mothers

May 11, 2018

The Three Prayers of Motherhood

I am far from having a PhD in motherhood; in fact, this is my first Mother’s Day with a child in my arms. But that’s long enough for me to know this: being a mom comes with all the feelings.

There’s something about being a mom that takes any given emotion and injects it with steroids. Sure, I experienced worry before I became a mom. But now if my baby so much as sneezes, I’m convinced that this is the twenty-first-century version of the bubonic plague. I used to feel pain, too, but that was nothing compared to the vicarious pain I felt on his first trip to the ER. I felt delight before, but nothing could have prepared me for the way my heart would swell the first time he smiled at me (even if was just gas). . . .

You can continue reading (and find out the three prayers every mom should know) at the Tyndale blog.

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Happy Mother’s Day to you this weekend, whether you have children of your own or you share your maternal love with other children. You are beautiful, and you are loved.

October 31, 2014

Book Club Discussion: Glitter and Glue

Kelly Corrigan says in the prologue, “If you had asked me, after I graduated from college, whose voice I would hear in my head for the rest of my life, I’d have said some combination of my dad’s and my roommate Tracy’s and Jackson Browne’s. I would have continued with ten or twenty or two hundred others before I got to my mom.” But in her early twenties, Kelly traveled halfway around the world only to discover that she was more like her mother than she ever dreamed.

Discussion #1: Are You the Glitter or the Glue?

When Kelly was in high school, her mother summarized the difference between her and Kelly’s father with these words: “Your father’s the glitter but I’m the glue.” In other words, her dad might have been the more charming, fun parent, but her mom was the one who held everything together.

In your home growing up, did you have one parent who was the glitter and one who was the glue? In your home now, are you the glitter or the glue?

Discussion #2: Appreciating Your Mother

Kelly didn’t think she was much like her mother and didn’t understand her very well until she became a nanny and found herself quoting her mom and acting just like her as she cared for the children. After a long day full of meeting the needs of people who were dependent on her, she said: “Maybe the reason my mother was so exhausted all the time wasn’t because she was doing so much, but because she was feeling so much.”

Was there a pivotal season or moment in your life when you starting appreciating or understanding your mom in a new way?

Discussion #3: Leaving Home

It took going all the way to Australia for Kelly to discover that she was her mother’s daughter. As she cared for the Tanner children, she realized she was becoming “less smitten with world travelers and their ripping yarns, and more awed by people who have thrown themselves into the one gig that really matters: parenthood.”

Do you think the author would have had the same epiphanies if she’d stayed home? Have you ever had to leave home to find out who you really are?

Rating

I would give this book four stars. Kelly is a born storyteller, and she has a knack for recounting ordinary events in a compelling way. She delves into the complex relationships between mothers and daughters in an authentic, emotive way. I recommend it—whether you’re a daughter or a mother, or both.

How many stars would you give this book?

{Remember: There will be a free book giveaway for one lucky commenter! Just enter a comment with your thoughts about the book below.}

October 1, 2014

The First Word of Jesus’ Prayer

Jesus’ disciples wanted to pray, but they weren’t quite sure how to go about it. So Jesus gave them a lesson in prayer—a model that Christians all over the world still use thousands of years later (Matthew 6:9-13).

I’ve said the Lord’s Prayer countless times, heard sermons about it, read books about it. But there’s one word in the prayer that I’ve brushed right by in the past. It’s a small word, just three letters, but it’s a critical one.

How could I have missed it for so long? It’s the first word, for crying out loud. Our.

Our Father who art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name . . .

Why, I wonder, didn’t Jesus instruct his disciples to address their prayers to God individually? “My Father who art in heaven . . .”

But from the very first line of the prayer, it’s apparent that Jesus sees prayer as a communal activity. Certainly we are to spend time with the Father one-on-one, but our default should be to come to him remembering that we are part of a community. He didn’t create us to be lone-wolf Christians, howling our prayers from the isolation of our dens.

Jesus tells us to call God our Father, which means that fellow believers are our brothers and sisters. We have the privilege of linking arms with them as we talk to our Dad about the things that are close to our hearts. Together, we can share our burdens. We can cry out for healing, for peace, for a relationship to be restored, for a prodigal to come home. And together, we can share our joys. We can offer thanks to God for his faithfulness, his goodness, his answers to our prayers.

