In The No

“Moreover, we have all had human fathers who disciplined us and we respected them for it. How much more should we submit to the Father of our spirits and live!

Our fathers disciplined us for a little while as they thought best;

but God disciplines us for our good, that we may share in his holiness. 

No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.”

Hebrews 12:9-11 (NIV)

When our boys were young they slowly morphed into teenagers, slipping into an unrelatable realm, at least for me. (I had never been a teenage boy.) The early years were easy in comparison. Over time, lack of sleep from midnight feedings turned into waiting up for my teenagers until I heard the crunch of tires on gravel. Parenthood evolved. One moment I was changing diapers and the next juggling issues like sex and alcohol. It became risky. I loved them, even when their attitudes were unattractive, but my love was sometimes expressed in ways that seemed harsh because I said “no” and wouldn’t give them what they wanted.

Still, this powerful, two-letter word, N-O, gets between us and the things we want too. Like you, God loves his children and gives them good gifts, but He doesn’t always give us what we want. In fact, He often keeps us from things we think we’ll enjoy. Even though we know God is the ultimate Father, a God who loves through all circumstances as we grow, there is still this parent-child conflict that occurs in our hearts. Fortunately, God isn’t confused or frustrated at our rebellion or poor choices. However, He is grieved for us when we challenge His “no” because it reveals a darker truth…we don’t trust Him.

Unfortunately, modeling my parenting after God wasn’t always easy. I wavered between being too strict and enabling bad behavior.  I often tell of one situation that happened during our son’s Senior year of high school. After Prom ended he and his girlfriend came to our house to watch a movie.  When the movie was over he came to me and asked, “Mom, would it be okay if she stayed the night?”

Surprised by the question I said, “No. She needs to go home.”

“But it’s really late and her mom said it was okay,” he argued respectfully.

Frustrated, I responded, “I’m not sure why her mother would allow it, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not okay. She needs to go home.”

“Why not? We’re not going to do anything?” he pleaded with a half smile, trying to wear me down.

Then inspiration hit. I asked, “If she were your daughter would you let her stay the night at her boyfriend’s house after prom?”

His quick answer surprised me, “No!”

“Then why are we having this conversation?” I asked victoriously.

Defeated, he turned and sauntered to the couch. Thinking it was settled I went back to reading my book. However, a half-hour later his girlfriend was still there. I marched over to them and found they were dozing off! Shaking him awake, I once again told him to take her home.

“We’re tired,” he growled.

“I don’t care if you’re tired,” I said angrily.  “Either you take her home, or I will!” Outwardly I was stern but inwardly battling with doubt. Am I being silly? Will he hate me? I asked myself questions like these even though I knew the truth. My actions reflected the right thing for my son, but my attitude was as gentle as a charging bull. I was angry and determined.  I was “right.”

“You’re not taking my girlfriend home! I’ll take her,” He announced, like he was the parent. Then, he took her home.

Although the outcome was good the circumstance took me off guard. I didn’t give in, but I certainly wasn’t bearing the fruit of the Spirit during our interaction! However, the possible consequences were not worth the risk. I knew if I let this go without exercising my authority as my child’s protector against “things he thinks he’ll enjoy” then I was enabling him in his destruction. My job was not to make my children comfortable or to make them happy. My job was to mold them into Godly adults--to make them set apart for God and to demonstrate His love for them the way God does for me.

Admittedly, I have failed to exercise my authority with grace in many circumstances (this being one of them). At times I did allow my son to get away with something toxic to his soul because I wanted him to like me. It didn’t work. It backfired, creating more conflict. He didn’t respect me. It wasn’t until he moved out that I realized how inconsistent I had been. (The “yo-yo” mom does not work on a child who knows how to “walk-the-dog!”) Even when I did do the right thing I often did it with the wrong motives. Instead of loving him too much to allow him to do something destructive I said no because I was trying to rescue him from experiencing pain (because it was too painful for me).

Thankfully, parents are covered by God’s grace too. Now, instead of losing sleep over my failures I bring them before God and ask Him to redeem the wounded places in the hearts of my children, fulfilling the needs I failed to meet. I seek my perfect Father and ask Him to set loving boundaries for my grown children that draw them to Himself. Now that my role has changed I feel a freedom to express favor like I would to a friend. Advice does not pass my lips unsolicited, but I am available to talk. I love showering them with good gifts and spending time with them. And, by the grace of God, they are respectful, loving, fun, grateful young men who know the LORD. Having said that, I am anticipating future flops. I am not expecting, from this day forward, to be the perfect mother, grandma or mother-in-law. But, by His authority, I will choose to walk by faith in the “no.”

"Blessed is the man whom God corrects; so do not despise the discipline of the Almighty. For He wounds, but he also binds up; he injures, but his hands also heal."

Job 5:17-18 (NIV)

Written by Marlene McKenna.

Mrs. Ann

Her health allowing, a kind, aging widow weekly sits in the pew in front of us at church. She nods along as our pastor preaches doctrine, and especially when he reminds us of the faithfulness of the Lord Jesus to His children. This morning, though, I was deeply moved when I heard Mrs. Ann’s voice clearly, firmly singing our parting song:

He’s fairer than lilies of rarest bloom;

He’s sweeter than honey from out the comb;

He’s all that my hungering spirit needs;

I’d rather have Jesus and let him lead

Than to be the king of a vast domain

Or be held in sin’s dread sway;

I’d rather have Jesus than anything

This world affords today.

