Because A Mother Is Beautiful All By Herself

November 18, 2014November 18, 20141 Comment

There was a time not too long ago when I didn’t want to have my picture taken. Sometimes I was the one taking the pictures but other times I just didn’t want to see myself photographed. I was unhappy with the way I looked and I did not want my children to remember the time when mommy’s hips were more rounded and her face was a little fuller.

Specifically I remember being at a baseball game and I was gathering my boys close for a picture of them with their rally caps on. A young guy in the row in front of us sweetly turned around and offered to take the photo for us. He immediately looked puzzled when I quickly declined and told him I wasn’t planning on seeing myself in pictures for at least ten more years.

That was really true and there it was: Out of my mouth my heart spoke the words: I am not beautiful enough to be remembered for who I am, right now, just this way.

I have heard this story before. My mom rarely wanted to be photographed while she was battling cancer while I was a child. I hear my grandmother tell me, she did not want you all to remember her that way. I love my mother and that was her wish but now here I am left without her and I barely have any pictures with her and me in them. I cannot think of more than five photos I have of her and me together from the age of five until she passed away when I was fourteen.

To me she was beautiful.

As a child, I didn’t see a bald woman or a woman with only one breast. I saw my mother. And a mother is beautiful all by herself.

To my children, a mother is beautiful all by herself.

There will be a time when I am no longer here on this earth and my sweet children will be longing for memories of me. My children will not be concerned about my chin, my dark circles, or my roots that should have been touched up last week. My children will just want to see me. And them. They will want to hold something more tangible than a memory that puts me with them in that place at that time.

Our children don’t care how we look for the camera, because to them, a mother is beautiful all by herself.

You can see I have some unraveling to do when it comes to this whole idea of being beautiful. Just the way I am. Right now. In this time. In this place.

I will tell you I know what the Bible says about being beautiful. I will even tell you I have those verses memorized. But even though I know what the Bible teaches on a cognitive level about beauty – it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that the attitude of my heart and my unwillingness to be photographed show a tangled up mess of belief and unbelief when it comes to my appearance. What I believe and what I actually do just don’t match up.

As God has been faithful to work on my unbelieving heart I can see the places where I have the “beliefs of the world” tangled up in what is true about beauty from the passages of Scripture.

I’ve realized that to the people who matter, a mother is beautiful all by herself.

God speaks to beauty in His words to us in the Bible and according to Him our beauty has nothing to do with the amounts of hairs on our head, the clothes that we wear or what the scale is saying about us on any given day.

“Charm is deceptive and beauty is fleeting but a woman who fears the Lord will be praised.” Proverbs 31:30

“Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes. Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight.” (1 Peter 3:3)

“But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not look on appearance. For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” (1 Samuel 16:7)

“Behold, you are beautiful, my love; behold, you are beautiful.” Song of Solomon 1:15

God’s words in the Bible do not say the same things the world is screaming to us about beauty. It is challenging to unravel the untruth from the truth. Mostly because as a mom, I am constantly surrounded by a world telling me to be thinner, to wear the latest trendiest boots, to be a hot mommy, to make sure my thighs aren’t touching. I could go on for days. Days.

God is telling us from His word that beauty comes from the blatant opposite or what our world tells us is beautiful.

Beauty comes from giving up of yourself. And chasing after Good.

Beauty does from bravely enduring hardship. Like my mother. She is a heroine and I just won’t stop saying that.

Beauty is a mother. Giving up herself.

A mother is beautiful all by herself. A mother doesn’t need to hit that weight loss goal, make her hair the right color or wear the trendiest clothes. To God, your husband, you children, none of that matters. They want you in those photos. I know. And I am telling you.

“Behold, you are beautiful, my love; behold, you are beautiful.” Song of Solomon 1:15

Go and be photographed. Hang those photos on the wall and post them to Facebook. Because a mother is beautiful all by herself.

Preparing For The Seasons Of “I Hate Yous”

November 14, 2014November 15, 20141 Comment

Confession: I am a Parenthood fan. I started watching the very first season because as a Gilmore Girls fan, I will never be able to get enough of Lauren Graham. Who wouldn’t just want to follow Lorelei around for the rest of their lives? Six seasons later, I have never gone a week without missing an episode of Parenthood, this epic show that give me a glimpse of what may be headed my way.

