12 things your daughter needs you to say

May 15, 2013

In high school, I loved all those little sayings I heard Christians say. You know the ones - When God closes a door, he opens a window. Or Don’t put God in a box! My personal favorite was when one of my friends in my small group went through a break up with a boy, our small group leader proudly announced: Rejection is protection! And we all promptly dove for our journals to write that one in big, bold letters.

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I tried to use that one once  on my current small group to see what they would do. They just stared at me and rolled their eyes. Then they laughed because they knew I was joking.

Maybe teenagers in 1995 were a lot more corny than teenagers in 2013. Or maybe it was just me.

There are things our daughters (and sons, too!) need to hear us say. And even though the clichés may encourage some of them and may look cute on a poster, they will most likely fall flat on young ears. Here is my best attempt to come up with 12 non-cliché things our daughters need to hear us say.

12 things your daughter needs you to say

1. I have hope.

I could tell her “Have hope.” But, I speak as a daughter here, it means more to me to see my parents have hope than for them to tell me to have hope. My hope (or lack thereof) speaks louder to her than my words about hope.

Show her you have hope – you trust God with your family, you have hope for her future, you see light in dark places.

2. Live with God rather than for God.

It is common to tell young people to live their lives for God. And though I get the sentiment, I have seen how telling her to live for God can be confusing. The truth is the life she now lives, she lives by faith in Jesus. To tell her to live for God could lead her to try to perform for acceptance rather than living from the acceptance that is already hers in Christ.

God isn’t sitting out in the audience of her life, waiting for her to get things in order. No, he’s standing with her on stage. Even better, he stands within her. Remind her of her kind, compassionate, powerful companion who goes with her wherever she goes.

3. I’m sorry.

Of all the words I’ve ever spoken to my children, these two seem to have had the most powerful impact. Admit you are wrong when you are wrong and own the consequences.

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4. Be who you already are.

She needs to be reminded of who she is, not who she is expected to be. In Christ, she is loving, even if she is acting unloving. In Christ, she is patient, even if she is acting impatient. Appeal to her new creation identity rather than simply shaming her for her wrong behavior.

Tell her she is beloved. Tell her she is beautiful. Remind her what is already true. Invite her to live into the truth of who Christ is forming her to be.

5.You can’t save people.

Only God can do that. I grew up with a mom who knew Jesus and a dad who didn’t. So I spent four years of my young life carrying the weight of my dad’s salvation on my shoulders. The story ends well as he accepted Jesus when I was 11. But looking back I realize what a ridiculous expectation I put on myself. Remind her to pray for those who don’t believe, but to never carry the weight of trying to save them on her own.

6. I’m trusting Jesus. Want to join me?

John says this one a lot to our kids (our twin girls are 9 and our son is 6) when our family is in the midst of a transition or facing something potentially scary. It may seem a little corny for older ones, but the message it sends is this - I am trusting God and am okay whether you join me or not. I invite you to join me and would love for you to join me, but the choice is entirely yours. 

I’ve heard it said you can’t make a kid eat, sleep, or use the bathroom. And I’m going to add this: you can’t make a kid trust God. Remind her that your faith is your own and so is hers.

7. You have something to offer the world.

I realize this dances dangerously close to You are a unique snowflake. But it’s kind of true, isn’t it? She is the only one of her there has ever or will ever be. She is made in the image of God and has the distinct privilege of carrying that unique image around in the world. Christ lives within her and will come out of her through the filter of her unique personality. Remind her she has something (lots of somethings, actually) to offer the world. Walk with her as she experiments with what those things might be.

8. I trust Christ in you.

When I was in high school and would have a problem I was trying to work through, my dad would listen and offer advice, but he would often end our talks with this statement: “You know where to go.” He never freaked out, never tried to push me into a decision. He could have said “I trust you” and that would have built my confidence some. But what I knew was that he actually trusted Christ in me – and that is where the mystery Paul speaks about in Colossians 1:27 comes in – Christ is in me. So it’s me, but it’s him, but it’s me, but it’s him – what a beautiful mystery indeed.

For me, knowing my parents trusted me built my confidence – but knowing they trusted Christ in me took the pressure off.

