We head directly there. I’m on a mission. I breathe in the new titles, opening some to read first lines. Then, toddler child darts off. Knowing we could run into this, I went through the “library rules” several times before we entered. You know…no yelling and maintain a hushed “inside” voice, stay by me, don’t hit your sister…the basics. But the baby from The Incredibles (aka my youngest) decides now is the time to practice track races. I’m fuming. Heat travels to my ears. Calmly, I collect her. I hunch down so we are eye to eye. It takes a lot of self-control not to tell her that this is my place—my dreamy land of peace.

Instead I tell her that she’s in big time trouble when we get home.

It’s times like this that having the commandments on my forehead might be nice. Honor your father and your mother. Would a flashing red sign on my shirt work?

We are struggling in the listening department at our house right now.

“These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home (and at the library*) and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates.” Deuteronomy 6:6-9

It is my prayer that I teach my children the commandments with a loving patience and a rich grace. I also pray I can go back to the library or a book store soon—alone.

“I hope I give this to you.”

I laughed at the time, but wasn’t laughing so hard the next day when I doubled over with stomach pains. The whole experience reminds me of what I once heard a pastor share. He explained how Jesus coming to earth was in some ways the equivalent of a parent caring for a sick child. *Excuse the graphic example, but trust me I have a point.

God came into this sin-soaked world. He saw us mucked up with perversion, greed, lust, anger, jealousy…and he stepped near. He held us in our unlovable state. By his death on the cross he bathed us clean. I’ve thought of this example of a holy and pure Jesus immersing himself in our sick world prior to my Florence Nightingale shift with my daughter. But a particular message resonated as I thought about my daughter’s wish.

She wanted me to have her sickness. She wanted it away from her. She wanted to be free from the pain. At the time of caring for her I didn’t keep my distance. I wasn’t cautious to stay back, worrying I’d get infected. I cradled her. I rocked her. I wiped her face time after time. I kept her close to me. I love her. That is what love does.

I don’t know why she said those words, “I hope I give this to you.” But because she said them I understood the analogy of a holy Jesus entering a sin-drenched world with a deeper perspective.

He could have stayed back. He could have opted not to be touched by our mess.

But he didn’t.

He came into it. He even went so far as to become it. On the cross He became our mess so we could be free from the pain.

“Who, being in very nature God did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death…” Philippians 2:6-8

“For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline.” 2 Timothy 7

This morning I asked myself if I’m living out this verse by modeling it for my children. I hope to make a more concerted effort to show them I’m living with a spirit of courage, power, love and self-discipline. If I trace back through an ordinary day I can think of dozens of times I allow complaints to slip from my lips. From the moment my feet hit the floor in the morning to throwing vegetables on the stove for dinner, I find little things that needle me and I freely express my irritation. Complaining through each day is a weak way to live…a timid way.

What messages am I sending my children throughout the day?

I want them to see a courageous woman. I crave for them to know that I battle through thoughts and insecurities with God’s push and persevering love. Someday I’ll sit down with them and share about my experience as a writer. I’ll tell them about the times I kept submitting after facing rejection. Next September I plan to attend a writing conference. I’ve made online connections with numerous people who will be there, but I’ve never met any of those planning to attend. I expect to be shrouded with nerves. I’m going to carry this verse from Timothy with me. And before I take off for the airport, I aim to sit down with my children and express to them that I’m going to trust how God has empowered me with a spirit of love and discipline.

Meanwhile, I long for them to see me relying on Him for the little things. And in order to demonstrate my trust I’ve committed to shutting up. I’m going to keep my words in check (primarily my complaints). One day when they have children of their own I wonder if they’ll remember how I loved God. I want that more than anything. I yearn for my girls to witness my love for God. My prayer is that my girls will understand the intense power He supplies, the overwhelming love He lavishes and the necessary self-discipline He instills. Until then…let me live it.

Every game I played I seemed to find ways to emulate what life might be like when I got older. I wrote in my mom’s old checkbook. I washed dishes in my pretend kitchen. An old school desk helped immensely as I played pretend, trying to envision myself at school like my sisters. For some reason grasping my own age proved difficult for me. This remained the case throughout high school. As my sisters headed for college, it seemed the free and adventurous life. As one began having babies, I softened to the idea of someday being a mom too. It seemed I always held my life up to my older sisters.

