Want To Be A Hero Too?

/ Lori Lawe / 1 Comment

I AM a NEIGHBORHOOD CHAMPION. I AM the COMMITTEE CHAIR. (For those who don’t know, the CHAIR is the TOP, MOST IMPORTANT position on the committee).

Of what, you say?

Well, of this group I volunteer with, the Firesmart program. The goal is to educate people about the most common causes for houses to burn down due to wildfire, and then to focus on doing the most important interventions that decrease the risk of a house going up in flames.

We encourage each other to clean up the downed branches that are fire risks in our community. And of course, with tinder-dry forests where we live, in the BC interior of Canada, it seems the trees are shouting, “Please consume me with fire!”

Many of the cedars are already red, dried up, and sad, living in the arboreal never land between life and death.

But I digress.

The point I was trying to make is that, well, have you ever noticed how manipulation is overtly used in our culture? For example, the assumption is by the Firesmart program that Jane-Neighbor (aka me) would be more likely to spend another X number of hours volunteering if we raise her up a bit in her own eyes.

She is MORE important than others. SHE ALONE is the CHAIR, and my favorite, a CHAMPION. I rode around on my bike last summer delivering flyers with information about the Firesmart program. And now, I can wear a badge, and elevate myself to the lofty level of CHAMPION.

We are all so ridiculous, aren’t we? And by the way, when I throw away the title of Champion or Chair, what do we have left? “Regular Mom worried about her kid’s future”. Somehow that title isn’t as important, we feel. How wrong we are! The secret superpower, the cape under our regular clothes, regular moms, regular dads, is actually of course, concern for the wellbeing of our kids.

Learning what wildfire smoke does to kids’ brains* – that’s my superpower. I would wave my paper fan all day long in front of my kid’s faces . . . desperately . . . untiringly if that would decrease their potential cognitive impacts. I don’t even need the elevated title of CHAIR to do that!

Barring that, I ride on my bike distributing flyers. Maybe my kids and us won’t have to drive away in a car in a hurry this summer, flames licking at our tires. We read about others in Lytton, BC who endured that a few years ago. It would be nice not to do that, actually.

I’d rather just be a regular Mom, reading my book on the wharf at the lake while my kids play in the water.

Instead, I am a super mom, manipulated to feel important. The incredible truth is that “Mom Worried about Her Kids” is a force to be reckoned with. She is the true powerhouse.

Have you ever read about those moms who lifted a car off of their kids when they were in danger? The critical line in that article is that “. . . we humans are, quite simply, stronger than we think.”

Ready to lift the car of a sick culture off of our kids?

Come on, Moms, Dads. It’s time to reluctantly put away the novels, look at the future of our kids 20 years out, and work together to do some lifting. Our kids may be trapped between wildfire smoke and flames licking their tires unless we can find a way to turn this big ship, our culture, around. Time for some real heroes to show their stuff. On board?

For now, we can use our voice here, as one example of taking off our Clark Kent clothes and jumping into the battle. And let’s continue to talk about how to be a real hero in a future post, shall we?

Blogpost Footnotes

*Statement from this article: “A growing body of literature also suggests that exposure to particulate matter may have neuropsychological effects in children, including associations with ADHD, autism, school performance, and memory.”

Why Cleaning Eggs Off The Floor (Aka Homeschooling) Is Hope For Society

/ Lori Lawe / 3 Comments

We attended our city’s annual carnival event. “Get me out of here!”, my brain screamed after only a few minutes.

One of the rides closed after a variety of kids vomited on it. The fair was too hot, too loud, too much garbage overflowing from the cans, junk food at every corner.

If this is one of the highlights of the year for our local kids, as it is for many, no wonder there is so much despair among youth.

We could smell pot as the older kids drifted past us.

If this is as good as it gets for our teens, it’s not very good.

Thankfully one of my kids, and her friend felt the same way.

We drove to a nearby nature park to the “Critter Day” event, to learn about local plants and animals.

It was much quieter. The wind blew through the trees nearby. The sounds were of muffled conversation and some hammers pounding softly as local kids assembled birdhouses.

