(Part One of Five)
Our Father, who is in Heaven, hallowed be Your name. Your kingdom come. Your will be done on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For Yours is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory forever.
I'm an intercessor, and I come from a long line of intercessors. I remember my dad and my mom both up early in the morning praying. And I remember spending the night with my grandparents and my grandfather kneeling at his bedside in fervent prayer. My mom remembers his dad, my great-grandfather, doing the same thing when she was a girl. All that to say, my family modeled a seriousness about prayer. Today, I have great faith that God designed prayer and hears our prayer.
S/he's a person, not a prayer request.
I've had that quoted at me on more than one occasion and by more than one person. And even though it's been spoken out of a burdened mother's heart, it always feels like a slap. I hear your heart if you are saying this to me, but allow me to make an appeal. To an intercessor, all of the people who are important to me are prayer requests. If I say that I am praying for you or yours, I am. And I view prayer as a labor of love, not obligation. So please hear my heart, too.
The flip side is that I'm very careful not to commit to praying for everything that comes across my plate. For every request out there, there is an inner, intimate circle and an outer, more distant circle. So I'll be honest; I triage requests. I don't mean that to sound flippant or crass, but I only have so much mental and spiritual space. And you have an inner circle that may be more acquainted with the person or situation than I am.
I'm also rather type-A. Combine 'Type-A' with 'intercessor' and 'wife/momtoeleven' you end up having a pretty good schedule for what to pray when. I mean, there's so much and so many to pray for that I really need a neat little slot to fit it all in.
...Which brings me to the point of this series. A while back, Brett asked me to write down all the things I pray so that the kids could have a written record of it. So, without further ado...
Praying Monday:
Our Father, who is in Heaven, hallowed be Your name.
I used to think this was a statement of fact, much like a confession, but recently I heard someone say it was a request, as in, Let your name be hallowed by me today. So I always start with this prayer, asking that each of us can remember that the God we serve is holy and that, wherever the day takes us, we will revere His holy name.
Your kingdom come.
On Mondays, I pray for tribulation and persecution. Jesus told his disciples in Matthew 24 that very hard times would come for believers. I admit that what that meant to the original audience and what I'm supposed to do with it can be a bit confusing. But I'm not confused on this point: the Christian will experience tribulation and will experience persecution. Not a few (ostensibly) faithful people have been shipwrecked on those rocks. I don't want my family to be numbered among them. To that end, I pray that when tribulation (hard times) and persecution (hard people) come our way, my family will be able to withstand it; that we will rest in the sovereignty and goodness of God; that we will take our eyes off the waves and focus them on God, that we will respond in the Spirit, rather than react in the flesh.
Your will be done.
I pray that God's will would be done in us in a couple ways:
1. That the kids would be regenerated at a young age, that they would see that they are sinners in need of a Savior, that they would understand the work of the Cross.
2. That we would work out our salvation in fear and trembling, not treating God's grace like a cheap doormat to wipe our feet.
3. That we would have the Word written on our hearts, that it would be our plumb line, that when we add to or take away from God's Word, we would be quick to repent.
4. That we would bear good fruit in keeping with repentance, that we would grieve over our sin.
5. That we would love what God loves and hate what God hates.
Give us this day our daily bread.
I think thankfulness is a really important part of prayer, and I don't want to be like the nine lepers whom Jesus healed but who forgot to thank Him. So on Mondays, I spend a fair amount of time giving thanks. I give thanks chiefly for our salvation and the peace that comes from that. But I'm also thankful for Brett and each of my children, our parents, health, provision, material blessing. It's the day when I review the past week and the blessings that came our way and take time to deliberately give thanks.
Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.
How important to my spiritual health to take time every day to examine myself and to ask forgiveness for things over the last day when I thought, spoke, or acted sinfully. And as I get right with God, it also makes it that much easier to forgive people who have offended me.
Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.
This is important. Our enemy is real. He prowls like a lion seeking to devour us. We should pray for protection over our family members like we really believe that. So I do. Every day.
For Yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory.
It's good to end by giving God praise. And it serves to remind me that He is able to do all we ask or imagine.
Mondays is also my allotted time to pray for missions. We have two families who do missions in connection with our church, so I pray over those ministries every Monday. I pray for their own families, as well, marriages, kids, direction, and effectiveness. And I pray for the nations. When one of our local missionaries gives us a nation report once a month in church, I pray for that nation, that the Church there would be strengthened with good pastors, teachers, elders, marriages, and families, that the Church there would grow as the gospel permeates that society.
Tomorrow...praying Tuesday.
Carmel Conversations
Posts
All Comments
Monday, July 21, 2014
Saturday, June 28, 2014
O Love That Will Not Let Me Go
O love that will not let me go.
I rest my weary soul in Thee;
I give Thee back the life I owe,
That in Thine ocean depths its flow may fuller, richer be.*
Two years ago, Alex astutely pointed out that one thing our home lacked was grace.
A year ago, as the abortion battle raged in the Texas capitol, I mused to Brett that babies are not ever classified as a consequence of sin in the Bible, that the Church better get her grammar straight on this.
A few months after that, I wondered if, should my child ever confess to me serious sin, I would respond Biblically or just react.
Random as these events seem, God was stringing each of them together. Little did we know that we would soon be put to the test. Could each of these pearls be joined to make a garland of grace?
-------------
We're not perfect parents, but I think we've been attentive parents, deliberate parents. We certainly parent on purpose and with purpose. Still, consecration is not the same as sanctification. And no amount of sprinkled holy water will ever do the work of the Holy Spirit.
Consecration.
Setting apart.
That is the job of parents. We discipline and we disciple, train and teach.
We sprinkle them with the Gospel.
We sprinkle them with the Word.
We sprinkle them with prayer.
We sprinkle them with worldview.
We sprinkle them by homeschooling, taking them to church, talking about life.
We monitor who they're hanging out with. We try to know the condition of our little flock AND the friends of our flock.
(On the other hand, we fall, too. We fail often. We bobble between being too strict...or not strict enough. Sometimes we're authoritarian; sometimes we're permissive; sometimes we're selfish. We do a lot of repenting.)
The point is, we consecrate our kids. We set them apart from the world. We acknowledge that they are image-bearers--albeit fallen image-bearers--and we strive to be good stewards of these good gifts. But we are realizing something lately.
I am not the Christ.
