led me to Him because I can't keep him little forever.

But we think it's time.  And still I cling, thinking that it's in my control . . . thinking that by holding him here, I'm keeping things the same and forbidding tomorrow to come.  But I'm not.  I'm only pretending.  And he has his own paths to walk, his own sky to soar . . . his own water to walk with Jesus.

So, I breathe deep.  I pray.  And I count the blessings of yesterday and the promise of Eternity, where I never have to let go forever. 

And as I count, Jesus will just have to carry me.

"When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
they will not sweep over you."
~Isaiah 43:2








Counting gifts #124 to 149:

I'm not too heavy for Jesus

He carries my babies too

morning talks with The Thinker

memories preserved in journals

encouragement from friends and family

a sunset over the lake

waiting

sand castles

the white of the gull's wing

ligthhouses

crashing waves

a time to relax

good books

bike rides

cloud watching in the backyard with all three kids

Uno with my boys

games of Blokus with my boys, and I finally win!

bird song

an impromptu visit with my brother and sister

a new aunt reading books to Baby Girl

squirt gun fights with my nephews

there's still some summer left

awareness that these really are the best days

A Calendar of Forever

The Step Director (Word-Filled Wednesdy)

I know, O LORD, that a man's life is not his own;

it is not for man to direct his steps.

Jeremiah 10:23

I have often been guilty of planning my life without consulting God.  It's a dangerous (and common) habit that I don't recommend.  But what has been laid on my heart recently is that my children's lives are not for me to plan either.  God already has a purpose mapped out for them.  While my husband and I have been entrusted to guide them, ultimately we should be pointing them to ask the LORD what His plans are for them.  Yes, this requires faith and a humble heart to listen, but it also takes a bit of the fear out.  We are accountable for how we guide them, but we don't carry the ultimate responsibility in their lives' direction.

We are currently at a crossroads in our parenting, and I'm thankful for God's faithful reminder that He is my children's Father too.  He will be guiding their steps even when I am unable to be there.  They are His to direct.

And I will pray that they follow.

*For more Word-Filled inspiration, visit Susan at Forever His.*

The Step Director (Word-Filled Wednesdy)

Ponder, Protect, Provide

I have been thinking for several weeks now about some words that my pastor gifted to me one Sunday.  Words that have carried weight and meaning in my heart.  Words that I've rolled around in my mind often since that message.

Ponder.
Protect.
Provide.

Delivered on Mother's Day, it was in the context of mothering that these words were discussed, and at a time I needed to hear them.  I have felt for awhile now that God has been speaking to me about my time with my children.  It is so brief . . .  just like these words dropped into my heart.

Ponder.  I am good at this.  I am a thinker by nature, and I have tried to be intentional about raising my children thoughtfully.  I am often considering the choices we make as a family, from activities, schooling, friends, and so on, to evaluate the benefit or necessity of our actions and their impact.  But perhaps, I've been pondering too much lately and not acting on what I know.

Protect.  I believe in protecting my children, which is why I am struggling with the next phase in our lives . . . the one that would begin with The Thinker making a first step on a yellow bus.  I believe that children are children, and not adults.  I believe that they are capable of making good decisions but are given parents to guide them in their experience and wisdom.  I have worked to protect their minds and hearts in Christ Jesus.

Provide.  This is where my heart feels the sting of conviction.  My children are well-provided for.  God has blessed my husband with a good job that allows my kids to have all they need and then some.  They can participate in activities and sports and field trips.  But my pastor was speaking of a different provision, and this is what I've been considering all these weeks.  For the provision he mentioned has eternal significance in my life and theirs.

It is the providing of self.  The costly, sacrificial giving of time and attention. 

I have home schooled my children for several years, and I have enjoyed that time learning and growing with my kids.  It has been a useful tool in encouraging me to spend time growing their minds and souls . . . and I am saddened to recognize that sometimes I need that accountability and motivation of a schedule and planner to be with my children.  I am saddened to admit that reading Curious George one more time or playing another game of Uno or listening to another replay of the sport of the season does not naturally thrill me each day.  I recognize that I can easily find myself listening or playing or reading with half a heart . . . or putting them off completely for that day.

Yet God has spoken to me about this need to give more of myself in many ways.  It began with that message from my pastor and has continued through His Word, through other's online that I read and through quiet but persistent conviction.  And I'm glad.  Glad that God cares enough to first whisper quietly, then kneel down and look into my eyes, then grab me by the shoulders and say, "Provide.  I gave of Myself.  Go and do likewise."

So that's what I'll be doing today and more often.  Providing for those who deserve more than just a little piece of this convicted heart.

Ponder, Protect, Provide

Weeds and Vegetables

I stop mid-row in the garden to check on Baby Girl.  I see that she is standing in the row of corn with her foot firmly planted on top of one of the tender plants.  She doesn't realize that she's trampling all over our future food.  I pick her up and move her gently to the freshly tilled dirt between the rows and resume my weeding.

