Wise Children

Recently I read a popular book that’s been pretty controversial. As I read through it I found some good points and thoughts from the author, as well as many statements that didn’t align with Scripture. In fact, there were quite a few things the author claimed as truth that simply aren’t.

But the book is well-written, and some false statements are close enough to being correct that they sound good. It got me thinking about how my kids will process the information they read and hear.

How will they know what’s accurate and what’s not? How will they avoid lies and things that will lead them in the wrong direction?

Many times parents and other well-meaning adults try to control every aspect of a child’s life. We try to shelter our kids from bad things, from lies, from things that will lead them astray. Certainly there is wisdom in that to some degree, but there also can be danger in trying to control so much.

Though my kids are young and I don’t have the experience of others, I have seen a method that works and is Biblical. Instead of trying to oversee everything related to your children, give them the tools to do it themselves. To weigh pros and cons, to determine whether something is right or wrong, to ask questions and come to reasonable conclusions.

We can teach our children how to figure things out for themselves. It may sound tedious, and I’m sure at times it is -- but their foundation on the Word of God is essential. They need to know His Word just as we do.

In our own lives, we strive to learn and grow in Christ, do we not? How do we do that apart from knowing Him through Scripture? (Answer: we don’t.)

So just as we learn how to navigate life and obstacles through God’s Word, we ought to do the same with our kids. Teach them Scripture, and teach them what the verses mean. Have them memorize it and hide it in their hearts, so that they can refer to it and understand the depth of its meaning over time. I am a testimony to this; I memorized Scripture in kindergarten that has stuck with me since, and over the years I have learned more about what those passages mean. Just because they don’t understand it at age 4 doesn’t mean it’s not worth memorizing.

When your kids have questions about things from their day, things they read or hear or see, enter into their world. Talk about it. Work it through with them. Help them get from A to B mentally, but don’t do it all for them. If you can be the assistant while they learn the decision-making and how to implement wisdom, they will be equipped to do it on their own later.

I don’t know about you, but having children who are capable of keeping a solid head on their shoulders and the Lord as the leader of their steps sounds like an incredible gift. Ask the Lord for wisdom and guidance to teach your kids, and be diligent to do the work. The outcome isn’t guaranteed, but ladies, as Christians we have the responsibility of raising our children in the way of the Lord. It’s never too early to be serious about doing so!

Written by Amy Parsons.

Hope is not Named Boaz

Some things feel too vulnerable to share.

And while I’d prefer to keep the deepest layers of my heart tucked safely in, sometimes we just need the relief of realizing that someone else walking a similar path has experienced the same emotions and reactions we’re experiencing.

So while it feels a bit risky, it’s worth it if it lifts another sister up, redirects our heart and helps us live where we are and love where we are.

Because I was caught off guard at how soon after Dan’s death I became obsessed with remarrying.

I don’t use that word lightly. It preoccupied my waking moments and became the longing of my broken heart.

When I read grief books by other widows, I’d flip to the last chapter to see if she had remarried. How long had she waited? How had they met? Was she happy?

God, please don’t make me wait ten years, I’d pray.

I had loved Dan deeply. And I had loved being married.

But oh, the conflict.

I’d steal glances at ring fingers and become simultaneously horrified at the possibility of even making eye contact.

I was madly in love with Dan and desperately wanting to remarry.

Even in the rawest ache of grief, my mind churned with when, where, how and who God might bring into my life. For more than 20 years, my heart had been given to one man. And I missed it.

Wait for your Boaz.

It’s the heart cry for the single Christian girl waiting on a godly man.

When you’re suddenly thrust into the club of young widows, the possibility of a Boaz holds out bright hope.

I’m sure it’s the same for my other single sisters.

When friend after friend gets engaged, part of you celebrates wildly while the other part wonders when your Boaz is gonna show up.

When you’ve gone through the nightmare of rejection and betrayal, you dream of a Boaz who will love, honor and cherish you.

Wait for your Boaz.

The story of Ruth spells hope for every single girl, every widow, every woman who’s heart has been crushed.

It feels like God tucked the best love story ever into the Bible just so we’d know it can happen.

And happen better than any Nicholas Sparks novel.

Ruth was a young woman in Moab who married into a Hebrew family. Elimelech, Naomi and their two sons left their hometown of Bethlehem and migrated to next door Moab when famine hit. Their sons married Moabite women – one named Orpah and the other Ruth.

That’s when the bottom dropped out. First patriarch Elimelech died and then – unbelievably – both sons. Naomi was left without husband, without sons, and both Orpah and Ruth became young widows. In ancient times, this was beyond heartbreak. This was desolation.

In deep grief, Naomi was hopeless. She could offer nothing to her daughters-in-law. She’d go empty and bitter back to Bethlehem. Orpah returned to her Moabite family and Ruth alone vowed to go with Naomi.

But not because of Boaz. It was never Boaz that made Ruth move forward in faith. Ruth had never heard the name. She didn’t know Boaz existed. She wasn’t going to Bethlehem for Boaz or even for a Boaz.

