Tuesday, September 24, 2019

Mom and Dad, Cut Yourself a Break

I saw a quote the other day:
"Your children are the greatest gift God will give to you, and their souls the heaviest responsibility He will place in your hands. Take time with them, teach them to have faith in God. Be a person in whom they can have faith. When you are old, nothing else you've done will have mattered as much." 
What do you think when you read those words? If your children are grown, perhaps you are basking in the light of a job well done; perhaps you are tallying all your mistakes and regrets. If you have children at home, you might be compiling a list of things to change about the way you parent right now; perhaps your heart ponders the sentiment, swelling with love for the souls in your care. Wherever you are in your parenting (or nannying, or grandparenting, or mentoring) role, perspective is so important.

Who better to learn from than Mary, the mother of Jesus? What an amazing woman of faith! What an icon of spirituality! What a flawed and immature human being. We first meet Mary, a young woman -- some say as young as thirteen -- living a quiet life, engaged to a man most believe to be considerably older. Suddenly, an angel appears; she responds with unimaginable affirmation, speaks ten of the most beautiful verses recorded in Scripture, and months later, she delivers the Savior of the world! Talk about your meteoric rise from anonymity! And pressure? Who can imagine what she felt, trying to keep the Messiah safe from colds and broken teeth. Had she taught Him enough about stranger danger? Was He getting enough protein in His diet?

Perspective. It seemed to be God's plan for Jesus to be raised by average, imperfect people who didn't always get it right -- as children of God or as parents -- in a typical home with a roof that may have leaked on occasion.

Twelve years after Jesus' birth, the family had taken the annual trip to Jerusalem for Passover (Luke 2:40-52). As they were traveling home, Joseph and Mary discovered Jesus was not in the caravan. They returned to the city, and found Him three days later, in the synagogue. Upon finding Him, Mary scolded, "Why did You do this to us?!" But, this twelve-year old boy with an interest in His Father's business had done nothing to them. He had not spitefully or maliciously strayed from them. None of this was about her! And neither is/ was the care of our own children. When we have the right perspective -- that we are serving God, raising souls He has placed in our care, privileged to watch as God works in their lives -- it becomes abundantly clear it is not about us.

Years later, a wedding in Cana (John 2:1-11). The wine had run out. For whatever reason, Mary had taken it upon herself to make it her problem. And, by extension, Jesus' problem. How often do we as parents take on more responsibility than we should, filling our calendars with ways to serve at church or on the PTO, and our children get caught up in the crossfire? They need help with a week old assignment due tomorrow, and we snap. A teachable moment, and we lose our cool -- not because it warrants that sort of response, but because we've strayed from our lane, bearing burdens that were never ours to bear, and our children have come to us with theirs. We've lost our perspective. Our responsibility to them has taken a back seat to our desire to "get involved" (with things we, maybe, were never led to be involved with in the first place).

The three-year long ministry of Jesus didn't stop Mary's involvement in her son's life. In Mark 3, we read that Jesus was having some trouble with, not only the religious factions of His day, but His own kinsmen. They thought He was nuts! Mary and Jesus' brothers are included in the scene a few verses later. Did she, too, think He was crazy? Was she present to take Him away to roam the cemeteries like the rest of the possessed or mentally ill? Or was she there to see no harm would come to Him, to whisk Him away to a place safe from negative public opinion or the consequences of being some sort of heretic? As parents we want our children to live in a spotless environment, go to the best schools, meet the right person, choose the best careers. As parents we see the perils of this world lying in wait to derail our children from the plans we have for them. But are they God's plans? Looking back on my own youth, I see just how messed up my childhood was. My parents failed -- they were supposed to; they are human. But God integrates every single foible, every hiccup into His plan, makes it a part of who we are and how our story brings Him glory -- no matter what we perceive as right, or just, or appropriate.

Read the words above again, this time with perspective. We bear a heavy responsibility as parents. But that responsibility was a part of God's plan for a very long time; He is not ignorant of its dynamics. And it comes with grace -- His grace. And lots and lots of it!

