5 Things Moms Don’t Want for Mother’s Day

Ok-let’s be REAL!  We would all love flowers, alone time, appreciation, special attention, togetherness, and of course, some sort of chocolate for Mother’s Day, but let’s talk about what we don’t want for Mother’s Day instead, shall we?

  1. Dishes: I do not want to wash one dish for Mother’s Day. Not. One. Dish.  Let me take that back.  I don’t want to wash, dry, or put away any dishes.  I don’t want to even touch any dishes for any reason.  I feel that I have a constant pile of dishes in my house—either dirty ones sitting in the sink, clean ones in a huge pile ready to be put away, or ones sitting in the dish washer waiting in the darkness for me to finally pay attention to them.  Dishes are in constant waiting for me to notice them and take care of them, and this Mother’s Day, let’s give each other permission to pay no attention to the dishes whatsoever.

 

  1. Laundry: Talk about waiting for me to pay attention to it…the laundry is ALWAYS THERE lurking in every closet waiting for the day that it will finally stop smelling, get noticed, and get thrown in to be washed. Then, it needs dried.  Then, it needs sorted.  Then, it needs folded.  Then, it needs to be put away.  In fact, laundry is needier than my own children, and so moms, let’s not do anything with the laundry tomorrow.  Let’s not even think about it!

 

  1. Cooking: Why oh why do our kids have to eat so many meals and snacks throughout the day? Just as I get one meal cleaned up, it’s time for the next snack.  Just as I get the snack cleaned up, it’s time for the next meal.  It’s endless.  Let’s not cook at all tomorrow.  I’m talking keeping things simple—cereal, sandwiches, cheese and crackers, done!  Let’s allow someone else to cook for us if they want to, but let’s not get out one pot or pan or turn on the stove even once!

 

  1. Fighting: Can’t we all just get along?  Please, kids, please!  I don’t want to break up one argument or referee one disagreement or moderate one misunderstanding.  Nothing.  I just want peace and quiet and laughter and joy and smiles and giggles and fun and compromise and helpfulness and respect and love!  Is that too much to ask for just one day?  Moms, let’s just turn on the TV or get out the tablets and do whatever it takes to just have some peace and quiet around here!

 

  1. Cleaning: My house is never as clean as I would want it to be.  Never.  But I’ve learned to be ok with it because the truth is that with young kids, the house is just going to be a mess most of the time.  And even when I do have the time or energy to clean it up, it just gets messy again in like two seconds!  I say constantly, “Didn’t I just sweep?” or “Wasn’t the house just spotless last night?”  This Mother’s Day, let’s not clean up one speck…not one crumb…not wipe one counter, one table, one floor, one toilet…not one mess.  Let’s just leave it, stare at it, smile at it…

While we take a nap!

Happy Mother’s Day!

Lord, thank you for the gift of motherhood.  We love and appreciate our kids.  We take our responsibility as a mom seriously, but Lord, we need a break.  Fill our kids with contentment.  Give us ways to simplify.  Give us room for rest and bring peace to our homes.  Amen.

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You Are Not a Victim, You’re a Mom By Wendy Speake

She was exasperated, worn out. Her frustrations bordered anger, and she felt great shame over her emotions – still they flooded.

Picking up a damp towel nearby, she wiped her face then said, “I think that I’m most upset that my children ruin my plans each day. And not just my plans for the day, but my plans of being a good mom. They ruin it no matter what I do. They ruin all of the meals I serve by hating what I’ve made and crying at the table. They ruin our trips to the park and our playdates with friends by throwing fits when it’s time to go. I plan so much fun, and they ruin it all by demanding more or different. And I guess, if I’m honest, they ruin my dreams of what my family would be like. I had such good dreams. I’ve dreamt of being a mom for so long, now here I am and there aren’t any peaceful, happy tuck-ins, no Bible reading at the breakfast table – not without more fits! Everyday I’m disappointed, frustrated, and angry. I feel abused! Some days I just want to throw in the towel.” And she did throw down the tattered towel in her hands, with a pathetic little moan.

I smiled, leaned in, and hugged her. I hadn’t thought of it that way before, but as she shared I believed she spoke the unspoken emotions of many moms in many homes today.

We feel like victims.

 

You are not a victim, you're a mom!

