JennieGScott.com

Category: Encouragement

  • To the Divorced Mom Who Feels Like a Failure

     

    Dear Divorced Mom,

    It sucks, doesn’t it? This whole being divorced thing. Whether you wanted to be or not, here you are. A mom who used to be married to her kids’ dad and now isn’t.

    The divorce changed everything, didn’t it? Your life as you used to know it is gone, and whether that’s a good or bad thing, nothing is the same.

    Holidays are different.

    Schedules are different.

    Family dynamics are different.

    You feel like a failure, sometimes, don’t you? You feel like less of a mom because your kids aren’t always with you. Secretly, you feel like a fraud and a part-time parent. You think about the time you miss with your kids and are insanely jealous of people who don’t have to spend weekends without their babies. You hate using a calendar to keep track of the days they’re gone and the vacations they’re taking without you.

    You cringe and feel embarrassed whenever someone asks, “Do you have the kids this weekend?” You know it’s not natural. You know they should be under your roof. You walk into their empty rooms and feel an aching sadness that doesn’t end until they walk back through your door.

    You feel sometimes that “divorced” defines who you are. It feels like a scarlet letter, branding you a failure in important things.

    When you hear someone complaining that they just need a break from their kids, you kind of want to slap them because they don’t get what it’s like to be told you have to take a break from your kids. They don’t know what it’s like to spend only three hours with them on their birthdays or to wake up on Christmas morning to an empty house.

    They don’t know how it feels to ask your kids what they did when they were gone because you have absolutely no clue where they went or who they were with.  They don’t know how much it hurts not to tuck your kids in every night. They don’t know how it feels not to play the tooth fairy for tiny missing teeth. They don’t know how often you pretend everything is ok when actually everything is very bad.

    They don’t know how deeply you struggle to trust God to be there when you aren’t.

    Yes, being a divorced mom sucks. So I won’t pretend it doesn’t. Being a divorced mom means you’re different from a lot of people you know. Being a divorced mom means your mothering looks different. Being a divorced mom means schedules, holidays, family events, and life is just plain different.

    But I want to give you some encouragement.

    For a long time, I believed different was bad. I thought everything changing meant that nothing would be good again. I lived feeling defeated, believing that I was missing what was necessary to feel fully alive.

    I was wrong.

    Divorce sucks. But that doesn’t mean life has to.

    In my darkest days of mourning, I forgot that my marriage didn’t make me whole. I forgot that my husband didn’t give me my worth, and I forgot that divorce doesn’t disqualify me from happiness.

    God gives me wholeness and worth. God is my reason for joy. God is the One who defines me.

    He is the One who can take all of the hurt of a divorce, all of the differences that come, all of the challenges you face, and turn them into something you never could have anticipated.

    He is the One who gives beauty instead of ashes, joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair (Isaiah 61:3). He is the One who makes everything beautiful in its time (Ecclesiastes 3:11). He is the One who heals the brokenhearted (Psalm 147:3).

    But He will do these things only when we ask him and then allow him to do so. Our enemy wants us to wallow in the despair and hold on to the hurt. If we do, life will continue to suck. Divorce will continue to define us. Differences will keep feeling wrong.

    But releasing the hurt to Jesus brings a renewed hope. Giving him our hidden pain will free us. Asking him to redeem it all will change us.

    I’ve found that healing from divorce doesn’t happen overnight. Learning to live in freedom despite being divorced isn’t an easy process. It is slow, tedious, and like a roller coaster. You’ll feel like you’ve made progress only to suddenly regress way back.

    Every time you feel different from everyone you know, you’ll also be tempted to feel defeated. So you’ll have to learn to choose. You’ll have to learn to give yourself some grace.

    Divorce will always suck. But that doesn’t mean life has to.

     

  • On Hating Your Looks and Believing Lies

     

    The song lyrics rang through my earbuds as I ran, repeating the Scriptures that I’m fearfully and wonderfully made.

    I nearly threw the earbuds across the sidewalk.

    I felt anything but wonderfully made. I felt like a mess, and I felt like crying.

    That morning as I dressed for my run, I saw stretch marks across my hips. Wrinkles around my eyes. Gray hair littering the brown.

    The mirror showed me the reality of my body, and the reality was hard to take.

    I saw a mother past her physical prime, one who keeps drifting steadily away from what the world says is beautiful.

    As the song played in my ears, I felt the elastic of my shorts cutting into my thickened waist, and I felt my body protesting the workout I was determined to master. The words I heard didn’t match the emotions I felt, and I scoffed at what the Scriptures said was true.

    Nothing about me was wonderful, and everything about me was fading.

    I huffed around the track, trying to improve the physical me, and I struggled greatly to believe that even as I am, I am loved. The Creator of all I see formed me in the womb. He saw me in the hidden place.