I was enthralled as a scientist described a local insect that lays its eggs into a host’s body, which the larvae then feed on until it is time to hatch. He showed us the bug’s rear body part that was perfectly designed for this one bizarre behavior.

I was a bit distracted, looking elsewhere, while my daughter and her friend asked questions of the entomologist. They moved on.

“Are your kids homeschooled?” the entomologist asked me. “Huh? Oh yes. That’s my daughter’s friend and she is homeschooled too. Why do you ask?”

“I can always tell who the homeschooled kids are.”

“How?” I asked, intrigued.

“They ask questions and engage at a level of someone who is 40 or 50 years old.

I travel all around and see it time and again,” he continued. “The public school kids say, “Oh, bugs,” and move on, staring into their phones.

The public school kids don’t engage.”

I felt sad. “It’s quite a feat, isn’t it, that the public school system can stamp the love of learning out of children.”*

It dawned on me that this man was a Ph.D. type, definitely overqualified for conversations with Grade 3 kids. He had driven several hours, as a volunteer, to be there.

I was curious about what motivated him, and he unburdened his heart as we spoke.

“I’m really worried about the future of our society,” he continued.

“What do you do with kids who aren’t even engaged? But wherever I go, I find hope in the homeschooled kids. They are the ones asking questions, interested.

I travel to fairs hoping that kids are engaged with their natural world so they will be motivated to find solutions to the immense challenges we are facing as a culture.”

My eyes welled up.

Yes, how do we encourage kids to engage with the wonder of creation, so they may be motivated to protect this incredible biodiversity as unprecedented challenges face our culture?

Perhaps providing hope for our culture is another reason to consider homeschooling.

You got this, Mom, Dad.

Keep being a world changer, Mom, Dad, in your own, hectic, cleaning-eggs-off-the-floor way.

Every homeschooling day you make it through lends a bit more hope to our society.

Blogpost Footnotes

*The public school system is undeniably broken. This TED talk, for example, is the most popular TED talk of all time.

Yes, I Was Mentored By A Random Internet Stranger!?

/ Lori Lawe / 1 Comment

An eagle showed up in my life.

She was drawing out the vile illness from my heart with her questions, green goo surfacing, and I was astonished at the sticky mess dripping off my clothes.

“Yuck! How do you clean up this stuff?” I asked, panicking.

“Why don’t I call you, and we can talk about this some time?” she offered.

My mind swirled.

She was a random internet connection.

Should I open my heart, and the great vulnerability within to a random internet stranger? What was I thinking???

Well, I’ll start with how it all began.

I had a recurring dream for a couple of years. The title of the book that was recommended to me by Amazon matched the title of the dream.

(I didn’t say that this story would be easy to swallow. I only promised the truth).

And no, I had never followed the random inner longings of a dream before.

I discovered Heidi Baker, a missionary in Mozambique through this book, and then was connected with a handful of people who met online weekly to pray about this common spiritual burning that it sensed God was putting on all of our hearts.

From within that group, one of those ladies started a Facebook group, which I joined regularly.

It was in one of those groups that I met Aja, who was now probing my heart with her questions. Goo from the depths that had not surfaced before was now spotting my clothes and I come back to my story – do I meet one-on-one with Aja, or not?

I met with my pastor, spouse, and a handful of trusted friends over iced coffees one sunny summer afternoon to ask their advice.

“I am heading down a spiritual rabbit trail that I don’t know if I will emerge from,” I began.

I shared what we spoke about, the journey that it seemed God was guiding with his large invisible palm, squishing me together with this new group, as so many lumps of clay, joined in the spirit.

I listened to both their wise cautions and their encouragement.

And I met with Aja.

Open your heart, I felt God whispering during that first call, as I spoke with her.

I was surprised.

You’re safe here, He continued to encourage.

And beyond the obvious safeguards that we use by engaging the big ol’ gray matter in the head, such as by asking if I am being encouraged to: (1) read my bible? (2) connect more deeply with my local community (?) (3) connect with the Lord?

Beyond those questions, which were answered with a yes . . .

