Finding Home: Retrospect and Prospect

From my plane window the trees crowded in on each other like memories in old haunts. This would be the first time in almost a decade that I would drive these North Carolina streets and breathe this muggy air. Much has changed. I have changed.

Every place we love, and even those we don’t, holds memories like bubbles trapped in sea grass. Some rise to the surface and disappear forever, while others wait. We move on, but the memories stay, holding space for our past should we ever return. Remembrances throng around me here, reawakened. They ambush me with longing.

Street names, restaurants and stores, park swings and trees—taller now—mysteriously open to worlds I had forgotten. They say the stronger the emotion, the stronger the memory. Is that why my throat is choked and tears pool unbidden?

Those were happy years, full of diapers and fingernail clippings, homemade cookies and celery sticks, neighborhood games of kickball, school buses and permission slips and piles of picture books. My tears are not regret, but knowing. I couldn’t see ahead then, though sometimes I wanted just a glimpse. Now I have more than a glimpse, and the truth is much better and much harder than I knew. This tightness in my chest is compassion for my younger self, who will have hard roads to walk and who is worried unnecessarily about things that will turn out just fine.

With children the minutes seem like hours and the years fly by. I can still hear the lilt of my toddler’s voice asking to “go wee” on the neighbor’s backyard swing; now his eyes are nearly level with mine. He and the trees never stopped growing. That early entrance to kindergarten we fought for makes this the last year of high school for his older sister. How time flies! And as for the oldest? I can hear her planning her next elaborate birthday. Ten feels so recent, though twenty has passed.

In these day-long years some dreams have turned sour while others are much sweeter than I dared hope.

Every parent you know carries heartaches hidden from public view, the hardness that won’t receive love, the seeds planted that never bloomed, and the weeds that choked them. It goes both ways, I’m sure, for I am a daughter, too. I’ve reaped the bitter fruit of trees I did not plant and felt the frustration of generational differences.

What would I tell that younger me—that young mother in Charlotte with her future ahead of her?

I’d tell her doors will open. Just learn what you need to while you can. Be faithful with little.

I’d tell her she chose well. Attempting seminary while bearing children was a risk, but it was worth every naptime spent researching and every weekend spent reading. All those seeds sown would bear abundant fruit.

I’d tell her she’s not in charge of her children and their choices and that she can’t spare them heartache. Her job is simply to love well.

I’d tell her most of all that Jesus is everything and that God will be faithful. I’d say the path watered with tears leads to sweetness and light. Why should we fear the sorrow when it wraps so many precious gifts?

As my plane lifted off a week later the chapter closed again, but this time gilded with recollections, like aged wine. We flew westward three time zones, over mountains and plains, deserts and canyons, toward the new place I call home.

On our descent I gazed over smoggy Los Angeles, crammed with houses and businesses, but empty of trees and, more poignantly, empty of memories. Like a book with blank pages, those streets meant nothing to me. I could not feel their pulse. They held nothing of my heart.

Not yet, anyway.

It won’t always be like this. In ten or twenty years the descent into LAX will grip my chest and catch in my throat. Faces and stories will crowd the smoggy air with meaning. I trust it will be so.

Right now it doesn’t happen—that homey feeling—until I’m a mile from home. My world is small here, traversed on sandaled foot—home to work and back, home to church and back, home to park and back. The memories here are thin, like a winter sunset lacking warmth. It feels right to be here, but the stories are too young to cherish, too new to offer substance. If we left now we'd soon forget.

What would future me want me to know today?

I think she’d tell me to cling to Jesus, who’s been with me in every zip code I’ve called mine. He’s the constant and the depth I’m longing for.

She’d say to treasure old friendships and make time to nurture new ones, so the years ahead will hold twice the celebration and half the despair.

And I expect she’d say to savor this beautiful life. After all, the story is only partly written. The sorrows will give way to joy in the end (perhaps sooner?). When some is lost, not all is lost, and what seems the worst is probably not.

I already know well that what seems permanent may not be, and what feels tenuous may prove to endure. So as the strong California sun drops behind palm trees in the evening sky, I am thankful. However fragile it is, I am home.

quilted hearts: mentoring for the long haul

Dear Hazel,

I wasn't ready yet for you to go.
In your own unassuming way, you "held the ropes" for us.

It's not just that I loved you. You loved me back, too.

I bumbled into your sewing circle in the church basement, a young mom full of zeal. Mentoring was what I wanted most, advice for how to raise children, how to make my way in the world. Since I was 40 years younger than the next youngest member of the group, I thought it an ideal place to learn. I prodded, asking questions, seeking wisdom. The women hunched over the quilt looked at each other and shrugged. I think you answered first, Hazel. You said something like "Don't ask us! We're no experts!"

It bothered me then, your reticence to pass along what you had learned. I didn't realize that your answer really was an answer, the answer I needed most—that all of us muddle through the best we can and figure things out as we go, and that what we discover along the way is that there's no single right way of doing things, and no guarantees that what worked for you will work for me.

When I was silent long enough, swallowing my questions and slowing my pace, the conversation drifted back to its natural cadences—TV shows and recipes, small town news and medical reports and silences. These conversations held no instant magic, but I see now that each was another quilting thread, connecting hearts as thread joins layers of fabric stitch after stitch.

Hazel (center), the last time I saw her (photo: C Imes)

Now that you're gone, the fabric is torn and so is my heart.

Quilting is slow work, and so are relationships. Your faithfulness over the long haul created something beautiful. We could always count on you to keep the conversation moving. Although you stopped short of giving advice, you gave me something even more important—you genuinely cared about me and my journey. I know because your face would light up when I entered the room. This, too, was a kind of mentoring.

You were there when Eliana cruised around underneath the quilt frame, her bald head a traveling bump. You were there when we sold our things and said our farewells, headed to the Philippines. You were there when we returned, broken and bleeding. You said farewell again when we moved across the country. And you were always there when we came home and I showed up unannounced at sewing. Every time the group was smaller, as friends went on ahead -- Elizabeth, Vesta, Edna, Ruth, Bertha, Alice -- but I could count on you to be there.