Kevin DeYoung, in his book Crazy Busy, says that his friend once reminded him of these words of John the Baptist. And you know what? Someone needs to remind us parents of that, too. We should wake up every morning and recite it to ourselves.
I am not the Christ.
I am not the Christ.
I am not the Christ.
And no matter how deliberately and attentively we parent, we cannot do the job of Christ. We cannot save our children; neither can we sanctify them.
The problem is that we got consecration mixed up with sanctification. And we sent a consecrated kid off to the big, bad world, when only a sanctified kid can survive it. Guess what? Consecrated kids can't stand out there.
This year was a tough year for our consecrated college sophomore. Let me say right here that I am not opposed to sending your kid off to college. There is some speculation that Christian kids are losing their faith in college. But that can't be, as that would be flawed soteriology in light of God's Word. If we could lose our salvation, we would. What's really happening, I think, is that college has a way of separating the truly sanctified from the merely consecrated.
So here we are. And this is our story:
We sensed that he was having a bad year. He was not communicating with us very often. And when he was, it wasn't hopeful. We were alarmed and looking forward to getting him back home for summer. That was when the other shoe dropped. I'll keep it short and to the point.
There's a young lady. And there's a baby on the way.
O light that followest all my way,
I yield my flickering torch to Thee.
My heart restores its borrowed ray,
That in Thy sunshine's blaze its day may brighter, fairer be.*
Grief and grace. As far as I can tell, these are the only ways to respond to a repentant believer.
Grief over sin because sin grieves the Father's heart.
And grace for the sinner.
Unmerited favor. Emphasize unmerited. And then emphasize favor.
Suddenly, I was glad Alex had confronted us two years ago about grace. That was a God thing. And we had been working since then to be a gracious household. I dare not think how I would have responded outside the context of grace. What if this had happened two years ago? But God is faithful. He had been grooming us for this moment. More precious, even, He had groomed the kids.
There have been individual conversations with the siblings.
The 23 yr old dripped grace.
The 21 yr old dripped grace.
The 18 yr old dripped grace.
The 14 yr old dripped grace.
I did not expect these responses. I expected shock, disdain, rules. I am undone by their grace. I am blown away by their understanding of sin and salvation and forgiveness and the Cross. Brett looked at me through misty eyes and said, "If we had thought we were raising pharisees...we're not." And I will treasure these things up in my heart.
O joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee.
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain that morn shall tearless be.*
We walked through the Gospel. We've done serious peacemaking. And we are confident that this son of ours who walked away is home again.
In more ways than one.
So there's a precious young lady.
And there's a precious baby on the way.
And, again, I can see that God prepared us ahead of time. For now we can see this child is not a 'consequence.' S/he is a ray of light, a redemption of something evil, a way of taking back what Satan meant for harm. And I trace this rainbow through the rain.
In August, we will add a daughter-in-law to our family.
In January, we will add a grandchild.
We hope, friends, that your response to our story is grief, grief over what grieves the Father. But we hope your concurrent response can be grace for this repentant sinner. We hope that you can find it in your heart to come alongside us and rejoice.
Rejoice in a Love that does not--will not--let us go.
Rejoice that God, rather than Satan, is writing this story.
Rejoice over new life.
And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose. Romans 8:28
What's done is done.
Who has sinned is forgiven.
Weeping shall endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning.
O Cross that liftest up my head,
I dare not ask to fly from thee.
I lay in dust life's glory dead,
And from the ground there blossoms red life that shall endless be.*
*O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go, George Matheson, 1882
I rest my weary soul in Thee;
I give Thee back the life I owe,
That in Thine ocean depths its flow may fuller, richer be.*
Two years ago, Alex astutely pointed out that one thing our home lacked was grace.
A year ago, as the abortion battle raged in the Texas capitol, I mused to Brett that babies are not ever classified as a consequence of sin in the Bible, that the Church better get her grammar straight on this.
A few months after that, I wondered if, should my child ever confess to me serious sin, I would respond Biblically or just react.
Random as these events seem, God was stringing each of them together. Little did we know that we would soon be put to the test. Could each of these pearls be joined to make a garland of grace?
-------------
We're not perfect parents, but I think we've been attentive parents, deliberate parents. We certainly parent on purpose and with purpose. Still, consecration is not the same as sanctification. And no amount of sprinkled holy water will ever do the work of the Holy Spirit.
Consecration.
Setting apart.
That is the job of parents. We discipline and we disciple, train and teach.
We sprinkle them with the Gospel.
We sprinkle them with the Word.
We sprinkle them with prayer.
We sprinkle them with worldview.
We sprinkle them by homeschooling, taking them to church, talking about life.
We monitor who they're hanging out with. We try to know the condition of our little flock AND the friends of our flock.
(On the other hand, we fall, too. We fail often. We bobble between being too strict...or not strict enough. Sometimes we're authoritarian; sometimes we're permissive; sometimes we're selfish. We do a lot of repenting.)
The point is, we consecrate our kids. We set them apart from the world. We acknowledge that they are image-bearers--albeit fallen image-bearers--and we strive to be good stewards of these good gifts. But we are realizing something lately.
I am not the Christ.
Kevin DeYoung, in his book Crazy Busy, says that his friend once reminded him of these words of John the Baptist. And you know what? Someone needs to remind us parents of that, too. We should wake up every morning and recite it to ourselves.
I am not the Christ.
I am not the Christ.
I am not the Christ.
And no matter how deliberately and attentively we parent, we cannot do the job of Christ. We cannot save our children; neither can we sanctify them.
The problem is that we got consecration mixed up with sanctification. And we sent a consecrated kid off to the big, bad world, when only a sanctified kid can survive it. Guess what? Consecrated kids can't stand out there.
This year was a tough year for our consecrated college sophomore. Let me say right here that I am not opposed to sending your kid off to college. There is some speculation that Christian kids are losing their faith in college. But that can't be, as that would be flawed soteriology in light of God's Word. If we could lose our salvation, we would. What's really happening, I think, is that college has a way of separating the truly sanctified from the merely consecrated.
So here we are. And this is our story:
We sensed that he was having a bad year. He was not communicating with us very often. And when he was, it wasn't hopeful. We were alarmed and looking forward to getting him back home for summer. That was when the other shoe dropped. I'll keep it short and to the point.
There's a young lady. And there's a baby on the way.
