If stacking up gifts under the tree means racking up credit card debt that will consign us to overtime labor in the coming year, it’s not worth it. Deep down, our kids don’t want to be home alone with things while we slave away at the office just to pay it all off.
Photo Credit: File:The Shops at Georgetown Park.jpg – Wikimedia Commons
I’m always amazed how fast the sink fills up after I do the dishes. Or how the hamper fills up so soon after I finish the laundry. And how the floor becomes a land mine of toys minutes after I put them away. Sometimes it seems like everything I do gets undone just as quickly.
There’s something inside me that longs for permanence in what I do. I want the things I invest my time and resources in to last—and not just for a day or two, or even a year. I want them to last beyond me.
Maybe that’s why I like writing so much. As long as the computer doesn’t crash, it’s nice to know my words will still be there even when everything else I spent the day working on is unraveling around me. There’s a satisfaction in completing something and having it stay…complete.
It’s easy to forget that the little things I do for my family are more permanent than my written words will ever be. Dinner may be quickly devoured and the dishes as quickly dirtied, and the clothes I just washed will likely end up in the hamper within hours. But action by action, day by day I’m investing in the lives of those I love and enabling them to one day be all they were created to be.
Someday the book I’m working on will be published. I’m hoping it will last beyond this generation. But I know my children will last, and what I impart in them now through servanthood and quality time and sacrificial love will be passed down generation to generation. I’m writing on their lives things they will take with them and pass down. Every act of love, no matter how small, no matter how seemingly temporary, and no matter how forgotten, will outlast us if only in unseen ways. And that makes everything worth it.
“And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” (I Corinthians 13:13)
Oh, the look on my son’s face when I told him he couldn’t stick his head in the toilet. And when I thwarted his attempt to dive face-first into the empty bathtub. Or that time he figured out how to remove the protective shields from the electric sockets and I had to snatch his hand from certain danger. Those huge brown eyes, that look of shock. “Really, Mommy? Tell ME ‘no’? But I thought you LOVED me.”
That look of surprise typically melts into that smile he knows I can’t resist. He squints his eyes as if to say, “How can you tell this FACE ‘no’?” And he knows just how hard it is. When I steel my resolve against his charming tactics, that smile fades into the most pathetic, heart-rending pout. And when that doesn’t work…the WAIL that says, “If you loved me, you’d let me do whatever I want”.
Of course, big, compassionate sister comes to the rescue with that look. “How could you tell my impossibly cute baby brother ‘NO’?” And as they both stare me down with those eyes I have to explain I was saving him from drowning, cracking his skull, getting electrocuted, or whatever other potential disaster I just helped to evade. I may have even been saving his LIFE. No matter how I explain, they just don’t understand.
I’ve never liked being misunderstood. Especially when I’m saying or doing something because I love someone. The prevailing mindset is if we love someone, we watch them do whatever makes them happy even if we know it’s gonna hurt them. If it makes them happy to walk down the middle of a busy street and step in front of a semi, hey—just let them. If I say there’s a sidewalk to keep them safe from traffic, I’m considered narrow-minded and unloving. Just let me do what I want. The semi’s coming at me full-speed, but don’t intervene. It wouldn’t be loving.
If I love my kids, I’m most certainly going to intervene if something could hurt them (or if they’re about to hurt somebody else). In truth, it would be neglectful not to intervene. It’s the same in any relationship. If I see a friend or loved one nearing the edge of a deadly cliff, the loving thing is to say—and do, something…even if it’s misunderstood.
True love cares more about others’ well being above it’s own. It means being willing to step out of our comfort zones and even risk our reputation, if that’s what it takes to help someone. As for me, I sometimes have to be dubbed “the mean mommy” for a few hours because I cared enough to keep my kid from taste-testing the cat litter. Keeping the ones I love safe (and healthy!) is worth it. Even when I’m misunderstood.
Source: But I Thought You LOVED Me
Though my 3-year old son insists he’s “bigger now” and can “do everything” without my help, I still want to hold his hand when we cross the street. He typically yanks his hand away to emphasize his independence. “No, Mommy…I can do it myself!”
While I don’t doubt his capacity to cross the street without assistance, I do question his understanding of the potential dangers of oncoming cars. And so I’ve changed strategies. Instead of asking him to hold my hand, I ask if he’ll let me hold his. “Mommy needs your help,” I tell him. “Can you protect me from the cars?”
Being the little gentleman that he is, he quickly takes my hand, smile on his dimpled face, and leads me like a little pro. Smart as he is, he hasn’t come to suspect my ulterior motives. I don’t need his help; he needs mine. In the end, I’m the one leading him, not the other way around.