I glance up to check on The Stinker's row of corn and realize he's left several weeds in between each good plant.  I kneel down to show him the difference between the grass that he should pluck and the small grass of the corn.  He examines them and confirms that he now knows which to pull and which to leave.

And as I walk back to my own row, it occurs to me that this is why children need parents.  They don't know the weeds from the vegetables.  They don't always recognize what will harm them from what will benefit them.  Without our guidance, they might step all over a good relationship and walk all over a heart because they don't realize what they are doing.  Without our guidance, they might leave a weed that would be better removed from their life -- a movie, a show, a book, a person, a habit.

There are some that say this approach is restrictive.  They think we should allow children to experience everything without limits because they'll just want to do what is forbidden or will be exposed to it at some point anyway.  I disagree.  I know I'm just tending to the ones God entrusted to me.  I'm helping them to recognize that there is a Gardener of their hearts that truly cares about what kinds of seeds they plant and grow in their souls.  And I want the harvest to be good. 

"And we pray . . . . that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and may please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God."  (Colossians 1:9-11)

"I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener." (John 15:1)

Weeds and Vegetables

My Favorite Follower

I have a little gadget on the side of my page that shows my followers.  Some of them are friends that I've known a long time.  Some of them are people I've "met" very recently.  I like meeting new people (and if you're new, I'm glad you're here).  It's fun -- and a little flattering -- to find in the morning when I come to my page that someone else wants to read these l'il ole thoughts of mine.  But I have to admit, I have a favorite follower.  And her picture doesn't appear in the sidebar.  And she isn't a fan on Facebook.

It's Baby Girl.  She's my favorite.  (I didn't think you'd mind.)  She's not nearly as flattering as all of you.  She doesn't leave kind comments or encouraging words.  She's very vocal about her thoughts, and they aren't always kind.  She's even picked up some of my habits and flaunts them in my face.

She follows me into the bathroom and dumps out my makeup while I try to get ready.  She follows me into the kitchen and pulls out the Tupperware as I cook.  She follows me into the family room and spills out the books so we can read together.  She follows me into the living room and climbs on my lap, with a pen in her mouth, as I type.  If I stay too long, she pulls at my hands and voices her displeasure at my lack of focus --on her.  She is an attention hog and is unabashed about showing it.  Her love for me is fierce and jealous.  How can she not be my favorite?

And this is what scares me and humbles me:  she follows me . . . and imitates me.  Father, have mercy on me and help me.  Because this I know right now:

    "In my daughter's eyes, I am a hero.
     I am strong and wise,
     And I know no fear.
     But the truth is plain to see:
     She was sent to rescue me,
     I see who I want to be, in my daughter's eyes.

     And when she wraps her hand around my finger,
     Oh, it puts a smile in my heart.
     Everything becomes a little clearer.
     I realize what life is all about.
     It's hanging on when your heart has had enough;
     It's giving more when you feel like giving up.
     I've seen the light: it's in my daughter's eyes. . .

     In my daughter's eyes, I can see the future.
     A reflection of who I am,
     And what will be.
     And though she'll grow and, some day, leave:
     Maybe raise a family,
     When I'm gone, I hope you'll see,
     How happy she made me,
     For I'll be there, in my daughter's eyes."
                                                   --from Martina McBride's "In My Daughter's Eyes"

I always hope that what I write encourages my followers and inspires them (you) to either laugh or love or live more deeply.  While I write for myself, it is my followers that inspire me to write better and more often.

And while I live for God, it is my favorite follower who inspires me to live better.  For it's in her beautiful eyes that I see myself -- and the reflection I want to see more and more is Christ, the One I follow.

My Favorite Follower

Get Closer Up

The Thinker is growing up.  It's difficult to believe we're wrapping up his fourth grade year.  He recently finished a devotional book, Starting Strong, and we were discussing it.  I asked him if he enjoyed it and if he saw any benefits of a written response to the Bible. 

"Yeah, Mom.  It got me closer up, you know?" 

"How's that?" I asked.

"Well, I thought I knew everything about Naaman, see?  And then I discovered that God used a servant girl to help him, and that was surprising.  God uses different things.  It's good because it made me really look at the Bible and see new things.  I got closer to it."

My prayer for him, for you, for me today, is that we sidle up to the Word, look a little more intently, respond a little more thoughtfully and make one more connection to God than we've done before.  Get closer to His Word.  Get closer to Him. 

Get closer up.

Get Closer Up

Marvin K. Mooney and "The Talk"

"The time has come, the time is now." 

And if I were Marvin K. Mooney, you'd better know
I would go. Go. Go! And I wouldn't care how. 

