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The love of and desire for God that I possessed earlier in life had been replaced by busy-ness, by duty, by empty activities.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?

Like a rock,

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. Little did I realize that it would be this long. Finally, last fall we decided we were going to leave our beautiful home and move closer to the high school. The day after we put our home up for sale, the newspapers read “housing market tanks”. In the time that ensued, we began to rethink our decision, coming up with tons of options. Unfortunately, the more options we came up with, the more muddied the water became until by the end of January, we were totally confused. In the past, when I’ve been in situations like this, I have added fasting to my praying and God has always honored that, providing answers every time (though not always the answers I had thought I wanted). So this time around I opted for a 40-day period fasting and prayer to ask God to make our direction clear. Mike decided to join me. I began with high expectations.

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. Long story, short, he made an offer and added about 6% over our asking price so that he could have it within two weeks, later agreeing to 30 days. A week later, after a second look, he added even more to the offer to buy our furnishings, from the artwork down to the pots and pans. He was a young guy, a rock star who, it was obvious, deeply needed God. We said yes, and began the process of sorting every individual drawer and cupboard, getting rid of excess, packing up personal stuff and leaving the rest for him as a turn-key. It was an incredible experience to look at every item I owned and ask if it were personally meaningful so that I would want to keep it or should it stay behind? I found when I thought about leaving it behind as a way to care for and possibly reach the buyer for God, I was ready to leave just about everything. Had it been just an anonymous face, I would have felt far more attached.

We began talking about how God had brought about this miracle – an offer over our asking price in a bad market. We were thrilled that our kids were direct witness to a real-life miracle as well. And when Mike began to think about moving into a (comparatively) very small house that he knew about, I saw why God had the guy buying our furnishings. A rental opened up next door to friends that needed grunt work but the owner was willing to work with us. Everything began to fall into place. It was a crazy month, but every bump was met with the knowledge that God has answered our prayers for clarity. People were talking about what God had done and praising Him. Two friends were challenged to begin incorporating the spiritual discipline of fasting into their lives. Others were simply encouraged and rejoiced with us.

The month ended with our moving into the rental the day before he was to come up and bring the money. Then he didn’t show. And no one could contact him. After a week of no contact, we were forced to the conclusion that he had taken us all for a ride, the rock star thing was nothing more than a possible way to hook up with his realtor or he simply enjoyed seeing what he could get away with. Mike had to leave for China, and I was left behind wondering “What in the world was that, God???” Was He trying to teach me faith? I had complete faith that He’d bring it to pass. Was He showing me how to let go of my stuff? I honestly don’t think I held it that tightly – it wasn’t that hard to let go! (Although, in a nod to total honesty, most stuff I figured if I wanted it badly enough, I could just buy a duplicate.) Was it that God reneged? Had I just witnessed the first instance of His unfaithfulness? Or was this just the results of living in a fallen world? I figured if it were that, God could overcome that fact if He wanted to. All I can say is if one more person says “It must not have been God’s will for this deal to happen” I will scream. Knowing my gut feelings, I’m surprised the Biblical character Job didn’t just haul off and smack one of his buddies. To me, to stick the “God’s will” bandaid on wounds just causes me to feel as though I am not being intellectually honest. I don’t mind recognizing God’s hand in things, in fact I rely heavily on being aware of His sovereignty, but to slap some platitudinal bandaid on without first wrestling through the issue is a copout, the result of giving up or not being willing to mentally deal with the hard stuff. (Of course, if I’m the one kissing the wound to make it better, it’s probably appropriate.)

I called my friend. After sympathizing, she said that maybe God was trying to force me to learn to live in limbo, that maybe Amy-the-planner-and-executor would have to take a back seat and wait in the grey fog for a while. Maybe even try to enjoy it. She said that maybe God didn’t want things clearer, that His purpose was not to have me figuring out what to do, but rather to make me Christ-like. Have you ever had a friend that can both simultaneously hug you and kick your rear at the same time? I used to like that kind of friend. This time, I told her to shut up.

