On Raising Teenagers

I am raising a teenager. And she is my first child. God bless her. I am learning, in increasing increments along the way, that I do not have the answers. This is something I know in my mind. The reasonable part of me is not unclear about this. But somehow, even still, I tend to live as if I do.

I feel like if I can just figure out the perfect cocktail of good words, appropriate amounts of holding close and pulling back, the winsome blend of good humor and sage advice, that I can make it all turn out alright. But, I am not doing any of that with great skill. I have some good words, but they aren’t always great and they definitely aren’t always received as I hope they will be. I feel like I am always either holding too closely or not closely enough. The mother in me usually feels the “not enough” part more while the daughter in her probably always feels the “too close” part more. I think I’m pretty good on the humor part, but she definitely doesn’t think I’m as funny as she used to think. The advice…well, I KNOW I am right about the advice but I also know it sounds boring and irrelevant and churchy and old to her young ears.

Even with all of my good intentions, things don’t go as I would have hoped much of the time. Like 60% of the time, it turns out. Actually, that’s probably generous. And the thing is, even when it does, I don’t have this sense of calm and “all is well” that I hope for. It feels tenuous at best. Like it could all shatter at any moment. Tenuous is probably a good synonym for teenager.

In the midst of it all, here is the only thing that brings me peace. The nearness of Christ.

I know how simple that sounds and I also know that it is not at all easy. For me, it has meant learning to spend the time I have each day like a currency, instead of giving it away without thought. I am trying to be aware of how my thoughts can run away from me. I am committed to wrangling them back and talking to Jesus about them. I started trying to notice when I was feeling anxious and then praying the words, “Yahweh Shalom (God of Peace), your burden is light.” He gave me those words. He is so good at knowing exactly what I need. When I talk to him, I can let it go. Because in that moment it seems so ridiculous to hang onto it when he is right there offering to carry it for me. Sometimes, I can only seem to give it to him for a few minutes before I start to take it back again. So, I do it again. I feel like he gets it. And, when I imagine him in my head, he is always smiling, always ready to take it back. No shame, just grace.

Two things happen for me in those moments. First, I notice that he is right there. That he is present and with me always. Secondly, I realize that I need his presence more than I need him to fix whatever it is. It turns out that his presence in the midst of our suffering or anxiousness or sorrow is actually enough. I can endure as long as I have him. So, his nearness gives me peace.

As he brings me peace, I am more able give my daughter a purer version of the thing that comes more naturally for me in regards to her. Love. Gosh, I just love her so much. I found the picture above when I was in Texas visiting my parents and just stared at it. My face says everything. There was deep contentment in just being her mom. I finally had the thing I had wanted and hoped and prayed for, for so long. I still feel like that. I look at her sometimes and think, “What in the world? How can my heart be filled with so much love?” When I have peace, I can love her in wise ways that don’t require anything of her, a kind of love she seems to welcome more than the grasping kind that desperately wants her to just be safe and good.

I’m told that this phase of parenting is going to last for a while, and probably get a little worse before it gets better. So, I guess I’ll get a lot of practice on how to un-clench and be freed up to love. I’m down for that. It seems as though the Holy Spirit’s work in my life is always pushing me toward more freedom. It is always clearing out more junk to make space for more of Him. He brings conviction so I can be free from sin. Rest so I can be free from trying to earn my worthiness. Contentment and joy so I can be free to enjoy Him and the life he’s given me. Security so I can be free to love. I want that kind of freedom that makes space for more.

At the end of the day, I am like Paul or Apollos in my children’s life. I plant the seed, or I water it. But it is God who makes it grow. I can’t make anything grow. Believe me, I’ve tried. That’s best left up to him, the Master Gardener. My prayer reminds me of this.

Yahweh Shalom, your burden is light. You are doing all the heavy lifting here. Clear out more of my junk so that there is more space to be filled with your living water. Lord, make me a spring of living water, spilling over into the soil of my children’s hearts.

The Hum of Hope

It’s usually about this time during the season of Lent, that I start to give out. Twenty to thirty days of waiting seems to be about what my heart can hold. As I walk through the story of Jesus’ death, the accounts of his unfathomable love pushed right up against the very worst of our humanity…betrayal, abandonment, malice, unbelievable violence…my heart aches for the hope of the resurrection to burst forth. I want to shut my eyes for the last ten days. I can’t bear another day stuck in the place between the brutality of Jesus’ death and the miracle of his living again. And so sometimes, I distance myself. It becomes harder to sit with him in the morning and read the words in my Lenten devotional. I find myself putting it off and then reading through a few days all at once, quickly and without much thought, whispering a quick, “Thank you, Jesus” and moving on about my day.

