when your children want to fight - ding ding ding - send them to their corners

Summer's halfway through. June with it's temperatures slowly rising and July with her fireworks, bare feet and drippy Popsicles.  Your boy has sweat beads forming on his upper lip, resting there all masculine on peach fuzz.  The bottoms of his feet are black from the pavement, and you holler, "wash those feet off before you get on the couch." It's all been good so far this summer, except for when it hasn't been good. Because sometimes boys get themselves all bound up into a negative place where only punches and complaints can make sense of it. Except it never does. Arguing, competing, fighting for the biggest piece of cherry pie never settles anything except for a mother's resolve to keep training those strong-willed boys.  

Before I wake up I often hear words coming from their room, biting and unkind. I hear them jesting and jostling over the plastic tingling sound of a pile full of lego. What happened to their cheerful hearts and pleasant play? They're all flexing muscles now to the point of feelings torn and bruised. It's a competition - who can be the loudest or the rudest or say the meanest thing. Three brothers close in age, I get how it can happen in the sweetest families.  But what to do when they raise your roof? When their hollers make us want to holler back?

I have a choice to make. Either jump into the ring and start swinging and yelling and fighting with the whole lot of them? "You be quiet! Enough! I'm not going to take that kind of attitude, young man! You want to fight? All right, I can fight. And you can bet I'm going to win this one too, because I'm the mom!" Or I can call each boy to his own corner (ding ding ding) and slowly walk around the outside of the ring.

Gently, with tender tones, I lean over the ropes, whisper into velvet soft ears, and remind them (yet again) how it is we love one another in our house.

How will you choose to communicate and lead your children? By joining the fight or encouraging those little fighters to drop their mitts?

Do not be overcome by evil but overcome evil with good.

(Romans 12:21)

Don't join the fight, moms, don't join the fight. Drop the rope if you're already engaged, then move up close and tell them, "Nope, I don't want to fight with you. I'm here to love you and teach you, I'm not here to fight you." Drop the rope, drop the towel down on the mat between your children, call the match off.

ding - ding - ding

Everyone to your corners.

Let your good and gentle words,

your good and gentle tones,

your goodness and gentleness

so shine before your children,

that they will see and hear your love

and glorify your father in heaven.

Refuse to join the tussle.

God made boys strong!  Some of them uncomfortably so... Let us teach them gentleness with our gentleness, rather than trying to teach them gentleness by completing strength to strength. But if all this seems a bit too impossible, as you might be a strong-willed fighter too, then send yourself to your own corner... and let the Holy Spirit lean in calm and close and speak transforming truth clear and kind to your own burning up heart.

ding-ding-ding

Everyone to their corners!

Sometimes that means you, Mom, too.

Fasting Dr. Pepper for the sake of motherhood - a guest post

Today's guest is so much fun... You're just going to love her!  She's a stay-at-home mom who tells it like it is, daring to take the formality out of this Christian life while still managing to get deep-down to the bottom of what it's all about... Jesus doing a total redemptive miracle each emptied out, palms up, I-need-Jesus day. Laura Mitchell inspires me with her youthful exuberance, even though she confesses to being weary and worn by motherhood most days. Today I've invited Laura to sit with me on my orange couch - which she has promised to visit IRL (in real life) one day soon!  I told you she's fun!

---

“Mom, why are you so mad?”

“I’m just tired.” I replied.

TIRED. More than tired. I was frustrated. I had not lived up to my idea of a “GOOD” mom; my child had not lived up to my idea of a “GOOD” child. The events of the day, while a blur now, unraveled like a seam on an over worn shirt. I’m sure I probably lost it over some kind of accident, spilled milk, or my unrealistic expectation about how nap-time would go.

And then The Lord, in all of His goodness, shined His light on my life that dark night. And I saw things clearly.  Friend, let me pause here and let you glimpse into the illuminated depths of my heart.  It's not pretty, you'll see, and for a while I was ashamed of what I saw. But GRACE, He spoke with such grace as He brought correction to my heart.

