Advent for Preschoolers {a resource for your family Advent celebration}

Several years ago, our eldest son was just coming to the age where he could understand the true meaning of Christmas at a deeper level.  I wanted to start doing the four Sundays of Advent with our family, but the traditional service I had grown up with was too hard for our kids to grasp, and I realized I needed something simpler.

Out of necessity I pieced together a simple service for each of the four Sundays of Advent, plus Christmas Day (when it falls on a day other than a Sunday).  I called it “Advent for Preschoolers” and our family has used it for the past 3 or 4 Advent seasons.  I have tweaked the lessons slightly each year based on what has worked with our kids and what doesn’t.

I would like to make this a free PDF link, but I can’t figure out how to do it.  (I think Blogger may not support such high-tech options!)  So I am posting the first Sunday of Advent here on my blog, and please email me at carolyn@carolynbroughton.com for the complete FREE 15-page “Advent for Preschoolers” PDF file (including optional Christmas carols) for you to use with your family.  

{Please feel free to forward it to others you think might enjoy using it with their families, but please do not alter the content in any way or charge for those copies.  Thank you!}

Introduction

Each Sunday of December, our family lights another candle and prepares for Jesus’ coming: both His coming to earth as a baby at Christmas, and His coming back to earth again as our King. 

This year (2013) on the first Sunday of Advent we were reading through Week 1 with our kids. As we read, our three-year-old began absorb the fact that Jesus was really coming back to earth one day. 

“He’s really coming back?” he kept asking, with big wide eyes. “And we’ll see Him?” 

At the literal age of three, having a relationship with Someone you can’t see is continually frustrating. I was a bit afraid he was starting to think Jesus was coming back to earth this Christmas Day, and tried to explain that no one knows the day or the hour of His return... But I felt a glow of warmth that even at three, he was absorbing these important facts about Jesus, through our family Advent worship. 

Our family uses a candelabra that holds five candles which we light in the following order, adding one each week of Advent: 

Week 1: The Prophets’ Candle (Hope) - White 

Week 2: The Angels’ Candle (Joy) - Yellow 

Week 3: The Shepherds’ Candle (Good News) - Green 

Week 4: The Wise Mens’ Candle (Worship) - Purple 

Christmas Day: The Jesus Candle (Love) - Red 

Some families use four white candles with a red one for Christmas Day. Feel free to use whatever suits your family. 

May you be blessed as you read through these weeks together, and may you draw closer to Jesus together as a family this Advent season! 

Merry Christmas! 

Carolyn Broughton 

© 2013 www.carolynbroughton.com 

Advent for Preschoolers - Week 1 

First Sunday of Advent: “The Prophet’s Candle – Hope” 

Mother: The season of ADVENT begins on the fourth Sunday before Christmas. ADVENT means "COMING" or “ARRIVAL”. Whose coming to the earth do we celebrate on Christmas Day? 

Child: Jesus! 

Mother: Right! During ADVENT, we get ready to celebrate the “arrival” of God’s Son Jesus as a baby. We also get ready for Jesus to come back again as our King. Let’s start getting our hearts ready for Jesus’ coming. 

Mother: What are these on the table? Child: Candles! 

Mother: Do you know why we light candles during Advent? Candles remind us that Jesus is the LIGHT of God coming into our dark, sinful world. Remember? Jesus said, “I am the LIGHT of the world.” Every Sunday of Advent, we light one more candle to prepare for Jesus’ coming. 

Father: Do you know the name of the first candle? The first candle is called “The PROPHETS’ Candle”. It reminds us of the PROPHETS in the Bible who foretold Jesus’ birthday hundreds of years before He was born. 

Do you know what the Prophets’ Candle means to us? It reminds us of the HOPE God’s people had as they waited for the coming of a Messiah, a Savior. God showed His prophets that He was planning to send a Savior for His people. Do you know who that Savior was? 

Child: Jesus!

Father: Right! God’s promise to send a Messiah, a Savior, was fulfilled when He sent His Son Jesus to earth. But do you still see sin and darkness in the world? 

Child: Yes. 

Father: So we are still waiting with HOPE, like the prophets and God’s people in the Bible, for Jesus to come back again to make the world new and get rid of sin forever. 

