Since attending and becoming a member of the Lutheran Church, I have been privileged to witness dozens of baptisms, including those of my own children and godchildren. Every church has their own personality when it comes to baptisms, and our fieldwork church here in St. Louis is no different. Following the baptism but before singing the doxology, our congregation corporately speaks these words to the infant or adult just baptized.
"We welcome you into the Lord's family. We receive you as a fellow member of the body of Christ, as a child of the same heavenly Father, and a worker with us in the kingdom of God."
A few weeks back, a month old baby was being baptized. Baptisms happen to be Emmylou's very favorite part of church and it is such a joy to watch her engage in the service. This particular week, Emmylou's excitement and questions drew me into the baptismal service in a new way. And as I spoke the words "a worker with us in the kingdom of God", my heart illuminated. I saw my children in a new way and those words gave renewed meaning to my discipling role in their lives.
We didn't say: "a worker in the kingdom of God once you are mature or able." We said: "a worker". Now. Already. Not because a child on their own can serve Jesus; but because, a child, with the help of the Holy Spirit, can show love and kindness and bring joy to people's lives.
I have watched my children light up the faces of countless cashiers and greeters in stores. I have watched my daughter bend down to ask a smaller child what she could do for them. I have watched my daughter help a scared little girl out of a Chic-fil-a playplace. And lately, I have been watching Eli, one-year-old Eli, wave, smile and smirk at everybody he sees.
Recently, following one of Eli's fits of compulsive waving, we stopped our shopping cart and spent a few moments chatting with this beautiful woman. We learned of her grandchildren and her children; and as we listened, those four beautiful words - a worker with us - flashed in my mind.
I am privileged to spend my days walking beside these two little people, learning my own lessons about what it means to be a child of God and a worker in His kingdom as I watch them learn theirs. Most days, I spend my time discipling them and some days feel long and hard; but every so often, and probably more often than I realize, I have the even bigger privilege of being a fellow worker with them. Together, we slow down, look strangers in the eye, throw our plans aside, and spread the love, joy, and hope that is only found in Jesus Christ.
Tuesday, August 2, 2016
Thursday, July 28, 2016
Embrace
The month of January 2016 our family was sick. We spent nearly everyday in our apartment. The month felt long and I have to admit that I was welcoming February with open arms. Then I took the kids to the doctor again. This time there were ear infections to go around and a sinus infection thrown in for fun. I felt defeated and as I drove to the pharmacy I repeated two verses over and over and over.
Driving home, I felt ready to face another ten days of antibiotics, Daniel Tiger, and general quiet. Because the thing about being forced to live a quiet existence for an entire month is that it gives you a lot of time for reflection.
I spent January reflecting on 2015, as many people do, and the things I learned about myself. I prayed, pondered, and imagined about 2016. What exactly will happen this year? What will Jesus teach me - about Himself, about my kids, about my marriage, about myself? And how will I handle these things?
I have heard of people choosing a verse or a word or a theme for a year. Something they feel the Lord is calling them to. I have never thought about doing this. I didn't even consider doing it for 2016, because well, the calendar rolled from 2015 to 2016 with snotty noses and ear infections and a mom functioning in survival mode. But all of a sudden in the middle of January I couldn't get a word out of my head.
It all started with an idea for a blog post titled: "The Things I Learned About Myself in 2015". Here are the highlights:
* I learned that I am not a good plant parent. In 2015, I killed four house plants. Okay, between September and December, I killed four house plants which makes this even more impressive. One plant is still alive, though barely, and it suffers from over-watering quite often. (Update: this plant is now dead.)
* I learned that I love to cook.
* My favorite craft hobby is sewing. Though I like the idea of knitting and crochet, there is something about a beautiful fabric and hum of my sewing machine that both relaxes and energizes me.
* In 2015, I challenged myself to read books again and loved every minute of it. (In large part due to the Modern Mrs. Darcy Book Challenge.)