Ruth’s longing was not for Boaz, but for God.

“Your people will be my people and your God my God.” Ruth 1:16

Ruth could move forward into her bleak and empty future because she placed her hope in God.

And this is where the violins cue to fortissimo. Ruth found provision as she gleaned in the fields, protection as she gleaned from Boaz’s fields and then full out prosperity as Boaz redeemed his right of kinship and took her as his wife. The book ends as Boaz and Ruth have a child, whose grandson would one day be King David.

All the satisfying sighs as they lived happily ever after.

Because isn’t that what we single girls want? We desperately long to live happily ever after with our own Boaz.

So often we look at the book of Ruth and think, Yes! God can do the impossible. He can bring a wonderful, godly, successful man to my life. Look — it happened to Ruth! And it can happen to me, too.

So we join the singles class at church and scour the e-dating site and begin to view every event as the ONE possibility that will introduce us to our Boaz.

I’m not knocking the singles classes at church or e-dating sites.

But we’ve read into Ruth a message that God doesn’t give.

Because the hero in the book of Ruth is not Boaz.

The hero in the book of Ruth is God.

Ruth sought God, not Boaz, with her whole heart. Ruth trusted God, not Boaz, with her whole heart. Ruth went to Bethlehem for God, not Boaz.

It was God who provided for Ruth.
It was God who protected Ruth.
And it was God who prospered Ruth.

I realized a long time ago that I had to deal with my own longing for Boaz. It was taking up valuable soul space, misdirecting my hope and healing.

God is my hero. God alone can give me hope, ease the raw ache of my broken heart and prosper me to live well where I am, and to love well where I am.

I had to long for God alone.

I’d like to say it was easy to lay it down. But it was an over and over again process of giving my heart, my hurt and every hope to God and trusting him. Over time, my preoccupation to remarry began to fall away. I still have dreams tucked in close, but they don’t redirect my heart.

God is my Boaz. And he’s yours, too.

Originally written by Lisa Appelo of True & Faithful. Used with permission.

Hope

HOPE. We throw it in like a pseudo-synonym for crossing our fingers. But lately the weight of the word has been sinking deep in me. 

I work at a day job where I stare into faces devoid of hope. And it isn’t just my students in their too small jeans and unkempt hair- traces of an old bruise that I can never be sure came from typical kid blunders or a parent’s heavily thrown backhand. 

It isn’t only the dads with altered smiles due to the meth that took their teeth. Or the mothers who roll in wearing overly low tank tops, fuzzy jammie pants, house shoes, and what appears to be a countenance of confidence but really comes across as fear in the way they won’t hold eye contact. And it isn’t even the other teachers who confess their frustrations in a way that makes you know the only hoping they do is hope the school day ends without any major screw ups or another blow of devastating news. Really, it’s all of it. It’s everyone. It’s no one. Hope is hard to find. 

Sometimes I feel like the life I lead is small. I’m Kathleen Kelly - I feel like a lone reed leading a valuable but small life. I’m caught up in paperwork and planning, reading data and high stakes testing. It’s easy for me to forget that’s not why I’m there. CRTs are never someone’s ministry. My ministry is HOPE. I have it. I point to it. I wallow in it, so Jesus can leave traces of it everywhere I go. 

When I took this job as a teacher, I thought I knew what I was getting into. We never know. Why do we always think we know? Sometimes I even catch myself saying, “I finally understand what God is doing!” Even in my mind I’m cracking up at that ridiculousness. 

I thought I would teach kids things like math and reading strategies. How to master an outline like a boss. Maybe even how to navigate a relationship with a peer. Instead, God knew what he was doing. Because HE knows the plans he has for me. HE knows. So instead of teaching writing and reading and science, this month alone (9 days into October) I have done what feels like everything except teach letters and numbers. 

This month I prayed for a woman who was trying to decide whether or not she should abort her baby. She’s well into her second trimester, but the doctors think the baby will be deformed. No arms. “There’s no HOPE.”

I also held an 11 year old boy while he sobbed on the playground because his mom is going to jail. He’s the oldest of many children. He’s without HOPE. 

I spent time at the broken home of a student and watched as mom, dad, and stepmom tried hard to be civil and push their hurts and insecurities down deep. Their HOPE is small. 

I prayed for a co-worker who is at the end of her choices before chemo and radiation are her only HOPE. 

I watched a little girl attempt to navigate the trauma of learning people in her extended family were murdered. She missed school for the funeral. She said she’s fine. She doesn’t need to talk to anyone. And it’s true that her face is straight and she seems unscathed by it all, but when we ask mom about it, she begins to list the trauma this little girl has already walked through. It’s heavy enough to make my eyes get misty and forget for a second where my HOPE comes from. 

As I took it all in, I tried to come up with all the ways I could fix these problems. Some great plan to help everyone not hurt so much. But every plan seemed to only put me in the way—God’s way. I needed to love in small ways and leave room for God to be powerful. If I don’t, then I leave no room for HOPE. there’s no space for God to say, “I got this”.