I wanted tomorrow to come today. I ached to be older and more mature.

I look up no longer. There’s no more waiting and hoping for tomorrow. I’ve learned something. It took awhile, but finally I learned to appreciate now for now’s sake. And if in the small chance my youngest daughter was longing for tomorrow, longing to be older, I hope I blotted out that thought when I walked with her hand in hand to go color.

“Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” Matthew 6:34

“May he strengthen your hearts so that you will be blameless and holy in the presence of God and Father when our Lord Jesus comes with all his holy ones.” 1 Thessalonians 3:13

Our hearts are weak vessels. Finicky, and in need of strengthening. This verse captures my hope and prayer for my children. I want them to lean into God’s strengthening. I for crave them to allow God to strengthen their hearts. When left to our own desires, our hearts are apt to lead us astray. As we ready to go to Disney World tomorrow I think about all the princesses swooning and singing about following your heart. How phenomenal would that be to come across a song expressing the need and prayer for God to strengthen our hearts? I know I need that. I long for it.

Our hearts fail us. God is reliable. He is the almighty strength. Every time I witness my dad checking his blood pressure, I plan to remember this. Every time I watch my girls emotionally crushed, I’ll remember that. Our God alone has the power to strengthen our hearts toward being blameless and holy.

Zechariah was chosen by lot to go into the temple of the Lord to burn incense. I wonder what his face looked like during this moment. Did he reveal this place of honor by the way he smiled? Was he quiet and reverent as he stepped closer to the temple? The Bible tells us what happened next:

“Then an angel of the Lord appeared to him, standing at the right side of the alter of incense. When Zechariah saw him, he was startled and gripped with fear. But the angel said to him: Do not be afraid Zechariah; your prayer has been heard…” Luke 11-13a

Has anyone ever snuck up behind you catching you so off guard you screamed? I picture Zechariah’s face frozen in shock when he first saw the angel. Perhaps he even let out a scream (his last for a long stretch of time to come). The angel caused him to be gripped with fear. Sort of puts to rest the little coy cherubim angels with the potbellies and dainty wings, doesn’t it? Gabriel must have had a presence before Zechariah.

I appreciate how the angel handled this heavenly and human interaction. He encouraged Zechariah not to be afraid. Then, the very next thing Gabriel shares is that God heard Zechariah. What an ultimate comfort to know the Lord of Lords had heard him! Isn’t that what we all want to know as we grapple with faith, that we are heard? Then the angel continues with the good news and some additional instruction, including that Zechariah will be unable to speak until his assured baby’s birth. I think if I’d just received news like that and a visitor like that, it would be wise to shut me up for awhile too. Who knows how my story would grow into a big fish tale and how I’d twist the meaning of the visit away from the wonderful assurance of the Lord.

And that is what Gabriel’s visit was really all about. God’s promise. God’s plan coming to fruition. I love how the Bible reaches us at a point of life where we might be experiencing doubt or fear and His Word moves us from that point to a trustworthy assurance of God’s love.

She lovingly listened as my mind went into overdrive with ideas. I wanted a catchy name. I wanted logistics worked through. I wanted a sketch of a flyer written out. I knew what I wanted and as I spoke with my friend, she reminded me this new project, this new idea wouldn’t be about my wants. God will accomplish what He has already set out to do with this.

So as my brain continued to whir through all the technicalities of who to contact to set the wheels in motion, I remembered to stop and pray. Humbly, I lifted this service outreach back up to the One who generated it in the first place. My energy level didn’t wane. Instead, it perked up even higher (how is that even possible? those who know me might ask). When something is happening that is Spirit led…watch out. It’s alive and filled with divine passion.

Are you wondering what the service project is? She met with some close friends who are willing to pass out gloves, mittens, scarves, and winter hats to homeless men and women. Our role is collecting those items. Once collected, we’ll write notes in each one, notes expressing that these men and women are loved. I even called my folks and got them pumped up about the idea. My dad, who spent thirty plus years advancing in a marketing career, was excited to input his thoughts for a name: Warm Hands from Warm Hearts. I passed out flyers around the neighborhood with my children today.
I’ll let other local friends know in the coming days.