9. You are deeply loved.

Or, to put it a little differently, I like to use these words from Andrew Murray:

why does God love us?

10. You are not alone.

This could be one of the most heartbreaking realities I see among girls – they feel so desperately alone. Remind her you are with her, Christ is with her, and be careful not to try to fix her loneliness. This may be the very intimate place where Jesus could show her his companionship as he never has before.

11. Want to go get some FroYo?

She might roll her eyes. She might say no thanks, Mom. She might rather spend time with her friends. Keep asking. When and if she finally says yes and you have the chance to sit across from her with a cup full of cake-batter flavored frozen yogurt with strawberries and gummy worms on top, look into her eyes and release your own agenda. If she wants to talk about the weather, let her talk about the weather. Be curious. Be open. Be available to her even if it seems like she doesn’t care if you’re available or not.

She does care. She absolutely cares.

12. ________

No, that’s not a typo. Sometimes the one thing our girls need to hear us say is nothing at all. Words mean nothing if our lives don’t speak for us. I am personally aware of how I sometimes use words of belief to cover up for my lack of real belief in my daily life. It’s easier to tell my kids a bunch of things that are true than it is to live as though I believe those things are true.

12 things to tell our daughters

I’m reminded of a story Brennan Manning shared in The Wisdom of Tenderness of the elderly Uncle Seamus who joyfully skipped along the Irish shoreline. And when his nephew asked him, “Uncle Seamus, you look so very happy. Do you want to tell me why?”

And he responded, “Yes, lad. You see, the Father is very fond of me. Ah, me Father is so very fond of me.”

May we be able to speak love into the lives of our girls only and always because our Father speaks love into us – and may we say with Uncle Seamus, the Father is very fond of me.

As I said before, this list is by no means exhaustive. I’m sure tomorrow I could come up with 12 more. But since I shared earlier this week one thing your daughter doesn’t need you to say, I thought it only appropriate to offer some things she might need to hear. And if I’m very honest, I need to hear them, too.

What would you add to the list?

Want a resource to read with the teen girl in your life? I wrote a book called Graceful just for her. Read the first chapter here for free or watch the 3-minute mini-movie

63 Comments · Filed Under: grace, Graceful, ministry, motherhood

one thing your daughter doesn’t need you to say

May 13, 2013

In the middle of a radio interview I did last week, the host decided to take calls from listeners. This happens during longer live interviews – the host greets the caller and then hands the reins of the conversation over to me. Might I pause here to point out how this practice evokes equal amounts of panic and excitement into my bones.

I panic because I have absolutely no way to prepare for what a caller might say. This isn’t a problem in normal conversation but on the radio it gets a little tricky. Because after exactly 15 seconds of listening I will be expected to have some kind of “expert” answer which stands in direct opposition to both my personality and the natural way I believe a conversation is suppose to work.

I gag. Still, I realize this is the nature of interviews like this and I accept it as part of the process while I work desperately to avoid ever trying to sound like Dr. Phil by refusing to say statements like “How’s that workin’ for ya?” and “Do you wanna be right or do you wanna be happy?”

Still, there is also something exciting about having people call in. It’s true, there is no way to prepare for what someone might say, but that’s kind of the fun part. There is no way to prepare for what someone might say!

In a way, this takes the pressure off and frees me up to be myself.

So last week when the host opened it up to callers, I got that familiar ache in my knees I always get when I am anxious and also excited. One of the first callers was a girl, a junior in high school.

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After two minutes of listening to her story, it was obvious she was a good girl – dedicated student, obedient daughter, sweet disposition, high anxiety, unrealistic expectations of herself. Her main concern was being a Christian in high school and wanting to be a good example for her friends.

But it was hard, she said, to always be a consistent one.

Then the host turned it over to me.

I made a few observations, told a story about how I could relate – I don’t think anything I said added much to the conversation in that moment, which was fine. This is the downfall of handing over the reins of conversation to an INFJ on a live call – I can usually assess the situation fairly accurately but it takes a lot of time for my observations to reach my mouth.

I tend to just want to ask a question or say, “Hmm, that’s so interesting!”

Which is decidedly not interesting on the radio.

Lucky for me, this particular radio host was deeply invested in the conversation and responded to her in an appropriate way – he told her the worst thing she could do is to try to have it all together in front of her friends.

