Sacrifice

This morning, Noah and I had a discussion about our plan to "give something up" as a family for Lent.  I suggested not playing the Wii, using the iPad or eating treats out of their Halloween pumpkins (yes--we are still milking our Halloween candy around here).  Personally, I'd be happy to be the one to choose which option we pursue, but there's just something about imposing a sacrifice on someone else that seems hypocritical.

He came up to me later when I was putting away laundry:
"Mom, maybe we could not play outside during Lent, because I don't really like playing outside that much," he reasoned.

I can see this is going to be more difficult than I thought...

Hopefully, when Dave comes home, he can use some of his stellar "daddy-negotiation skills" to help us come to an agreement on our idea of sacrifice.

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Earlier this week, I came up with a list of Lent and Easter ideas to do with little kids to share with my church.  I'm sharing it here, too.  Hope you enjoy picking out some activities for you to share the meaning of Lent with your kids! 

And if you have any ideas on convincing a four-year-old about the benefits of sacrifice, I'd love to hear them. 

20 Family Ideas for Celebrating Lent and Easter

1. Follow a “path to Easter” like this one.
2. Make a paper chain. Choose a certain color for the 40 days of Lent, and add a special color for each Sunday.  This is a great way to count down with little ones.
3. Create a “Lenten Tree,” using a vase, tree limbs and 45 Bible verses (one for each day between Ash Wednesday and Easter). Read a verse together as a family each day as you take it off the tree. The tree will be bare by the Saturday before Easter, and then you can decorate that same tree Easter morning with beautiful Easter decor! Check out this for a visual.
4. Decide as a family what to sacrifice during Lent: candy, a gaming system, soda, movies, eating out. Teach your kids why sacrifice reminds us of Jesus. Try to replace these things with prayer time or time serving others.
5. Take one item out of your pantry every day of Lent.  By Easter, you’ll have a large donation bin of food that you can give to the local food bank.
6. Memorize a simple prayer or Bible verse together.
7. Start a “Sacrificial Love Jar.” Each time you see your kids (or spouse) acting in a way that reminds you of Jesus’ love for us, add a jellybean (or coin or other treat) to the jar. On Easter, enjoy the sweets of sacrifice!
8. Read an Easter story together.
9. Create/Plant an Easter Garden.  Here’s a great tutorial.
10. Make an Easter Basket for a neighbor. Make sure to include items that help them know the true reason for Easter joy!
11. Make a Crown of Thorns out of play-doh and toothpicks.
12. Light a candle during dinner. You might want to add a candle for each of the days of Lent (better make sure you have 40 candles!) or just add one with each passing week of Lent.
13. Gather spare change during the 40 days of Lent, keeping it in a special jar.  On Easter, you can make a meaningful offering as a family, or donate it to a charity.
14. Watch an Easter movie, like Veggie Tales’ An Easter Carol.
15. Make “Temptation Cookies.” Have the kids help you make cookies. Leave them out in the kitchen after they’ve been baked, but don’t allow the kids to eat them until the following day.  Talk about temptation, and how Jesus was tempted, but never sinned, so that we could have salvation. Sweet!
16. Color Easter Eggs. Talk about how NEW LIFE represents what happens on Easter.
17. Give your kids meaningful Easter Baskets.  Check this out for inspiration.
18. Buy Resurrection Eggs for your family like these, or make your own set like this.
19. Watch caterpillars morph to butterflies with a kit like this. Talk about how Jesus’ resurrection means changed lives for all Christians.
20. Make Resurrection Rolls—my favorite!

Silence

A request for Silent Night.  In the still and darkness of a room only lit by a metallic-blue night light, the voice of a four-year-old half whispering a request for Silent Night.

I don’t ask why or remind him that it’s not Christmas.  I sing.

And as the notes come shaky out of my mouth, his little head finds its way onto my lap. My right hand strokes his so-soft hair. I still smell the bath soap. I rub my grown hands up and down his growing back. We are comfortable in this snuggle.  The notes continue to break through the silent room, house. I sing about the beginning of peace alive on earth. He reaches his arm up and rubs my belly, perhaps wanting to say goodnight to the little brother he felt moving earlier this evening.

Sweet moment.