Three things stand out to me about this project so far. The first is being able to share about merciful giving to my children and decorating the collection box with them. The second is the verse that my mom shared with me that I added to the bottom of the flyers:

“See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.” Isaiah 49:16a

Finally, I love when the Spirit is in something. It takes on a life of its own. Why? Because it is life.

Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?” Jesus answered, “I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times…” Matthew 18:22

I’m a believer that we work out forgiveness with God, in the same way we work out our sanctification. We can speak the word forgiveness into the air, but it can fall flat to the ground, doing nothing, producing nothing, bearing no fruit. Or we can pray to forgive and trust God will help us to do just that. With humility, we can turn over the wronged, hurt feelings again and again to the One who has the power and position to do something about it, to heal us.

I’ll admit the number seven seems significant. Actually, Biblical scholars believe seven is a symbolic number in Scriptures, but when I read these verses my non-numerical mind skims right over the seven and hits upon the repetition of words and the emphasis on forgiving. On any given day I’m working on forgiving someone. Forget other people, at any given moment I’m working on forgiving myself.

Jesus said, “If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him. If he sins against you seven times in a day, and seven times comes back to you and says, ‘I repent,’ forgive him.” To which the apostles replied, “Increase our faith!” Luke 17:3-5

Forgiveness isn’t something we can do on our own. We don’t have enough power and we aren’t selfless enough to want to forgive all on our own. This is Spirit work. A fitting thing to ask when we hope to forgive is exactly what the apostles asked for…increased faith. With increased faith we can forgive countless times in countless ways.

I love spontaneity, as do children. It’s simply a part of their makeup. Apparently I never lost the childish desire to act upon any ole thing I feel. It’s something I need to work on. And so, when I encourage my children in this wisdom, I’ve discovered a verse to teach from.

Now this is what the Lord Almighty says: “Give careful thought to your ways. You have planted much, but have harvested little. You eat, but never have enough. You drink, but never have your fill. You put on clothes, but are not warm. You earn wages, only to put them in a purse with holes in it.” Haggai 1:5-6

What’s the lesson? God instructs us to think about our ways (how we act.) Further, He explains how we’ve invested in certain things that aren’t reaping benefits. This should be a clue to us that we haven’t given enough thought or prayer perhaps before we jumped in cannonball-style. I absolutely love when I find Scripture that lines up with something not only am I trying to instill in my children, but something God is fervently trying to impress upon my own heart.

It was a mess and my insides were screaming from humiliation. I felt like I tried every parenting tip I remembered. Deep breaths, encouragement, briefly removing her from the situation, and attempting to get her to discuss her feelings–the whole bag. Nothing seemed to work. For the entire hour of practice my daughter resisted touching the ball and cooperating with teammates as if they all had a maddening infectious case of poison ivy.

To state I felt frustrated would be a wildly inaccurate understatement. I can recall few times in my life when I felt that utterly helpless. Two moms jumped to my rescue to watch my younger girls on the play equipment so I could join my screaming daughter on the field, then remove her and walk off to the car, then return back to the field to encounter even more resistance. Good times.

When I got home and shared the event with my husband, I remember telling him I’d been more disappointed in how she treated the coaches with disrespect and how she didn’t put forth even an attempted effort than that she’d struggled with her first practice.

Struggling I get. Lack of respect and effort…that raked over me. Then I called my parents to recount the practice. My mom, listened as always, but my dad said something that stung. And I needed to get stung.

He said, “I remember someone else reacting that way when they were scared.” Let’s just say I didn’t need him to tell me who. And then as if a coil sprung inside me, I recognized my anger and frustration had not just been at my daughter at practice that day.

I’d seen myself in her, as a child, fearful and obstinate in that fear. My embarrassment hadn’t just been about her actions and her behavior, but also about who I’ve been and who I can be. I had to look at my ugly in order to appropriately address the ugly she displayed.

I’m happy to say this story has a good ending. After praying with my daughter and helping her become as familiar with soccer drills as possible, she bravely took on her second practice. And you know what? She has skill. She played her first game this weekend and my girl, well, I risk letting the soccer mom in me slip out, but my girl’s got game.

Point: Often when we struggle with anger or embarrassment, there’s something about the experience that might look a whole lot like a plank as opposed to the wooden speck we’re observing.