. . . I was growing spiritually.

My plumage was starting to fill out.

She sat in the chair between Jesus and me and facilitated our conversation so my own quiet times could bear more fruit.

And I was just about ready to fly, by the grace of Jesus.

Is it time for you to choose a random internet, or in-person connection to soar with, too?

On a COMPLETELY UNRELATED topic, we are hosting a regular online listening prayer and connection time soon.

Details will be posted soon HERE.

Rejoice in Your Fear

/ Lori Lawe / 3 Comments

The newspaper is like the genie in the bottle, a monster emerging from the words. It stares down at me, huge and menacing. My teeth quake as I glance at it, trembling. I am afraid.

I am left in the corner, quaking, the monster guarding me, bidding that I say right where I am, crouched in the corner. It is watching for when it is safe for me to come out.

But it never is. Another scare. Another news item. One crisis after another. I crouch and hide, obedient to my fear.

But when I attempt to rise on quaking legs, and when I stand, holding, as a crutch, the arm of the One standing next to me, I feel a bit stronger. But my head still spins.

Come, He seems to bid. Take just one step, my child. One step and then another. I focus on Him, who steadies me when I walk.

His face becomes a bit clearer. The arm that I rest on feels a bit more solid, and less a figment of my imagination.

And my fear, which once dominated me, returns to rest deep within the newspaper, where it belongs. It is always lurking inside there, and within the words of some others that I meet.

But I realize now that fear is too strong for me. I cannot tame it. But it can be supplanted by my intense, prolonged, focus on the One who is not afraid.

And then I walk. And then I run. And then I give a cup of water to the thirsty. And then I wash the smelly feet of the hurting stranger, the one who, also, has been terrorized into a shell of herself by her fear.

“Come,” I bid. “There is One who will help you to walk. Let’s take the first step, together, sister, brother. I will show you how to lean on His arm a bit more often, a bit more of your full body weight supported by Him the next time you fall. Don’t let go.”

And as we tread upon our fear, He is raising up a great army. He passes you the weapons that are needed for this great war: love, compassion, humility, dependence, servitude.

Only the weak are strong. And thus, my fear has strengthened me, as I have been pushed, ever more into the loving arms of My Father, who holds me as I cry. Let’s not miss the opportunity that our fear points us toward.

Don’t panic. I’m with you. The Message

Let’s rejoice in our fear because we have been pushed, more often and more deeply, into His arms of comfort. What are you afraid of, sister, brother? Come and be comforted in the arms of the greatest comforter, so that you too may be a comfort to others with the comfort you have received.

What is one step that the Father may want you to take today, to live out of love, and no longer out of fear? How can your fear strengthen you, as you remember that it is the weak that are actually strong?

Jesus Guided, Through Food, To Heal A Child’s Diagnoses

/ Lori Lawe / 2 Comments

Like a gentle wind, warm, encircling me, comforting, I heard Him speak. Not unlike a confirmation in the heart. Pay attention, He seemed to whisper. Our physical bodies tell our minds, too, when it is time to run or to fight – eyes dilated, heartbeat pumping, energy surging. Pay attention.

So it is in the spiritual realm.

He spoke as a spiritual whisper as my friend mentioned a diet she had used for her child. The GAPS diet. Her child had symptoms that were completely opposite to our daughter’s. In fact, we weren’t even sure that our daughter had any real symptoms. Wasn’t she just a late bloomer?

Pay attention.

So I bought the book. I bought two books, actually- Gut and Psychology Syndrome which outlines the GAPS diet, and Nourishing Traditions. For many people, these books go together, like two sides of an Oreo cookie. The cream in the middle, the glue, is the person implementing the suggestions in the book.

Me.

Would I look at the pages over tea, and relegate the cookbooks to the back of my shelf, or would I roll up my sleeves and get to work?

I rolled up one sleeve, partway, and implemented a few suggestions. After the tea, the suggestions seemed hard. Too much to change. And why? I relegated the books to the back of the bookshelf where they collected dust for many years. “I tried, God.”

