Foolish Arguments

Apparently, I like to fight with children. It's not the standard arguments you would think of either. "Clean your room" or  "Do your homework" are not what I am referring to. I find myself engaging in the simple "these are the facts" kind of arguments. I answer 4 to the question, "What is 2 + 2?" The child insists it is 5. The grass is green. The sky is blue. Vegetables are healthier for you than Oreos. It doesn't matter what the truth is. The kids insist on being right.

For some reason, I feel it of the utmost importance to convince little children that I know the truth. After all, I am older and wiser. Or am I? At times, our argument will go on for an extended period of time before the light bulb goes off in my head. What am I doing arguing with a 3-year-old? The bottom line is that I am right. The truth is simply the truth. At some point, they will learn the truth. Arguing with them is not going to convince them. These types of arguments are foolish.

My fourth grader came home today and informed me that she and her friends had a discussion on evolving. Her friends told her that we came from apes. She said, "Umm... no we didn't." "Yes, we did," they responded. This went on a few times before she informed me that she just walked away.

"I was the only one who didn't think we came from apes, mom". I told her how smart I thought she was for walking away. Arguing with her friends was not going to convince them of the truth. They will only accept the truth when they are ready to believe. No amount of arguing is going to convince this. I told her I thought it was great that she spoke the truth. Had they been willing to listen, it could have opened up a whole world of conversations. It was encouraging to hear that my daughter was bold enough to speak up for the truth and wise enough to walk away from the foolish argument.

A day from my teenage years quickly popped into my head during my daughter's conversation. One day during my high school Biology class, the teacher asked who believed in creation. I quickly raised my hand. As I scanned the room, I was the only one with my hand raised. The only one. It shocked me. How could I be the only one that believed in a Creator?

I went home visibly upset that day and passionately shared the account with my parents. The next morning, I found a note from my dad on the bathroom counter. He asked me what people would rather see when someone talks about God. He had a picture of a smiley face and one that was angry. Along with these, he listed the lyrics to "My Faith has Found a Resting Place". These words continue to pop into my head when my faith is questioned.

My faith has found a resting place,
Not in device or creed;
I trust the ever living One,
His wounds for me shall plead.

Refrain
I need no other argument,
I need no other plea,
It is enough that Jesus died,
And that He died for me.

Enough for me that Jesus saves,
This ends my fear and doubt;
A sinful soul I come to Him,
He’ll never cast me out.

Refrain

My heart is leaning on the Word,
The living Word of God,
Salvation by my Savior’s Name,
Salvation through His blood.

Refrain

My great Physician heals the sick,
The lost He came to save;
For me His precious blood He shed,
For me His life He gave.

I do believe we are to be bold for Christ. "For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline." (2 Timothy 2:7) Jesus died on the cross for us. He wasn't ashamed of us... so much so that he was shamed for us. Why, oh why, are we so ashamed to stand with Him?

While we need to give answers for the hope that we have, it does no good to argue until we are blue in the face. Few, if any, are convinced in this fashion. "Don’t have anything to do with foolish and stupid arguments, because you know they produce quarrels. And the Lord’s servant must not be quarrelsome but must be kind to everyone, able to teach, not resentful." (2 Timothy 2:23-24)

The truth is that God sent His only Son into the world to die on a tree for my sins. It is because of his blood and resurrection that I am able to spend eternity in Heaven. "I need no other argument. I need no other plea. It is enough that Jesus died. And that He died for me."

Disappointed

Disappointment is so rampant in my life. It occurs numerous times on a daily basis. I feel like I walk around discouraged and defeated. When will I ever learn my lesson?

Quite often, I inform my husband that I would do so much better living the Christian life if only I could eliminate people. Of course, I follow up my comment with a laugh because I know that is impossible. I wouldn't be living if I weren't surrounded by others. God created us for relationships.

I am tired of hurting, though. That is the reason I want to give up. I want to quit loving at times. When I open my heart to people, it is more than likely that it will get broken. No one is perfect. So why do I find it such a shock every time I am pained by someone I've invested my life in?

Some days I just feel alone. Reality is that I have people who love me and care about my feelings. It is just that their actions or neglect leave me curling up in the fetal position in an attempt to escape the pain. All too often, I focus on the source of my pain.

I have just joined an online study on the book, A Confident Heart, by Renee Swope. In the first chapter alone, I have found so much encouragement. In particular, the quote of Isaiah 49:23 reminded me of why my outlook on relationships gets so askew.

