Moody Meditations On Middle Age – Pt. 2 – It Ain’t About How Hard You Can Hit…

I was pregnant and on a trans-Atlantic flight, sitting next to a guy I think was a Harley-Davidson mechanic. I kid you not. He was all tatted and goateed up and I was… well…bulging and hormonal. The movie on this flight was Rocky. Not the original. The sixth one. Where Rocky is truly an old man and looking for one more shot in the ring. I know, I know… I thought the same thing. “Come on…how many times will they make the same movie over and over again…” But I was wrong. So wrong.

This movie is a beautiful mediation on desire. On growing old. On the importance of identity and relationship and accomplishment. On fear and the choices we make. Well written, well acted – and even though I was sure it was going to bomb, it won me over totally. Sort of like Rocky in the ring. Don’t ever count him out.

And somewhere in the middle of it, it made me cry. No, it made me sob. What moved me was Rocky’s speech to his son, where he is trying to encourage him to become all he can be. It is a dramatic reversal in that while Rocky is the one going into the ring, it is his son who is afraid.

He said something so profound, so uniquely targeted to where I was in life that it literally opened my heart right then and there, right next to Harley-guy and in the midst of a plane full of strangers. Let me quote some of the speech and highlight the part that undid me.

Let me tell you something you already know. The world ain’t all sunshine and rainbows. It is a very mean and nasty place and I don’t care how tough you are it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain’t how hard you hit; it’s about how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward. How much you can take, and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done. Now, if you know what you’re worth, then go out and get what you’re worth. But you gotta be willing to take the hits, and not pointing fingers saying you ain’t where you wanna be because of him, or her, or anybody. Cowards do that and that ain’t you. You’re better than that! 

This is a lesson from middle age. By this time, most of us have figured out just how hard life can hit. We’ve realized we won’t get many of the dreams we had in our youth. We’ve felt the pain of a sucker punch, a roundhouse to the gut that takes the wind out of us. We’ve lost things. We’ve maybe come to grips with our average-ness and the fact that we don’t hit nearly as hard as we thought we did.

And a decision is in our corner now. In fact, I would suggest that middle age is really about choices. For me, much of the first half of my life involved many happy accidents. God’s providence guiding me to the right place at the right time. I didn’t really know what I was doing most of the time. But now…I know… And the questions are, “What will I do with what I know now? What will I do with this Jesus I’ve loved for years, but not really understood? What will I do with the gifts and talents and resources given me? Who will I become as I continue to walk the road of sanctification and transformation into who God made me to be?” 

Will I quit? And there are lots of ways to quit by the way. You can leave the ring literally, or just begin sleep-walking through the motions. Checking out emotionally. Doing just enough to maintain and medicate. Many do. Or am I brave enough to stay in the ring, take the hits and keep moving forward?

Cause that’s how winning is done.

Sometimes Mothers Get Crushed – A Very Non-Traditional, Somber and Almost Dark Mother’s Day Post

I was pulling up in our driveway one morning when I saw her. A large box turtle. Since we all enjoy the ‘wild kingdom’ vibe of our yard, I got out to take a photo of her to show the kids for later.  As I got close I noticed. The left corner of her shell had been crushed. Either Jeff or I had run over her on our way out in the darkness of morning. She was now dead.

To make matters worse, several almost-done, but still intact turtle eggs had spilled out.

It was an accident and accidents happen. Nature is cruel. Things die all the time and it is a part of life. I try to guard my heart with these truths whenever I’m faced with the reality of suffering and death – almost always unsuccessfully, as in this case. I was moved. And so sad. I took some time that morning to talk with God about what I’d seen and why I knew it was important for me to stop and pay attention.

I don’t know how turtles do motherhood. Because they are reptiles, I suspect they aren’t too attentive or affectionate. But this mother, because of events beyond her control, would not be there for her babies. She’d been crushed.

And from what I know of people, this happens to us all the time. Oh, the mother may not literally die, but because of an accident, because of events beyond her control, because of sin – either hers or the effects of someone else’s on her life – she’s had a weight land on her that was too heavy to bear. It left her wounded. Damaged. Unable to fully do what her babies needed her to do. And those babies had to learn to fend for themselves way too early, perpetuating the line of wounded mothers into the next generation.

Surely you’ve seen this. Probably experienced it. A mother… in a painful, loveless or soul-killing marriage. Broken in the separation from a destructive man. Supporting something very unhealthy, addictive or secret, and not knowing any alternative. Enduring a life burden that is too much for one person to hold. Carrying pain in verbal silence but screaming it within the quality of her relationships. Suffering from a crippling depression or physical struggle. Damaged by her mother, who was damaged also. Wearing soul wounds from abuse, words, disappointment, neglect, trauma and all the other things that were never meant to happen to us in Eden.

