Category Archives: purpose
Stop the Ripples
I am hiding from my children. Our bedroom, affectionately called “the cave”, is my only place of solitude. Well, a semi-solitude. The ramblings of our children still echo from the living room. Dora is singing somewhere in the background. Piles of laundry surround me, sprinkled with a few cheerios and matchbox cars. But this is the best I can find.
Our children are boycotting naps. I haven’t had a moment’s rest in a week and a half. That is, not while they are awake. I haven’t written in that same amount of time. It’s killing me. I can’t even go to the bathroom without visitors to my throne or prying voices on the other side of the shower curtain.
So, what do I do? When I don’t have my “me-time” as our generation calls it; when I don’t have the quiet moments I need to recharge my batteries, I attack whoever is closest. I’ll grumble at Rick for leaving a wet towel on the floor. Even the mailman annoys me. If I am in the middle of disciplining Zachary and Isabel interrupts, who gets yelled at? Isabel. She likely is not the original source of frustration, but I spread my frustration to her. When I do not have my quiet moments, my reactions are disproportionate. Instead of smart-bombing problems, I use a more general ammunition, hitting innocent bystanders in the process. My grief and wrath ripple throughout the house. In turn, it ripples back. Isabel hits Zach because she knows she can’t hit me. Zach screams because he’s not as fast as she is, and poor Rick retreats until the storm blows over. I am left in the center facing the problems I alone created and amplified.
How much easier it would be to take a time-out in the beginning. Stop. Pray. Retreat to the cave before the warning bells ring and the turmoil is inevitable. As busy people it’s not always that simple. We run 24/7 with never enough time to accomplish all that needs to be done. We struggle to balance family life with career ambitions and spiritual callings. We are torn in every direction.
One of my favorite quotes is this: “There is never enough time to do all the nothing we want.” The problem is we don’t know what the nothing is versus the something. God knows what is most important for us. He knows how our priorities should align. If we don’t spend time with Him, how will we know what our somthings are? How will we know which demands are nothing and better neglected? We can’t. This is why we should seek him day and night. Even if it’s only a few solitary moments before rolling out of bed.
The good ripples, too. When I align my thoughts with God first thing, the rest of the day is better. My attitude is better, and everyone can tell the difference. Instead of loud, rushing voices, the house echos with laughter and sweet sentiments. Isabel hugs her brother instead of hitting him. Zach shares toys instead of stealing them. Rick is happy to come home instead of wishing he had a cave of his own. We don’t need to hide from each other! We find our rest in God. In the end, it’s not “me-time” that we need, it’s God-time.
Mommy of Zach
It’s all about Zach. Our son has taken egocentricity to a new level. Every baby in photos is “Zach”. Every toy is “mine!” Even people are named in accordance to their relationship with him. He calls Isabel “sister of Zach.” I am “mommy of Zach.” Rick is “daddy of Zach.” Our real names are irrelevant; all that matters is our connection to him – Zach, center of the universe.
His logic makes sense. There is One who is the center of the universe – it’s just not our son! Our value is determined by our connection to Christ. Lacking a relationship with Him, we truly are lost and without significance. This is what Jesus said of Himself:
“I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” – John 15:5 (NIV)
So, who are we? What is our connection to the Vine? As for me, I am the mommy of Zach, but I am also a daughter of God; heir with Christ; servant of the King. I am loved by the Creator, forgiven by Jesus, made new in Him. What shall I call you?
Crockpots aren’t so bad.
When Rick and I got married we were given three crockpots. I returned two of them. The one I kept had a small two-cup capacity. Why would we need a huge crockpot? There were only two of us and I didn’t know how to use one anyway. This lack of forward thinking is precisely my problem.
“So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” – Matthew 6:34 (NASB)
I’ve always used this verse (and the others like it) to defend my lack of planning. My thinking … I’m not gonna worry about it because it will take care of itself! I love being spontaneous; I love being surprised. Today is enough for me. I’m going to live it to the fullest and deal with tomorrow when it comes. Crockpots symbolize the opposite of this. They require thinking ahead and planning. They assume nothing exciting will happen during the day and everyone will be home at the right time craving exactly what we prepared that morning.