Instead of trying so hard to be an example, just be honest. “If you struggle,” he said, “say so. If you hurt someone, apologize. Then they really will get to know you and they won’t have reason to call you a hypocrite.”

Brav. O.

When the interview was over, I sat in my room and thought for a few more minutes about the conversation. I kept rolling her words around in my head: “I want to be an example to my friends, but sometimes it’s so hard to be a good one.”

The more I thought about her struggle, the more frustrated I got. I paced my room, made my bed with the excess energy. I thought about what the host said to her and began to think how I would put his response in my own words.

Here’s what I came up with: She isn’t supposed to be an example. Her friends don’t need an example, they need a friend. A real one. An honest one. A touchable one. They  need a friend who doesn’t think she’s better than everyone, but one who knows she isn’t. They need a friend who knows she needs Jesus.

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So what about being a leader and setting the example? Isn’t that a good thing? Isn’t that what parents and youth leaders tell students all the time?

The more I think about it, the more I believe this well-meaning statement is not only a manipulative way to try to control our daughters’ behavior, but can also be dangerous to their spiritual health. When we tell her to be an example, we may as well just hand her a mask right there – Here. Hide behind this. Don’t let them see you struggle.

I know that’s not what we mean. I know. But it doesn’t matter so much what we mean, it matters what she hears.

And when she hears adults tell her to be an example, she thinks that means she can never mess up, can never have problems, can never just be a teenager with struggles like everyone else.

She might then mature into a woman who believes being a Christian means having it all together, saying all the “right” things, staying a few steps above everyone else.

She may become a person people look up to, but she will never be someone they can relate to.

She may be successful at managing her behavior, but she will always struggle to manage people’s opinions.

She may have a great reputation, but her character will be clouded with bitterness and anger.

She may be a good church-goer, but she will not know how to be a good friend.

This may keep her out of trouble, but it will suffocate her soul.

But what about holiness?!  I can hear the protests now. Don’t we want her to be a light in a dark place?

Yes. But telling her to be an example won’t let her shine, it will just cause her to shrink.

She already is a light in a dark place, but here is the part most of us forget when we’re telling our teenagers to be an example:

Her light comes from Jesus, not from her awesome behavior.

Do you believe Christ himself has taken up residence within her? Do you trust him with her life – her decisions, her emotions, her relationships? Do you truly believe he goes with her wherever she goes?

If so, then instead of telling her to be an example, how about encouraging her to be herself?

When she is hurt, she can deeply feel it. When she messes up, she can own it. When she hurts someone, she can apologize. When she has doubts, she can voice them. And when she is joyful, it will be from a real place inside her, not a manufactured mask she puts on for show.

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If you have a daughter graduating in a few weeks, don’t be afraid. As she packs her bags for her summer trip or her college dorm, encourage her to leave the mask behind.

Believe Christ is in her. Believe she already has everything she needs. And for the love, don’t tell her to be an example. Free her up to be herself – a girl who has the living Christ living inside her.

Need a resource or a gift for the high school or college girl in your life? (Or, let’s face it, for your 54-year-old self?) Consider one of the two books I wrote on this very topic: Grace for the Good Girl or Graceful (For Young Women). Both books encourage women of all ages to let go of the try hard life.

UPDATE: I have written somewhat of a follow up post to this one – since I’ve shared one thing your daughter doesn’t need you to say, I thought it only appropriate to offer 12 things she might need to hear. Let’s call it part two. Ish. Thank you for reading – it is a gift to say the very least.

198 Comments · Filed Under: Grace for the Good Girl, Graceful, ministry, motherhood

how my mom changed the world :: a mother’s day giveaway

May 6, 2013

She told me not to touch the Jell-O as it settled in the fridge. It needed time. But I was only a little bigger than 7 and I just wanted a peek. The cherry red shined under the light. Was it wet? Was it gel? One finger in, that’s all it took. One finger to discover if the magic had happened yet.

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It hadn’t. I found that out quick as I lost my balance, finger deep in red goo. It came tumbling off the glass shelf, onto the jam and the pickle lids, the linoleum and the pink jelly shoes. But that’s not the worst part.