    My struggle is to accept that my decaying physical body is not the sum total of who I am. The world wants me to believe my shell is my worth, and more often than I care to admit, I believe that to be true.

    My looks are not my identity. My weight is not my worth. My appearance is not my value.

    But so often, it feels just the opposite.

    We live in an image-obsessed culture, and even followers of Christ struggle to remember that the bodies we inhabit now are not meant to be flawless or forever. They are temporary shelters for immortal souls.

    How do we care for our bodies without believing they’re all we are? How do we watch them decay without believing our worth is deteriorating, too?

    I definitely don’t have all the answers. I sure wish I did. But what I’m slowly coming to realize is that any self-hatred I feel is a slap in the face to God. Every time I despise the way I’m made, I’m insulting his creativity. Every time I lament my looks, I’m suggesting his workmanship is faulty.

    God doesn’t want me to despise my shell. He wants me to use it as a vehicle for his Spirit.

    Every time I focus too greatly on my body, it’s because I’m focusing too little on his love. Self-obsession is always an indicator of God-rejection.

    So I’m praying for the wisdom to recognize the signs of self-obsession. I’m asking God to show me how my beliefs about myself are always tied to my beliefs about him. I’m focusing my attention on his beauty instead of my faults.

    If you struggle like I do, here’s a prayer we can offer:

    Lord, we need you.

    You say we’re wonderfully made, but we have a hard time believing it. You say our beauty should not come from external adornments, but the world wants us to believe that’s what matters. You say you’ve loved us with an everlasting love, but we struggle to love ourselves at all.

    We’re women who are struggling, God. We’re feeling ugly. We’re feeling old. We’re feeling past our prime. We’re feeling lots of things about ourselves, God, and most of them aren’t good. But we have a hard time talking about them, even with you. Because we know they’re superficial, and we want to please you with the words of our mouths and the meditations of our hearts. So we keep them to ourselves. 

    We know you have a greater plan for our lives than the size of our jeans. We know, God. But we forget. We know, but we still struggle.

    So we really need you, God. 

    We need you to change our thoughts. We need you to remind us of your love. We need you to replace the lies with the truth. 

    We can’t do it by ourselves.

    Help us to understand that beauty isn’t external. Help us know we have worth that’s incalculable. Help us know, Lord. Help us know.

    We’re committing ourselves anew, God, to a right mindset and a healthy outlook. We’re confessing our sin to you and asking you to redeem our struggles for your glory. We’re taking this thing one day at a time, leaning on you every step of the way.

    Because we can’t do it alone, God.

    Do what only you can do, Lord.

    Save us from ourselves.

    Amen.

     

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  • Why We Need to Tell God the Truth

     

    It’s time we stop lying to God, and it’s time we quit withholding the truth of how we’re doing from the One who already knows.

    We’ve learned to keep our real emotions stuffed inside, haven’t we? When people ask how we are, we’ve learned they don’t really want to know. They want us to answer with the socially acceptable “Fine,” and we know if we dared to unload what’s really on our hearts, they’d run in terror and never ask us again.

    You know what my “fine” was hiding this week?

    • I feel like there’s an anvil on my shoulders pushing me into the dirt.
    • I can’t shake the feeling that every decision I make as a mother is ruining my children.
    • This nearly 37 year old body has seen its better days, and I need to just get rid of every mirror in my house.
    • It’s hard to believe God could ever look at me and see anything worth loving when others who were supposed to love me forever didn’t.

     

    And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. I’m keeping back the really good ones.

    No, we don’t need to unload our deepest struggles on unsuspecting acquaintances, but we do need to take them somewhere… We need to take them to God. I’ve been realizing lately how often I don’t.

    I’m learning that failing to voice my hurts to God is really just a lack of faith.

    A lack of trust.

    A lack of belief in his love and interest in me.

    It’s such an interesting paradox. I have no secrets from God. He knows all and sees all, and nothing is ever a surprise to him. But when I assume He doesn’t care about what I feel and I keep it stuffed inside, I think I’m keeping a secret from him that would change how He feels about me. I think my secrets protect me from his disappointment – his rejection – his condemnation.

    When I’m unwilling to be honest with God, it’s always because I forget his character. I forget there is no condemnation in Christ and that God is love. I forget that I am the righteousness of God. I forget that God looks at me and sees the blood of Christ, not the stain of my failures.

    God doesn’t want a prettied-up version of our sadness.

    He doesn’t want our minimized grief.

    He doesn’t want our cleaned up confessions or our understated questions.

    He wants the ugly. He wants the breakdowns. He wants the tears and the yelling and the shaking heads. God wants our doubts and our lack of understanding and our fits of rage at what we face.

    God wants it all. God wants the truth.

    Nothing – not even the honesty of your heart – can cause God to remove his love. Romans 8:38 says, “For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

    Nothing. NO. THING.