The children of mothers like this know. Because the weight of it has crushed them too.

We so rarely get the mother we want. We only get the mother we’ve got. Making peace with that is a major passage of life. It is a passage many never make.

Motherhood is etched on the hearts of most women, calling to us in a visceral way we cannot fully explain. Yet it is this dynamic, how our woundedness has the capacity to wound our children, that has the potential to make a day like today, one of sorrow and not joy. Of fear. Of regret – either for our mothers, or for our children.

My greatest motherhood fear is damaging my beloved children with my own damage. If there was ever a reason for me to cling for dear life to my Healer, to my Jesus, surely this is it.

Today My Baby Girl Turns 10 – A Fun Look Back

Today my baby girl turns 10 – and I’m wondering how in the world it is possible that I’ve been the mother to a daughter for a decade now. In fact, as I’m thinking about how I feel, I’m so bottled up with emotion, that this semi-professional writer/communicator is at a loss for words eloquent or beautiful enough to describe her. And then I

My big girl, almost all grown up. How in the world did this happen?

remembered – I’ve actually been writing about her for quite sometime now.

So in honor of her birthday, I give you two previous posts I wrote waaaaay back. The first one I was from 2 months in to my blogging adventure in July of 2005. She was just 3 and a 1/2. (To see my first blog, a true labor of love, click here.) I wasn’t trying to be any kind of writer: just a mom who  wanted to capture a moment in time so that I could remember how special it all was.  The second one was a conversation I had with her one afternoon when she was 6. It was also a really great mother-daughter moment I didn’t want to forget.

7/3/05

She hides nothing of her personality. With her

Georgia at 3 and a 1/2, doing what she did best back then, having fun!

what you see is what you get: Lots of emotion, joy, strength of will and fantastic interpersonal skills. At 3 and a ½ she can work a crowd better than an politician. Just last week I saw her convince a very handsome, very tall 20- something guy (who had something else to do) to run with her through an inflatable obstacle course (that honestly was too big for her) and have so much fun doing it that he asked her to run it again. The word that comes to mind is fearless. She’s not afraid of people, of tasks, and unfortunately of gravity. Some nights when I check on her and her brother in their room she’s in bed with him, snuggling. She’s sunshine most days with a smile that could melt icebergs and a charisma that charms the meanest humbug. She loves the freedom to let her hair fly (which it does, quite unmanageably so), to choose her own clothes (somedays she just wants to “wear something pretty, mama”) and to express whatever emotion comes into that great big heart of hers. She loves princesses, talking, anything that sparkles, Wonder Woman (since her brother loves superheroes she just can’t be left out), talking, wearing other people’s shoes if they leave them out, Dora the Explorer, talking, holding hands, snuggling, talking, bugging her big brother and anything else that lets her talk. She’s the best little hugger and kisser I’ve ever met (much to her dad’s consternation). Little clouds come into her eyes when we speak to her harshly or tell her no (a phrase she hears rarely or works around). She’s sensitive yet resilient. Strong, yet quite girly. Always seeking the fun in a situation and smart enough to make it happen if she needs to. While she seems quite laid back, she still sucks the two middle fingers of her left hand and twirls her hair with the other when she is nervous or tired, sometimes with such intensity that she actually pulls hair out. I call her our little sunshine since that’s what follows her everywhere she goes.

5/27/08

Georgia – Mom, do you like being married?
Mom – Yes I do, baby, very very much.
G – What do you like most about it? The kissing?
M – Well yes, the kissing part is great and I enjoy that a lot. But do you know what else I really like about being married?
G – What?
M – Your dad. He’s my best friend. And he loves me. And do you know what else?
G – The kissing? You guys seem to kiss a lot.
M – Yeah, I do love kissing your dad. But it makes me really happy that I may not know where God will lead me or what He’ll ask me to do, but I always know who I’ll be going with. I never have to be alone. One day you and Jeffrey will go off on your own and get married and start your own families. But your daddy and I will still be together.
G – Will I get to kiss my husband?

Georgia rocking all kinds of coolness in Copenhagen at 6.

M – Oh yes! And you’ll love it too.
G – But can we come back to visit?
M – You can always come back to visit. Any time you want baby. That’s what being a family is all about. We live life together.
G – Mom, can I get a tattoo?
M – Not for a long time. A really really long time baby. Do you want to talk about marriage anymore?
G – No. Can we get some ice cream?
M – Whatever you want baby. Love you.
G – Love you too Mom.