 

In the quite morning hours, when God’s mercies are new, I know that I am not a victim, I’m simply a mom.

The same is true for my young friend, and the same is true for you.

Still, we find ourselves forgetting by mid-afternoon, hiding in the pantry with a handful of chocolate chips.

So, here’s a question for you: Do you take everything personally? Maybe you don’t mean too, but do you REACT as though you’re the victim… all the time? And do you retreat behind your phone, in your pantry, in your anger, in this victim mentality each day?

Your husband comes home from work late… and you’re the victim. Your children don’t like what you cooked for dinner… and you’re the victim. The kids can’t find their shoes, their socks, their backpacks… and you’re the victim. Your gifts weren’t well received this Christmas… and you’re the victim. You planned a cookie making afternoon with friends, and it’s just a mess and the kids would rather tear up the toy room… and you’re the victim.

It seems ridiculous when typed out like a confessional. But does this resonate at all?

Ladies, here in the stillness of this simple blog post, let me remind us both that we aren’t victims… we’re moms. Thwarted expectations are part and parcel when taking care of a family full of real live little people. It’s hard, yes, but the majority of us are not abused.

Your children don’t wake up in the middle of the night and gather round the baby’s crib to plot ways to dash your dreams and destroy your day. They aren’t contriving fevers, or purposing fits -though it does sometimes feel that way. They are simply being children, and they need you to simply keep on being mom. 

Still, you’re overwhelmed because you’re feeling all the feelings. I know. So let me encourage you as I did this sweet mama with three kiddos under four, “Roll with the punches and go with the flow today, in the midst of the messy mundane. And on the big days too, when you’ve planned a trip to Disneyland and everyone’s crying, keep putting one faithful foot in front of the other. Whatever your lot, choose to believe today what is noble and true, what is lovely and worthy of praise… and I’ll be doing the same from my home with my children, as I whisper these words to myself, “You are not a victim, you’re a mom.”

The goal each day is faith, hope and love. And the greatest of these is love. And victims have a miserable time loving gently and lavishly.

We’re not victims, we’re moms.

Blessings upon us, every one,

Wen

For more about this victim mentality, continue the series “You are not a victim, you’re mom” here.
triggers

If you struggle with anger in your home from the sheer effort of it all, if you find yourself yelling at your little ones, feeling like a victim, and weighed down by shame, I encourage you to order a copy of TRIGGERS: Exchanging Parents’ Angry Reactions For Gentle Biblical Responses, today. Triggers was co-authored by Amber Lia and Wendy Speake. CLICK HERE TO ORDER NOW!

wendy.png

Wendy Speake is a trained actress and heartfelt Bible teacher. She tells stories both on page and stage that allow her to point women toward Jesus on their hardest mothering days. You can follow along at WendySpeake.com or find her regularly as a guest at The MOB Society. Wendy resides in sunny San Diego with her handsome husband and their three ruddy boys.

I Am Too Much and Not Enough–A Guest Post by Sarah Schiro

Why My Scale Does Not Determine My Value

As a new mom of two, I feel too much and not enough.

There is not enough of me to go around. Not enough hands to hold the nursing baby and pull down my toddler’s pants so he can go potty. Not enough time to clean and play. Not enough mind space to handle the concerns of parenting and school work. Not enough patience. Not enough energy. Not enough sleep.

I am spread thin.

And yet I am also in my own assessment too much. Too needy. Too emotional. Too hungry…

And sometimes, though I try to drown out the accusations and whispers in my head, my mind tells me I am too heavy. Not too too heavy… but needing to lose say 10 lbs.

Which is ridiculous because sure I am 10 lbs heavier than I was prior to pregnancy, but I am healthy, and look healthy, and fit into most of my old clothes. Nobody besides me and my scale could probably even tell that I am indeed any heavier at all.

But I keep thinking, “I will be happier if once I lose these last ten pounds.”

As a woman whose life was controlled for years by an eating disorder, these are scary thoughts to me.  Losing weight never makes me happy… it just makes me want to lose more. I know this about myself. I know that focusing on a number on a scale is at best a worthless distraction, and quite possibly dangerous thinking.

And the real question is one of motive.

Why does it matter to me that I return to my pre-baby weight?