    Nothing can separate you from his love – not even your ugly truth.

    What is it that’s on your mind today? What heaviness is in your heart? What’s the emotion you’ve been holding at arm’s length that needs to be let loose?

    It’s time to stop lying to God. It’s time to quit withholding the truth.

    Tell him how you feel. Ask him to explain. Beg him to help you understand.

    I can’t promise He’ll answer, and I can’t tell you He’ll take away the hurt. But He will always remind you He cares. And isn’t that we need most sometimes, to know someone hears and cares?

    God isn’t weak. There isn’t a burden He can’t carry. He won’t be surprised by your honesty, and He won’t be threatened by your hurt.

    God loves. He is love. And love always protects and perseveres.

     

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  • Ten Things Wives Want Their Husbands to Know

     

    Husbands, do you know how very important you are to your wives? Not just for practical reasons like killing spiders and changing the oil, but for heart reasons? For helping her believe she matters? For pushing her to reach her dreams?

    In a time when many voices are shouting to your wife, your voice matters most. Your words can make or break her. The way you treat her can help her become the best version of herself or a shadow of who she should be.

    Women in 2017 are fiercely independent and strongly opinionated, but we are also deeply in need of the love of our men, and these two facts are not mutually exclusive. We are strong and we are needy, and our needs are not a weakness. They are a sign we were created to live in community with others, particularly with the men who were created to be ours.

    There are many things we want you to know, but we don’t know how to tell you. We want to help you understand us, but we’re afraid of being a burden. Even to you.

    We want you to know these things:

    • We want you to pursue us and plan for us. When we were dating, you put thought into where we would go and what we would do. You told us when you’d pick us up, and you took the lead for our dates. We wish you hadn’t stopped. Yes, marriage changes things, and we don’t expect it to be like it was when we were dating. But we feel special when you plan a date or surprise us with something unexpected. It doesn’t need to be fancy or expensive. A note on our steering wheel; jumping in the car to go get ice cream; grocery store flowers on the way home from work. It isn’t the action or object that makes us feel special – it’s the knowledge that you thought of us.
    • We need you not to touch our bodies until you’ve touched our hearts. We understand that physical touch is a very real need for you, and we want to fulfill it. But for us, sex is only a possibility if we’re feeling connected, and we can’t feel connected if we haven’t communicated. We can’t compartmentalize our lives, so we can’t put our emotions outside the bedroom while you’re pursuing intimacy. If you haven’t taken the time to hear our hurts, listen to our worries, and understand our days, then we cannot give you our whole selves. And sex without the whole self – mind and body – will never satisfy either of us. Before we can open ourselves to the physical intimacy you desire, we need you to open yourselves to the emotional intimacy we need. We realize this is uncomfortable, and we’re not asking you to be perfect. We just want you to make an effort. We need to know you want more than our bodies. We need to know you need our hearts.
    • We are very insecure about how we look. This is probably not a surprise to you, but we need you to understand how real our body shame goes and how deeply it affects our souls. The last woman to be naked and unashamed was Eve, and we have heard our entire lives that we’re not thin enough, pretty enough, curvy enough, or sexy enough. We know that we’re not enough for the world, and we’re afraid that we won’t be enough for you, either. You can’t cure this insecurity, but you can help by reminding us that you love us just as we are and in spite of what we hate. We’ll protest when you say we’re pretty and we’ll dismiss you when you give us compliments, but if you ever stop doing these things, we’ll believe the worst. (Yes, we know this makes no sense. Just trust us.)
    • We need a break. Oh, how we need a break. But we don’t want to ask for it. What do we need a break from? Laundry. Scrubbing toilets. Mothering. Worrying. Grocery shopping. Bed making. Carpool. If you want to show your love in a practical sort of way, take over one of our to-do’s. Ask what you can take off our plate. We’ll have plenty of ideas.
    • We want you to take care of yourself. One of our greatest fears is being without you, so when we nag you to eat right or ask you to exercise with us, it’s because we’re afraid. We’re afraid of losing you. When you ignore and dismiss this, you’re rejecting our fears, which makes us more afraid. We see the act of you caring for yourself as you caring for our marriage and family. We need to know you want to be around for us.
    • We need you to believe in us. No matter what we’re working for or what we’re pursuing, there’s a part of us that wonders if we can do it. There’s a part of us that doubts we’ve got what it takes. We want you to cheer us on, ask us how we’re doing, validate our fears, tell us you know we’ll succeed, and remind us of why we started. We are our own worst critics, so even if nobody else tells us we’re failing, we’ll still believe we are. Press us when you know we’re keeping these feelings inside. Pry out of us the doubts we don’t want to share.
    • We need you to stop trying to fix what’s wrong. When we are sad, we don’t want your solution. We just need your sympathy. While we are so grateful you want to take away our pain, we want you to realize that’s not always possible. Sometimes we just want you to listen while we cry and hug us when we’re done. It’s that complicated, and it’s that simple. Just be there when we feel like no one else is. Recognize when we’re not quite ourselves and try to figure out why we aren’t.
    • We want your undivided attention. A conversation with eye contact and no devices in hand does wonders for a woman. If you’re flipping channels or scrolling through social media when we try to talk to you, we interpret that to mean you have no desire to listen. Maybe you do, but we don’t want to compete with anything. We need to feel that we are the priority, and your full attention gives us that.
    • We want you to ask us questions and listen to our answers. Sometimes women get the idea that people are tired of hearing us talk. Our culture makes fun of talkative women, and many of us have learned to silence ourselves accordingly. We have very deep thoughts on very many topics, but sometimes we’re afraid to volunteer them because opinionated women have a bad reputation. If you ask us our thoughts, we’ll believe we have something worth saying. Your interest in our thoughts affects our perception of ourselves.
    • We look to you for strength, but we don’t ask you never to be weak. We want to be your safe place, the person with whom you will be most vulnerable. We want to hear your fears and worries, and we want to know when you are struggling. We certainly don’t expect you to always have it together, and when you act as if you do, we wonder why you don’t trust us. When you confide in us and share yourself with us, we know we matter. We know we have your trust.