Marriage Predictors pt. 7 – Surviving the “Oh My God, Who Are You And What Did You Do With My Spouse?” Moment

I think there comes a moment in everyone’s marriage – usually early on for those with good communication skills, and later on for those who are better at hiding what is actually going on in their heart (my category, by the way) – where you look at your spouse and wonder, “Oh my God, who are you and what did you do with the person I married?”

I’m not talking about the “you squeeze the toothpaste from the middle” argument, or the classic, “Toilet paper should spin from the top, not the bottom of the roll” disagreement that every newlywed has. I’m talking bigger things today. Like:

When they really lose their temper in front of you for the first time and it makes you afraid. When you realize that thing that didn’t really bother you while you were dating really does bother you now that you live with it, and you awaken to the fact that it isn’t going to change. When you catch them using porn on the internet. When you realize what you thought was a bad habit is actually an addiction. When you get that credit card bill for that thing you can’t afford, didn’t want and now are on the hook for. When something from their past pops up that they didn’t disclose to you before the marriage, or you didn’t fully grasp its ability to affect you, and now it is sitting in your lap. When the emotional baggage from their past won’t be suppressed anymore and you begin to realize just how broken by sin they are, and now they are evolving into someone right before your eyes that you aren’t even sure you recognize. When they make a really stupid or selfish mistake and do something, say something that hurts you so badly, different words enter your vocabulary – like betrayal, abandonment and regret. When you start entertaining those thoughts on “What if…”, when you swore you never would.

(This is a discussion where it is really important to realize that if you are pointing a finger at your spouse, you are also pointing three fingers back at yourself. If you are thinking any of these things, I’m pretty sure your partner is having the similar thoughts about you.)

It is usually at that moment, when the new reality begins to set in, that most people begin thinking “Is this marriage thing really permanent?”

When you marry, in front of God and your family and friends, you make unbreakable vows to each other for this very reason. Because if people could get out of marriage, at some time or another, almost everyone would. Sure, people divorce and move on all the time. But make no mistake, when you break your marriage vows, you also break the people who made them.

The marriage predictor I am talking about today (the character qualities, behavior patterns and practices that bend a relational trajectory towards a loving, stable relationship – or not) is your decision to stand and work and fight for your marriage and not run when this first happens. And I’m pretty sure this moment happens to everyone. Because most of us have bought into the lie that marriage is about making us happy – and when it doesn’t, we begin thinking about how to bail. At some point in the relationship, most likely you will be faced with the temptation to leave – either physically or emotionally. And when you decide to honor your vows, to stay, even when everything in you is screaming, “Get me out of here!”, you set your relationship on a trajectory that leads to a very promising place. 

Learning to do this, early in the marriage, to stay in, all in, both emotionally and physically, is a learned skill. And learning to do it from the get-go…I can’t really think of a stronger predictor of one’s ability to do it later, when the stakes just might get exponentially higher. Committing to the energy it requires to work through those “Oh my God…” moments early on in your marriage teaches you that you can survive them, and that you can work together through whatever will come up later. And just a bit of truth for all the young couples out there…there is always something else that will come up later. And later, it is almost always something much more complicated (which is code for ‘painful’).

So young couples – talk to each other about this. Make it part of your relational vocabulary. And decide together that you both will survive these early challenges and come out on the other side, more invested in and more committed to the success of your marriage than before.

Here is a link to an interview from the world’s oldest living couple, married over 85 years!

(This post isn’t meant as a critique of anyone’s marriage, broken or damaged – it is meant as a springboard for discussion and prayer. I’ve heard from some of my readers that this series has been painful to read. Please know, I totally get how tough marriage is and can be. I am writing from a place of great compassion for you.)

Thoughts On Isaac – What Does It Feel Like To Be Sacrificed?

Gen. 22:6-7 Abraham took the wood for the burnt offering and placed it on his son Isaac, and he himself carried the fire and the knife. As the two of them went on together,  Isaac spoke up and said to his father Abraham, “Father?” “Yes, my son?” Abraham replied. “The fire and wood are here,” Isaac said, “but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?”

Gen. 22:9-10 When they reached the place God had told him about, Abraham built an altar there and arranged the wood on it. He bound his son Isaac and laid him on the altar, on top of the wood.  Then he reached out his hand and took the knife to slay his son.

A Rembrandt sketch of the event. I prefer that it isn't finished. Even the lines scare me.

If you aren’t familiar with this story, it is powerful and I recommend reading it in its entire context in Genesis 22. The short version is that after decades of working in his life, God asks Abraham to take his son Isaac, whom he loves, who is a miraculous answer to prayer and sacrifice him with his own hands. At the last possible minute, with the knife in his hand to murder his boy, an angel of the Lord stops Abraham. Yeah. What to make of this God who asks the unthinkable?

