Just Like Mary

Yesterday, I watched my son undergo a procedure to biopsy his esophagus, stomach and upper intestines. Noah has been suffering for months from various physical ailments including gastrointestinal problems, headaches, insomnia, pain and a failure to gain weight. In the past week, he has endured three doctor visits, allergy testing, a biopsy and a great deal of pain and suffering. As I have walked through this with my son, my heart has suffered right along with him. As I stood beside his hospital bed and held his hand and talked him through an IV (he is NOT fond of needles!), my heart broke for him. I wanted to pull him out of that bed and beg them to take me instead. The pain in his eyes as he bravely endured all they put him through was almost more than I could bear. To hear him politely thank the people who were causing him pain made my heart swell with pride in him. To see his body lying unmoving on that bed after the procedure was over terrified me. I reached down and stroked his head and kissed his cheek, but he didn’t even stir. I looked up at the nurse in panic, and she calmly said, “He’s fine, just sleepy.” I wanted to say, “But are you SURE?” His beautiful dark lashes didn’t even flutter and he looked so very young and pale against his pillow. I wanted to gather him in my arms and hold him, even though he has long been too big for that.

As I watched him go through this experience that I longed to spare him from, I thought of another mother destined to watch her son suffer. I pictured this young woman, giving birth to a very special baby, in the very worst of circumstances. I imagined her wishing she was bringing him into the world with her mother’s assistance, in a clean and private room with everything she needed close by. I thought of her rocking him gently, holding him close and whispering of the future she envisioned for him. I wondered, “Did she know what was in store for her very special son?” Obviously, she knew that he was destined for big things…being the Son of God would seem to guarantee that. But did she know the pain and suffering that would be his? I think God must have spared her from knowing too much too soon. If not, how could she ever have survived? How could she have felt joy in his birth or in his growing up years? I believe God must have been merciful to her and not revealed all that her son would experience.

I imagined this same mother, thirty-three years later, watching her darling baby boy be mocked and reviled and then hung on a cross to die a horrible death. Her heart must have broken in two as she witnessed his unspeakable suffering. Surely she longed to take his place, to spare him from his pain. I’m certain her mother’s heart cried out to the God she loved, asking Him to take this anguish from her beloved son, to save him from this terrible fate. My heart aches for her, as I imagine her watching the son she cherished breathe his last breath. How did she ever endure such a thing?

There is one thing I know for certain--she could only have endured it by trusting in the Father who gave him to her in the first place. Even though she couldn’t possibly understand what God was doing, she believed. She believed that He loved her, and that He loved their son. She believed that He had a plan, and that it was good and right and just. How tenaciously she must have clung to that belief as she watched the drops of blood and sweat pour from the one she loved with all of her being. How doggedly she must have grasped that belief with all of her might while her son lay in his grave. How she must have rejoiced when she saw him again, and came to understand that God’s plan was indeed good and right and just.

All of this flashed through my mind yesterday as I stood beside the hospital bed of my sleeping son. Although I do not know why my son must suffer, I too, must believe that God has a plan for him. I must believe that the God who made him loves him even more than I do, and that He knows what is best and will bring good out of his suffering. He alone knows what Noah’s future holds and I must release him into the hands of Him who determines that future. While I will never be able to watch my beloved son suffer without my heart breaking, the best gift I can give him is to cling tenaciously to what I know to be right and true, and to teach him to do the same…just like Mary.

The Passing of the Torch

Yesterday was a day of mixed emotions for me. There was much joy as we celebrated Thanksgiving with my parents and some friends, giving thanks for all that God has done for us. We laughed and feasted, shared what we were thankful for, and watched the children play games and have fun together. Underlying the joy, however, was a bit of sadness as well. As I pulled out my grandmother’s china, an ache filled my heart. I remembered the many, many holidays celebrated at her house in Tulsa, eating off these same beautiful plates. I remembered her sweet, servant hands cooking and serving an amazing meal and making it look so easy. I remembered our special relationship and how very much she meant to me, and I missed her deeply.