How I wish your chair didn't stand empty now! I'm afraid if I take my place around the quilt again my tears will make a mess of it. I didn't realize how much you meant to me until it was too late to tell you.

I'd like to know how many quilts you stitched, how many dollars they fetched for the cause of world mission, how many lives were changed as a result. As meticulous as they are, the minutes of the Women's Missionary Society won't be able to tell me that. But I know that your faithful giving and serving has brought light and life to many others around the world, including mine.

So Thank You, Hazel.
You'll be sorely missed.

15 best blog posts of 2015

Are you counting down 'til midnight? Wondering how to stay awake for the rest of the evening?
Join me in re-living this year's highlights by re-reading some of my best blog posts from 2015.
Some of these had the most hits, while others are simply my favorites. It's been a good year.
Thanks for giving me over 13,000 reasons to write in 2015!

on the academic journey (and life in general)
Feb 20 - now is the time for no
July 18 - on being finite
July 9 - why bother writing a dissertation?

on finding beauty in the ordinary
Aug 23 - unforgettable day
Dec 8 - a beautiful thing

on life and ministry
May 19 - an unlikely blessing
Sept 15 - life in the middle of nowhere
Nov 16 - when you don't (think) you have what it takes

on parenting
May 11 - Best. Mother's Day. Ever.
Aug 7 - how I've failed my kids
Dec 11 - another beautiful thing

on the Bible
July 25 - bored by Leviticus or lost in Numbers? don't miss this
Oct–Nov - does the new NIV distort the Scriptures? (a 7-part series)

in loving memory
Mar 13 - a giant has fallen (tribute to Dr. Harry Hoffner)
Sept 7 - four things I inherited from Oma

another beautiful thing

I sat in the Denver airport on my way home from Atlanta, waiting to board my plane with all the other travelers. Most stared at their phones. A few had books. Some sipped Starbucks.

An ambulance escorted by police vehicles arrived and parked outside the concourse, lights flashing, a reminder that all was not well in the world. People looked up. Stared. We watched as a woman was taken by stretcher to the ambulance. Long minutes passed before she was whisked away to the hospital. The drama over, I turned to check the screens. Why aren't we boarding yet? It's past time. The line of people exiting the jetway answered my question. Our plane had only just arrived. I settled in for a longer wait.

It was then that a quiet scene in the corner caught my eye. I had seen the pair arrive earlier, noticed the matter-of-fact way the father conversed with his young son, telling him that although their final destination was Sacramento, they would first land in Portland. The boy took it all in, asking questions until he was satisfied that he understood.

Now the father knelt on the carpet, facing his son. The boy was 4 or 5, and I soon realized the rest of us were invisible. He was alone with his Dad on the open sea, watching for land.

"Captain Qwibbles, has the fog lifted? Can you see anything?"
"I'll check right away, sir."

At this the boy went to the window and peered out into the depths, scanning for threats, looking for land. (When his breath steamed up the glass, he licked away the fog. I took a sharp breath, wondering what Dad would do. He must have seen it, but he never broke out of character.)

"Well?"
"There's a giant octopus coming toward us!"
"Prepare the men for action." At this the boy turned away from the window and got very busy. His preparations were urgent. Pointing, lifting, moving large objects through the air. His father stayed calm and engaged. If he had a phone, I never saw it. If he was stressed traveling alone with a child, he never let on. Now and then he would check the monitor to see if it was their turn to board. But the boy seemed entirely oblivious to his real surroundings (and therefore not at all restless because of the long wait).

The young couple sitting beside me were equally enthralled by this most unusual theater. The man turned to me and remarked, "I doubt anyone has ever had this much fun in the airport before."

I saw no bargaining, no bribes, no placating or pleading with the child to behave. There was no impatience, no temper on display. No boredom. No bravado. No superior and knowing glances at other grown ups in the room to validate his behavior. No "look at what a good parent I am." Simply a man, secure in himself, empty handed and calm, engaged with the imaginary world of his son. The boy had no need of an audience and had no idea we were there. Dad was his whole world, and he had his whole dad.

How. rare.

This ought to be normal, but I'm afraid it's not. And we all noticed.
That Dad was an inspiration.

He reminded me of Kameel, though they shared neither race nor occupation. Both men were fully present. Fully available. Fully secure in themselves. Both saw the immense value in another person, looked them in the eye, and let them know. Kameel was boisterous and loud, while this nameless father was calm and quiet, with no desire to attract attention. I saw Kameel at work in a successful career. I saw the other man between here and there, doing an ordinary job for which he'll never be paid. But both were right where they belonged, making the very most of the moment. Doing the most important thing in the world.

And believe me, it was beautiful.

does the new NIV distort the Scriptures? - part 7

In a time where questions of gender, identity, and sexual orientation are at the forefront of public policy and public discourse, it's understandable that gendered language would be a sore spot for Evangelicals. In this last post of the series, I'd like to share the two reasons why I applaud the NIV translation committee for their decision about gender inclusive language. Both are a matter of mission.

(1) One principle that guided the CBT (for the NIV) in their revisions is the international nature of the English language. It is no longer adequate to consider only patterns of English language usage here in the United States when deciding what best communicates the meaning of the Hebrew and Greek. People all over the world are speaking English and will be using our best-selling translation. Therefore it is imperative that we consider international patterns of English use when translating the Word of God. Some of the changes in the new NIV were made in this spirit.  

While the average American over the age of 40 might be comfortable with masculine pronouns in gender neutral situations, this is not the case worldwide, as people’s first languages exhibit a variety of grammatical norms. We dare not put stumbling blocks in the way of those around the world who are encountering Christianity for the first time. If a passage is directed to everybody, not just men, then it is increasingly important that we make that clear in our translation using gender neutral pronouns.

