Spirit

A Geyser of Intuition Suggested Homeschooling – Top 9 Hints To Listen For

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

When do we jump from a sinking ship and when do we bail frantically to save our lives?

When do we decide that the public school system is broken enough that it can’t be fixed and jump ship to homeschooling? When do we stay in the school system, attend PTA meetings and volunteer as a playground supervisor? When do we put our kids in the public school system and do our best to bail out the ship?

How am I supposed to know?

But who wants to screw up their kids?

When my soul welled up with reasons to seriously consider homeschooling, flooding cultural expectations for my life, this is some of what it said:

1. Before we had kids, I would hear something about homeschooling and a random tear would erupt, sliding slowly down my cheek. What was going on? (If you have a lump in your throat right now, you’re done for. Just sayin’. Stay in your pyjamas today to get used to it because you should be homeschooling soon.)

2. A kid tried to beat me up on my way home from school in Grade 3. What was that about? I was “the kindest, most empathetic person” a teacher had “encountered in a long time” (verbatim wording from my report card). Is there any way to spare our kids from UNNECESSARY pain?

Sure, they WILL experience pain, but if we know they will get beat up with a baseball bat emotionally, spiritually or (even) physically day after day, can we at not, at least, flip a coin to see if there are other ways to learn the alphabet?

3. And there were those times when I would walk home from grocery shopping with my mom, hand in hand. We would sing songs. This was most cherished memory of my childhood.

It wasn’t expensive. It wasn’t complicated. How could we live to have a few more of those kinds of moments?

4. Then I read the parenting classic Hold Onto Your Kids by Neufeld and Mate. Their words were a confirmation, like check marks on my intuition. Maybe we AREN’T supposed to structure society so that kids and teens spend most of their time with people exactly the same age as them.

5. And what if some of the ideas we hold dear as a culture, the general beliefs, are wrong? If another culture’s beliefs are (obviously to us) wrong, some of our culture’s commonly held beliefs WILL BE wrong too. Which ones?

Maybe the way we currently do school?

6. Maybe kids DON’T need the latest cultural clothing styles as defined by other kids their same age. Maybe a second-hand sweater will do.

7. Maybe kids don’t need their own menus of sugar and hyper-processed foods. Healthy food habits WILL get pulled down to an outlandish level in a culture of extreme bizarreness, of kids eating two-thirds of their diet as highly processed foods. As much as we wax on about eating healthily, stepping into another culture, home, where everyone eats a bowl of soup at lunch is a realistic way to instil normal food habits.

Oh, and this may even help heal various diagnoses, as it did in our home, and as science is increasingly suggesting.

8. It’s COMMON but perhaps not NORMAL for pre-pubescents to ideate about sex. If you are ready to be challenged about this, check out The Disappearance of Childhood by Neil Postman, which was written 40 YEARS ago. Ouch.

Schools are increasingly mimicking the culture of Brave New World (so my middle school substitute teacher friend asserts), but it’s our kids who suffer there.

9. The cons of both homeschooling and public schooling swam around my thoughts.

It was time for us to jump ship, to swerve onto a narrower road. How about you? Is it time for your family to jump ship? Do you sense the pull of your heart towards giving homeschooling a try?

We have to wean ourselves off the cultural drugs that addict us to the wrong desires first.

Our status in society may drop precipitously. We will have to pick up a new identity, one others may gawk at. The old identity, defined by perhaps lots of stuff, expensive vacations, and value in corporate America (i.e. a job in exchange for money!) may no longer stick with us.

Welcome to the wild ride!

Prepare to be scared, and to laugh, and to cry. But God will cheer you on from the sidelines, give you food to strengthen, and usher in your transformation.

Because this spiritual journey isn’t just for our kids.

Cmon! Let’s go!

Here’s some food to strengthen you for the journey.

Blogpost Footnotes

Since this post was written, a teen in our community died from a drug overdose. Also, I received a text from a local nurse that youth age 12 – 14 using meth is the new normal. Sheltering kids for a few more years, using whatever resources are available to us, is becoming increasingly important.

