I am the one who very rarely finishes a thought in one breath. I am chronically late, disorganized, and directionally challenged(you could ask my eldest). I can be impatient, stubborn and sometimes terribly grumpy when my expectations aren’t met. For these reasons and many more, I would tell you that I am a most imperfect mother.
But our tiny ones don’t see those things, do they? Or—if they do— they’re easily forgotten in an instant. These precious treasures we’ve been given are[more often than not] typically the biggest grace-givers of us all.
The latest [and greatest, in their regard] game to our littles is Tag. I’m sure you know it; someone is named the Tag-ger who runs around wildly trying to capture the other players(who then, in turn, must somehow find their way to base—usually someone or some place named by the group). Our girls have taken to plowing passionately into one[or both] of my legs yelling, “Mama is the safe place”! Admittedly, I laughed when I heard it.
I must have been relieved to know that–in spite of my many failings–they trust me. They’re secure in my embrace. Yes, I’m their “Mama”. And yes, I do pray that they always feel such safety; that they know my unconditional love.
But what do I want more than anything else? What do I pray they believe down to their bones? The unwavering, unending, sacrificial love of Christ. It is this love that calls(Ephesians 1:4-5, Jer. 31:3), calms(Psalm 131:2), sets apart(Psalm 89:31-34) and sends out(Eph. 5:1-2)–peaceably and purposefully that we might magnify His goodness. I want them to be compelled by this love on dreary days(2 Corinthians 5:14) and to be captivated by it in seasons seasons lacking fervor. I want them to remember that–because of the very faithfulness of God in Christ–they are always[no matter what] held and pursued(Isaiah 54:10).
As I thoughtfully considered their words on the playground, I was reminded of my own need to recall my safety in this love. I may not be the ideal mama in my own mind, but I pray that even in that my precious ones see the grace and goodness of God.
Marvelous it is, that One so infinitely above us, so inconceivably glorious, so ineffably holy, should not only notice such worms of the earth, but also set His heart upon them, give His Son for them, send His Spirit to indwell them, and so bear with all their imperfections and waywardness as never to remove His loving-kindness from them
This year I wondered if our annual “Welcome to December” brunch would even happen. I was 1 week postpartum and very deprived of sleep.
But I couldn’t let the first week of the month pass without ringing in the season! So…we opted for an afternoon tea party instead.
Thankfully, my sweet mom was still here to help! Instead of breakfast cinnamon rolls, I rolled triangled crescents in sweetened cream cheese and chocolate chips. We made a Christmas tree out of our delicious concoction and the kids inhaled it!
Dusted with powdered sugar [read: snow] of course!
Coupled with hot chocolate in our favorite Christmas tree pitcher, a pair of matching fleece pajamas(with an additional matching set for their dolls)—it was a sweet time together.
While the kids munched on goodies, I read two of my favorite Christmas books.
This year’s picks were…
The Spirit of Christmas has beautifully illustrated the wonder of the season. Nancy Tillman has written several of my favorites, and she has such an artful way of capturing whimsy while also pointing back to its Creator. The girls loved this one.
The Crippled Lamb is a spin on the original Christmas narrative. Children are invited to follow the journey of a lamb named Joshua who isn’t the most beloved in the herd(due to his disability) but ultimately realizes what a blessing he can be, just the way God made him! This one provides a great opportunity to talk about how differences from God are good because He intended them that way! It’s a sweet reminder that everyone is “Gods workmanship, created in Christ to do good works which God prepared in advance that they should do”!
Of course we ended our time talking about the reason for the season—Jesus! We discussed how this entire month is a birthday party for Him! That everything we do—hanging lights, decorations, giving gifts, etc—is in celebration of the Incarnation!
It isn’t lost on me that he was always there—for every performance, game and ceremony…not to mention all of the little moments in between. He was present. And usually my biggest cheerleader. When no one stepped up to coach my basketball team, he did it. When I needed a last minute-run to the store for hairspray–he made it. If I needed anything–prayer, wise counsel, encouragement–he was there. Not because he wanted to be my favorite parent, or the “cool dad”, but because he had committed long before I was even born to love me.
There’s a story I like to tell my daughters about this kind of love. As a child I grew accustomed to walking through tall, dew-kissed blades of grass to his office. It was a a couple hundred feet away, and with every step my heart leaped at the thought of a big mid-morning hug, and [possibly] a treat from the giant glass jar on his desk. But the walk wasn’t without turmoil–for there were stickers littering the path. Of course I didn’t mind because I get to see Daddy, but it was mildly painful, and my blood-splotched toes were evidence of this.
It is always at this point in the story when my daughters, wide-eyed, glance up asking–Mama, what did you DO? This is when I respond that I did nothing. But my daddy–their Papa–did. He carefully wrapped my feet in sheets of snow white printer paper–the durable, crisp kind that isn’t easily torn–taping along the edges. That always ensured my safe, scar-free return. And it made me feel more special than anyone on earth.
I could recall countless stories like this–when he thoughtfully considered my needs before his own; planning and prayerfully counting the cost. He placed–more often than not–the needs of others before his own. He did it joyfully in my foundational years, and it is with a heart swollen with gratitude that I recount the moments.
Even now, as a young mom of 3 thousands of miles from home, I have watched how he and my mother have taken strains to provide seasons of respite[through family vacation, time away with my husband, or caring for our littles so I can recharge]. I can think of numerous times when both of my parents sacrificed to make our lives more fun and comfortable, even if that meant they themselves were lacking. And I can’t help but wonder if that would have happened without my father’s tender, yet strong hand to lead our family. He modeled gracious living—giving of oneself constantly that others might be nourished–so well, and He continues building upon that legacy even now.