     

    Husbands, don’t underestimate your importance. You are your wife’s most important person, and you can make a difference for her like no one else can. Believe in her. Pursue her. Be truthful with her. And never stop seeking her heart. She locks parts of it away, and you have the key.

     

  • Fighting the Fear That Holds You Back

     

    There is a risk God has asked you to take, and there’s an excuse you’re giving for why you won’t move ahead.

    What is that risk? Will you give it a name and acknowledge its existence?

    Less than a year ago, God told me to quit my job. He didn’t speak in a booming voice, and there was no literal writing on the wall, but through a series of gut feelings and confirmations from others – including people I didn’t even know – I had no doubt about what he was saying.

    He was saying it was time for something new.

    And I was scared to death.

     

    The risk he was asking me to take was to quit my job and trust him, and the excuses I gave were varied and justifiable.

    What about money? What about the house we just bought? What about the fact that I know absolutely nothing about the path you’re pushing me down? What will people think? What about my lack of qualifications?

    Oh, I had a million excuses for not moving ahead, and even looking back now, they were legitimate and very pressing.

    But they were also rooted in fear.

    I knew what I was supposed to do. The wheels had been in motion for a few years, my passion for the new path building since childhood. The calling wasn’t the issue. My obedience was.

    I was scared, deep in my heart, that God wouldn’t provide for me like he did for others. I was scared that I was leaving a career I excelled in for a calling I might fail in. I was scared that my lack of credentials and connections were a recipe for disaster instead of an opportunity for God to show that he provides when there seems to be no way.

    My fears were begging me to stay frozen, to choose disobedience rooted in what my eyes could see rather than faith in what I could not.

    Fear is not always negative. We are right and justified to be afraid of physical dangers, and we were created to experience fear in order to be protected. Fear certainly can protect. But it can also prevent.

    It can prevent you from experiencing all the things you can’t imagine that God has planned for you (1 Cor. 2:9).

    It can prevent you from grasping how wide and long and high and deep Christ’s love is for you (Eph. 3:18).

    It can prevent you from doing the good works God planned in advance for you (Eph. 2:10).

    When we say “but” when God says “act,” we forfeit the great rewards that only come with great risks. We live in less than what God desires, choosing our own version of safety rather than God’s grand adventure.

    Repeatedly in Scripture, God tells his people not to be afraid. What I love, though, is that he doesn’t just tell us to reject fear. He also tells us how and why. He reminds us that He is always with us. He has redeemed us. He will never leave us. He cares for us. He has given us a new spirit. He will come to our rescue. He will sustain us. He will never let us fall. He is our strength.

    Every admonition not to fear is coupled with a reality of who God is and how He loves us.

    Nothing comes more naturally than fearing what we don’t know. But God tells us to choose the assurance of things hoped for and the conviction of things not seen (Hebrews 11:1). He asks us to reject the emotions we naturally feel and rest in the promises of truth He has revealed.

    What is the risk He has asked you to take? What is the fear that’s holding you back?

    I won’t be the bossy blogger telling you what to do. I don’t know your situation or the reservations you feel.

    But I will be the woman who’s walked this path before, simply saying to you, “It’s worth it.”

     

     

  • Some Thoughts for America’s Public School Teachers

     

    What a strange, complicated, divisive few days these have been.

    The inauguration of our new President has brought out strong emotions in virtually everyone I know, and the internet has shown me the opinions of those I’ve never met.