Here is what He spoke:

“Yes, you are tired, but I am tired as well. Tired of you fixing your eyes on the things of this world. Tripping over the small things in life. Exploding on the gifts I have given you. I have given you the desires of your heart and you are flailing around spewing unkind words, frustrated. You are acting no different than they are. Like a child. Today I am more concerned with how you are growing up than how they are growing up. You storm, you fuss, you fight, you are not gracious, and I am tired. Tired of watching you fixate on the outward problems instead of fixing your gaze on me. I want you to look me in the eyes, to fix your eyes on me. I am the author and finisher of your faith."

My heart was soft as I heard from the Lord about my mothering.  Fixate, Fixing, fix, fix fix... the words echoed in my heart, and then He gently went on:

You say things like, ‘I NEED Dr. Pepper.’ You don’t need a quick fix. You NEED to fix your eyes on me and let me fix the rest. Fix you, fix your children, fix this whole sin-entagled predicament you're in. How about you quit trying to fix your children and let me fix them. I can’t fix them, when you're spiraling out of control, running to temporary things to cover up your shortcomings. When you run to this world to fix your problems, what does this inadvertently teach your children? Come to me, let me fix you, and you'll be leading by example. Breathe deep, call on my name, and ask me to give you grace, strength and wisdom. I am the Great Physician not Dr. Pepper. Dr. Pepper cannot stabilize your emotions, and bring health to your bones. But Jehovah Rapha can - I can and I will. My word is health to your bones, it quickens your mortal body, gives you strength to endure. Dr. Pepper cannot fix your spirit. Your spirit is what needs fixing. You are broken, and that is a good thing, remember a broken spirit and a contrite heart I have yet to deny. Come to me, weary, heavy laden with burdens and I will give you rest. You will lead your children to me when you come to me, crawling, crying, running, singing, dancing in my presence. Your actions reflect me. My character is marred every time you choose to walk by the frustrations of the flesh, rather than walking by the fruit of the spirit. Your children need to see a living example of my goodness and love. I can and will use you to walk this out. I want to use you to display my glory so they can come to know me at an early age. I want to use you to show them how to run to me when they need help and not temporary fixes of this world.

“When I said, “My foot is slipping,” your unfailing love, Lord, supported me. When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought me joy.” (Psalm 94:18)

I called for help during this 40 day fast, and God told me straight up what He wanted me to fast. It wasn't what I had planned to give up, but He spoke it clearly.  Fix your eyes on me. So I gave up Dr. Pepper. And I changed my daily routine, all the ways I turned to the world to fix my stress and disappointments. I fasted from facebook for chunks of time each day, that I might fix my eyes on His face.  And I made time to call on His Name throughout the day, not just at night as I repented for the times I had failed.  I fasted from the quick fix and refused to get swept up in the tumultuous sea of condemnation and guilt. I fasted from the quick fix, and fixed my eyes on Him.

I fix my eyes on Him. (Hebrews 12:1-3)

Over and over again I am practicing this fixing my eyes - and He is faithfully fixing me as I do.

Pausing at lunch, at nap-time, and in the evening, allowing Him to refuel me. Those are the times I used to run to "the Dr.", but now I run to The Great Physician Himself. And we take praise breaks, the kids and I do, to give thanks throughout the day when we are all fussing and frustrated. Fixing our eyes on Him rather than watching Mama run for a fix. Together, we are actively pursuing lifestyles that honor Him and cling to His ways. We are choosing to trust in the Lord with all of our hearts, and remain confident that He will finish and perfect,  the work he started. We are finding ways to refocus, change our perspective, and fix our eyes on Him.

Tell me: What are some of the ways you have found during this fast to help you fix your eyes on Jesus? Did you realize there was a deeper work that needed to happen in your heart than just changing your diet? How has becoming more focused on Jesus changed the way you parent?

---

Laura Mitchell is a wife, mom of two boys, writer, and inspirational speaker.  She's a lover of sunsets and coffee, laughing and Jesus.  Visit her at her website, Hope Anchors, where she shares about finding hope for every need in her life in Christ alone.