O light that followest all my way,
I yield my flickering torch to Thee.
My heart restores its borrowed ray,
That in Thy sunshine's blaze its day may brighter, fairer be.*
Grief and grace. As far as I can tell, these are the only ways to respond to a repentant believer.
Grief over sin because sin grieves the Father's heart.
And grace for the sinner.
Unmerited favor. Emphasize unmerited. And then emphasize favor.
Suddenly, I was glad Alex had confronted us two years ago about grace. That was a God thing. And we had been working since then to be a gracious household. I dare not think how I would have responded outside the context of grace. What if this had happened two years ago? But God is faithful. He had been grooming us for this moment. More precious, even, He had groomed the kids.
There have been individual conversations with the siblings.
The 23 yr old dripped grace.
The 21 yr old dripped grace.
The 18 yr old dripped grace.
The 14 yr old dripped grace.
I did not expect these responses. I expected shock, disdain, rules. I am undone by their grace. I am blown away by their understanding of sin and salvation and forgiveness and the Cross. Brett looked at me through misty eyes and said, "If we had thought we were raising pharisees...we're not." And I will treasure these things up in my heart.
O joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee.
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain that morn shall tearless be.*
We walked through the Gospel. We've done serious peacemaking. And we are confident that this son of ours who walked away is home again.
In more ways than one.
So there's a precious young lady.
And there's a precious baby on the way.
And, again, I can see that God prepared us ahead of time. For now we can see this child is not a 'consequence.' S/he is a ray of light, a redemption of something evil, a way of taking back what Satan meant for harm. And I trace this rainbow through the rain.
In August, we will add a daughter-in-law to our family.
In January, we will add a grandchild.
We hope, friends, that your response to our story is grief, grief over what grieves the Father. But we hope your concurrent response can be grace for this repentant sinner. We hope that you can find it in your heart to come alongside us and rejoice.
Rejoice in a Love that does not--will not--let us go.
Rejoice that God, rather than Satan, is writing this story.
Rejoice over new life.
And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose. Romans 8:28
What's done is done.
Who has sinned is forgiven.
Weeping shall endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning.
O Cross that liftest up my head,
I dare not ask to fly from thee.
I lay in dust life's glory dead,
And from the ground there blossoms red life that shall endless be.*
*O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go, George Matheson, 1882
Friday, June 6, 2014
Fear Not Part Two
This is an addendum to my last post.
There are a lot of good reasons to walk around in fear. We live in a fallen world, after all, and the brokenness of our world hurts.
Our mind is threatened by vain philosophies and distorted gospels.
Our spirits are hurt by broken relationships and sin.
Our bodies are hurt by disease and crime and accidents and forces of nature.
Danger lurks in the bedroom via an unbiblical view of sexuality and marriage.
Danger lurks in the kitchen via microwaves and Monsanto.
Danger lurks in the office via cell phones, social media, and carpal tunnel syndrome.
We can't even go for a good, old-fashioned walk without fearing critters, pesticides, and too much sun.
But...if we parent out of our fears, we are not going to raise safer kids. We're going to raise neurotic ones. I think we may be doing a disservice to our kids if the focus of our homes is 'safety'.
If we junk the television
or buy car seats with 17 point harnesses
or slather them in sunscreen
or forbid social media
or hide the candy
or don't own a microwave
or clean everything with vinegar
or make them wear bike helmets
or load them down with herbs
or teach them to distrust the government
or hide from the neighbors
or put a water filter on the hose
or move to Timbuktu
or have a curfew
or helicopter parent...
...we are not guilty of sin.
I'm not saying that.
But I am saying that may be there is a trust issue.
Maybe we don't trust that God put us and our families right here, smack in the middle of the twenty-first century, with twenty-first century challenges. And trying to make our homes little replicas of Eden is not going to keep our families safe. Believe it or not, some of our fears might actually materialize. We might suffer for living in this broken world. That's what it all means.
And there are lots of legitimate reasons to fear for our children,
Unless you are a believer,
In which case there are ZERO legitimate reasons to fear
Because God is sovereign and good.
He does everything for His glory and our good.
And if He let 'it' happen to you, no matter what your 'it' is, it is for His glory and your good.
Period.
So I'll say it again.
And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those that love God, to those who are called according to His purpose. Romans 8:28.
Ain't skeered.
There are a lot of good reasons to walk around in fear. We live in a fallen world, after all, and the brokenness of our world hurts.
Our mind is threatened by vain philosophies and distorted gospels.
Our spirits are hurt by broken relationships and sin.
Our bodies are hurt by disease and crime and accidents and forces of nature.
Danger lurks in the bedroom via an unbiblical view of sexuality and marriage.
Danger lurks in the kitchen via microwaves and Monsanto.
Danger lurks in the office via cell phones, social media, and carpal tunnel syndrome.
We can't even go for a good, old-fashioned walk without fearing critters, pesticides, and too much sun.
But...if we parent out of our fears, we are not going to raise safer kids. We're going to raise neurotic ones. I think we may be doing a disservice to our kids if the focus of our homes is 'safety'.
If we junk the television
or buy car seats with 17 point harnesses
or slather them in sunscreen
or forbid social media
or hide the candy
or don't own a microwave
or clean everything with vinegar
or make them wear bike helmets
or load them down with herbs
or teach them to distrust the government
or hide from the neighbors
or put a water filter on the hose
or move to Timbuktu
or have a curfew
or helicopter parent...
...we are not guilty of sin.
I'm not saying that.
But I am saying that may be there is a trust issue.
Maybe we don't trust that God put us and our families right here, smack in the middle of the twenty-first century, with twenty-first century challenges. And trying to make our homes little replicas of Eden is not going to keep our families safe. Believe it or not, some of our fears might actually materialize. We might suffer for living in this broken world. That's what it all means.
And there are lots of legitimate reasons to fear for our children,
Unless you are a believer,
In which case there are ZERO legitimate reasons to fear
Because God is sovereign and good.
He does everything for His glory and our good.
And if He let 'it' happen to you, no matter what your 'it' is, it is for His glory and your good.
Period.
So I'll say it again.
And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those that love God, to those who are called according to His purpose. Romans 8:28.
Ain't skeered.
Wednesday, June 4, 2014
Fear Not
I fear God.
I don't fear failure.
I don't fear cancer.
I don't fear cholesterol.
I don't fear tyranny.