But I'm not Marvin K.  I'm the mom, and the time had come to begin The Talk.  Yep, that one.  (Note to my dad:  If you're reading this, it's okay to stop now).

The Thinker has always been my challenge.  He's a questioner of all things.  From the time he was tiny, he stumped me with difficult thoughts -- often in public places, and particularly in the grocery store.  I think it was because there he knew he had my attention.  It was just he and I, face-to-face, as his stumpy legs dangled from the cart seat, and he sucked his Tootsie Roll pop.  I still remember being in the shampoo aisle with a couple of witnesses when he asked me, "How did Jesus die on the cross if you can't kill God?"  The Thinker was three at the time.  Where to begin with that?

So, I wasn't too surprised really when he started asking about babies and where they come from.  The Princess was born over a year ago, and we had answered a few questions through that process as vaguely but honestly as possible.  But vague wasn't cutting it anymore.  A friend of his had a sister who was unmarried and pregnant, and he just couldn't make sense of it anymore.  He kept asking questions, such as, "Did they just get too close, Mom?"  Hmmm. 

Image by Penny Matthews

I flash back to asking my dad what a virgin was when I was about six.  Thanks to Madonna and "Like a Virgin," the word was all over the place.

His response, "You better go ask Mom."  Bless his Marvin K. Mooney heart.  (I love you Dad, and I warned you to stop reading.)  It just wasn't something we discussed much at our house. 

I remember always being embarrassed when the topic came up.  Heavens, I still am depending on the company.  But we want open dialogue, and we want our kids to talk to us, so I took the plunge.  I asked a few questions to make sure The Thinker and I both knew what he really knew already.

You know men and women are different, right?
It takes an egg from the woman, and a seed from the man?
And God created a special way for married couples to create a baby?

Yes, but HOW?

We got out the books from the series God's Design for Sex as a sort of guideline (for me to know what to tell).  We didn't read them word-for-word . . . just talked as we looked. 

His response when it was over and we'd clarified a few things was, "Well, that's weird."

Yep.

He and the hubby talked about it again another night.  It was just some more affirmation about God's purpose and design for physical love.  Questions answered about how Mary was a virgin and had Jesus.  More dialogue.  And for a few days, I watched for changes in him.  Holding my breath  . . . afraid somehow that we'd spoken too soon, and all of a sudden he would be no longer innocent boy, but a stranger with too much knowledge.  But he's not.  He sees it as it is -- or he's forgotten about it for now (which is kinda what I'm hoping). 

I sigh with a little bit of relief, because it's done.  Until I realize that, actually, it's really just begun.  There will be more questions and more dialogue.  If he doesn't start it, we will need to.  We'll have to talk about STDs, premarital sex, pornography, homosexuality, etc.  . . . Yikes.  It's a long list.  But I'm putting on wisdom and courage and stepping outside of the comforts of ignoring and avoiding --

  -- because the time has come to go. Go. Go! and Parent with Purpose.

Marvin K. Mooney and "The Talk"

The Difference Between Sugars and Tails

The Thinker and The Stinker are ten and seven. 

We're still training them to use napkins instead of shirt sleeves,

forks instead of fingers.

On the other hand, Baby Girl is only 17 months old. 

Being the true princess that she is,

she's using her fork regularly.

And that's just one of the many differences between Sugars and Tails.

The Difference Between Sugars and Tails

How Do You Step Closer? (Friendly Friday)

One of our favorite things to do as a family is to

head to a state park and hit the trails. 

We love the being-together in the big outdoors. 

We pack a picnic and spend the day

 enjoying the beauty and the fun of nature. 

Of course, these days, it's more of a leisurely stroll than a vigorous hike

since The Princess does not like her (very pricey) pack. 

But it's okay.  It forces us to slow down and enjoy the details that

the Creator has hidden quietly amid the trees.

And as we step away from the rush and step into the quiet of the trees,

we step nearer to each other's hearts. 

It's Friendly Friday.  I ask; you answer.

How do you step closer to your family? 

Please share.  I really want to know.

How Do You Step Closer? (Friendly Friday)

A Noteworthy Idea

Not long ago, Courtney at Women Living Well reviewed One Million Arrows, a book by Julie Ferwerda about purposefully raising our children to change the world.  I haven't read the book yet (though I plan to), but she shared an example from the book that I just couldn't wait to try.  She explains,  "One father purchased a wide-margin Bible for each of his children. Then he took two years, prayerfully reading the Bibles cover to cover. In the margin he wrote in notes, prayers, applications, and insights for his children."

This idea spoke straight to my heart, and I shared it with my hubby.  We immediately began browsing for Bibles that would allow both of us to participate.  We discovered the NoteWorthy Bible.  For each page of Scripture there is a beautifully blank page just waiting for thoughts and prayers. 