Sometimes, after the wrestling, we find silence. Like Orual in Till We Have Faces (C.S. Lewis), I cry for an audience with the gods, only to find myself silent, on my face, because there is no human explanation.

So here I sit in limbo, with what seems to be unanswered prayers. We’re back to the muck and mire of not knowing what direction we’re going. We are still in the rental, but we might move back to our old home if no buyer shows up soon. And I’m waiting. Well, OK, I’m making all kinds of contingency plans while I’m waiting, but I’m still waiting. Waiting to fall in love with this limboland, waiting to see what Christ-like quality comes out of this. Just waiting. And maybe, I too will find, as Orual discovered, that God sometimes does not answer because He, himself, is the answer.

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 China. Using a mental picture combined with an almost-audible voice of the Holy Spirit, God showed me what He thought of my proclivity for pride. The conviction was intense, the repentance pure. Then began the second step of the day-by-day retraining of my mind. Every time a self-exalting or others-bashing thought came to my mind, I had to capture it, confess it, re-focus and replace it with a God-honoring one. It was tough. At first, the thought-training came dozens of times each hour. Only sleep offered a respite. Slowly, I realized it was taking less time; instead of hourly, it was daily, then weekly. After about two years, I finally felt free of the beast.

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 China or my children, it’s no problem – those are MY territory.

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 America – how do I, if I have rarely seen poverty or pain as severe as these women endure – how do I represent it to these ladies? What if I can’t present it well? What if they scoff at me since I have never visited the safe houses that I am supposed to be talking about? What if the women don’t want my friend to come speak and it was simply because my presentation was lousy? What in the world do I think I’m doing?

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 China. And when I write about my kids or my thoughts in this newsletter. Holy cow. Do I know enough about His ministry, His intentions, His purposes? Do I know enough about the topic I’m teaching? Do I know enough about Him and His character to present Him so well that it whets others’ appetites to invite Him in, to linger with Him longer? What in the world do I think I’m doing? I prepared probably twice as much as I had ever done getting ready for that little intro talk.

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.

Like a rock,

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 America is “falling behind” in math and the sciences. We are made to panic if our kids aren’t finished with algebra by 5^th grade. (Well, maybe that’s a little exaggeration.) Nevertheless, I succumbed to the panic and called my sister who has her kids in a math tutoring program. I know tutoring is OK for kids who have a tough time with a subject, but many enrolled are actually good students whose parents just want them to get a “leg up” on the competition. I doubt most of those will be engineers or other high-math careers.

So what’s the big deal? Who cares if America falls behind? Aren’t we supposed to be more concerned about the quality of kids we are raising rather than their SAT score achievements? Is this really as big a crisis as what the media wants us to think? Emma is a creative type. She loves dance and has a great imagination. Does she need an A+ in math? Most dancers only need math to be able to count to eight. (I’m not dissing dancers, so put down your arsenal. What I’m saying is the world needs all types.) We wrestled with the idea of tutoring, but after one week of parental (actually, grandparental) help, she was off and running again and her grades bounced back just fine. We shelved the tutoring.

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 Grand Rapids whenever I went roller skating, maybe to prevent something scandalous from happening. (Though “Baptist Night” at the roller rink was pretty safe, you could never be too sure on “Gospel Night”.) Anyway, she started tagging along and it wasn’t long before I realized she too was human.

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.

Like a rock,

The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise

Amy Shane

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 Bakersfield’s newspaper published her article was so cool. At the same time, my human side was glad that I beat her to publication. My article made it into Focus on the Family’s September parenting issue. I beat her by three whole weeks. Mom reigns. (Oh, wait. She’s only 16. I’m in my 40’s. I guess the point goes to Abby.,) Regardless, I’m going to have to stay on my toes. Someday they’ll all pass me up. Abby’s already passed me in piano. She’s on her way in writing. Soon they will have higher degrees, cleaner houses and be better cooks. How wonderful it will be to ask their opinion on some spiritual matter and be blessed by their insight.