I don't fear Islam.
I don't fear tap water.
I don't fear terrorists.
I don't fear car accidents.
I don't fear heresies.
I don't fear the Internet.
I don't fear losing my children physically.
I don't fear microwaves.
I don't fear sugar.
I don't fear intellectualism.
I don't fear vaccinations.
I don't fear being alone.
I don't fear birth defects.
I don't fear drinking out of plastic cups.
I don't fear flying.
I don't fear aging.
I don't fear cell phones.
I don't fear television.
I don't fear false gospels.
I don't fear losing my children spiritually.
I don't fear gossip.
I don't fear atheism.
I don't fear technology.
I don't fear poverty.
I don't fear real bread and real wine.
I don't fear homelessness.
I don't fear sunburn.
I don't fear crime.
I don't fear criminals.
I don't fear pesticides.
I don't fear tornadoes.
I don't fear unemployment.
I don't fear bad company.
I don't fear Apollyon.
I don't fear death.
I don't fear hell.
And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those that love God, to those who are called according to His purpose. Romans 8:28
Ain't skeered.
I don't fear failure.
I don't fear cancer.
I don't fear cholesterol.
I don't fear tyranny.
I don't fear Islam.
I don't fear tap water.
I don't fear terrorists.
I don't fear car accidents.
I don't fear heresies.
I don't fear the Internet.
I don't fear losing my children physically.
I don't fear microwaves.
I don't fear sugar.
I don't fear intellectualism.
I don't fear vaccinations.
I don't fear being alone.
I don't fear birth defects.
I don't fear drinking out of plastic cups.
I don't fear flying.
I don't fear aging.
I don't fear cell phones.
I don't fear television.
I don't fear false gospels.
I don't fear losing my children spiritually.
I don't fear gossip.
I don't fear atheism.
I don't fear technology.
I don't fear poverty.
I don't fear real bread and real wine.
I don't fear homelessness.
I don't fear sunburn.
I don't fear crime.
I don't fear criminals.
I don't fear pesticides.
I don't fear tornadoes.
I don't fear unemployment.
I don't fear bad company.
I don't fear Apollyon.
I don't fear death.
I don't fear hell.
And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those that love God, to those who are called according to His purpose. Romans 8:28
Ain't skeered.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Holy Week
Oh, precious is the flow that makes me white as snow.
No other fount I know; nothing but the blood of Jesus.
We sang that in church on Palm Sunday. And I was struck by how much the blood of Jesus accomplished for us. And I wanted to cultivate a new gratitude for that. So I set out to hunker down for Holy Week, disconnect from social media. Cut down on distraction. Read Piper's The Passion of Jesus Christ. And focus. Focus on the blood of Jesus.
Even so, the skeptic in me wondered what terrible things were going to come along and steal away this warm, fuzzy plan by the end of the week. It was practically prophetic.
On Monday, my mom called. Kim had just passed away. Not quite friends, we were good acquaintances who reconnected after years, thanks to social media. Kim's parents and my parents are good, very good friends, even now. We've known each other since high school, attended the same church for a time. I think we even got married the same year; I remember her wedding. She had seven children; I had eleven. Only Kim got breast cancer.
Death stinks. Yes, for the Christian, death is gain. But death still stinks. Death is still the enemy.
And on the ensuing days...
I got my toes stepped on. Not just a nudge, either. A full-weighted, hobnail boot stomp. And I was hot.
I got into a discussion with a friend about doubters and atheists. She and I are both banging our heads on the proverbial wall and asking how those type of people could possibly come from gospel-saturated homes.
I got bogged down by a pending confrontation with a slipping soul. My heels are dug in, and I'm preparing for war...and Brett had to remind me not to make God small.
By Saturday, I was in a full-blown Bad Mood. I was still offended from Wednesday. I was frustrated with otherwise smart people who are capable of such dumb decisions about friends, life, and Truth. I'm an unwitting player in a war I only recently saw coming. And doggone it all, this is Holy Week, and this was supposed to be a time to meditate on the blood of Jesus. That was the plan.
I sat there, too grouchy to forgive, too grouchy to honestly care, definitely too grouchy to celebrate Easter. I simultaneously stewed over other people and wondered at all the blackness stirring in my own soul. And that's when I thought it:
Why did You bother dying for me anyway? What a waste.
Holy Week. I fell for it.
Like an idiotic Thomas Aquinas fangirl, I fell for it.
What a dolt.
As if.
As if there's a distinction between the sacred and the secular.
As if there's a Holy Week and fifty one other mundane ones.
As if the Resurrection was small enough to contain on one Sunday.
As if the victory of the Cross is inconsequential enough to confine to a feast day.
It's not that there is no Holy Week; it's that there is no week that's not holy. Every week is a holy week. Every hour of every day is to be lived to the glory of God. Every facet of man, his body, his spirit, his intellect, was broken in Eden and redeemed at Calvary.
Why did You die for me? I asked.
And just as fast, the answer came:
That's what the blood of Jesus is for.
It is a comfort to a grieving husband and his seven children.
It is a ransom for the doubter and the atheist.
It's for when you're unforgiving about being offended.
It's for when you're disdainful of the foolishness in others.
It's for when your soul is black and sludgy,
And this week or this day has been far from holy.
The blood of Jesus takes away the sting of death and the stain of sin.
And it deserves my gratitude every day and every week.
If I treat it like it deserves special attention on one day, then I dilute it on all the rest.
The blood of Jesus is the only thing that can get me through the Now and the Not Yet.
Oh precious is the flow that makes me white as snow.
No other fount I know, nothing but the blood of Jesus.
No other fount I know; nothing but the blood of Jesus.
We sang that in church on Palm Sunday. And I was struck by how much the blood of Jesus accomplished for us. And I wanted to cultivate a new gratitude for that. So I set out to hunker down for Holy Week, disconnect from social media. Cut down on distraction. Read Piper's The Passion of Jesus Christ. And focus. Focus on the blood of Jesus.
Even so, the skeptic in me wondered what terrible things were going to come along and steal away this warm, fuzzy plan by the end of the week. It was practically prophetic.
On Monday, my mom called. Kim had just passed away. Not quite friends, we were good acquaintances who reconnected after years, thanks to social media. Kim's parents and my parents are good, very good friends, even now. We've known each other since high school, attended the same church for a time. I think we even got married the same year; I remember her wedding. She had seven children; I had eleven. Only Kim got breast cancer.