Follow along with her on facebook, pinterest or twitter

When God takes a straight blade straight to a woman's heart - restoration

My skin hurts today.  Aching from without to within, like a steel toothed brush has been working at the rust spots in my life.  Working in small, calculated circles on the chrome, with the kind intention of cleaning me up to make me a beautiful display of splendor.   But it hurts.  And He's working down-deep too, down under the hood and into the achey guts of my engine, that I might run this race to the end.

El Roi, the God who sees, sees every bit of iron oxide clinging to my chassis, and loves me too much to leave it there, so He's using this forty day fast to take His straight-blade straight to my heart.

For the word of God is living and active and sharper than any two-edged sword, and piercing as far as the division of soul and spirit, of both joints and marrow, and able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart. And there is no creature hidden from His sight, but all things are open and laid bare to the eyes of Him with whom we have to do. (Hebrews 4:12-13)

I've seen my husband work those oxidized reddish-yellow spots from each classic car he's carefully restored, and there's always a razor-blade in his skillful hand.  I call him in for lunch, but he's bent over like a craftsman, focused, tenderly involved in the beautification process.  Nothing else matters in that moment, or the next or the next. He doesn't hear the dinner bell either, or little boy voices calling daddy to the table.  He's focused in and won't stop till that chrome shines right and bright. Late into the night, long after he turns the floodlights on, he's still cutting, scrapping it away, sanding it down into particles.  Finally, at long last, he leans in and blows upon the dust, until nothing ugly remains. There is only the shine of chrome, restored.

God's that way with me right now, wrapping His fingers around the blade and carefully cutting away, scrubbing away, sanding away what's fixed itself unbecomingly upon me and within me. Then He blows, knowing I'm but dust, so that all that remains at the end of this restoration process is a holy thing.

This temple is a holy thing cased in flesh.

I was so naive when I suggested this 40 day sugar fast.  My intentions were good, no doubt, but I hadn't the foggiest idea what fasting was really all about. No, that's not true, I did have an idea, a wrong idea, an incorrect expectation of how this would play out.  I fully excepted a mountain top jig with my Savior, as I turned from the false gods who had taken up residency in my life. All the rust slowing my engine down spiritually would fall like shackles, then Jesus and I would dance upon them together. Sure there would be convictions, and those would be unpleasant for a time, make me cry, cause me to cling, but on the other side of repentance I would know Joy.

That was my expectation for the majority of this forty day fast... Joy.

But I'm still languishing in the valley, under the knife, with my close companions weeping and mourning, because God's not yet  finished with my restoration process.

Where'd I get this idea that being all emptied out would be fun? That humility and the cutting away reality of God's convicting Word would take place atop a mountain. And then today I remembered that time Jesus fasted for forty days - 33 days in and I'm just thinking to look there now.

Leafing through thin Bible pages I came to this heading:

Jesus is tested in the wilderness

Tested.  No, not, "Jesus fasts and prays in joyful celebration" or "The Son of God has a spiritual high when He goes forty days without eating," but "Jesus is tested in the wilderness."  Missing the fine print, that's one thing, but this bold text heralds how it's really going to go down... with testing... in the wilderness. I'd missed that, because I was expecting to dance my way through this spiritual journey, leading captives to freedom, and maybe lose a couple of pounds in the process.  And the sandpaper burns as I learn, it cuts away pride as I learn, it divides falsehood from truth as I learn...

Jesus is tested in the wilderness

Today the Lord has given me His understanding of fasting - This is a wilderness time, a lonely, dry and parched, hungry time, as the master craftsman wields His knife, separating joints from marrow, dealing with my thoughts and intentions, making me beautiful and able to run the race strong and to the end.

At the end of Jesus' fast in the wilderness, angels attended Him. Today I wondered and prayerfully asked if the same will be true for me, will angels come to my side and bind me up?  I think I hear His answer clear on this one: "No, it is my job to bind up the brokenhearted. No, my angels are not attending your side during this season of testing... I am.

I Am.

I am restoring your soul.

Just a Closer Walk with Thee

20 days ago I read this verse then prayed the most ridiculous prayer.  

Since I didn't actually know if I had strayed from the Lord, or if I even needed to return to Him... I simply asked Him to break my heart and cause me to weep and mourn if He wanted me to.

Stupid woman.

Stupid, stupid woman.