Many years later, the doctors gave us a list of diagnoses they wanted to label our child with. Ouch. A smack in the rear. A wake-up call. Maybe she was going to have a harder time than some other kids doing the regular things of life. Understanding school. Making close friends. Riding a bicycle. Not being racked with random stomach pains.

And the heart of a mother emerged, out of desperation. Pay attention. Heartbeat racing, ready for action, energy surging – how can I help my daughter? Eyes dilating – where do I focus? The heart of a mother, her desire to help her child, is a force to be reckoned with.

Get out of my way.

“All of those diagnoses are listed on the front cover of that book you bought”, that same friend reminded me. Oh yes. Were they? Where were those books anyway?

And so a journey began. A journey with Jesus, Him holding my hand, urging me onward, together, with Him. This time I was ready to hold His hand, to walk in His direction.

Desperation made me humble.

I’m ready now, to try anything.

And today, years later, we have a remarkable story of a child thriving in joy and in physical, mental, and social strengths.

None of the labels stuck to her in ways that were expected, praise be to God.

It turns out that science is increasingly backing up this nudge from the wind of God, too, but that is a discussion for another day.

God, help us to take your hand as You long to lift us from despair concerning the struggles our children encounter. We desperately need your guidance.

Help us to roll up our sleeves, and to do the hard, counter-cultural work that we may need to do, to allow healing food to help some of our children with some of their struggles, we pray.

Don’t Laugh At Me Yet

/ Lori Lawe / 4 Comments

No. It isn’t funny. We concur with you. We empathize. We feel your pain. We’ve been there. This is NOT funny……. (yet). We turn away when the snicker rises up. We don’t want you to see the guffaw. Not YET. Yet is the keyword.

My daughter is a minor chemist. She has mixed and remade so many versions of slime that she could create her own YouTube channel if she wanted to (in fact, she does and likely will). She was thrilled with the quality and texture of her most recent recipe, bounding down the stairs to lay her magnificent creation before my unappreciative eyes.

“Oh yes, it’s more stretchy,” I expressed, grasping to appreciate homemade slime. She couldn’t hear my lack of astonishment. She was a momma and this new batch of slime was her baby. No one, nothing, could tempt her to see a lack of wonder towards her beloved. This I could understand.

But it was unbelievably annoying when later that morning, after using our bathroom, I automatically rested my hand where the hand pump soap sits, and … nothing. The soap was gone. I actually thought I was going mad. I couldn’t find my teaspoon measure (again) later in the day. Random things seem to appear from thin air in bizarre locations, and others disappear with no rhyme or reason.

So it wasn’t funny. Yet. Can we not even keep soap in the bathroom, this hygienic essential? What is wrong with our household? I stumbled to the coffee machine in an effort to increase brain cells, to seek comfort from another cup of java. How is it that we don’t even have what we need to function at the most basic of levels? I asked myself.

I was discouraged. My identity was somehow wrapped up in a $6 bottle of hand soap. If I’m the one directing this ship, together with my hardworking husband, why is there another hole in the boat?

Coffee wasn’t solving my problem. But laughter did. Unentangling my identity from the bottle of hand soap helped. Waiting for the YET, which I could sense somehow, was coming, was the relief that I needed.

So, of course, our daughter used the family bathroom hand soap to make her most recent batch of glorious slime. Why wouldn’t she? And yes, she did put it . . . somewhere. Now where was it?

Here is the YET. I am NOT actually incapable of having enough of the basic essentials available to avoid a major health hazard. I am homeschooling. And my daughter is the inventor. Of COURSE, we may not have soap to wash our hands every now and then.

Relating this story to a friend later that day was long enough for the YET to arrive. Pull my hair out, question my ability to safely homeschool my children a few hours ago. And now it’s funny.

Because our little inventor is ridiculous. And so am I. Who ties their self-worth to the state of organization of their home? We need each other, her and I. God has plans for us both.

So she returned the soap. I had a laugh with my friend, who relayed a similar homeschooling mishap, and we went on with storytime together. And I am learning again, that because I am ridiculous, and because I live with those who are ridiculous, funny stuff happens.