Well, eight years later, where once there were two, now there are four. Where once I despised monotony, now I crave a little predictability. A couple weeks ago I bought a new, much bigger crockpot and decided to learn how to use it.
Planning ahead is not so bad. I’ve found with this new kitchen gadget I can nearly eliminate happy hour. You know happy hour — the time when kids go crazy right before Daddy gets home; the time when I should be cooking and cleaning and finishing last minute chores. Well, with the crockpot, pieces of that chaos are gone. The meal is already done and there’s no mess because I’ve had all day to clean up the kitchen. You know the best part? When I’m not running around like crazy, neither are the kids. It’s fantastic!
Sometimes we worry too much about tomorrow. Sometimes we don’t worry about it enough. The struggle is finding the balance between responsibility and faith. Yes, God will take care of tomorrow the same way He takes care of today. But refusing to plan ahead can make room for unnecessary stress and chaos. Life can have both spontaneity and plans. We need to trust God to take care of tomorrow, but understand He may use a crockpot to do that.
Princess Ellie
Where did “Ellie” come from? Well, as most babies do, she grew in funny proportions. Her belly accounted for all her weight gain for the first few months. Here was this tiny thing with a lovely rotund middle and skinny sticks for arms and legs. Her father thought it appropriate to dub her “Is-a-Belly”. Being one who was called “needle-butt” from infancy through high school, I refused to nickname our child after a body part. We compromised with “Ellie”. It stuck and thus began the family debate.
A few weeks ago, Isabel made her preferences known. Out of nowhere I heard a strong voice proclaim: “My NAME is ISABEL!” After a little discussion another compromise was made. We are now permitted to call her “Ellie”, but only if it is preceded by the necessary title of “Princess”. Otherwise, we are supposed to call her “Isabel”.
I’m actually glad she put her foot down – not necessarily about the princess part, but the rest has forced me to remember why we chose her name in the first place. ‘Isabel’ means ‘consecrated to God’. It was important to me that our children have significant names; names that mean something and will remind me of something. Now that I must call Ellie “Isabel”, I am daily reminded (several times a day!) that she is not mine. She is set apart to God; created to serve Him – and it is my job to prepare her for that purpose!
And Zachary … oh, Zachary! His name means ‘remember the Lord’. His middle name, Luke, means ‘bringer of light’. As I struggle with this strong-willed son of mine, I have no choice but to remember the Lord! My Lord, the Bringer of light … my prayer is one day Zach will be a mighty man of God, bringing the Light to everyone he meets.
Why am I sharing all this with you? Because God has a reason for names. All through Scripture peoples’ names are symbolic, relevant and sometimes ironic. They mean something. God has given us names, too. Here are just a few of the things he calls us:
Saints (Ephesians 2:19) – God’s consecrated people
Friends (John 15:14-15) – close confidants
Children (Galatians 3:25; 1 John 4:7, 5:1) – belonging to and imitating the Father
Heirs (Romans 8:17) – rightful stewards of the King’s riches
Forgiven (Psalm 85:2; Acts 13:38; Ephesians 1:7) – washed clean, blameless
Holy (Ephesians 1:4; Hebrews 12:14) – set apart for a specific purpose
Branches (John 15:5) – growing forth from the Vine (which is Christ)
Body (1 Corinthians 12) – working together, all part of One
We hear these words tossed around all the time, but have we thought about their meaning? Do we live like saints? Are we set apart and holy like we are called to be? Do others view us as forgiven heirs of the King? Hey, maybe Isabel isn’t so far off with her title of princess.
May we, as believers, remember the names God has given us. May we hold tight to their meaning and live to fulfill the expectations set by them.
Divided Conquests
I have too many hats and wear none of them well. A jack of all trades – well, in my case “Jill” – master of none. That’s me. I sew. I cook. I stamp. I scrap. I write. I am a mother, a sister, a teacher, a daughter, a wife and sometimes a friend. I am a Christian, a servant, a peacekeeper and a counselor. I am tired; frustrated … I am burnt out.