Death stinks. Yes, for the Christian, death is gain. But death still stinks. Death is still the enemy.
And on the ensuing days...
I got my toes stepped on. Not just a nudge, either. A full-weighted, hobnail boot stomp. And I was hot.
I got into a discussion with a friend about doubters and atheists. She and I are both banging our heads on the proverbial wall and asking how those type of people could possibly come from gospel-saturated homes.
I got bogged down by a pending confrontation with a slipping soul. My heels are dug in, and I'm preparing for war...and Brett had to remind me not to make God small.
By Saturday, I was in a full-blown Bad Mood. I was still offended from Wednesday. I was frustrated with otherwise smart people who are capable of such dumb decisions about friends, life, and Truth. I'm an unwitting player in a war I only recently saw coming. And doggone it all, this is Holy Week, and this was supposed to be a time to meditate on the blood of Jesus. That was the plan.
I sat there, too grouchy to forgive, too grouchy to honestly care, definitely too grouchy to celebrate Easter. I simultaneously stewed over other people and wondered at all the blackness stirring in my own soul. And that's when I thought it:
Why did You bother dying for me anyway? What a waste.
Holy Week. I fell for it.
Like an idiotic Thomas Aquinas fangirl, I fell for it.
What a dolt.
As if.
As if there's a distinction between the sacred and the secular.
As if there's a Holy Week and fifty one other mundane ones.
As if the Resurrection was small enough to contain on one Sunday.
As if the victory of the Cross is inconsequential enough to confine to a feast day.
It's not that there is no Holy Week; it's that there is no week that's not holy. Every week is a holy week. Every hour of every day is to be lived to the glory of God. Every facet of man, his body, his spirit, his intellect, was broken in Eden and redeemed at Calvary.
Why did You die for me? I asked.
And just as fast, the answer came:
That's what the blood of Jesus is for.
It is a comfort to a grieving husband and his seven children.
It is a ransom for the doubter and the atheist.
It's for when you're unforgiving about being offended.
It's for when you're disdainful of the foolishness in others.
It's for when your soul is black and sludgy,
And this week or this day has been far from holy.
The blood of Jesus takes away the sting of death and the stain of sin.
And it deserves my gratitude every day and every week.
If I treat it like it deserves special attention on one day, then I dilute it on all the rest.
The blood of Jesus is the only thing that can get me through the Now and the Not Yet.
Oh precious is the flow that makes me white as snow.
No other fount I know, nothing but the blood of Jesus.
Sunday, April 6, 2014
Heaven and Hell and Teaching Your Children Well
One minute they were there. The next they were gone.
There we were at the zoo watching the hippos. It was a crowded room, and the four youngest asked if they could scoot closer to get a better view. Just stay together was my only instruction, and off they went. Alex and I stayed in the back with the baby in the stroller.
The hippos enthralled all of us, and when I did a headcount, I noticed that the 11 yr old and the 9 yr old had backed up through the crowd to be closer to us. But where were the 7 yr old and the 4 yr old? I craned my neck over heads; I squinted through legs and bags and shoes, looking for those two familiar faces. No luck. Alarmed, I turned to Alex. "They're gone. Stay with the baby." And I took off around the corner, hoping that I could get to the front of the crowd and spot them from that vantage point. Again, no luck. I ran back to Alex. "Keep everyone together. They are not in the building. Stay here."
I flew out of the building. Looked to the right; nope, not there. I looked left. And there, far down the path, I could see that bashful 4 yr. old grin. Two teens were talking to him. But...where was the 7 yr old? I took off running, and as I got closer, I saw that she was standing there with him, her protective arm around his shoulders. My heart laughed and cried at the same time. The four year old was oblivious to the danger he had been in; the seven year old was in tears. Even as I recall this, my adrenaline is rushing.
I fell to my knees and grabbed them and hugged them. The seven year old let her tears really go at that point, and the four year old just kept smiling bashfully. He knew something was wrong; he just wasn't sure what.
We went over rules that day. I asked the seven year old what those teens had been asking them. They asked for her phone number, she said, but she told them she wasn't allowed to give it to strangers. Good. She knew that. And my eyes still get misty when I remember her arm around her little brother. She knew it was her job to protect him. But she didn't know to stay put.
That day was a stark reminder to me that we have to have repeated discussions about what's wrong with the world, about potentially dangerous situations. As distasteful as those conversations are, we do it because we love our kids.
-------------------
A few weeks earlier...
I was tucking the four year old, who'd been having, shall we say, a bit of a behavioral slump, into bed. And I started telling him about the wonders of heaven. We were both getting excited and laughing and dreaming of that amazing eternity which awaits us. I came downstairs and told Brett, "I've been telling J all about heaven!
"Huh. I've been telling him all about hell."
Usually I'm the fire-breathing parent, and Brett is the nice guy.
Freaky Friday.
But you know what? We have to tell the kids about both. They need a solid doctrine of heaven and a solid doctrine of hell. Just like they need to know about Stranger Danger in case we get separated, they need to know what awaits the disobedient, the perverse, the wicked for all eternity. They have to know this stuff because we won't always get to be with them. They need to know that there is a real bliss awaiting God's people. And there is a real torment awaiting the rest.
They also need to know a little bit about Stranger Danger in the Church.
Take self-styled Millennial spokeswoman, Rachel Held Evans, for example. (Though my own Millennials laugh out loud at her attempting to speak for them...) Ostensibly, she's waging war on evangelicalism. In truth, she's waging war on Truth. (But never--no, never--has God ever instructed us to stand down when it comes to Truth. Never.)
And I called her a goat..as in, not a sheep.
Upon further reflection, I'd like to recant.
It's far worse than that.
She's an Angel of Light. No, of course she's not THE Angel of Light. Think types and shadows here.
Second Class perhaps. Not quite got her wings. Yet.
You lead them into wrong; you make it look so right.
You lead them into darkness and make them think you lead them into light.
What's an Angel of Light?
First, they claim identity with Christ. They claim an excellent way.
Second, they take the Truth of Scripture and twist.
Third, they are offended by the True Gospel and are aggressive enemies of it.
They tame God; they civilize the Gospel; they make it palatable to the reprobate.
But the Gospel is offensive to the flesh. Regeneration is required to make it potent.