It was also the first time I was in charge of the turkey. After almost twenty-one years of marriage, believe it or not, I had never really cooked the turkey. We were always either at one of our grandparents’ or parents’ houses, or visiting a sibling out of state. Even the very few years we were at our own house, my mom and dad usually handled the turkey. Yesterday morning, as I wrestled a stubborn and slippery 17-lb. turkey and thought, “I sure hope this turns out!”, I felt as if a torch had been passed. As I picked up the phone (several times!) to call my mother for advice, the thought occurred to me, “How will I do this without her advice when she is gone?” Again, my heart ached. As my mom and I discussed this, I learned that she, too, was feeling these things. She confessed that she felt the same way when my grandmother died. She had become accustomed to having her sweet mother-in-law on the other end of the phone, lovingly dispensing advice for these big occasions, and she missed her.

Then, as my oldest daughter joined me in the kitchen as I cooked up the Thanksgiving feast, she sadly said, “I only have two more Thanksgivings at home after this one.” My mind flashed ahead and I pictured being at home, alone, cooking the Thanksgiving meal and waiting for my children to arrive. I imagined being the one who was supposed to have all the answers, without my mother to turn to for advice. I imagined Molly cooking her own Thanksgiving feast and calling me on the phone to find out how to cook the turkey. All of a sudden, I could see the swift progression of time and the continual passing of the torch from one generation to the next.

In our Thanksgiving devotional, my husband shared about our goal of teaching our children to love and serve God, and then teaching them to teach their children. In this quiet way, we can profoundly impact our world. It is a passing of the baton of faith, from one generation to the next. We are deeply convicted that we must have a multi-generational vision of training up our families. We must be praying, not only for our children, but for our future grandchildren and great-grandchildren . In the same way that my mother learned to cook a Thanksgiving feast from her mother and mother-in-law, and then taught me to do the same, we must be passing on the tenets of our faith to our children, and instilling in them the desire to do the same with their own children.

As I looked around at the faces of my family at our Thanksgiving table, I breathed a silent prayer. I prayed for many more years of enjoying my mother’s teaching and to savor every moment of time that God has given me with her, learning from a woman who is the embodiment of a gentle and quiet spirit. I prayed for my children, that they would grow up to love and serve their Heavenly Father and raise their children to do the same. I prayed for my husband, and thanked God for his spiritual leadership. And, lastly, I thanked my Lord for so graciously giving me these precious souls to cherish and asked that He help me to be ready to face this coming passing of the torch.

When Firsts Become Lasts

Being a mother entails being the keeper of many “firsts”. Ask any young mother when their baby got their first tooth, and you will likely get a rapid response. On the contrary, ask a father, and he will likely answer, “The baby has a tooth?” For some reason, God has made mothers the keepers of such memories. We notice every first our children accomplish, from their first steps to the time they read those first few words from a book. Many of us faithfully record these instances in baby books and scrapbooks, preserving the memories for the future (at least until we have more than two children…then our scrapbooking efforts often get a little sketchy!).

I’ve noticed, however, that the “lasts” tend to pass by unnoticed. One day, we realize that no one has asked us to tie a shoe for them. No one has asked us to read a bedtime story or dress a doll for them or place a Band-Aid on a wound. In what seems like the blink of an eye, we’ve gone from providing for every need to occasionally assisting. And, in the hustle and scurry of everyday life with children, those “lasts” have slipped by without us recognizing them. I have to confess, this makes my heart sad until I remember that this is God’s design: we are given a tiny little being to mold and shape and love and nurture into an independent, God-fearing adult. If we have done our job well, we will reap a harvest of blessings in watching our children serve and love the Lord as independent adults.

I am starting to feel like I am entering that season of lasts. My oldest daughter is a sophomore. She is driving, has a job and is starting to think about college. We are working on a high school transcript, figuring out when to take the PSAT and SAT, and beginning to talk about college and future plans. While I share her excitement as she figures out where God is leading her, my mother’s heart also aches at the coming changes. Today, I am helping her get ready for her first formal dance, a Civil War Ball that she is attending with her father. As I hem up her hoop skirt and help her choose a hairstyle and paint her nails, I wonder…is this the last time she will ask for my help in such matters? As I watch her learn to be more and more independent, my emotions are a jumble. I am thrilled with her maturity and her growing wisdom. I love that she is so capable…she can clean, cook, sew, take care of children and she loves God more than anything. Yet at the same time, I see that serious little brown-eyed girl who followed me around with endless questions and I miss her. We’ve already passed so many “lasts”…how many of them did I even notice?

