November, 2008
I sat with my feet up, sipping hot coffee and looking out my bedroom windows over our balcony and beyond to our yard which had been transformed into a winter wonderland. It’s been twenty years since I lived where it snows (excluding one freak snowstorm in Bakersfield in 1999 and one in 1994 in Inner Mongolia). All I remember are the chills. I had forgotten how the cold outside makes being inside feel warmer. And even though outside feels cold to us, snow provides a blanket of insulation to the cold earth, a time of dormancy in which the earth rests and simply soaks in the bit of refreshing moisture for its upcoming growth spurt.
I feel like my last eight or nine years spiritually have been a winter of sorts, one where – though busy externally – my soul has been almost dormant. Only recently have I even gotten hints that there is a spring coming, when the snow will begin to melt, bringing cool refreshment, the rays of sunshine penetrating beneath the surface layers. Things are stirring within.
I am finding that, of my classes, the one that uses my brain the most is the one that I like to dwell on. I can sit at my computer for hours, typing out thoughts and answers. But I am here to learn, not just the intellect-side of seminary, but also the experiential-side. And my classes that make me spend time in that arena are tough. Yet it is here that I find the stirrings deep, deep in my soul.
A frequent assignment in these experientially-oriented classes is to spend time listening for God’s voice. Not an audible one – but for His promptings internally. I don’t know why it is so hard for me to shut up and listen. (Those who know me can probably attest to the fact that this has always been an area of difficulty for me.)
While sitting in my “contemplation chair”, I find I can clean more fingernails, fix more hangnails, and clean more bellybutton lint than I ever dreamed possible. From that chair I remember every cobweb I’ve noticed, think through every bill that needs paying, and can solve all of the problems in, not just our household, but the entire world. However I am in a program of study where world problems and bellybutton lint are not at the top of the list. Here, we are learning a new way (for me) of approaching Scripture. I am learning how to do Gospel meditations – where one contemplates a Gospel story and pictures themselves in the story with Jesus, learning and trying to feel what one would have felt had they actually been there. Recently, I was mentally on a boat in a storm-tossed sea, getting pitched every which way, my head being jerked all directions like a bad roller coaster ride. I thought about the economy, all of the beloved ministries that we support which are all struggling with a lack of funds; I thought of the political mess our country is in – where people vote to give chickens bigger cages, but are gung-ho about booting a baby out of its secure womb before it is ready. And as I allowed myself to be caught up in the swirl of the sea, I heard Jesus saying, “Peace, be still.”
I am also trying to learn Lectio Devina, a method of Scripture meditation where one has a period of stopping and listening for what God has to say to me through that passage. It is different than just journaling what I learned, though there are some similarities. My problem lies in that I can write about what I’m learning, but to turn off my thinking and to listen is very, very difficult.
One of the aspects that attracted us to this seminary is their training and mentoring program. For your first semester (if one is full-time), each person goes through an introduction to the process. Then every semester thereafter, you have to fill out a long form working out a learning contract for both character traits and ministry skills. In the contract you write out the goal and the path to it. You choose Scriptures to meditate on, books that you may want to read to help you in a particular area or activities that you want to do to help you grow. Then you are required to go out and find two external mentors with whom you will be meeting weekly for the remainder of your studies. And you’re assigned a faculty mentor as well as a spiritual formation group of peer mentors that you meet with weekly as well. All of these meetings are to hold you accountable to the desired growth that you outlined on your learning contracts. It is a rigorous process, but it takes learning from haphazard to intentional.
One of the first areas that I want to work on in my learning contract I’ve already written about in these missives – I simply want to fall in love with Jesus more deeply. I want to understand His view of me as His Beloved. And one of the keys to this, I believe, is to spend time listening to him.
When I am talking all of the time, Mike gets to know me. But for me to get to know him, and for me to understand his love for me, I have to listen to him. This last year has been a walk in listening to the heart of my husband. Instead of assuming that I know what he thinks and desires, I have tried to really listen, to hear his heart, to see him as God made him, to understand him for who he is. For me to learn to love Jesus, I need to set up an environment where I have time to listen, to nurture a silence within myself. (Can one put duct tape over the mouth of one’s soul???) In publications, this is called “having white space”. It is the white space around the words on a page that allows the eyes to rest, to see the picture as a whole, to make meaning out of the words themselves. Somehow, I need to put white space in my life.
I suppose I’ll begin by putting literal white space on my calendar – whether it be intentionally unscheduled time or times of scheduled nothingness. Time where I can sit. Sit and be still. Then I will need to put white space in my life in my spirit – when I am sitting and being still, I need to learn to quiet my thoughts and listen. I am reading books that will turn my heart toward Jesus – books like Joe Stowell’s I Would Follow Jesus, and Leighton Ford’s The Attentive Life. And after writing last month’s newsletter on reading in the Song of Solomon, while doing research for a paper, I came across a study on the same by Hudson Taylor, one of my favorite missionaries, so that’ll be another source to help me dwell on being His beloved.
I’m hoping that this season of study in seminary will be one where I can enjoy the insulation of the winter’s snow, seeing it as a time to rest, to “be still and know”. And as the sun warms my heart I transition from winter into spring, as life and love and passion begin to flow again in my veins, that I will not forget the lessons of this season, that I will take those lessons with me in my heart.
Like a rock,
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise
Amy Shane
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Saturday, November 1, 2008
October, 2008
In this Spiritual Formation major, we are being asked to read a lot and to reflect on what we read. We are also asked to reflect in our prayer time on certain topics. For me, reflection time tends to be a luxury. Prayers tend to be a list of points, rather than a time of dwelling and resting, so this has certainly been a challenge.
One of our more recent prayer assignments was to spend time reflecting on ourselves as God’s beloved. I couldn’t believe how tough this was for me. I spent a while resting in my position as God’s child. That was easy – seeing Him as my Daddy or even as a Mommy that I go to when I am in need of comfort, of sustenance, of a nurturing love. I go to Him for direction like I used to do with my folks. (Though with God, I probably take His directions more readily than I did my parents’!) I rail against Him when I’m frustrated even as I used to do with my parents when I was an angst-filled teen. I see God as dependable, loving, and consistently just – like I saw my folks and like I try to be as I parent my children.
But we were supposed to reflect on the idea of being God’s beloved. Though that term could be an adjective for a child, as a noun it typically applies to a lover or a spouse. Wow. Now this one was tough. Try as I might, I just couldn’t feel this one.
What’s really ironic is my name, Amy, means beloved. And when I was in college, I had a notebook (which I still use) that had a verse on the front: “Beloved, if God so loved us, we ought to love one another.” (1 John 4:11, KJV) I bought it because I liked a verse where God was “speakin’ to me”. The term beloved is translated differently in other versions, but I hauled out the old KJV concordance to find a few more verses to help me dwell on this thought. Deuteronomy 33:12 says “Let the beloved of the Lord rest secure in Him, for He shields [me] all day long, and the one the Lord loves rests between His shoulders.” I liked that one. I picture myself in a baby-backpack with my head asleep on God’s back. But that still wasn’t the beloved that the idea of a spouse conjures up. I had to go to the Song of Solomon to get that.