"Those who hope in me will not be disappointed." Hope in Him. My eyes too easily come off of God. I look to my husband for hope. Disappointment. I look to my children for hope. Disappointment. My extended family. My friends. Even the church. Disappoint. Disappoint. Disappoint. "Those who trust in me will not be disappointed."

Sounds like a promise of truth to cling to. Especially when I'm feeling  let down by this world. Trust in God. He doesn't disappoint.

Dear Daughters: Loving our Neighbors

My Dearest Daughters,

As I pull into the driveway, I see the pile of garbage at the curb that our neighbors left behind. I feel the pain rising up in my chest. It's not because I formed some lasting bond in the past one-and-one-half-years with these people. My heart aches for you.

"I wish he didn't have to move." These are the words that sting my heart over and over as the curbside trash reminds me once again. No one will be knocking on our door to play outside with you. The tears are flowing now because I wonder if I attempted to hold too tightly to my own life as I denied you the pleasure of the times I didn't realize were so limited.

I used to dread the possibility of the doorbell ringing. It interrupted my alone time and peace. His request meant I couldn't keep to my agenda for the day. While I tried to embrace the moment, I kept them at an arms distance with fear that my safe life would be invaded with requests I couldn't maintain.

Now I realize it was only for a season. Honestly, I can do anything for a season. That's why I worry that I let you down... and him as well. It was such a short time that you had the chance to play with this boy. And every moment he interacted with our family was an opportunity to be Jesus to him.

Did we achieve this? Will he think back on his time here on Arden Place and remember us as the neighbors who lived a little differently? As he recalls the instances where he became part of our family each week, will He love Jesus more for it? Fond memories can do a lot as we get older. Will his drive him to Jesus?

It isn't even so much that you formed a close bond with our now former neighbor. It was just the excitement of having another child across the street to play with. The fact that someone wanted your time. That, and you had a lot of fun together. He was a nice kid. It showed in the fact that he intentionally came over just to say goodbye.

I wish I could promise you that we will see him again. Honestly, I just can't say for certain. Our worlds unexpectedly connected because they became our neighbors during that Blizzard of 2011. In the year-and-a-half that they lived here, I learned a lot. I was so used to growing up with my closest neighbors a mile in each direction. Being neighborly did not come naturally. I like to protect my down time here at home and that is to my fault. It was a growing experience for me. I learned when to say "yes" and when to say "no". I learned that not everyone thinks the way I do and God loves us all. We are all unique and there is something worth loving in everyone and learning from them as well.

Some people come into our lives just for a season. I believe this was the case with them. They may surprise us and contact us in the future. I hope so. It would be nice to see you smile and laugh with your unlikely friend again. But know this: I am changed because they were our neighbors. I will live more intentionally because of our interactions with them. And I will teach you to do the same. After all, this is how Jesus calls us to live.

"Jesus replied, 'You must love the LORD your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. A second is equally important: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself." - Matthew 22:37-39

I love you,

Mommy

Balance in Life and a Blog Hop

Have you found balance? Please share tips and tricks! And if you're seeking balance, what are the areas you find hardest to juggle?

Oftentimes, as Christians (better yet, as Christian moms), we find ourselves in the role of martyr. We neglect ourselves as we strive to serve those around us, believing this is best for everyone involved. Unfortunately, the more we disregard our own needs (all in name of righteousness, of course), everyone seems to suffer.

Every time I abandon the practices that are necessary to maintain balance in my life, it is out of the belief that I can do life on my own. In my own power, I reason that I should be the best wife in the world, super mom to my children, a best friend to everyone who wants one and the most selfless servant that has ever lived. Until I crumble, that is. And I will. I break down EVERY time. All because I try to do it in my own strength.

Inevitably, when I quit taking time for myself, Bible study, prayer and meditation take a back seat to the responsibilities of life. My relationship with God suffers. Therefore, I no longer have the lifeline that is so vital to my existence. Jesus' words ring true in my life: "Remain in me, and I will remain in you. For a branch cannot produce fruit if it is severed from the vine, and you cannot be fruitful unless you remain in me. Yes, I am the vine; you are the branches. Those who remain in me, and I in them, will produce much fruit. For apart from me you can do nothing." (John 15:4-5)

Not only do I cut myself off from The Vine, I allow my health to suffer. I give no concern to what I goes into my body and this always effect the output of my mouth. When I feel lousy about myself (because I can't possibly find time to exercise or plan to eat healthy) my self-esteem drops. With low self-esteem, every little frustration causes my anger to erupt.