As I tossed these thoughts around in my head, I realized something: I didn't learn these things about myself in 2015, I embraced them. It was strange for me to admit how much I love to cook because in many ways it is just a task I have to do each day. But spending an hour or hours in the kitchen chopping, dicing, simmering, and sauteing is enjoyable to me. This might make total sense to some of you and seem crazy to others.
In 2015, I learned that blogging is hard work and people who write everyday are impressive. I learned that blogging scares me. I also learned that I really love to write.
So here I am, learning to embrace blogging, good books, half-finished knitting projects (that may never be finished), my wall calendar, and all of the other crazy, wonderful things 2016 promises to throw our way.
"I have told you these things, so that you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." (John 16:33)
"My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." (2 Corinthians 12:9)
Driving home, I felt ready to face another ten days of antibiotics, Daniel Tiger, and general quiet. Because the thing about being forced to live a quiet existence for an entire month is that it gives you a lot of time for reflection.
I spent January reflecting on 2015, as many people do, and the things I learned about myself. I prayed, pondered, and imagined about 2016. What exactly will happen this year? What will Jesus teach me - about Himself, about my kids, about my marriage, about myself? And how will I handle these things?
I have heard of people choosing a verse or a word or a theme for a year. Something they feel the Lord is calling them to. I have never thought about doing this. I didn't even consider doing it for 2016, because well, the calendar rolled from 2015 to 2016 with snotty noses and ear infections and a mom functioning in survival mode. But all of a sudden in the middle of January I couldn't get a word out of my head.
It all started with an idea for a blog post titled: "The Things I Learned About Myself in 2015". Here are the highlights:
* I learned that I am not a good plant parent. In 2015, I killed four house plants. Okay, between September and December, I killed four house plants which makes this even more impressive. One plant is still alive, though barely, and it suffers from over-watering quite often. (Update: this plant is now dead.)
* I learned that I love to cook.
* My favorite craft hobby is sewing. Though I like the idea of knitting and crochet, there is something about a beautiful fabric and hum of my sewing machine that both relaxes and energizes me.
* In 2015, I challenged myself to read books again and loved every minute of it. (In large part due to the Modern Mrs. Darcy Book Challenge.)
As I tossed these thoughts around in my head, I realized something: I didn't learn these things about myself in 2015, I embraced them. It was strange for me to admit how much I love to cook because in many ways it is just a task I have to do each day. But spending an hour or hours in the kitchen chopping, dicing, simmering, and sauteing is enjoyable to me. This might make total sense to some of you and seem crazy to others.
In 2015, I learned that blogging is hard work and people who write everyday are impressive. I learned that blogging scares me. I also learned that I really love to write.
So here I am, learning to embrace blogging, good books, half-finished knitting projects (that may never be finished), my wall calendar, and all of the other crazy, wonderful things 2016 promises to throw our way.
Thursday, July 21, 2016
The Delight of Living
Nearly a year ago now, I started reading a book titled The Lost Art of Dress: The Women Who Once Made America Stylish by Linda Przybyszewski. The book discusses the history of, not only fashion, in the United States but also the history and decline of home economics, the rise of ready-to-wear clothing and department stores, and the relationship between art and dress. The book was fascinating, at least to me. But there was one page, one paragraph, and really one phrase that stuck with me for over a year, though I couldn't put my finger on why.
"Too much interest in fashion and too much shopping also bothered Ellen S. Richards, the mother of modern home economics. Richards shook her head at the "large crowds of women seen daily on the shopping streets" at the turn of the century. She would prefer that they find "the delight of living" in their homes, not in rifling the bargain counters at the department stores." (page 136)
I took a picture of the paragraph on my phone and continued to turn over the phrase "the delight of living" in my mind for, well, nearly a year. There was something simple and charming about those words. As I scrolled through my Instagram feed the other day, I saw a photo selling shirts and mugs. They read "yoga pants, messy bun, target. #momlife". I chuckled to myself, thinking "How true". And there it was, the connection, the lightbulb moment. Moms, people, defining their lives by the frequency with which they wander those wide, shiny aisles lined with beautiful things.
