10 Things Every Parent Should Know About Having Young Kids

1. Children are half adorable new kitten, half demon. The kitten part keeps them alive, the demon part makes you often want to end yours.
2. Parenting with your pride intact is like pushing mashed potatoes uphill, impossible. It’s best to empty yourself of pride ahead of time; otherwise it will be done for you as your son screams “Mommy, that man smells AWFUL! That one! Right there!” to the entire population of Walmart. (Kids are so honest; he did smell pretty bad.) 
3. You will become friends with poop. When did she last poop? What color? How much? Where’d that poop come from? Whose poop IS that?
4.  “Uh-Oh” and then a pause is the death knell for all of the pretty things in your home.
5.  Sweet little girls with sweet little curls still bite. Hard. And when you least expect it. Day Care’s don’t like biters.
6.  There will never, ever, be another clean wall in your home. Your walls will be covered with substances that a HASMAT crew wouldn’t touch, even in their nifty suits.
7.  You’ll have to act like you know what you’re doing 100% of the time when you actually only do 10%. The great thing is they buy our stupidity until about 9 years old. After that you’re just screwed.
8. Kids are the most innocently honest things in the world, which you will be thankful for, as in “Mommy, you’re the best mommy even if you’re not perfect!” And dread, as in “Mommy, you’re face looks so much prettier today! It’s almost normal!”
9. Requiring a child to swallow something they don’t like can end in vomit, at the dinner table, into their plate. Vomit effectively ends dinner. For everyone.
10. Sleep is like a free all exclusive vacation on some tropical island where children are banned and adult drinks flow from fountains around ever marbled corner. You’ll hear wonderful things about it, dream about it, long for it. You may even know people who’ve gotten it somehow. But it will never be you. Ever. If you do by some miracle get more than 4 hours of sleep you will promptly be woken up with “Uh-Oh.” See number 4.
11. (Number 11! This is a list of 10. Go with it.) Kids are dirty, difficult, tiring, life changers, and are the best decision, joy bringers, smile makers, heart fillers there is. I’m mostly thankful I didn’t know anything because if I had, I might not have become the best thing I’ve ever become. Mom. 

Creating Orphans

Creating Orphans

Orphans- those without family. Children without safety and security. Vulnerable. No one to love you, to empathize. No one to take your weariness, to carry you when your legs won’t move.

The time and day have left me, but the face and words will never. “How are you?” An open door, a step towards warmth, or so I thought. “Tired,” I replied. “This baby won’t sleep and I think I’m going crazy. Sad. This is harder than I thought.”

“Well, you wanted this!” Then a back turned, cold. I stood there still holding my hardship now buried under the weight of another. Loneliness.

The place troubles me more than the words. Church. House of God. Sisters and brothers. Forever family.

Orphaned. I felt orphaned that day. Rejected by family. Left carrying my weight, with no hope. Worse yet, sure it was mine alone to carry.

Believers, we care for and love on and feed and pray for orphans around the world. Some of us even go to do this work. Hands and feet and all. All the while we create orphans within our own families and churches. Within the house of God.

But we have others to turn to. True. Many of us do. But the scars, the weight of the orphaning remains long after the words or act is done. And we store it up in our heart memory and it changes us. It changes how we see ourselves. It changes how we see others. How we see family and community. Damages trust. Skews love.  

We orphan our own family.

When we know of needs and ignore them. That woman deserves her pain. He talks too much about his aches. Shouldn't they be over this already? When we say we’ll pray, but won’t. Our prayers are too full of us for them. When we reject or exclude them because they are not like us. Or too loud. Or too emotional. Or to difficult. They complain too much or too little. Too holy. Not holy enough. Not enough like me, our fickle hearts our own rudder. 

When we refuse to see the weak and needy. The mentally ill man who makes us so uncomfortable that we turn and walk the other way. The child who wounds yours over and over. No mercy. The mother who turns to gossip, so desperately insecure, buying friends with secret currency. The drug addict or adulterer. Pointed fingers, mirrors to their sin in the name of Matthew 18, so sure our plank’s much smaller.

We orphan pastors and servants with our constant judgments and should haves. A steady stream of “if only this church could…” Unaware that our “should” does more injury than we could ever imagine. Damaged spirits. Weakened confidence. When we fight over that which doesn't really matter, grudge holding because our way is more precious than unity. 