    I never want to contribute to the negative noise so present online, and I’m praying these words will provide hope in the midst of these times. I’m praying my words will ease the sting of words directed to you, public school teacher, and that my words will serve as a reminder that words matter, words can hurt, and though the words of others may be loud, they can still be untrue.

    It was said to our country that ours is “an education system flush with cash, but which leaves our young and beautiful students deprived of all knowledge.”

    When I heard these words spoken by a very powerful man, my eyes filled with tears. A deep sadness overtook me for what you heard and what is believed about you. Then an abiding anger made me shake and made me want to shout the truth from the rooftops.

    Although I am not currently a teacher, I am only months removed from that sacred occupation, and I know what you do and where your heart is. I know how hard you work and with what little reward. I know how disrespected you are and how negativity abounds. I know, public school teacher. I know the truth.

    I know that every day you walk into a building lacking some of the resources you need for the great needs of your students. Whether your district is rich or poor, large or small, there are needs you are ill-equipped to meet simply because you are only one in the midst of many. Your students come to you with lifetimes of struggles, problems, and situations you know nothing of, and you are expected to make them all achieve at high levels of growth (or is it proficiency?) by the end of their times with you. You are only one, but you are expected to be enough.

    I know that you spend great sums of your own money to buy novels and crayons, pillows and lamps. I know that your paycheck and your budget stretch as far as you can make them, and I know that you pile Kleenex and hand sanitizer into your cart at the grocery store. I know that the system flush with cash still isn’t enough for all you’re expected to do. I know.

    I know that you – every single day – do all you can to impart great knowledge into your students. I know that you take great pride in lessons that reach all intelligences and engage all learning styles. I know that when something doesn’t seem to be working, you reconsider and go back to square one. I know that you work all year long to prepare your students for the next test, the next assessment, the next grade, and the future. I know that knowledge is your aim, and I know that students leave your classroom with more than they came with on day one. I know that your students don’t leave you deprived of all knowledge. I know.

    I know that you take it personally when your students struggle. I’ve seen you when you cry. I’ve heard you when you feel hopeless. I’ve seen you go back and try again. I know that giving up isn’t in your character. I know that, public school teacher. I know.

    I know that you spend hours at home working to plan better, grade more, and increase engagement. I know that your home life is affected by your school life, and I know that your students are constantly in the back of your mind. I know that teachers aren’t only working when their bodies are in the school building.

    I know that respect for what you do is decreasing. I know that you hear the trash-talking from people who are uninvolved. I know that powerful people who have never worked in public schools or attended public schools or parented children in public schools are the ones demeaning your very profession and taking the reins over your careers. I know.

    I know that you care deeply for what you do and for who your children become. I know that you work tirelessly and often without thanks, and I know that excellence is your aim. Oh, how I know.

    Public school teacher, you matter. Your career matters. Your dedication to creating a well-educated, thoughtful, responsible, literate, discerning, positive country matters now more than ever. You are in a noble profession, and because of the way our world is changing, you will now have to be brave. You will have to be unwavering. You will have to reject the negativity. You will have to ignore the ignorant and educate the young. You will have to keep on keeping on when you feel like you just can’t. You will have to define success for yourself and for your children when unreasonable measures of success are imposed on you both. You will have to stand up for what is right and good when no one is standing up for you.

    You will have to do all these things, and you can. You can because you’re a teacher. And if there’s anything I learned about teachers in my years in public schools, it’s that they can do the impossible. They can do what must be done because they know the magnitude of what’s at stake.

    Teachers can do the impossible.

    You can do the impossible.

    You can, and you will.

    I just know it.

     

  • When God’s Timing Tests Your Trust

     

    My cell phone rang, and when I glanced at the caller, immediately my heart began to pound. The illuminated screen showed the caller was the school district I had just interviewed with, so the news would be either very good or very bad.

    Either they wanted me or they didn’t. This call would tell the tale.

    I needed a job, and I needed it badly. Years before, I had taught 7th grade English full-time, but when my children were born, I left work to mother them full-time. I loved every minute of being home with them, but my impending divorce and new status as a single mother demanded a paying job. And it demanded it now.

    I picked up the phone and squeaked out a “Hello” through my quivering voice. The principal I had just spent time with spoke, thanking me for my interest in their teaching position. Then he spoke the word “But,” and I knew I wasn’t their choice.

    He kindly explained they had chosen a candidate with more experience, and he wished me luck in the future.

    I managed to disconnect the call before I burst into tears. Then I wept uncontrollably.

    The previous eight weeks had been the most excruciating of my life, filled with rejection at a level I had never experienced before. I had learned what it meant to start life completely over, and I felt the burden of rebuilding what once felt unshakeable.

    And for the first time, I knew how it felt to be at a complete loss with what God was doing in my life. In my core, I knew he was in control, and I still believed he was good, but I didn’t understand how, and I couldn’t see why. Each day was a test of my faith, each moment a lesson in hope.