(2) The second factor to consider is (for me) closer to home. I am raising three children in a country where it has become bad taste to use masculine pronouns to address mixed groups. In most academic institutions, Wheaton College included, the use of masculine pronouns in written assignments to refer to humankind or a person in general is actually against school policy. People are certainly entitled to their own opinions about whether this is a good thing. Every generation brings changes to the English language that grammatical sticklers will not appreciate. But the point is that this is the reality in which we live. Our children are being educated in a context where they are not hearing masculine pronouns used generically. As a result, it does not sound natural to them—instead the Bible sounds archaic or misleading. Do we want to persist in using Bible translations that are confusing to them? We are losing young people in droves because they perceive that the church is out of touch. This is one simple adjustment we can make for the sake of mission.

If I thought that the Committee on Bible Translation had sold the farm, I would not embrace the new NIV. If I thought that they had capitulated to a liberal agenda, I would not encourage individuals and churches to "upgrade" their pew Bibles. That is not the case here.

Several years ago Wheaton College created a policy on gender inclusive language. It reads,

"For academic discourse, spoken and written, the faculty expects students to use gender inclusive language for human beings."

School administrators go on to explain the missional motivation for this policy:

"The college seeks to equip students for service in the world for Christ. Students need to be ready to communicate in that world. We want our students to succeed in graduate school, in the corporate world, and in public communication, all settings in which gender inclusive language for human beings is expected and where the inability to use such language may well be harmful to the Christian witness."

For me that's the bottom line. A good English translation of the Bible must be based on solid biblical scholarship and able to communicate that biblical truth effectively to the wider culture. In my opinion, the new NIV fits the bill.

how I've failed my kids

I still have not forgotten the talk our principal gave us on the first day of high school. It was the strangest "pep talk" I have ever heard. He told us we would all fail. He was confident that every one of us in the room would make a mess of something that year—a test, a report, a relationship, a job. Failure is guaranteed because all of us are human. It's only a matter of time.

But failure is only the beginning. When we respond well to failure, it becomes the foundation for success. That's what our high school principal had in mind. Recent studies show that we learn more from failure than anything else. Kids who are told they are intelligent struggle the most to learn new things. Why? They begin to assume that brain power is something that you wake up with in the morning. If a "smart" kid encounters something difficult, they often throw in the towel and decide they don't have what it takes.

The fact is, I have failed my children by telling them that they are smart. Here's how it has played out more times that I can count:

"Mom, I can't get this. It doesn't make any sense."
"I know you can do it. You're a smart kid. Your teacher wouldn't give you an unsolvable problem."
"No, I really can't get it. I've tried and tried. It's impossible. I'm not smart enough."
"That's nonsense. God gave you a good brain and you know it. Just keep trying."

Educational psychologists are now saying that we need to praise kids for their problem-solving skills, their ideas, and their strategies, rather than for their intelligence. These are the tools that have served them well, and will continue to do so when they face harder challenges.

I'm imagining new conversations with my kids:

"Mom, I can't get this. It doesn't make any sense."
"I wonder if there's another way to look at it. What are all the different ways we could try to solve it? What have you tried so far?"
"The problem isn't giving me enough information. I don't even know where to start."
"Let's read it together and brainstorm. I'd love to hear your ideas. Then we can try to break it down step by step. Imagine it's a mystery and we're looking for clues!"

This research is helpful for me, too. In academics it's awfully tempting to think that you don't have what it takes—that your brain is not capable of doing what needs to be done. If your best doesn't seem good enough, don't despair. Intelligence is not fixed. To have tried and failed is to mentally "level-up," unlocking the door for greater growth. If at first you don't succeed . . .

Several years ago I submitted an article for publication in an academic journal. Receiving that first rejection letter felt like a rite of passage. The second journal was kind enough to include a list of constructive criticism with their rejection letter. Most authors have a file full of letters like this. Come to think of it, no one is born writing symphonies or making 3-pointers or solving equations or designing bridges or interceding faithfully or balancing spreadsheets. Everything we know is learned. We all start at zero. And we have to make a lot of mistakes to get from here to where we want to be.

Still not convinced? Check out these videos from Khan Academy. They were my wake-up call today.

spiritual disciplines for busy moms

Have you struggled with having consistent time with God? Most people do, and it's especially tricky for parents with kids at home. My dear friend, Heather, is publishing a series of guest posts on her blog about spiritual disciplines for moms. I thought this was a fabulous idea -- we all have so much we can learn from each other! Heather invited me to write the first post for the series. Here's how it begins -

It’s 6:56 a.m.  There’s a scramble as lunch bags are filled, zipped shut, and piled by the front door with coats and backpacks. Chairs slide across the dining room floor and I hear my husband’s footsteps on the stairs. In a moment we are all gathered around the breakfast table, getting settled and filling our plates.

 “May I start the chapter now?” Our 13-year-old checks to see if we’re all ready. We are, so she goes to the computer and clicks the play button. We eat silently, listening as the current chapter of Proverbs is read.

When it’s over, my husband asks, “Did anybody notice anything in particular this morning? Any questions or comments?” For a few minutes we comment on the text we’ve heard. Often the kids ask what a certain word means. Sometimes there’s a prayer request.

Then I announce, “Okay, we’re having five minutes of quiet now. I’ll call you back when it’s over.” This is a family favorite. The kids are free to sit at the table and keep eating or move to an adjoining room to spend five minutes praying, reflecting, journaling, drawing, or reading the Bible. Five minutes isn’t much, but we hope it’s habit-forming. These are precious moments to collect our thoughts, to tune our hearts to His, and to take a deep breath before the day begins. 

To keep reading, visit Unending Mercies. Thanks for reading. And thanks, Heather, for taking the initiative to help us all think through this important issue.