This final season has brought so many questions and tears.

Tonight however, something struck me. Something which I was not expecting.

Ruby is the teenage daughter to Hank. Ruby and Hank are supporting characters and really making a good storyline in this last season of the show. Ruby is left home alone and she lies to her dad, Hank and throws a pretty epic high school party. When she is caught, she tells her dad, “I hate you”.

As I watched the show so many emotions flooded over me. I have been Ruby. I have lied and manipulated my father. I have invited friends over to party in the basement of my childhood home on Sycamore Creek Dr. I have been Ruby. When I was caught, the only words I knew to express I was feeling ashamed were the words, “I hate you”.

My childhood was far from perfect and I rebelled and said those words so many times. To my father. To my mother.

It stings my heart now to relive those moments when I looked my mother in the eyes and said, “I hate you”. It stings because she is not here now for us to be close and live in harmony like most teenage girls get to grow up and do with their mothers.

Like Ruby, I have said, “I hate you” to my parents. Like Ruby, I never meant it. I hated my situation. I hated being caught. I hated the humiliation. But, I never really hated my parents. My mom. And even my dad.

As I watched tonight I blinked and thought about my own childen saying the words “I hate you” to me. Their mother. You know, the one that has been there for every midnight fever, bad day at school, last minute assignment and literally used my body to give them essential nutrients for close to two years. (Pregnancy and the first year of breastfeeding- it’s amazing if you breastfeed for longer… I just count down the days until my children hit their first birthday or are ready to wean.)

I think about my four children ages five and under and it is very difficult for me to think about the words “I hate you” coming out of their sweet little mouths. It’s difficult because we are in a season where they love me. They kiss me. They hug me. We are in a season where at bedtime we try to top each other with who loves the other more or who can blow the last kiss good night.

We are in a season of “I love yous” but I’m too intelligent to believe this will prevent us from a season of “I hate yous”.

When that season comes, I hope I will be wise enough to remember my children are just trying to communicate, “I am hurting”.

In the season of “I hate yous” I hope I remember the season of “I love yous”. Like God is screaming in this moment right now, “REMEMBER, they love you”.

Remember they love you because of the moments when that baby smiles like you light up the room for her.

Remember they love you because of the moments when your toddler wants to hold your hand.

Remember they love you because of the moments when they say they want to marry you and you are their best friend.

Remember they love you because of the moments when they beat you to infinity or “more than anything that God made”.

I hope to prepare for the season of “I hate yous” by remembering the season in which God has me right now. I am not above the season of “I hate yous” I will absolutely not be a cool teenage parent. I will be a parent and that alone will bring on the piercing wounds.

I believe God is giving me now so I can prepare for the stings of “I hate yous”. So I can prepare for the breaks of my heart.

Now, I am storing up all the “I love yous” for the moments when I could be standing in front of my teenager hearing the “I hate yous” just like Hank and Ruby.

Maybe it will sting a little less if I can prepare for them now.

Maybe God wants us to remember the nows and store them up to prepare for the moments of “I hate yous”.

How The Power Of Choice Saved Me

November 11, 2014November 12, 20142 Comments

I haven’t been married or parenting for very long according to most of your terms.

But the power of choice has saved me as a wife and as a mother.

In my life I have lived with mostly men. I have been married for almost a decade and I have three sons. Before my married life, I lived with my brother and because my mom passed away when I was fourteen, I had to try to learn to communicate with the opposite gender, my father, from a very young age.

For the last almost twenty years I have been communicating with mostly men and I have learned a special secret that seems to keep everyone happy.

The power of choice.

It is simple.

The power of choice has always worked for me in the past and now I find it working in my marriage to diffuse small conflicts with my sons, as young as eighteen months, when it comes down to meltdowns vs. happy places.

The power of choice.

What I have learned about myself:

I have learned as a woman that contrary to popular belief, I actually know exactly what I want. I know how I want it done, when I want it done and what kind of wrapping paper it should be in. I know that sometimes when things don’t go exactly the way I want them to go I tend to lose my cool. So, I have developed my system to make things eb-and-flow in our household a little more eb-and-flowish.

The power of choice.