My experience is that living in hope is real work. It takes real energy to live in that place between what is and what will be. It turns out the apostle Paul agreed with me. Or rather, that I agree with him. Romans 5:3-4 says, “^…but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; ⁴ perseverance, character; and character, hope.”  All of that work to produce hope, which isn’t even the thing we are hoping for, but just the hope itself. As if hope in and of itself is the prize. Is it?

In the grand scheme of eternity, because we live in the space between the resurrected Jesus and his coming again, hope is offered as a place for us to reside for the foreseeable future. But there are also a hundred little ways (that don’t feel so little) where I get to practice this as well. And living in hope for each of those things is also generally preceded by suffering and perseverance and developed character.

Maybe we hope for a loved one, who is sick, to be healed. We suffer with them and question God about why. We persevere in believing that He is good and near to the brokenhearted and learn to suffer with a more eternal perspective. Our character is shaped more and more by his nearness and by our learning dependence on him. We learn to hope that his goodness and his promises will be the final word in this battle.

Or maybe we hope for a child to love Jesus fully and look to him for life in spite of what the world is telling them. We suffer through the harsh words and the broken relationship. We persevere in our pleading prayers and our giving them over to the Lord again and again. Our character is shaped more and more as we let go of our own agendas, as he convicts us of our own sin the midst of our desires for our children. We learn to hope in the good news that he is in control and he loves them even more than us.

There are countless other ways that we get to practice this throughout our lives. None of it is easy and none of it is a straight line to hope as I’ve described above. We are too human for that. It takes a willingness to do battle against the lies of Satan, and a willingness to study and know the character of God. It also probably takes vulnerability with people who tell you the truth, and a willingness to grasp at that truth. In other words, it takes work. The hum of hope which marks our lives on this earth takes real effort to maintain. Because of this, I sometimes take the easier route. Fear. And anxiety. And hopelessness. Ironically, those things that seem to make life so hard are so instantly and easily at my fingertips whenever I lose perspective. They are ruthless, spinning my mind in all kinds of different directions which always end up placing me firmly at the center of my own universe. I start to problem solve, or angle for control, or else numb it all by shutting myself off from everything and descending into the dark. At the time, any of these seem easier than the work of hope.

But here is the thing about hope: As much work as it is to maintain, it isn’t illusive. Not in the least. Our Heavenly Father is too good to play hide and seek with us in regards to his goodness. At any and every moment, hope is a guitar string ready to be plucked, ready to start the low hum again in our lives. We look up and out, acknowledge our suffering to God. We weep and wail and ask him why. We persevere in our belief in his character, shaping our own in the process. And there it is. Hope returns. And, as Paul concludes in verse 5 of Romans 5, “hope does not disappoint, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us."

I think Paul believed that, short of heaven, hope itself is the prize. Hope is our placeholder, the gift before the ultimate gift. Hope is the refrain of the Holy Spirit in every situation. It is the whisper of God in our hearts. “This is not all there is. He is coming back. Look up from this world and remember who He is. He has conquered all of this and will set it all right.”

This is the reality I want to know deeply. So, during the remaining days of Lent, I will open my eyes to the death of my dear Jesus. I will live the details of those hours as much as I can because I want to practice hope. I want to see and feel the bleakness of a Savior dying and dead and buried, so that I can experience the joy of his rising again. If I practice hope during these days of Lent, I might just learn how to live it in my every day life. As I learn to live it in the everyday things, I will know it deeply in the grand scheme of things as I await his glorious return. That is a hope, I’m told, which will not disappoint.

I’m counting on it.

The Beauty of Desire

“What do you want me to do for you?”

This is the question Jesus asked Bartimaeus when that blind man approached him on the road. What a puzzling question. It seems obvious to us. Obviously, he wants to see. And, in fact, this is what he says. But, Jesus asked the question anyway. Was it because he really didn’t know what Bartimaeus would ask for? Obviously not. Instead, maybe he just wanted Bartimaeus to be intentional about what he was asking. Maybe he wanted him to be aware of his desire.

I don’t tend to pay attention to my desires as much as I should. If I did, I would know more what it is I am longing for in relationships with others, in my relationship with God, in my own inner being. I would also be more able to weigh out the desires that are born out of sin and desires placed in my heart by God. I could learn to confess and repent and depend on Christ to transform me. I could sit with unmet desires and ask God to remind me that he is enough for me. I could recount all the ways that Christ has given me the desires of my heart over the years.