The answer is that for some crazy reason I feel safer ten pounds lighter. I feel more acceptable, more worthy of love and that losing weight will somehow make me enough.

When I feel so inadequate, it helps to focus in on the detail of weight loss. In my mind I begin to believe that losing weight will suddenly make me better to the world at large. Which is so dumb— as if all I have to offer to the group is me, small and smiling. Sometimes I do feel that way, like I can’t string two words together, and I am not beautiful, and I don’t have the right clothes… but at least I am small”ish” and seemingly happy.  And based on the images that pour into our homes through the media, being thinner makes me more okay despite my feelings of being a failure.

Of course admitting these thoughts on paper shows how false they are. The process of writing them down is just to show myself how crazy I would have to be to believe them. When look at this compulsion for what it is, the promise of thin is empty. Just like I have literally NEVER cared one iota what anyone else weighs; nobody cares about those ten pounds, but me.

Still it matters that I care. It matters because I can hurt everyone who watches my life if I allow the pursuit of weight loss to be the thing I cling to for safety.

No matter how much weight you lose, it will not increase your value as a person.

Tweet:

Sarah Schiro Quote
No matter how much weight you lose it will not keep you safe from rejection. If my life, if my language, reflects that I am only secure and acceptable if I am a certain size or weight— then I am promoting the lie.

I believe we all were made in the image of God. His Image makes us invaluable. His acceptance makes us beyond rejection. He is the Security we need in a world that makes us feel insecure. He is the Love that we need to overflow in our homes, to cover over our human efforts to be the perfect moms, to love perfectly. He is Enough. He will always be enough. We really can stop striving after the empty things of this world and rest in Him.  In Him, I am enough.  And dear mom, in Him, you are enough too!

Sarah Schiro

Sarah Schiro enjoys writing when she can squeeze in the time— which between being mom to a toddler and an infant and studying to become a nurse is not as often as she would like. Being a busy-“worrier,”writing is one tool she has found which allows her to frame her thoughts in the context of the truth of the gospel.

3 Ways to Get Past Negative Comments (Plus, Why it Still Bothers Me to be Mistaken for a Grandma!)

“Wisdom is with aged men,
With long life is understanding.” 
Job 12:12

Good Morning, Grandma!

I was running late…AGAIN.  I’m sure I was looking a little frazzled.  I had my youngest on my hip.  I had the other two holding hands by my side as I walked in the door of the church.

“Is it grandma’s day with the kids?” a voice asks.

“Surely, she’s not talking to me?”  I thought to myself.  

For the first time this week, I had on a cute outfit.  I had make up on.  My hair was fixed.  I was wearing jewelry.  There was no way I could be mistaken for a grandma again…not today at least! 

As I looked over to see if she was indeed talking to me, she was staring right at me. 

Noooooo!  Not AGAIN????  I screamed inside myself!

I’m sure the look on my face made her quickly realize her error.  So she corrected herself, “Oh, those are your kids?”

“Yes.  Yes they are.” I said and quickly moved forward.

And I huffed back to take MY KIDS in the childcare room…ticked off! 

OK, Take a Deep Breath, Grandma

And then I reminded myself again that mathematically, I could be a grandma…friends my age are grandmas so I shouldn’t be so offended.  I am an older mom and that is just a fact.  I also realized that I must need to get more sleep or something too!

Because this is no isolated incident.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been asked if I was the grandmother of my own children.  The worst one, though, was when I was asked if I was the mother of one of my friends!  And she is only a year and a half younger than me for cryin’ out loud! 

It’s very discouraging to realize that I think I’m ok with getting older and then someone says something to me about being a grandma and I let it upset me.  Any time these comments are made to me, I find myself replaying them in my mind all day long.  Even as I’m writing this, I’m feeling myself getting a little huffy.

What’s my problem?  Why does it bother me when people keep mistaking me for a grandma?  Grandmas are awesome!  I sure hope to be a grandma someday, but it’s just the fact that people see me and their first impression is…old.  And so, I must confess my frustrations about this whole aging thing to God, once again, because that’s really what this is all about. 

Why oh why does my face have to get so wrinkly?  When oh when did my hair get so gray?  How oh how did my body shape change so drastically? (Oh that must be due to all the Halloween candy and brownies I allow myself to eat without exercising because I forget that I don’t have the same metabolism as I used to).