Over the years, I’ve heard many varied explanations about what God was up to and what He was trying to accomplish in Abraham’s life. Honestly, I’m not all that interested in either of those those things. What I’m wrestling with and thinking about right now is a part of the story I’ve heard almost no one explore. I want to know how Isaac felt. Not a neat, sterile theological explanation…but what did it feel like to be sacrificed? By someone you love. And trust. To have someone else’s mission valued above your life. Military kids often know. Missionary and ministry kids often know.

Both Abraham and Isaac had mountaintop experiences. But very, very different ones. While Isaac also experienced God’s deliverance, he first experienced being kept deliberately in the dark about what was about to happen, BEING BOUND BY HIS FATHER, put on the altar and watching his dad raise the knife to slay him. His dad was willing to kill him in order to obey God. I can only imagine the issues that raised in his heart. God-induced terror, God-induced sacrifice. Seems to me like a lot of information about Isaac is missing from the story.

I can guess how I would feel in the situation: used, abused, hurt, like a pawn in some bigger game. I think I would wrestle with feelings of ” God must love my dad more than me.” Or, “God was willing to sacrifice me. Looks like I’m clearly on the B team.” and “No matter what God’s word says, just how valuable can I be? I was sacrificed.” I don’t think there would be time or money enough for all the therapy I would need to emotionally recover.

Did Isaac spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder for the next time God would set him up? Did he wrestle with questions of his faith and self-worth as a result of being placed on the altar by both God and his dad? Did he have serious trust issues with everyone else he met? Fear issues? Did he ever go for a walk with his dad in the wilderness again? (I don’t think I would.) Did he ever go to worship God in the wilderness again? (I’d hesitate here too. And I’d certainly never go with my kids.) Did the sacrifice time at future worship events forever make him shudder?

I’m realizing that I’ve felt like Isaac at different times in my life. Used. Abused. Hurt. Like a pawn in some bigger God-game. I look back at traumatic, painful life-shaping events in my life and wonder not only where God was in that… but exactly what kind of God is He? Do I really matter so little to Him? Look how He loves other people more than me. Why would I trust Him going forward? Do I really want to get to know Him better if this is how he treated me when I didn’t know Him very well?

Big questions. No lightening yet either. (Selah)

And surprisingly, what I’m learning deep in my heart, in the midst of spiritual angst, is that God is not only present when it appears someone is getting the royal shaft. He is loving in that moment too.

Profound. And so complicated. So incredibly complicated.

I can see why scripture doesn’t record this aspect of the story. Isaac’s point of view on the sacrifice of his life cannot be grasped in a sound bite or even a paragraph. It isn’t for those who like their Christianity in alliterated 3 point sermons and fill in the blank outlines. This is about the messy intersection of where God’s plans and our will collide, where our theology meets our emotion, where our hearts explode with doubt and our heads scramble to put the pieces back together.

Profound. And so complicated. So incredibly complicated.

16 Years Ago

16 years ago…

It rained. Then the sun came back out. Then it was ridiculously cold as we ran to our car under a hail of birdseed. So cold in fact that the oreos our friends stuck to our car froze there. We had to chip them off the next day.

There should be a law against letting people marry this young.

I wept like a baby the first time I laid eyes on my soon-to-be husband in his tux and fresh haircut.

I went to lunch with my mom and sister beforehand and I had to pay because my mom was too nervous to get her wallet out. Still a bit bitter about that.

Our wedding planner forgot to put a glass out for us to take communion from. So we drank grape juice from a long-necked decanter, tipping it back two-handed like lushes and hoping it didn’t spill on our clothes.

After the service, we giggled and laughed and told each other over and over how much we loved each other. Only to then realize Jeff was still wearing his microphone.

During the day, we looked at each other and thought, “How hard can this marriage thing be?”

Three of my college friends hid in our backseat as we got ready to leave. We promptly kicked them out.

We had verses inscribed on our wedding bands to each other and recited them out loud in front of all our family and friends. And after Jeff did great, perfectly quoting his three,  I cheated a bit, saying that one of mine was a special one, just between the two of us. Hee hee.

After scaring Jeff for months about how I hated going to weddings where the couple awkwardly gave each other a wedding-night kiss (in front of all their family and friends), he proceeded to give me the shortest, most innocent kiss on the lips ever. Ever. It is a wonder the photographer was quick enough to capture the moment. People in the congregation laughed. He did make up for it later that evening however.

Jeff and I began an adventure together that has led us all over the world and deeper into each other’s hearts than we ever thought possible. Made lots of memories, lots of mistakes, lots of buffalo chicken and lots of kids. And we are realizing that even after 16 years, we are really just getting started.

