of flying machines and grace-filled mothering

I wish I had a flying machine.

(We haven't actually seen this movie... this model came in an airplane kids' kit!)

Will and I made Yogi Bear's flying machine at “rest time” today.  I reluctantly relinquished my usual hour of lying-down-flat-in-a-dark-cool-room because he’s been begging me for several days to “make a craft”…

Ever feel like David?  “Oh, that I had the wings of a dove; I would fly away and be at rest!” (Ps. 55:6)

That refrain played over and over in my heart today.

My second son (4.5 yrs) currently idolizes screen time over every other thing in his life (including Jesus, his mom and dad, all his friends, and every toy he owns).  Practically all of his communication with me this morning consisted of complaining, whining, and begging for screen time, until I put my foot down and insisted “I can't hear you” as long as he continued to whine.  He finally forced himself to switch to a slightly less nasal tone just to get me to respond.

Oh, for the wings of a dove…

After sticking the flying machine together and taping feathers to strips of felt to make Indian headbands, I snuck into my room to lay down on my bed, but I barely got 10 horizontal minutes before Ruby woke up.  Ten whole minutes.  

Then it was up-and-at-‘em again, off to the shop, greeting the entire neighborhood en route to and from, the flurry of getting dinner, letting the dog out, putting the dog away, kids fed, bathed, toenails clipped, put to bed, phone calls made, emails typed, and… I’m still so wound up that even though I’m exhausted, I had to type the rough draft of this post before I could even start my bedtime routine.

I want to fly away on Yogi Bear’s flying machine, without anyone sitting behind me - just me.  By myself.  Alone.  Without anyone else.  Alone.  Did I mention, I want to be alone?

Oh…that I could fly away, and be at rest!

Where are my wings?  I kept glaring up at heaven.

Ever have a day like that?  What did you do? 

Desperate, in the middle of the afternoon, I made Ben write down what he was thankful for, and then I did the same - a purple prophecy written in hope, since it sure isn’t evident yet…

(in case it's not clear in the photo, Ben's list - made with help - includes "cousins in NZ, a cute little sister, 2 grandmas who love me, Gpa Tim and that I have his name, and a ride in a donkey cart today")

I went out after rest time and took pictures of sunflowers, each click of the shutter a tiny burst of helium in my heart, finally lifting it up off the ground to gain a bit of altitude…

I petted the dog… For the first time in my life, I’ve discovered how therapeutic it can be to scratch the velvety fur behind a dog’s ears.  I’m amazed it’s taken me 30 years to discover this!

And now, I’m writing this blog post, looking for wings, hoping the story of this day will encourage even just one other heart out there…

The next day...

I discover that a book review for a course I’m taking is due right now, so during “rest time” I curl up with my Kindle for a hasty reading session.  The book I’ve chosen to review is a thick tome on mentoring which came highly recommended, but my initial scratches (months ago) left me worried it might be quite dry.  Hah!  Completely the opposite.  I can’t stop highlighting.  

In the middle of Chapter 2, the author is describing how a good spiritual mentor can help us discern spiritual meaning in and through the events of our daily lives. These words jump off the page:

“[Eugene] Peterson compares pastoral ministry to work on the farm with its routines of unglamorous chores, such as cleaning the barn, mucking out the stalls and pulling weeds.  Spiritual mentoring is farm work in which we meet routinely with our mentor for periodic unglamorous conversations and prayer.  Though moments of grand epiphany burst in or around us, the heart of mentoring another is the modest work of the routine.” (emphasis mine)

This girl, who’s never owned an animal larger than a hamster, has been feeding chickens, scooping dog poop and pulling up huge fistfuls of garden weeds since the beginning of summer, so the “farm work” analogy currently has a - shall we say - pungent meaning for me.

But it was the end of that paragraph which took my breath away:

“Most pastoral work takes place in obscurity,” says Peterson, “deciphering grace in the shadows, searching out meaning in a difficult text, blowing on the embers of a hard-used life.  This is hard work and not conspicuously glamorous.”

I have a confession to make.  [stage whisper]  I’m one of those people who secretly likes being “conspicuously glamorous”.  Really.  I like getting attention, looking put together, receiving credit for what I’ve accomplished...

Guess what I’m discovering.  

Motherhood is anything but glamorous.  

(Big surprise, right?)  

Motherhood is “deciphering grace in the shadows.”  

When I read that phrase, I saw why God wants me to read this book: not because I’m supposed to go out and collect unsuspecting mentorees on which to bestow my vast depths of knowledge (hah!), but because I already have three little mentorees living in my house everyday, whose souls I am (scarily) responsible for shaping.  