The worst part is she was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching. And I didn’t know it.

There I was, unable to hide the sticky guilt of my disobedience. She could have yelled. She could have lectured. She could have scolded with a pointy finger and a go-t0-your-room. But that isn’t what she did.

Instead, she wore calm like a cloak as she moved towards me, a soft look on her face, love in her green eyes –mercy standing over me. And then, she began to help me clean it up – grace on hands and knees.

The yelling would have been easier to take. But I would have forgotten it.

I got my first glimpse of the power of grace that day in my mother’s kitchen. She didn’t change the whole world, but something shifted inside mine.

It was subtle, but it was powerful, too.

She will be the first to tell you that grace wasn’t always her response. Grace isn’t always my response, either. But for today, I love the reminder that grace leaves a deep impact on a child’s heart. The influence of a mother is a powerful force, one that deserves a celebration.

a mother’s day giveaway!

One winner will receive all of the following gifts:

pink mother's dayCD and Necklace

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sparkly grace

how to enter

One person will win all seven gifts – to give to your mama or to keep for yourself! (Translation: you don’t have to be a mom or have a mom to enter). All you have to do is leave a comment on this post. And of course you can tweet or Facebook for extra entries. Just come back and say you did. When you comment, be sure to include your email address in the email field or we won’t have a way to contact you if you win (your email address will not be made public or used in any other way). An apology to our international readers, but this giveaway is available to US residents only. Winner will be announced Wednesday May 8 by 11 am EST. Happy Mother’s Day week!

UPDATE: Thanks to all who entered – the winner of the giveaway is Laura Boggess!

The content in this post is a re-edited version of a post written for my 31 Days of Grace series.

603 Comments · Filed Under: motherhood

a book, a post, and a bio for the artist in you

March 15, 2013

My sister and I have both been writing our blogs for many years now. We often joke with each other, especially after writing a post that took a lot of time and thought, “Welp, my blog is finished! The end. I have absolutely nothing left to say. Ever.”

horse on my laptop

Today is one of those days where I’m not sure I’ll ever have anything to say again. I don’t say that with any anxiety. It happens often enough to where I know it isn’t permanent, but I also know when these days come, the best thing for me to do is to spend some time folding laundry and cleaning my kitchen.

I love those kind of days and I don’t say that sarcastically. Besides, Agatha Christie says the best time to plan a book is while you’re doing the dishes. From the looks of my sink, I will have several books planned by the end of the day.

While I spend some time letting my soul breathe, I wanted to share words from a few artists who have more to say than I do:

1. Matt Appling: Life After Art: What You Forgot About Life and Faith Since You Left the Art Room

“I went to the art room to teach, but found myself learning something profound, unexpected, even life changing: that the art room’s most enduring and timeless lessons are not for kids learning to paint or draw, but for adults who finally want discover how to live the lives they were created for.”

Well, you know that’s a message I can get behind. Matt’s first book, Life After Art, releases April 1. Watch the trailer and reserve your copy of the book. I’ve read it, endorsed it, and recommend it now to you.

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2. Christa Wells: For the Mother Artist

“There are embers glowing inside you that won’t.go.out even though you have a human critter or two (or five) to care for and really don’t have spare minutes for artistic flame-fanning.

You have a few domestic goddesses in your life and a few childless superstar artists in your periphery, and as my poet-friend Beth Ann Fennelly wrote:

I want membership in both clubs.

If we dedicate heart and soul and all our waking hours, we may at best become “Honorary Members” which feels sort of like a southern “bless-her-heart-she-tries.”

At least, that’s how it feels most days, because there is either:

1. no homemade bread on your counter OR

2. no new song on your piano.  And that, my sisters, is why I write now to YOU.”

She speaks of writing “Held” when she felt small and lonely – and how it counted way before Natalie Grant recorded it. For anyone who struggles with balancing life and art, read this post by Christa.

3. John Blase: The Beautiful Due 

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John Blase has the best about page description of himself I’ve read in a very long time. Maybe ever. I’ve read it different times as I’ve come across his blog, and every time I read it, I tear up. It’s short  and it’s all about him but somehow, it’s about me too. See if you can find yourself in his words.