Thoughts On Having Daughters

A while back I heard this about raising daughters. You spend the first 10 years telling them they are the center of the universe and the next 10 teaching them they are not. There is a lot of truth there – with the over-arching theme being that daughters are complicated. As a mother of both a boy and two girls, I can attest from personal experience that they are very different.

Be still, my mother heart!!!

After having Jeffrey I was sure I would be a good mother of boys. They are relatively straight forward after all. When they are babies you just feed, change (being sure to cover them properly as they do spray) and put them in pants and shirts. When they get a bit older, just feed them more, put them in bigger pants and shirts, teach them to aim and make sure the house always has lots of sport balls and stuff to both build with and destroy.

But girls…oh my. Even from birth, they come with lots of accessories. Hair things. Matching shoes. Different outfits for different occasions. Even their dolls come with accessories. And while boys are more like wind-up toys, just set them off and they often take care of themselves, girls need attention. They don’t want to play with toys. They want to play with YOU and their toys. My relationship with Jeffrey is a side-to-side one. We do stuff together. My relationship with my daughters is definitely face-to-face. We talk with one another. A lot.

Then there are the words. So many of them! Both my daughters were obviously highly motivated to communicate as they both started talking much earlier than my boy. They both, in true girl fashion, like to talk. A lot. Girls are also really great snugglers, in tune with and not afraid of the physical side of family relationships. They love to get under the same blanket at family movie time and share popcorn and warmth.

Then there is the drama. Sister conflict, tears over things that Jeffrey wouldn’t even notice, sharing issues, raised voices and crying. Lots of crying. And of course, girls can be much meaner than boys. I think it is because relationships are sooooo important to them, they just bring out big time emotion in little girls. Sometimes in ways they aren’t able to control just yet. That is something I’ll have to teach them. Along with many other things.

While growing up, my mom told my sister and me that we wouldn’t always have her. But we would always have each other. So it was very important to her that we love each other and learn to get along. We would need each other one day. I see this same dynamic in my girls. Nothing moves my heart quite like watching them love on each other. I get a glimpse of what their relationship with each other might look like when they are adults. And I like it.

As my girls get older I’m trying to think through how to help them avoid some of the girl-specific pitfalls out there. Self-esteem issues. Girl-friend issues. Self-esteem issues. Boys. Self-esteem issues. Taking care of their bodies. Which of course leads to self-esteem issues.  I see a theme here. It isn’t that my boy doesn’t struggle with these things as well. Of course he does. Although let’s hope his girl-friend issues are a few years down the road. It is just that with girls, most things are bigger, more dramatic, more colorful and more high-maintenance and frankly, more high-risk. Let’s be honest here. Girls get pregnant. No matter how equal we all are in the eyes of God, that raises the stakes considerably.

And I wouldn’t trade any of this for the world. I’m learning that I’m not a bad mother for my daughters. Perhaps not as girly as they would like. Maybe not as sensitive as they need. But wow, do I love them. And the Bible teaches that love covers a multitude of sins, thank goodness. Can’t wait to see the women they grow in to.

Thoughts On Having A Son

Recently, my son turned 11 years old. How in the world did that happen? Where did the years go? Have I really been a parent for over a decade? And what did I do to deserve such a sweet, clever, intellectually astute young man in my family?

My boy, being all boyish!!!

I would like to take some credit for developing Jeffrey into the person that he is, and, of course I understand the whole nature/nurture debate enough to know that certainly I am responsible for his love of books, his taste for buffalo wings and his penchant for asking really good thought-provoking, discussion-starting questions (“So Mom, if you could be a character from the Marvel universe, which superhero would you choose and why?” Yes, I’ve been asked this:). I know I am also quite responsible for his temper, his impatience, the way lack of sleep makes him unmanageable  and even the grumbling noise he makes when he is upset.

But honestly, when we are talking about the positive things, God has done most of the heavy lifting here. He came out wanting to show up places on time. He’s always preferred quiet to noise (the opposite of his littlest sister, by the way…) I don’t remember teaching him to want to hug his mama when he is hurt.

My husband and I used to joke (theologically incorrectly, I know) that before Jeffrey was born, he was up in heaven talking with God. And God asked him, “So Jeffrey, you can have your pick of parents. Really, look across the world and think. Any mom and dad you want. Any professions, any nationality, any socio-economic status, any intellectual capabilities, any talents – any one you want.”

And Jeffrey chose.

And God said, “Um, those people are busy. How about the Davises? They’re free.”

And that is how he ended up in our family.