In that moment, I felt a pain of guilt and shame. I would be ashamed to count the number of times I have put my kids in the car with the end goal of a Target shopping cart, popcorn for Emmylou, and a large cup of coffee for myself. You know, a well-deserved treat. In that same moment, I thought not only of Ellen S. Richards and her hauntingly accurate prediction of the dangers of consumerism, I thought of another phrase containing the word delight.
"Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart." (Psalm 37:4)
And then came another wave of guilt, a good guilt, a guilt that sent me running to scripture. My thoughts and prayers were raw, honest, and desperate. What was I teaching our children? Was I really teaching our daughter that Target, popcorn, and coffee could solve a bad day? That an item marked with a red and white striped sticker could make us happy? Was I somehow, unintentionally and unknowingly, teaching our daughter to delight in Target instead of Jesus?
The words of Ellen S. Richards cause my mind to flood with images and memories of our home, of the life that happens here. Dance parties, board games, pots of chili large enough to feed the 12 people crammed in our small kitchen, bedtime prayers whispered for loved ones, mealtime prayers of thankfulness, middle of the day prayers asking for strength, energy, wisdom. This, this is the delight of living in our home, the delight of living in community, the delight of Jesus, this is what I want to teach our children.
"Too much interest in fashion and too much shopping also bothered Ellen S. Richards, the mother of modern home economics. Richards shook her head at the "large crowds of women seen daily on the shopping streets" at the turn of the century. She would prefer that they find "the delight of living" in their homes, not in rifling the bargain counters at the department stores." (page 136)
I took a picture of the paragraph on my phone and continued to turn over the phrase "the delight of living" in my mind for, well, nearly a year. There was something simple and charming about those words. As I scrolled through my Instagram feed the other day, I saw a photo selling shirts and mugs. They read "yoga pants, messy bun, target. #momlife". I chuckled to myself, thinking "How true". And there it was, the connection, the lightbulb moment. Moms, people, defining their lives by the frequency with which they wander those wide, shiny aisles lined with beautiful things.
In that moment, I felt a pain of guilt and shame. I would be ashamed to count the number of times I have put my kids in the car with the end goal of a Target shopping cart, popcorn for Emmylou, and a large cup of coffee for myself. You know, a well-deserved treat. In that same moment, I thought not only of Ellen S. Richards and her hauntingly accurate prediction of the dangers of consumerism, I thought of another phrase containing the word delight.
"Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart." (Psalm 37:4)
And then came another wave of guilt, a good guilt, a guilt that sent me running to scripture. My thoughts and prayers were raw, honest, and desperate. What was I teaching our children? Was I really teaching our daughter that Target, popcorn, and coffee could solve a bad day? That an item marked with a red and white striped sticker could make us happy? Was I somehow, unintentionally and unknowingly, teaching our daughter to delight in Target instead of Jesus?
The words of Ellen S. Richards cause my mind to flood with images and memories of our home, of the life that happens here. Dance parties, board games, pots of chili large enough to feed the 12 people crammed in our small kitchen, bedtime prayers whispered for loved ones, mealtime prayers of thankfulness, middle of the day prayers asking for strength, energy, wisdom. This, this is the delight of living in our home, the delight of living in community, the delight of Jesus, this is what I want to teach our children.
Sunday, February 14, 2016
When It All Feels Ordinary
Our days and weeks here in St. Louis are all fairly ordinary. My time is spent cooking, cleaning, and caring for children. Tea parties are an everyday occurrence. Forts are built and taken down. The laundry piles up and diminishes and somehow piles up again just as quickly. We visit the zoo and library, and Emmylou looks forward to Sunday school each week. Sam goes to class and studies and visits the hospital. We have a somewhat peaceful rhythm to our life at home - minus Sam's frequently changing class and church schedules. But in a world that thrives on "more"; our ordinary days can quickly seem boring, lazy, and disappointing.