For my first twenty years of life this book was too embarrassing to read. Then through the twenties and those early years of marriage, it became a book of intrigue and longing. After five kids, it became a walk down memory lane. In fact to read it now exhausts me – the passion!! Needless to say I haven’t spent much time there of late. I decided to take a half-day to read it and try to picture myself as God’s beloved in the story, to picture His longing for me and to rest in thoughts of my longing for Him. Talk about tough. At first it almost seemed sacrilegious. But I know this book is often viewed as an allegory for Christ and His church, and I am, after all, a part of His church so I kept after it. Why is it easier for me to see this book on a corporate level rather than a personal one? Do I want to keep Christ at arm’s length? Don’t I want to feel myself in the same kind of tender embrace that I feel from my husband? Or is that just weird?
I tried to think of what made me feel loved by Mike. I remembered a few of those first times I felt deeply loved by him. Mind you, love was there from shortly after we began dating, but, admittedly, at that time it was largely hormonally driven. One of the first times I felt truly loved was in the first weeks after we were married. I had come home from China with parasites and carried the little critters into our wedded bliss. Combine those pests with the stress of putting a wedding together in six weeks’ time, and with the transition of actually marrying, and, well, it was enough to create more than a little turmoil in my intestinal track. I spent hours sitting on the throne and Mike would come in and sit on the tub across from me and just hold my hand.
Another of those first times I felt loved was about six months into our marriage. I couldn’t find my earrings. They were diamond earrings that Mike had given to me as a wedding gift. I was devastated. He was helping me search, turning every part of that old mobile home upside down. My mom happened to show up and asked what we were doing. Mike told her that we had lost my earrings and were looking for them. Afterwards I remember chewing on that. If the tables had been turned, I would have been sure to have noted that it was he who had lost the item, that I was the innocent party just helping out (emphasizing my magnanimous love and patience in the process). Never would I have taken blame on myself that I didn’t deserve. But here this man willingly did. He took ownership of my stupidity.
The amazing thing is that even just thinking about those times makes my heart swell with gratitude all over again. It fills me with a love that literal warms my gut and makes me want to throw myself all over Mike. Look out, Baby! (Oops! Maybe I should withhold that information…) Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that his sacrificial love creates within me a visceral response. I already knew I was loved, but when he does things like that, I feel it as well. So how do I keep that alive when I think about God?
Obviously, I need to take time to dwell on the ultimate sacrifice – the cross. I need to carry that sacrificial love around in my heart. Colossians says that we are chosen by God, holy and beloved (3:12). We had nothing to do with being chosen by God. He chose us from before time. M. Robert Mulholland, in his book The Deeper Journey explains it this way: we are “chosen in love and for love…Being beloved is no more our doing than being God’s chosen ones. The unfathomable depths of our belovedness is revealed in the cruciform love of God in Christ.” (p. 119)
So this is where I’m camping out for a while, trying to understand this idea of being chosen. As a follower. As a daughter. As a beloved.
Like a rock,
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise
Amy Shane
Thursday, October 2, 2008
July, August, September, 2008 Unscheduled Time
July, August, and September, 2008
Last may, a psychologist friend said to me that “relationship is built in large chunks of unscheduled time”. That sentence has been both plaguing and intriguing me all summer.
I am the master of the multi-tasking. For years, I have organized the lives of seven people and multiple dogs. I knew the exact number of minutes between any two locations in the city of Bakersfield and knew where the cops liked to hang out for when I was a few minutes short of what was needed. The little one-inch squares on the pages of my calendar dictated my life. “If it’s not in here, it doesn’t exist.” I perfected the art of writing very, very tiny. Three years ago, when Mike came home to roost, we began using a seven-foot long white board to coordinate driving and activities. “I’ll trade you two tennis runs for one piano run.”
I was keenly aware that activities and the 11-minute drive to or from was not cultivating the relationships that I desired. I watched Abby finishing her senior year, recognizing that I had missed the proverbial boat. Oh, I knew my daughter and I had taught her some things. But did I really know her heart, what made her tick, her joys and disappointments? I had scheduled our relationship into nice tidy boxes; I had spent far too much time talking and not nearly enough time listening. And, as God gently directed my thoughts, I realized I had done the same to Him.
The love of and desire for God that I possessed earlier in life had been replaced by busy-ness, by duty, by empty activities. The passion had been edged out by a sort of rationalism as I had spent a lot of time talking about God, but little time sitting with Him. My joy was on vacation. There was another time in my life when I had felt this way. It was when we were living in China. I had cried out to God to restore that passion and He answered by sending us home where the next two years were spent walking with God and journaling as I listened to His voice. Somehow, three more kids and building a new house eclipsed what I had learned. Yet God has relentlessly pursued, and the desire to intimately know God burns ever stronger within. My only question was, “How do I get there?”
I’ve written before how God, in His mysterious ways, led us to decide to go to seminary with Mike choosing to pursue something in the pastoral field. For me, the path was also clear: don’t go the route of pure intellectual studies, but find something that will teach me to dwell at the feet of Jesus. My search led me to this major called spiritual formation (aka, Christian Formation and Soul Care; aka, Spiritual Formation and Discipling; aka, GROWING UP!). It is a study of the spiritual giants of the past, reading their writings, studying their journey paradigms, searching Scripture for the same. It’s a major where you are actually assigned to go on prayer retreats (!!!), to have times of meditation and journaling.
And it is excitingly terrifying. I (think I) could handle studying Greek, conjugating verbs, arguing about interpretations, exegeting passages, studying the cultural backdrops of various Scriptures. That’s all done in the brain. But to take a day to contemplate one of God’s attributes? From my heart? I just don’t know what to expect. And frankly, because of baggage from growing up in a denomination that taught that we alone held the true answers and no one else had anything else to contribute, I find I have many hurdles to cross before I can even glean the good that others may have to teach me. I enjoy reading what the Christian mystics wrote, but I have such a hard time with the term “mystic”, that it takes me longer to soothe my brain to prepare to read it than it does to actually read the words.
As I’ve set my feet to this adventure, I have found the distractions multitudinous. One was sheer exhaustion: I had spent over 10 weeks living out of a suitcase in the summer. Some were self-induced: a desire to have everything settled, a decision to do some remodeling after we moved in. Some were because I’m simply a mom – the kids had to be settled first before I could begin to think about my own desires. They needed those “large chunks of unscheduled time”. And some were of another nature: the first three weeks I spent more hours picking nits and full-grown lice out of kids’ hair and laundering over and over every sheet and blanket that we owned than I spent studying. All things combined were also why my newsletter was set aside for a couple of months. Lice or letters? Hmmmm, you choose.