I see your lips twitching the next time I share my frustrating homeschooling mishap. It’s math time. Has anyone seen all of our pencils? You look away, trying not to burst into laughter in my face. Not yet.

But you are the ones chosen by God . . . chosen to be a holy people … from nothing to something, from rejected to accepted. The Message‬‬

Do you sometimes throw away your identity as a child of God and link your self-worth, instead, to a $6 bottle of hand soap, or other expectation for yourself as Captain of the ship? Are you frantically bailing out a sinking ship, or is this just not funny (yet)?

Pretend You Don’t See My Mess, Please – I Prefer Bondage

/ Lori Lawe / 1 Comment

Jealousy. Green sticky goo must come out of me somehow. I am jealous. I hide my hands behind my back. A cover-up; I will pray for you. But behind my back the goo leaks. No one notices until the puddle of goo forms at my feet.

I stand back in shock. That must be someone else’s jealousy I am standing in! I take a step to the left in horror, trying to kick the green goo off my feet, legs, trying to be free. My friend smiles at me compassionately. She understands that the green goo couldn’t possibly be mine. I am HER friend! She stands in a puddle of her own goo. I pretend not to notice.

And so the mutual self-denial is edifying. Let’s bow our heads, hold hands in unity, and pray for the one that we esteem so highly. We are spiritual. We aren’t jealous. But when we are done, our hearts pump specks of charcoal throughout our bodies. Death has touched our hearts. We won’t speak of our sin, and so our sin holds us captive.

But in my room at night, where no one can see, I cry out to God in desperation. God, look at the state of my heart! It is singed with death! I try to pray, but my prayers go up in smoke. Can you help me? Name it, He speaks, gently. Name why your heart is smoldering now, a smoking log and not a blazing fire.

Looking down in shame, I speak. “I am jealous.” And the Lord dances. He dances with joy, pulling me out of my despair to join Him. Well done, he whispers softly into my ear. And I am joyful. Like a toddler covered in mud, who made a mess of their surroundings, I am free. The mud washes off, easily.

My mess does not define me. I am defined by Him, the truth, because I speak the truth. I see myself through His eyes, forgiven, when I am honest with Him, myself, others. Not overly self-deprecating. Not hiding. Just honest.

I bring my problems, like a difficult math question to my Father, for help. “Why am I jealous?” I ask Him. He points to weeds in the garden of my heart that I have neglected to uproot, yes, but He also shows me that there is green goo in the air, everywhere in our culture. I breathed it in, and it took root, simply because from grade school, we compare the one to the other. An unhealthy system has infected me as well.

And it doesn’t matter, actually, why I am ill, or how I contributed to the growth of the ugly mess. The doctor has come, to innoculate me with His love. And I can dance again.

And so the next time that my friend and I stand in pools of our own making of green sticky goo, I can get out the broom, the one that Jesus gave me. I can offer to show my friend how Jesus helped me clean up my life, to sweep away the goo. Do you want to borrow the broom? Holding the broom with Him, you and He can sweep away your goo, too. And He will dance with joy, as your heart is revived, refined a little more. And we are free to soar.

We don’t have to hide.

If we claim that we’re free of sin, we’re only fooling ourselves. A claim like that is errant nonsense. On the other hand, if we admit our sins—simply come clean about them—he won’t let us down; he’ll be true to himself. He’ll forgive our sins and purge us of all wrongdoing. The Message

Consider asking God if there is any strange goo at your feet that you don’t want to see. Holy Spirit, set us free, we pray. May we be courageous enough to see ourselves the way we really are, so that our eyes can begin to see with clarity the vision You have for our futures, as we connect our lives to You, we pray.

I Choose Slow Death! Now, Go Away!

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

We are not seeking perfection on our journeys but progress.

And progress always begins with honesty.

The food that we eat is probably crap.

People in Canada consume almost 50% of their daily calories from ultra-processed foods . . .

Highly processed foods accounted for two-thirds of the calories consumed by youth. . .

We all may need to change our diets a bit.

No!

We hold our hands over our eyes! We don’t want to see! We sneak an ultra-processed potato chip into our mouth. Hmmm… heaven. Potato chip heaven.