Today grief came upon me like a heavy cloak. I couldn't see it, but my body felt it something awful.  I ached from the peach fuzz softness of my skin to the calloused soles of my feel - then down deep into the sole of my soul. The basest lowliest places of myself - the bottom of every breath, every pore, every thought, all of it aching.

Miraculously I was all by myself at home for the day - so I grabbed my down comforter and gave in to the Great Comforter.  Praising Him for these unlikely hours, I opened wide my bedroom windows and crawled back under the covers.  When was the last time I'd spent a day heartsick under covers, hurting in those deep places? Before children - maybe before marriage altogether?  No, I can't recall... even in the midst of all the overwhelmed seasons of motherhood, I'd not known a day like this.  Slow and filled with ache.

"...fasting with weeping and with mourning."

Hour after hour, tears came then dried, again and again, always returning for another scathing journey down my cheeks, flushed.  By noon there was a thin white powder caked beneath my eyes.  Salt.  Dry salt.  I felt the granular texture of this salty faith-life between my fingers and thought of God's call that we are to live as salt in a flavorless faithless generation.  And then a knock at the window shifted my thoughts.

It was a butterfly fluttering her wings against the glass, darting off to the morning glory vine, then over to the milkweed just beyond, and back again for another gentle tap-tapping.  The scent of jasmine and orange blossoms wafted through opened windows and filled my room, and the melody of eucalyptus leaves rustled light and hopeful, which only made me cry again. Dear God, I wept big tired tears as I laid there like an invalid nursing a soul-sick heart.

Are you curious as to the particulars of my soul sickness?  Do you want to know what broke me to the quick today?  I'd tell you right now, I surely would, except there's really no story to tell.  It's just life; my own brand of challenges and you've got yours, but this was the day mine caught up to me. Overwhelmed from within and weighed heavy from without.  I'm guessing that's happened to you. Sometimes you get worn and weary from the journey, knees sore from praying, eyes strained from too little sleep, overwhelmed by the blessings that each carry challenges.  Yes, even the blessings carry their own trials. But you already know that, don't you? How even the most grateful heart can get worn out?

Again that monarch danced up close to the window, doing her most natural dance, erratic yet graceful, tempting me out of my cocoon. Suddenly I was hungry, craving a kiwi of all things, so I pulled the covers back and walked by the window where the butterfly remained. Touching the glass she brushed her wings against the outside pane and then fluttered off.

My hair fell unkept around my shoulder as I walked to the kitchen, grabbed some fruit then continued out into the promised sunshine of my garden.

There is no word to describe it, try as I may, the absolute peace that met me there. Sandals on, skirt getting a gentle snag as I passed by branches, weighed down heavy with blooms.

And I thought of my own life... weighed heavily down with good and glorious fruit. Marriage, children, this home, these flowers. Heavy laden.

Strolling up and down the rows I picked out the blossoms that would minister to me from vases. Garden sheers in my hand, my hand showing signs of sunspots already, and a basket at my feet. Clipping carefully the biggest, boldest blooms, I piled them high. Another tear spilled down because there were so many flowers. I could take as many as I desired and still the garden wouldn't lack. So many flowers. So much beauty. So much thanksgiving on a spring day mixed with sadness.

Carrying the basket from bush to bush I hummed, "Just a closer walk with thee, grant it Jesus, is my plea. Daily walking close to thee, let it be, Dear Lord, let it be." Humming turned to lyric as I came into the kitchen and began clipping and cleaning and arranging vase after vase.

I am weak, but Thou art strong; Jesus, keep me from all wrong; I’ll be satisfied as long As I walk, let me walk close to Thee.

In the quiet of my empty home I sang it loud and needy - as I decorated the inside of my home with the miracles God's done all around on the outside.

Isn't that the way it goes? Finding God at work all around us and choosing to glory in His goodness even when we are most sad? Though it's not always a magic wand and poof we are healed and happy.  Sometimes we are simply to walk with Him in the garden when we'd rather hide.

Working through my basket full of petals this afternoon, feeling the breeze minister through open windows, the leaves continued to fill my heart like a conversation. And so I responded, "Through this world of toil and snares, If I falter, Lord, who cares? Who with me my burden shares? None but Thee, dear Lord, none but Thee."