But I love that God chose him to be my son, to be the first-born of our family. I love that I get a front row seat on watching him grow into the man he will become. I love that I get to have a hand in shaping him. I love how he makes me laugh, especially when he talks to me just like I talk to him.  I love my son. Happy Birthday Jeffrey.

The Sweet Spot

Most of my regular readers have been able to piece together that we’ve moved. It’s a big story of how we got here and why we feel this is where God wants us to settle down for a while. I’ll unpack it slowly in the coming months as it is a really good story. But for starters, space is really important. People need to know they are loved, wanted, safe – physically, emotionally, spiritually – and they need to be comfortable. Once those things are in place, then magic happens. Hearts open up, powerful conversations take place, teaching moments present themselves, relationships are built.

And all this starts with the family. In our old house, our little 3 year old created a space for herself. It was behind a recliner of all places. She filled it with big comfy pillows and went there whenever she wanted to rest or have some down time. We started calling it “The Sweet Spot” because whenever she was in it, “sweetness” was there. Well, part of the reason we love our new house is the abundance of special places we are able to create in it. All the kids have their own rooms. I have a study space. We have a back porch with a swing that is already a magic conversational place.

Above is Abby’s new sweet spot. We juiced it up a bit from a hidden spot behind a chair this time too. It has great sunlight, a pretty rug, art supplies, pillows and is just hidden enough to feel private. Sweetness likes it too.

Motherhood and Ministry

(I wrote this for my previous blog in October 2007. The context was that we were missionaries doing university ministry in Germany and I had just returned from a women’s conference in England. It’s still my philosophy of motherhood and ministry, so I wanted to re-post it here.)

One of my favorite things about doing what we do is the opportunity to learn from such wise and experienced women who’ve been around the proverbial cross-cultural/ministry block a time or two. Whenever I’m at events like the conference last week in England I always try to seek out a few older women and just ask questions. A topic that came up often this last week was how to be a mother and a minister at the same time, since both are so emotionally draining and time-consuming. I spent some time really thinking over my own philosophy of how I do both…and here are my thoughts on it. 

1. No One Is Superwoman - Before kids, I used to be able to do just aboutanything I wanted and I could seemingly bend my schedule around almost any obstacle. Well, no more. Now that I’m a mom, I realize I can’t do it all. I have to make hard decisions about where and how to spend my time and energy. In fact, I can’t even do everything I’m probably supposed to do. That means I have to prioritize and strategize. I have to plan my days with a lot more care and think about how to best use the resources I have. To do that I have to really seek God in what He wants me to do. One meeting that God wants me to keep is worth more than 5 that might be important, but weren’t specifically on God’s agenda for me. Advice I’ve received from older women who’ve been at this thing longer than I have seems to go like this – “What God wants from us is almost always less than we think it is. We are the ones who put so much pressure on our schedules in an attempt to prove ourselves.” Since most folks in our business are type A overachievers, this is probably right. So the bottom line is this – “Realize you can’t do it all and be ok with that. Just find out what God wants you to do and do that well.”

2. It’s Motherhood and Ministry, Not Ministry and Motherhood - I’ve often wondered why God called us to come to

Germany 

with two small kids (and then added a third!) knowing it would limit my availabilty for ministry. In light of that I’ve spent the last 2 years trying to summarize what exactly what my job is here in Germany and part of my explanation is this – I’m a wife and mother in front of a lot of people. Therefore, the first of all I am and have has to go to my husband and kids. What kind of example would I be, talking about how God loves people, but living like He wants me to sacrifice my family on the altar of ministry? God’s first priority for me is to take care of my family. Therefore I put my Jeff and kids on my calendar first. (This was a lesson learned the hard way.) In fact, sometimes I ‘choose’ to be with my kids, in front of the students, even when they are in our apartment. I need both them and my kids, to see how much I value and love Jeffrey, Georgia and Abby. The flip side is that sometimes it’s important for the kids to see how I also love the students and welcome them into our home. We do ministry as a family and I want our kids to realize they are a part of what we do, not just observers of what mom and dad do. Motherhood and ministry aren’t always two different things; sometimes they are the exact same thing. 

3. Build and Blur Boundaries - In our work, the boundaries between family and ministry can be a bit fuzzy since we have people in our home often. Therefore we sometimes build boundaries around our family time, intentionally and publicly, scheduling time just for us and the kids. But we also blur the boundaries of our family in that we invite students not only into our home but into our lives as well. Some of our friends here go by the name ‘Tante’, which means ‘Aunt’ to signify how special they are to us. Some of our students have shared a few of the most personal and special family moments we’ve had since being over here. During those times, they are genuinely just as much a part of the family as we are. We love that about what we do, because we love our students so much. The trick is figuring out when to build and when to blur. I’ve discovered that both Jeff and the kids are really good at telling me when they need more of me. Sometimes they look hungry,(that’s usually Jeff’s strategy) and sometimes they just demand more of my time through their behavior (that’s the kids’ primary strategy). As the keeper of the home, my job is to listen to what they are saying and to try to head off imbalances before they become problems.