Austin, Heather, and David visited us
in our new home this summer!

connect spiritually with your daughter in 2014

One of my favorite bloggers, a friend from seminary, just launched a new devotional blog with her teenage daughter. Lindsay and Kate would love to have you join them this year on a spiritual adventure just for girls!

Each Sunday they'll post a devotional for moms and daughters that includes a short game or starter question, followed by something to discuss and then something to do together. The first devotional is posted here.

I'd love to know if you decide to try it out this year with your daughter. Eliana and I plan to do it, too!

rite of passage

A lot of big stuff happened at our house this week.

Easton (age 5) learned to skip.

Eliana (age 12) got a part in the school play.

Both girls started piano lessons for the first time (not counting lessons at home with us).

And Emma (age 8) made a very big decision. She was running away. Things just weren't going her way. To be honest, I can't even remember what set her off. Generally it's the really grievous things like when someone smiles at her and tells her she looks pretty, or when I refuse to help her with a really challenging homework assignment (such as basic addition) because I'm busy reading to Easton. Enough is enough, really.

She demanded a suitcase. I calmly suggested that if she was running away she would need to learn to fend for herself. She stomped off and found one without my help and started packing. The only problem was that we were headed out to eat for dinner to celebrate her 8th birthday. She certainly didn't want to miss that, so she informed us all that she would be leaving in the middle of the night . . . after her special dinner.

As I tucked her in that evening, I let her know that I would really miss her, and that I hoped she packed a toothbrush (she hadn't). She burst into tears, gave me a big hug, and said she didn't want to run away from home after all. (Phew!) We had a good talk about asking God to help us manage our anger, and she went to sleep peacefully. In case you're having deja vu, yes, this has happened before in the Imes household. That story, too, had a happy ending. Running away must be an 8-year-old rite of passage.

A few days later we were getting the house ready for dinner guests when I noticed Emma's suitcase, still packed and ready in the corner. I suggested we unpack it since she had decided to stay. Imagine my delight to discover that not only had she packed a jacket and a pair of pajamas, she had packed her Bible as well. I might be a horrible Mom sometimes, hard to live with and terribly unfair, but I must be doing something right! In any case, it was a good sign. If that's all she takes with her when she leaves home, she'll be well prepared for anything that comes her way.

the memory we (almost) missed

Danny often takes the kids camping without me so that I can have an entire weekend of uninterrupted study time while they make memories together. He's a hero! But over Memorial Day weekend, we had planned to go as a whole family. We all love camping. We love the fresh air. We love the trees. We love hiking and biking, resting and reading, playing games and sitting around the campfire. And when we get to do it all together, we're delighted.

But three days before our trip, Danny hurt his shoulder playing basketball. He collided with another guy, heard a "pop", and groaned in pain. By morning the pain was still pretty intense, and Danny's right arm was basically useless. He got on the internet to see if we could cancel our reservation. Sigh. It's hard to find a long weekend that works for all 5 of us and even harder to find a decent camping spot on a holiday weekend. What should we do?

We decided to take the plunge. If we left the bikes at home, we could still camp without so much heavy lifting. So we went. And, boy, were we glad we did. The weather was ideal, the scenery beautiful, and the kids cheerful. We played round after round of our current favorite: Monopoly Deal. We spent hours around the campfire, watching the flames. We went for a short hike, during which Easton spontaneously launched a frisbee off the cliff into the river, prompting a daring rescue by yours truly.

On Sunday morning, Danny checked the forecast and then broke the news. "We're supposed to get a major thunderstorm tonight," he told me. "Starting at 3:00 there is a 30% chance of rain, and that goes up to 60% by 6:00. It's supposed to rain all morning tomorrow, too, right when we're packing up. Should we pack up early and go home?"

I was bummed. Nobody likes to pack up in the rain. Everything would have to be set back up to dry when we got home. But I wasn't done yet. I wanted more games. More campfire. More hiking. More downtime. We decided it made the most sense to go home.

But then, a couple of hours later, about the time we'd need to start packing up, I had a thought. All the best camping memories I have from childhood are when something dramatic happened. Like the time when Dad's truck slid off the highway, or when it got stuck in the middle of a river, or when it got hung up on a rock, or when it barely fit on the narrow

mountain road with a steep cliff on one side. Or the time when it was so windy that Dad was afraid the trailer would blow off the mountain so we packed up and drove home in the middle of the night. If we avoid the rain, will we be missing a memory?


And so we stayed. It rained a little, but then it stopped and the sun came out and the air was fresh and clear. We decided to take a hike while we had the chance. Partway through the hike the clouds moved in again and it started to sprinkle. We picked up the pace, but kept going farther down the trail because we hadn't seen the waterfall yet. Just after we got there, it started to pour. We trudged back through wet grass and muddy trails for about a mile in the pouring rain. By the time we got back to the van we were all soaked to the skin. Our shoes squished and squeaked. Our clothes clung to our bodies. And everyone was happy.

It rained again the next morning, precisely when we were packing up our pop-up camper. The kids stayed dry in the van, but Danny and I were soaked again. As we pulled away from our camping spot, I saw some other campers wearing rain ponchos. "Now there's a good idea!" I said out loud. We had forgotten our umbrellas, but ponchos seemed even more practical. And then it dawned on me. We have ponchos, too . . . safe and dry in our camper! So we laughed and made a mental note for next time.

When we asked the kids later what the highlight of the weekend was, it was unanimous: The "rain hike." We did the same hike a year ago and the kids complained the whole way. This year they giggled and splashed and spurred each other on. Memories are funny things. We can be so intent on trying to make them "just right" that we miss them altogether. In this case, I'm glad that a busy schedule, an injured shoulder, and a dismal forecast didn't stand in the way.

raising world-changers

One of the deepest joys of parenting is planting seeds that will one day blossom and grow. Children have their whole lives ahead of them. We play a huge role in shaping their dreams. Kids want to know that they can make a difference in the world. As one friend put it, they need to start thinking now about how to "add value" to their communities, rather than waiting for a lucky break.

