Being Broken

"Jesus adopts all the messy people and all the broken people and all the imperfect people into His tree and His story and His heart, and He gives you His family name and His absolute happy perfectness and He makes you alive and fully free."
Ann Voscamp


Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you, Jesus.  Because I am messy and I am broken, and I am imperfect and that fact has never been made more clear than it was three weeks ago.

So...It's been a rough three weeks.  But, as often happens, the rough times are accompanied by some deep lessons.  I would like to share mine with you, if I can get my thoughts to translate coherently.

This particular lesson began when I picked up a book called Engaging Today's Prodigal by Carol Barnier.  I picked it up out of sheer curiosity.  (Okay, call it what it is - I'm nosy.) It was not supposed to be about me! I do not consider myself a prodigal - although there are some who might - yet, I keep running into sections that speak to me - or to my circumstances.

Six weeks ago, when I first read the book, I laughed a bit at the first section.  Then I found myself getting angry, but did not really know why.  Carol claims that it is a myth that perfect parenting produces perfect children, and then wonders where we got that idea.  I can tell her where we got it: We got it from books like To Train Up A Child by Michael & Debi Pearl.  Michael and Debi raised five wonderful children who gave them nothing but joy and are now happily serving the Lord and raising perfectly wonderful children of their own. Their method makes a lot of sense, and seems to work well... if only I could follow it.  But I have not the resources of Michael, the energy of Debi, nor the consistent temperament needed to keep up with it all.  Let's face it, I do not train my children as well as I'd like - I'm too busy trying to survive them.

Where else did we get the idea that perfect parenting makes perfect children?  We got it from walking into a church full of happily homeschooled, perfect children.  I am sure their parents would say they are not perfect, but I have never seen children like these.  I'm serious.  Every child there is respectful, obedient, courteous, willing to work, always looking out for the little ones, kind to each other, and, above all, they never, ever fight. My son came up to me, wide-eyed after our first visit, and said, "Mom, the teenagers here are nice!"

Obviously, Mrs. Barnier just hadn't met the right parents yet.

Fast forward three weeks: An event occurred that reminded me just how much of a failure I really am. In the chaos of the moment, I was not paying attention, and nearly lost my three-year-old.  It was my fault.  I have no excuses.  By the grace of God, my son was safe and unharmed, but the enormity of my mistake and the "what might have happened's" continue to plague me.

This weekend, there was another incident - just a little one. My children were playing happily, although a bit loudly while my husband was tuning a  church piano.  David sent me a text to let me know that the customer was getting upset with the noise.  It was the matter of a minute to settle them down on a quieter game, but the incident completely unnerved me.  It seemed that even when my children were being good, they were bad, and it was all my fault.  They are never good enough, because I am not good enough.  How many more mistakes will I make before I ruin them entirely?

We have spent a year in the church with the perfect families, trying to figure out how they do that. What are those parents doing that I am not?  How do they get children that well-behaved?  I am as clueless now as I was a year ago. And my time has run out.  Our life is taking yet another turn and we will no longer be able to make the trip, but must go somewhere closer to home.

Weeping over my guilt and failure, I grabbed a book to stop the spiral.  The book happened to be Prodigal, and I opened to the first chapter and began reading,  "Myth: Perfect Parenting Produces Perfect Children." This time, I am not scoffing. I read the chapter. Then I read it again. And again.

I am not a perfect parent.  My children are not perfect children.  I can no more make my children perfect than I can make myself perfect.  But Carol points out that there was once a perfect parent, who perfectly raised two children who should have been perfect.  They lived in a perfect place and had only one rule. It should have been easy for them to obey.  But they still sinned.  Adam and Eve were God's children, and the consequences of their sin impacted the entire human race.