Oh, and homeschooling is the cool, new thing, and we should always try to fit in, right?

Is God Calling You To Read This?

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

And so, why am I writing this blog?

I am writing this blog for you. This blog is a gift from the Father to you through me. And by you, I don’t mean you, necessarily.

You will know who you are – the you I am writing this blog for.

Is it you?

Or maybe you don’t yet know if you are you as you read a few lines and move on to something else.

But for YOU – there is something here that you need. So I write for you. Except that I don’t know anything about you – your tastes, hobbies, needs, or soul yearnings.

But God asked me to write. And so I write. I write for you.

I write because He whispered in my ear. I could almost sense Him one day in the library, excited. He wanted to show me something. I looked blankly at the wall of books.

He seemed to be saying that He wanted the voice of His children to create books for these shelves.

I believe He wants to flood the earth with books about His Kingdom written by His people.

He was planting a seed in me, showing me His heart, opening a bit of heaven’s storehouses to see a tiny glimpse of the treasures He wants to give us if only we can lift our eyes to see.

Write, He seemed to be saying.

But like Moses, I protest.

The soil of my heart where God so gently planted a seed is dry. The seed cannot penetrate the earth.

I tell no one what He has been saying. The soil is too hard.

But God brings the rain.

At the women’s breakfast with our church, she prays for me. “I don’t know what this means,” she begins, “but I feel like God is giving you a pen. And the ink is the Holy Spirit. As you write, the ink of Holy Spirit will guide you.”

And I weep and weep because her words touch the deepest layer of my heart, the part with the ear that only You have whispered to.

Can it be true?

Have I correctly been hearing from You? It took one of your beloveds to dig into the soil, turn it over afresh, and whisper into my ear confirmation of what Holy Spirit had already been saying. Write.

And so I write.

And if you are the one I am writing for, welcome. It is good to meet you. May these words feed your soul. For they came from the Father and pass, garbled, through my hands. I apologize for mixing up the words, ignoring what I should have written, and writing something else instead. For erasing what should have been left and for the messiness of this page.

But may you, even through the dirty, ripped page, be encouraged somehow.

For that is His way.

My heart is to obey in joy. May a few of these words encourage you, dear friend. And may you also, one day, hear more clearly what He is saying to you, so He can bless others, through you, with His voice, as well, garbled and mixed up, as we may understand it with our broken ears and our broken desires.

We endeavour to speak to the world what we think He may be saying. May many seeds from the dirt that we throw earnestly to the wind land on soil already moistened by Holy Spirit

For that is His way.

God said [to Moses,] My presence will go with you. I’ll see the journey to it’s end.

The Message

God, help us to plant the seeds of Your voice whispering to our hearts. Help us to scatter seeds afar of the life that has unfolded because we chose to walk with You.

And God, bring the rain, we pray. For this is the only way life can arise from the dust of our lives.

Consider asking God, what is one step I can take today to align my life to Your vision of who I am as I learn to walk more closely by your side?

The Dark Abyss Is Where Joy Can Be Found

/ Lori Lawe / 2 Comments

This is the hand that reached way, way down, clasped my own and lifted me up, up out of my self-induced pit.

It was a hand connected to a person who gave me a hug and a pat on the back. He told me He was pleased with me.

And then He asked me to go back to the trenches, back to where I was.

Why? Just because we are at war doesn’t mean our role is to give up the fight.

He put a slip of paper in my hand before he held out the rope to lower, lower me back down the pit, back down to the kids with their swirling needs and to a dog with multiple dietary discomforts.

When I returned to the couch and to the kids and the dog that day, I held the folded slip of paper He had given me in my hand.

I opened it carefully and somehow the room quieted in my soul, even through the sharp noises of bickering kids and an excited dog.

So let’s not allow ourselves to get fatigued doing good. At the right time we will harvest a good crop if we don’t give up, or quit.

The Message

The words seemed to dissipate the storm cloud over my head. Was that sunlight breaking through? I looked up.