12 Comments · Filed Under: art, motherhood

when the days are long and the minutes are longer

March 13, 2013

Real quick, before I have to blow my nose again – I’ve pretty much been home with at least one drippy, coughy, feverish child for the past week. Scratch that. Today is day 10. So that’s practically two weeks. Or if you’d prefer to use mom-with-sick-kids math, that’s not a day less than a year and a half.

To top off the fun, a giant tank is following me around with two tiny hoses attached to each of my nostrils, pumping helium into my head. Couple that with the little men made of feathers dancing on the floor of my throat and I basically feel like a cartoon.

Or a Claritin commercial.

It must be March.

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March still has gifts to unwrap – the time change means my sunroom catches the light at the perfect time of the morning now, my front yard tree is going to burst with new buds any minute, and spring break is within sight.

Still, I’m no pink unicorn fool. Hard days are hard and there’s no way around it. It doesn’t mean you aren’t a thankful or loving person just because you kind of want to drive to Hawaii and leave everyone’s needs behind (I know, you can’t drive to Hawaii, but some days you’re willing to try).

It just means you need a break.

I’m a believer in showing up to the task of the day and entering into your calling no matter what it is. But part of embracing your calling also means tending to your soul. It’s not only okay, it’s necessary.

So when you don’t get that time, you might get a little nutty. Especially if there are also feathers living in your throat.

I love my children and I’m thankful down to my bones for them. I would throw myself in front of a bus for them but sometimes can’t manage to find the energy to get them another cracker.

And that is the crazy we call parenthood.

A few years ago I wrote a letter to myself 20 years from now for the simple purpose of reminding my mother-with-grown-up-kids self not to paint the past with only pastels. I read it again today, and even though my kids aren’t in diapers anymore, I still need to be reminded that some days are just plain hard.

Yes, it could be worse. Yes, someone else has it harder. Yes, you are thankful to have children. Yes, you live with great blessing. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a bad day.

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So friends with children sick at home or toddlers underfoot or babies sniffling and crying all through the night? Here’s to googling How to Play Mancala, re-heating your coffee for the fifth time this morning, serving meals on trays and distributing medicine like a pharmacist.

Here’s to knowing it won’t always be this way, to letting the dishes stay dirty for a while, to writing a blog post in the fifteen minute cracks you get during Max & Ruby. Here’s to alone time in the shower, to snuggling up next to feverish children while counting down the minutes until they have to go to bed.

Here’s to stealing a little time for yourself if you can manage it, to saving the last few pages of Sparkly Green Earrings because you kind of don’t want it to end, to letting your six year old sleep in your room for the third night in a row and serving him ice cream for lunch.

Here’s to missing deadlines and falling behind because you were sitting in the doctor’s office for two hours and then had to come home and play airplanes.

Here’s to knowing we aren’t alone, to the hope of a future sanity, and to believing none of this is a waste of time.

Mothers (and fathers too), I raise my mug to you.

Still need a little encouragement in the parenting department today? Check out a few of these reads:

47 Comments · Filed Under: motherhood

why I stopped feeling guilty about stupid things

February 28, 2013

There is a small tree growing between our neighbor’s side yard and ours. Every year around this time, that tree spits out tiny pink buds, whispering the promise of hopeful things to come. The buds are only pretty for a short time, and yesterday I realized I missed their prettiest days this year.

My first instinct was to feel guilty about that. Oh no! I’m missing my favorite small gifts! I’m not paying attention in life. But that’s simply not true. I am paying attention. I’m just not always able to pay attention to everything at the same time.

pink tree

Here’s the thing: I’m thankful for the small gifts of the every day, the tiny reminders that life is not all about me and my big self. But I can’t always roll around in them. I value the practice of celebrating small gifts – but that practice doesn’t look the same from day to day or season to season.

***

When our kids come home from school at 2:30, we jump in the deep end of homework and projects and juggling food on the stove. We eat together at the table, practice spelling after dinner, referee sibling fights and snuggle on the couch before bed.

During the hours they’re in school, I have a job to do. I am committed to finish this third book. So far in 2013, my writing efforts have been entirely focused on re-writing large portions of my manuscript (this is not ideal, by the way). Last Friday, I finally turned it in (for the second time). But that was only after 9 hour writing days, early morning wake up calls, lots of reading, thinking, praying, and waiting for the message to make sense.