Recently diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease, facing many unknowns in her sunsetting years, I don’t know how to communicate to her how the melody of her testimony settles and reassures and fills me with courage. A woman who has lived eight or so decades stands with her small-town church family on an average Sunday morning and with faith and hope heralds the beauties of the Savior she knows so well, her Beloved who has kept her, held her, and brought her safely thus far.

And in the church pew behind her stands a younger woman; she is a mother with her husband and children. She is singing, too, but she struggles often with faith and hope, because she knows that her little family will encounter their own unknowns, and so she fights hard for faith and joy in the God of the promises. But as the older woman's song declares the faithfulness of our precious Lord Jesus, on this Sunday morning the young mom's heart is filled -- filled to the brim with joy and courage, hope and faith through the bold and gracious testimony spilling forth from the older, godly woman.

"I have been young, and now am old, yet I have not seen the righteous forsaken…” Psalm 37:25.

Written by an anonymous contributor.

5 Ways to Love Your Kids When You're Running on Empty

My son, Caleb, has a new way of telling us how tired he is. He gives us a percentage.
“Mom, my legs are 35%, ” he declares in the middle of downtown Atlanta on vacation.
“Mom, my legs are 8%,” he warns in the line at the grocery store.
“0%. No power,“ he calmly states as he wilts into the ground at Sam’s Club.”

And when I see him there, a part of me thinks, “Me too, buddy. Me too.”

0%. No power.

I so want to love my children like my battery is at 100% all the time, but I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how in the world that could happen.

My mom did it. She managed to create an atmosphere of love and care in our home when she had to have been at 0% a time or two herself. Even now, my mom is still doing everything she can to remind me of how loved I am.

In a few days, it will be my birthday. My mom is a master of birthdays and holidays. She makes me feel like I’m are the only important person in the world. She tells me what she loves about me. She sends me thoughtful gifts. She asks to spend time with me, but she doesn’t demand my attention. She calls me and texts me and reminds my siblings to call and text.  And those are just what I get when I’m a thirty-five-year-old adult living states away.

My mom’s example is sometimes overwhelming to me. How did she find time to love us so well even one day a year? How did she do it day after day after day? How did she find the strength to pursue us when we pulled away, to listen to us when we weren’t making any sense, and to do just the right thing we needed it?

After reflecting a little myself, I think I’ve figured out how my mom loved me when I know her batteries were running low:

She listened. When chatter spilled from my mouth about friends and people and ideas and activities, she always made me feel like my story was interesting and important. She asked follow-up questions, made understanding faces, and stopped what she was doing to hear me.

She included me in her world. Whether it was a trip to the grocery store or a stop by the Dairy Queen, my mom always invited me and my siblings to come. Sometimes she made us go with her when we didn’t want to, but even though we were mad, there was something about being wanted and valued that made us feel important, and we never knew when a trip to the grocery store and a trip to Dairy Queen might be one and the same.

She told me. My mom was great at telling us she loved us, at praising us for our efforts and for our character. She noticed what I did and told me about it. I felt noticed and affirmed and loved.

She thought about me. My parents would often come home from a date night or a trip or an errand with an extra treat for us. Something about the way mom said, “ I bought those chips you like” sounded to me like, “I love you and know what you like and went out of my way to make sure you know that I was thinking of you today.” For all I know, chips were on her list, but it felt special to me.

She forgave me. I had a bit of a temper growing up. I can be direct. I am not the sensitive and thoughtful woman that my mom is. But every time I stepped out of bounds, my mom forgave me, most of the time before I asked. “There’s nothing you can do to make me stop loving you, but I love you too much to let you act this way,” she would say.

In our material society, loving our kids sometimes feels like so many tasks: making them elaborate Valentine’s boxes and taking them to the zoo and feeding them homemade bread and doing and planning and performing. These things drain my battery all the way to 0%.

But listening doesn’t cost anything, and bringing my son Nathan along to Sam’s Club to get frozen yogurt and have a conversation about nothing doesn’t take any extra time. Telling Isaac that I love it when he smiles and gives me a thumbs up or making sure Caleb’s burger has pickles on it—just the way he likes it—doesn’t take too much energy.

Letting my kids know that nothing they can do will stop me from loving them fills all of us with the energy we need to face a new day.
It’s not the elaborate tasks that charge our batteries. It’s the simple and consistent ones.

Originally written by Laura Wailes for Mothering Beyond Expectations.

In the Middle of the Weeds

“I picked this for you, Mom,” my 11-year-old said and I stared at her with a look of both confusion over and gratitude for this sweet act of love.

“Thank you! Where did you find such a beautiful flower?” I asked her.

“In our yard!” she replied. “There’s a bunch of them growing by the tree in the backyard.” I looked, and sure enough she was right. A handful of irises growing right by the big tree.

And I’ve been thinking about that ever since, because whenever I’ve thought about our yard, all I’ve seen is the weeds, the patchy grass, the bumpy ground... and all the work that still needs to be done.

But right there, in the middle of all the weeds and mess, were beautiful, breathtaking flowers. And I’d never even SEEN them.

And isn’t that just the truth? That in the midst of the broken mess, when all we can see is weeds, and how much further we have left to go, God can grow flowers where we weren’t even looking? That there’s always something beautiful to be thankful for, if we just look close enough?

I know from experience that isn’t always easy to do, and when you’re IN IT, it’s the last thing you want to hear. What is there to be thankful for when I’m in this excruciating pain?

So I leave you with this, hold on, with whatever shred of faith you have left, that God is growing something beautiful in the middle of your weedy yard. You might not see it yet, but someday, you will.

Originally written and posted by Chelsey Roberts.