Isaiah 9, verses 2 and 6 says: "The people walking in darkness have seen a great LIGHT; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a LIGHT has dawned. For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be upon his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” 

Who is the child who is born, the son who is given? Child: Jesus!
(Father lights the first candle) 

Father: So, we light the PROPHETS’ candle to remind us that Jesus’ coming was foretold by the prophets, and that Jesus brings LIGHT and HOPE into a dark world. 

Let’s pray. 

Dear Jesus,
Thank you for coming into the world just like the prophets foretold. Thank you that you are the light of the world, and you bring us hope. Thank you that you will come back again to make the world new and take away sin forever.
Amen. 

All Sing: “Come Thou Long Expected Jesus” 

Come, thou long-expected Jesus 

Come, thou long expected Jesus! born to set thy people free, from our fears and sins release us let us find our rest in thee. Israel’s strength and consolation, hope of all the earth thou art, dear desire of every nation, joy of every longing heart. 

Born thy people to deliver, born a child and yet a king, born to reign in us forever, now thy gracious kingdom bring. By thine own eternal Spirit, rule in all our hearts alone.
by thine all sufficient merit, raise us to thy glorious throne. 

© 2013 www.carolynbroughton.com 

 

Happy Birthday, William!!

Happy Birthday, William!  I can’t believe you’re 7 whole years old already.  I am SO proud of you — this year your big event was starting local first grade in Russian!  You have done so well, persevering with the writing homework and listening and understanding in class… your teacher told me how pleased she is with what a good student you are. Way to go!

Even more than Russian school, I have been so thankful for the way you are letting Jesus grow your heart.  Recently I noticed you really listening when Daddy points out things about your character - like learning how it feels to let Ben go first, or putting aside what you wanted to do to help your sister - and then later that day or the next day, I see you doing it!  That is the way to grow, Will… listen to correction, and then do it.  I hope you keep this pattern the rest of your life - it will sure help you grow into the young man God created you to be!

I love how attuned you are to God’s creation.  You’re always drawing my attention to a cool rock, or a neat flower, or a new colorful bird.  You notice the way the trees look against the sky, and you think about how things are made and how they work.  You have the mind of a scientist, engineer and poet all wrapped in one.  It’s so amazing watching you unfold!  

I couldn’t ask for a more wonderful first-born son.  I love spending time with you, just the two of us, reading (you love the National Geographic Science readers) or playing games (like chess, checkers, Connect4 and UNO)… you are a “quality time” kind of guy, and I love that about you.

You’re goofy too - you love to groove and beatbox, and your dance moves are legendary.  You like U2, Bluetree, Colin Buchanan and any other hoppin’ beat you can find!  You are a unique, quirky, wonderful kid, and I love you so much.  I love every day I get to be your Mom!  

I hope you have a wonderful, special birthday with your cousins in New Zealand this year, and know how loved and special you are!

XOXO  Love, Mom

Freeze-Frame Listening {November thoughts on listening}

{We leave this Friday night for a 2-month stay in New Zealand, catching up with family and friends after a 2-year absence...  Here are my November thoughts on listening, amidst stress and challenges - trying to find the thread of His voice!  For the rest of my monthly thoughts on my One Word for 2014, LISTEN, click here...} 

What if we could just freeze the frame?  What if, in the moment right before I explode in annoyance at my kid, I could freeze that frame of time and - make a different choice?

I’ve been doing a lot of editing recently - movie editing, that is.  We’re getting ready for a home leave in New Zealand and before we go back we usually try and put together a video of current daily life here in Central Asia to show friends and family…  It’s a long process, involving taking footage (and then more footage since the first lot is too wobbly, not high-res, etc, etc), converting all the clips into a format that works with Mac’s awesome iMovie editing program, picking and choosing the pithiest clips, and then… editing.  And editing.  And more editing.  Squeezing each clip down to its essence, and then squeezing even more until just the barest bones are left - glimpses strung together to make a flowing window into our lives.  

Not being ultra-techie, I feel my way along with these projects, and since I don’t use iMovie very often I always have to re-learn everything I learned last time I made a video.  I pick up some new tricks each project, too; recently, I discovered the “freeze frame” option for the first time.  Cool!  You can right-click in the middle of a clip, choose “freeze frame” from the menu, and the program lifts out a frozen frame of that image and sets it apart separately in your timeline.  You can leave it there in the middle of your video clip, a frozen moment, or you can lift it out and put it somewhere else.  