So the last couple of weeks, I’ve finally settled in, reading about the contemplative life, what that means and how one achieves such a thing. In doing so, it has become very clear why most contemplatives were monks and nuns – motherhood is hard to integrate with that lifestyle. I had my first “large chunk of unscheduled time” (which I had to schedule in) contemplating my relationship with God. It was wonderful. Yet I know there has to be a way to dwell at Jesus’ feet and still get the laundry done and dinner on the table. I’m excited to learn more and yet I find I’m scared. I know I’ll have to set aside desires and I fear mourning their loss. I fear turning into some weirdo mystic type. I long to feel a deep joy again like I had earlier in life, a passion that burns in my gut. But to feel that again will mean realigning priorities and that is always tough. I also wonder what will happen to me if I give in fully, abandoning myself to whatever God has in store. I so hate being out of control.
Thanks again for joining me on this journey. I hope as I share all of you will be inspired to grow as well. And if you see me getting weird, feel free to hit me upside the head.
Like a rock,
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise
Amy Shane
June, 2008 End of the Tunnel, Maybe
June, 2008
What a journey. I planned to go back to school after my youngest entered kindergarten. But with the sale of our family business and Mike leaving his job coinciding with Elly heading off to school, my desires were left on hold. We began searching out our options for the next job or ministry, the next location, the next everything. Last fall, I decided to look again at my schooling options and we finally decided to put our home on the market. If you’ve been reading these newsletters, you know where that took us. Straight to Limboland.
Frankly, God and I have very different ideas of what constitutes an efficient use of my time. I spent a lot of time prepping a house and moving out for a rock star that apparently was stoned when he made us an offer. We spent a ton of time and energy prepping a rental house for us to use only to realize 20 years of smoking permeates even the struts in the walls. The only good thing to come of it all seems to be Limboland motivated us to move a little more aggressively.
I began the process of applying to a grad school in the L.A. area where we found a house. We plowed ahead, happy with the choice. Well, almost happy. There was something still missing that I couldn’t put my finger on. On a whim, I looked at the website of another seminary. There was nothing that drew me immediately, but I found my heart kept wandering back to it. Something about that site was calling to me on a subconscious level. It was unsettling.
The result was that May found us in Denver, meeting with a psychologist who gave us personality/career type tests and doing counseling under a counselor who should have been labeled a soul surgeon. (Go to www.restoringthesoul.com if you dare.) Between the two we found ourselves asking ourselves “Who did God make me uniquely to be?” “What are my interests and my deepest desires?” “What is motivating to do what am I doing now?” A lot of these questions I’ve been processing this year anyway, but in May Mike and I had three weeks to dwell on them deeply, lingering with God in a way that I had not done in a long time.
I kept reading about “walking beside still waters and having my soul restored” and dreamed of what that could mean - not that I really felt my soul was in shambles, but more just a yearning. In Proverbs chapter four, the phrase “above all else, guard your heart” kept popping out at me. I began to wonder just what guarding meant – was it proactive or defensive? I checked out Matthew Henry who described it as maintaining “a holy jealousy of ourselves”, keeping our hearts “from doing hurt and getting hurt”. Others describe it as taking care of your thoughts or watching your mind. But when I checked out the Hebrew, it Strong’s says the word can be positive (to protect or maintain) or negative (conceal). The psychologist spoke to me of finding Sabbath rest and contentment, of having joy.
Finding that rest would prevent “getting hurt”, but what about the positive, pro-active side? I dreamed about delving deeper into my heart and soul and truly understanding how God made me and then protecting, maintaining, and nurturing what I find. Being conservative and simultaneously a female leader has caused me a lot of angst, not really knowing where I fit in the church. This is just one area where I’d love to find peace and rest.
All year the siren call of God has been luring me away from busyness and to a deeper relationship. And my heart and soul long for it deeply. But I was stumped as to how to get there. Although I loved the seminary in LA, when I’d talk to people and when I’d read their website and literature, all I was getting was their emphasis on the intellectual, even though I realize there’s more there than that. The other seminary’s website spoke of searching your heart, “becoming a better you” as you follow God and grow spiritually. As I reflected on these things, I realized I already know how to run down the path of intellect, of study, of performance. The area I need to spend time in is this area of being, of growing in the intangibles. And I needed time to rest and reflect on these things.
Mike also spent time thinking about who God made him to be. When we were first married I told Mike that I had sworn I would never marry a) someone from my hometown, b) a farmer, c) a pastor. Mike had moved to my hometown after college, so I let God off the hook on that one. A little later in our married life, I realized you can take the boy off the farm but you can’t take the farm out of the boy. So God snuck in another one. But I stood my ground. I repeated loud and often that God wasn’t sneaking in the last one. Unfortunately, I think my resolve squelched my husband. As I finally looked at his heart, I saw a man who loves to come alongside of others, encourage them, mentor them, journey with them. I saw a man full of mercy and compassion with a strong love for the Lord. I saw a man with a pastor’s heart. Mike recognized it as well. God, 3. Amy, 0.
By the end of our counseling, we had made the decision to move to Denver and we began the application process to Denver Seminary. Only instead of me going full-time, it’ll be Mike. And though I will be studying some, my focus is going to be on dwelling, resting, and drinking at God’s well. The last month has been full of house hunting and getting said house ready (thus the lateness of this letter).
I guess our next step is to continue this faith leap. Frankly (excuse my French) it scares the crap out of me. I know how to perform in a classroom. I’ve barely got a clue how to “be”, how to dwell in relationship with my Lord. I used to think I knew how to do this, but the further down this faith path I go, the more I realize I’m a pathetic mess. And speaking of mess, my friend spoke to me the other day about how living by faith always makes life an adventure, but the real excitement comes when you give God permission to “mess with your life”. This walk of faith goes beyond simply trusting, into a realm of releasing the conditions that you put on God, putting all of your dependence on Him alone. Such messing scares me. It’s scary because God doesn’t call Himself a safe God. But He is Good and it is that to which I cling. “Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him.”
Yet the questions linger. What if we get started in seminary and then He throws us back into limboland? What if we finish seminary and after all that He moves us back to limbo, no closer to any goal that we thought we may have had? We took a step of faith and bought a house in Denver without a rock star or anyone in sight to buy our old one. What’s He going to do with that? I know it is trials that develop faith. Am I willing to give Him free reign? God’s goal for my life is Christlikeness. What’s it going to take to get me there?
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise
Amy Shane
May, 2008 Fly, Abby, Fly!
May, 2008
Spoiler: sentimentality ahead.