I mean, of course if you’re a mother, you’re a mentor, right?  Yeah, ok - it should’ve been obvious, I guess.  But for some reason, I just didn’t connect motherhood and mentoring.  I thought mentoring was something older, more experienced adults did for younger adults… (so, um, that would be me, with my three little adults-in-training…)  

I know it’s God who works in all of us to will and to act according to His good purpose, and I know He is ultimately the One forming the character of my children, but I also have a huge responsibility to partner with Him in raising my kids to be godly, mature, responsible, joy-filled adults.  After all, He did pick me to be their mother - gulp! - and here in the middle of this book on Spiritual Mentoring, I am finally getting it.   

I need to learn how to become a good mentor because I already have three precious souls under my care.  

I need to learn how to “decipher grace in the shadows.”  I have this sneaking suspicion that if I can find grace in the shadows, I’ll find those wings I’ve been looking for.

photo credit

I scroll back in my Kindle to another quote earlier in the book which I highlighted in the context of adult mentoring but which takes on a new savor when applied to motherhood:

“The good mentor will help us ‘read between the lines’ for the hidden and quietly earthy messages that God will give because life is full of God.”

Yes.  To help my children read between the lines of life and unearth God’s messages for them because life is full of God. 

Or this one:

“The success or effectiveness of spiritual mentor may be directly related to the ability of mentor and mentor to move beneath the surface into the depths of treasures within the mentoree.  Anything that we bring to the surface has the potential to turn out to be silver or gold hidden in the rough, angular and random shapes of the earthly rock containers that carry these unique treasure.  The patient, sometimes tedious work of mining for the rich treasures within the seemingly worthless rocks is the work of spiritual mentoring.  These rocks are the stories of our daily lives.”

So.  Guess what?

In the midst of the tedious daily grind of dealing with bad attitudes and ungrateful hearts (often my own), dishes, laundry, farm chores, and cooking, I am mining unique treasures of gold and silver in the souls of my children.  I am helping them read between the lines of life for God’s messages.  I am “deciphering grace in the shadows.” 

Those glimpses of grace, when brought out into the light, become wings with the power to lift me up out of the mundane, into the holy. 

Does this resonate with you?  This doesn’t just apply to children, you know; we are mining for treasures with every friendship we have.  We are “deciphering grace in the shadows” in each conversation, each email, each train of thought, each journal entry, each prayer we whisper to the Holy Spirit in the depths of our hearts.  

We are all spiritual mentors for each other, and our holy work is the quietness of listening and paying attention to the “hidden and quietly earthy messages” God is every moment giving.

Because life is full of God, there is grace to decipher in the shadows.  

And that makes the shadows full of wings.

photo credit

at the intersection of need and grace

Ok, so I’m not in that much pain.  Not nearly as much as some of the people I’ve been reading about lately.  Compared to them, this ordeal is nothing.  Less than nothing.

But I’ve been thinking about grace, and how hard it is for me to receive it, and give it.  

Having a broken foot and hobbling around on crutches has made me freshly aware of how needy I am, and somehow, having my neediness out in front of me, for me and all the world to see, has finally freed me to ask for and receive grace humbly.

Why is that?

Is it because there is no possible way to hide this need?  I don’t have the option of covering it up, or wearing a mask?  It’s on my foot, for goodness’ sake - everyone can see why I can’t walk properly, it’s encased in white and hard as rock.  I’m free to not give excuses.  I’m free to not have to feel guilty about this one.

Is it because everyone agrees that this is a need?  An injury is an injury.  People have them every day, live with them for years sometimes, they’re painful, and people with injuries need help. Period.  So it’s “ok” for me to ask for help - everyone understands.

What about when I’m lonely? Why do I feel the need to cover that need up?

Or when I’m caught in the comparison trap and feeling less than, or not enough?  

What about feeling hurt and bruised by words someone said, or didn’t say, or won’t say?  

Why can’t I let those injuries hang out there too, for all the world to see?  Why do I let them fester somewhere deep inside of me, eating away at my ability to ask for and receive grace?

The fact that the physical can be seen while the spiritual is invisible means (in my illogical subconscious mind) if my injury can be seen, that makes it justifiable.  Understandable.  Excusable.  Since there was nothing I could do about this, it’s ok to not be perfect, to not have my act together.  It’s out of my hands.

But sin-struggles, however, or character flaws, or abscesses of the soul - those are different.  Illogically, I feel I should somehow have control over those things, or should be able to deal with on my own, or that no one else struggles with them, so I’ll just keep them to myself.  I tell myself (subconsciously) those internal pains are my responsibility to deal with.  They’re embarrassing signs of weakness and imperfection, and I hate them.  

The trouble is, heart-wounds hurt just as much - sometimes more - as a broken foot.  And when they’re not dealt with, they fester, and they start to suck me dry on the inside.  When I can’t receive grace for those parts of me that are hurting or wounded - like not being a perfect mom, a perfect wife, a perfect home-educator, a perfect friend, a perfect artist, a perfect listener, etc, etc - then I can’t give grace either.