No amount of redrawing the lines or rewriting the rules will bring in converts, not real ones anyway. Redrawing and rewriting does not make Evans and her ilk Christians; it makes them rebels.
But I know where you're going, too bad you're not alone.
If it wasn't for the real Light, I might have never known.
It is imperative that we raise our children to spot snakes in the Church lawn. Imperative. And I don't know of any other way than to continually tell them the Truth. It is imperative that we show little Johnny the filth they are spewing and sit down and walk through why that is wrong.
Or little Johnny will have no idea that it is wrong.
Because it's slick.
But horse puckey that is spit shined is still horse puckey.
And Little Johnny will be in serious danger of growing up to become a parent who tells his own children that sponsoring a child is more important than standing for the Truth. Wrong. Or that the Gospel is about social justice. Wrong. Or that Jesus died to redeem Creation rather than sinners. Wrong again. Or /cough/ that Jesus is not the God of the Old Testament. HA! Wrong.
You've got the clergy workin' overtime to widen the narrow way.
It is imperative that our kids learn Stranger Danger in terms of false teachers. And the false teachers of our children's generation are masterful scripture twisters.
"God doesn't hate sin."
"The crucifixion is cosmic child abuse."
"Everyone goes to heaven."
"There's no such thing as hell."
And so goes the Millennial war on Truth.
Bible anyone?
Anyone?
Buehler?
Heaven.
Develop an appetite in yourself for Heaven.
Tell your kids what the Bible says about Heaven and who gets to go there.
Develop an affinity only for teachers who love the God of Heaven.
Hell.
Develop an aversion for hell.
Develop an aversion for Scripture twisters who are on the Wide Path to hell.
Tell your children what the Bible says about hell and who must go there.
Raise your kids to be so shrewd about and so steeped in Truth, that they can spot someone who lies about Heaven
about hell
about love
about judgment
about the Gospel,
For their spiritual safety.
Angel of Light, you're telling me wrong is right, but I won't let your evil take control.*
It was absolutely frightening to lose my precious little ones in the crowd that day. It was terrifying to realize that they didn't know to stay put. But that would be nothing, nothing, to losing them to hell.
For the time is coming when people will not endure sound teaching, but having itching ears they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own passions. 2 Timothy 4:3
*Angel of Light, Robert M. Hartman, 1981
There we were at the zoo watching the hippos. It was a crowded room, and the four youngest asked if they could scoot closer to get a better view. Just stay together was my only instruction, and off they went. Alex and I stayed in the back with the baby in the stroller.
The hippos enthralled all of us, and when I did a headcount, I noticed that the 11 yr old and the 9 yr old had backed up through the crowd to be closer to us. But where were the 7 yr old and the 4 yr old? I craned my neck over heads; I squinted through legs and bags and shoes, looking for those two familiar faces. No luck. Alarmed, I turned to Alex. "They're gone. Stay with the baby." And I took off around the corner, hoping that I could get to the front of the crowd and spot them from that vantage point. Again, no luck. I ran back to Alex. "Keep everyone together. They are not in the building. Stay here."
I flew out of the building. Looked to the right; nope, not there. I looked left. And there, far down the path, I could see that bashful 4 yr. old grin. Two teens were talking to him. But...where was the 7 yr old? I took off running, and as I got closer, I saw that she was standing there with him, her protective arm around his shoulders. My heart laughed and cried at the same time. The four year old was oblivious to the danger he had been in; the seven year old was in tears. Even as I recall this, my adrenaline is rushing.
I fell to my knees and grabbed them and hugged them. The seven year old let her tears really go at that point, and the four year old just kept smiling bashfully. He knew something was wrong; he just wasn't sure what.
We went over rules that day. I asked the seven year old what those teens had been asking them. They asked for her phone number, she said, but she told them she wasn't allowed to give it to strangers. Good. She knew that. And my eyes still get misty when I remember her arm around her little brother. She knew it was her job to protect him. But she didn't know to stay put.
That day was a stark reminder to me that we have to have repeated discussions about what's wrong with the world, about potentially dangerous situations. As distasteful as those conversations are, we do it because we love our kids.
-------------------
A few weeks earlier...
I was tucking the four year old, who'd been having, shall we say, a bit of a behavioral slump, into bed. And I started telling him about the wonders of heaven. We were both getting excited and laughing and dreaming of that amazing eternity which awaits us. I came downstairs and told Brett, "I've been telling J all about heaven!
"Huh. I've been telling him all about hell."
Usually I'm the fire-breathing parent, and Brett is the nice guy.
Freaky Friday.
But you know what? We have to tell the kids about both. They need a solid doctrine of heaven and a solid doctrine of hell. Just like they need to know about Stranger Danger in case we get separated, they need to know what awaits the disobedient, the perverse, the wicked for all eternity. They have to know this stuff because we won't always get to be with them. They need to know that there is a real bliss awaiting God's people. And there is a real torment awaiting the rest.
They also need to know a little bit about Stranger Danger in the Church.
Take self-styled Millennial spokeswoman, Rachel Held Evans, for example. (Though my own Millennials laugh out loud at her attempting to speak for them...) Ostensibly, she's waging war on evangelicalism. In truth, she's waging war on Truth. (But never--no, never--has God ever instructed us to stand down when it comes to Truth. Never.)
And I called her a goat..as in, not a sheep.
Upon further reflection, I'd like to recant.
It's far worse than that.
She's an Angel of Light. No, of course she's not THE Angel of Light. Think types and shadows here.
Second Class perhaps. Not quite got her wings. Yet.
You lead them into wrong; you make it look so right.
You lead them into darkness and make them think you lead them into light.
What's an Angel of Light?
First, they claim identity with Christ. They claim an excellent way.
Second, they take the Truth of Scripture and twist.
Third, they are offended by the True Gospel and are aggressive enemies of it.
They tame God; they civilize the Gospel; they make it palatable to the reprobate.
But the Gospel is offensive to the flesh. Regeneration is required to make it potent.
No amount of redrawing the lines or rewriting the rules will bring in converts, not real ones anyway. Redrawing and rewriting does not make Evans and her ilk Christians; it makes them rebels.
But I know where you're going, too bad you're not alone.
If it wasn't for the real Light, I might have never known.
It is imperative that we raise our children to spot snakes in the Church lawn. Imperative. And I don't know of any other way than to continually tell them the Truth. It is imperative that we show little Johnny the filth they are spewing and sit down and walk through why that is wrong.