It’s a day when every mistake you’ve ever made comes floating back to haunt you, causing you to wonder if any one of them will prove fatal. I spent the week rehashing every lost temper, every impatient word. Memories of being too busy, too tired, too distracted, too pregnant pricked. The only redeeming thought all week was just to look at my beautiful daughter and, seeing how wonderful she turned out, to realize that I must have done something right.
I spent the last 17 and a half years encouraging independence, and sometimes I wonder if I went too far. My Abby really didn’t need my opinion anymore – she learned to think for herself. She didn’t need my advice – she had learned to surround herself with lots of godly counsel. She didn’t want my hugs since words, not touch, is her love language, and words of praise and encouragement were coming from every direction. I keep telling myself she actually does need all of those and more, and in a few years she’ll come to realize that herself.
Actually, the last three weeks, Abby has suddenly become sentimental. As the realization that she was about to leave home has descended upon her, her independence has done an about-face: she’s been hugging her siblings, taking Anna out to lunch, wanting to just sit and talk. I was soaking it all in. And then it came.
Thursday night she graduated, her exuberant spirit drawn in multi-colors on the top of her graduation cap. She gave a speech, walked across a stage, and suddenly my job as it was known is done. Friday she had her last piano lesson (all those years of driving!!!) followed by an open house where she virtually floated, playing the perfect adult hostess. Saturday morning dawned early as she and her dad packed into a car to drive off to her summer job a thousand miles away. From there she will continue another thousand miles to college at Wheaton in August.
As I gave her my final hug, my heart was ripping out of my body. I released the balloons from the previous night’s party and released Abby as well, hoping and praying that she would fly as high as those balloons, floating with the wind of the Spirit into her future. How could I be so happy for my daughter, for her as she enters into her future as an adult, and yet so sad at the same time? My joy was intertwined with my sorrow to the point that I couldn’t focus for several hours. It was much, much harder than I had expected. And at the same time, I’d not have it any other way.
On the internet news later that day was the photo of a mother sitting by a pile of what had been a building. She sat on a little three-legged stool, clutching a photo of her daughter who was missing, presumably under the collapsed building near Chengdu, China. I wept as I looked at the photo, realizing the crushed dreams of that poor mother. In a country where most families are allowed one child, to lose that child, on whom the hopes of four grandparents and two parents rest, is unimaginable.
Then I read further down the list of headlines and saw another one about the death of Steven Curtis Chapman’s daughter. This incredibly gifted singer, who has blessed hundreds of thousands with his music and thousands more with his pro-adoption ministry, now was facing the most painful thing ever: the death of one child, killed accidentally by another of his children. The horrific magnitude of their pain grabbed at something so deep in my belly that it made me feel ill the rest of the day. I, along with multitudes, listened to the radio stations playing his “Cinderella” song, inspired by his little girl, a song about taking advantage of what time we have because so soon they will be gone. I cried a little while driving. Then I came home and allowed myself to weep like a baby.
How blessed I am to be releasing my daughter to a bright future of living for Christ instead of what these dear parents are facing. As I sat and thought about this, I was reminded of another time a song sent a skewer of conviction into my heart. It was when I was pregnant and didn’t want to be. I don’t remember why I was upset, maybe it was just hormones or maybe it was swollen ankles, but I was driving along spewing off all of my frustration to God. Alone in the car, I yelled, asking Him if He even cared. I drove along quiet for a while and then punched on the radio, bringing up a song I had heard many times before. Apparently, though, I had never heard it before.
It was a song by Twila Paris and it described her releasing her baby back to God after it had died, either through miscarriage or through stillbirth. I realized He was showing me the alternative and found myself crying so hard I had to pull over where I begged God’s forgiveness.
Motherhood has been this way for me – embracing it one moment and being frustrated to the point of wanting to chuck it all the next. Thankfully, God is there to walk with me when I’m experiencing the latter, bonking me upside the head when I need it, reminding me of His gentle graces. The graces that show up in my children. In my Abby.
God bless you, Abby. Keep holding His hand as you now walk and someday as you fly. You’ll do well. Go with grace and joy. I am so proud of you.
Like a rock,
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise
Amy Shane
April, 2008 Loosening
April, 2008
I was at a concert the other night where a friend of mine gave a little talk on the topic of binding and loosing, taken from the book of Matthew where Christ tells his disciples that what they bind on earth will be bound in heaven and what they loose on earth will be loosed in heaven. Though I have heard many interpretations of the exact meaning of this phrase, a new application of it gave me goose bumps. My friend was referring to a gift that had been given to his ministry and how that gift had “loosened” them to do what God had created them to do.
Unfortunately, I missed the rest of what my friend said, because immediately my mind started racing. Who or what was I binding? Who or what do I know needs loosing? How exactly does one bind or loosen others? I began to think of my husband and kids. Was I binding or loosing them? What about friends? Ministries? And how does one go about loosing a child? Can one be too loosened?
I began to think of how I could help to “loosen” some ministries. Where could I give that would allow them to be more of what God created them to be? This week, I received a couple of copies of an email going around about the economic stimulus package and asking people to reconsider how they might use it. Since it was an unexpected source of funds, why not use it to bless someone or some ministry, the email suggested. Use it to “loosen” something that God wants loosed, help someone become more of whom God created them to be.
Money is one thing that binds ministries and people, but there are other things. I’ve been especially conscious of the role of my tongue in that process this season. These last couple of years, God has been showing me how I need to study my kids (and my husband, and my friends), listen to their hearts’ desires, help them develop their gifts and talents and help them learn who God made them to be. I tend to be quick to judge and not very fast on the verbal support. Like many moms, my first answer is an emphatic no or a nebulous maybe, rather than an honest look. If it costs me time and energy, it has a dismal future.
For example, I have seen how God has given Abby a creative mind. I’ve always considered myself creative, but my creativity is within the box of an analytical mind. Abby is creative without bounds. Where I’m creative in order to come up with solutions, she’s creative just to create. She’s big picture, not details. She’s drama, not behind-the-scenes. She’s a prism waiting for that beam of light that allows her to explode with color.
Unfortunately, sometimes I don’t have the patience for such creativity. Just get it done. Keep it simple. Don’t make me drive out of the way. I’m quick to shut things down. Like much of the evangelical church, I am more comfortable on the left side of my brain. But God didn’t make us all that way and there is a vast force of God’s people out there who are straining under us lecture-teacher-preacher types. They are groaning, wondering where they fit in, filled with drama, music (not hymns or worship, but music just for music’s sake), dance, and art. My daughter is one of them. She wants to lead a night of worship at church – one where drawings, art and photo exhibits, music, and poetry are used to worship. She wants to cover the floor with paper and allow the kids to draw expressions of their love for God. And I am biting my tongue through it all, curbing my instincts to just shut it down because it is outside my box. I’ve seen in the past how a word with no forethought crushed her. And I don’t want to do that again. I’ve been quick to dismiss her contributions and God let me know that my dismissive attitude was sin. He showed me that He made her that way, that what she has to contribute is not only valid, but valuable, and I and the church at large are better for it. I know that this night of worship that she’s putting together will be a blessing to many. I am so proud of her and all of her accomplishments. I want to be like a mother tiger now, eating alive anyone who dares crush her soul, her biggest advocate and cheerleader, ready to help in whatever way I can to loosen her, to set her free.