I know that you know and that I know that, “Ultra-processed food is probably bad for us.” And we agree with our friends. We all argue on the same side of the debate. We all argue for less processed food. Yes, processed food is ridiculous! We agree.

We leave their house and stop on the way to the grocery store to pick up Doritos, Nestle chocolate chip cookies, chocolate bars, and pop. Why?

Our hearts.

Our brains know a little.

Enough to spout off the assurances that WE KNOW that ultra-processed food is probably bad for us, at least too much of it is. And who eats too much? The person down the street, the one who looks less healthy than us and who rarely leaves her house probably eats too much processed food, we ascertain. But not me. I eat less, we reason and so I’m fine.

Do we live in denial?

Our hearts do not REALLY agree with our minds. And our minds only know one or two facts about processed foods. We haven’t dug into the literature, sat there for a while, and let it really sink in.

Why? Because our eyes are closed. We don’t WANT to see. We like Cheezies, chicken nuggets, and Mars bars. GO AWAY.

We flip the channel and forget about this conversation. Our TV show is only infrequently interrupted by upbeat, colorful ads suggesting we enjoy Mcdonalds, Wendy’s, and A&W. That looks good, we think without thinking. Maybe tomorrow I’ll have lunch there. The program resumes, and we feel refreshed as we tumble into bed.

What if we are asleep before we climb into bed? What if we have been asleep our entire lives?

What if the food we crave doesn’t really taste GOOD, but we are addicted to sugar, processed fat, and salt?

What if enjoying healthy food is a learned skill?

What if, in two years, we remember what we eat regularly now, and that food makes us feel ill?

Because it probably should.

Because it probably is making us ill.

Ready, listening?

Ready for a journey, friend? Every journey begins with the first step. We have a long road ahead of us. But there are friends, here, in this community to cheer us on, to celebrate our first steps.

We have been there too, and are holding your arm, cheering with you as you learn to walk a little more securely and stably on your own, as you then help your child along, to make one more right choice, to choose life instead of death.

Ready to set aside your cola for a few hours? Come join us, friend, as we take steps, together, toward our future health. Food is one of the very few places where every person has influence. Let your light shine, helping others to walk a little further before sitting down with a full box of Oreos.

No one here judges us. But every journey starts with a first step. And the best first step is to peel our hands off of our eyes. Are you ready to see, yet, how you have been deceived?

It’s time we find a better way, together, and learn to soar, friend.

Come . . . —buy and eat! …Why do you spend your money on junk food, your hard-earned cash on cotton candy? Listen to me, listen well: Eat only the best, fill yourself with only the finest. The Message

God, how may we be blind regarding honesty in our food habits? Can you please help us to WANT to choose that which brings life, both with physical and spiritual food?

Did You Find A Crumb Of Hope For Your Teen Yet Today?

/ Lori Lawe / 1 Comment

The dawn of a new day. I can sense the inspiration.

A blank page.

A new life.

The possibilities are endless. We are inspired.

Parents spend thousands of dollars on baby clothes, cribs with matching wall decor, and expensive lotions for baby’s butt. We are inspired. The possibilities are endless. We haven’t messed this up yet.

We have hope.

But in the depths of the dark of night, on the page that has been written on, crossed out, erased, for the teenager who has messed up big time, inspiration and possibilities seem like a closed book. Every corridor that can be walked down from here seems dark, foreboding.

For the sullen teenager, a disappointment, we toss her an iPhone and watch her walk to her room. His life feels like the depths of night, right now. We must have messed up as parents. We spend less time with her and feel more frustrated. The dark corridors all seem to point to the same place, the place we don’t want to travel down. This is your journey, we say.

Good luck.

But what if his silence is imploring you to walk down the darkest of corridors with him? What if the light at the end of the tunnel will be so bright, so warm, that it will heal your soul too? What if the savior of your kids’ life isn’t you after all, but is the One through whom all things are made? What if, at the end of the journey, you find a piece of your soul?