I must continue to remind myself about the good that comes with getting older, and even though I don’t love the aging process of the body…I do love the aging process of the soul!  I really do!

Tweet: I don't love the aging process of the body, but I do love the aging process of the soul. -The Real Mom @realmomjoy

My old-fart soul is wiser and has a better understanding about life, priorities, and the vastness of God’s unconditional love.  I have more of an acceptance of who I am and how God created me to be.  

What’s Your Advice Granny?

Even if you can’t relate to being called a grandma when you’re not (and you’re so lucky–what’s your skin care routine by the way?), I’m sure you can relate to someone making a comment to you that hurts. And let’s be real here…negative comments hurt…even if they ‘re not meant to be negative comments.  Well, let me share some granny wisdom with you.  Don’t let negative comments fester…make you doubt yourself…make you feel down or less or unworthy or old!  Instead…

Here are 3 ways to get past comments that hurt…

1.  You can pray.  Ask God why this comment is messing with your mind and ask Him to see the blessing in it if there is one.  Does He want to use this comment to help you grow in any way? If so, listen.  God can absolutely use comments to highlight an area in our lives that He wants to prune or weed out, so we can grow stronger in Him.  If not, then ask Him to take the comment away–out of your head and out of your heart–and replace it with His truth!

2.  You can choose your attitude.  You choose to be bitter or be better.  It’s your choice.  You can choose to live in the “betterness” that comments can bring into your life through growth or through the maturity to ignore them.  You can choose to let it ruin your day (like I have done–it’s no fun) or just be grateful for each day.  Move forward.  Look ahead.  Count your every blessing.  Shake it off.  Breathe.

3.  You can laugh.  If God has no purpose for that comment in your life, than laugh it off!  “Water on a duck…water on a duck…water on a duck!”  Repeat that over and over and visualize the comment rolling off your back.  That image always makes me laugh–never mind the fact that I also visualize that the comment splashes on top of the person’s head.

For me, I can cry at the fact that so many people think I need to be wearing Depends or I can depend on the good Lord to uplift and encourage me.  I can pray that He continues to fill me with His wisdom and understanding that only comes with age and life experiences.  I can choose my attitude when people ask if I’m a grandma.  I can be grateful that I must look wise and just go about my day.  When I feel down, I can rely on the good Lord to whisper into my ears His precious words of affirmation knowing that He has a purpose for this old geezer in this world.   

And I can laugh.  Oh how I hope I can laugh the next time someone calls me a grandma. 

I hope I can just grab my bifocals and God will  allow me to see it all in perspective in the grand scheme of life.  

And I hope that the next time someone throws a negative comment your way, you’ll know what to do too!

Let’s Pray

Lord, show us the blessing in the messy comments we get from others.  Allow us to put them through your Holy Spirit filter and grant us wisdom to know what to do with them.  Help us to embrace our aging bodies and be joyful of our aging souls.  Allow us to live our lives with confidence in You no matter what anyone says about us.  You love us unconditionally.  Help us to love ourselves unconditionally too.  In Jesus’ name.  Amen.

Two of the Most Encouraging Words Another Mom Ever Said To Me by guest blogger Elizabeth Spencer

A few weeks ago, I told a mom friend I was hosting a sleepover. I confessed to her that I rarely let my daughters have them because I always get all worked up about what the girls will do and where they’ll sleep and if, heaven help me, EVERYONE IS HAVING A GOOD TIME.


“I don’t do them, either,” she told me.


Later that same day, I told another mom my daughters were making dinner that night–something they’d never done before in spite of being a tween and teen because I’m a control-freak, neat-freak mom who never cooked with her kids.


“I don’t cook with mine, either,” she told me.


I. Don’t.


Who knew two little words could be so freeing and uplifting? 


Sometimes I feel like I’m surrounded by moms who do. They do spectacular birthday parties and they do homemade hummus in Bento Boxes for school lunches and they do craft projects every day of the week and they do…everything. With their kids and for their kids. Which is great for them if they love it and if it charges up their mom spirits. I don’t begrudge them their doing.


But I just…don’t.


I don’t do and haven’t done and won’t do so many things. And the other day, my friends showed me that I’m not the only mom who doesn’t. Which felt like a gift. 