The last month has provided me opportunities to help Anna learn to appreciate her own gifts as well, to help loosen her so God’s grace can flow through her gifts to others. She is as detail-oriented as Abby is creative. Anna has a passion for ministry, but sees ministry as being for the bold and the brave which she is not. She prefers helping behind the scenes. (Though I must say, she was awesome when she was in drama on stage.) She is an organizer, seeing efficiency problems and correcting them. Because I am similarly wired, it is easier for me to cheer on her gifts (until she starts correcting my parenting deficiencies). The hardest part for me is when she comes up with an alternative solution to my solution. I have to be careful not to shoot it down just because it didn’t originate with me. Sometimes I do and I see how it hurts her to not even be heard. Anna is often down on herself a lot as well, feeling as though she had “lesser” gifts, that she would never be able to marry her gifts with ministry. I assured her most churches and ministries are in desperate need of organization, but it tends to fall on deaf ears. Or it did until this month.
An Edict from the Mom went forth at the end of last summer that Mom would no longer employ her own children and any employable kids must find a summer job. As we brainstormed ideas, I tried to keep asking myself “How is Anna uniquely Anna?” or “Who did God make Anna to be?” When we found out that Grandma needed help moving and organizing her new home, that provided a solution for the first month. Then we decided that Anna could go help my friend with a ministry called Women at Risk (mentioned in a previous newsletter). They always need volunteers, categorizing the jewelry, helping in the office, doing data entry and mailings. So that will round out the rest of her summer. Anna was practically beaming when we landed on this idea. She could be her own unique self and help out a ministry at the same time! What God had created or loosed in heaven had just been loosed on earth. And if they give her free rein in that office, loosing her even more, her gift will flow and will be a blessing to all, as she organizes the snot out of it.
Mike and I have also been looking at his gifts. Though I readily see his gift of encouragement, I often find myself slipping into forcing him into my expectations rather than letting him live out who God made him to be. When allowed to be who God made him to be, he flourishes, men are encouraged, and God is glorified. Though slow, I am learning. And what’s more, as I learn, I grow in appreciation for my husband and who he is. This last week, Mike also decided to “loosen” me. (Hopefully, it won’t be too much – we’d hate to see what a fully-loosened Amy looks like!!) It appears (“God willing and the creek don’t rise”) that I will be returning to grad school to get more training so that I can improve my knowledge of the Word and people helping me to be a better teacher through my writing and speaking.
So I guess I want to close with a question this month: Who or what do you know that needs loosing? And how can you be a part of that?
Like a rock,
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise
Amy Shane
March, 2008 Limboland
March, 2008
Two and a half years ago, when our family business sold and Mike left his job there we made a decision to not make any decisions too quickly
Right near the end of our fasting period, we had a couple that wanted to see our home, but the day before they were to come, another guy came in to see it
We began talking about how God had brought about this miracle – an offer over our asking price in a bad market
The month ended with our moving into the rental the day before he was to come up and bring the money
I called my friend
Sometimes, after the wrestling, we find silence
So here I sit in limbo, with what seems to be unanswered prayers
Like a rock,
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise
Amy Shane
February, 2008 Speaking on Behalf of God
February, 2008
Many years ago, God used a sledgehammer to gently point out that my prideful attitude was destroying my marriage. Thinking back, it is a tribute to Mike’s patience that he even remained with me during those early years of our marriage. If you’ll pardon the expression, I was a witch with a capital B. On steroids. The thing is, I saw it as mostly mental – I only thought the thoughts. I didn’t actually verbalize them. Or so was my delusion. In reality (as I later realized), they seeped out like the unidentifiable stuff in the bottom of your vegetable drawer. The routing out of that hideous attitude was a grueling two-step process.
The first came a few months after our return from living in
And our marriage reflects it.
Unfortunately, just because you slay the beast in one area doesn’t mean it’s slain in all areas.
Last month, a women’s Bible study group wanted to invite my friend to come and present her ministry, Women at Risk (WAR). Unfortunately, the whole thing had come about very suddenly and on such short notice, she was unable to come. So they turned to me and asked me to come and present an overview to them in the 20 – 30 minute introduction time prior to the start of their study.
Most people who know me know that talking comes easily and that I could talk for a half hour even if I’m half-asleep. But this time it was different. I had taught Sunday School lessons a bazillion times, presented lectures for other engagements and presented them. When I speak about
But this – this was my friend’s ministry. Part of my job was to show the women the need for this ministry, to show how WAR is helping to fill the need, and to whet their appetite for my friend to come present it more in full. The more I dwelt on it, the more panicked I became. I know my friend well, but the ministry aspect I have only recently come to understand. And I have lived a privileged life here in
The “aha” moment rose slowly. This is what I should be feeling every time I’m speaking. Whether I speak to groups or my Sunday School, I’m representing God and His ministry here on earth. When I talk about
Once I knew I had it ready, I began to relax. And that was my problem. My guard had gone down.
Maybe because I had just written last month about wanting to increase my mailing list for this newsletter, a new thought arose. Hmmmm. A whole room full of women who don’t get my newsletter. Maybe I could tell them a little about it. Maybe I could drop a hint I’d be open to other speaking engagements or something else as well. A little marketing never hurt anyone. Thankfully, the Holy Spirit was quick with His sledgehammer to intervene. Oh yeah. I was there to represent someone else. That meant my goal was to be as transparent as possible, so that only my friend’s ministry stood out. He brought a line from my favorite hymn back to mind: “…and may they forget the channel, seeing only Him”. This was not the time for marketing me. In fact, it wasn’t about me at all.
Arrrgh! How’d I get to thinking about raising my own stature again? Why does this pride thing keep sneaking its ugly little talons into my brain? I began to think about my other speaking situations. What had been my motivations in those? To exalt self or to exalt Christ? What about Sunday School every week? Do I try to turn the kids’ minds to God or do I want them to see me as the “fun” teacher? Are we not always supposed to be representing the One who gave us life?
God has taken me to task so many times on this issue. He takes me over a major hurdle in this area only to have me trip on a pebble. Will I ever become a polished diamond in His hand or will He forever have me in His dop, chiseling away at another imperfection? Is there any hope for us rocks this side of heaven? Oh, wait a minute. I forgot. He likes to work with us rock-headed, chisel-avoiding, imperfect things called humans. What a wonder.