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 Louise

Amy Shane

August, 2007 Sins of a Mother

August, 2007

Scripture says that the sins of a father are visited down upon their children and generations beyond. I think that this can imply the consequences of the sin are carried down as well as the sins themselves. Often, when a parent has a bad habit, the kids are conditioned to continue on with the same habits. In the same way, blessings and good habits are also passed down.

This week I was with a certain (unnamed) child who had a project due. The directions called for the project to be done on 11 x 17 white construction paper, of which we were out. Most stores were also out, but finally, a couple of errands later, we scored a pack of multi-colored paper. Two sheets of white were included. As my child began the project, I heard a desperate cry for help. It seems the package of paper was the wrong size! The label said 18 x 12.

“And the problem is…?” I queried.

“I’ll get in trouble. It’s the wrong size. It’ll never work,” said child wailed.

“So…trim it,” I said with as much sarcasm in my tone as I could muster.

“Yeah, right, Mom. How am I supposed to make 12 inches turn into 17?”

I stared, dumbfounded. This was my brilliant A+ child? I turned to the wall and in dramatic fashion began pounding my head against it. Apparently I did this too well – I had a headache for hours afterwards.

“Please tell me you are not that dense!” was the only response I had at that moment.

It was the wrong response.

Said child looked at me, with hurt deep in their eyes and promptly flew out the door, crushed. (It didn’t help that other siblings in listening distance laughed at the confused one.)

As my new headache began, I went to my room to lie down for a couple of minutes to figure out how I could scrape together the remnants of my brilliant mothering gaffe.

As soon as I lay down, a certain persistent memory returned. I was in my early teens, riding with my family to some destination that I can’t now remember when we asked the age-old question, “How much longer?” My dad asked the nearest house number and then replied that it was two and a half more miles until we got there.

“How’d you know that?” I asked.

My dad looked in his rearview mirror, dumbfounded, before grunting out a gasp of disbelief and responded something to the effect of, “Well, everybody with a brain knows there’s eight blocks to a mile.”

Maybe it was because I held my dad’s opinion in such high esteem that I wanted him to think highly of me. Maybe it was because every blossoming teenager wants to be seen as smart. Whatever the reason, that response dug deep into my soul.

As I lay on my bed, God brought that back to my mind so fast, it made my head spin. (Or maybe it was the headache?? Whatever.) I realized I had just pierced my child’s soul with the sword of my sharp tongue. I went to apologize but, right then, said child wanted nothing to do with me. So I went back to nurse my pounding head. As I lay staring at the fan spinning overhead, God’s gentle Spirit again returned with his sledgehammer.

Five months ago, we decided to get a dog for my son. The intent was to give him more responsibility as well as a playmate of the male variety. (It was much cheaper than the brother he was asking for.) When we went to pick up the dog, Mike and I discussed that his sisters wouldn’t like the fact that he was getting a dog when they had been the ones pestering for one. Long story short, we ended up with two new puppies to go with the older dog we already had.

Unfortunately, it turned out I was quite allergic to the girls’ dog. We ended up having to give the sweet thing away, but we told the girls we’d try to get them another. We just didn’t realize how peaceful the house would be with one less puppy. And we went through way less food. And had fewer messes to clean up. It wasn’t long until Mike and I were trying to figure out a way to get out of obtaining another dog.

God’s Spirit brought this all back to mind. “But, God, we didn’t promise!”

His Spirit responded with a question of our intent.

Well, I suppose we intended to replace the dog. But we never intended to get the dog in the first place. She had been a spontaneous purchase.

I wrestled for quite a while over the guilt of my lousy parenting. Broken promises. Skewered spirits. Would I ever get the stupid mothering thing right? Needless to say, we are getting a third dog. And when my wounded child was ready, I approached with a humbled spirit.

Later that same night, another child emptied her bank to bring all of her money in to school in response to a need for a family that had had a fire. I remembered my parents making comments about me giving away everything so that I’d have nothing left for myself. I smiled. I’d much rather have a kid inherit my spirit of generosity instead of my sharp tongue. I let her know she was doing a good thing. “Thanks, God. I needed to know that I had a few good character traits that would be passed down as well.” Just like God to bandage my own wounded spirit.