In case it feels like a gift to someone else, here are a few other things I don’t.


I don’t have it
all together.

I don’t always get motherhood right.

I don’t make my girls make their own lunches.

I don’t make my girls make their beds before school.

I don’t do Pinterest-inspired parties.

I don’t like everything that goes with being a mom. 

I don’t know what I’m doing a lot of the time even though I’ve been at this a long time.
I don’t make my kids do enough chores.

I don’t limit desserts to “special occasions.”

I don’t switch my daughters’ schedules to “school time” while it’s still August just so they’ll be used to getting up early when September rolls around.

I don’t have this all figured out.

I don’t…

But, here’s what I do. 


I do love, love, love my children. 

I do enjoy them.

I do delight in them. 

I do cherish them.

I do encourage and support their passions.

I do long for them to continue to walk with God and to grow in their love and passion for Him.

I do love spending time with them.

I do pray for them and with them.

I do talk to them.

I do listen to them.

I do treasure them.

I do want joy, peace, and hope for them.

One of my all-time favorite quotes is this one from Jill Briscoe: “There is an art of leaving things undone so that the greater thing can be done.”

What I don’t do–what I leave undone–frees up my time and energy and passion and enthusiasm for what I do do–the greater thing. 


And the value of that is something I don’t have any doubts about.

 

If you are a mom who sometimes doesn’t do, know this: you are not alone. I don’t, either.

Elizabeth Spencer is mom to one tween and one teen daughter. She’s been married for 20 years to a very patient husband who copes nicely as the lone male in a house full of girls. She avoids working on her 100-year-old farmhouse by blogging about life as an imperfect mother at Guilty Chocoholic Mama and spending time on Facebook

 

To My Child Who Will No Longer Be Called Miscarriage

Dear Reader-

I found four pregnancy tests in my bathroom cabinet last week and I felt great joy and great sadness.  Joy that three of those pregnancies resulted in three amazing and healthy children and sadness that one didn’t.  Recently, as I approach what would have been my due date, I realized how much shame and sadness and confusion I still felt about having a miscarriage, and I have learned over this past week just how much God wants to shine His light into this area of my life…and if you’ve experienced a miscarriage too, just know that God wants to shine His light into your life too.  May you be as open to His Healing Light as I was. 

And I will give you treasures hidden in the darkness–secret riches. I will do this so you may know that I am the LORD, the God of Israel, the one who calls you by name. 

Isaiah 45:3

I call you miscarriage when I talk about you, but why?  You had a heartbeat.  You lived inside of me for 42 days.  We celebrated and jumped for joy the day we found out about you!  It was a miracle.  After nearly 4 years of negative pregnancy tests, you were the first positive pregnancy test I had ever seen!  It was such a beautiful moment in my life, and yet, I ignored the fact that you were my first baby.  Instead I label you as a painful miscarriage. 

 

You were a living being…a being who was stolen from my womb by death.  

I knew instantly.  The minute I saw spotting, I knew you were gone.  I was devastated.  I cried all day.  Tears that no one saw.  Tears that only occurred between the fake smile I put on for my students.  Tears that streamed down my face in the storage room during my four minute break between classes.  Tears that I choked back into my throat until it hurt while I pretended to be excited about launching rockets that my students had built.  Throughout the day, the tears only got harder to hold in and the bleeding only got heavier. 

After my last class, I raced out of the building.  I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer.  I had to let them go, but not until I got into my car and slammed the door closed.  I was angry.  How could God do this to me?  After all that I had been through waiting to get pregnant, how could He take this baby from me?  It wasn’t fair!  I screamed.  I cried.  Once I allowed the tears to flow, they wouldn’t stop.  I began to sob uncontrollably.  I cried so hard that I couldn’t see the road but somehow the car drove closer and closer to the doctor’s office. It was a pointless appointment.  I knew in my heart that you were gone, but yet strangely I hoped that I would be the rare case of bleeding heavy during pregnancy with nothing being wrong.  I guess that’s just what comes from years of negative pregnancy tests where I would constantly make excuses…”But maybe it’s just too early.”  “But maybe the pregnancy test is defective.”  “But maybe this spotting isn’t my period but just the result of implantation.”  “But maybe if I take it again in a couple of days it will be positive.” 