I wish I could do that.  I wish I could freeze-frame the moment just before I yell at my kids, pause everything mid-motion, stop my voice before it explodes out of my mouth, hesitate for a moment, and think.  Listen to the Holy Spirit, in that frozen moment.  Tune in.  Calm my beating heart.  Close my eyes and take a deep breath.  

And then speak.  Or act.  Or whatever I need to do.  But I guarantee, after a pause to take a step back, I would probably act differently almost every time. 

Recently, in an attempt to get enculturated for our re-entrance back into Western society, we finally watched the Disney hit “Frozen” as a family.  We liked it; it’s cute, funny,  not scary, and profound in a simple but true way…  

{SPOILER ALERT: if any of you, like us, have also been on another planet and have NOT have watched “Frozen” yet, skip the next paragraph…}  

Our sensitive Will was nearly in tears at the end, when the younger sister Anna, with her last un-frozen breath, steps in front of her older sister to save her from a crossbow arrow, and in the very act her frozen heart finally transforms her completely to ice.  Each of Princess Anna’s fingernails and eyelashes freeze solid into an exquisitely detailed blue-ice statue.  The very moment she saves her sister is literally frozen in time.  

I wish I had a magic wand so I could freeze a moment with a flick of my wrist - just make everything hang stock-still in mid-air, like a movie Pause button, or a crystallized ice-Princess. 

I don’t have a wand.  I just have my imagination.  But I’m learning I can actually imagine pausing my heart / words / thoughts long enough to listen to the Holy Spirit’s quiet whisper in that moment.  

You know, I’ve realized lately that even though I do think of Jesus always being with us, for some reason I usually picture Him as across the room from me: present, but not within reach.  Recently, during a prayer time with a friend, Jesus showed me that He is actually right. next. to. me.  Close enough to whisper in my ear.  Close enough so that even His whisper sounds louder than the world’s hubbub around me.  That’s how close He is, all the time.  Every minute.  Washing dishes, changing a diaper, hosting a friend for tea, breaking up a boys’ fight, walking down the street, talking to my husband, laying down for a nap… Jesus is as close as my breath.  

So, if I can freeze the frame, and remember His nearness, I can focus on listening for His quiet voice.  

And that might make all the difference.

wholly listening and holy listening {August thoughts on listening, Part 2}

{I'm focusing on the word "listen" as my One Word for 2014.  This is Part 2 of my August thoughts on listening... You can read Part 1 here, and the rest of my thoughts on listening here.}

So, as you already know, I’m a mother.  Every day.  And if you’ve been reading along in this series of posts, you’ll know I’m discovering afresh that a mother is also a mentor.  Every day.  

Each one of us, whether we realize it or not, is a mentor.  We each have people in our lives who are looking up to us, whether we’re aware of it or not. If you have an online presence, you are almost definitely a mentor to someone, or many someones.  If you are a parent, well, it's obvious who your little mentorees are. If you’re a part of a church family, no matter how young you are there are people younger than you who are following your example.  

So.  This is big stuff.

Yesterday at nap time I snuggled down to continue this book on Spiritual Mentoring I'm reading for a leadership course I’m doing through our organization, and I stumbled upon yet another eye-opening list.  Are you ready?  

This one's titled “The Three Essential Functions” of the mentor. They jumped off the page at me:

Holy Listening

Holy Seeing 

and Wholly Listening.

Not kidding.  I read those words, and I literally laughed out loud.  (Just in case I was still wondering why God had me pick “listen” as my word for 2014 - no further doubt!)  

Curious to know what the authors mean by those phrases?  

So was I.  They define holy listening as “giving attention, developing companionship, enjoying friendship, traveling the road together with the mentoree aware of the Holy Spirit in all places.”  In other words, listening to life “on the way”.  

Holy seeing is “observing the other with love, compassion, genuine care, concern and interest in the development of the mentoree.”

Wholly listening is “being fully and authentically present to the spiritual seeker and the Holy Spirit, daring the courage of a vulnerability that appropriately self-discloses to the mentor, a vulnerability in which all of me listens to all of you.”