A few months back, I woke up in the morning and decided to reclaim Saturday mornings as my own. Thankfully, I have a husband that fully supports these refueling moments. He embraces the daddy-daughter time, knowing that I will come back a better wife and mother. These mornings for me lately have been focusing on my physical health. I hope to perfect my time alone to include meditation, reading and writing in the future. These are what truly fuel my soul. For now, I find no guilt in grabbing small moments for these purposes throughout the day. I like people but I need time alone to be at my best.

I am learning that there really was a season in my life where consistent, weekly, scheduled time alone needed to be pushed aside. Thankfully, that was only a season. Martyrdom and I don't mix well. Probably because I'm too quick to remind everyone of the burdens I am carrying. Being a true martyr doesn't come with complaining.

For me, finding balance in my life is pushing aside the complaints along with the false title of martyr. I need to embrace my roles as wife and mother. This is much easier to do when I remain in The Vine and give thanks for the many blessings He has given me. It's not selfish. Even Jesus went away from the crowds to spend time alone with God. I'm simply following His example.

What ways do you pursue balance in your life?

Good Friday's Uncomfortable Silence

The first time I went to the Good Friday service offered by my church, I was very uncomfortable. The room was dark and lit with candles. As I sat in silence waiting for the service to start, I soon realized the silence was intentional and this was the experience offered. I continued to squirm in my seat as the eerie quiet forced me to reflect on what Jesus did for me over 2000 years ago.

Silence and darkness are not an environment I welcome. These days, it is rare to find those moments where we can just reflect. Noise is so commonplace that if I walk into the house without my children, I reach for the television remote to break the silence and feel a bit more comfortable.

We want to be comfortable. Especially in America. This Lenten season, in particular, I have realized that comfort is a big obstacle in my relationship with God. For it is in my uneasiness that God draws me closer to Him. In the silence, I can hear the voice of God.

Tonight, Southfield Community Church is offering a Good Friday service at The Warehouse at 7pm. There is no childcare provided. Those in attendance will be forced to reflect on the pain and suffering Jesus went through for one purpose alone. I am still far from comfortable when I attend but I know I will experience God.

If you are unable to attend a Good Friday service, can I challenge you to spend a few minutes in uncomfortable silence reflecting on what Jesus did for you? The remembrance of this weekend is not only the foundation for our faith, but for our life and for eternity as well.

Who believes what we've heard and seen? Who would have thought God's saving power would look like this?

The servant grew up before God—a scrawny seedling, a scrubby plant in a parched field. There was nothing attractive about him, nothing to cause us to take a second look. He was looked down on and passed over, a man who suffered, who knew pain firsthand. One look at him and people turned away. We looked down on him, thought he was scum. But the fact is, it was our pains he carried— our disfigurements, all the things wrong with us. We thought he brought it on himself, that God was punishing him for his own failures. But it was our sins that did that to him, that ripped and tore and crushed him—our sins! He took the punishment, and that made us whole. Through his bruises we get healed. We're all like sheep who've wandered off and gotten lost. We've all done our own thing, gone our own way. And God has piled all our sins, everything we've done wrong, on him, on him.

He was beaten, he was tortured, but he didn't say a word. Like a lamb taken to be slaughtered and like a sheep being sheared, he took it all in silence. Justice miscarried, and he was led off— and did anyone really know what was happening? He died without a thought for his own welfare, beaten bloody for the sins of my people. They buried him with the wicked, threw him in a grave with a rich man, Even though he'd never hurt a soul or said one word that wasn't true.

Still, it's what God had in mind all along, to crush him with pain. The plan was that he give himself as an offering for sin so that he'd see life come from it—life, life, and more life. And God's plan will deeply prosper through him.

Out of that terrible travail of soul, he'll see that it's worth it and be glad he did it. Through what he experienced, my righteous one, my servant, will make many "righteous ones," as he himself carries the burden of their sins. Therefore I'll reward him extravagantly— the best of everything, the highest honors— Because he looked death in the face and didn't flinch, because he embraced the company of the lowest. He took on his own shoulders the sin of the many, he took up the cause of all the black sheep.

Isaiah 53 (The Message)