But still I foolishly hoped.

I cried in the waiting room.  I cried in my appointment room sitting naked and cold in that horrid hospital gown.  I cried in the ultrasound room as the doctor searched only to find that nothing was there.  No heartbeat. 

“Maybe it’s just too early.” she says.  “Go home.  Get rest and if the bleeding and the cramping gets worse, go to the emergency room.” 

Is it actually possible?  Could I still be pregnant?  Please, God, please!  Even though I pleaded and I prayed, I knew deep down you were gone, and yet I let myself hope…just a little.   

Sure enough the bleeding got heavier.  The cramping was excruciating.  I never knew I had so many tears.  I never knew that my heart could hurt so deeply.  Huge clots came out and fell into the toilet.  This can’t be happening.  My husband raced me to the ER just for them to tell me something I already knew.  You were gone. 

Hunched over in pain and in shame, I walked out of the ER with my husband by my side with nothing more than a “See ya!” from the ER staff.  I was expecting something…anything.  “So sorry for your loss.”  “Praying for you!”  Anything.  I’m sure they see this every day, but I had never had a miscarriage before.  I had never experienced so much pain in my body or in my heart.  Having a miscarriage doesn’t happen to me everyday.  But there was no sympathy.

It was after midnight before we got home.  I couldn’t sleep.  I didn’t want to sleep.  I didn’t want to sleep because I didn’t want to wake up and be hit with the reality of losing you.  When my eyes opened in the morning, they were sore.  I was sore.  My heart sank.  It wasn’t a dream.  I didn’t want to get up.  I didn’t want to get out of bed…ever!  I wanted to put my covers over my head and never see or talk to or be around anyone ever again. 

Like a zombie, I got up, got dressed, drove to school, greeted each student, took attendance, and went about my day, launching rockets.  It was like nothing ever happened.  For everyone else, it was just another day.  But for me, it was the day that I lost you.  It was the day that I failed you.  It was the day that I reached a new level of failure.  I was no longer the woman who couldn’t get pregnant, now I was a woman who couldn’t take care of her baby well enough to stay pregnant.  I was the woman whose womb was unfit for a child to grow in.  I hated myself even more than I already did.  I fell deep into a depression like I’ve never known.  I felt helpless and completely hopeless. 

 

I felt guilty.  I felt full of shame.  I felt that God hated me.  What could I have done differently to care for you?  How could I have protected you better?  I’m so sorry.  I’m sorry that I didn’t name you.  I’m sorry that I flushed you down the toilet.  Was I supposed to do something else with you?  I’m sorry I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry that I let the enemy make me feel ashamed of you.  I’m sorry that the enemy made me look at you and the miscarriage as the same thing, but that’s not right.  You were just as much as a victim as I was.  You were part of the enemy’s plans to steal, kill, and destroy.  He killed you.  He stole my joy.  He destroyed my hope…or at least I thought he did.

Over this past week as I stared at that fourth pregnancy test and as I’ve questioned God about the miscarriage again, He has shown me just how important you were in my journey. 

He showed me what a gift you were to me without me ever realizing it because you were a symbol of hope.  

In the midst of all of my disappointments…all of my negative pregnancy tests…all of my sadness, you were the glimpse of hope.  You showed me that I could get pregnant.  After thinking that I was never going to be a mom, you came.  Thank you for allowing me to see that my body could do it!  Thank you for giving me hope.

I thank God for allowing me to see you differently today.  You are not just a miscarriage.  You are not just a tragedy, a sadness, or an awful thing that happened to me once.  You are a miracle.  You are the bearer of hope.  You are my first baby.  You are my daughter. (I just know it!)

Shadow of a child3

Now, instead of crying tears of sadness over you, I can cry tears of joy.  It’s been nearly seven years since I lost you and God has finally healed my heart.  He has also shown me that now that I’ve acknowledged you, my family can be complete which is something I’ve really been wrestling with lately.  I am blessed to have two boys and not just one, but two girls!

Silly Family Photo 

 

Today, as I dance with my daughter, your little sister, here on earth, I know that you are dancing in Heaven with Jesus. 

Thank you for allowing me to be your mom.  I can’t wait to meet you some day…Marion Hope Leeb. 