Did you catch that whammy of a last line?  “Daring the courage of a vulnerability that appropriately self-discloses…a vulnerability in which all of me listens to all of you.”  

Wow.  Talk about a lesson in listening.

I don't know about you, but I'm not seeing much of the Messiah or Problem-Solver cropping up in these definitions, are you?  No active verbs like “wisdom-dispensing” or “problem-solving” or “rescuing” - all the things I like to think I’m good at and enjoy doing.  (After all, who doesn’t like feeling like a Super-Hero, even if it’s an illusion?)  

The verbs in that list are gentle:  Observe.  Be present.  Be vulnerable.  Even “appropriate self-disclosure”, the most active verb in the list, requires being vulnerable, which brings us back to being, not doing. 

The authors say that when someone is able to listen wholly, with all of themselves attuning to all of the other person, holy listening occurs.  In other words, in that moment, we see God together.  We glimpse Him, together, in the stories, moments, themes and patterns of our friend’s life.  

Listening is a holy practice in which people wholly attend to one another, and in the process discover the whole presence of God in that very moment.  In connecting with God, we become more whole ourselves, and more in tune with our lives and the purposes God has for us.

In the film Waking Life by Richard Linklater, there is a scene in which two artists, filmmaker Caveh Zahedi and poet David Jewell, discuss the idea of a “holy moment”.  Zahedi is talking about the fact that we usually walk around as if some moments are holy and other moments are not holy, and the medium of film is able to frame ordinary moments in a way that lets us see the holiness of each and every moment.  

Zahedi says, “And it’s like "Holy, holy, holy" moment by moment.  But, like, who can live that way? Who can go, like, ‘Wow, holy’? Because if I were to look at you and just really let you be holy, I don't know, I would, like, stop talking.”

“Well, you'd be in the moment. I mean ….” says David Jewell.

“Yeah.”

“The moment is holy.”

“Yeah, but I'd be open,” says Zahedi.  “And then I'd look in your eyes, and I'd cry, and I'd like feel all this stuff and that's like not polite. I mean it would make you feel uncomfortable.”

“Well you could laugh too. I mean, why would you cry?”

“Well, 'cause ... I don't know. For me, I tend to cry.”

“Uh-huh. Well ..."

“Well, let's do it right now. Let's have a holy moment.”

“Okay.”

They pause in the middle of their conversation and look at each other for a long moment, allowing the moment to fill up with presence, each allowing the wholeness of himself to be fully present to the other person’s self.  And both of their eyes - ours too, watching - fill up with tears. 

Finally, as if the holiness has to be broken with words lest it become unbearable, Jewell remarks, “Everything is layers, isn't it?”

“Yeah,” agrees Zahedi.

“I mean, there's the holy moment and then there's the awareness of trying to have the holy moment, in the same way that the film is the actual moment really happening, but then the character pretending to be in a different reality. And it's all these layers. And, uh, I was in and out of the holy moment looking at you. Can't be in a holy ... You're unique that way, Caveh. That's one of the reasons I enjoy you. You can ... bring me into that.”

The “that” David Jewell is trying to describe is the awareness of holiness which emerges when two people wholly attend to one another.  God is always here.  It’s when we pay attention that we finally see Him.

When I am conversing with another human being, made in the image of God, are my shoes off?  Am I wholly listening, so that I can practice holy listening?

What about when my kids want to talk to me?  Do I fully enter into their reality, slowing down, bending my knees to reach eye-level, putting an arm around their small shoulders, turning to look at life with them from their perspective?  

Am I attending to the lives around me with every atom of myself?  

Rather than being exhausting, this kind of focused awareness is centering.  Freeing.  Living in the moment is restful, not frantic.  

Why?

Because God is in the moment, with you.  With us.  

God is here.  Now.  

Take a deep breath, and breathe Him in.  

Now, listen...  

the four opposites of true listening {August thoughts on listening, Part 1}

{This year I'm focusing on one word: listen.  My next two posts, August thoughts on listening Parts 1 & 2, were inspired by a fantastic book I recently read and reviewed.  To read the rest of my posts on listening, click here...}

In a recent post I described my latest epiphany from this great book I’m reading on Spiritual Mentoring. My epiphany was - ready for it? - that spiritual mentoring applies to mothering as well. (Big surprise, right?)  And that I already have three little mentorees running around whose souls I’ve been called to build!  Yikes!  So I'm on board with everything I can learn about this thing called mentoring, especially as it connects with my word for 2014: listen.