The Thinker is 10, and we have decided that his 13th birthday would be a great time to present him with this Bible.  We've given ourselves two and a half years to complete this journey.  Then we'll start all over again for our younger son (The Stinker).  We'll have lots more time, God willing, to complete one for The Princess.

I love the idea that my children can have God's thoughts and our thoughts for them dwelling side-by-side.  My prayer is that as they journey through God's Word, they will know how deep and wide and high is His love for them.  And as they walk with their eyes through our words, I pray they will also feel the love poured from our hearts to theirs.  His Word and our words.  A true treasure to cherish through the years.

A big thank you to Courtney for sharing something that would "spur (us) on toward love and good deeds."   

My hope is that it will do the same for some of you.
Parent with purpose.

A Noteworthy Idea

A Recovering Drill Sergeant

My kiddos don’t like to be told what to do (they're like their mom), but the house was a mess, and it was time to do some cleaning.  I was anticipating the weekly whine as I prepared to give out orders.

My oldest is ten. He’s responsible, smart and capable. Yet, when it comes time to clean the house, I find myself giving him detailed instructions:

    Take the bowls to the dishwasher
     Pick up the books
     Fold the blankets . . .

And sometimes, he bristles. Now, I believe in cheerful obedience, but I also believe that parents shouldn’t exasperate their children. I can be pretty exasperating. (If you know me, quit nodding!) I realized that I was not treating him according to his maturity.

But this time, before the barking -- and the bristling -- began, I had a light bulb moment. You see, I’m tired of playing the drill sergeant barking orders, and I think my rascals might just be tired of being bossed. A new approach popped into my head.

I looked at The Thinker and said, “I want to try something new. The house needs cleaned, but I’m not going to tell you what to do. I want you to look around, see what needs to be done and do it.”  I walked away and began working on the tasks that I needed to complete.

And guess what?  It worked. He began cleaning up everywhere he saw a need.  I wasn’t barking.  He wasn’t bristling. We both went to work, and the house looks presentable. Along the way, I had chances to compliment him for noticing things and taking care of them without prompting and with persevering. He beamed.

My younger son is a little less responsible, a little less mature and much more distractible. He’s also less bristly, but I get tired of reminding him to finish when he loses focus. I used a narrower approach. Instead of giving him the whole house to think about at once, I pointed him to the family room, the dining room, the stairs, etc. But I said basically the same thing. “See what needs to be done and do it.”

And it worked.  As I was upstairs sorting laundry, I could hear the sweeper running in the family room.  No asking.  No reminding.  No ordering. 

Now I just need to get started on Baby Girl, the biggest mess-maker of all. I think I’ll ask her to help me pick up the napkins she just emptied out of the drawer. As tough as might be, the Princess needs to learn to serve too.

A Recovering Drill Sergeant

Who Should I Serve First?

"To serve God is to serve people. 

To serve people is to serve purpose." 

These words from Beth Moore in her Esther: It's Tough Being a Woman study caused me to pause and ponder.  Immediately, these faces flashed through my mind:

And I had to ask myself, "How well am I serving them?"


Serve has several different meanings. Webster’s 1828 Dictionary says to serve is “to work for; to bestow the labor of body and mind in the employment of another.” This I do, at least in part. I’m constantly working to clean, cook, and care for my three. However, while my body may be engaged my mind is often far removed. I’m guilty of only half-listening as my rascals rattle on, only to get caught when they ask me a question . . . and I don’t know how to answer. I’m serving in body, not in mind.

There were two other definitions that really hit home. “To act as the minister of; to perform official duties to; as, a minister serves his prince.” Hmmmm. I started to consider my King, and just how he might wish for me to act as an officer to the ones with which I’ve been entrusted. And this verse from 2 Corinthians 5:20 came to mind,

“We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors,

as though God were making his appeal through us.”

Am I serving my family in such a way that God is appealing to them? Do they truly recognize Him as He is? Or is my service a hindrance to them?

And here’s why I know I need to work on how I serve. The word serve also means “to wait on.” Waiting is not my natural gift; I’m not a patient person. Yet, I’m always waiting on someone

To finish her meal
To finish his seatwork
To clean up his mess
To complete his chores
To find her lambie
To decide which snack she wants
To get his shoes on . . .

It’s an endless list. And why am I impatient with the waiting?

Because this girl right here. Me:

I have things I want to do:

Read a book
Clean the house
Talk to a friend
Check my email
Get in a workout
Read a blog
Take some pictures
Take a shower (a nice long, hot one) . . .

The list is endless. The time is not. A servant must choose who she’s going to serve first.  The greatest gets the priority, and in God's kingdom, the least is the greatest. 

Today, I'm going to follow someone else's example.  It is the greatest we have.

"The Son of Man did not come to be served,

but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many."  Matthew 20:28

Who Should I Serve First?