My favorite way to plant seeds is by reading. Stories are a wonderful medium for bonding. Snuggled together on the couch, we can travel the whole world, meeting people from other cultures and seeing places unlike our own. We can travel back in time and experience history in living color.

Emma (age 7) and I just finished a trip to Calabar, now known as Nigeria, where we followed the barefoot steps of a courageous and stubborn woman from Scotland—Mary Slessor. Mary dared to go where no white man had gone before. With God's help she single-handedly transformed a region and brought peace between warring tribes. It was the perfect story to inspire my own courageous and stubborn 7-year-old. She announced this week that she plans to be a missionary, too, and will bring an end to modern-day slavery.

I was not much older than Emma when I caught the vision for world missions. Sitting in the church basement, eating African stew with my fingers, I watched a slide show of life in Sierra Leone, West Africa, and heard stories about the need for missionaries. I distinctly remember thinking, "Unlike all these grown-ups in the room, who have jobs and houses and obligations in the U.S. to keep them from going, I'm available. I don't have other plans. I could be a missionary." That evening in the church basement has been shaping the choices I've made ever since. It has given me the courage to walk the "road less traveled" time and time again.

Our kids need heroes (and I don't mean the overpaid, self-centered kind who have extraordinary talents). They need to know that the world is bigger than themselves. They need to know the big challenges facing their generation: human trafficking, abortion-on-demand, poverty, pollution, deficit spending, alcoholism and other addictions. And they need to know that every single person can make a difference—if he or she is willing to dream. Missionary biographies are one of the best ways I know to capture their young imaginations with a vision of brave and selfless service in the name of Jesus.

Not sure where to start? I've created a page listing some of our all-time favorite children's books. Click here or on the "Best Kids Books" link in the side column of my blog. Not all the books are missionary stories, but many of them will take you around the world, introducing your kids to cultures unlike their own. At the very least, the cultural sensitivity they develop will go a long way toward helping them get along with their peers in our increasingly multi-cultural world.

Tuesday Tidbit: Augustine on parenting

Ok, so Augustine wasn't talking about parenting. He was talking about the role of civil authorities in maintaining a just society. But you have to admit the parallels are striking! Here are his wise words for the day:

"It is a matter of great importance what intention a man has in showing leniency. Just as it is sometimes a mercy to punish, so it may be cruelty to pardon." (Augustine, Letter 153, section 17, [p. 126 of From Irenaeus to Grotius: A Sourcebook in Christian Political Thought, edited by O'Donovan and O'Donovan])

Chew on that one for a while.

Parents sometimes operate as if they ought to spare their children from any and all hurt -- including punishment. We pick up their toys, do the chores they've left undone, and never get around to giving them the punishments we threaten, all because we don't want them to become discouraged or (worse yet!) to dislike us. Eventually we wonder why we can't get them to do anything at all.

The truth is, our kids need to experience real life if they are going to become well-adjusted adults. In real life, people don't clean up your messes. In real life, people don't do your chores. In real life, painful consequences follow bad decisions. If we spare them all this when they are young, they'll spend the rest of their lives thinking that they've been dealt an unfair hand. They'll continue to act like children long into their adult years, thinking that the world owes them something. We see it all the time, and it's not pretty, is it?

Knowing when and how to show mercy is one of the mysteries of parenting. But Augustine is right: mercy and pardon are not the same thing. As the author of Hebrews reminds us,

"Now, discipline always seems painful rather than pleasant at the time, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it." (Hebrews 12:11 NRSV)

a woman called "blessed"

Somewhere in Colorado a very dear woman is watching the sun set on her special day.

To the one who began as my mother and became my friend . . .

Happy Birthday! 

On this your 60th birthday, I am thankful 60 times over for you.

60. THANKS for a happy childhood
59. filled with books
58. and games
57. and camping trips
56. and family work days
55. snow ice cream and green pizza
54. and long hours to play outside.
53. THANKS for sewing me dresses
52. and teaching me to sew.

51. Thanks for doing my hair hundreds of times
50. for cutting it
49. for teaching me how
48. and for lending your talents for special hair-dos ... like for my wedding and high school plays.
47. Thanks for cleaning the house
46. and not just physically,
45. for feeding my body
44. and also my soul,
43. for teaching me how to cook
42. and teaching me to pray
41. and for praying. A lot.
40. Thanks for cheering me on
39. and for telling me I was wrong
38. for letting me go (overseas at 14 years old!)
37. and for coming to see me (overseas some 14 years later!).
36. Thanks for your financial support
35. and for hosting open houses.
34. Thanks for modeling frugality
33. and resourcefulness
32. for being content and making do.
31. Thanks for making sure I had piano lessons
30. and a Christian education.
29. And thanks for being there when I got home.

28. Thanks for making birthdays special,
27. for being a friend to my friends,
26. for back rubs
25. and phone calls
24. for memories saved from childhood.
23. Thanks for your creativity,
22. for crafts with me
21. and teaching me art
20. and scrapbooking.
19. Thanks for eating healthy
18. for giving cheerfully
17. and selflessly
16. for working hard and giving me chores.
15. Thanks for the example of your faith in God
14. and faithfulness to Dad.
13. Thanks for bearing me for 9 months
12. bringing me into the world
11. for knowing me
10. and loving me warts and all.
  9. Thanks for loving my husband
  8. and making our wedding such a special day.
  7. Thanks for loving our kids
  6. and for supporting us as parents.

  5. Thanks for your encouragement in hard times
  4. and your example in suffering.
  3. Thanks for being available
  2. and for listening.
  1. Thanks for being my friend.

Thanks for being the kind of Mom who makes it easy to make a list this long.
What a gift you are to me!
I love you, Mom!

gotta love 3

Yesterday Easton told Grandma excitedly, "I'm going to be Daddy's age this year!"

