My Mission Field
This has been one of those weeks. I am discouraged. Looking around me, I think "this isn't what the picture in my head looks like!"
In my head, I have a squeaky clean nine year old and six year old studiously working on their seatwork. I have a just-turned-four year old who is quietly sitting on the floor putting together puzzles while reciting poetry. And my four month old is laying quietly on a quilt smiling and cooing and smelling all baby fresh. And me? I am put together, hair and make-up in place, with a text book in one hand and cook book in the other, effortlessly caring for my home and teaching my children all at the same time.
Reality check.
I just realized my nine year old IS sitting at the table working studiously...with her hair in knots because she gave up after patiently asking me fifteen times for help braiding the unruly mess. My six year old is also at the table, but more kinda upside down (how is that even possible?!) as he works on his math. That four year old is yelling from the room "EEWWW, that baby PUKED!" as she runs around moving my perfectly organized books from one shelf to another. And that four month year old? Yep, she did spit up...among other things...leaving her not smelling so fresh. Here we go, bath number two for the day! She is teething; we've been up for the past two nights and both mama and baby are D.O.N.E. And the cook book? Forget it. We will be having sandwiches again today - and don't even ask me about supper right now. As for me? My hair is in a frizzy mess. Makeup...are you KIDDING? Old jeans and t-shirt. And the all exclusive fragrance of baby spit up as my main eau de toilette.
And the little nagging voice starts as the picture from Better Homes and Gardens fades.
"You can't do this."
"You aren't giving those kids what they need."
"Look at the mess this house is."
"Look at YOU!"
"You can't do this."
Stop.
Truth.
"You can do this - but only through the love, grace and strength of Christ."
"God will give equip you every step of the way, filling in the gaps."
"Okay...the house really is a mess."
THIS is my mission field. These four children under this roof; they are my mission. Not just to supply their physical needs but to bring them up in the Lord. We definitely don't "do life" perfectly or even prettily but we do turn to Jesus again and again, and I pray that despite all the other things I may do that cause my kids to need therapy, they will walk away with a strong relationship with their Creator and Savior.
As a longing fills my heart to be better, to do better, instead I will turn to Jesus who is the best. That I will let Him fill me up instead of looking around to see how I am falling short. I pray that I will recognize that when I am overwhelmed, it is because I am trying to do the impossible on my own power instead of through Him who gives me strength.
This is my mission field.
Sometimes I imagine forging out into the secular world, working a nine to five job, working 'behind the scenes' to bring others to Christ. Sounds noble, eh?
Or to journey off to some other country and hug and love on orphans and tell people about Jesus. Aw, foreign missionaries - unsung heroes who inspire me with their courage and vision. Talk about sacrifice and working for God's kingdom.
Or maybe I could write some amazing book. Teach a group of women. Join a club. Start a revival. There is so much to DO.
But THIS is my mission field.
In my stained clothes, with the only color on my face being the rings under my eyes. With a house that needs a good cleaning and purging. With kids who aren't lined up straight in a row reciting answers to me, kids who are living, learning ....and hanging upside down doing their addition facts. Homeschooling my children. Rocking the baby. Making a bazillion meals a week and doing my best to keep my house 'presentable'. Trying really hard to make home a safe haven for my husband as he comes home after working in the big ol' crazy world all day.
This is my mission field and this is my mission for now:
To raise these four beautiful children to know that they are loved more than they can fathom by a mom and a dad who desire the very best for them. And that best, to us, means knowing Jesus in a very personal way. To train up our children biblically and academically. To take care of our home and to remember that whether I always cherish the role or not, I am the heart of this home. The children looking up to me and sitting under my teaching will gather a large portion of what it means to be a disciple by watching me. My husband can only be as happy as he finds me when he walks in that door.
This is my mission field.
I will embrace it.
On the mountain tops.
And in the valleys when the only mountains are the towering piles of laundry awaiting me.
Because no matter how I view my work, God says it is priceless. I pray I will do it well - what "well" looks like through His eyes, not my own.
Because I am grateful that, for now, God gave me this mission.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Monday, April 16, 2012
Jesus...are you there?
I sat in silent amusement as I watched my 3 year old and 6 year old work together to construct a tent out of blankets in our living room. They were valiantly working together, without the usual aid of their peace-making older sister, while keeping a lid on their tempers. As the blanket Mollie (3) was working on fell for the umpteenth time, she sighed heavily...her lower lip protruded...and then...she caught herself before a full-fledged tantrum. Proud mama moment! Then she said "Jesus...pleeeeeaassse make it stay up!!"
It fell.
In frustrated unbelief: "Jesus!!!???" She started to get mad again and noticed me sitting there.
"Mom...will you ask the Lord to help me?"
What do I say to that other than "of course" and proceeded to pray with her (in 3 year old terms) for help to figure out how to solve her problem. So we prayed out loud together.
Mollie smiled, content, and turned back to her work...then turned back expectantly. Then the kicker.