So, if you are a young mother, overwhelmed by the daily tasks of bathing, diapering and feeding your young, please listen. While the days seem long now, I promise you the years will fly by at an unbelievable pace. After years of “firsts”, you will suddenly find yourself grieving the “lasts”. Take the time to enjoy them…enjoy the funny things they do that make you laugh. Treasure every time they crawl up into your lap with a book for you to read. Soak in every moment of quiet conversation at their bedside as they ask you the questions of their hearts. Listen to just one more question when you are weary to the bone. Give an extra hug or a kiss and store up those precious moments in your heart. For all those “firsts” will all too soon turn into “lasts”.

The days they crawl, the years they fly
As one by one, they pass me by.
Some days are years, but years are days
As they grow up beneath my gaze.

Just yesterday they were so small
How can it be they’re now so tall?
They used to cuddle on my knee,
And now it is their eyes I see.

Sometimes I worry, fret and pray,
I wonder what to do and say.
The days with them are precious few,
The years with them are precious, too.

Will they be ready on that day
When far from me, they fly away?
Will I have trained them, taught and shown
Enough to help them when they’re grown?

It matters not what they become
As long as they don’t wander from
The One who made them, and loves them best
Who gives them love, joy, peace and rest.

If they grow up to serve him well
As only time and God can tell
I’ll know that I have finished strong
The job that seemed so short, so long.

--Wendy Metzger

Consent Of The Governed: Carnival of Homeschooling - 200th Edition - Party On!

Consent Of The Governed: Carnival of Homeschooling - 200th Edition - Party On!

The "Balloon Boy" Hoax

Our beloved town of Fort Collins made world-wide news this week. We were spending a peaceful afternoon at home when the phone rang. My mom was calling to ask if we were watching the news, as there was a breaking story involving a family from our town. We quickly tuned in to hear that an experimental balloon-type aircraft had been accidentally released from a home in Fort Collins, and that the family’s six-year-old son was believed to be on board. The aircraft traveled about 50 miles from their home, and was believed to be capable of reaching 10,000 feet of altitude. We watched with anxious hearts throughout the afternoon as rescuers tried to find a way to reach the balloon and save the boy. We prayed continually and fervently for this child’s safety, and for the parents who were undergoing such a traumatic event. Several hours later, the balloon deflated and landed in a field. When rescuers cut open the aircraft, no boy was found. Our hearts fell as they speculated on when and if the boy could have fallen out of the craft, or if he could possibly have escaped alive. My mother’s heart was stricken at the thought of this family losing their youngest son in such a terrible way. I couldn’t escape the images in my mind of this poor little boy falling from a great altitude to his death, especially after a news report claimed that someone had seen something falling from the craft.

Some time later that afternoon, the local sheriff announced that the boy had been found, safe and sound, hiding in the family’s attic. The media immediately pounced, asking the sheriff if this had been a hoax. Stories began circulating about this family, and about their previous media experiences. Clips were shown of this family participating in a TV reality show called “Wife Swap”, showing their children as ill-behaved and rambunctious. It was released that 911 calls had been previously made from this home involving domestic disturbances. Tales were told of this family’s “storm-chasing” experiences, and how they had taken their children directly into the path of danger.

At first I felt angry at the media for attacking this family without any proof of wrong-doing. The relief was so strong that this child was unharmed that I couldn’t (or didn’t want to) believe this family would put people through such an experience. As more time went on, however, it came out that this was indeed an elaborate hoax, staged by the family in hopes of gaining a contract for a reality television show. This hoax was uncovered by a slip of the tongue of the boy while being interviewed on television (he said, “we did this for a show”).

I have to say, I am appalled. These parents callously used their six-year-old son in an effort to gain publicity for themselves. They put a great number of police officers in a very stressful situation and wasted a lot of taxpayer money in a fruitless search and rescue operation. They disregarded the anguish every parent in Fort Collins felt as they watched this story unfold. They are now almost certainly going to be charged with at least two misdemeanors and two felonies for their reckless scheme. In my opinion, however, their worst crime is one that won’t bring any arrest or fine. The choice they made that tears my heart out is this: They willfully taught this little boy that it is okay to lie to get what you want. The consequences of this action will reap terrible fruit. This boy will grow up to believe that it is acceptable to manipulate people, distort the truth and do whatever it takes to get what he desires. To me, this is the ultimate tragedy in this terrible story.