Like a rock,
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise
Amy Shane
January, 2008 Christmas Challenge
January, 2008
Last year, instead of the normal birthday gifts, my parents wanted to encourage their grandkids to look beyond themselves and give to others. So they gave each kid $50 with instructions add of their own money to it (as much as they wanted to add) and then find a project that they wanted to support and give it away. All they asked was a report on what they did with it.
We began talking about various projects and each birthday, when another kid got their funds, conversation would start up again. All of my kids did an awesome job. Abby had already made a practice of giving by sponsoring a World Vision child. Anna has always been careful to monitor her tithes. Emma has always been quick to feel other’s pain and gives quickly and without hesitation. And Ian and Elly are learning to do the same, though perhaps it takes more thought than instinct on their parts. I am so proud of all of my kids’ efforts.
One of my kids, however, really grasped the intent of this project. Not only did they give generously, they also desired anonymity in doing so. Thus, I will try to protect them with this awkward cryptic plural-pronoun style. Anyway, when this kid heard about it, they immediately started praying and asking God where He would like it to be given. And they started doing research into projects that they would feel a vested interest in – one that would capture their hearts, and not just their money. All of my kids set aside an extra 10% offering of their allowance for this giving during the year, but this one did some calculations and realized that their 10% wasn’t enough to do what they wanted to accomplish. They had chosen Women at Risk ministries, an organization run by a friend of mine which reaches out to (obviously) women at risk throughout the world through various economic projects, safe houses, etc. They help with rescuing women caught in the sex slave industry, women who have been widowed who are destitute or abandoned, and girls about to leave an orphanage with no means to support themselves, to name a few. Though I tried to explain that God didn’t look at the size of the gift, but at the heart of the person giving it, this child refused to be swayed. They went over their allowance, eliminating every extra, keeping only expenses that were absolute necessities. They then took all of the rest of their allowance to put toward the project. Extra odd jobs went into the fund. And then the topper: they requested no Christmas gifts. From anyone. They wanted only cash that could be put toward their fund.
At first I thought I’d still buy my child a small gift, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that to honor my child, I needed to follow their request. It was the hardest shopping time I have ever done. Buying gifts for 4 out of 5 children. I felt like a Grinch or an evil mother. And unlike previous years, I went overboard. It wasn’t that I was trying to rub salt into the wound, but it almost came across that way. Yet I knew I was doing as asked. Christmas day was even harder. Yes, the child got a couple of trinkets in their stocking, but when everyone else was blowing through wrapping paper, this child sat quiet. I could see by the look in their eyes that they were determined not to feel badly. Yet it was a struggle. They knew they had asked for this. My heart was torn. Even when my child opened the box that held the check for the ministry and their smile returned, I think a tear may have also been visible. It was tough.
The next week, this child received a call from the ministry telling my child about a girl in the Middle East who was being raped in her home by an uncle and needed to get out and on her own to be away from that evil man. They needed money to help train her with some job skills and help get her set up in business in a culturally appropriate way. Could they use the money for this project?
My child was exuberant that evening. To know they had helped a specific individual, someone with a name and a real story made it all worth it. I think a general sacrifice is too generic, too nebulous. Jesus gave His own life in sacrifice for us. He didn’t do it for a blank face or for someone He didn’t know. He knows us each. By name. Scripture says that I am going to get a new name, one that I don’t even know myself yet, known only to Jesus right now. Joy comes when we know that sacrifice is for a purpose. Someday, I hope my child will get to meet the person they helped. It may not be until heaven, but that’s fine.
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise
Amy Shane
December, 2007 Over Scheduled Kids
December, 2007
I just finished reading The Over-Scheduled Child thinking it would be interesting to see how and why other parents push their kids so hard. I could never understand such a mindset. From before we were married, I was more concerned about being The Over-Scheduled Parent. My kids were only going to have piano lessons. Period. Then I had kids. I resisted over-scheduling, but each kid wanted to be in band, in sports, in Bible studies, playing piano. Not each one every year, but they all wanted to do what their friends were doing. As a result, we put nearly 30,000 miles on the car the other year. To justify, I attributed it to having five kids.
The book talked about this trap where American parents are presented with so many opportunities for their children. Thirty years ago, sports were offered in junior high and high school only. Now grade schools have all kinds of after-school programs and many communities offer sports often beginning at age three. Music lessons used to start in grade school, but now with Suzuki, your child can be a prodigy before they are potty trained. Even preschool was a rarity. Now we can’t even watch the evening news without being told we are negligent if we don’t send our kids to preschool. Don’t believe it? Consider one commercial which begins with a doctor’s face morphing into in college student’s face, morphing into a high school student’s, all the way back to a preschooler wearing a mortarboard. Meanwhile, the voiceover explains only preschool will make your child successful. It doesn’t go to the extent of declaring it child abuse if parents opt out of preschool, but it comes close. I thought the commercial ludicrous until I remembered that I had sent my daughter to preschool to “improve her social skills”.
Parents, brainwashed by commercials such as these, sign their kids up for preschool while they are still in utero. Ridiculous! At least I waited until my first daughter was four months old. And then it was for the preferred kindergarten, not preschool. Oh. Yeah. Maybe it’s not just other parents. I, too, had been duped.
As I read further, I realized I fell in other areas too. What parent hasn’t played Mozart next to a slumbering infant or put headphones to a bulging belly in hopes that it would improve their child’s math score? Who hasn’t, as they were reaching for a fun, song-filled video, changed their minds, choosing instead one that had songs AND was educational? What parent hasn’t purchased a black and white mobile to stimulate the child visually – as though the world weren’t stimulating enough after nine months of darkness?
The problem is I’m older and wiser now and I’m still giving in to “the wisdom of the experts” or to just ordinary peer pressure. Recently Emma wasn’t getting a math concept and her grade went down. A lot. The news often talks of how
So what’s the big deal? Who cares if
Another day I heard that the cost of Ian’s karate class was one price for up to four practice times. He was only going once a week. “I think we should sign him up for another night or two,” I suggested to my husband. His immediate response was a simple “Why?”
Technically it wasn’t to get our money’s worth. I had been satisfied with one night a week at that price. But here was an opportunity to improve. And aren’t we obligated to follow through on every opportunity?
“So he’ll get better, of course.” Wasn’t that obvious?
“Why?” he asked again. Then he gently reminded me that Ian was in it to have fun – and to burn off some excess testosterone. “Who cares if he gets better?”