As His handiwork in nature decorates my home today - may the nearness of His Spirit decorate the hurting places in our lives. Yours and mine.

So often we stay tucked away inside our minds, our comfort zones and the literal protective girdle of our homes when we are hurting. However, closed up and detached when we are crying is dangerous! We need to eventually throw the comforter back to walk with The Comforter in the cool of the day, out into His garden, and praise Him there.

Just a closer walk with Thee, Grant it, Jesus, is my plea, Daily walking close to Thee, Let it be, dear Lord, let it be.

How do I ask my husband for help?

I could see her in my mind as I read her email:  

"I'm typing this with one hand and one thumb, wondering if you could help me - I'm struggling as a mom and wife. To give a little context... Right this minute I'm holding in my arms my sweet 16 month boy. He's my only child. This is not how I'd prefer to do his daily 2 hour nap time, but here I am. I'm kind of struggling with parenting. This 2 hour naptime is one of many reasons I find myself desperately craving a break. I don't have family that supports us as we fumble through parenthood. We feel rather alone. But what's become hardest for me right now is the inequality of free time (personal time, me time) that my husband and I each get. He is able to take off for a whole day to do things like bike ride thru the countryside or go on a day long relay run with friends and out for dinner. While all that I can get is an hour or two to go to the store alone or clean house because I'm so very behind on taking care of things. I feel like God would probably want me to just let this issue of inequality of free time go - aren't we called as mothers to sacrifice more than our husbands? He has a job he loves and coworkers he enjoys. I guess I don't see how he could have a greater need for more free time than I do. Can you help me? How do I ask my husband for help?

This woman could have been me six years ago - only my 16 month old baby had two preschool aged brothers running around in their Thomas the Train underwear, dripping popsicles on the carpet and leaving facets running in every bathroom in the house.  All the while I tried to get the baby back to sleep.

By the end of the day, with dinner finally on the stove, my husband walked in with a broad smile and a fresh haircut.  All three boys yelled "daddy," then ran to him with enthusiasm, but all I saw was the haircut. He'd said he would be home early that afternoon, but obviously early meant he now had the time to stop for a haircut.  I hadn't had a haircut in 16 months.  I was out of moisturizing cream.  I haven't been to the dentist in two years.  But he stopped for a haircut.

All the scripture I'd hidden in my heart came rising up and rang in my ears, "Greater love hath no (woman) than this, that (she) lay down their life for (her family.)" It was my own translation of God's Word, as I resolved to serve selflessly at home. So I smiled back at my guy, pulled my tangled hair back in a bun, and pushed my needs down further still.

Except eventually, without fail, I'd break down crying - and it would ultimately all bubble up and out with hot tears in just the wrong way, at just the wrong time.  And he'd feel attacked.

This was our cycle for many years.  He worked hard all day and tried his best to be present when he got home.  I worked hard at home, trying to not resent him for the casual way he still seemed to get all his needs met.  As I did dishes and bathed kids and folded laundry, he'd tell me about which friend he was able to meet up with for lunch that day, or I'd find a movie ticket in his pants pocket as I started the eleventh load of wash.

We didn't learn to communicate well in those early parenting years.  And it never felt like I could share my struggle with other women because their advice never settled right in my spirit.

"You need to tell him what you need!  You should have more help.  He needs to do this... You tell him that you want him to..."

So I retreated further into what I imagined Christian submission looked like, all the while pushing through resentment, muscling my way through bitterness, until the next time it all bubbled up and out again.

And then one Sunday, sitting on the patio at church while the children enjoyed a second hour of Sunday school, we decided to ditch our adult fellowship class and simply sit and talk.  And I mean, we really talked.  I wasn't crying and he didn't feel attacked.  Truth be told, it sort of felt like a miracle, even the memory makes me tear up.

That Sunday was the beginning of something extraordinary.  And every Sunday thereafter, for the next few months, we sat together on the patio hearing and healing.