What I have learned about men:

From the wise-aged-grandfather types to tiny-toddler-master-minds. If they are male, they want to feel like they made the final choice. They want to bang the gavel. The power helps them feel more male or something. This is not chauvinistic, or demeaning. Men just want to feel respected. Making the final choice helps them feel respected.

Men also really dislike being told what to do. Just giving orders like, do the dishes or take out the trash seem bring more agony to the task than the simplicity of the power of choice.

So in the most loving way, I have learned to turn over my power. For their respect and for my good.

I let the boys and my husband choose almost everything. It’s really simple and it can work for you too with the boys in your home.

How this plays out in our home:

With my husband I give him the power to choose.

“Hey honey, I need the dinner cleaned up and all four children need a bath. Which would you like to do?”

“Hey sweetheart, this diaper needs to be changed and the laundry needs to be folded, which do you choose?”

“Tonight we are going on a date, where would you like to go?”

Or the best, mother of all master plans, I give my husband a list of ten chores and I tell him to choose which four he would like to do. A scurvy twist on the honey do list. But after everything is finished everyone is happy.

With my sons this looks like:

“Which shirt would you like to wear?” ( I have chosen two acceptable choices and then they are allowed to bang the final gavel.)

“I am going to clean up this mess, would you like to be responsible for the legos or the action figures?”

“You have an assignment to do. Would you like to do it now, or would you like to wait until after you play?”

“You have to eat you dinner. Would you like to have three bites or five bites before you are allowed to have dessert?”

Truly, every battle you have with the males in your home can be made into some kind of choice.

And males love the power of choice.

The power of choice has saved me as a woman outnumbered in this home. If you are outnumbered or even if you have any males that you love in your home you need to know about the power of choice. It has saved me so many scuffles and actually, in it’s humble approach, has given me power.

You can do it too.

Give those boys the power to choose.

Make your life easier.

Tell others about the power of choice.

Sister, it will save you too.

Sometimes It Feels Terrible

November 9, 2014November 12, 20143 Comments

In a few weeks I will be turning the corner from two to three with my third child.

Sometimes it feels terrible. Like today as I walked my sweet child into church, my husband’s place of business, and he shouted ” I am not a child of the Lord.” Over and over.

Sometimes it feels terrible to have a two year old.

The lines between baby and big kid are blurred.

They want to be independent but still need help at the same time.

It feels terrible and my heart aches for my littles at this stage. If it feels terrible for me, as a somewhat mature adult, I can only image how terrible it feels for a child who is crying face down on the ground.

Yes, they may be crying because they did not get to go to church naked or maybe you buckled their seat belt instead of them.

Mine likes to carry on if his blankets are not smoothed down in a particular way or the seams of his socks are not perfectly straight.

To us it feels ridiculous but their tears are telling you it is a big deal to them.

To this little human child in a big world there are things that are a big deal to them. It feels terrible to us but it is important to them.

I have been trying to be patient because it is my third time in this place of feeling terrible. I tried to leave extra time for my third son to buckle his own seatbelt without me getting flustered because I am worried about being late.

I try to understand him when his socks don’t feel right and his blankets are not straightened and tucked. (I am a tad more compassionate here because I am a similar particular human being.)

Sometimes it feels terrible to have this child, in between baby and big kid, carrying on about things that seem ridiculous to mature adults. I know.

I have walked in this three times. I have rolled my eyes. Raised my voice. I have lost my temper.

Even though it feels terrible and I think I know better, I still think we can be better as parents for our two year olds and beyond.

It feels terrible in this frustrating stage of parenting, but I think and I believe God is calling me to be better.

I believe God is calling me to grow as a parent instead of using the parachute of a passed on cliche.

Sometimes, parenting a two year old feels terrible however, I will not let my child conform to a cookie cutter cliche. I know that to God, my two year old matters. I know that to God, my two year old is important and I know that to God, the things that are important to my two year old are important to Him too.

I wish I wouldn’t let the cliche overshadow who my child is to God.

I wish in the moments of feeling terrible I would remember that God cares for me when I am losing my temper and crying on the floor about things that may seem ridiculous to Him.

I wish I could remember that even though it feels terrible to parent a two year old sometimes, I have a Father in heaven who is patient with me who could feel terrible about my tantrums but choses to love me instead. Just where I am.