    I had prepared for this job interview, prayed for the right answers, and proven my determination to give the job my all.

    So to hear it wasn’t enough was devastating. To know time was running out was terrifying. And to have nowhere to go next was debilitating.

    I was rejected, again, and my heart was completely shattered. It felt that at every turn I wasn’t someone’s choice. I didn’t just feel it – the evidence was in my face.

    The despair and helplessness I felt that day sent me to my knees.

    I was completely at the mercy of the God I professed to believe, and trusting that his timing would eventually bring provision was harder than I can explain.

    What do we do when God’s timing seems off? What do we believe when we have a pressing need but his answer is, “Not yet?” How can we believe that provision will come even when we see no signs?

    In that moment, I didn’t know. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where to turn. I didn’t know that God was working in ways I couldn’t see.

    And that’s usually how it works, isn’t it? We look with our human eyes at our human situations and determine the outcome the way we humans would design it. We look at human calendars and feel the pressure of human needs and are unable to remember God doesn’t work in human ways. He is not limited by human timelines.

    Trusting God’s timing means trusting God himself. Waiting for his action means believing he’s on your side.

    Those weeks waiting for a job in the middle of my divorce tested everything I said I believed. Continuing to trust in God’s goodness was a choice I had to make, and believing his ways would eventually bring good demanded that I look beyond the current pain.

    The easy faith of my childhood was giving way to a faith tested in the flames, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit there were days I thought I’d be consumed.

    But now, years removed, this is what I’ve learned, and this is what I know.

    God’s goodness always comes.

    He always provides.

    Trust placed in him will never disappoint.

    Hearing “no” from that principal was, in the moment, another rejection to my already tender spirit. It was a denial, a wound, a very crushing blow.

    But weeks later, I was offered a job 20 minutes closer to home and in the district my children would be attending. Suddenly the previous “no” felt like protection and provision. Suddenly I realized my timeline hadn’t allowed for God’s perfect plan to unfold. Suddenly I was humbled to understand God had been working on my behalf all along.

    Nothing tests your trust like waiting for God to move. But nothing reaffirms it like the moment when He does.

    Whatever waiting period you are in right now, I know it’s painful. I know you might be like I was, on your knees with tears pouring down, begging God to give you the thing you desperately need.

    He hears you.

    He will provide.

    But He will do it in the moment He deems best.

    As his child – his follower – you are charged with trusting him until then. You are asked to believe good is coming despite the bad that you see. You are commanded to be still and know that He is God.

    When we have a problem, we want it fixed immediately and with the solution we devise.

    But God wants our heart.

    We want an answer.

    God wants our trust.

    We want to know the plan.

    God wants our faith.

    If I have learned anything through my seasons of waiting, it is that I am amazingly impatient and God is unbelievably good. Always. His timing tests my faith, to be sure, and his ways confound my understanding, but his faithfulness takes my breath.

    Always.

     

  • We Aren’t Preparing Our Kids to be Adults

     

    At 36, my childhood feels like it was a zillion years ago.

    I remember playing in the creek with other neighborhood kids for hours at a time, heading home only when darkness enveloped the skies, and I remember the hours I spent playing with my Barbies. My childhood included lots of time outdoors, lots of time reading, and lots of fights with my sisters over the bathroom we shared.

    The world of the 1980s was drastically different from the world around us today, and when I compare my life then with kids’ lives now, there are more differences than I can count.

    I can’t help but wonder how different the world will be when my children are adults.

    If I’m honest, it scares me half to death.

    I don’t want to look back with rose-colored glasses at my childhood and pretend the world had no problems then. Certainly it did. There were actual wars and a cold one, drugs on the streets and blatant discrimination. I remember a hurricane destroying part of my state and a space shuttle exploding before our eyes.

    People’s lives were hard, and the problems they faced then hurt just like the problems we face now.

    But the world feels more complicated now, doesn’t it? It seems that there are different struggles, and I know there are temptations in forms kids have never seen. Being a kid in 2017 is not like being a kid in 1987, and parenting kids now can’t look exactly like it did then.

    One temptation we parents face today is the desire to make our kids’ lives problem-free. We want our children to live lives of ease, so our flesh wants to do the following:

    • Prevent them from having problems by micro-managing every detail of their lives.
    • Remind them (OK, nag them) not to forget things instead of allowing natural consequences for irresponsibility.
    • Step in when we see a difficulty rather than watch them struggle to get through it.
    • Let them be just like their peers so there are no problems fitting in, but sacrifice our beliefs and convictions in the process.

     

    I know these temptations because I face them as a mother. It’s hard to see your children struggle, and it is excruciating to see them wrestle with a problem you know how to solve.

    But if we step in before they face hardship, and if we interfere rather than let them wrestle with life, we fail as parents. Why? Because our task is to prepare them for adulthood, not just protect them in childhood. 