I am the We. I have orphaned those I claimed to love. Sisters and brothers who have loved and hurt me, often in equal measure.

When I have judged and pointed fingers. Clung to my holiness knowing I could never do that. Or be that. When I have traded secrets in the name of prayer. Put on the judges robe and slammed the gavel. When I have turned away, sure that tough love was right. My hurts above their needs. My truth above their wounds.

Orphaning.

And I have orphaned myself. Sure I was too good for them, or her, or this. Above it. Sometimes not good enough. So unworthy of this family because of the secrets dragging behind me. Allowing past hurts to cloud how I see them. Orphaned myself by refusing to trust, to reveal, to be raw and honest. Afraid they’ll never accept. I’ve refused to forgive or approach. Assigned blame and nursed bitterness. Orphaned.

In the orphaning we create hurt deeper than the world hurts us. Because we deny love at the very place where love should be freely given. We deny the healing that love can bring. We put a price on that which is free. Self-appointed gate keepers to the love and forgiveness that was first given to us.

But, in the midst of sanctuaries so often full of orphaning, the promise still rests. For orphans like you and me. And for those who have created them. A promise of forever, no matter what.

He was wounded for our transgressions. He was battered for our wrongs. Perfect Son made Himself an orphan that we might forever have a family. His prayer, that we would all be one. As they were one. God and Son, so we can be. When we realize, take hold of our truth. All of us orphans no more.  

I've had a front row seat to orphans no more. To the love and the hurt that comes with finding a forever family. The grace that emerges while hardship and pain and grief still smolder. And the One that family can become. When we take hold of this One we have the power to stop creating orphans and to start building the kingdom family, brick by brick and layer by layer, into a family that seeks the lost, the weary, the burdened sinner. And gives them rest. 

Battling Demons

Matthew 15:21-28

I can only imagine the wailing. The echoes of laughter still filling her ears. And her heart also. That laughter stolen and replaced with screams and cries and evil. Her mother’s heart splinters at the realization.

A demon. Her daughter consumed. Taken. Possessed. A life worse than death, for in death there is hope.

The full weight of this nightmare begins to cover her, taking with it all they know and hold sacred. Community. Worship. Honor. Faith. 

She could have stayed there. Sat in her desperation and allowed it to consume her as the demon was consuming her child. Given in to the overtaking, the stealing of the echoes of laughter, the whispers of who she once was and whom she once loved. Because he is a thief.

But she didn’t. Instead she became a woman possessed by something else entirely.  Healing.

Possession must have given her the courage to go out among the knowing stares and whispers. The courage to push through the crowd, elbows and bodies of those more worthy. Possession must have filled her and overshadowed any fear as she approached and began to wail, to share the cries of desperation that had filled her- not caring who heard. Possession and knowing.

“Send her away!” they said. So loud were her cries. These men who could heal, their hearts intact, blind to her pain and brokenness.

“Lord, help me!” A simple request. 3 words that spoke of what she knew. Her awareness of her state. Helpless. A dog in need of crumbs.

Because even the crumbs of the King are better than the feasts of this world.  This she knew. With this faith she was possessed. And she was right.

But we seek feasting, healing by gold and riches and jewels of comfort. We deny the crumbs because we believe we need, no we deserve more. We did not ask for this demon and so we wail and kick and fight. But not for crumbs.

Sometimes we do not even approach, do not cry out for fear of the world whose hearts will be blind to our pain. Fear of the “you wanted this” and “this was your choice” and “you should be more thankful.” No, not our choice. Not our wounds to heal. Not our demons. This is the work of the thief.

And we must do battle. Time and again we pick up our swords to fight the demons of another’s making. The possession that has stolen our child’s ability to laugh and dream and hope. To trust and believe. Even to love.

But it was her faith, her possession and resolve that led to the healing. When He called her what she was- unworthy dog- she did not deny. She did not defend. She did not shrink back. She did not demand.

She knew His truth was hers. This truth that she was not the point. She was just the receiver. It was not her possession or pleading or persistence that would heal.

It was His.