The more deeply I travel into this book the more things are hitting home.  This week, a friend’s comment about weaknesses coincided with a quote I had just read about how we approach relationships.  

In her email, my friend said she was finding that “allowing God to uncover her weaknesses led to peace and freedom in her life.”  Being honest about her own short-comings, not just to herself but in front of other people, is freeing her to not be perfect.  

I’ve said it before: I like looking like I have my act together.  Vulnerability, showing my weaknesses, does not come easily or naturally to me.  I want peace and freedom just as much as the next person, but to get to that place by showing you my messy?  Just doesn’t appeal to me.

Here’s a list from Spiritual Mentoring of four things a mentor should not be.  As I read down the list for the first time, my eyes grew wide, because I realized uncomfortably that every one of these things has at some point been a hidden motivation for me:  

Four Major Pitfalls for the Spiritual Mentor to Avoid

The Messiah Complex: I believe I am to rescue you or deliver you from the struggles and pain of your life.

The Problem-Solver Mentality: I believe my role is to tell you what the right answers are or to offer a way out for you.

The Assembly-Line Syndrome: I believe my role is to shape you into a predetermined form or product.

The Wisdom Dispenser Approach: I believe I must dispense wisdom-on-demand every time I [talk with you], because I am a fountain of wisdom and truth.

The authors go on to say that “when a mentor becomes messiah, problem-solver, assembly-line worker or wisdom-dispenser, the opportunity for spiritual formation can become limited.  A mentor is none of these four, though problem solving, wisdom and answers may be part of the unfolding process.  Discernment is the pearl of great price for the mentor.  Attaining discernment requires vulnerability, humility and an ear open to listen to the voice of God’s spirit.”  (Spiritual Mentoring, Anderson/Reese, emphasis added)

Did you catch that?  Discernment is the pearl of great price in mature relationships, and attaining it requires vulnerability and humility, and an ear open to listen. 

Hmmm… listen.  My word for this year.  Coincidence?  

There is a crucial connection between my friend’s email and this quote in the book.  Did you catch it? My friend described her road to peace and freedom through allowing God to uncover her weaknesses.  None of those four mis-guided roles or motivations in relationships contain either vulnerability or humility.  The Messiah wants to save out of her own strength; the Problem-Solver wants to have all the answers; the Assembly-Line Supervisor thinks she already knows the plan; and the Wisdom-Dispenser wants everyone to think she’s incredibly wise and has her act together all the time.  

I’m realizing that, to my shame, I have often been happy to wear one of those misguided hats in a relationship rather than seek the humility and embrace the vulnerability necessary to discover true discernment - which is, ultimately, the only thing my friend really needs from me.  She needs me to listen to her, to enter in to her situation, and to hear from God with her and for her in order to find out what He wants her to do.  

That’s all.  

I don’t have to be God.  

I just have to listen to God, and listen to my friend.  

That’s it.  That’s the way to peace, and freedom.

To be continued…

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

listen to your life {July lessons in listening}

Let life shape itself.

This refrain peppers the pages of Marlena di Blasi’s latest book, Antonia and Her Daughters.  I read di Blasi as much for her pithy quotes and insight into human nature as for her mouth-watering descriptions of Italian food and life.  

Curled up under a light blanket in my dark room, savoring my tiny oasis of calm in the middle of the afternoon, I’m pondering di Blasi’s words, thinking now about life, about observation, about allowing the shape of a day to be determined by forces outside oneself, not by one’s own will.  

This is hard for me.

I’d rather set out a schedule with lines and boxes, fill in each half-hour slot carefully, stick to the plan.  I like knowing what’s coming, the security of preparing in advance so I can rise to the occasion, feel the thrill of success.  I like having all my ducks in a row, how it feels to keep all the balls spinning briskly in mid-air without dropping a single one.  I hate that.  Dropping one.

This sort of square life might be safe, but I’m discovering it lacks a certain… zest.  The element of surprise, maybe?  I’m slowly realizing that surprise is always part of a day;   it’s my choice to welcome it or stubbornly push it away which determines whether the surprise adds to my pleasure in the day, or not.  