Instead, I tend to ignore them. To not think too deeply about them. Somehow, I have learned over the years that desire leads to bad feelings. That word, desire, even seems a little dark to me. A little sinister. After all, what if I discover my desires are sinful and then I feel guilty and judged. What if I discover I have desires that will continue to go unmet, and it doesn’t seem like Jesus will be enough for me. Those are thoughts I don’t want to engage with, things I don’t want to feel. It’s easier to see desires in a general way instead of in a specific way. I desire a closer relationship with Jesus, to spend more quality time in relationships with those I love, to be at rest more. If I start to get too specific about those things, then I might be confronted with those bad feelings that I don’t really want to feel.

But here Jesus is, with blind Bartimaeus, asking him to be very specific about what it is he wants. Asking him to be aware of his very specific desire and then to ask for it. And I can’t help but wonder…is that what he is asking me as well?

It’s riskier to tell him that I want to be more aware of His presence throughout the day, to be more tied to him in a way that is unmistakable. It’s definitely riskier to say that I want to be pursued more in my relationships and to be more intimate with my close circle of friends. It’s riskier to say that I want to feel more at peace and more at rest. Because what if none of that happens. Then what? What do I do with the bad feelings that come then?

I guess then I get to come to him with the bad feelings and answer the question as he asks again, “What do you want me to do for you?” I get to walk with him in the midst of feeling bad and learn that he is enough.

Or….or maybe he fulfills those desires. Maybe he gives me all that I want. Or teaches me how to want what is better and then gives me that.

Either way, if I am willing to be aware of my desire, willing to risk asking for the very specific desires I have, I think I end up like Bartimaeus.

No longer blind.

Able to see more clearly.

Dear Young (er) Mamas,

Dear Young (er) Mamas,

I turned 40 last year, and my kids are all in school now, so I guess it's officially time for me to stop calling myself a young mother. There is a whole new crop of you all out there now. You have young children and your days are filled with diapers and snack time and toys all over the floor and rigorous bedtime routines that MUST be followed!  I remember it well. Good times.  Exhausting in a lot of ways, there's no denying that! But lots of sweetness, too. These are the days when you are a constant presence in your child's life. You do, pretty much, everything for them. But here's what I want to share with you about having older kids so that maybe, just maybe, you will remember a little of it when your child is older and it will be a source of freedom for you.

You can't be a constant presence in your child's life anymore. You can't be everywhere all the time and really, it is okay.

See, I think as our children get older, we have this skyrocketing sense of mother's guilt. That's what I call it. And it's kind of gotten out of control.  Maybe it's because as our children naturally make the transition from baby to toddler to school age and so on, we don't always naturally make that transition with them. And so, in our brains, we still feel that need to do everything and to be constantly present.

And maybe also, it is Pinterest. Because Pinterest can drive anyone crazy with all it's perfection and precious ideas. (By the way Pinterest, feel free to hold my recipes for me in a neat and orderly fashion, but can you stop suggesting what pins I might like? Because frankly, you are often way off base. I don't care one bit about how to lose my stubborn belly fat. One more belly fat crack like that and we are likely to break up for good.)

The truth is, we moms are pretty good at the guilt thing all on our own, but it certainly doesn't help that those sweet cherubs of ours somehow know that we feel this way and they are surprisingly deft at using it to their advantage. "You aren't coming to my (unimportant) basketball scrimmage an hour away from town???" they say with those sad eyes. "You aren't going to pay $75 for the whole family to attend the high school's Dinner and Jazz concert where we middle-schoolers are not the main event but sort of more like an opening number or two?" with shoulders slumped. (Well played, band boosters. You play on our mother's guilt like an expert instrumentalist and make thousands for your cause doing it.) Well, no sweet, precious child, I am not. I will, instead, be happy to buy groceries for the entire week with that money, and also, I will listen to you practice those songs every day at home. I will also be thrilled to come to the (FREE) concert that you will give at the end of the year, in which the same songs will be played...and probably with much more skill since you will have a lot more practice under your belt. I am not a sucker.

Don't get me wrong, I love watching my kids do what they love. It's thrilling in a way that only a parent could understand. And I want to be there as much as I can. But, I also know that my kids are moving towards a life outside of mine, and, the truth is, I am also moving towards a life outside of theirs. Ouch. It hurts even writing that. But that doesn't make it less true. We are both learning to get along without the other.  And that is good and right and necessary. After all, those kids will be adults someday and we will need to know how to do life apart from one another. Actually, maybe that's why we mothers hold on so hard sometimes. Maybe that's why we try to be everywhere, all the time. Maybe we can sense it slipping away and we are trying to soak up every moment.