My friend has a twentysomething-year-old son who cut ties with his family several years ago, leaving no forwarding address. Ever since, she and her family have tried everything shy of hiring a private investigator to find him. She wants more than anything to let him know that he is loved, that he is wanted, that there is a spot reserved for him that no one else can fill. I’ve had the privilege of praying with my friend every Thursday, begging God to reunite them and to show her son how much he is loved—by God and by his mother.

Our Father . . . please.

In Matthew 18:19-20, Jesus says, “Truly I tell you that if two of you on earth agree about anything they ask for, it will be done for them by my Father in heaven. For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.” I don’t know exactly what it is about praying to our Father with other people that makes it so sacred. Obviously God’s ears are just as attuned to the prayers we pray in solitude; it’s not as if we need to meet some kind of quorum for him to answer us.

But perhaps communal prayer is more for our sakes than for his. God knows how easily we lose hope, how quickly we get discouraged when we’re left on our own. But when our brothers and sisters stand united with us, they can believe and hope on our behalf when we grow weary.

On Mother’s Day weekend of this year, my friend received the best gift she could ever hope to receive: an unexpected reunion with her beloved son. As she held him in a long-awaited embrace, with tears streaming down both their faces, the hundreds of prayers that had been uttered on his behalf over the years seemed to swirl around them.

When my friend shared this news with me and the other friends who had been praying, I experienced another gift of communal prayer. Not only does it allow us to share our burdens; it also gives us the chance to multiply our joy and our gratitude.

Our Father . . . thank you.

So whatever we find ourselves up against this week, may we embrace the model Jesus gave us in his prayer. In our moments of need, we can come before him as our Father. In moments of rejoicing, we can come before him as our Father.

We can come to him together, as brothers and sisters. For that is exactly what we are.

September 2, 2014

Announcing the Next Book Club

Thanks to everyone who participated in our discussion about The Invention of Wings, which we talked about here. Congratulations to Maggie, the winner of the free book giveaway!

Please join us for our next book club discussion on Glitter and Glue by Kelly Corrigan. Here’s the description of the book taken from Barnes and Noble

From the author of The Middle Place comes a new memoir that examines the bond—sometimes nourishing, sometimes exasperating, occasionally divine—between mothers and daughters.

When Kelly Corrigan was in high school, her mother neatly summarized the family dynamic as “Your father’s the glitter but I’m the glue.” This meant nothing to Kelly, who left childhood sure that her mom—with her inviolable commandments and proud stoicism—would be nothing more than background chatter for the rest of Kelly’s life, which she was carefully orienting toward adventure. After college, armed with a backpack, her personal mission statement, and a wad of traveler’s checks, she took off for Australia to see things and do things and Become Interesting.

But it didn’t turn out the way she pictured it. In a matter of months, her savings shot, she had a choice: get a job or go home. That’s how Kelly met John Tanner, a newly widowed father of two looking for a live-in nanny. They chatted for an hour, discussed timing and pay, and a week later, Kelly moved in. And there, in that house in a suburb north of Sydney, 10,000 miles from the house where she was raised, her mother’s voice was suddenly everywhere, nudging and advising, cautioning and directing, escorting her through a terrain as foreign as any she had ever trekked. Every day she spent with the Tanner kids was a day spent reconsidering her relationship with her mother, turning it over in her hands like a shell, straining to hear whatever messages might be trapped in its spiral.

This is a book about the difference between travel and life experience, stepping out and stepping up, fathers and mothers. But mostly it’s about who you admire and why, and how that changes over time.

We’ll be discussing this book at the end of October. Hope you will join us! (And remember—there will be a free book giveaway for one lucky winner!)

May 9, 2014

Whatever You Do, Don’t Cartwheel with Gum in Your Hair

When I was a kid, I didn’t so much walk down the hallway at home. Instead, I cartwheeled from one end to the other, or, if I was feeling fancy, I walked on my hands.

Mom was okay with this, under two conditions:

1) I had to look behind me before I launched into cartwheel mode. (Sorry for all the times I kicked you, Little Brother.)

2) I was not, under any circumstances, to tumble with gum in my mouth.

I cartwheeled to my heart’s content without incident for some time . . . until that fateful afternoon when I was six. I was chewing gum while turning cartwheels, and sure enough, the bright green wad fell out of my mouth and landed squarely in my bangs.