Sunday, September 22, 2019

A Modern Day Parable

Parables. Jesus used them to teach during His ministry on earth. We find many of them recorded in Scripture. And, I believe, we can find them in the world around us today.

For instance, I arose this morning, ready to celebrate the Lord with my church family. I'd gotten to bed nice and early; woke up with little to no pain. It was gonna be a great day. Until I heard it. Someone had thrown up in the wee hours of the morning. I rushed to the room, cleaned up the offender, and hauled the sheets to the basement. "I'll wash them when we get back from church," I thought. The dog barked; she wanted out. Multiple pairs of feet followed me back up the steps. My entourage -- always close, always looking for food, or entertainment, or instruction. As I was closing the door to the backyard, I heard Mom. She was standing in the hall, hair a mess, comb in hand, and every light still burning in her room. I looked past her to the mermaid blanket on the living room floor. The dog barked; she wanted in. Time to get breakfast on the table. I tripped over one, bumped into another. "Please, everyone, go sit in your spots." Graham crackers with peanut butter, bananas, and string cheese. Not exactly a cover shot for Bon Apetit, but nutritionally sound, all things considered. The dog barked; she wanted out. Mom was especially agitated today, like a drunk girl from Delco. She sat there in mismatched pajamas and the cheap "SEXY" necklace one of the children had picked up from a doctor's office treasure box. She didn't like the coffee, didn't like the oatmeal, pleaded to run the vacuum, and was mystified by the embellishment on the cover of my devotional. The melodies of Crowder, Lauren Daigle, and Zach Williams drifted through the kitchen, adding to the chaos or bringing a calming presence, I wasn't sure which. The dog barked; she wanted in.

Once upon a time, however, things were very different. I'd wake up on a Sunday morning, not at all eager to sit in any pew. Chances are, I'd caught a buzz the night before and the greatest pain I felt lay deep within my soul. Another day, another failed attempt to make everything look flawless and effortless. I'd grind some beans and brew myself the perfect cup of coffee, look around at my immaculate living room and impeccably positioned blinds. No toys lying about; they were all stowed safely, for the most part, within the boxes in which they'd come. Not one block had been lost, not one broken wheel survived the trip back into its proper place. "Nothing lost. Nothing broken," I thought. I'd pat myself on the back for the fine job I was doing as a wife and mother; but inside I felt like such a failure. The house would remain still until the children would rise, bickering and sniping at one another. I'd snap, refusing to spend another minute listening to their animosity; but I did nothing to change it, and it never changed. Breakfast was homemade waffles and jam, bacon, fruit compote, and milk. Just like all good mothers made their perfect little families. The kids would slather greasy butter over it all, pouring syrup and sticking jam everywhere. "Can't you all just act right?!" I'd sit there in my silky robe wondering when I would just get it right. "Nothing lost. Nothing broken," I'd wish. The pain deep within would throb, and the bickering and sniping would start once again.

Two very different times in my life, but in them I see a parable. A parable of life receiving and showing grace, versus a life of trying to get it all right in my own strength. A life in which my focus remains on a God who, everyday, is bringing us through the valleys, over the mountaintops, and through the valleys as they appear again on the landscape of our life. No longer the life in which I focused solely on my wanderings in the flat, dry desert of a self-centered soul. The life I lived many years ago was a life of emptiness, unforgiveness, legalism, fear, and foolishness. I was kidding myself to think I could even know how it should look, much less have the ability to make it look that way. But the life I have been given, the life in which I am surrounded by people at all different stages of their destinies -- some walking out their steps as God has ordered them, or just discovering what God has purposed for them, or even rejecting what He has said -- this is a full life. And this life is not a life in which I see myself as the principle player. Others are surrounded as well by me and thousands of  "mes" all in different stages of our destinies. The parable of a house built on sand, and a house built on a rock -- The Rock. Perhaps it's not such a modern day parable after all.