So, what can we learn from this? It’s easy to point fingers and be appalled at this family and their choices, but what does it have to teach us about parenting? To me, the lesson to be learned can be summed up in this: We need to teach our children to love truth. God makes it very clear in His word that He hates lying tongues (see Proverbs 6:16-19). We need to make teaching our children truthfulness a top priority. Telling lies, exaggerating for effect, “stretching the truth” are not harmless activities. Each lie or perversion of the truth leads to more lies and culminates in a character that is dishonoring to God. As we watch the news stories about this family, let’s examine our own hearts and our children’s character and see if we, too, are guilty of teaching our children to be untruthful, whether by words or example. Let’s resolve to stand on the Truth that is found only in God’s word and to raise children who are passionately committed to Him. It’s the only way we will raise children who can change the world…and I, for one, don’t care to live in a world where parents use their children to gain fame and fortune for themselves.

Stealing Lexi's Hope

This summer, my youngest daughter participated in a two-week drama intensive camp. They met from 9 am to 5 pm each day, learning singing, acting and dancing skills, as well as rehearsing a Junior Broadway production of “Annie”, which they performed in two shows at a local theater. Lexi has long held a love for acting, singing and dancing, so this was a wonderful opportunity for her. She talked about it for weeks and was so excited when the first day finally arrived. She and I drove to the studio on the first morning, and as we walked in, I felt her excitement turn to apprehension. It quickly became apparent that almost all of these kids knew each other, and had acted with this theater group before. They loudly and wildly greeted each other, ignoring this tiny blonde newcomer. She clung to my hand, which Lexi almost never does, and I could tell that she was reluctant for me to leave. I, too, was having a hard time leaving, as this was really the first time I had turned her over to other people for any length of time (she has always been homeschooled) and it was very unusual for her to turn shy. She is my adventurous one, the one who makes friends quickly and has never looked back when you drop her off at dance class or Sunday school. Her out-of-character reluctance fed my own fears of leaving her with this group of strangers. I had grave misgivings as I finally left the building after the parents’ meeting. I confess, I cried all the way home.

On top of my anxiety about her sudden attack of shyness, I was worried about my daughter’s heart. I knew that they would be giving vocal and acting auditions this first day, and would learn their part by the end of that day’s camp. Lexi had very emphatically told me what part she wanted in the play…that of Lily St. Regis, the blonde bombshell scam artist who, along with her partner Rooster, tries to con Daddy Warbucks. She was most definitely not interested in being an orphan or even in the part of Annie, but had her very heart set on receiving this part. Being the practical and protective mom that I am, I tried to gently warn her that because she was the youngest age in the camp, and being especially tiny, she would probably not win an “adult” role, since they might not find it believable to have the role of Lily played by someone shorter than most of the orphans. I knew she had the ability to play any role in the play, but knew that physical appearance often plays a major role in determining who fits each character. She assured me that she could win it, and I again argued with her that it would be fun no matter which role she received and to not have her heart set on any particular role. I was so afraid that she would be disappointed, and pictured her tears upon receiving an “orphan” role. We discussed this many times over the days preceding her camp, and I tried in vain to dissuade her from expecting the part of Lily. The day of her audition, I was a nervous wreck. I kept picturing her sad little face as I left her at camp, and prayed continually for her audition and for her response when she found out what role she had been assigned.