Susannah Spurgeon once wrote of a father’s love,
What little one is afraid to run to a loving father and ask for all it wants? Never a doubt rises in a child’s mind as to the supply of all his needs, and the direction of all that concerns him. The child has positively no care for the present, no thought for tomorrow, no fears for the past. Father knows everything. Father can do everything. Father provides everything. In fact, father loves.
Free Grace & Dying Love
I am grateful because I knew this love, and it continues even now. But I have seen the brokenness of this world. I have heard the stories of friends, and I would be remiss if I failed to mention the harsh reality that the word father stirs tangled emotions for some. This grieves my heart more than I can say. The fallen world has stained things meant to be wholly true, lovely, pure, excellent and praiseworthy. I have seen this within my own circumstances at times. However, we are not without hope. I know this because I have a father who–in his own imperfections–faithfully pointed me to it. He knew that as my earthly father, his failings would be many(although I can’t think of any at present). But he also knew the only One who is entirely good, strong and kind. At every point–in conversation, voicemails, prayers, letters–my father’s eyes were fixed on the Father. When my sensitivities planted seeds of doubt within my own heart, my daddy was there to remind me of truth. Not because he was a perfect man, but because he served the Perfect Father.
Spurgeon continues,
O my soul, can you for a moment imagine what it would be of joy, and rest, and peace, to live out day by day such a child-life love of the Father? He knows you altogether. He understands all of your individual peculiarities, sees your weakness and sinfulness, your sore temptations, perplexities and daily shortcomings; but he loves you notwithstanding all, not for any merit or worthiness in you, but because you are his child. You have believed on his dear Son, whom he gave to die for your sins; you have accepted his complete salvation, you have received the Spirit of adoption, and now with confidence and perfect trust, you can look up to him and say, ‘Abba Father’. And does this not suffice to make you absolutely ‘without carefulness’, like a little child?
Free Grace & Dying Love
And so on this Father’s Day, I am humbled to be loved by a father who showed me the Father through unconditional love, unending sacrifice and tender care.
Whatever this day conjures within, there is peace in remembering Paul’s words to the Romans:
What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us. He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? For I am sure that neither death nor life, neither angels nor rulers, nor things present or things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Romans 8:32,38-39
I have written about dreaming before. Not the sleeping kind. But those desires carefully curated and hidden away in the uttermost depths of the soul. When I was tiny, I thought my dream was to be a dentist. This was quickly foiled upon the discovery that mouths are gross. Then as I grew, I believed(and this was an idea that followed me all through college) that I would be a performer.
I would be on Broadway, or in television. And I would orchestrate my success.
But then things didn’t really unfold that way, and I can remember feeling a little bit lost. I lingered there longer than I should have, pursuing different avenues in the same vein, waiting for something to happen and it just never did. No matter how hard I worked, nothing really happened and –somehow–the dream faded. It didn’t sparkle and shine the way it once had.
One of the redundant lies our culture proclaims is that we must pursue our passion. We hear this in an inspiring biography of someone who “never gave up” or we see it printed on a graphic tee shirt on instagram. Follow Your Dreams. Believe in Yourself. Do What Makes You Happy. While I am not opposed to the idea that we’re all individually driven toward some specific bent or another, I don’t necessarily find these mantras(for lack of a better word) wise.
It was the staunch transcendentalist Thoreau who once said, Our truest life is in dreams awake.
While I don’t align with his particular worldview, I think Mr. Thoreau has a point.
I spent years pursuing dreams that I believed with every fiber of my being. And I don’t regret that. But I do think there is something to be said for considering the heart of the matter. Was my desire to be known? Or to do something for the sake of bringing glory to the One who gave me the desire to do it? Sometimes, I think it was both. But in the end, I saw at my very core that the desire was to fill some void that was never empty in the first place.
Now, as a wife, mama, etc. I wouldn’t say that I’ve stopped being a dreamer. In fact, my INFP personality leaves me full of ideas almost constantly(bless my patient husband).But things look different. Nothing turned out the way I imagined. I’ve realized who holds–and even cultivates–these dream-like longings of my heart. And I see–with every seemingly mundane moment–the beauty in fixing my gaze on the One who authors my wild ideas and quiet ambitions.
For years I used to regret never pushing myself harder, or giving myself space to pursue my passion. But oh, what freedom I found in embracing what I was given! And what a peace in knowing that it was not only the right but very best thing for me. It wasn’t that my dreams died, it was that they didn’t shine nearly as brightly as they once had. The familiar glow that lifted my spirits for so long had lost its place.
That’s because the One who formed me directed my gaze towards the good, pleasing, perfect plan that was mine all along. My heart is finally at rest not in the why, but the who.
redeemingthemundane
In the long days, when I feel my hours have been wasted and left wanting…when I cannot muster the courage to wash another dish, or wipe another countertop…when discipline seems exhausting and consistency wavers in my own feeble spirit, I want to look back here and remember the goodness and grace in fixing my eyes on the One who has held my heart all along. Whoever I am, whatever I do is meaningless if He is not there at the center. Today, whatever your now is, however your heart may grieve over what’s lost or left behind, remember Him. Recall His promises. Remember whose you are, and rest in knowing that these ordinary moments–which may not look as you expected–are not for nothing.
His plan and purpose is far greater than anything you could have imagined. He is good. He is faithful. He will give you grace to carry on; to truly and fully live in dreams awake.
Redeeming the Mundane 