“Can you help me up off the couch?” I asked, looking up at Him. And He did.

And He tied my favorite shoes on my feet, the ones I thought I had lost. The shoes meant for dancing.

I already had my apron on, the one that I wear when I work.

And His gaze pointed to the next job, one that we would do together, Him at my side, the arm I held onto for balance.

And then, after the kids and I cleaned up a bit, and I cleaned myself up a bit, our homeschooling family read a book together on the couch.

The book I love that I longed to introduce to my children.

When she was hardly more than a girl, Miss Minnie had gone away to a teacher’s college and prepared herself to teach by learning many cunning methods that she never afterward used. For Miss Minnie loved children and she loved books, and she taught merely by introducing the one to the other.

That Distant Land by Wendell Berry

And then we did some math.

And when the kids were tucked into bed that night, after dreaming longingly of martinis for a while, I poured out my heart to God.

And He got a big red pen, the one that I use on my kids to edit their writing, and He edited my life.

This has got to go. This too. And this.

He gave me one or two things to focus on this season, one for each child and one for me.

And it got a little easier.

I was the one who needed to change, to tweak our homeschooling life so that joy could erupt through the cracks of the brokenness of our lives a little more often.

Thank you, God, for the hard times.

For only then am I broken and quiet enough for You to usher in my transformation.

Consider asking God what wounds He wants you to lift to Him so He can remove the bandaid to allow light to shine through the scar, blinding others so they too, may seek their healing.

Want Less Friction In Your Relationships? Two Nonsense Words Will Help!

/ Lori Lawe / 5 Comments

We were preparing our family to go skiing for the first time this year.

Only two people had mini meltdowns. Yes, one of them was an adult. Frustration levels were rising as we tried to find all our stuff.

We THOUGHT we had checked our daughter’s gear to make sure it fit from last year, but we forgot that she grew like a troll, and her skis were now only about half the correct size.

The only helmet we could find for one daughter was so big that she needed several thick toques under it for her to see when she was skiing.

We made do.

When we arrived at the hill (yes, I’m just venting now- who says writing isn’t cathartic?), one daughter snapped her boot into her ski. Snap. It fit.

The other boot wouldn’t snap into the bindings, and on closer inspection, we realized that although we paid a LOT of money for the guy at the hill to turn the screw so that the bindings fit the correct size of her foot, apparently, he only did this for ONE of her boots. Not for the other. Did I mention that our province recently legalized pot and that everyone seems to smoke it?

Enough said.

So we were frustrated.

And yes, marriage is just like that. It’s a lot like preparing to go skiing on the first day of the year. A lot can go wrong!

Thankfully, we have the following two nonsense words to share with you to save* your marriage:

1. sorryf’r – A contraction from the full “I’m sorry for . . . ” The details of what exactly we are sorry for are unspecified and undescribed. This word is used a lot in our marriage.

Like, every day.

By both of us.

An example would be “sorryf’r” after I accidentally kicked you while trying to get my ski boots on because I (honestly) didn’t see you walking past me. Or “sorryf’r” drinking the rest of the coffee cream because I didn’t want to share. I felt bad afterwards, though, if that counts.

It means that I know that I am an idiot – a lot.

And I know that you are an idiot, too.

We don’t overanalyze or even discuss details to describe WHAT exactly we are apologizing for. We don’t have to. The beauty of this phrase is as long as BOTH people remember that we have married dorks and that we each do dorky things ALL the time, well, we don’t dwell on that.

We move on.

And now I will teach you the correct response to sorryf’r.

2. yaIknow – A contraction from the full “Yeah, I know.” This means, as per sorryf’r, that I KNOW I’m an idiot a lot of the time, and I know that I mess up, and let’s move on, okay? Yes, you also are an idiot!

Can we change the subject yet?

And then we move on.

What’s for lunch? We forget about all the “stuff” and “incidents” and “offenses” and “infractions” that occurred before and after and around those words. Having low expectations for each other saves a LOT of grief.

Give it a try!