And so we pray, on our knees, for our lost son, forgotten daughter. We pray until our hearts are transformed. We pray until we have some extra love left over, poured out to us from the Father, to give to our children.

We pray until we can find a tiny bit of hope to grasp onto, and then we continue our journey, offering a morsel of hope to our child when the opportunity arises. And we pray some more.

And in the transformation of ourselves, a tiny bit piece of beauty comes from ashes. The possibilities are endless for us and for our children. They are, like a new life, even this day, as are we. The page written on, erased, still has room for new words. Hope is born this day. And all is well with the world. I nourish my soul with today’s food and pass on a crumb to my child. It is enough to sustain her, for today. And He is pleased with His child, with you.

Oh! May the God of . . . hope fill you up with joy, fill you up with peace, so that your believing lives, filled with the life-giving energy of the Holy Spirit, will brim over with hope! The Message

God, though we have left a trail of continual failing as parents, and though our teens look back on a similar trail of constant failing, You never stop reaching your arm of love down to us and helping us to stand, again, to keep walking. Would you help us up again today, to continue our journey as parents, though we are tired and discouraged? And may we show the same grace to each of our children we pray.

Can’t Yet Walk In the Royal Shoes God Offered?

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

If I was a stranger to myself, reading this account of my attempts to step into my identity, I would think I was a loser. But it’s a lot easier to believe lies about ourselves than it is to step into the royal robes that Jesus is holding out for us. The dress is too big. There is room for us to grow.

Will we wear the dress anyway, the shoes too big, the crown tottering on our tiny heads, as we hold His hand, and peer into His eyes, receiving His next gift for us, His beloved child. Growth will come. Will we trust the process?

Are you also a loser? With a process a bit like mine, where you kick off the royal shoes in a temper tantrum, frustrated because it’s easier to wear smaller shoes, the ones that you can tie on yourself?

Sure, the old kid’s runners feel a bit tight at the tips, but even walking feels impossible in the fancy big shoes that He has given you.

But of course, He offers His hand, His arm to lean upon, as you learn to walk as royalty.

No, learning to walk as royalty is not as simple as putting on dress shoes and waving goodbye to Jesus as He looks at you sadly, and hit the red carpet. He knows your heart, mine. So He gives us shoes that are too big, at first, so that we need His hand, His arm to learn to walk. We almost fall, again, and catch hold of Him. He smiles at us lovingly and encourages us to try again. So we do. And every touch from His arm, every tear shed that falls near us, every look of love from His eyes transforms us. Our feet and our hearts grow a bit bigger.

So becoming who He calls us to be is a painful process for us, simply because we can’t yet clearly see who we are becoming. Because we don’t know where we are walking, the journey is often long and fraught with falls. But He is calling you, too. Do you hear Him?

He holds out shiny dress-up shoes to you too.

Yes, they are too big for you and you will need to cling carefully to Him. Are you ready to take the first step? Are you ready to get up off the couch, to give Him your old runners, the ones that are a bit too tight? Soon you’ll be running, with Jesus at your side.

But for now, you may feel a bit like a loser, too. Recognizing ourselves as who we are, as a small child with no vision for our future, instead of the captain of a ship is the first step to our destinies. Are you ready to run into your identity, eventually, as a royal child of the King? The first steps will feel a bit uncomfortable. Your rear end may get a bit sore. You may even feel like a loser when you try to explain your journey to another, one day.

Why were you such a slow learner, you lament? Growing up takes time.

Realizing we are still a child takes even longer.

I still have many things to tell you, but you can’t handle them now. But when the Friend comes, the Spirit of the Truth, he will take you by the hand and guide you into all the truth there is. The Message

Lord, help us to take the first step of humility by taking off the familiar shoes that are too tight, as You call us to step into our identities as sons and daughters of the King. Help us to see the vision that You have for us, as threads of a tapestry in Your Kingdom. Help us to have the humility to recognize our need for Your arm, as we learn to walk down the new path You are calling us to.

Ask God “What new thing are You calling me to?” Your Kingdom come Jesus, more fully on earth as each one of us surrenders our calling to Your voice calling, we pray.