Decades of bringing up my father’s gaffe over and over finally got him to apologize profusely for his outspoken remark. And many years later he even admitted that the eight-block rule doesn’t apply to every locale. It has become something of a family joke but all of my children will know that there are eight blocks to a mile. And though he was long ago forgiven, I’ll continue to hold it over his head whenever it is to my advantage. I just hope my own child is more merciful.

Like a rock,

The Submissive Despot

Amy Louise

Amy Shane

July, 2007 Treasuring the Time

July, 2007

I keep telling myself that I am doing this right. I mean, it was my intention to raise my kids to leave, so why am I so surprised that she is ready to go? My kids have to leave before they can cleave and I’ve figured it’s my job to get them ready to fly. So why am I so sad that it appears I’ve been successful? In all honesty, if my child weren’t ready to go, I’d consider my work a failure.

Abby has one year left here in the nest, yet the look in her eyes tells me she’s ready to go now. Why does she have to be that ready? The anticipation comes through in nearly every conversation and is almost palpable when I watch her around her friends at church or school. Though I love all of my five children, the truth is that with each additional one, a little less individualized time goes to the others. So this summer, I decided to take a one-on-one trip to Italy with my oldest daughter. Our time was incredible as I watched this beautiful young woman handle various situations with grace and maturity. I listened to her dreams, watched as she explored, sat amazed as she demonstrated amazing photographic skills, and followed dutifully as she shopped. Then toward the end of the trip, she began to gravitate toward the others on the tour who were more her own age. My heart was torn – happy that she was so joyful doing what teens do best (socializing) and yet grieved to realize that it was no longer I who was the object of her admiration.

I returned home with a renewed and deepened love for my precious daughter. And now I find myself wanting to milk every moment that I have left, suck the marrow of our time together, lick the bottom of the frosting bowl of this last season… You get the picture. Unfortunately, habits that I started early on in my parenting are now coming back to bite me. When Abby was a toddler, I didn’t want her needing a story to get to sleep. No bedtime rituals. You go to bed, you go to sleep. It worked. She’s still sleeping soundly.

I also have been the type to hit the floor running, burning myself out by about six o’clock so all I could do was fall into bed two minutes after the kids. I rarely tucked them in, just hollering good-night from my own bed over the intercom. And even though I had read many times that bedtime is the best time for talking, that it is when they let down their reserves and are most open and honest, I was too pooped to try. Now I find I want to be more intentional about saving some energy so that I can be there to talk, lingering before they drift off; I want in on those thoughts and dreams. I still have a chance with the other four, but I am afraid it may be too late with Abby. Her independence is deeply ingrained and her personality is one that doesn’t open up easily. Yet she is such an amazing person, I find I want to know her more. Sometimes I feel such pride in who she is becoming that it literally makes my chest ache. I hope she knows that. (Maybe, after reading this, she can tuck it in a corner of her heart.)

Everyone told me that the time with your children flies by quickly. And in one sense I acknowledged the truth of that statement, yet the truth of it didn’t change how I approached my parenting. (Yes, Mom, you told me so.) My to-do list is still too long and I’m always trying to cram in “one more thing” which makes me always run a little late. I am trying to take more time and smell the roses with my kids these days. And I am seeing that Abby is not the only child of mine that is amazing. How could I have gotten so blessed? I am just grateful that I am learning these lessons while I still have one year left with Abby and before the others are all grown and gone. Now if I can just nail Abby’s feet to the floor….

Like a rock,
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise

Amy Shane

P.S. If you’ve got more than one child, I highly recommend the one-on-one trip, whether it is to Europe, to another state, camping near home, or to a local McDonald’s. There’s something about that focused time that opens new avenues of communication and makes it very special.

June, 2007 Vengeance

June, 2007

I just finished up yet another sermon series on my iPod. I love listening to a series because it motivates me out for the next run. This last series was one on Proverbs.