4. Underpromise and Overdeliver – This is a great rule for moms to live by, because sometimes our tendency is to overcommit to things, then to get trapped by our commitments. To avoid this, I am very careful about what I commit to. In effect, I underpromise my time. This creates margin in my schedule, which allows me to then overdeliver. As I see holes and availability in my schedule during the week, I can make appointments, help with ministry things, and jump in where needed. Doing it this way means I’m free to adjust my commitments as the needs of my family dictate. This isn’t always easy since I have to be firm in saying no, when I so much want to say yes. Our faith however is played out in those tough decisions, when we choose what God wants for us, even if it isn’twhat we would choose for ourselves. I’ve also found that when I underpromise and overdeliver, I actually create space for God to show up in my life. By relinquishing control of my schedule over to Him, He often enables me to do more ministry with less time than I ever could have done on my own. He’s really good that way, in blessing our obedience to Him.

My Mom Made This For Me

We are getting ready to move around here (more on this later) and as such, I’m going through my things. Sort of ironic I’d come across this bowl right before Mother’s Day. My mom made this for me years ago. You can clearly see that she was quite an artist, a trait which has jumped a generation over me to my oldest daughter. She said, with as many church functions as I go to, I needed a bowl with my name on it so I’d always get it back. Well, I don’t know that I ever used it at church, but man, did Jeff and I wear it out as a popcorn bowl. Unfortunately, it is cracked beyond repair now, but I’m not sure I can part with it just yet. My mom made if for me!

The Best Popcorn Bowl Ever!!!

A note from my mom to me.

As a bonus, she autographed the bottom with a special message. I can almost hear you say, “Aaawwww….”
So, this Mother’s Day, I’m missing my mom. But like most great moms, she made sure I knew that she loved me. I see it in her handwriting, lovingly painted just for me.

Counting Broken Hearts

Ps. 34:18 The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

Ps. 147:3 He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.

I was thinking today about how many times my heart has been broken. There were the general childhood things that most people experience, that left me with a limp I couldn’t recognize myself till I began to see how other people in the world were walking. Then there was the boy who I thought  at one point I might marry who said such hurtful things to me well after he needed to, just to let me know he was THE MAN who didn’t need this little girl. Then there were the two miscarriages that left me so wounded  and feeling kicked in the gut, grieving over the loss of life inside of me and the life I thought I was going to get, that I didn’t think I’d be able to breath or walk without doubling over or ever be whole again. Then there were the series of profound disappointments that came later, when I realized that life can be really, really painful, from the most unexpected corners – and evidently I’m not going to get the life I wanted, dreamed of or had been actively planning for myself for years, that left me wondering just who this God was that I’d spent the better part of my adult life following. And everyone, everyone has to deal with certain relationships that they can’t get away from, that chronically drain, wound, ruin and it doesn’t matter how many times you tell yourself you’ll keep your expectations really low, they still manage to get under your skin and slam you right where it hurts the most because they’ve hurt you there so many times before.

So, how many times has my heart been really, truly broken, where strangers in the street could’ve heart the crack and shattering, where it was beyond just the normal everyday life management in a sin-wrecked world? I counted today. Even though I share parts of these stories occasionally during teaching times, when I feel Jesus leading me to, when He tells me He gave me these stories to point to how amazing and close He is in the midst of my pain, how He uses them for good I never would have seen coming but am now so thankful for and how He can do the same for others, my number is going to stay private for a little while.

Always Something New

Dancing With My Jeff

God has a way of working things out just right…my birthday was yesterday and it came at the perfect time. All the greetings and wishes from friends were such a well-timed encouragement that hit my soul perfectly. So thanks to all who wrote…

For my birthday, my clever and creative husband arranged for us to have dancing lessons. And here we are, 15+ years in to marriage, learning new ways to relate to each other. He’s just so awesome.

My Kids Like Ramen Noodles

Boil these babies up for an unhealthy but joy-inducing experience.

My kids like ramen noodles. Hey, given a stressful day when I’m looking for gobs of salty, starchy, flavorful comfort, I do too. But my kids really like them. In fact, given a choice between a good home cooked meal and ramen, I’m afraid at least some of the time they might choose the noodles. Ok, actually I’m afraid they think ramen noodles are a home cooked meal. Obviously us Davises are not the most cultured bunch out there.

Is there any more unhealthy thing out there for them? I can’t think of any nutritional value except for their weekly/monthly salt intake. Yet, they love them.