As I read and re-read the chapter, a peace began to steal into my heart that was as absurd as my earlier anger had been. Maybe I can be forgiven for not being a perfect parent.  Because, perfect parent or not, model children or hooligans, in the end, they all become adults who have to make their own choices.  In the end, there is only one Saviour - and it is not me.  Yes, I must keep trying, but I must also do with my children as I do with my own soul. I must take them to the cross and leave them there.  Jesus gave me these children knowing exactly what my weaknesses are.  It is time for me to trust Him to make up the difference.

Calmer, I take my changing circumstances, and, instead of fighting them, I shine the light of Romans 8:28 on them. Because this new path is not the one I want to take and it is breaking my heart.  I love the people I am leaving, and I do not know when I will see them again.  Normally, I would take a nose dive into the Slough of Despond.  But when I forced myself to examine my loss from the perspective that God is working these things for my good, something changed in my heart. I could see that these people I love taught me an important lesson: they taught me about grace.  Now it is time to learn the next lesson.  I may not know exactly what it is, but I know it will be equally important.

Then, a dear friend, who knows my circumstances, sent me a text: "Read #18, pg. 31 in that book we gave you."  That book is A Gospel Primer by Milton Vincent.  I am on #15, but I dutifully skip ahead to #18...and start laughing.  God has a sense of humor, and tends to plan things out well in advance. Six months ago, I would have rolled my eyes at the passage. Now, because of what God has been teaching me, it not only makes sense, but I find myself beginning to live here:

"...every hardship in my life is allowed by God only because it serves His gospel purposes in me.  When I view my circumstances in this light, I realize that the gospel is not just one piece of good news that fits into my life somewhere among all the bad. I realize instead that the gospel makes genuinely good news out of every other aspect of my life, including my severest trials.  The good news about my trials is that God is forcing them to bow to His gospel purposes and do good to me by improving my character and making me more conformed to the image of Christ."

Timing is everything.  Once again, I see the Master Planner at work. There are things happening now that were set into motion four years ago.  Then, four months ago, a stranger crossed my path.  I thought I would never see her again, but God had other plans.  She chose to become my friend, and, through her, A Gospel Primer was put into my hands so that I would have it now, when I need it. Four months ago, I attended a workshop given by Carol Barnier at the OCEANetwork conference. She gave us a brief teaser about her salvation journey and aroused my curiosity enough that I bought a book I would never have considered otherwise. Yet God knew I needed to hear the message it contains. Or, more properly, several of the messages it contains.

I am once again amazed and humbled by the extremely detailed way God is working in my life.

Yes, I still fail as a mother, nearly every day. Every day I must go to Jesus again and again and ask for His grace, His mercy, and His wisdom. I am so grateful for the reminder in Lamentations 3:

22 It is of the Lord's mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not.23 They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.

Thank-you, Lord, for forgiving me, even in my lowest places.


May God bless you all and give you peace.


Jules

The Elder Brother

Read a post today about a new book coming out.  I don't recall the title, but it was yet another story of a prodigal. Chased from God by unloving religion, this young lady embarked on an incredible journey that led her into the saving grace of Jesus.

What a wonderful story!  Don't we all love to hear those stories?  To weep with the lost and rejoice with the found?

Yet, an almost rebellious question popped into my mind:  Why are the stories always about the prodigals, and never about the elder brother?  Because if that girl was the prodigal, then I am the older brother.

We look at the older brother and we think, "How selfish! Yes, his brother made some bad decisions, but he paid for them with loss and heartache.  Now he's back and all the older brother cares about is not having a party for himself?"  We shake our heads and cluck with self-righteous disapproval.

I'd like to offer a different perspective.

Yes, some older brothers just want a party.  But sometimes there's a deeper issue.  Let me set the scene for you.  Younger brother, let's call him Sam, asks for his inheritance. Father gives it.  Sam goes and starts having the time of his life.  Parties, friends, games, anything he wants... Older brother, call him James, watches in horror.  James knows none of this will bring lasting happiness, but there is a secret part of him that envies Sam and wishes he dared do something like that ... just once.  He doesn't.  Nor does he admit to anyone that secret desire - he quashes it immediately when it rears its ugly head. Good people work.  They don't play until the work is done... and then they keep it dignified.  What Sam is doing is NOT dignified.