Later that afternoon, as my son and I drove to pick her up, I worried out loud about how she was doing, and how she had handled the auditions and role assignments. Had she cried when I wasn’t there to comfort her? Was her heart broken? Had she made any friends at all in this group of kids who seemed to not even notice her? Upon arriving at the studio, we walked in to hear a conversation between one of the mothers and one of the women who worked there (who also had a child in the camp). The mother asked the camp worker how the kids had done when the parts were announced. The camp worker replied, “There were quite a few tears.” My heart twinged as the mother asked, “Was it mine?” The worker laughingly replied that it was mostly hers, who as an “experienced” camper expected to waltz in and get a leading role without much effort. She said that many of the kids who had participated before were surprised to be cast in smaller roles, thinking that they deserved all the best parts. Then she went on to say that there were a couple of new kids who had come in and wowed the judges with their auditions. She continued talking about one in particular, who she called this “tiny little blonde thing” who came in and asked to audition for Lily and then stunned the judges by reading the role with a hilarious Brooklyn accent. The worker said they were falling out of their seats laughing and knew immediately that she should have the part. Noah tugged on my sleeve and whispered, “It’s Lex, Mom”. My heart began to pound and I waited anxiously for Lexi to come out. As she entered the lobby where we were waiting, she looked downcast and wouldn’t meet my eyes. She said, “Let’s go, Mom.” I was pretty sure she was faking, but anxiously followed her to the car. She slowly buckled herself in and waited until I finally said, “Don’t keep me in suspense…I’ve been waiting all day!!!” She sighed deeply and said, “Well, I really had my heart set on the part of Lily…and THAT’S WHAT I GOT!” Then I asked her about her audition, and if she was the one who auditioned with a Brooklyn accent. She looked at me smugly and nodded with a grin. I asked her, “Do you even know where Brooklyn is?!” to which she shook her head “no”. I laughed and asked her how she knew what a Brooklyn accent sounded like. She answered, “I’ve seen the movie, Mom…I just pretended I was Kristin Chenoweth!”

Later, as I thought about this experience, I realized something. While my intentions were good (protecting my daughter’s heart), my actions were wrong. In trying to prevent the possibility of her pain, I was stealing her hope. Because I had experienced disappointment in similar circumstances as a child, I wanted to spare her. I knew the crushing disillusionment from a failed audition, and I did not want my precious little pixie to experience it. Instead of encouraging her to go for her dream, I wanted her to be “safe”. I thought if she had lower aspirations, it wouldn’t hurt as much if she failed, like I had. I loved drama growing up, but I was cursed with a sometimes paralyzing shyness when it came time to audition. The one time I valiantly overcame my fear and gave an awesome audition (my senior year), the director called me back for the lead role, but then gave it to the other girl (a junior) because she was reluctant to believe I could do it, since she hadn’t seen that in me the previous years. She told me that although I read the role better, and seniors usually got the lead, she wouldn’t give it to me. It absolutely broke my heart and that was the last time I acted.

Now I see that I was viewing Lexi’s experience through my own failure. I desperately wanted to protect her from the pain that I had felt. Instead of giving my daughter wings, I was tethering her to the ground, so she wouldn’t be hurt. And, boy, did she show me. She went in, gave it her all, and succeeded. She had the best two weeks of her life, and the experience of playing “Lily St. Regis” in Annie, Jr. is something she will never, ever forget, as long as she lives. She was an unqualified success, bringing the audience to laughter and rave reviews (people stopped us outside the theater to compliment us on her performance). But as much as she learned, I think I learned more. My job is not to clip her wings, but to help her fly. Life is full of disappointment, but if I shield her from it, she will never learn to persevere through it. I need to teach her the tools to flourish even in the midst of disappointment, not keep her from ever experiencing it. In trying to protect her, I was actually doing her a disservice. I think, in our society, we have failed our children by trying to protect them from every disappointment. We have created a generation of kids who expect to get what they want when they want it because we don’t want to “disappoint” them. We have created a school system that has removed all competition and reward, because it might hurt someone’s “self-esteem”. Instead of teaching our children to give it their best, and how to go to their Father’s arms for comfort when they fail, we have tried to prevent them from ever failing.

Next time, I will try to let Lexi hope without tarnishing it for her. And if she fails, she will know that her mother is here to hold her, and to share her hurt, and to help her find her way to the Father of all comfort.

Mothering Myths - Part I - The Myth of "Me"-Time

One of the most common complaints I hear from mothers is their lack of “me”-time. Weariness sets in and mothers long for an escape…for an hour alone to sleep, read a book, or go shopping without an entourage of strollers, diaper bags, and cranky toddlers. Mothers dream of a long, hot bubble bath without little fists banging on the door, shouting “Mommy! Jeffy spilled juice on the carpet!” They imagine long afternoon naps, uninterrupted by babies crying, clothes dryers buzzing and siblings fighting. After long days and weary nights of meeting physical, emotional and spiritual needs, sometimes for years on end, their hearts cry out, “But what about ME?”

The world’s answer to this problem is to demand our rights. We DESERVE a break, we NEED a nanny or a housekeeper or a more sympathetic husband. We OUGHT to find something that fulfills us, such as an art class or a part-time job or the time away to write a book. Our culture tells us that we couldn’t possibly find fulfillment in something as mundane as mothering, so we need to look elsewhere for our happiness. Probably the most common question I am asked (and decidedly my least favorite) when people hear that I homeschool my children is this: “But when do you have time for yourself?”