My heart reaches to its farthest capabilities to try to understand how I am here in this world as a receiver of the creation God has so wonderfully made. He made my son? Incredible. He formed his heart and put those strands of DNA together in a singularly wonderful way so that there would never be another boy like this one? How can it be? It is too marvelous for me.

And to think that I get to be a participant observer to this little creation. Why should I be so blessed?  Why should any of us who are parents, who are watchers of little lives, be so blessed as to be given front row seats for such an event as this.  One special and unique little boy. And the show is mine all for the watching.

Reverence for this brings me to silence. Silent night, indeed.

Change

His hands went up against the back screen door, open and vulnerable as his dark brown eyes press inside.

"When do I get to start Kindergarten?"

It's coming. A change is coming to my family.

In my mind, it seems more daunting than adding a third child to the mix. I've done babies. I've never introduced a child to kindergarten.

Kindergarten? How do we do that as a family? How do we enter into a new stage where we have to have a kid up and out of the house by 8:00, five days a week? I know all the working parents out there are laughing at me; families do this all the time. But our family does not. We have not, up to this point. In our house, Mondays are set aside for family days--running errands together, going on breakfast dates, trips to the zoo. We leave Fridays open for playing around the house, meeting up with friends, and working in the backyard. Five mandatory school days. What happens to our "family Mondays?" Will we miss our laid-back Fridays? How will we as a family handle this coming transition to kindergarten?

"We're going to have to have more play dates with Ty and Emily because I'm going to miss going to school with them."

Yes. And his best friends. The ones he has known and played with since he was 6 months old. Will our Saturdays turn into a chaotic mess of trying to get as much family and friend time squeezed in as possible? Will these sweet little companions be able to keep their friendship despite their different schools? Does a five-year-old boy know how to grieve a loss of relationship?

"Yes, buddy," I say. "We'll make sure we do play dates."  He leaves his spot at the door to go play with his trucks.

Why is this step so difficult for me to come to grips with as a mom? I'm not certain, but I have some ideas. It's because I want to do it right--and it's hard for me to do things right the first time through. It's because I don't know any of the teachers or staff at his new school--and it's hard for me to trust people I haven't met. It's because it signifies an end to the precious "baby" days spent together--and it means my role as his teacher is shifting. It's because it means the presence of a secular influence in our family system--and it's hard not to fear what that could bring.

"Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done." Phillipians 4:6 (NLT)

So, I begin to pray. For the confidence to enroll my little boy in the school to which God is leading us. For the courage to walk with my eyes fixed on Him instead of on unfamiliar or uncomfortable surroundings. For the wisdom to guide Noah to lean on his Good Shepherd when best friends are no where to be found. For the determination to take each day as it comes, leaving the worries of tomorrow in the hands that have crafted tomorrow. For the peace to know that the one who created time will provide all that is necessary to build relationships within our family and with our friends. For the ability to thank Him for all that he has done and is doing, in all circumstances.

"Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus." Phillipians 4:7 (NLT)

Photo credit and special thanks to Mike Partain, for this week's pictures

Glimpses - brothers

It was about 6:15 in the morning. The sky was still dark out my bedroom window, with just the first hues of light fading into the black. I was snuggled in my bed, comfy under two blankets, as the heater kicked on to begin warming up the house.

As I closed my eyes and shifted to the other side of my head for just a few more minutes of precious sleep, I heard it. It wasn't the sound of the door and shuffling of feet to let me know I would soon be awoken by my "morning person" toddler. It wasn't the sound of my Love's coffee pot grinding fresh beans to fill his cup. Instead, it was the sound of two little boy voices, finding each other in the dark, breaking the silence of sleep in order to reclaim the commeraderie that perhaps they had left behind in their dreams.

The sweet sound of brother talk and laughter drifted into my room, and it was a lovely way to begin a day.

I was instantly thankful for their friendship, for their kinship, and for our small house that meshes them together in the same bedroom.  As a smile stretched its way across my face, I asked God for it to always be so.

How wonderful and pleasant it is when brothers live together in harmony!

Psalm 133:1

Epiphany

Ever been in a pillow fight?  Ever been in a pillow fight where you were out-numbered ... by brothers?  It felt kinda like that. A bit like a four-against-one pillow fight, and I was definitely losing.  They weren't hard or hurtful blows...just constant, and I felt as though my efforts to attack were of no consequence.