My energies are divided. The more I try to do anything right, the more I seem to neglect something else. All of this attempted productivity clashes loudly with the soundtrack of my life – performed by an extremely chatty two-year-old. I don’t read the Bible as often as I should. I don’t maintain my business like my customers deserve. I snap and bark at my kids and husband all too often. My friends are neglected. My house is a mess. My garden needs attention. I am completely behind on correspondence. And there are four people waiting for an answer to new commitment invitations.
I have slept through the night – an actual, uninterrupted eight hours – only once in the last two months.
I have nothing important to say today. Just that I am weary from head to foot and not knowing how to remedy the situation. More exercise? When do I squeeze that in? Perhaps better organization. A maid? Personal assistant? A clone! That would do it. Oh, right … already got one. She’s one-eighth my size.
The encouraging thing is this: No matter how deep I bury myself, God can still hear me. He is always near. He is always faithful. And I have direct access whenever or wherever I want. How cool is that?
“What other nation is so great as to have their gods near them the way the LORD our God is near us whenever we pray to Him?” — Deuteronomy 4:7 (NIV)
My Brigadoon
I have lived on the east coast for thirteen years. This is not where I grew up. I grew up in Indiana. My accent must be muddled because no matter where I go, I am asked where “home” is. We have only lived here for two years, so sometimes my answer is “New Jersey” and sometimes it’s not. When we lived in New York, my answer was always “Indiana”. Now when I 
Recently we drove “home” to Indiana for a family get-together. This was the first time Rick and I had been there since our wedding – over seven years ago. Surprisingly and not-so-surprisingly, it is the same. That place is my Brigadoon. If I were to leave for a hundred years, I could probably still return to find that only a day had passed. The same farms are owned by the same families. The same restaurants are in the same places with the same signs from over twenty years ago. It seems frozen in time. Of course, the people have changed. They have gotten older and taller. Families have grown. But they are all still there. Some still telling the same jokes and hugging us as if we had never left.
Growing up in our small town, I couldn’t wait to get out. I wanted to travel Europe and move to New York City. Life had bigger and better things for me. I knew it! And I never thought for a minute that I would miss that place. I wanted change and adventure. Well, I have visited Europe and lived in New York. I got out! And I miss that little farm town more than I can express.
In just two days I was reminded of the serenity of rural life. I was reminded of the security of things never changing. Everyone knows everyone else. There are no social pressures to be or do or dress a certain way. The inescapable competition of the northeast seems nonexistent in the Midwest. Oh, I am sure it is there, but it is not as oppressive. I was simply amazed at the peace evident in those whom I visited. We could breathe freely. We could relax.
On our drive home, Rick and I discussed where God wants us to be. We so desire to give our kids roots; to be in one place for their whole childhood. A place where they can come home and bring their children. A familiar haven. As we discussed all that we saw and heard and experienced that weekend, I found myself aching. I wanted exactly what we were leaving behind!
Why am I always so discontent? When I have that, I want this. When I have this, I want that. Why can’t I just be happy with what I have? Well … that’s another story …
Eventually I realized it wasn’t the country I wanted. It isn’t the house on the lake or the friends from high school. Yes, that would all be wonderful, but my heart was aching for the peace. Not the place or the things. The Presence.
I am a do-er. Prayer and silence are not my strongest points. Watch my clone: Isabel talks literally non-stop from her waking moment until ten minutes after we put her to bed. That little girl is the sound track of my inner monologue. I am going non-stop whether I like it or not. Being still and quiet do not come easy to me. I wish I could express this to its full truth! Even when I am praying, lists are being formed in my mind. Things to do later, groceries we need, people to call, books to read …
God reminded me this morning: “Let it be the hidden person of the heart, with the imperishable quality of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is precious in the sight of God.” (1 Peter 3:4) THAT is what I want! I don’t need a bigger house or fine jewelry. I want to be adorned with this imperishable quality. I want the tangible presence of God in my every breath.
