My mom’s had a particular love for the 1968 movie version of Oliver! (yes, Mom, sometimes I DO write about you!). Overall, I shared her love—with the exception of one small thing: Oliver himself. In an otherwise well-cast movie, the kid playing the title role drove me nuts. Never more than in the scene where he sits in the undertaker’s basement, propped up on a pile of hay (if I remember correctly), when he looks out the window longingly and sings, “Where Is Love?” in what I always considered to be the most annoying voice ever.

From the time I was little until not too long ago, I’d do mock renditions of this scene and my mom would click her tongue, roll her eyes, and say, “I don’t know what your problem with that sweet song and that sweet boy is.” And I’d continue on with my mocking.

So imagine my surprise when last night, when I took my kids to see a local production of Oliver!, I choked up during that very scene, with that very song. Maybe it was because this Oliver was more yelling than singing and therefore seemed more desperate. But more likely it was because as I sat watching the scene this time—with one kid on my lap and the other next to me (with yet another at home)—my “momness” kicked it.

This momness is the thing that makes me realize how much being a mom and raising my awesome kids has changed me—in this case, how much softer I’ve become, how much more open my eyes are. Because now, I understand why my mom loves that scene so much. Who cares how annoying that boy is! The boy is singing about looking for love, specifically, the love of his mother, something he’s never known.

So while before kids I could somehow mock the (actor) orphan’s voice, now that I’m a mom, I can’t. Because no matter how gauling the voice, it’s a song that still too many kids are singing and it’s not funny.

While many days as a mom my kids drive me nuts and I feel totally frustrated by my role as mom, Oliver’s pained song is a good reminder of the importance of what we do, what we offer our kids.

If you scroll down a couple posts, you’ll see a comment from Dawn, who’s wrestling with church roles. She’s been on my mind a lot lately because I think her note personifies exactly what a lot of us go through in various forms, in various ways. I’ve been wanting to respond to her–you, if you’re reading!–but, of course, me being the lazy blogger that I am, I’ve gotten swamped under the demands of work that pays cold hard cash and, of course, that which pays warm, wet kisses (I mean mothering!).

But I thought of Dawn when I read these words from Carolyn Custis James’ new, fantabulous book, The Gospel of Ruth. In fact, I thought of Dawn, and I thought of myself and every woman I’ve talked to, heard from, or exchanged e-mails with over the course of this true-identity-seeking year. If you’ve wrestled with your “place” in your church, community, or family, hear this:

“A woman’s high calling as God’s image bearer renders her incapable of insignificance, no matter what has gone wrong in her life or how much she has lost. Even if her community shoves her aside, turns a deaf ear to the sound of her voice, or regards her as invisible—even if she is forced into a passive role in the community—she remains vital to God’s purposes and is a solid contributors anyway. She simply cannot be stopped.”

I love that. Of course, it’s something, if we know Jesus and we know he made us on purpose, we know deep down, but a lot of people try to drown that bit of wisdom, try to stop us from living out God’s purposes, so it can be hard to believe.

Dawn, I hope I can talk more later about the whole church-role thing because I have BIG issues here as well. In the meantime, check out “My Door-Slamming Church” at this site and “Let Men Get the Door” at GiftedForLeadership.com. You’ll get the drift of my issues there.

I love it when God is up to something! So here’s what I prayed—sort of an extension of Mama’s Fake ID. More like, my Church’s Got a Fake ID. Here it is. Tell me what you think!

Dear God:

I pray that we as a church learn to look beyond the “groups” to which we belong and to see those individual gifts in each of us. That we see each other as you see us.

Lord, let us be a church that encourages one another in those gifts—no matter what they are—and that builds one another up. So that together we can meet the needs of this world and spread your Good News to the best of our abilities, in the way you created us to do so.

Lord, I pray for those who feel alone, like they don’t belong or fit in. I ask that you open our eyes to those who struggle in these areas and offer them a true, honest welcome. That we show them love for who they are, that we help them find their place among us, and that we help them understand that all of us at times feel like we don’t fit—here or anywhere. But that we always fit with you, Lord. Thank you for that.

Along those lines, I ask that we can get beyond image and façade and be willing to share and to see what is real in each of us. I pray that we as a congregation can be open to sharing our hurts and our shame as a means of sharing your glory and your grace. This requires vulnerability, though Lord, so I ask that we stay safe people—ones who don’t gossip or delight in the wrongdoings or suffering of each other—but ones who protect and support one another.

But in families, that doesn’t always happen. So I pray that you will heal those of this church who have been wounded, disappointed, or let down by fellow brothers and sisters in Christ. Help them forgive and even reconcile where possible.