I don’t know how any of these stories end. I don’t know if that woman chose to terminate her pregnancy - a little girl who I call Hope when I pray for her. A little girl I would scoop up myself and let her use my arms to hug us both until our hearts burst if God would just say the word. 

I don’t know if my co-worker will live. I will never see that little girls family reconciled with a life cut short. I don’t know how to help any of them. Not on my own. 

But I can share my HOPE. I can give it away. I can recognize that I was created for such a time as this. I can be a lone reed standing tall and burning brightly, pointing the way toward HOPE. 

Jeremiah 29:11 says, “’For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’” We can be tempted to look at this verse and get caught up on the part that says God has plans. But maybe the more important part is that God knows the plans. He knew our hardship was coming, and even better, he knows exactly where it’s going. And the whole time we can confidently trust in the God of Hope.

Written by Shontell Brewer, blogger and author at www.shontellbrewer.com. Used with permission.

Irrevocable Trust

“When I am afraid, I put my trust in You.”

Psalm 56:3

My father stood across the living room in his purple, cotton shirt. The ceiling of the Quonset hut curved behind his wavy, black hair. His bleary eyes stared at my mother who was dark with anger. Sitting upright on the Naugahyde couch, she cradled my sister and me on either side of her. I could feel her thin build stiffen next to me as she narrowed her eyes. There was vomit on the green, shag carpet from a guest who had passed out – the catalyst of the argument. Earlier that evening, the house was full of laughter as colorful people drank and talked in our living room. Cigarette smoke swirled overhead while ice clinked in glasses and the reel-to-reel boomed songs by Sinatra and Martin. I was young. Four or five. Alcoholism was not in my vocabulary.

“We’re leaving!” my mother announced as she ushered us into the bedroom.

My sister was older by two-and-a-half years. Her taller frame stood next to mine on the bed as my mother briskly tied our puffy kimono-like robes around our thin, tan frames. My mother’s short, black hair did not move. Everything about her was efficient, clean, crisp. She was an R.N. and worked in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) on base.

“You’re not leaving! I won’t let you!” my father said as he entered our bedroom. The gun was obvious, but my mother didn’t flinch.

I loved my father. When he was sober and wearing his Air Force blues he seemed safe. But, I couldn’t trust him. He was unpredictable. Scary. In my heart that night I vowed that I would never trust a man.

“Go ahead. Shoot us!” my mother blurted as she scooped us up and walked briskly outside before plopping us in the car. We drove away to the sound of locusts screaming in the trees.

For many years this event, and others like it, colored my relationships, even my relationship with God. To cope with the instability I withdrew, surviving through a world of fantasy. Fear defined my inner life. Fortunately, many years later, God revealed the vow I made as a little girl, “I will never trust a man.” This vow was like a seed that germinated behaviors like self-protection and distrust, enabling me to shut myself – my real self – off from the world. But, God rescued me at the age of twenty-eight and brought me into a love relationship with Him that forced me to question my normal. Intimate relationships were terrifying, painful and not worth the effort. Eventually, through prayer and counseling, God revealed several deep-rooted lies that had been hiding in my heart for years. The lies, like weeds, choked out the roses of security, love, patience and trust that God longed for me to experience. He spoke these tender words to me from Isaiah 43:1-3…

“But now, this is what the Lord says—he who created you, Jacob, he who formed you, Israel: ‘Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.’”  

An unstable childhood is a reality for many of us. Like me, you may have struggled with reconciling the truth of your past with God’s character. When I was a young believer God’s personality was morphed together with my father’s. It was a distortion; a Holy God I couldn’t trust. A God that may not be there when I need Him most. A God who loved me but wasn’t always delighted in me. A God who would abandon me…someday, just like my father. It took many years for me to see how I was dishonoring God with these lies. Fear and anxiety took over as I tried to protect myself and failed. The pain crept in and I felt…abandoned. Forsaken. Betrayed. In a pit of self-pity God showed me my sin saying, “I am not a man that I should lie. I am not your father.”

He is not my earthly father. He is trustworthy and always patient. He will not love me one minute and dismiss the next. He will not abandon me. He is Love. I can trust Him…irrevocably. It has taken many years of walking with God to come to a place of owning these truths. I still struggle with trusting men in general and have lapses where I forget I have a Godly husband who loves me. The trust struggle also continues with God as I recognize the familiar feelings of fear and anxiety in situations where I feel helpless. However, I have learned to accept these moments as gifts of reflection. No one likes to have their faults exposed (ouch) but God gives us the gift of a holy mirror, allowing us to see the smudges of sin on our faces. Only then will we allow Him to gently wipe them clean with His blood.

“The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing.
He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
he refreshes my soul.
He guides me along the right paths

for his name’s sake.
Even though I walk
through the darkest valley,[a]
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
Surely your goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord
forever.”

Psalm 23:1-6, NIV

Originally written by Marlene McKenna for havhope.