I’m also committed to write blog posts, guests posts, and articles, to communicate with my editor and agent, to plan marketing and promotion, to do interviews and prepare talks for events. This is my job, one I love and sometimes want to hide from, but I’m always committed to doing it – not to mention all the other responsibilities of being a mom, a wife, and a dependable grown up.

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My husband wakes all of us up every morning. He makes breakfast and does the laundry (washes, folds, and puts it away, people. I will never leave him). Frankly, he does a lot of the household work I used to do – and he still has his own full time job.

I felt guilty about that for about 7 minutes once. And then I woke up and smelled the fresh laundry, realizing I can’t waste my time worrying about stereotypes and expected roles. This is our life together and we both make it work.

We are learning new rhythms, flexible schedules and shared responsibilities. We plan downtime and date nights and squabble about timing and dinner and who’s picking up the kids. Sometimes I get it all wrong, work too much, and have to reset things.

There are days when I still fight every moment with guilt over not going with them to the park or the movies, over feeling distracted even when I am with them. It’s important for me to enter into that fight, but it’s also important for me to recognize this is a unique season and it won’t always be this way.

It’s also my responsibility to make sure that’s true.

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Here are some things that have helped me release the guilt over the past eight months as I’ve been working more than usual:

  • My husband and I have decided together this third book is part of my calling as a writer. We decided this was the time to write it and we both knew what that meant, from the proposal to the marketing and all the things that come in between. If you’re entering a season of focused work on a big project, it’s vital to have your family on your team.
  • Sometimes being fully present to my work and my family means I will miss the pink buds on the tree in my side yard. We choose what gets our attention. When it’s time for margin, enter in fully. When it’s time to work, do the same. Missing the small gifts sometimes means I’m simply caught up in a bigger picture.
  • Doing the risky work of hyper-focusing on a project now means my mind and heart will be free from the burden of having to figure out how to say it later.
  • The beautiful truth I’m thankful to know is this process brings its own small gifts. When I have something to say and I finally take the risk to say it, I become more fully myself with each word. That kind of courage is a gift all by itself.

***

I’m sharing this for a few reasons.

One, in the next few weeks I plan to tell you more about this book I’ve been working on. But before I did that I wanted to be honest with you about the process. I haven’t figured out “how to write a book” yet. But I’m at least learning to stop feeling guilty over the amount of focus it takes me to do it. I mainly have my husband to thank for that.

Second, I’m guessing most of you are in your own full seasons right now. And maybe you struggle with fear or guilt over not being able to embrace all the moments the way you either used to or want to.

Might I suggest that you take the day off from the guilt and see if it changes anything? You may realize the space all that guilt was taking up in your soul is now free to embrace more moments than you thought possible.

You’re juggling plenty of balls in the air. Don’t let shame be one of them.

Drop the guilty, wilty worry over missing out on the little things or not living up to made up expectations you have in your head. Be fully present where you are with what you have and trust that God is big enough to fill in the gaps.

67 Comments · Filed Under: marriage, motherhood, writing

Artists and Influencers: they’re teaching me about love

February 11, 2013

 One of my classes in college required every student to take the Taylor-Johnson Temperament Analysis. This wasn’t just an abbreviated online questionnaire. This was the full battery designed to measure, according to their website, “eighteen dimensions of personality that are important components of personal adjustment and in interpersonal relationships.”

loveThe results of this test came back in a graph, with words like composed and lighthearted at one end and their opposite traits, nervous and depressive, at the other. We had to meet with a counselor to discuss our results.

You can imagine why that is, what with nervous and depressive being possible outcomes.

I considered myself to be a fairly well-rounded person. Though I knew this was a measure of personality and there wasn’t a right or wrong, the good girl in me figured there was a more right result and I anticipated a nice, somewhat even line through the middle of the paper – not too nervous (simmer down, Scooby) but certainly not too composed (so exactly what it it you are hiding, hmm?).

When I got my results back, I’m fairly sure my face turned an immediate shade of Valentines red because at the top of the page, right in the middle, was the word subjective with the opposite trait, objective way down at the bottom.

One guess where Emily’s line nearly went straight off the page.