Have low expectations for your spouse!

Oh, and for you, too.

In another blogpost, we continue the skiing metaphor, discussing two acronyms for moderate and expert skiers only. Have you mastered the groomed ski runs of the sorryf’r and the yaIknow? If so, move on to the next post.

“. . . we’ve compiled this long and sorry record as sinners . . . and proved that we are utterly incapable of living the glorious lives God wills for us”

The Message

In (some) seriousness, God, help us to have the humility to know we need to forgive and to be forgiven a LOT. And in (less) seriousness, help us to take ourselves and our spouses a LOT less seriously. Thank you for your continual spirit of forgiveness towards us, should we turn towards you to receive this from your outstretched hand.

The song below is about an ancient king named Manasseh. He needed forgiveness for being a jack(what?) at a 100% level, but God extended this grace to him, too! As the song below plays, let’s consider asking God where WE (not our spouses) consistently trip up in our marriages.

And let’s reach out to receive Jesus’ hand of forgiveness to wash our lives so we each can smell a bit sweeter to our partner.

Blogpost Footnotes

* Or destroy. Results not guaranteed.

This post is part of our Say-It-Again On Friday series, where we say it again, on Fridays!

Anyone Else Want To Dance In February Instead Of Sit In Despair?

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

As mentioned last time, my head was in my hands, a cloud of despair surrounding me, weighing me down.

Regardless of how I was feeling, I had to make a choice. Do I take another fun pill, declare another ski day, to distract from this swirling pit beneath me, my life, that threatened to consume me?

Or did I put on my work pants, and get busy constructing a new life for myself and for my homeschooling family, one that we would have the strength to complete all the way from September to June?

And you? Is anyone else feeling the February pull into that familiar black hole of despair?

How do we dance in joy through the dark month of winter?

1. We lift our despair, scoop as much as we can in our hands, and we lift this offering to God.

2. We listen. We reattach our ears. We practice the habits that are the glue helping our ears to stay stuck.

3. We tell others in our trusted community what we think the spirit of God is whispering. The sounds are muffled and garbled, and the sound waves pass through our hearts mixed with wrong motives, so we have trouble understanding.

4. We look for our dancing shoes. Where are they again? Where are those dreams? Where did we last leave them? Who did God say I am, again?

5. We gingerly take His hand and step onto the dance floor of our lives. He is in the lead, not us. Will we humbly let him lead our lives? Will we give up our right to drive our own car and our accompanying future car wrecks to learn how to dance?

The choice is yours. The choice is mine.

Come on, friend! The adventure of a lifetime awaits us! Get up off that couch!

God, all of us long for a good father who holds out a hand to help us up when we fall. The one who has everything we need to open the right door of opportunity for our future lives.

You are that Father.

Open our eyes to see this.

May we trust You more deeply. Help us get off the couch to escape from the lies we believe about ourselves and our lives.

You alone offer us genuine hope for our futures.

May we have the courage to step onto the dance floor with You.

Teach us to dance.

As you meditate on the words below and listen to the song below, take deep breaths and practice quieting your heart before God.

You did it: you changed wild lament
into whirling dance;
You ripped off my black mourning band
and decked me with wildflowers.
I’m about to burst with song;
I can’t keep quiet about you.
God, my God,
I can’t thank you enough.

The Message

Cry out to Him. What gift do you imagine He is giving you?

Quiet your heart again, and then ask God how He sees you. What do you feel? What does your mind imagine?

Is it time to look for some dancing shoes?

Don’t Despair! The Monster Scaring You Is Only February!

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

Head in hands again. Trying to shut out the noise. The kids with their needs swirling around me.

We are homeschooling in February.

I sat on the couch, overwhelm consuming me. Do I declare (another) fun day and take the kids cross-country skiing?

Should we call all our homeschooling friends and organize (another) hockey party on the free outdoor ice rink?

Do I give them as much “independent work” as I can and try to tackle the mess of stuff in the basement, the pile that seems to have acquired a life of its own and that roars at me as I pass like a Yeti in the basement?