 

 

Father-thank You for finally shining Your Light into this area of my life…this dark corner of my soul…this pain that I have suppressed for so long.  Thank You for continuing to reveal places in my heart that need Your light and Your love.  Thank You for redeeming this sadness.  Thank You for showing me the treasures in this darkness by revealing the hope that I was given through this child.  Thank You for bringing me joy over the daughter that I never had an opportunity to meet.  Thank You for taking something that the enemy meant to rob from me and breathing new life into the purpose of this pain. 

 

Be near all my fellow sisters who have experienced the agony of a miscarriage.  Bring healing to their hearts.  Embrace them in Your loving and comforting Arms.  Free all of us from any feelings of guilt or shame or blame.  Allow us to feel Your presence and bring us all peace knowing that You are with each and every child that has been lost through miscarriage hugging them, holding them, and dancing with them in Heaven.   Bring hope to all!  In Jesus’ precious name.  Amen!

50 Shades of Crayons: Preparing Little Ears for the Big Talk

I watched my kids color today.  They are so young and so innocent.  Their only focus in the moment was the 50 shades of crayons that they had to choose from.  They have no clue about the “50 Shades of Grey” controversy.  They have no clue about the dark and crazy world we live in.  They have no clue about the difficult choices, or the peer pressure, or the confusion, or the temptations that this world will soon present to them.  I’m so glad.

I’m so glad that their only worry right now is what color they should choose out of the pile of crayons on the table.  Soon the choices they make will be so much bigger…colors of crayons will turn into kinds of friendships.  A broken crayon will turn into a broken heart.  Which picture should they color with their crayons will turn into which decision should they make for their lives!  Whether it be choosing healthy relationships, not cheating on a test, protecting themselves from pornography, saying no to drugs and alcohol, or waiting until marriage to have sex, they have so much ahead of them.

And just as I start to ruin this beautiful moment of them coloring quietly together by panicking, I have to regroup.  I can’t focus on the thought that the colors of crayons that they are so carefully choosing right now are the least of their worries in life.  I can’t focus on the thought that I’m not ready.  I’m not ready for them to make big decisions.  I’m not ready for them to even know the word sex let alone learn about it.  I’m not ready.

And just when I start to panic even more at the thought that maybe I am not adequately preparing them for what’s to come, God steps in.  His voice calms me and He shows me how I am thinking ahead more than I realize.

I am already taking steps to prepare their little ears for the big talk…their little lives for the bigger “pictures” to come.

And then I realized that He was right.  I am setting a foundation.  Of course at ages six, three and one, I’m not talking to them about the specifics of sex, but I am creating an environment of trust, open communication, love, and respect.  Let me share with you…

Here are 4 helpful hints to get you started on the right path to talking to your kids about sex:

1.  Set Boundaries:  Teach them the correct names for their private parts.  There is no shame in the fact that they have a vagina and a penis.  That is what they are called.  Even if they shout in the grocery store that the check out lady has a vagina…that is ok!  🙂  Emphasize that their private parts are indeed that…private.  Don’t just talk to them about that once either.  Every chance you get, remind them about the importance of respecting their private parts and someone else’s too.  Establishing appropriate touching boundaries is healthy and necessary.

2.  Communicate:  Create an environment of open and honest communication.  Don’t expect that this will just happen.  You have to work at it.  Kids don’t just naturally continue to trust you.  You have to build it, maintain it, and make necessary repairs as needed…always.  Every night, I take a few minutes with each of my older kids and talk and pray with them.  I ask about their day.  I see if they have any questions to ask me.  Sometimes they do…sometimes they don’t, but I hope that giving them that invitation to ask me anything every night will soon become something that they wait for and expect.  It is my prayer that when the appropriate time comes, having already established a level of openness and questions being exchanged, that my kids will be less uncomfortable when we do talk about more serious or uncomfortable topics like sex.

3.  Love:  Kids need to be loved!  More importantly, they need to feel loved unconditionally!  If they know they are loved, talking to them about sex will be easier.  If they know they are loved, they will feel more secure and confident in who they are and be able to love themselves and how God created them to be.  They will be able to better understand the meaning of love in sex when the time is right.