I raced to the bathroom, closing the door behind me so I could assess the damage. I tugged, I yanked, I wrestled, but to no avail. The gum would not budge.

I can’t let Mom find out! In a panic, I raced through my options until I finally hit on a stroke of genius.

Aha! I’ll cut the gum out with the nail clippers! Mom will never know.

It was a foolproof plan . . . until, that is, I opened the bathroom door. I’m sure you’ll be shocked to hear that Mom noticed immediately—whether because of the large notch of hair missing from my forehead or because of the guilt etched on my face, I’ll never know.

Mom and I had a heart-to-heart at that point about what I’d done and why the rules were there in the first place.

Then Mom gave me a hug, tussling my freshly hacked bangs. “Now what are we going to do about picture day tomorrow?”

It was only then that the magnitude of my transgression struck me. Between sobs, I managed to squeak out a dramatic pronouncement: “OH NO! I CANNOT go to school tomorrow!”

But as usual, Mom came to the rescue. Armed with authentic haircutting scissors, a curling iron, and some well-placed barrettes, she managed to make me look somewhat presentable for the school photo.

As I reflect on Mother’s Day, I’m reminded how much God’s love looks like mother-love. Like a mom, God knows precisely how we’re going to fail from the very start, despite his fair warnings. Then, after we come to him in repentance and he talks through the consequences with us, he holds us and comforts us—and even helps us fix the mess we’ve made.

And later, after our bangs have grown out and the school pictures come in, I have to believe he shares a gentle laugh with us too.

So happy Mother’s Day, Mom. Thanks for faithfully showing me what God’s love looks like.

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In honor of Mother’s Day, do you have a story to share about how your mom or another woman in your life has shown you God’s love?

If you comment below, you’ll be eligible to win a free copy of Lisa-Jo Baker’s new book, Surprised by Motherhood.

May 13, 2013

The Mother-Love of God

My friend Sarah had a baby shower not long ago, and I was asked to share something before gift-opening time. I found myself stymied at first, not knowing firsthand what it’s like to be a mom, but as I pondered more, I realized I do know what it’s like to have a mom. I’ve been given the incomparable gift of a mom whose unconditional love has pointed me to the love of God. So whether you are a mom or have had a mom, I’d like to share Sarah’s shower message with you.

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When we think about God, we usually picture him as a Father, and it’s true—he’s everything a good dad should be: loving, protective, strong, fair in his discipline. But who knew? The Bible also says that God is like a mother. Apparently there’s something about the love of a mom that shows us a side of God’s character nothing else can.

1. Like a mom, God loves his children before they’re even born.

Sarah, when you and John announced that you were expecting a baby, the room could barely contain your excitement. We could tell how overjoyed you were about this little person, even before you met her. Even when you were so sick you could barely get out of bed, you were already forming a special connection with her. The truth was obvious to the world: you loved your little girl.

God feels the same way about us, his children. He knew us even before we were born, just as he knows your baby girl even now, all four pounds of her. He knows every little detail about her—what color her eyes will be, if she’ll be musical or artistic or social, what will make her giggle, what will make her cry, what will make her heart pound with passion, what will make her heart break. And God loves her, even now.

You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body

and knit me together in my mother’s womb….

You saw me before I was born.

Every day of my life was recorded in your book.

Every moment was laid out

before a single day had passed.

How precious are your thoughts about me, O God.

They cannot be numbered!

—Psalm 139:13, 16-17

2. Like a mom, God loves his children when they’re completely dependent on him.

Sarah, when that baby is placed in your arms in the hospital, the love will be a little one-sided at first. She won’t be able to pay you for taking care of her, she won’t be able to do any chores around the house to earn her keep, she won’t even be able to say thank you. But you know what? You’ll love her anyway, even though she can’t reciprocate your love.

That unconditional mother-love is the kind of love God has for us. We don’t deserve it, we can’t earn it, and we’re totally dependent on him. Yet he showers his love on us anyway.

Can a mother forget her nursing child?

Can she feel no love for the child she has borne?

But even if that were possible,

I would not forget you!

—Isaiah 49:15

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3. Like a mom, God loves his children as they grow up.

Sarah, as your daughter grows up and starts to spread her wings, your love for her will only grow deeper. The way you show her love will look different—you won’t be changing her diaper or feeding her mashed peas anymore—but your love won’t change. You’ll always be her mom.