Coming upon my daughter sitting on the wooden plank bridge across our backyard water channel, blissfully engaged in reaching her little arm into the cool milky water, scrounging a fistful of mud from the bottom of the trench, pulling it up dripping to smear its cool silkiness over her bare skin… 

How do I react?  Do I scream and scold and whisk her off to the bathroom for a shower, chastise her for getting dirty, for caking her dimpled legs with mud, smearing it over her face?  

Or do I stop, notice the light on the back of her neck, see the shimmer of her fountain of hair, take in her quiet absorption, the way she calmly soothes herself with the elemental coolness of water and dirt against her skin?  

Do I receive the sight of her as a gift, let life shape itself, take what’s given?  Or do I push it away, rigidly insisting on my own ideas of what’s good in a day?

I’m learning.  Slowly.

These lessons in listening, this year of slowing down, of giving myself permission to rest, to be still, to think, to write, to not pursue people unless the fit takes me… these months are changing me, stretching me.  I’ve been like dough that needed time to rise before it can be deflated and stretched over waiting pans.  I’ve needed rising time.  And I’m being kneaded, gently but firmly, and stretched, sometimes to tearing point, over a waiting receptacle which, when I first look at it, I think I will never be able to fit.  

Three children.  A dog.  Chickens.  Guests.  A garden.  A borrowed house.  A village life in Central Asia.  Three foreign languages.  Intermittent running water, sporadic power cuts.  If you had shown me my now-life ten years ago, I would have said, I’ll never be able to fit that.  I’ll never stretch that far.  

Let life shape itself.

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I would change di Blasi’s mantra slightly.  I would say, Listen.  Listen to your life.  Let God shape the day, the moment, the hour.  

I’m beginning to hear God’s voice in the surprises.  Things I would have pushed away before, now I’m beginning to smile instead, when I see them.  

The knock of a stranger on my gate. 

Before this listening, before this expanding and growing, before this stretching, it would have been ::sigh::  Not now!  I feel invaded!  I have things to do!  Please, go away… These feelings promptly followed by a flood of guilt, because, after all, am I not here for exactly this, these people, these women?  Am I not called to spill out my life for that knock on the gate?  

Now, sometimes, more often than before, I can meet the knock with calm, sometimes even with pleasure.  It’s ok.  There’s fresh bread.  A pitcher of cold tea.  Sweet peas.  We’ll be fine.  Come in, come in, come inside, sit down a few minutes. 

Lord, order my day.  Shape my life.

This simple prayer has changed my outlook.  I am learning how to stop myself on the point of freaking out and say to my rising panic, Listen.  

I’m learning to notice the afternoon sunlight on the back of my tiny daughter’s neck.  To relish the softness of our (initially unwanted) dog’s coat, the satiny bits behind her ears.  (Yes, surprise - our dog is a “her”!)  I’m learning to expect the inevitable knock at the gate and sometimes feel a thrill, instead of a surge of dread.  To go out on the street after dinner for no other reason than to open my heart to the dusty golden sunset and the silhouettes of my neighbors and their children playing.  

Why haven’t I lived like this for years? I find myself wondering.  This, exactly this, letting life shape itself, is the way to find joy.  

And to be honest, every day is not this way, this listening, receiving, peace-filled, stretched-and-open way.  It comes in fits and starts.  When I’m tired or hungry or at the end of an especially trying day, with intermittent water and even less patience, I am not gracious. I long to grow roots deep enough to always reach that Living Water.  I long for my heart’s cup to always brim with the "Sweet Water" of Calvary love, like Amy Carmichael says, so that no matter how sudden the jolt to my cup, no bitter drops spill out.   

Festina lente.  Make haste slowly.  The light won’t wait, urges Marlena.  

I’m making haste slowly.  I’m learning to listen to my life, to bend my rigidity in order not to miss the beauty of the shifting light.  

The light won’t wait, you know.

Welcoming the moments lets joy flood in.

How do you handle unexpected interruptions?  If you tried praying “Lord, order my day” each morning, how do you think it would change your outlook?

{To listen to the song I wrote about Amy Carmichael's quote, called "Sweet Water", click here...}