That's how I would describe this last month--the most wonderful time of the year.  Don't get me wrong: it was not abnormal.  It was not unlike the "typical American" experience. It was parties and cooking and family gatherings and shopping and preschool performances and worship and baking and mailing and making and driving. There was joy, celebration and excitement. There was peace, love and music.  It really was wonderful.

But even as my mind sorrowed to packed away books and CD's with the ornaments and tree, my spirit had a surprising reaction. Ahhhh, rest. relief. quiet.  The end of the Christmas season signaled the end of my heart's losing-match pillow fight. 

Today was a welcome change of seasons, and the whole world seemed intent to celebrate with me. The sun is shining and the weather is warmer than it's been. People are in no rush. Friends take the time to say what's been on their minds for the last two weeks.

Epiphany.

The word for the day that we celebrate the Magi finding Christ also happens to be the word we use to describe a moment of sudden revelation or insight: epiphany.

While my insight has been more slow-and-in-the-works than sudden, it came to a sweet culmination today, nonetheless.

I was reminded again today of the importance of my actions to my children, across the days and weeks and Christmases and years.  And if I were to only do one impactful thing for them once a week, I would get to do that about 936 times from the day that they were born to the day that they'll be old enough to go live on their own.

So, my eyes were opened.  There was some epiphany work going on in my heart. In a similar way that the pillow fight of Christmas busyness interfered with my vision, the insight of Epiphany sharpened my focus.  

My heart had been longing for something, although I wasn't sure what (other than the routine of January). Today I realized that the chaos and clamor of December had been pounding away at the values I hold in my mom heart. To spend time with my children; to direct life-building words to my children; to show a consistent and lavish love for them; to purposefully bring them into groups that will help mold them; to share stories together; to linger in times of untainted fun. These are things I value. These are things I hold dear. It's not the shopping or the performances or the lights.  And as I had time today to rename (and reclaim) the desires I have, I was very aware that I was lacking wisdom in the month of December. When I review my attitude for the day-in/day-out, there was something terribly lacking--the white space of turning insight into action.

   But today was no longer Christmas.  Today was Epiphany.

   
Instead of rushing from one thing to the next, Zeke and I spent a half hour at a park.  Instead of zoning out, I told important stories and answered deep heart questions in the car ride home.  Instead of saying no, I said yes, and the boys and I spent 45 minutes on toys with wheels going up and down the driveway. Instead of losing my patience, I snuggled with my 2-year-old who was having a hard time calming down for his nap. Instead of spending time on my phone, I snuggled next to my 4-year-old, reading a good book while he held my right hand tight as he fell fast asleep.

   
What a gift.  What an epiphany.  To lose the busy schedule and busied brain and delight in the stars that God has placed in front of my eyes.  This is the place where God does miracles.  This is the place were my heart can worship.

   After this ... the wise men went their way.  And the star they had seen in the east guided them to Bethlehem. It went ahead of them and stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw the star, they were filled with joy! They entered the house and saw the child with his mother, Mary, and they bowed down and worshiped him. Matthew 2:9-11

Expectations

But then I recall all you have done, O Lord;

I remember your wonderful deeds of long ago.

You are the God of great wonders!

 You demonstrate your awesome power among the nations. 

Psalm 77:11, 14

Do you know that feeling, in December, when the dishwasher repairman comes to your house to let you know that it will be $300 to fix the control board on your old dishwasher?  How about when you work for what seems like hours to track down a person who can fix your hot water heater, only to be told that it would be best to just replace the entire thing? Do you know that feeling of not knowing where the money will come from to pay for broken appliances during this month of gift-buying?

That was me.  That was us.  Our dishwasher broke the weekend after Thanksgiving. No problem--we can hand wash dishes in the sink for a while.  But then our hot water heater went out. We were warming up water on the stove so that we could hand wash dishes in the sink.  I was making arrangements to drive to a friend's house so we could shower and give the boys a bath.  This was not really how I had expected on spending my spare time in December.

I was expecting to be making cookies.  I was expecting to be mailing out Christmas cards.  I was expecting to be listening to music by the light of the Christmas tree.  I was expecting to put the finishing touches on gifts.  I was not expecting to be heating pots of water;  I was not expecting to use my dish drying towels after every meal.