Yes, having a two year old feels terrible. But maybe God is using this terrible stage to teach us to love others. Maybe God is showing us how He loves us when we are throwing ridiculous tantrums about things He knows are going to work out just fine.

Maybe God is calling us as parents to something better in the year of two.

Those precious babes are important to Him. And so are you.

Please read: Why The Twos Aren’t Terrible

Unraveling Anxiety

November 5, 2014November 5, 20163 Comments

I dance with worry and anxiety too often. Sometimes I let anxiety lead the rhythm of my step. I find my feet walking to it’s beat.

Just like you when a child naps in the afternoon who usually does not I may begin to worry that he may be ill. I am walking in anxiousness waiting for that thermometer to read above 100.5.

Or other times when my husband is not home at the usual time and is also unreachable on his phone. My mind assumes that something is really wrong, most of the time assuming the worst and waiting for an officer to show up at my doorstep to tell me my husband has been in a terrible car accident. The rhythm of anxiety causes my mind to pace just to keep up with it’s steps.

Most of the time what I see in myself when I am dancing is really just the symptoms of anxiety. I see the dance of anxiety and I am beginning to recognize it’s luring rhythm. Racing mind, racing heart, outrageous thoughts, sweating plams, edgy tone, words that spew out of my mouth like an unredeemed child with an out of control God. Words like:

I fear…

I can’t…

It won’t…

I try to cover up the symptoms of anxiety with prayer and verses memorized from scripture or verses found in the Bible topic glossary under the bolded words: worry and anxiety. But the worries come back. I find myself back in the luring rhythms dancing with worry and anxiety because I am only seeing what is above the surface.

I forget to go down deep below the surface and take a good look at the giant glacier below me- where worry and anxiety are breeding a faulty foundation completely out of sight.

I am lured by worry and anxiety in my thought life because beneath the surface I have an unbelieving heart.

Beneath the surface I am drinking from the broken cistern of control. (Jeremiah 2:13 For my people have committed two sins. They have forsaken me the spring of living water and they have dug their own cisterns:broken cisterns that cannot hold water.)

Beneath the surface I am a beautiful jagged mess of pride and unbelief.

My pride desires to be in control. I want to know what is coming. I want to prepare my heart. My pride believes if I know what’s coming I can be more prepared. My pride tells me I am able to do all things. Like Eve, I want to taste the fruit so my eyes will be opened and I will then know like God knows.

My unbelief is screaming I have giant patches of cold glacier where I fail to know the character of a loving God. In my unbelieving desire to control I forget that God is in control of all things for his redeemed children. In my unbelief I choose to dance with the enemy instead of the One who truly loves me and knows the plans He has for me. (Jeremiah 29:11)

I’ve always known I am prone to worry. When I sing the words from “Come Thou Fount Of Every Blessing”

Prone to wander Lord I feel it, prone to leave the God I love- I think of my anxious adulterous dance. My constant pattern of leaving the God I love to wander over and let the rhythm of worry and anxiety control my steps.

It has just been recently that I have had the courage to look deep beneath the surface at the giant glacier of pride and unbelief breeding below me. Where the desire to control and the unbelief in my Great God are growing beneath the surface of my anxious symptoms.

Before I can examine what is tangled up beneath the surface I need to know how loved by God. I need His presence and His Spirit to be present with me.

So with courage and the armor of the Holy Spirit I have been willing to go down beneath the surface. When I see the beautiful jagged mess below. I am heartbroken. I didn’t even know about my broken cistern to be in control. But with the armor of the Holy Spirit I remember that God knew this about me anyway and He still sent Jesus to die on the cross for that icy jagged mess. I place my hand on my head to remember that no matter the mess my helmet of salvation is secure.

image via “practical pages”

With the armor of the Holy Spirit I can begin to unravel all the tangled up dances from wandering back and forth between belief and unbelief. With the armor of the Holy Spirit I know I have a Great Surgeon who helps me go to work, ever so gently to unravel the wandering mess I’ve made.

For now I am going down deep beneath the surface to fight the unbelief and pride of my heart. Not alone but with the armor of the Holy Spirit. With truth. With the gospel of peace. With the helmet of salvation secure.