Lord God, once again I come before You begging for Your perfect presence. Only You can still my heart. Only you can give me a gentle and quiet spirit. Make me more precious in Your sight. By seeking You, I long to bring my Brigadoon to wherever You want me to be. Hold me tightly in the center of your palm that I may not wander. I love You and seek to love You more …
This is my life.
I am about to be published! Yeah!! This article will be the front page feature in the September issue of FaithWriters Magazine.
“Alright, all I need now are your keys.” Slowly, reluctantly I handed the keys to my husband. The keys to my sweet SUV. I loved that car. As I watched my husband drive away with it, I started to cry. More than that. I was sobbing. We were trading in our hip little Honda for a monstrosity: a minivan.
There were several things I promised myself in college. In addition to living without regrets, I promised myself that I would never be domestic. I would never be one of those middle-aged suburban women with decade-specific style who look forward to Tupperware parties.
Now, look at me: I am the very definition of domestic. I am thirty, a wife and stay-at-home-mom to two; living in a safe suburb. I have a mortgage and a minivan. My last night-out was to a Pampered Chef party. Boy, was I excited to go to that! I spend my days planning healthy meals, cleaning house, and evaluating my kids’ activities and TV shows. What has happened to me?! This is not the life I was meant to live.
I am supposed to be living in some third-world country feeding the poor and building homes. I am supposed to be working with an effective church-planting mission; inspiring Christians back in the States. My husband is supposed to be a powerful teacher – not a computer geek working for Wall Street. We are supposed to be leaving our mark on the world. Instead I am cleaning crayon marks off the wall.
Getting a minivan was the personification of surrender. Not the peaceful surrender one experiences from submitting to a loving husband or wise and merciful God. No, this was a last-ditch surrender: the reluctant retreat after screaming and fighting and finally raising the flag of defeat. Yes, with two car seats and frequent visits from distant relatives, we need the space. And, yes, the DVD player is great for those long road trips planned. It really is a wonderful car, and an extremely practical choice. But it is still a minivan. All those dreams of changing the world are now forever just that: dreams. How can I change the world in this? It simply screams “un-cool” and “mediocre”. If anything, my purpose is to be extraordinary! There is no way to be that in a minivan.
Okay. Deep breath. Who is really in charge here? God is the creator of all things. He is mighty and powerful and perfect. He knows what He is doing. He is bringing to completion His “plans formed long ago with perfect faithfulness” (Isaiah 25:1, NAS). That is His promise – is it not? How can I doubt that?
Sunrise. Sunset. Another day in our home. I wake up early and feed the kids. We watch a cartoon during breakfast then run outside to play. I chase Ellie around in circles and tickle Zach until he can’t take it anymore. Naptime. Laundry time. Snack time. A trip to the park and an hour of reading the same books – books I’ve had memorized since the first thousand reads. Finally, Daddy comes home. I have an adult to talk to! But only after we have dinner and play a little longer. Bath time. Bed time. This is my life.
Today Ellie came to me holding her doll. “Baby sick,” she said.
“Oh, I’m sorry. What should we do? Do you want some medicine?”
“No, Mama. Let’s pray! Baby better.” Was that my two-year-old? I am blown away. Not only is her first instinct to pray, but she firmly believes that God, her Creator can and will heal her baby.
A little later she comes to me again, this time with a big hug. She explains to me that Zach is her brother. “Thank you, Mama, Zach! Thank you my brother!”
How can I describe this life as anything less than extraordinary? How can I question my purpose when these miracles assault me every moment of every day? Motherhood is an overwhelming responsibility. An intimidating honor. Yes, I am just a stay-at-home mom, but my charge is enormous. God has made me steward of two wonder-packed creations — to teach, mold, and guide. What an awesome task!
I am changing the world. Perhaps not in a grand, widely-visible way. My name will never be in the ranks of Elisabeth Elliott or Amy Carmichael, but my purpose is no less significant. I am changing the world one tiny soul at a time. How extraordinary.