He is growing up fast, but we hope not that fast! I have to say . . . I will miss 3. It's one of the best ages ever. Easton is learning so much about the world around him, trying out new words, initiating friendships, reciting Bible verses, trying to read and write, and making all of us laugh a lot.

Here are a few of our favorites from the past week:

Easton, to me, while I was applying lotion to my face: "When I was your age, I used that lotion, too." He must be gradually getting younger. Danny brought Easton's pants to the bathroom and set them on some drawers. Easton piped up cheerfully, "Hey, I said put them on the stool!" Danny said, "No you didn't. You didn't even mention stool." Easton conceded, "Oh. Well, I didn't know that when I was your age."
(Logic comes later, I think, which is why these days we're hearing lots of "becauses" in the wrong places.)

On another occasion he decided to measure himself. Using his fingers to estimate, he 'hopped' them up his entire body and back down again, counting. Then he announced the result: "I'm 19!" I asked him, "19 what?" He said joyfully, "19 feet!"

It's nice having such a tall boy when there might be monsters in the basement. Once he reassured me by saying, "There's no bad guys, just plain guys."

Probably my favorite thing to overhear is when he says, "Eliana, would you like to share a friendship with me?" He likes to reiterate this on a daily basis, and remind his sisters that "sharing a friendship means being nice to each other." Three-way friendships are a little more tricky, but this morning they were happily sailing on the couch together as a threesome—a great start to the day. Easton's teachers report that he is very good about "sharing friendships" with all of his classmates at school. Excellent.

His impulse for friendship and encouragement extends to adults, too. One of my classmates is his "best friend." Recently, out of the blue, he told me kindly, "Mom, I like you just the way you are." To which I replied, "I like you just the way you are, too, Easton!" And how couldn't I? This kid is adorable.

Halloween: should Christians participate?

This is a controversial issue. My husband, Danny, posted a question about Halloween on Facebook, and within a day or two there were several dozen comments. Here's the way I see it:

I can discern at least four approaches Christians might take to the Halloween question.

1. Full Participation. Those who take this approach typically argue that dressing up and eating candy are "good, clean fun." If there is a dark history to this "holiday," it is no longer relevant today because people don't think of Halloween in those terms. Both Danny and I grew up with this mindset. My family dressed up and went trick-or-treating until I was 11 or 12. I was even a witch one year! When I was in junior high we started to become aware of the reality of Satan and his work in the world, and the idea of pretending to be witches or ghosts very quickly lost its appeal.

2. Alternative Events. In the Pacific Northwest, it's very common for churches to offer an alternative event where kids can come and have fun without the danger of trick-or-treating through dark neighborhoods or encountering scary costumes. When Danny and I moved to Charlotte we were surprised to find that no churches in our area offered alternative "harvest" events. This forced us to rethink our own stance towards Halloween. We could either hide in the back room or participate.

3. Missional Participation. We decided then that Halloween was an opportunity to build memories with our neighbors, deepen our roots in the neighborhood, and minimize the "weirdness" of Christianity. The first year, we gave out mini water bottles to trick-or-treaters with a printed labels that read,

"Thirsty from all that candy?

'Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again,

but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst.

Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water

welling up to eternal life.'" 

- Jesus (John 4:13-14)

Another year we gave out little flashlights that said "Jesus is the light." After 3 or 4 years of participation, though, we began to wonder if it was really making any difference. We'd rather our kids not be out where they can be exposed to hideous costumes. Even though it's just "pretend" it can be traumatic for kids to be confronted with gruesome, evil masks.

4. No Participation. And that's why we're toying with the idea of having a simple family night on Halloween. Why participate at all in a "holiday" that celebrates what is dark and gruesome and scary? Our Jehovah's Witness friends seem to have happy, well-adjusted children, even without letting them trick-or-treat. Will our children really be worse off if we abstain?

I don't think there is one right answer for Christians. As one friend pointed out on Facebook, it's possible to participate in Halloween yet have a well-developed understanding of the reality and danger of evil. He argued that Halloween has largely lost its connection to its pagan roots. A comic from the latest Christianity Today magazine depicts pagans who are disgruntled over the commercialization of their sacred day. Just as we insist on recognizing the real meaning of the Christmas holiday, so I think we ought to take seriously the historical significance of Halloween.

I'd like to suggest a couple of questions that Christians could be asking as they wrestle with this issue.

What does Halloween mean in our context?
What will our level of participation communicate to our neighbors?
How does our level of participation affect children (ours or those we come in contact with)?
Would Jesus be comfortable joining our family on Oct 31?
Most importantly, how can we represent him well this season?

There is not one right answer to these questions. It will depend on your situation and the specific sphere of ministry to which you are called. As you discuss these issues, you might find the following Scriptures helpful: Deuteronomy 18:9-13; Romans 14; Philippians 4:8; 1 Peter 4:14-16.

"And whatever you do, whether in word or deed,

do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus,

giving thanks to God the Father through him."

Colossians 3:17

just one little green crayon

This morning I pulled a load of laundry out of the dryer.  It was supposed to be white.  Instead it was white with green spots all over.  Ugh.

It's remarkable, really, how just one little green crayon can ruin everything.  A white shirt with green spots here and there is not a "pretty good" white shirt.  It's worthless -- ready for the rag pile, or (at best) the drawer of "play clothes."  Khaki pants don't look any more "khaki" with green smudges.

Easton (almost 3): "I'm sorry I ruined Daddy's pants with the green crayon, Mom."
Me: "I forgive you, Easton."
Easton: "I forgive you, too, Mom."

And I needed forgiveness.  Not for losing my temper over the ruined laundry.  By the grace of God this one didn't throw me.  I was thinking, though, about how I've been grumpy and stressed and anxious over the past week.  Like a green crayon in a hot dryer, my attitude has rubbed off on the rest of the family.  I've tried not to be stressed, but that hasn't been effective.  What I needed most was time alone (with God!) to think, read, pray and process what we're going through.  It has made all the difference. 