When I can’t give or receive grace, I live in a chronically discontent state, critical, impatient, resentful and unsatisfied.  And because as the homemaker my mood sets the tone for our whole home, my family has to live in a poisonous environment that is the exact opposite of my actual vision for our home: a place of welcome, belonging, peace, purpose, forgiveness, contentment, creativity, beauty, and joy.  

I sabotage my own dreams with my inability to receive grace for my internal wounds.  When I can’t receive grace, I can’t give it either.  So no-one gets the grace or the help or the healing they need, not me, or anyone else around me.  

What a miserable way to live.

I want to change this.

Maybe that’s why God broke my foot.  Maybe this silly rolled ankle and subsequent 8 hot, Saturday hours in a taxi crossing a sprawling city to pursue x-rays, a cast, and crutches at three different locations is all meant to teach me something.

Maybe God wants me to notice something about my attitude now, when I’m forced to humble myself and ask for help - nicely, so as not to alienate the people who will have to continue to help me for the next 28 days.  Maybe He wants me to let go of some of the small things I chronically keep up with (and make others keep up with):

-clean kitchen surfaces

-a clutter-free floor

-random mugs left lying around collected and brought to the sink

-beds made

-dirty clothes off the floor and into the basket

There’s nothing wrong with these things in and of themselves, but when I make them into idols and elevate them to a far higher level of importance than they deserve, and make others in my family serve my own drive for perfection even when it makes them miserable… Then something’s out of whack.  

Grace is missing.  

Maybe God broke my foot to show me that at the intersection of need and grace when I have no choice, I am actually capable of giving and receiving grace, for myself and for others.

And maybe knowing this important truth about myself will enable this "grace thing” to stick long past my 30 obligatory days of crutches and dependence.  

Doesn’t it take about that long to start building a habit?  

for when God calls your bluff

I have a confession to make.

I usually write and re-write each post several times, trying to get them word-perfect, thinking through everything to the enth degree to make sure I sound really profound...

I hardly ever write unscripted, directly onto the screen, like I'm doing now.  Part of my reason for writing and editing posts ahead is our usually frustratingly slow Internet (which seems to have picked up this afternoon).  But mostly I do it because I like to look perfect.

I like looking perfect.  I like to have my act together, do life fast and efficiently, never drop any balls.

Well, God called my bluff.  

Here's a grainy PhotoBooth picture of my two feet, currently stretched out on our veranda couch, and my latest acquisition: kasteli, in Russian.  

And here are a few thoughts on my two days so far - out of thirty - which I will spend on crutches...

Top Ten Things My Broken Foot Has Taught Me (so far):

#1 - Using crutches really hurts your armpits.

#2 - Not being able to do things fast - or at all - is driving this efficiency-craving person crazy.

#3 - Sara Groves' latest album, Invisible Empires (which I listened to in the car yesterday on my 2.5 hour journey - each way - to and from the city to get my foot x-rayed and casted) has taken on a new and deeper meaning.

Especially this song... (shown here live)...

and this one... her video had me grinning wide...

"promise, that just when love grows cold, you'll make it precious again..."

#4 - The book I started reading today and can't put down, Behind The Beautiful Forevers: life, death and hope in a Mumbai undercity (Katherine Boo), has put my entire life into perspective in a way I could not have absorbed before Friday.  If I am feeling inconvenienced and frustrated by a tiny crack in a toe-bone, how do I have a right to complain when so much of the world lives in poverty and agony and mark their good days by whether or not they had to eat rats for supper?

I have so. much.

I am so. blessed.

#5 - Being forced to slow down is good for me.  (You'll notice this is almost a repeat of #2, except here? It's positive.  See?  I'm learning already.)

#6 - Being required to rest shows me how bad I am at it.  This is not a good thing.  Which makes me thankful for the chance to learn how to do it better.

#7 - Having to depend on others for the simplest things (like toilet paper to blow my nose) is both humbling and life-giving.  The truth is, I am dependent, whether I like to admit it or not.  Hobbling around on one leg requires me to acknowledge that truth.  Which said acknowledgement is healthy for my soul.

#8 - Realizing I have the best husband in the world is making me fall in love with him all over again.  (As I type this, he's humming in the kitchen while making dinner.)

#9 - Depending on other people makes me depend on Jesus more. (see #7...is there a theme here?)

#10 - Breaking my foot earned me 8 hours in a car by myself (well, if you don't count my wonderful local taxi driver, who patiently ferried me all over the hot city from place to place).  It was a unexpected but oddly satisfying break from the routines of home, a chance to reconnect with God through music, and through meeting brand-new and surprisingly helpful and compassionate images of Himself.  I'm not saying I'll go out and break another bone just to have time to myself (ok, the thought has crossed my mind) - but every cloud does have a silver lining!

Extra Credit: #11 - Crutches can be used for all kinds of things, including machine guns and electric guitars.  

So... there you have it.  God called my bluff, and I'm now asking Him for the grace and patience to make it through another 28 days of hobbling, being needy and dependent, and asking for help.  

Pray with me?


With love,

Carolyn-on-crutches