I recently shared coffee with a friend and we laughed and grieved and grew wrinkled lines of surrender.
Our motherhood windows are looking a little foggy these days. Some spots have kid spit licked all over it, other spots stained in frustrated tears with the long hours we’ve sat waiting, and still others with that hand pressed firm against the cold of the glass, knowing the reality of what sits outside of it.
Not in fear, just what’s real.
We’re raising little humans — of flesh and stubbornness, who get to know pain and are birthed out in sin. They will likely reject us and probably find some shadows to hide in, and they will be exposed, as we have been, to a world marked in need.
But the hope?
We’re not raising them for this world. No–we’re raising them for God and heaven–in gospel homes with two feet and one heart sown deeply in the Word.
Our family verse this week is from 1 Peter 1:24 & 25
For ‘All flesh is like grass and all its glory like the flower of grass. The grass withers and the flower falls, but the word of the Lord remains forever’
My oldest is only two years. But he’s saying these words after his mama and daddy each night at dinner, each morning at breakfast. Maybe it means nothing to him now, but I have to trust that as we nurture truth, he and his brother will grip faith. Faith in a God so big that He can move their mountains and a God so for them that He will sit in their darkest days. Faith in a God that is when the world’s in constant shifting motion.
This friend and I sat honestly. And I’m grateful for it.
What do I mean by honestly?
If you’re a friend of Jesus and find His words to be wholly true, I mean sitting honestly on them and in them, and trusting they remain good, forever.
For He was and is and is to come.
If you don’t believe that, I’m likely going to step on your toes from here on out.
Raising littles in a gospel-home.
That is a home living against the grain,
and some days it feels weary.
Does it to you?
Even in our relationships among fellow believers, we are finding ourselves tired, lonely, confused and again in a space of honesty, a little depleted.
Even within our faithful friendships, we find the flesh is fighting hard.
Fighting to remain relevant to the believer and nonbeliever.
Fighting to love is love is love, while neglecting the just God of the gospel.
Fighting to blanket in grace, without remembering in our every moment, what that Grace hopes for.
Fighting to feed the flesh, while starving the soul, and somehow trying to abide in His peace through it all.
Fighting to fill the well of the heart and forgetting the Living well at our fingertips.
Fighting to say the right words and feel the good things, as if we are so deserving.
Fighting for all the things that fill our cup, instead of returning to drink the cup that saved us.
Fighting for validation and justification for choosing self, rather than turning to the death that justified our life.
Fighting for eyes and touch that are just as needy as our own, instead of fixing our eyes to please the One that knows us.
Fighting for knowledge and understanding that is out of our control, when we can find rest in His all-knowing of our story.
Fighting to pick and choose what of His word we believe and when, as if our faith was gray.
Do I sit alone in this from my window?
I know I don’t. I’m holding hands and coffee with friends, strangers and loved ones that feel and see and go against the grain with it too.
Growing up one of my deepest insecurities was rooted in hearing
don’t be so sensitive.
Now, granted, some of that was true in my emoting-feeling self.
But throughout this pruning process of growing up till heaven I’ve come to great peace in finding that when you allow the gospel to [transform] your life, there remains a level of sensitivity open and vulnerable to Christ’s aching for our hearts.
He longs for all of us.
I used to apologize for being uncomfortable with what was said, worn, done, touched, written, watched, listened to and accepted around me. The apology came out tongue-tied, as if I had something to be ashamed of.
But God doesn’t shame, He sharpens, and all I had done was settle for what the world had deemed normal instead of reaching my hands higher in honoring God joyfully.
If I am living only for a God who let the death of His son break wide open for the sake of my life, I should be sensitive to the things that break, taint, harden and separate me from that intimacy shared with Him.
That cause others to separate from it.
When I see my boys, I see one-day men.
How we raise them matters.
Our world has become so desensitized. So set on numbing. Or turning a blind eye. On remaining relevant. And explaining the flesh. On keeping relationship with people, instead of keeping relationship with Him.
There is compromise.
When the world and its unholiness has become the measuring stick of our holiness, instead of setting our aim on His holiness, my mama heart aches.
I see the gospel getting lost.
Translated for self, instead of shedding self.
I didn’t hold the gospel close until years recent. It hadn’t become a tender kiss from God to me until I realized one thing.
That is that the gospel dispels any notion that this life is about me.
It blankets me in grace and forgiveness, yes. Absolutely.
But the redeeming part,
the part I etched in pain onto my foot,
that part begs me further into a Love so intimate.
I chose you. I died for you.
Now abide in Me and My word
so that you can freely live.
So as I sit with friends in honesty and I do my imperfect best to nurture our gospel home, We’re fighting for our boys
and their generation.
Against the grain.
In a world that continues to say
don’t be so sensitive
I’ll choose sensitive to the Father, I’ll choose honoring joyfully
and pray they do the same.
Raising little arrows mighty for the next kingdom is hard.
Its not going to be easy.
But the cross bore down hard and called us Loved.
His word ensures heaviness and affliction when we live for,
But it promises the chosen resting place of our hearts on the other side with Him.
What is there then that I’m unwilling to give up?