4.  Pray:  The most important thing you can do is pray!  Ask God to give you wisdom and guidance in how and when to talk to your kids about sex.  He will be there to direct you and even give you the words to say!  And begin praying for their sexual experiences and their sexual health too.  Pray for confidence to protect their bodies.  Pray for purity and for them to value their first sexual experience saving it for marriage.  (Even though I didn’t wait doesn’t mean I don’t want that for my kids.)  It’s never too early to pray over all of the big and little decisions that your kids will face in their lives!

The bible says in Isaiah 64:8- “But now, O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand.”

As moms, we have to trust that God will be there for our kids when their crayons break.  He will guide them in choosing just the right pictures to color.  He will show them when they color outside the lines, and He will help them choose just the right crayons in life to become the beautiful works of art that He created them to be!

Our job is to set healthy boundaries, communicate with them, love them, and pray for them.  Cheer for them.  Encourage them.  Respect them.  Hug them.  Laugh with them.  Enjoy them.  By doing these things, we are not only preparing them for the big talk, but we are preparing them for their big masterpiece in life…whatever that may look like.

Lord, thank You for our children.  Help us to establish a firm foundation in loving our kids and teaching them to love themselves.  Help them to love and respect their bodies and the bodies of others.  And guide our words when the time comes to talk to them about difficult topics.  Give us confidence in our parenting and help us to model healthy relationships in our lives and in our marriages to set a good example to our children while You mold them and shape them into Your beautiful masterpiece!  In Jesus name.  Amen.

We are THAT Family…and We are OK with It!

You know the family that drives into the school parking lot 2 minutes before the bell rings while the child finishes their oatmeal in the backseat and puts his shoes on? Uh, we are that family. We are the ones that get the warning email about tardiness from the school principal. Never had the TALK but every semester we get the warning.

This morning as I drove my son to school I thought “why is that?” Oh, on the surface it is easy enough to figure out. We stay up late. Last night after work, my son wants to do something fun as a family (a regular request) and we ended up doing pizza and putt-putt.  Although, he became a moving obstacle on every hole as we moved through the course, and my husband shot the ball up his shorts as an added bonus.  Then, because we are not total schmucks we did spelling review, baths, reading and all the bedtime comfort rituals. We know the definition of being good parents includes all this stuff.

But, this morning my mind went to a different time….many years ago, when I was the child.

I was the kid always on time. Early. Pressed, hairs all in place, color coordinated. Appropriately dressed….whatever that means.

NEVER ate oatmeal in the car. Are you kidding? Mom drove the kind of car that looked better on the inside AFTER you bought it. She once put small bud vases in the drink holders and would have faithfully kept flowers there if I didn’t laugh my butt off about it. Sorry, couldn’t help it. Who does that?

My mom would not know what to do with my parenting skills (or lack of them). Pizza for dinner. No, pizza was for birthdays and weekends. Putt Putt on a school night? Only if it was a scout event with a signed permission slip. Monopoly? Do you know how involved that is? (Uh, yes, it’s why I will find your weakness.  I will buy Park Place and I will completely bankrupt you…until you cry for mercy. Note to those reading this: don’t play with an entrepreneur, they are NUT CASES with this game.) Wedgie Uno? (Our family ritual in which the loser gets a wedgie)….a thousand times no….and you’re weird for even thinking of this.

She’s been gone 6 months and do you know what I miss most? Why I pulled into the parking lot at work this morning and cried for 5 minutes before going in? Although Mom was a better woman in a thousand ways than I will ever be, I miss that we were never late…and whatever wonderful things we could have done together to make us late.

All this to say, we will probably always get the warning email and eat oatmeal in the car. I know there are families who can balance it all and God bless them. I’m not bright enough or quick enough or (let’s be truly transparent) disciplined enough to be that. But, that’s okay….not great, just okay.

I’d rather have my son grieve for missing me than for missing all he wished he had with me.

Sometimes in grief you miss what was, but sometimes you miss most what never was…what never will be.

Beth Wendling guest blogger

Beth Wendling is a wife and mother who has a passion for orphans and vulnerable kids. She founded Orphans Treasure Box, a unique bookstore that sells donated books online and in their outlet so that the net profits can be given to orphans globally and locally. In her former careers, she was a Dean of Students,a Communications professor and a licensed therapist.