I measured so subjective on that test they may as well not have had objective on there at all. Ninety-nine percent subjective, people. I wanted to cry about it but that one percent objectivity I had rolling around in my bones thought better of it.

I remember my counselor saying something like, It’s the extremes we want to pay attention to.

Well. I suppose that meant we were extremely subjective. I didn’t like it, but I couldn’t deny it either. As I moved through life, if I didn’t feel it, then it simply wasn’t true. My experience of life and my beliefs about God and you and everything else were based, in large part, upon how I felt.

I was in my early twenties when I took that test. You could have told me a hundred times that love isn’t a feeling, but in my mind, if I didn’t feel loved, then I wasn’t. End of story.

Learning what real love is has been a slow awakening. I could write about all I’m learning of love from my husband (who has taught me more than anyone) or from my parents (who have been married for 40 years now). But as I think about it and as I’m challenged to keep this series as present as possible, there are two people who are teaching me about love these past few weeks more than anyone else.

My twin girls.

Really, all three of my kids are teaching me about love. But the girls, since they came first and their birth marked the beginning of that time where everything-will-now-be-different-in-your-life-forever-more, they seemed to have influenced my idea of love more ferociously than my third baby.

shoes

The question for me was never do they love me? I knew better than to look to feel loved from tiny helpless babies. Instead, I struggled through foggy days and endless nights, wondering as I fed and diapered and comforted, do I love them? 

I knew I loved them in the way a human person has regard and respect for another human person. But I was still learning what it meant to be a mother, to be the only mother they will ever have. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like to be a mother who loves her babies?

This is a question I struggled with a lot during those first few years of motherhood.

My girls are nine years old now. They are in the same class at school and this year we’ve watched as they’ve started to share secrets more than ever. They choose together more than they choose apart. They hold hands and skip. It’s delightful to watch. I recently asked them both: Who is your best friend, you know, besides each other? And do you know they both said the same thing in response?

She’s not my friend, she’s my sister.

love sisters

I realized then something I’ve known about love but hadn’t yet been able to define: True love is often so fierce and so thick that the feelings don’t have space to surface. My girls love one another deeply, but I don’t think they have loving feelings for each other. At least, not yet.

They are learning to love one another in action the way I know they love in their hearts. And I learn about love as I watch them.

When they were small, I wondered if I loved them enough. But now looking back, I realized I was asking that question even as I was in the middle of loving them. I fed, clothed, protected, nurtured, and comforted them. I moved into their chaos and I still do.

Love moves. Love acts. Love does.

Love and faith are more closely related than I ever realized before. When the feelings of love aren’t there (and honestly lately, they are rarely there in the relationships that mean the most to me), I have to rely on simple truth and daily action.

My feelings do not determine my capacity for loving. If I re-took that Taylor-Johnson test now, as a mother and a wife and a grown up person, I believe it would show different results. But even if it didn’t, I’m okay with it.

Who is teaching you about love and what have you learned?

This is the fourth post in a series and I’m going to end it here for now. I look forward to considering the artists and influencers who are teaching me about art, community, and marriage in the near future when I have less deadlines to meet. So far we’ve covered the topics of writing, home, church and today, in honor of Valentines week, love.

15 Comments · Filed Under: family, motherhood, sisters

in which I have work to do so I ask if you live in Alaska

November 30, 2012

For the past month, my life has taken a turn for the simple. I stay home, make food, give my girl her pink medicine. I wipe off the kitchen table with a hot cloth, make chicken soup on the stove, re-heat my morning coffee. Again. If you knock on my door, I’ll answer it but that’s about as intentionally social as I am able to be.

Once the kids are in bed, The Man and I watch Alaska: The Last Frontier and I fall asleep on the sofa.

After nine days of sick, the kids are all back in school and I turn my full attention back to the manuscript that is due in a little over a week.

I put down the quiet words, treasure them up, wait to see if they’re worth keeping. They simmer and I do, too. I come back the next day, read them back, shake my head, start again.

The words come slow on my commitment work, and I feel a pull to come over here to write in a place where the words are open and immediately received. I can’t take them back that way. Sometimes that’s good for me.