It’s much the same when God calls us to serve. Does he who created the heavens and earth need our help to keep the world spinning? Yet he’s chosen to work through frail humanity, and as he does we become increasingly aware of our dependence on him.
As we navigate life’s challenges, we may be tempted to say, “It’s okay, I can do it myself!” God lets us move forward until we realize how impossible it is apart from his help. We look up and see that all the while, he was holding our hand, leading us, showing us our need for his intervention.
Photo Credit: Free stock photo of person, walking, young
My son piled books on the couch, next to me, until they towered so high one wrong move would send them crashing down. I woke up early that day, anticipating some much-needed quiet time, but my son had other ideas about how I should spend that time. “Teach me these words,” he pleaded, adding another book to the pile.
Admitted: at this point, I was too tired and desperate for some alone time to be taken in by his charming smile and heart-melting dimples. “How about you look through the pictures in your books while Mommy reads her Bible?” I suggested. “We’ll work on teaching you those words later.”
He reluctantly obliged, though my devotional time was consumed with one thought. Among my greatest of missions in life will be to teach the next generation the power of words—how to speak them, handle them, read them, and write them.
I’d spent the days prior at a writers’ conference, learning to hone my craft. Yet what’s the point of writing to the greatest of my potential if the next generation doesn’t benefit from it? Writing is a high calling, but my higher call involves teaching my kids and my students.
Much of what I’ve written has remained in obscurity for twenty-plus years. It’s just now that I’m teaching some of my songs to my own kids, and to the kids in my classroom, and reading them stories written years ago. I’ve learned that my labors were never meant to benefit me, but generations to come.
The same is true in anything we may be called to do. It’s not ultimately about us chasing our dreams, fulfilling our calling. It’s about investing in the next generation, helping them to find and fulfill their purpose in life.
Photo Credit: Child And Book Free Stock Photo – Public Domain Pictures
The other day my son was begging for one of his toys while on a short drive. “Just be patient,” my hub told him. “I’ll give it to you when we stop the car.”
My son replied with his signature, charming pout. “I’ll be patient if you give it to me nooow.”
I often respond in the same way when waiting on something I really want. “If only I could have it now,” I think. “Then I could really be patient.”
Unfortunately, that’s not how patience works. The very nature of patience involves waiting. And ironically, it sometimes involves waiting for the very patience we need to endure the wait. Ugh.
Patience doesn’t magically emerge when we get our hearts’ desire. Instead, it’s cultivated through a long process of letting go, of releasing our desires again and again to the One who knows what we need and when we need it.
As for my son, he forgot all about that toy he so desired. When the car finally stopped, he saw that his daddy had something better in mind. A beautiful day at the park is enough to make any kid forget a whole pile of plastic toys.
Maybe once we master the art of patience, we, too, will forget what we thought we wanted. In the midst of the waiting, we’ll find our Daddy had something better in mind all along…something far more worth the wait.
Photo Credit: Madison Square – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
I took a road trip to California once and afterwards vowed I’d never do it again. While the drive there was scenic enough to warrant 36 hours strapped in a tiny car, the drive back did me in. Something about it diminished my tolerance for anything beyond a few hours’ ride.
Maybe the terrain had something to do with my change in outlook. On the way there, we had mountain vistas to keep us occupied; on our way back, we chose an alternate route through the desert. Beautiful as the desert can be, it’s not so inspiring when you’re exhausted and want nothing more than to get HOME.
Halfway through I called my sister, on the brink of tears, lamenting, “We’ll never make it!” When we finally crossed our state line, I thought, “Maybe we’ll make it after all.” Until I realized we had another six hours to go, and might I add, the longest six hours EVER.
At the time, my hub and I were in the midst of our second adoption and very much in a similar state of mind—exhausted, wearied by the journey. Thinking maybe it would never happen even after all our efforts. Doubting we could endure what remained to make it happen.
Yet here we are. We made it home after that endless road trip, and have made a few others since. And we made it through our second adoption. If you know my son, you know how worth it that journey was.
Since our adoption finalized, I’ve met several couples on the verge of giving up on their own adoptions, and I was able to encourage them to persevere. Maybe now I can encourage you, too, in whatever journey you’re in.
Don’t give up!
You’ll make it through the barren wasteland if only you choose to persevere. And when you come to the end of your journey, you’ll look back and see that it was worth it. You need only look beyond this present, weary moment to the greater end that WILL result from your endurance.
Photo Credit: Free stock photo: Desert, Highway, Roadtrip – Free Image on …
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