Same goes for those of us who have had disagreements on issues ranging from what seems silly to serious. While we will never agree on everything this side of heaven (and maybe not even on the other side!) I ask that in these disagreements or discussions, you help us maintain open hearts and open minds, that we maintain integrity, and at all times realize that what we seek to do as a body of Believers is to honor you, to do right by you, to act as we believe you are calling us to do.

So thank you again, Lord, for the magnificent, gifted individuals who make up the people of Elmhurst Christian Reformed Church. I pray that you bless us, protect us, embolden us, shape us, and use each of us in your kingdom, for your glory.

Find your identity in Christ.

Am I right? As part of the book I’m working on, I maintain that this is a good answer to the wrong question. And that in fact, this thing about finding your identity in Christ comes off like a pious brush off. Like if we really DID find our identities in Christ, we wouldn’t have “issues.”

I don’t think this is true, but am looking for feedback. As a born-again, trying (though more than often failing!)-to-live-it-out Christian, that my identity is Christ IS the most important aspect of who I am. However, I still want to bust out of the mom molds (and other molds) I’m set into. And I think that’s okay. Part of my identity in Christ, I think, is living how he made me and using my gifts, abilities, personality, etc., in service to him, not in being fake or simply trying to live up to some cultural expectation.

But I worry that I’m missing something here. Am I? What’s your take on finding your identity in Christ?

“They’re for people who can’t afford to buy food,” she said. “But those people are rich in other ways.”

Her daughter asked, “What ways?”

And she answered, “I have no idea. Let’s get home.”

I laughed out loud when I heard this. Not because it was a funny topic or that she didn’t have an answer (though I don’t know why she added the “rich in other ways” comment if she wasn’t prepared to throw out some reason). I laughed because her daughter caught her in one of those cheeseball lines we tend to toss out at our kids.

I know I’ve said things like this as I try to explain to my kids why some people have plenty and some nothing, why we give toys to needy kids at Christmas (”Doesn’t Santa go to poor people’s houses?”), or why sometimes kids, pets, and adults get really, really sick. I’ve tried to give answers that seem godly or meaningful somehow, even though I think my kids see right through them. 

While this mom may be right, that those who do not have enough to eat may in fact be ”rich” in other ways—certainly there are blessings of sorts that come with poverty, a dependence on God for daily bread most of us will never understand, for example—come on. So often I think we throw around words like this to make ourselves feel better about the lives and lifestyles we lead.

It’s just a thought; I don’t have too much more to say on this. Except that I know for sure that the opposite of what this woman said is true: That those who have too much to eat are often poor in many other ways.

• Find a better outlet for my stress (Read: stop yelling at my family because I’ve got too much on my plate. Not their fault I like to bite off more than I can chew!).
• Find a better way to deal with anger. Without thinking too hard, I can rattle off five things in the past year that really p****ed me off and that I ended up acting out  in ways I shouldn’t have. While anger can be a good thing, I don’t always harness it well.
• Be more patient with my kids. I love them like crazy, but having three little kids vying for my attention during the 15 hours a day at least one of them is awake can make me insane. I have plenty of good, patient days so I know I can do this. But it’s hard.
• Be more positive. Negativity and pessimism are in my genes, and it’s hard for me to fight against. But it’s a LOUSY way to live! Maybe I need to read some Joel Osteen. (Yeah right! At least I’m positive that won’t happen!)
• Be kinder, more appreciative, and more loving to my husband. If you hadn’t noticed, the above list of things I need to work on wouldn’t always make me the easiest woman to be married to! But he loves me anyway, and I can do better as a wife.
• Stop feeding the dog so much. So now I’m getting silly, but our once-sleek Rottie just walked by giving me that “feed me” look and he’s really getting fat, fat, fat!
• Walk the dog more. This would help with all of the above.

Happy New Year, everybody! I’d love to hear your resolutions.

—Luke 2: 34-35

Last night these verses were part of my very random devotional reading. While I’ve probably read those words—spoken by the “righteous and devout” Simeon to Mary when she and Joseph presented their new baby, Jesus, in the temple—a hundred times, before I became a mom, I must confess, I never really thought much about them. Yada yada.  Just another prophesy, is pretty much how I saw them. Sorry, but it’s true.

Then, I had kids. Now,  Simeon’s haunting words chill me each time I read them. (Can you imagine bringing your new baby to church and having someone turn to you and say your beautiful baby will pierce your soul?!) Becoming a mother opened my eyes to what was being said to Mary. As a fellow mom, I felt the anxiety and deflating pain she must’ve felt as she heard these words. I think feeling this deepened my understanding of the entire story of God’s redeeming love for us.  From what it really meant and entailed for God to send his son to save us (sorry for you non-Christian readers—I know I’m getting really jargony here. Bear with me!) to what it meant for Mary to bear and raise her boy, the Messiah, to what it means for me as mother to raise my own boys and girl to grow to love and know that same Messiah.