Hmmm…. applications…

We do love those things that are bad for us. And not because they are bad for us. No one says, “Hey, I’d love to take such horrible care of my body and soul that I’m severely limited later in life.” No, we like things that are bad for us because they taste good. Because they make us feel good. Because they make us feel good NOW.

And therein lies the danger.

We are pulled and drawn to what gives us pleasure. Not that pleasure or good taste is always bad for us, but it does hold the potential to mask the consequences. Or to make us momentarily ignore them in pursuit of the comfort buzz in the back of my head. It takes discipline to logically think through a decision and weigh the good vs. the bad. It takes planning to avoid situations where my appetites have the opportunity to rule over me. And neither discipline nor planning come naturally when I’m hungry.

As my kids’ mother, I have to balance their wants versus their needs. I have to sometimes say no even when they are very persuasively trying to convince me to say yes. How many times do God and I interact just like this?

A Great Weekend In America

With the new blog series on cultures and how our nationality can be a spiritual trigger, I wanted to let y’all in on a great weekend me and the family had this recently. Just a little glimpse into why living in America can be a uniquely great experience.

Jeffrey at his piano recital at his Korean music academy.

Things started off with Jeffrey at his piano recital. He takes his lessons at a local Korean music academy. He’s in the back row, right in the middle. As you can see, he’s the only caucasian kid in the group. This recital was so Korean in fact, that they didn’t even speak English.

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Me and hubby at a Gladiators game. Good times.

 

 

 

 

 

Then Jeff and I splurged on some front row tickets to the Gladiators hockey game. It was another cross-cultural experience as the room was filled with rowdy Canadians. We ate a good meal, banged on the glass, held hands and generally had a great time.

Worship at the Village church - the South Asian congregation we are members of.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then, we went to worship at The Village – our South Asian congregation. I can’t tell you how much we’ve enjoyed unplugging a bit from our big box suburban church and engaging with a smaller, more intimate community of believers.

 

 

 

 

 

For some reason, Jeff and I thrive in cross-cultural contexts. It’s one reason that our area is so great. We get to rub shoulders with all sorts of people just as we go about our everyday activities.

Here’s the full video of Jeffrey doing his thing for those who are interested.

Baking With My Young Padawan

My oldest daughter, becoming a baker.

Motherhood is many things – but at its heart, it is about nurturing young lives. It is about getting my children ready for the world that they will one day live in without me. With that melodramatic intro, I’m writing about teaching Georgia to bake Lemon Poppy Seed Bread.

Georgia’s Girl Scout troop was having a bake-0ff and assigned certain recipes for the girls to make. One of the specific instructions was that mom not do it for her. So I helped her prepare the ingredients, get the tools she would need and then stood back, able to offer counsel but not much else.

I must admit, it was a bit hard to watch her tentativeness with something I can do while hardly thinking. It was a struggle sometimes to not step in and just do it for her. But today was about more than just the quality of the finished product. It was about investing in my daughter’s abilities, self-confidence and the two of us creating a positive memory we will be able to share together forever.

So I dialed back on my control freakishness, chilled out on the kitchen stool with a cup of tea, and proceeded to watch her bake her first cake. It came out so good that Jeffrey even asked her to make another one.

Applications? Teaching is about love and relationship, not just a lesson. It’s about words, action and sometimes inaction. It’s about process as well as result. Sometimes it is a bit messy and requires quite a clean up. But if both parties do their part – teaching and learning – what comes out in the end can be quite tasty.

Abby’s Feet Are Getting Tough

Little feet - always in motion...

I knew the day would come…my precious baby’s feet, once so soft and silky smooth are starting to get tough. Not construction worker rough, mind you, but not quite the newborn’s irresistible tenderness either. The problem? She started using them.  Walking in the world has a way of  toughening us up, in all kinds of ways. Feet are just a metaphor.

Doesn’t every mother hope her child will be the exception to the rule?  That our babies won’t fall victim to their sin nature,  won’t make horrible choices that we are powerless to stop, that the world won’t rough them up, that they just might survive to adulthood without crushing emotional damage? That somehow they will escape our culture unscathed? We mothers dream big. But no one escapes. Anyone who walks through this world long enough gets tough feet. Either that, or they don’t go anywhere.

It’s not all bad either. I want my baby to initiate, not just react. I want her to let stuff roll off her back, not be paralyzed by criticism, perfectionism or any other type of “ism”. I want her to be able to walk anywhere God leads, anywhere her dreams take her, anywhere she wants to go. She’s going to need those tough feet to navigate what will be difficult and uneven paths. But oh, the places she could go!

Now, if we can just keep her heart tender…