OK, now there were two examples of having been duped. Then I started thinking about the trip I took with Abby this summer. Originally we thought up the idea to give each child some one-on-one time with a parent before our babies fly the nest. (We came up with what I thought to be a fair arrangement: I take all of the girls; Mike takes all of the boys.) But the trip wasn’t enough. I felt guilty for just having fun. Shouldn’t I be teaching her something as well? Maybe we should visit a ministry or two while over there. I was doing it again. She’ll be a “better” person spiritually if we add in a ministry component. It took a monumental act of the will to remind myself of our intended purpose. It was to have fun, enjoy each other, build our relationship, and peep inside her heart. Don’t get me wrong. I – of all people – think it’s important to build a mission-minded heart in our children. But I let my product-minded outcome overshadow the process of relationship. So now we are going with no agenda but to discover a deeper relationship with each other.
Do we have to provide our children with something just because we can? Do they have to “maximize their potential” in every area? It took me 40 years to learn the concept of everything having a season. Maybe I’ll save my kids some grief if I can teach this to them earlier.
Like a rock,
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise
Amy Shane
November, 2007 Vacation and Growing Up
November, 2007
For years, Mike and I have played the divide-and-conquer game. At home and on vacation one of us would sit back at the relative’s house or hotel so EIE could take naps and just play while the other one took Abby and Anna to a movie or to a party or some other fun activity. Less often, one of us would get Abby and Anna going on some project while the other would take EIE to the beach or to some other activity that the older girls would find boring.
But this month we took a vacation and for the first time, all seven of us could do the same activities. We spent a day on a catamaran snorkeling, on another we took a family surfing lesson. We did the beach and ocean together as well as the pool slides. We even all went out exercising together (some of us more than others). It was so much fun. Only problem was that next fall Abby is leaving so I don’t know if we’ll ever get this opportunity again. Next thing I know it’ll be back to divide and conquer only I’ll be the grandma staying behind to take care of kiddos so their parents can go out!
We saw some other interesting changes happening on this trip as well. It seems Emma is ready to move out of the “younger kids” category and move into the “older girls” group. (no more EIE??) We knew this was coming from the frequent references to a desire for her own room. She’s now “more mature” and “can handle more responsibility” since “she keeps HER side of the room clean”. She was the first to master the surfboard and joined in the exercise every day instead of giving in to sleep like Ian and Elly. The problem is that Abby and Anna still see her as “below the gap” in terms of age and aren’t quite ready to have her join their ranks.
I remember this happening in my own family growing up. My two younger sisters took a stand and declared to the family that they were no longer to be referred to as “the little girls”. And then my mom started making me take Lisa (the next in age younger, but still “below the gap”) along with me to all of my grown up activities. I had to take her down to
I’m trying to figure out how to get Emma’s older sisters to include her now. They don’t roller skate and most of their activities are with their sports teams or their high school youth group, which she can’t attend. I’ve been trying to encourage Abby to think of her siblings when she might want to go to a movie or something. Anna enjoys doing stuff with them, but often it is as a director rather than as co-participants. I think it would be fun for the youth group to have an occasional “invite your siblings” night where they would advocate intra-family relationships. Imagine high school girls hosting a “princess night” where they do manicures or pedicures and have a party, or the high school boys hosting a “basketball evening” and teaching a few tricks of the trade to their younger male siblings. It would help our kids remember that they are role models whether they like it or not.
In the same way, I am trying to ease into the idea of my oldest becoming an adult. I have tried to support my daughter’s quest for independence. And now that I think about it, it was not a concept that I had to teach her. I realize that next year at this time, she’ll be off on her own (sort of – there IS that tuition thing), able to vote (!), and beginning to give form to the thought of a future mate. I try to seek out her opinion on some things and try to include her in whenever we can when Mike and I are discussing adult issues. And Anna is not far behind her on the same path. (For that matter, she may be ahead of her sister in a couple of areas, but don’t tell them I said so!) It is a feeling of excitement mixed with horror. “Have I done enough? What else do I need to squeeze in? Is it too late? I’m not finished!!!”
I was thinking about how God must feel each time one of His kids launches into new territory. But I figure He already knows what’s going to happen, so He probably doesn’t feel it in quite the same way. (I can see Him pumping His victorious fist going, “Yes, she chose the right path! I just knew she would!” Well…sure…of course He would know…) I only have to go through the severe joy of launching five times. God’s been through it millions of times. The cool thing is, where I’m launching them from home, He’s launching them toward home.
In the meantime, I think I’ll just savor these last few months.
Like a rock,
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise
Amy Shane
October, 2007 Endure Trials
October, 2007
It seems this year my mind has been on suffering a lot. In my usual myopic way, I tend to first think of my own suffering and applications of the lessons I’ve learned there. But this last month, one of my friends lost most of his ministry retreat center in the fires in Southern CA while two other friends have begun serious battles against cancer, and still another had a child in a severe accident. I found myself trying to figure out what I’ve learned and then how to communicate that to them. As I reflected, I constantly wandered back to the book of Hebrews. Why? Because Hebrews is full of people who did not lose hope, but had faith to continue on.
Actually, let me start with the book of James where James tells us that the trials or testing of our faith develops patience within us. It’s easy to see where being persecuted specifically for one’s beliefs is a trial of faith, but how can illnesses, disasters, accidents test our faith? My friend has an analogy which I’ve frequently plagiarized that begins with a tube of toothpaste. She explains that when squeezed, the tube spits out that which has been put into it. Usually that substance is toothpaste, but if I put ketchup into the tube, despite what the label says, if you squeeze it, you’d better have some french fries handy. In the same way, when life squeezes us (and it always does, in the form of trials or testing), what comes out is our character which is made up of what we put into our lives. Therefore, trials reveal our character. And if we don’t like what we see, we have the opportunity to change it. So where does the patience that James talks about come in?
I believe that it comes when we quit asking “why” and start asking “what”, as in “What do you want me to learn from this, God?” We acknowledge that God is sovereign, that He is in control of the situation and He could remove (or prevent) it at any time. But now we have to have faith that He has allowed it, yes, even put it there, for a purpose. And that purpose is to develop our character (and the character of those around us who will also be influenced by this trial). When I looked at other translations of this passage, I found the word patience is also translated perseverance and endurance. This endurance then leads to maturity and joy. So the key, when in a trial, is to endure. Gut it out. Keep on keepin’ on. We have to endure the trial. Not try to escape it. Not even try to mitigate it. But the learning, the maturity, comes in the enduring.
The picture that comes to my mind is if you were holding a cat and then you extended your arm and started spinning around. The cat would clamber as close to the center-point of the spinning as possible and then dig its claws in as deeply as they could go and though it let out a howl to pierce your eardrums it wouldn’t let go. (OK, so it’s not the best analogy….) Anyway, when we want to endure, we need climb as close to the unshakable center of our faith and stick our claws in. In difficult times, we cannot go with our emotions, but we need to stick with what we know: God loves me. God desires His absolute best for me. God is faithful. Like Jacob in the Old Testament, I will not let go until You, the source of all blessings, have blessed me.