But this Advent season, God had some expectations of what he needed to show me. First, he orchestrated some events so that my parents would be living with us for a while, and it just so happens that they are happy to help out by doing dishes. Second, he worked through an experienced friend at church who came and fixed our hot water heater by simply replacing a part. Third, he aligned circumstances in another family's life that caused them to no longer need the dishwasher they currently use; so they offered their fully-functional dishwasher to us.

Check, check, check.  

God's lavish provision exponentially exceeded whatever unmet expectations I had.

It's at those times when my Love and I just stand humbly before God in disbelief and ask, "Really?!? Now you're just showing off."

Two weeks ago, I believed that I would be disappointed and stressed by not having my Christmas projects finished on time and be $1000 in the hole thanks to new appliances.  That was my expectation.

God took the liberty to shatter those expectations.

Yes, God has some expectations for me this Advent season.  He expected to continue his work of teaching me how to trust in him.  He expected to show me once again how his riches far surpass my imagination.  And he expected to remind me that his gifts do not usually take the form that most people expect.

I was expecting a working dishwasher and hot water from my tap.  Those things were taken from me, and instead I got unexpected surprises and the joy of knowing that the God of the universe has things under his control.

What a perfect time of year to be reminded that God does not come to us in the ways in which we expect.

He came into the very world he created, but the world didn’t recognize him. He came to his own people, and even they rejected him. But to all who believed him and accepted him, he gave the right to become children of God. John 1:10-12

My Way

But you, O Bethlehem Ephrathah, who are too little to be among the clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to be ruler in Israel, whose coming forth is from of old, from ancient days. Micah 5:2

A couple of nights ago, the boys and I got to hang up ornaments on our tree.  I LOVE hanging the tree ornaments.  I love making everything look just beautiful on the backdrop of evergreen.  When I was a girl, I would try to talk my dad into setting up the tree earlier and earlier each year... that is, until I moved away to college.  Then I would beg him to wait until I after I got home for the break.  Once I was married, Dave and I would set aside a special night, usually the weekend after Thanksgiving, where we would play our favorite Christmas music and take our time decorating our little tree.

But hanging ornaments with two small boys is very different than hanging ornaments with my dad or with Dave.

Even before the box from the garage was opened, there was energy in the air.  As soon as I gingerly removed the first ornaments from their hibernation, I felt like I had stepped into the Belmont Stakes. Noah was pulling ornaments out of the box faster than we could get them on the tree. Fragile ones, sentimental ones, wooden ones, and plastic ones all piled onto the couch in one giant mess of color and hanging wire. Zeke broke two of them within five minutes. There was no background music, there was no careful placement, there was no appreciation of sentiment or order.  It was chaos. And it was not how it was supposed to be.

In record time, the sprint was over.  The ornaments were out of the box and on the tree (minus the two broken ones).  As I put away the tissue paper and ornament boxes, I secretly was wishing that I could have done it my way. 

If I would have done it my way, none of the ornaments would have been broken. The beautiful ornaments would have had prominent placing and the trinket-y ones would have been gathered toward the rear side.  The bows and glass balls would have been evenly spaced. There would have been soothing music and deliberate movement.

But that would not have been the best way.  The best way was sharing the time together, chaotic as it was.  The best way was teaching my two young boys about gentleness and forgiveness.  The best way was sharing stories and memories. The best way was seeing their outward excitement mirror my inward excitement. The best way was having my way messed up.

Because, more often than not, my way is not the best.  More often than not, my way is focused on the wrong goals. More often than not, my way is too narrow to be aware of anything bigger and better.

God continually challenges me as his child, and as a parent to his children, to give up my way in order to take on his way, which he promises is always the best.  He doesn't let me work my way into his graces; he offers mercy and forgiveness instead. He doesn't let me figure everything out; he shows me my need for him instead. He doesn't let me determine what the day brings; he leads me along his path for me instead. 

He doesn't let me focus on all of the "stuff" of this season; he draws my eyes back to himself -- a baby bringing me salvation in a way that I would have never supposed.

“Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel” (which means, God with us). Matthew 1:23