It’s the last day of November and I had every intention of sending out another newsletter this month. But then I realized that all I would have to offer is something like hey y’all. Whatchya doin?  and I didn’t think it was worth it.

And so I come here with not much in my hands today. But I wanted to come anyway just to change my writing pace a bit and also ask if you’ve seen Alaska: The Last Frontier? And also, do you live in Alaska? On a frontier? Because if you do I want to hear all about it. Or even if you just plain live in Alaska. The whole sun-not-coming-up-until-ten-and-setting-at-two completely fascinates me. And also gives me nightmares.

51 Comments · Filed Under: Home, motherhood, writing

the importance of holding on

November 26, 2012

We’re on day eight of fever in our house – two have the flu, one has strep, and two parents have a common cold. Yes, that’s three different sicknesses all up in this house.

I fought against it for about two days last week, wishing I could change what I could see was happening. I realized around Tuesday that this Thanksgiving break was not going to look like what I planned. Some things were canceled, expectations passed by unmet, and all three of my kids suffered terribly with coughs and fevers and wakings in the night.

On Saturday when I started to feel the ache between my eyes, the runny nose and the heavy limbs, I got a little teary and ridiculous about the whole thing. I cuddled up to the idea of disappearing in my bed and letting someone else take care of all the things and people needing attention. Will we ever stop wanting our moms when we start to feel sick?

Today we begin the recovery from the fog. For me, that means trying to remember how to form a sentence. I have a manuscript due sooner than I’d like to admit. Books aren’t written by good intentions, so I have some serious work to do.

But all these things are small, really. Our family will be well soon enough, the book will be written in time, and all these disappointments from last week don’t add up to much even when put all together. I was even able to finish The Distant Hours this weekend and I’m glad I stuck with it. Slow start, great finish.

I remember once my husband telling me whatever you hold on to will hold on to you.

I held on to disappointment some last week and it kept a pretty tight hold on me. Today I’m holding on to gratitude instead, not just for the gifts but to the Giver of them.

What are you holding on to today?

30 Comments · Filed Under: motherhood, thankfulness, writing

when you have a deadline closing in

November 14, 2012

She sits in tears at our white kitchen table, small hands covering her face in defeat. She’s fought in this battle before – she’s on one side, math’s on the other.

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The test is tomorrow. It’s timed. They aren’t allowed to count on their fingers.

Math is bad enough without a deadline. But four and a half minutes is all they’ll get.

She isn’t calming down and it’s getting late so I ask her to join me on the porch. I’m surprised when she agrees. I guess even eight year olds know that sometimes the best thing to do is walk away. We grab jackets near the door, walk outside into the dark November.

It’s silent for a time, her tears are nearly dry. I ask her if she wants to hear some music. She says yes. After a few minutes of listening together, snuggled up on the porch, I bring up math. She tells me her fear about not finishing, not having it memorized yet.

She thinks only of math.

I think only of her.

The song is over, it’s quiet now. I ask if she’s ready to go back in. She nods and takes the lead.

We sit together at the table again and I hand her a pencil. She asks if we can time this one and I agree on one condition: Only one line at a time. She agrees, seeming to appreciate the limit.

As she works to subtract the eights from the eighteens, my focus shifts to me. I’m not always so patient with her or with math. But I took the day off and it seems to make a difference.

It also seems slightly crazy. I have a deadline of my own to work toward, a manuscript due in three and a half weeks. Today was a day I could have worked for hours. As it turns out, I worked a lot but not on the book. While the kids were in school, I cleaned their rooms the way a mama can’t do when they’re around.

I moved the couch around in the living room, swept the hardwood floors, found a place to store some books, got rid of a few old clothes. The house and I had some business to take care of in the corners and cabinets I’ve overlooked for months. The work isn’t finished but we made good progress, most of it invisible in my soul.

Wrestling and tripping toward the deadline is one way to do it. It’s the way I’m used to if you want to know the truth. But it isn’t the way I want to do it this time.

I’m taking deep breaths in dark November. I’m anticipating the nearing deadline as an opportunity to trust.

Somehow these words I’m living will multiply like fishes and loaves when I get them down on paper. I don’t know how they will, but I can’t wait to find out.

My favorite kind of math.

34 Comments · Filed Under: motherhood, writing
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