Time passes.  The family loses track of Sam.  James, ever faithful, ever obedient, continues to work hard on the family farm.  Nobody pays much attention to James, but they pray every day for Sam, crying out to God that He will bring their boy back to them. James prays too, but that secret part of his heart wishes his parents would notice that they still have one boy.

Then, Praise the Lord!  Sam comes home.  Ragged, skeletal, broken... but home.  The father is thrilled! They kill the fatted calf. They invite all of their friends.  The music plays; the home is filled with joy and laughter.  James wearily trudges home at the end of a long day, ready for a good meal and a hot bath... but what is all this noise?  The servants tell him, "Your brother came home!"

James freezes in his tracks.  The faithful, ignored one.  They are giving a party to Sam.



And they didn't even invite him!



Oh, since he showed up, he's welcome to come inside, but no one thought of him out in the field.  No one sent for him to rejoice.  All his faithfulness means nothing, in the long run.

And if he dares to try to express all those emotions tumbling around inside, he is written off as selfish.


Please understand, my parents never neglected me or made me feel ignored.  I had the best parents on the planet.  But I went to a church school.  Same kids, same teachers for 12 years.  Even if the teachers quit teaching in the school, we still saw them at church. As we grew into our teen years, I watched the "cool" people bending over backwards trying to "save" the teens who were seemingly not interested in God.  I had my own friends, but I kind of wished some of the "cool" people would do some of the cool things with me that they kept doing with the other teens.

I remember our band leader having a "heart-to-heart" with the high school students at the beginning of one school year.  She said something special about every student there, pointing out the things they could do to build each other up in the Lord, some talent they had that could be used of God.  When she came to me, I swear her mind went blank.  "And Julie... well, she's faithful. Always has been, always will be."  I felt like a nice piece of wallpaper.

I kept trying to think of little things I could do, skating the edge of "badness", just so people would notice me as a person.  I told one of my friends I should wear a black strapless dress to my graduation, just to get people's attention.  She thought that was hilarious... I think she would have helped me pick one out... except that she was restrained by the standard I was.  There are some things one just doesn't do in an ultra-conservative setting.

One more story that I hope brings the point home.  When I was in college, something happened that had me devastated...something that probably wouldn't even bother a normal person (before your mind goes to all the horrible things that can happen on a college campus).  I, however, was very upset at the situation.  A lady that I considered my friend noticed I was upset and asked me if I was going to be okay.  I told her I didn't know.  She laughed, and said, "You will be, you always have been before." Then she just walked away.  I stared after her, thinking, "How do you know? What if I'm not?" She never even asked what was wrong.

I'm not complaining.  I was lucky.  In spite of my teenage angst, I really did have good friends and people who cared about me.

So what am I trying to say?  Just this:

Parents, don't neglect the good kids.  The ones who do not cause trouble.  They need to know they are important to you, too.

One of the speakers at the OCEAN conference (Carol Barnier) mentioned this.  She had two ADHD children and one compliant child.  She pointed out that you don't have to give the compliant child as much time as the difficult ones.  I can testify to the truth of that statement.  You don't have to give us as much attention... we really do understand.  Then she said, "But you do have to give them some time." She said that she cut an hour out of her week to spend just with that compliant child... alone.  I wanted to leap out of my seat, throw my arms around her neck and cry, "Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you for understanding!"  It could be half an hour... it could be fifteen minutes... just something to let us know we matter.

In my case, I spent a lot of time folding laundry with my mom.  I knew she appreciated that she didn't have to worry about me.  I knew she would always be there to listen.