While perhaps I was just dense in my reading of this passage before (and surely you don’t have to be a mom to catch the significance), this isn’t the only passage or instance I’ve noticed that my being a mom heightens my understanding of Scripture along with my understanding of (and questions for!) God.

While I expected motherhood to change me in many ways, getting to know God better by being a mom surprised me. I’ve got to be careful here, I know, because I’m treading dangerously close to the teachings many women have heard (particularly from churches) that they need to be moms to be complete—I don’t mean that at all! God can use all our experiences in life to draw us to him.

But this reread has put me on the look out for other ways motherhood has helped me get to know who God is. And it’s gotten me curious about the ways others have gotten to know God better by being moms. I’d love to hear your stories. 

A couple days ago, in the midst of the zillions things going on, I panicked:

Oh, no! Christmas cards! 

I totally forgot. So I figured I had two choices:

1. Stop everything and bring all kinds of stress and Christmas chaos into my house just so I could get cards printed, labeled, and out the door on time. 2. Wave the white flag and admit that this year, the Christmas cards are just not going to happen—at least in their usual way.

In the interest of keeping the peace in my home—and saving some trees, money, and my sanity—I went with number 2. So this year, we decided to send our warmest wishes electronically. This is a bigger deal for me than you might think. In doing this, I’m giving up, admitting that I can’t do it all. I can’t keep up. But that’s okay, refreshing even. So, if you didn’t get the e-card, here’s what we wrote: 

It’s been an interesting year—one filled with joy, sadness, stress, fun, work, play, reading, writing, thinking, planning, school, and adventure.

Over the course of 2007, Rafi’s been “rebranding” his business, Caryn’s been working on her first book, Henrik started kindergarten, Greta started preschool, and Fredrik started, well, everything.
 
But it’s been a terrific year—full of opportunities to use our gifts, to grow as people (and watch people grow!), and to experience God’s grace, love, and faithfulness.

This Christmas—and beyond—we hope you experience our Savior’s abounding love, amazing grace, and great faithfulness.  

Merry Christmas!

The Rivadeneiras

I had prayed that these men would “hold open the doors” for women, as Carolyn Custis James says, but instead they slammed those babies shut. (”Don’t let the front door hit you in the backside,” as my dad would say.)

I’ve considered this church my family, my home for nearly all my life, but now it’s the place that has barred the door, leaving me—and all women—out and wandering. I’ve joined the ranks of the ”homeless” Christian women in America, as my friend Jonalyn Grace Fincher has called us. And it sucks.

My comfort—as I blog angrily along here—is that Jesus is out here among us wanderers. He understands this “homeless” feeling; he gets what it is to be shut out, unwelcome, and to have his gifts questioned and belittled. And I know that his hand is not among the 17 (or is it 34?) hands leaning against the doors of my church’s council room, trying to keep the girls out. Brothers, Jesus doesn’t share your fears about women. Or your ignorance of Scripture. 

So again I’ll seek the One who threw open the most important doors—those leading to heaven—when he died on the cross for us. I’ll look to him for guidance, to ease my wounds, to help me forgive (and to forgive me because I’ve been stewing about seeking revenge for two hours now!). God help me.

But thanks to the 13 brave men who voted in favor of this! You are men of God and heroes in my book. To the 17, well, I just hope you’re at least brave enough to let us know who you are. You voted against me. Be sure I’ll be voting against you. No hard feelings, my brothers. I’m sure I’ll be able to find biblical backup.

See about my vengeance….? Seriously. Pray for me.

“Huh?” I asked back.

“Your PEB-BLE,” he said. “You know, like how my left foot is smaller than my other one…” 

I resisted the “huh?” again, even though I had no idea what he was talking about—pebbles or foot size (his feet are the same size, essentially). 

So I tried a more interested approach: “Tell me more about what you mean.” And he went on to tell me about a speaker they had had in chapel that day (he goes to a Christian school) who talked about his “pebble,” which was that he had one leg “WAAAAAY” shorter than the other and how that pebble made him talk to God a lot.

Ah, the “thorn in his flesh.” Got it. While I still didn’t understand how the pebble fit in (though I imagined “The Princess and the Pea” somehow), I gathered that their chapel had been about how God uses our weaknesses for his glory. And that by knowing each others’ weaknesses—and how we’ve triumphed despite them—we can understand God’s power. So the speaker had encouraged the kids to get to share their “pebbles” to share in God’s glory.

I thought this was so lovely—and counter-cultural. So my son and I spent some time talking about our pebbles (for the sake of my son’s short attention span, I chose one of many—my temper!). And we got to know one another —and God—a little better (although, unfortunately, he is well aquainted with this particular pebble). 

So that’s my little story, but I do wonder what it would look like if “What’s your pebble?” became as regular a question as “How’s your day?” And how much better off we’d be if we could get to know each other better through our weaknesses–and through God’s strength.