Psalm 131 talks about the beautiful bond that takes place between a mother and a child when the child chooses to be close—not because they need something, but just because they love their mom.

I have calmed and quieted myself,

like a weaned child who no longer cries for its mother’s milk.

Yes, like a weaned child is my soul within me.

—Psalm 131:2

Sarah, I see that in your relationship with your own mom. You talk with her, you laugh with her, you share things with her—not just when you need something, but because she’s your friend. The same is true in our relationship with God. He wants us to come to him with our needs, yes, but he also delights when we come to him simply because we want to be in his presence. Like a weaned child.

So, Sarah, as you enter motherhood and as your daughter goes through each stage, I pray that you will grow in your love for her. And along the way, I pray that God will give you new glimpses into his own love. His unconditional, extravagant, mother-like love.

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Postscript: Sarah and John’s baby girl, Hannah, entered the world two months ago. Happy first Mother’s Day, Sarah!

March 26, 2013

Women of Valor

I don’t know about you, but every time I read Proverbs 31, I feel tired. Maybe a little incredulous too (Seriously? This woman wakes up early, stays up late, weaves blankets, cooks, works outside the home, helps the needy, makes savvy business deals, wears a purple dress she made herself, and then probably posts it all on Pinterest? Who is this woman?).

Mostly, though, I just feel weary. And then I skip over to the next book in the Bible (Ecclesiastes) to remind myself that everything is meaningless anyway.

But I’m currently reading The Year of Biblical Womanhood by Rachel Held Evans, and she has given me a new perspective on the Proverbs 31 woman.

Apparently this chapter was written as an acrostic poem, intended as an ode to honor women, not a bunch of to-dos. In Jewish culture, this wasn’t a checklist for women to strive for; instead, men praised women with the phrase “Eshet Chayil” (“Woman of Valor”), taken from the first line of the poem.

In other words, this depiction isn’t intended to describe one woman, and it certainly isn’t meant to capture a single day of her life. Rather, it’s a shout-out to all women.

So today I want to take a moment to acknowledge all of you women of valor out there. I see you, and I honor you.

You give of yourself—your talents, your time, your tears—and usually do it without getting much thanks. Eshet Chayil!

You wipe bottoms and blow noses and get up in the middle of the night. Eshet Chayil!

You work inside your home and outside your home, in your career and in your kitchen and in your relationships, and my guess is that you’re tired. Eshet Chayil!

You are fierce in your love, zealous in your protection, tenacious in your prayers. Eshet Chayil!

You hug well, you comfort well, you bring life and goodness and joy. Eshet Chayil!

You don’t know it, but you shine. So here’s to you, you Woman of Valor! Eshet Chayil!

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P.S. A special Eshet Chayil to my mom, Cindy, who just celebrated her birthday. Mom, you showed me when to stand up for myself and when to stay on my knees. You showed me how to how to make homemade snickerdoodle cookies and when to rip open a box of Keeblers. You taught me that sometimes things have to get worse before they can get better. You showed me how to follow through, how to clean an oven, how to knit a family together, how to giggle on waterslides, and how to fall in love with God’s Word. No woman fulfills the entire Proverbs 31 picture, but I have to say that you come pretty close. Happy Birthday, Mom of Valor!

March 22, 2013

Friday Favorites

For grammar geeks…

I do love me some punctuation. Here are some new marks for those situations when a semicolon just isn’t enough: Obscure Punctuation Marks That Should Really Get More Play

For sports fans…

I’ve seen a lot of fine moments in basketball, but this is most heartwarming thing I’ve ever seen happen on the floor of a gymnasium: When Both Teams Win

For book lovers…

This memoir by Melanie Shankle will make you laugh and cry: Sparkly Green Earrings

For tired moms…

This is for all my friends who do heroic mom-things day after day: Burnout Is a Thing

For folk music/bluegrass fans…

I recently rediscovered this album, and I’ve been listening to the song “Still” on constant repeat: Marty Feldhake’s Fences and Fields

For anyone who loves someone with special needs: This article by Amy Julia Becker is a heartwarming reminder that all people are stamped with the image of God—a fitting way to acknowledge Down Syndrome Awareness Day: Missing Out on Beautiful

For anyone who is looking for a miracle…

This is a beautifully written story about how miracles tend to come in unexpected packages:

A Tuesday Kind of Miracle