However, at these homeschool conferences, on parenting sites, on different blogs, everyone always seems worried about the difficult children.  I just want to point out that, whether you have a prodigal or an older brother, both need your love.  Both need to know you will listen.  And both have an equal need for the Savior.

Remember your quiet child.  Read Lisa Jacobson's How to Get Your Quiet Child to Talk . Give them an extra hug.  Let them know you appreciate not having to worry about them.

Most of all, make sure they know you will listen when they need you.

God Bless,

Jules

Mothers In God's Eyes

What a delightful weekend I've had.  Just spent 2 days at the annual OCEAN Conference. For those unfamiliar with OCEAN it's Oregon Christian Educator's Association Network. (You can find it at OCEANetwork.org - one 'N').  I always love this conference because it reminds me that I'm not alone.

Not alone in having a big family - not alone in wanting a godly family - not alone in my frustrations and fears - not alone in my inadequacy - not alone in my deep need for God in this process - and not alone in the rewards that come from following it.

What a blessing and relief it is to talk to parents who have survived the 14-18 year age range that I am currently entering.  To realize that these people have crazy, seemingly unproductive homeschool days, and yet their children still test, on average, consistently higher than public schools. (I have no idea what the rating is compared to private schools.)

I've listened to mothers confess to homeschooling while their kids are in their pajamas.  I think, "Hah!  At least I make MY kids get dressed!"  We won't mention the fact that while their kids are learning in their pajamas, mine are fully clothed, playing out in the yard because I haven't got it together enough to even start schooling.

I wander through the curriculum hall.  Oh! How I would love to unit study and have art projects to demonstrate our learning -- and look at all the cool Math games that I would love to buy and never get around to playing with my kids.

Forget art!  We're lucky if we get Bible and one other subject done.  My poor 5-year-old is sooooo neglected.  The only reason we do Bible at all is because I make myself do that first.  What kind of mother do I think I am?  What gives me the right to have all these children?  I fail every - single - day.  And the world's voice screams at me that I am a shame to homeschooling, a shame to big families, a shame to Christianity, and a shame to my Lord Jesus Christ Himself.  Who do I think I am?

I am a mother who has a choice.

I can listen to the voices screaming at me that I am just a sinner who deserves to die. That I am the reason birth control was invented.  I can follow those voices into the deep, dark pit of black despair.

Or I can listen to a still, small voice in the quiet of my soul that says, "Yes, actually you are a sinner, and you do fail.  But in the midst of all that, My grace is sufficient for you, for my strength is made perfect in your weakness."  We heard this message again and again at the conference.

The Bible says that children are a gift from God.  I would not even have them if God had not given them to me.  All - six - of - them.  I know barren women that I think would make much better mothers than me... but God gave them to me.  Why?  Heidi St. John says because that's how many it took for me to realize just how much I needed God. (slight re-wording).

Something Todd Wilson said a couple of conferences ago has been working its way down into my spirit.  He was talking to dads.  I don't usually listen to talks to dads.  Every dad does things slightly differently.  My poor husband would be completely overwhelmed if I took everything that every dad does and expected him do them all. (Wives, are you listening?)  However, Todd came up on random play on my computer, and he's funny, so I let the MP3 play.  He made this statement: "If you were to die today, the only one that could replace you as a father is God Himself.  You are plan A.  God is plan B."

Wow.

That goes for mothers, too.  There is no teacher, no coach, no curriculum, no "supernannny", no auntie, nor grandma that can replace what you do for your children. Know what else?  God knew every single one of your faults, inadequacies and failures before He ever gave you those children.  Knowing all that He knows, He chose YOU to be their mother.  YOU are God's perfect plan for your children.  He has matched them up with you perfectly.

Sit with that in your spirit for a minute.

The next time you are tempted to crawl into a hole, remember that God created you, He created your children, and He knows what is best for both of you.

Then go read I Corinthians 12:9

"And He said unto me, 'My grace is sufficient for thee, for my strength is made perfect in weakness."

God Bless,

Jules