So then I moved on to Hebrews, where over chapter 11 which is often called “The Faith Chapter”, I sometime long ago wrote “The Endurance Chapter”. Therein is listed many of the godly predecessors of the early church. These people were well-known to them as those who endured much, having their faith tested, and because of their endurance and their obedience during their trial they were rewarded. It didn’t mean their trial disappeared. Noah was thought to be a crazy man, Moses suffered with the Israelites. The chapter talks of those who escaped death, but it also talks of the many who were tortured, stoned to death, or sawn in two. Chapter ten talks of those who had their property confiscated but they reacted with joy.
God never promises that life will be easy or that the trials will disappear if we respond correctly. But Hebrews 10:36 says that when we do persevere we will receive what He promises. But we must love Him more than whatever it is that the trial is threatening to take away. Trials may strip us of our property. Do I love Him more than that? They may threaten to rob us of our reputation. Do I love Him more than what others think of me? If they actively speak against me? And sometimes, those trials may take our very lives. Revelation 12 speaks of those who did not love their lives more than they loved Christ. This is the ultimate test. There’s no backpedaling. If the trials of life squeeze you to your actual death, you only get that one chance to show your true character. There’s no second chance to remedy it or make corrections. Do I love Jesus more than I love my own life? Will He call me to that testimony?
I had a talk with someone last week on intrinsic versus extrinsic motivation. It seems this wonderful teacher wanted to have her class be motivated from within so she did not offer many rewards for the accomplishments the kids made. I can understand her logic, in that it seems that a child should come up with a self-placating reward. It certainly would be a lot easier to get my kids to make their beds. Society is filled with extrinsic rewards – whether it be a paycheck from a workplace, a smile from a parent, or the accolades of friends. And throughout Scripture, God promises rewards to those who persevere. James fills us in on a couple of those promises: maturity, not lacking in anything (v. 4); joy (v. 2); and a crown of life (v 12) to those who love Him. Hebrews even talks of Jesus’ motivation – “who for the joy set before Him endured the cross”. He was able to endure the worst trial of all because He knew He’d have the joy of the Father’s pleasure in Him and would be rewarded by being seated at His Father’s right hand, and He’d have the joy of drawing all men to Himself and living with them eternally.
Sometimes when I am running and find myself flagging as I go uphill, I find if I can look at an object, say a particular plant on the side of the road, a rock, a tree, or anything out ahead of me, I can endure the hill. The object seems to draw me to itself, almost pulling me up the hill. Hebrews 12 tells us how not to grow weary and lose heart. We must fix our eyes on the author and finisher of our faith. Jesus is the one who gave us faith to begin with. And He is the one who will complete or perfect it. Further on in the chapter it explains how the reward of righteousness and peace will come. And it doesn’t say whether “later on” means on earth or in heaven.
So, to my friends, I say hang on. Cling to the One who holds you. Dig in your claws. Persevere. Endure. Fix your eyes on Jesus Christ. There are rewards, but they come after the endurance. Now put one foot in front of the other and run.
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise
September, 2007 Competing with Kids
September, 2007
It’s a classic for a Disney movie: never able to simply play a game of basketball or monopoly and just enjoy his children, an ultra-egotistical father always is competing against his own children, alienating them until he finally is convicted and becomes the gentle, caring parent we all strive for. But add a twist to that scenario, making it a mom with an ego who competes against her own flesh and blood and no one would finish watching the movie. “What kind of mother would be sick enough to be like that?” Well, yeah. It’s me.
You see, I, like 99% of the world, struggle with self image. I struggle with being a woman. We no longer live in the age of women-as-chattel, yet it still rubs me the wrong way when women are passed over for positions (whether it be in the corporate world or in the church) just because of our gender. And I struggle with where a woman with the gift of leadership fits in Christendom. I read Scripture. And I know some denominations will turn it to fit what they want. But I can’t do that. So I’m left with “Why, God? Why did You set it up this way?”
I wrestle with the fact that, despite rhetoric to the contrary, stay at home moms are looked down on. I know everyone says it is the “hardest job in the world” (which I’d agree with), but I’ve been to too many dinners where, during the polite phase of conversation, eyes glaze over and conversation turns to others with “more interesting” careers to talk about. So, in an effort to feel better, I spent years pushing myself. When I was younger, I did art. Then it was smocking and sewing, followed by language studying. I would cook for an army, freezing multiple meals. I’d drive the kids all over kingdom come and squeeze in 6 loads of laundry between trips. (Alright, sometimes that was pushing, sometimes that was a necessity…) I’d learn something new on the computer. Or I’d design a house. Something, anything, to keep my mind active, to feel worthwhile to myself.
This whole competitive thing causes me to still struggle with jealousy. I envy those deemed important in the world’s eyes. Of those thinner, smarter, whatever-er. Don’t get me wrong. I know that even if the world looks down on stay at home moms, their children see their moms as important. And I know what God says on the subjects of jealousy and pride. (Yikes!) Those who want to lead need to be the servant of all. The last shall be first. Those who compare themselves among themselves are not wise. I am getter better in this area, learning to rejoice with those who rejoice.
But yesterday was a particularly low point. Remember the puppy I mentioned last month? Well, “Daisy” is now with us, a virtual ball of fluff. And yesterday, as I was picking encrusted poop out of her fur around her rear end, all I could think of was “A college education for this??? Why send my daughters if this is what they have to look forward to?” One friend was quick to correct me. “Yes, Amy, servanthood isn’t very pretty. So, what attitude did you have while you were picking poop?” I didn’t answer her since the answer would have been a synonym for what I was picking out of Daisy’s rump. Fortunately, God didn’t let me wallow too long. That same afternoon I was on the internet and saw a photo of President Bush holding open the door of the White House for his dog and I realized that even our president has probably had his turn at the emptying end of a canine, taking care of what needs to be done.
There is, however, one comforting thing about motherhood. Yes, I tend toward jealousy of anyone who does better than I in any given area, but with my kids it’s different. I WANT them to do better. I love that my kids are better athletes than I ever was. (Admittedly, a rock is a better athlete than I ever was.) I am so proud of Anna’s depth of character. It thrills me to hear Elly sing, to watch Ian reason through a difficult math problem, to hear Emma rattle off verses by memory. To see Abby’s beauty in her senior pictures was incredible. And to rejoice with her this week when
The struggle continues. I loathe the idea of finding my value in what my kids accomplish. But the Holy Spirit is quick to remind me that it is equally futile to find my value in what I, myself, accomplish. No, we need to find our value in Christ, in the fact that the God of the universe created us, loves us enough to become one of us, and cares about us still – to the intimate knowledge of knowing every hair on our heads. We are valuable because God says we are. Coming to fully understand that is a two-steps-forward, one-step-back process. Learning to remember it on a daily basis is what the sanctification process is all about.
Like a rock,
The Submissive Despot
Amy Shane
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