"Yes, my soul, find rest in God; (literally: Surely, before God, be silent, O my soul)
my hope comes from him. (because from him [is] my hope)
Truly he is my rock and my salvation;
he is my fortress, I will not be shaken.
My salvation and my honor depend on God;
he is my mighty rock, my refuge.
Trust in him at all times, you people;
pour out your hearts to him,
for God is our refuge."
Psalm 62:5-8 (NIV 2011)

When all around us is chaos, we can choose to find rest in God.  Then we will not be shaken.

retrospect and prospect

All five of us are finding ourselves pulled in two directions these days.

There is life to be lived in Charlotte.  The girls have another week of school left, and they are in the throes of field days and field trips and tests and parties, not to mention the urgency of playing with friends they will soon leave behind.  Danny has a full-time job to do; financial transactions do not stand still just because he has other things on his mind.  Our house was for sale by owner, and the buyer also came with no realtor, so he is busy getting things in order for closing next week.  For me there is laundry, cleaning, packing, and a garage sale. There are meals to make, homework to manage, and grading to wrap up for the spring semester.  Preschool is over, so Easton and I have many important tasks to do together, like engineering bridges, working on his baseball swing, and learning to jump in the swimming pool.  We're doing our dead-level best to finish well here, to grieve, and to say goodbye.

But our life in Wheaton has already begun.  Eliana is busy designing her new attic bedroom to look like a jungle.  I'm nearly drowning in medical forms for me and the kids.  Schools in Illinois require medical, dental, and vision forms signed and dated by the appropriate professionals.  There are school enrollment forms, a lease to sign on the house we're renting, moving arrangments to make, and travel plans to work out.  I have a good deal of studying to do over the summer so that I'm ready to pass my German exam, ready to present a paper at ETS, and ready for classes this fall.  My first meeting with Dr. Block is scheduled for the day we arrive.  Despite the urgency of other tasks, I feel a sense of compulsion to do random, non-urgent things now, like shop for winter clothes while they are on sale and figure out a fall schedule that will allow both of us to work full-time with only 5 hrs/week of preschool for Easton. 

Honestly, I don't feel like I'm handling it all that well.  I've gone from 2-5 hrs/day of quiet, reflective study time to almost none, now that preschool is over.  The goodbyes are starting to close in on me, feeling much like the 98-degree heat and choking humidity outside.  It's obvious that God has opened this door, and we want nothing more than to walk through it, but it's exhausting nonetheless.  I'm running on fumes and putting out fires and longing for a few precious hours to sit and reflect and sort it all out.

The kids are handling it like champions. 
Easton is full of stories these days:  "When I was a little boy, I got bit by a bug." 
Me: "Really?  What kind of bug?"
Easton: "A red bug."
Me: "How big was he?"
Easton (reaching way up high): "He was this big!"
Me: "Oh, wow! That's a big bug!  Where did he bite you?" 
Easton: "On my hand, right here." 
Me: "And where were you when the big red bug bit you?" 
Easton: "At the beach!"
Me: "Really?  I didn't see a big red bug at the beach." 
Easton: "But I did!"
And he's planning ahead, too.  "When I get big and become a grown up, I'm not gonna suck my fumb anymore!"  In anticipation of his 3rd birthday this month, we're talking a lot about big boy underwear and potty chairs, too.  He was utterly delighted to learn that we'll be staying at a hotel on our way to Wheaton, and that we'll be taking all of our clothes and toys and even toothbrushes along!  His favorite question this week is, "Can I bring this to the hotel, too, when we go to Wheaton?"

All of us made a "bridge" poster to help us think about what we're leaving behind in Charlotte (the teardrops on the left) and what we're looking forward to in Wheaton (the balloons on the right).  Emma's first teardrop said "moving to Wheaton."  She said she didn't want to go and leave her friends behind.  But moments later she drew a balloon that said "making new friends."  We know there are lots of special friends just waiting to be met!  Today, though, we are somewhere in the middle, feeling pulled in both directions and praying for strength to finish well.

Ideas for Family Devotions

Something about the new year always gets us thinking about how we can make sure we're reading the Bible with our kids.  We've tried a lot of different ways to do "Bible Time," and since we're always in need of new ideas I thought I'd post some of ours in hopes that you'll comment with some of yours.

I've already recommended my two favorite children's Bibles: one for 0-5 year olds, and one for 5-10 year olds.  One way to make sure that you're actually reading the Bible with your kids is to plan it for the time of day that is the most structured.  Dinner time has not worked for us, but maybe it would for your family.  Bedtime has been a lot more successful at our house.  The kids always ask for a bedtime story, and so last year we decided that the Bible would always be their bedtime story.  We made it through our big children's Bible (for 5-10 year olds) by mid-year.  The Big Picture Story Bible (for 0-5 year olds) lasted only a couple of weeks because it does what the title suggests: gives the big picture, rather than a lot of details.  It would be great for a weekly family Bible time, and does an excellent job of tying the whole story of Scripture together.

Other ideas we have used:

• Read a proverb or two each night at dinner and talk about what it means.
• Read through the New Testament in a year by doing a few chapters each week on Saturdays and Sundays.  Danny did this with Eliana in 2010.  They listened to the Bible being read aloud online and followed along in the NIV.
• Work through a children's devotional.  We're going to start off the year with "Keys for Kids," something from way back in the early 80's that I loved as a kid.  Our kids have also really enjoyed Under the Tagalong Tree, a book that includes Bible stories followed by modern-day stories for kids along the same theme.  I read it over and over as a kid. 
• Read a missionary biography together or a book like Hero Tales.  This works well with children ages 6 and up.  Now is the time to inspire them to ask what God wants them to do with their lives!  Most people who become missionaries were first exposed to missions during their childhood.
• Work on memorizing questions and answers from a Children's Catechism (Q & A about the meaning of life from a biblical perspective).  You'd be amazed at what young children can memorize! (Note: I haven't used this one in particular, but it appears to be similar to ours.)
• Light a candle and spend time quietly listening to God, followed by prayer.  Think your kids won't be quiet long enough?  Having a dark room with a candle lit makes a big difference!
• Work on memorizing familiar passages of Scripture together.  Some of our favorites are Psalm 1, Psalm 23, Psalm 100, Deuteronomy 6, and John 1.  Make it a family contest!
• Eliana and I are going to work our way through Genesis this spring while reading our new commentary written just for kids her age.  This is the first kids' commentary I've ever seen, and I'm excited to try it out!  We plan to do it together on Sunday afternoons while the younger kids are napping.