    I fear our children’s lives are going to be much harder than the ones we are preparing them to face.

    For many of us, we are preparing children for the kinds of lives where:

    • they are the center of attention
    • they receive what they want simply by asking
    • they do not contribute to a household by doing chores
    • their problems are eliminated by parents who complain to the authorities over them
    • their extra-curriculars come before their work and worship
    • they spend others’ money rather than work for their own
    • their lives consist of entertainment in any form
    • they are protected from ever experiencing boredom

     

    When I stop and truly assess whether my decisions today are preparing my children for tomorrow, I am convicted. I am challenged. I am determined to make some changes.

    Should childhood be fun? Absolutely. But should it be only fun? No way.

    Childhood should sometimes be hard. Sometimes boring. Sometimes hard work.

    Childhood should sometimes be about learning to sacrifice self rather than indulge it. Childhood should be about learning to face a world that isn’t all about you. It should be about seeing problems around you and asking how you can solve them instead of just complain about them.

    Childhood should be the training ground for adulthood, and I fear too many of us parents are keeping our heads in the sand about how hard our kids’ lives will one day be. I fear we focus on making now enjoyable rather than the future productive.

    When I was a child, I had no idea of the difficulties ahead in my future. I never imagined myself facing divorce and single motherhood, never thought I’d struggle to find a job to provide for my family, and never thought I’d struggle with post-partum depression. I could not have known the deep hurts I would face, the sharp betrayals I’d feel, or the great challenges I’d endure.

    I didn’t know how hard adulthood would be.

    Do you feel this way, too? Looking back at your life, what did you not see coming, and what could you not have imagined ever enduring?

    I know there’s something because nobody’s life is perfect, and everybody’s life contains struggles.

    Including our children’s. 

    While they’re in our care, under our training and love, should’t we do everything we can to build them into people ready to face whatever comes? Shouldn’t we be the ones to help them face disappointment, learn responsibility when its lack won’t devastate them, and prepare them to wade through the inevitable hurts?

    If we protect them from every problem now, we create more problems for them long-term.

    It seems counter-intuitive, but allowing them to flounder and fail as children will build them into successful adults. Denying them all their desires now will set them up to chase their God-given desires later. Helping them through hurts now will help them face greater hurts later.

    We can’t assume our children will be protected as adults like they are as children in our homes. We can’t pretend everyone will love and cater to them, and we can’t tell ourselves they won’t be hurt like we have been.

    They will be heartbroken. They will be betrayed. They will face gut-wrenching devastation.

    Life on earth hurts. It hurts sometimes for us, and it will hurt sometimes for our children.

    Let’s prepare them as much as we can to face their hurt with hope, resolve, and a knowledge that they can get through it – because they’ve done it before.

     

     

  • What I Really Think When My Kids Misbehave

     

    In my house live a stubbornly independent 11 year old and a precociously rambunctious 10 year old. Add in two set-in-their-way 30-somethings, and you have a delightful recipe for some conflict.

    We’ve moved past the days of children flinging their food on the floor and splashing in the toilet for fun, and they’ve learned not to hit and bite, but they’re still kids. And that means occasional disobedience, rowdiness, and talking back. The kids act like kids sometimes, so that means they misbehave.

    And when they do, I feel exhausted and depleted. I feel defeated and ineffective, and I feel like I still – 11 years later – don’t have a clue what I’m doing.

    (Don’t ask me where I got the idea that raising children would be picturesque and easy – I grew up in a house with four children, and our lives were never reminiscent of Mary Poppins. I guess I thought my unrivaled mothering skills would raise children who were practically perfect in every way.)

    On the days my children do and say things I’d rather them not, this is what goes through my mind:

    • Um, for real? Have they not lived here their entire lives? Do they think the rules have changed?
    • Who do they think they are?
    • Where in the world did they hear that?
    • This is a joke, right? Where’s the hidden camera?
    • Is it too early to send them to bed? Is it illegal to send them to bed without any supper?
    • I have failed. I am a failure. I am the failingest failure in the history of motherhood.

     

    When my kids misbehave, what happens is that I momentarily lose my mind. I temporarily forget they are independent human beings with their own brains and their own wills, and I begin to see their behavior as an indictment of my mothering, not a result of their own choices.

    From before they were born, my kids had independent spirits. From the moment they breathed on this planet, they did what they wanted – not what I thought they should. They woke up when I thought they should sleep, they spit out what I thought they should eat, and they ate what poison control said they definitely should not.

    My kids picked out clothes that didn’t match, threw toys that were meant to stay on the ground, and repeated words not intended for toddlers. My kids showed from the beginning they are not here to acquiesce to my every wish. The purpose of their lives is not just to please me, and my approval of their behavior is not their highest aim.

    That’s tough to accept, isn’t it?