Or little Johnny will have no idea that it is wrong.
Because it's slick.
But horse puckey that is spit shined is still horse puckey.
And Little Johnny will be in serious danger of growing up to become a parent who tells his own children that sponsoring a child is more important than standing for the Truth. Wrong. Or that the Gospel is about social justice. Wrong. Or that Jesus died to redeem Creation rather than sinners. Wrong again. Or /cough/ that Jesus is not the God of the Old Testament. HA! Wrong.
You've got the clergy workin' overtime to widen the narrow way.
It is imperative that our kids learn Stranger Danger in terms of false teachers. And the false teachers of our children's generation are masterful scripture twisters.
"God doesn't hate sin."
"The crucifixion is cosmic child abuse."
"Everyone goes to heaven."
"There's no such thing as hell."
And so goes the Millennial war on Truth.
Bible anyone?
Anyone?
Buehler?
Heaven.
Develop an appetite in yourself for Heaven.
Tell your kids what the Bible says about Heaven and who gets to go there.
Develop an affinity only for teachers who love the God of Heaven.
Hell.
Develop an aversion for hell.
Develop an aversion for Scripture twisters who are on the Wide Path to hell.
Tell your children what the Bible says about hell and who must go there.
Raise your kids to be so shrewd about and so steeped in Truth, that they can spot someone who lies about Heaven
about hell
about love
about judgment
about the Gospel,
For their spiritual safety.
Angel of Light, you're telling me wrong is right, but I won't let your evil take control.*
It was absolutely frightening to lose my precious little ones in the crowd that day. It was terrifying to realize that they didn't know to stay put. But that would be nothing, nothing, to losing them to hell.
For the time is coming when people will not endure sound teaching, but having itching ears they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own passions. 2 Timothy 4:3
*Angel of Light, Robert M. Hartman, 1981
Thursday, March 27, 2014
If We Could Lose Our Salvation, We Would
It all started with a cheeseburger. It was just about a year ago, and I came in from my morning walk feeling absolutely ravenous. I was finally getting on a consistent exercise regimen. I'd get up before anyone else, walk five miles, come home and have my quiet time all before anyone else in the house was up.
But this one day, I was starving. I opened the refrigerator and found last night's leftovers, cheeseburgers, sitting there on a plate just staring up at me. And it was simply too tantalizing to pass up. But this is where it gets weird. I didn't warm it up; I barely got it on the bun.
Chew, munch, swallow. Chew, munch, swallow. Chew, mu-uh ohhhhh...
I did some quick calendar math. And then my jaw hit the floor. I ran upstairs to wake Brett up.
Hey, are you conscious?
Mmmm?
I think I'm pregnant.
No way.
Yes way.
Why do you think that?
Because I'm eating a cheeseburger for breakfast.
Yep. You're pregnant!
That was a year ago. God was going to give us another little blessing. Wow!
The pregnancy was a cinch. Thank you, Lord.
And the birth? Let me put it this way. I am the Porsche of childbirth: zero to birth in sixty-three minutes. Two pushes. Voila! Baby! Thank you, thank you, Lord!
Fast forward to present day. Baby A is now four months old. Cute as a button. Flaming red hair. He has ten adoring siblings, which is why his backside rarely hits the floor...
which is why he wails when it does...
which is why I have to beat them off with a stick during tummy time.
Either that, or he won't learn to walk until he's fifteen years old.
Which brings me to...yoga pants. You just can't have a baby without it having some permanent affects on your bod. I mean, you can pretend to be spandex Barbie and kill yourself to get back to your original size and weight. But over here in Reality Land, I'm just...lumpy. And hungry.
So I can be skinny.
Or I can be fed.
I choose food.
Add to that the fact that if I even mention exercise, my milk supply starts to decrease. And there is no way I'm going to give up feeding my baby just to be 'fit.'
There are 'fit' moms.
And there are fit moms.
Know what I mean?
So I'm living this year in yoga pants. Every once in a while I take out my favorite pair of Banana Republic jeans and just look at them. And I remind myself that I'm not in a Banana Republic season right now. I'm in a nurturing season. Banana Republic will just have to wait. But there are some days, I tell you truly, when I panic that I might never get into those jeans again. It's just that I'm starting to see that this season of nurturing may take longer than originally anticipated.
As I write this, my eleven children who range from a few months to 23 years need these things (in no particular order):
one needs us to come alongside
one needs to win the war with dishonesty
two are treading the turbulent waters of puberty
one needs a reign of terror
one needs some mommy time
one needs to know what's next
one needs the shepherd's crook--and a clonk on the head with my attack Bible
one needs to be less critical
one needs to be more patient
one needs a decent nap schedule.
And they all need hugs and encouragement, wisdom and exhortation. I'm better at some of these than at others.
Living in yoga pants is not exactly what I had in mind when I thought about being a parent. And neither is the long haul. They may grow out of a certain kind of neediness, but it's really just to grow into another kind. The issues that arise from having older kids may not require as much physical endurance as when they were little. But we need more spiritual hardiness at this point. In the beginning, we get that warm, sweet, swaddled bundle handed to us fresh from the oven, and we plant our noses in their skin. We drink deeply of baby smells and coos and the absolute trust they place in us. We count fingers and toes and dream dreams of them growing up and impacting the world and having families of their own. No one dreams of the tough times, the questions, the doubts, the--gulp--rebellion.
Today, I'm feeling lumpy (and a little grumpy) about some tough times. I imagined myself with a Banana Republic sort of family photo at this point. Fit, polished, put together. Cool. The reality today, though, is there are still some lumps to be worked out. At this point, I volley between the depth of despair or just simple disdain for abject stupidity.
Right now, I'm realizing something else:
God is sovereign over salvation. We preach the Gospel to our children. We take them to church. We keep them accountable. We inspect. But we don't save. That's God's job. And consider this:
If we could lose our salvation, we would.
Ain't that the truth? I don't know who said that, but he was spot on. If we could lose our salvation, we would. We imperfect, hellbent sheep, who do what we don't want to do and don't do what we want to do. If we could lose our salvation, we would. We who have been offered a place in heaven and actually get tempted by the world's pig slops. Pfff. We couldn't keep an eye on our salvation for a whole day, let alone a whole lifetime. But GOD is the author and finisher of our faith. GOD will complete the good work that He began in us.