But here's the reality, young moms: we can't. You and I both know that we would never just blow off an event that's important to our kids. We love them too much. But there are just legitimate reasons why we sometimes can't be at all the things. And, instead of owning that mother's guilt as if we deserve it, how about teaching our young ones how another person can't meet all of their needs? Even their mom. How about teaching them that they can be disappointed that someone can't be present while also knowing that it isn't because that person doesn't care for them? How about teaching them that there won't always be someone cheering and clapping just for them in life, but it's still important to do what you love? How about teaching them that even when mom or dad aren't right there, we are still their biggest fans? Those are important lessons. They don't negate our need to be a consistent presence in our children's lives, but they do mean we can trust they won't be scarred for life if we can't make it to the (fake) track meet where our own team is the only one participating.

So, start early, young moms. When you need a night out with your girlfriends, or your husband, go. Leave those kids with a sitter. Hug and kiss them on your way out the door and say, "Bless Mama as she leaves." Teach them to say, "Have fun, mommy." And then, leave the guilt on the doorstep. There are plenty of ways we will fail our children, young moms. But, teaching them to get along without you for a few hours is not one of them.

Bless you, Mama.

Denial

Then Jesus told his disciples, "If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross  and  follow me." Matthew 16:24

I nod my head because I believe that is true. I can say, "amen" in gentle agreement because I have preached this and sometimes lived it and know it is a truth that is ultimately good, though not easy. This is the Gospel. This hard thing is a grace in our lives because it insists that we give up those lies about what satisfies and, instead, follow the only One that truly does.  Out of love, Jesus asks us to deny ourselves in order to follow him, because ourselves want things that we don't need and things that hold nothing for us except fleeting pleasure and empty promises. Nothing that lasts.  They are things that I use to replace God with something far less than who he is and what he offers. And sometimes, as a follower of Jesus for many years,  I forget that this is an ongoing battle. I forget that it is a continuous bending low to pick up a cross my flesh doesn't want, a retrieving of that cross that I laid down so that I could have something else that was easier for a while.

How long has it been, I asked myself recently, since I was truly convicted by my sin nature? Oh, not a specific infraction, not a fleeting "oh...I need to do that differently next time. Rely on God more. Use kinder words.  Think more holy thoughts, etc." kind of conviction. But, how long since I have been truly convicted by a truth I live that is contrary to the Gospel, by a lifestyle choice that doesn't match with the "amen" I utter when I hear sermons on denying myself? Truths like: "I need this stuff more than I need God, delicious food is better than Christ, my feelings are truer than scripture."  It's not that I would ever say any of these out loud with any passion or certainty, but my thoughts or my actions seem to confirm their reality. Do I desire something more than Him. Do I find greater pleasure in the created things more than in the Creator? Do I know the truth but just find it irrelevant or too hard in my situation?

This morning, as I read in my Lent devotional about the mobs shouting, "Crucify Him," I realized that the crowds calling for Jesus' death were saying out loud the truth that I sometimes live. Crucify him. He asks too much of me and I don't want to deal with it. Get rid of him. Holy Spirit, go away. I don't want to hear what you have to say this time.  And I can see that there are ways in which I am no different than the screaming mob. I think when I am unable to understand the violent crowds calling for Jesus' death, I am in danger of forgetting my own flesh;  in danger of forgetting that I, too, deny Him, instead of myself.   Maybe I'd rather think of myself more like one of his disciples in the story. Oh...well...I guess that works, too. After all,  it wasn't just the mobs denying him, being swept up in a bigger plan. His disciples deserted him, too. Fled for their lives. Most notably, Peter, who literally ran to save his own flesh.

Following Jesus doesn't mean that we will never do it again...that we will never struggle against our flesh and find ourselves losing the battle. But choosing Jesus means that our experience gets to be like Peter's. That the merciful rooster crows, that conviction that is both painful and good,  and we are reminded of Jesus' words about our weakness.  That we see our flesh for what it is and weep bitterly. In those moments, we are reminded that, to follow him, we have to stoop down and pick up our cross again.  And like Peter as he ran to the tomb on resurrection day, we are surer than ever that denying ourselves holds far more hope and joy than we could imagine. And sure that Jesus is what we need. That He is ALL we need.

This truth settles in around me and it feels good, but it feels hard, also. Jesus knows. He bent down low and picked up the cross first. And He's right there with me, shouldering most of the weight of it, anyway. So I journal and pray and then whisper, "amen,"  and I know I will need to remember it all again soon. Probably even again today.