Here are four practical things I learned as we sat together on the patio at church week after week:

1) GOD CARES ABOUT MY NEEDS - While God designed moms to sacrifice and "lay down their lives" for this intense season at home, He never intended for us to actually DIE!  He is absolutely enamoured with moms.  He loves us to the moon and back.  We are the apple of His eye.

We are as much His children as our children are His children, and His love for us has no end.  He came that we might have life, abundant and free.  But He knows full well that mothering is hard, and wants us to have His help in the weary years with our young.

He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young. (Isaiah 40:11)

There is nothing harsh nor demanding about God's love for mothers.  He wants to gently lead us through our days and our trials. Sitting on the porch, my guy with a coffee and me with a sweet cup of chamomile tea, I began to learn this.

2) BELIEVE THAT YOUR HUSBAND WANTS TO HELP YOU - Early on in our marriage we coined the phrase "EXPECT THE BEST." I'll be honest with you - we both forgot a time or two in the busy years with babies, but we've always come back to this basic creed. EXPECT THE BEST.

Can I tell you something about your husband and mine? They never set out to take advantage of us. Your man didn't marry you with this hidden agenda of using you like a maid and a cook, a wet-nurse and a sex-toy. He took those vows seriously, and he still does.  It's possible he simply doesn't know what to do right now.   But he wants to. You know he'd take a bullet for you right?  That's not elusive.  But you and your needs... somehow that can be.

His vow was to love and support you, cherish and hold you, in good times and bad, during those precious honeymoon years, and these pressing ones with little people waking us multiple times through the night for months on end. He's tired.  You're tired.  But commit to believing that he has good intentions where you and the kids are concerned - even if you can't see them today, believe they are there.

3) CREATE A WEEKLY SAFE ZONE - Finding a safe block of time each week to address your challenges can be life altering!  Knowing that I had that Sunday hour coming up gave me hope daily, because I knew that he would listen with ears purposed to hear my heart.  I didn't explode because "Sunday was coming." That gave me great comfort.

Now I know that many of you don't have the finances or family nearby to make a date night feasible, but figuring out some way to create this time together each week is crucial.  Maybe it's a Thursday night date night on the couch, or on the back porch under the stars. Something, anything, as long we it's safe and consistent time together.

4) ASK HIM FOR HELP - Sure, you knew this was coming, but there's a twist in my advice.  Don't outright tell him how you want him to help you (Unless he's the kind of man who asks you to tell him exactly what you need.) Instead, try to remember that at the core of most men is a heart that wants to rescue and serve.  Share with him what needs you have that are going unmet, then ask him to work with you to make a schedule that will allow you to get those core needs met. Engage him by asking for his opinion, not just his help. 

I said something in this price-range:

"Sweetheart, my only time alone these days is when I run to the grocery store, and I always feel anxious when I'm gone, like I need to hurry back and start making dinner.  I know that you don't want me to feel stressed, but I do.  I cold really use your help to come up with a consistent schedule that wouldn't just give me more time for errands, but would allow me to fit more of the things I need and enjoy (without baby) back into our lives again.  Work outs, friendship, my interests. I feel like I'm losing myself right now, and I need you to rescue me.  Would you help me?  

What do you say we look at your weekly calendar and figure out two times a week for me to get out to get things done.  And maybe one Saturday a month when I can go to the hair salon or shopping with friends or just take a walk on the beach or whatever.  Maybe I should choose a weekday every few months so I can get to the dentist and the doctor and that stuff.  Do you think I should hire a babysitter for those days since you have work?  What do you think?  Do you have any other ideas?

As the weeks go by, my guess is that your husband will see how basic yet crucial your needs really are - and as your joy begins to wax and your resentment begins to wane he will likely suggest more ways to communicate his love to you. "You know, we really do need to have some date nights that aren't at home.  Would you set up a babysitter so I can take you out."

It might not go as smoothly as I'm painting the picture here, but it's a start - a good, safe, healthy place to begin.  So take a deep breath and remember that you are loved by God, that He never intended you to actually lay down your life to the point of death during these mothering years. Remember also that you are loved by your husband too, and that communication is possible.  So find a safe time and place, ask him for his help, and expect the best.

With much love and respect for all you do,

Wendy