    As they’ve gotten older, they’ve become more obedient. They understand I’m looking out for them, and I think they’ve begun to learn my rules are for their own good. But that doesn’t mean they do everything I say, and that doesn’t mean their choices always align with what I ask of them. They are – and will always remain – creatures with the ability to choose, and sometimes their choices disappoint me. Sometimes they do things I expressly forbid, and sometimes they act the exact opposite of what I expect.

    Parenthood is so humbling.

    I was telling a friend recently how opposite my children’s personalities are, and since they’re only 15 months apart, I raised them in the exact same environment and with the exact same parenting style. Yet they could not be more different. The point? The way I raised them didn’t solely make them into who they are. They came to this planet with their personalities and preferences and idiosyncrasies intact, and while my parenting does impact them, it isn’t the sole factor in who they are and how they act.

    I don’t know if that gives you any relief, but it does me. It means I’m not always to blame when they act out. I’m not necessarily the failingest failure in the history of motherhood. It means they make decisions on their own, and sometimes they choose poorly. Just like I do.

    I often project my expectations for myself onto my unsuspecting children, and since I expect excellence for myself, it’s what I always want for them, too. I place my perfectionism on them, handing them a load too heavy for children to carry and expecting far more from them than any human can give.

    They’re kids. They’re learning how the world works, how people interact, and how they fit into it all. They’re testing out boundaries, understanding consequences, and making sense of their own impulses.

    Everything they do is not about me. Every choice they make is not a result of my training, and every decision of theirs isn’t connected to my parenting.

    When they misbehave, I don’t have to feel like a failure.

    Because it’s not always about me.

    Kids will mess up, act out, and make bad decisions. They’ll smart off, be irresponsible, and need lots and lots of correction. And when they do? We parents need to take a deep breath, take a step back, and take inventory of what’s really going on. We need to give ourselves a break, remind ourselves of the truth, and remember, “This too shall pass.”

     

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  • For When You Feel Ugly, Fat, and Stupid

     

    Maybe I’m the only one who has days where I feel ugly, fat, and stupid. But I’m guessing if you arrived at this post, you probably feel that way too.

    Some days, for no particular reason at all, I wake up in the morning and just feel blah. Inferior. Incapable. Unable to move past the voices lying to my heart.

    Ugly.

    Fat.

    Stupid.

    I try not to compare myself to other women, and I avoid the ‘keeping up with the Joneses’ game as much as I can. But my enemy knows where I’m most vulnerable, and my Achilles heel is not feeling good enough. My weakness is wondering whether I’m doing enough and whether I myself am enough. So that’s where he attacks. His plan to defeat me often involves degrading my appearance, and he’s done it since I was 12. I know this about him, but knowing doesn’t always prevent believing.

    Where does Satan attack you? Maybe he doesn’t tell you you’re ugly, fat, or stupid, but maybe he tells you you’re a terrible wife. A distant mother. A sub-par business owner. Maybe he whispers that your personality is boring, or your giftedness is a joke. Maybe he reminds you of a decision you made eight years ago, or perhaps he whispers fears to project into your future.

    One thing I’m sure of, though? He’s whispering, and you’re listening.

    Did you know that listening doesn’t mean you must agree? Did you know that hearing a lie doesn’t mean accepting it as truth?

    Sometimes I forget. 

    Right now, think of one whisper you’ve taken to heart. Just one. There are probably more, and you can name them later. But for now, focus on the loudest lie and bring it to the light.

    Here’s what I want you to say about it:

    Satan, you say I am _____, but God says that in Jesus, I am the righteousness of God (2 Cor.5:21). This means that despite how you want me to feel, my reality is that I’m accepted by my Maker. I am cleansed by my Creator. I am made new by my Redeemer.

    Satan, you want me to feel ______, but God says, “Do not be afraid, for I am with you” (Isaiah 41:10). My feelings are strong, but my faith is stronger, and my faith is in the One who will never leave me. I’m rejecting the fear you’re trying to make me feel, and I’m choosing instead to focus on the presence of Christ in me.

    Satan, you point out my ____, but God only sees me as “a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession…” (1 Peter 2:9). I am deeply flawed, but I am miraculously chosen.

    Friends, if you’re hurting and feeling inadequate in who you are, can I remind you that you have nothing to prove? God has not asked you to be enough of anything. He has not demanded that you look a certain way, have a certain IQ, or succeed in everything you try. He has asked you simply to confess him, follow him, and share him. These are the things that really matter, and your enemy will do all he can to distract you from their supreme importance. He will attack wherever you are most vulnerable to prevent you from being greatly used.

    Don’t give him that pleasure. Don’t let him have his way.

    When difficult days come and lies are loudly ringing, combat them with truth. Remind Satan of his defeat, and remind yourself of your truth. You are loved. You are new. You are forever God’s.