I believe that God’s answer to this dilemma is one that turns the world’s wisdom upside-down. Nowhere in Scripture does God tell us to satisfy our own needs or pursue our own desires. Instead, He instructs us to serve with humility and with our whole hearts, and to rely on Him for the strength to do so. Even more powerfully, He gives us an example of what this looks like in His son, Jesus Christ. Mark 10:45 says that “For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many." The Messiah himself came to earth and served endlessly, purposefully and uncomplainingly. He served when he was tired, when he was grieving, and even just hours before he was facing a horrifying death on a cross.

How did he do this? The Bible tells us that Jesus was fully human, facing all the temptations and limitations of inhabiting an earthly body. How did he keep going, keep meeting needs day after day after day? I believe he was able to do this because he had one goal—that of pleasing his heavenly Father. He drew his strength from God himself, and kept his gaze firmly fixed on his Father instead of firmly fixed on himself and his own needs and desires. The happiest moms I know are those who have fixed their eyes on Jesus. They have resolutely surrendered their own agendas and have invested their whole hearts into serving their families with love and selflessness. On the contrary, the most unsatisfied moms I know are clinging to their own wants and have listened to the world’s messages that tell them they can’t possibly be fulfilled by this role of mothering. They feel empty and unfulfilled and busy their lives with more and more activities, trying to find satisfaction.

Is being a God-focused mom instead of a me-focused mom an easy task? Absolutely not. Have I achieved this myself? Decidedly no. This is a daily battle for every mom—will I live in selfishness or surrender? While surrender is painful, and oftentimes frightening, the fruit is incomparable. When we surrender our will to God’s, He not only provides peace and joy and rest, but the strength to carry on in His power. In Isaiah 1:19, God tells the disobedient Israelites, “If you are willing and obedient, you will eat the best from the land”. I believe the same holds true for us as mothers. If we are willing and obedient to the calling God has given us as mothers, we will see the fruit of our wholehearted mothering. A passage that I discovered early in my journey as a mother (and have clung to ever since) is found in Isaiah 58:9-11:

Then you will call, and the LORD will answer;
you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.
"If you do away with the yoke of oppression,
with the pointing finger and malicious talk,

and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,
then your light will rise in the darkness,
and your night will become like the noonday.

The LORD will guide you always;
he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land
and will strengthen your frame.
You will be like a well-watered garden,
like a spring whose waters never fail.

I absolutely love this passage. Although it was written by the prophet Isaiah countless years ago, it speaks to the heart of mothering. We are laboring under a yoke of oppression that the world has thrust upon us. We have swallowed the lie that mothering is a menial task instead of a divine calling. We are struggling to keep parenting in our own strength, instead of taking part in the divine power that God offers us freely. This passage teaches us that God is our source of strength and satisfaction and that if we willingly give ourselves to our children (the hungry and oppressed!), He will provide all that we need to flourish like a well-watered garden. Notice that it doesn’t say we will just survive, but that we will flourish!

Am I saying that we never need a break from our task? Of course not. Even Jesus stole away for a few hours of refreshment (and was often interrupted by his needy disciples—sound familiar?). Taking some time out to refresh and restore our souls is vitally important, but we need to make sure we are receiving our refreshment from the right source. Taking the time for a manicure or a girls’ night out can be fun and relaxing, but don’t neglect to spend some time taking in God’s refreshment by reading His word and praying daily. The lover of our souls is the one who knows exactly what we need and is ready and waiting to supply it.

So how about it? Are you willing to try an unconventional approach to mothering? Are you willing to give up the world’s quest for “Me” and devote yourself to loving service to your family? Although it won’t be easy, God promises us that He will provide the strength and joy and peace that we need. When we turn over our rights and desires to God, He promises that He will satisfy our hearts and strengthen our bodies. He will sustain us in those long days and weary nights, and help us to find joy in this season of mothering. Even better, our families will flourish when we are surrendered and are giving to them out of love, not out of obligation or guilt.

“Me”-time is a myth…we will never find satisfaction in feeding our own souls. Only in God can we flourish in this season of mothering and successfully love and train these precious children that have been entrusted to us.