"Well?? Did He say yes?"
It was one of those absolutely priceless, cute-as-a-button moments. Her innocent trust was so sweet. Yet as I sat there, something dawned on me.
She sounded an awful lot like me.
How many times do I stomp my feet, asking Jesus for something and then throw a fit because I don't get my way? He could deliver but didn't. I wanted an answer but didn't hear (or couldn't accept the "no" or "wait" answer that I got!) So I get mad and question Him.... "Jesus!!!??"
And then, I seek someone else out. Someone He might listen to better. "Please pray for this..." I ask in a panic. Now there is not a thing wrong with asking someone for prayers. But admittedly, sometimes I do it because in the deepest part of me, I feel like He'll hear someone who is a "better Christian" than me. Or I seek someone else's opinion because just maybe they will have the answer I am looking for and I won't have to wait patiently (my least favorite thing!)
The thing I loved about tonight's Bible study, given by Mollie without her even knowing it, was that later tonight, she still wanted to talk to Jesus. She wasn't mad that He hadn't given her an answer to what she wanted in the way she wanted. In fact, she was perfectly content with the fact that her brother had lent her a helping hand. She was able to see that his help might just have been the provision she needed, not a blanket that magically stayed put.
Ah, that I would have the grace and innocent faith of a child. We believe in what we do not see. That is faith. And sometimes He is so faithful to just give us a little glimpse!
It fell.
In frustrated unbelief: "Jesus!!!???" She started to get mad again and noticed me sitting there.
"Mom...will you ask the Lord to help me?"
What do I say to that other than "of course" and proceeded to pray with her (in 3 year old terms) for help to figure out how to solve her problem. So we prayed out loud together.
Mollie smiled, content, and turned back to her work...then turned back expectantly. Then the kicker.
"Well?? Did He say yes?"
It was one of those absolutely priceless, cute-as-a-button moments. Her innocent trust was so sweet. Yet as I sat there, something dawned on me.
She sounded an awful lot like me.
How many times do I stomp my feet, asking Jesus for something and then throw a fit because I don't get my way? He could deliver but didn't. I wanted an answer but didn't hear (or couldn't accept the "no" or "wait" answer that I got!) So I get mad and question Him.... "Jesus!!!??"
And then, I seek someone else out. Someone He might listen to better. "Please pray for this..." I ask in a panic. Now there is not a thing wrong with asking someone for prayers. But admittedly, sometimes I do it because in the deepest part of me, I feel like He'll hear someone who is a "better Christian" than me. Or I seek someone else's opinion because just maybe they will have the answer I am looking for and I won't have to wait patiently (my least favorite thing!)
The thing I loved about tonight's Bible study, given by Mollie without her even knowing it, was that later tonight, she still wanted to talk to Jesus. She wasn't mad that He hadn't given her an answer to what she wanted in the way she wanted. In fact, she was perfectly content with the fact that her brother had lent her a helping hand. She was able to see that his help might just have been the provision she needed, not a blanket that magically stayed put.
Ah, that I would have the grace and innocent faith of a child. We believe in what we do not see. That is faith. And sometimes He is so faithful to just give us a little glimpse!
Saturday, April 7, 2012
He Calls Me Friend
Last night, I was blessed to attend an amazing Good Friday production; it was absolutely stirring. I need a whole other blog opportunity to share how much this performance awoke in me. But I have to share my strange preoccupation with the way Jesus interacted with the disciples. I felt an odd longing I couldn't quite place my finger on at the time.
"On the outside looking in" was always more than a cliche to me. I have felt so many times throughout my life like I was doing this exact thing. I would view other friendships, other families absolutely sure that they had it "all together". They had somehow achieved this delicate balance of near perfection that always seemed to elude me. I was sure that other people didn't have the ugliness pervade their thought processes that mine sometimes did. Sure that other families didn't struggle. Sure that other people had perfect Godly friendships and marriages straight out of a Karen Kingsbury novel.
Thankfully God graciously, mercifully allowed other Christ-following individuals to let me into their own "messiness." Soon I saw that all couples, all families, all friendships have those "ick" moments too. I am forever grateful for the amazing individuals God placed in my life who allowed me to see that "ugly" can be beautiful too...that it is through the tough stuff where we grow the most.
And yet...I still hold on to perceptions and expectations that are placed on me...by me. This morning, I stood in my kitchen, finishing Easter preparations with my hair in complete disarray, spit up staining my old t-shirt, baby prunes making an ugly brown blotch on my shorts. The kids were finishing up their Easter eggs; by this time they had forsaken any utensils left to soak the eggs and were simply using their fingers to place eggs into the dye. I was too tired to muster up any energy to be upset by the fact that when they are arrayed in their Easter finery tomorrow, they will still most likely, have the remnants of a rainbow on their hands. I looked around and thought "the person I want to be, wouldn't be standing here in this chaos."