Whether first thing in the morning, dinner time, bedtime, or Sunday afternoons, family devotions will not just happen unless you decide they are important and make it part of your routine!  There isn't a 'right way' and a 'wrong way' to do it.  Just find something that works for your family and go for it!

I'd love to hear your ideas, too.  Post a comment below...

raising MMK's

When I was a kid, I really wanted to be an MK (missionary kid).  Unfortunately, this isn't something you can choose for yourself.  Your parents have to do it.  And, try as I might, I couldn't talk them into sub-saharan Africa.  So I was an MMK (missions-minded kid) instead.  At about 8 years of age I remember a missionary couple speaking at our church.  They fed us African stew and showed us slides of their work in Sierra Leone.  And then they challenged us to commit our lives to helping others hear the good news.  I distinctly remember thinking it over in a matter of moments and realizing, 'Hey!  I don't have other plans.  I could be a missionary!'  A few years later, in junior high, my Bible teacher asked us to memorize Matthew 28:18-20.  That was the beginning of a two-week period of time where that passage followed me everywhere I went.  We went to two different churches that Sunday, one in the morning and one at night.  In both churches the same passage was read.  I would open a Bible and it would fall open to that reference.  I would open a hymnal and my eyes would land on it.  I would turn on the radio and hear a song about it.  I couldn't get away from the sense that God was calling me to "go and make disciples."

As a teenager I devoured everything I could get my hands on that related to missions - biographies, magazines, newsletters - and poured over brochures about summer mission trips.  It was all I could think about.  I headed to Venezuela and Panama in 1992 and 1993 respectively, sharing the gospel with a bunch of other crazy teenagers using drama.  {Note: My parents may not have been called to go themselves, but they were tremendously supportive of my own desire to go.  Imagine putting your 14-year-old on a plane to Latin America without knowing anyone else who was going!}  And then I headed to Bible College to learn the skills that I would need as a missionary.  If you've known us for a while, you know that Danny and I did end up as missionaries.  We lived in the Philippines from 2002-2005 reaching out to several minority tribal groups there.  Eliana - our first MK - was almost 2 when we arrived and 4 when we left.  I loved it that she was experiencing another language and culture at such a young age.  Our second MK was conceived shortly before we returned to the States.  And though we are in the US, we are still serving as missionaries with SIM.  So technically speaking, we have 3 MK's.

But this week I had a startling realization.  (Don't ask me why it took so long).  We are living a normal, American life.  Our children attend public school.  We buy groceries at Wal-mart.  We own a house and 2 cars.  And on nice evenings we ride bikes in the cul-de-sac.  Though they have far more ethnic diversity in their classroom than I ever did, I'm not sure if they really "get" missions.  It's probably not fair to call them MK's.  Weird.

So on Wednesday evening I pulled out a map and spread it across the living room floor.  We put stars on all the places where we know people who are working full-time to tell others about Jesus.  Very, very cool.  They loved it.  Eliana and I are currently reading a great book by Joanne Shetler: And the Word Came With Power.  It's the story of Joanne's life as a missionary among the Balangao people of the Northern Philippines.  Joanne translated the Bible into Balangao and watched God transform an entire people group from fear to faith.

I'd like to be more intentional about praying together for missionaries, too.  Just because I read newsletters and pray, doesn't make our kids MMK's.  I want them to grow up knowing how important it is for the good news to be shared with all nations.  And I would love it if they wanted to be part of making it happen.

my curriculum vitae

(With deep apologies for writing more than you have time to read...)

The kids all went happily to school this morning, and I'm working on my resume (or CV, as they're called in academic circles).  I've set a mental deadline of September 30th by which time I hope to finalize where I will apply for doctoral studies.  Finishing my CV is part of the process.

How does this sound so far?

Mother of 3 Growing Children  
2001- present

  Responsibilities include (but are not limited to):

• procuring food that is both healthy, delicious and affordable and preparing it in such a way as to please the palattes of the entire family
• selecting and maintaining size- and season-appropriate clothing for all 3 of them (includes sorting, stain-removal, washing, ironing, folding, and lobbying for proper treatment of clothes)
• maintaining household cleanliness and supervising clean-up crew
• planning and implementing yearly birthday parties, holiday celebrations, and other events
• teaching children to count, read, use manners, pray, share, pick up after themselves, throw, stop throwing, jump, stop jumping, and many other things
• pregnancy, childbirth (2 natural and one c-section), nursing at least one year per child (49 months experience), burping when needed, and changing enough diapers to fill several semi-trailers
• drying tears, bandaging scraped knees, kissing owies, and giving hugs during thunderstorms
• healing the sick, maintaining positive relationships with other medical professionals such as doctors and dentists
• celebrating successes
• keeping track of homework assignments, field trip permission slips, school newsletters, and the rest of the paperwork that comes in the door at an alarming rate
• teaching children all they need to know about God, themselves and the world before they hear it in a twisted form from somewhere else

  Awards include:

• "You're my best Mom" - Emma, age 5
• "Lovee, Mom" - Easton, age 2
• "I'm so glad you're my mom." - Eliana, age 9

Whaddaya think?  Should I include all this on my resume?