If He started it, He will finish it. He's faithful like that.
If we could lose our salvation, we would.
Alas, it's the corollary of that that's bothering me today. If we can't lose our salvation--and we cannot--then how do we interpret a picture that makes it look like salvation got lost? This is how: there was likely not salvation there to begin with. God preserves His Saints. People who grow up in Christian homes do not lose their faith when they leave home. They do not lose their faith because they cannot lose their faith. But some of them leave home without ever having had faith. And that's a fact.
This long haul of parenting is hard stuff sometimes. There are seasons of late night feedings...and there are seasons of fervent prayer. Who knew that I would one day be in a position where both are simultaneously required of me? The little ones keep me in yoga pants; the big ones keep me on my knees. I have eleven constant reminders that parenting is a call to vigilance, faithfulness, and grit.
A picture perfect family is no more my goal than Banana Republic jeans are. That kind of silliness is for 'fit' moms. Raising grateful, sanctified wretches? That's for fit moms. That is my hope. That is my prayer.
I'll keep preaching the Gospel. That's my job.
But salvation belongs to the Lord.
But this one day, I was starving. I opened the refrigerator and found last night's leftovers, cheeseburgers, sitting there on a plate just staring up at me. And it was simply too tantalizing to pass up. But this is where it gets weird. I didn't warm it up; I barely got it on the bun.
Chew, munch, swallow. Chew, munch, swallow. Chew, mu-uh ohhhhh...
I did some quick calendar math. And then my jaw hit the floor. I ran upstairs to wake Brett up.
Hey, are you conscious?
Mmmm?
I think I'm pregnant.
No way.
Yes way.
Why do you think that?
Because I'm eating a cheeseburger for breakfast.
Yep. You're pregnant!
That was a year ago. God was going to give us another little blessing. Wow!
The pregnancy was a cinch. Thank you, Lord.
And the birth? Let me put it this way. I am the Porsche of childbirth: zero to birth in sixty-three minutes. Two pushes. Voila! Baby! Thank you, thank you, Lord!
Fast forward to present day. Baby A is now four months old. Cute as a button. Flaming red hair. He has ten adoring siblings, which is why his backside rarely hits the floor...
which is why he wails when it does...
which is why I have to beat them off with a stick during tummy time.
Either that, or he won't learn to walk until he's fifteen years old.
Which brings me to...yoga pants. You just can't have a baby without it having some permanent affects on your bod. I mean, you can pretend to be spandex Barbie and kill yourself to get back to your original size and weight. But over here in Reality Land, I'm just...lumpy. And hungry.
So I can be skinny.
Or I can be fed.
I choose food.
Add to that the fact that if I even mention exercise, my milk supply starts to decrease. And there is no way I'm going to give up feeding my baby just to be 'fit.'
There are 'fit' moms.
And there are fit moms.
Know what I mean?
So I'm living this year in yoga pants. Every once in a while I take out my favorite pair of Banana Republic jeans and just look at them. And I remind myself that I'm not in a Banana Republic season right now. I'm in a nurturing season. Banana Republic will just have to wait. But there are some days, I tell you truly, when I panic that I might never get into those jeans again. It's just that I'm starting to see that this season of nurturing may take longer than originally anticipated.
As I write this, my eleven children who range from a few months to 23 years need these things (in no particular order):
one needs us to come alongside
one needs to win the war with dishonesty
two are treading the turbulent waters of puberty
one needs a reign of terror
one needs some mommy time
one needs to know what's next
one needs the shepherd's crook--and a clonk on the head with my attack Bible
one needs to be less critical
one needs to be more patient
one needs a decent nap schedule.
And they all need hugs and encouragement, wisdom and exhortation. I'm better at some of these than at others.
Living in yoga pants is not exactly what I had in mind when I thought about being a parent. And neither is the long haul. They may grow out of a certain kind of neediness, but it's really just to grow into another kind. The issues that arise from having older kids may not require as much physical endurance as when they were little. But we need more spiritual hardiness at this point. In the beginning, we get that warm, sweet, swaddled bundle handed to us fresh from the oven, and we plant our noses in their skin. We drink deeply of baby smells and coos and the absolute trust they place in us. We count fingers and toes and dream dreams of them growing up and impacting the world and having families of their own. No one dreams of the tough times, the questions, the doubts, the--gulp--rebellion.
Today, I'm feeling lumpy (and a little grumpy) about some tough times. I imagined myself with a Banana Republic sort of family photo at this point. Fit, polished, put together. Cool. The reality today, though, is there are still some lumps to be worked out. At this point, I volley between the depth of despair or just simple disdain for abject stupidity.
Right now, I'm realizing something else:
God is sovereign over salvation. We preach the Gospel to our children. We take them to church. We keep them accountable. We inspect. But we don't save. That's God's job. And consider this:
If we could lose our salvation, we would.
Ain't that the truth? I don't know who said that, but he was spot on. If we could lose our salvation, we would. We imperfect, hellbent sheep, who do what we don't want to do and don't do what we want to do. If we could lose our salvation, we would. We who have been offered a place in heaven and actually get tempted by the world's pig slops. Pfff. We couldn't keep an eye on our salvation for a whole day, let alone a whole lifetime. But GOD is the author and finisher of our faith. GOD will complete the good work that He began in us.
If He started it, He will finish it. He's faithful like that.
If we could lose our salvation, we would.
Alas, it's the corollary of that that's bothering me today. If we can't lose our salvation--and we cannot--then how do we interpret a picture that makes it look like salvation got lost? This is how: there was likely not salvation there to begin with. God preserves His Saints. People who grow up in Christian homes do not lose their faith when they leave home. They do not lose their faith because they cannot lose their faith. But some of them leave home without ever having had faith. And that's a fact.
This long haul of parenting is hard stuff sometimes. There are seasons of late night feedings...and there are seasons of fervent prayer. Who knew that I would one day be in a position where both are simultaneously required of me? The little ones keep me in yoga pants; the big ones keep me on my knees. I have eleven constant reminders that parenting is a call to vigilance, faithfulness, and grit.
A picture perfect family is no more my goal than Banana Republic jeans are. That kind of silliness is for 'fit' moms. Raising grateful, sanctified wretches? That's for fit moms. That is my hope. That is my prayer.
I'll keep preaching the Gospel. That's my job.
But salvation belongs to the Lord.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)