One of the last sessions was on repairing relationships. In it, the speaker, talking about anger and forgiveness, quoted the old “ ‘Vengeance is Mine’, saith the Lord.” Ten years ago, I went through an extensive amount of “spiritual surgery” and learned a lot about forgiveness. But this speaker said something in a new way that smacked me right between the eyes.

He talked about how we typically interpret that verse to mean God will take vengeance in the future. And it does. The anger we feel for having been wronged will be poured out on the perpetrator when God takes vengeance. But then the speaker gave another way of looking at that verse, saying it could mean “Vengeance is mine”, in that God would receive the vengeance. That anger that I feel has been directed at and poured out upon Jesus. God took the vengeance from my heart and poured it out on His own Son at the cross. I don’t need to wait for the vengeance in the future. It’s been taken.

I kept backing up the recording and re-listening to it. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that angry. Is that how angry I should be? Or maybe it is that the vengeance being poured out on Christ is in response to the sins I’ve committed against others??? I’ve never thought of myself angry enough to exact that kind of vengeance. The amount of vengeance that would kill a man on a cross is so, well, so. . .ugly. But maybe that’s because I’ve never really been horribly wronged. I’ve lived a life of privilege and ease.

There are others who have been cheated or have had stuff stolen. There are those who have been lied to and betrayed. There are precious souls who have been abandoned and abused. Across the globe, there are people who have been tortured, raped, or have had family murdered in front of their eyes. Three weeks ago, we visited the Holocaust museum and witnessed just that. Even today, similar atrocities continue. These people, not I, have a right to be angry. And God promises to avenge those evils as well.

It just got me thinking. To picture God as angry is weird for this pampered American. Yet, in as much as God cannot be more loving, He also cannot be more angry. He is perfectly all-love, all-mercy, all-justice, and, yes, all-anger. We are truly “sinners in the hands of an angry God”. Yet this same God chose to channel that anger upon His own Son. No wonder David in the Old Testament said he’d rather fall into the hands of God instead of the hands of man.

I’m not going to argue the theology of whether Christ’s death absorbed the vengeance for all sins or only those who accept Him as Savior. If He absorbed all vengeance, it’s done. If it is only for those who accept Him, it will be done. He’ll exact vengeance for the rest later. The point is I don’t need to seek my own vengeance because God is a better record-keeper than I. (Keeping track of the stars, sparrows, and hairs on my head give Him a credible track record.)

So, if we have a perfect record-keeper and a perfect vengeance-taker, why are there circumstances where we prefer to lick our wounds and keep them fresh? There are days when I’ve been hurt and have started to nurse the wound and the Holy Spirit prompts me to surrender it over to His record book. I then attempt to ignore His promptings. I figure I’ll forgive later on, after I’ve wallowed just a little bit more. Maybe all I need is an afternoon. Just let me hang on to it for a little longer, God. Sometimes it feels good to curl up with a ball of self-pity and nurse it a while. Not long enough to take root. Just long enough to feel it. Of course, I can’t stand self-pity in others. And I can only tolerate it in myself for a short while. Usually, the nagging of the Holy Spirit greatly overshadows the good feelings I get from holding onto a grudge.

There are two things that I’ve found really help me get a grip on my anger. The first is to have a really good friend who walks with God that I can talk to. I find talking through things with another prevents me from harboring secret grudges. Wearing my feelings on my sleeves keeps me from harboring them in a closet of my heart. And the light reveals things for what they really are. The friends I have chosen will call me on it every time. The other is to have a deep understanding of who God is – that He cannot love me anymore than He already does; that He sees my wounds and bottles my tears; and that He is the perfect vengeance-taker. Now I can also add to these a mental picture of God taking the anger that I feel, putting it in a bucket, and pouring it out on the head of Christ on the cross. I can hear Christ yell out, “It is finished!” The sins done to me have not gone unpaid. Nor have the ones I’ve committed. Imagine, a God who, in perfect justice, will take vengeance on my behalf. And a God who, in perfect mercy, will receive it. On my behalf. What a God.

Like a rock,

The Submissive Despot

Amy Louise

Amy Shane