Her willingness to take what the Master would give, to rightly see that the healing was not the prize, but the crumbs. Her faith in the crumbs, in the power they held, in Him alone, is what healed. Her faith in this Master is what restored the laughter and mended her heart.

To know our place. To know our hardship. To admit and come and wail and be possessed with the healing and accept the Master’s crumbs. That is how we do battle against demons and thieves that seek to rob our children of their hearts and us of our joy. That is where we fight fire with ice and find our rest after a long day’s combat.

Be possessed with the healing. Persist. Do not shrink back no matter the response. Do not be consumed by the demons you see. Grieve and question. But don't stay there and don’t surrender your belief. Be possessed with the healing. Persist. Do not shrink back- no matter the response.

The promise of healing is there for you, for your child. Always. Be possessed with this promise. And seek and be satisfied with the crumbs.

Difference Stones

My Sweet Boy,

Today you noticed something. It's been there for a while but you've just awoken to it like a song you've heard a thousand times played on a strange instrument. Same chords, same melody, same song. But somehow amazingly different.

I've been on this long road before and so I was waiting for this moment, half dread half eager. All not ready.

Sweet Son: "Mom, why is that lady looking at me."
Me: "It's your fro."

(Sometime I will apologize for using humor as armor and deflection. It's reflexive and innate and a hard fought battle.)

It was not your fro- though it is one awesome head of hair. Or the massive gap in your teeth that you could drive a cement mixer through (your teeth have absorbed your sense of time...slow).  Nope, I'm sure to my bones she was looking at your gorgeous, deep, onyx skin.

It wasn't a bad stare, kind boy. And, it's not a bad thing. (You know I'm curious and sometimes stare inappropriately as do you. You come by it honestly.)

But, as the realization spreads across your face so does the pain in your eyes. And the crack in my heart, proportionally. 

You've realized today what you've always known but now it looks different in the eyes of a world that sees us as different. Like the dusk when the light begins to fade and what was once bright and glorious somehow seems dim.  Today you saw the dim.

There is no burying or hiding that we are different. Our family was formed differently. Out of something hard and painful and broken- but beautiful-be came the us you know and love. And the world sees that. They see our contrast.

So much of who we are is the same, 1 heart, 2 eyes, wide smile. But so much is not and today you took that into your small heart and brain and began to turn it over and over like a stone in your palm.

And so I offer you other stones. Memory stones to stack as if standing in front of the River Jordan. Stones to remind you that different is part of us, part of a plan that has built our walls and set our boundary lines. And they are good. Stones to take hold and turn over and over when the different seems heavy.

You have your father's eyes- eyes that notice sunsets and every shade of color within.
You have your father's hands- hands meant to build, callouses like triumphs of battles won.
You have your father's spirit- patient and kind and forgiving. Always forgiving before it is asked.
You have your brother's laugh- part cackle, part snort, pure joy.
You have your sister's wiles- sneaky and mischievous. Perfect partners in crime.
You have your mother's heart- neither of us can abide the sadness of others.
You have your mother's determination- relentless.
You have your aunt's self assurance- you know your heart.

You were wanted deeply before you were known.
You were fought for and refused to be lost.
You were saved and redeemed when others were not.

And you have always been deeply loved.

This is the love of a mother and father. The heart of a family. There is no difference in this love and that is what defines it. Family love, real love takes the difference in absorbs it and uses it to create something more. Something more full and more blessed than before. Make this love your stone.

You are as much us, more, than you are not. Remember US when it gets dim. You did not grow in me and we are different in ways others are not. But that makes us us. And you were made for me.

And that stone that is US is jagged and rough in spots. But it is perfect.

And it begins.

Beginnings are exciting things. Hope holding, lovely things that shine. I've always loved the start. The racing heartbeat as you finally take hold of that which you have been dreaming of and the excitement and fear of the thing runs through you. 

For the smiling girl above this is a beginning and a look backwards, a beginning born out of a need to say. The evolution of years of thoughts and encouragements and dreams. And tears and sorrows. And lessons. So many lessons.   Why not share and perhaps pass on the learning and memories like precious things handed down? 

The words will be part encouragement, part verbal processing, all me in truth as I am right now. I hope they will make you laugh and think and pray and seek. 

To the beginning.