That last one is particularly hard to deal with. The notion that my life is somehow disappointing. I have wrestled with this thought before. Lately, I have found myself wrestling with it again. And I have a sneaky suspicion that I am not alone; that this struggle is not because I am a stay-at-home mom who lives relatively ordinary days. This struggle, these thoughts belong to the enemy. An enemy who would love nothing more than to have us keeping score, running circles, and searching for the ever-elusive "more". I suspect the banker, CEO, pastor, secretary, doctor, nurse, and teacher have felt this way before too.
As I drove home from the grocery store, I poured my heart out to God. I desperately tried to articulate the feelings I was wrestling yet again, feeling worn out with the struggle. Then somewhere in the very depths of my heart was this thought:
That last one is particularly hard to deal with. The notion that my life is somehow disappointing. I have wrestled with this thought before. Lately, I have found myself wrestling with it again. And I have a sneaky suspicion that I am not alone; that this struggle is not because I am a stay-at-home mom who lives relatively ordinary days. This struggle, these thoughts belong to the enemy. An enemy who would love nothing more than to have us keeping score, running circles, and searching for the ever-elusive "more". I suspect the banker, CEO, pastor, secretary, doctor, nurse, and teacher have felt this way before too.
As I drove home from the grocery store, I poured my heart out to God. I desperately tried to articulate the feelings I was wrestling yet again, feeling worn out with the struggle. Then somewhere in the very depths of my heart was this thought:
"There are no unimportant tasks in My kingdom."
I suppose this is what Paul was saying when he talked about the body of Christ to the Corinthian church.
"For the body does not consist of one member but of many. If the foot should say, "Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body," that would not make it any less a part of the body. And if the ear should say, "Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body," that would not make it any less a part of the body. If the whole body were an eye, where would be the sense of hearing? If the whole body were an ear, where would be the sense of smell? But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose. If all were a single member, where would the body be? As it is, there are many parts, yet one body." (1 Corinthians 12:14-20)
In His kingdom, every task, gift, and position is not only important, it is absolutely necessary. It is vocation. I spent the next several days reflecting on this verse; still wrestling thoughts of being ordinary, boring, or disappointing. Later in the week while washing dishes, I began to recall words, people, names, tasks, and stories from the Bible:
"For the body does not consist of one member but of many. If the foot should say, "Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body," that would not make it any less a part of the body. And if the ear should say, "Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body," that would not make it any less a part of the body. If the whole body were an eye, where would be the sense of hearing? If the whole body were an ear, where would be the sense of smell? But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose. If all were a single member, where would the body be? As it is, there are many parts, yet one body." (1 Corinthians 12:14-20)
In His kingdom, every task, gift, and position is not only important, it is absolutely necessary. It is vocation. I spent the next several days reflecting on this verse; still wrestling thoughts of being ordinary, boring, or disappointing. Later in the week while washing dishes, I began to recall words, people, names, tasks, and stories from the Bible:
Fish. Loaves. Water. Wine. Five stones. A manger. A cross.
Mary, a girl. David, a shepherd. The disciples, fishermen. Elizabeth, a mother.
Noah built. David fought. Mary obeyed. Disciples followed. Martha served.
Because, you see, our God is the champion of the ordinary. He transforms ordinary people, ordinary moments, ordinary objects, and ordinary tasks into something sacred.
So maybe it isn't about working hard to make my life extraordinary; because there is nothing I, in my own strength, can do. Maybe it is about going gently through my days, constantly handing over my ordinary circumstances to an extraordinary God. Maybe it is about humility, about contentment, about knowing, in the very depths of my being, that there are no unimportant tasks in the kingdom of God. Cooking, cleaning, reading; these tasks, when performed in His name, they matter. And as I nestle into this truth, I see God transform my ordinary moments into something sacred.
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