It then hit me with all the force of a July thunderstorm. I was expecting perfection of me because I was still wanting to be "good enough" for the amazing people God has placed in my life. (They have never demanded perfection of me; only I put those demands on myself.) And as stood there, fairly sure that I could smell a dirty diaper somewhere even beyond the stench of the spit up pervading my nostrils, I was hit by another thunder clap. I still, STILL, even after all the preaching I do to others, thought I needed to hit closer to perfection to be called Jesus's friend.
I KNEW He was my Savior. I KNEW He was my King. But the reason, at last night's production, I had a lump in my throat as the fictitious Jesus hugged His disciples after He had risen, was because I wanted Him to love me like THAT.
He already does.
In my smelly clothes. When I lose my patience. When I mess up.
He loves me like THAT.
He wants to embrace me as an old friend. He knows me. And He wants me to know Him.
And that is when it clicked. The door to freedom. I want to know Jesus. Not know what He can do for me. Not serve Him to rack up heavenly points. But to know Him. To face Him after this earthly life is over for me and be able to embrace Him and say "friend." Teacher, yes. Lord, most definitely. Most High, absolutely. But also, Friend. He's my friend.
And He thought I was worth dying for. I have heard it said many times "if you were the only person in the world, Jesus still would have died on the cross." That hit me hard today.
He really would have. Died. Just for me, to save me so we could fellowship in eternity.
That is love. He calls me friend.
And for the rest of this earthly life, I pray that I will never take my eyes off Him. Learning to be more like Him, being His hands and feet here. Learning to see Him in the world we live in. So that when I finally, stand...or most likely, kneel...before Him, I might hear the words "well done...Friend." Not because I was "good enough" or "did enough" but because He loved me and I spent my life loving Him and longing to know Him. Help me know You, Jesus.
"On the outside looking in" was always more than a cliche to me. I have felt so many times throughout my life like I was doing this exact thing. I would view other friendships, other families absolutely sure that they had it "all together". They had somehow achieved this delicate balance of near perfection that always seemed to elude me. I was sure that other people didn't have the ugliness pervade their thought processes that mine sometimes did. Sure that other families didn't struggle. Sure that other people had perfect Godly friendships and marriages straight out of a Karen Kingsbury novel.
Thankfully God graciously, mercifully allowed other Christ-following individuals to let me into their own "messiness." Soon I saw that all couples, all families, all friendships have those "ick" moments too. I am forever grateful for the amazing individuals God placed in my life who allowed me to see that "ugly" can be beautiful too...that it is through the tough stuff where we grow the most.
And yet...I still hold on to perceptions and expectations that are placed on me...by me. This morning, I stood in my kitchen, finishing Easter preparations with my hair in complete disarray, spit up staining my old t-shirt, baby prunes making an ugly brown blotch on my shorts. The kids were finishing up their Easter eggs; by this time they had forsaken any utensils left to soak the eggs and were simply using their fingers to place eggs into the dye. I was too tired to muster up any energy to be upset by the fact that when they are arrayed in their Easter finery tomorrow, they will still most likely, have the remnants of a rainbow on their hands. I looked around and thought "the person I want to be, wouldn't be standing here in this chaos."
It then hit me with all the force of a July thunderstorm. I was expecting perfection of me because I was still wanting to be "good enough" for the amazing people God has placed in my life. (They have never demanded perfection of me; only I put those demands on myself.) And as stood there, fairly sure that I could smell a dirty diaper somewhere even beyond the stench of the spit up pervading my nostrils, I was hit by another thunder clap. I still, STILL, even after all the preaching I do to others, thought I needed to hit closer to perfection to be called Jesus's friend.
I KNEW He was my Savior. I KNEW He was my King. But the reason, at last night's production, I had a lump in my throat as the fictitious Jesus hugged His disciples after He had risen, was because I wanted Him to love me like THAT.
He already does.
In my smelly clothes. When I lose my patience. When I mess up.
He loves me like THAT.
He wants to embrace me as an old friend. He knows me. And He wants me to know Him.
And that is when it clicked. The door to freedom. I want to know Jesus. Not know what He can do for me. Not serve Him to rack up heavenly points. But to know Him. To face Him after this earthly life is over for me and be able to embrace Him and say "friend." Teacher, yes. Lord, most definitely. Most High, absolutely. But also, Friend. He's my friend.
And He thought I was worth dying for. I have heard it said many times "if you were the only person in the world, Jesus still would have died on the cross." That hit me hard today.
He really would have. Died. Just for me, to save me so we could fellowship in eternity.
That is love. He calls me friend.
And for the rest of this earthly life, I pray that I will never take my eyes off Him. Learning to be more like Him, being His hands and feet here. Learning to see Him in the world we live in. So that when I finally, stand...or most likely, kneel...before Him, I might hear the words "well done...Friend." Not because I was "good enough" or "did enough" but because He loved me and I spent my life loving Him and longing to know Him. Help me know You, Jesus.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)