Or do I confront the emotions in my heart that are spilling out onto the couch next to me, a mess I am trying to hide but that is emerging despite my best efforts to pretend I am confidently steering this homeschooling ship?

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to hide behind the fun. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the fact that our home is so disorganized that we can no longer find pencils to do our math. Or that no one cares. “I like using a green pencil crayon for math, Mommy!” she asserts.

She is not trying to make me feel better. She is genuinely happy. Her needs are met.

And mine?

“I’m not worried about the kids,” my husband would assert. “I’m worried about you.”

So I offer you tea and a listening ear, dear homeschooling Mom and Dad, and ask:

How are you?

Not how are your kids?

Not how is the state of your home (We know it’s a disaster. You homeschool!)

How are you?

People who suppress feelings experience less positive and more negative emotions.

APA PsycNet

And then your tears, and your head in hands, and I put my arm around you to comfort you.

Husbands, put on a helmet first and then TRY asking your wives if PMS is real.

You know the answer, or you will find out soon enough.

Similarly, the homeschooling in February blues is real.

I want to propose (shout out to Mystie Winckler for the essence of this paragraph’s wisdom!) that the path we walk through the regular monthly cycling of our emotions gives us a hint for how we walk through the annual cycling of our feelings during the homeschooling year.

And February is hard.

Now, I know that you don’t have time for a dissertation. Your child is pulling your arm already, something is burning on the stove, and you have dog vomit to clean up, but you need some help. Now.

Don’t quit homeschooling in February.

If you take the advice of the sentence above, then go! Go and get through the day! Well done, Mom and Dad!

If you have another 5 minutes, here is an explanation for the statement above.

When sailors would navigate using the stars, how would they do it? They would choose their course on a cloudless, moonlit night. “I am heading north-east,” they would assert, and set their hearts and sails in that direction.

On a cloudy night, when the stars were invisible, and they didn’t know which way to go, what did they do?

They kept sailing in the same direction.

February, head in our hands month, is a cloudy night, desolation.

Ignatius describes desolation as “. . . darkness of soul, . . . the unquiet of different agitations and temptations, . . . when one finds oneself . . . as if separated from his Creator and Lord.” . . .

Ignatius warns us that someone in desolation should never change an important decision . . . made when they were in a state of consolation.

The Jesuit Post

Keep sailing in the same direction.

How do you do it? How do you survive one more day, you ask desperately? I’ll give you some tips, held like cherished gems in my pocket from long years on the sea, at another time, friend, because our time together has ended for today.

But oh, desolation is an opportunity for our growth.

May you reach your destination.

However, you may not end up where you thought you were sailing.

That is His way.

The Despair Of February Is Our Ticket To True Homeschooling Freedom

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

I was slipping into the dark abyss.

My fingernails scratched the side of the dark tube I was falling. I was trying to hold on, to stop myself from falling. Nothing worked.

I fell faster and further and landed with a painful thump. Sitting in the dirt, I tried to take stock of my situation to figure out what to do next.

I couldn’t climb my way out of this pit. Bits of dirt fell out of the walls when I tried to pull myself up with my own strength,

I sat down again, discouraged.

What do I do next?

I sat on the couch, the kids running in circles around me. The dog followed them, stopping to eat a puzzle piece that had fallen on the ground.

“He’ll throw that up later,” I thought, but I stayed where I was, slouched on the couch, watching the commotion.

How had homeschooling become so complicated?

Welcome to February.

And it is to you, dear homeschooling parent, that I send out a blimp in the sky, something that you will notice amidst the noise. “What is that?” you wonder, looking up, up at some shape you can barely recognize high up in the sky.

The dishes have piled up again, and secretly, you find yourself wondering more and more often what it would feel like to don work clothes and to wave “Goodbye!” to the kids each morning with a smile and a wave. Next year? (The rest of THIS homeschooling year . . . ? What WOULD that be like . . . ) You are lost in a daydream again.

We try to shake ourselves awake. We walk to the next room in a half-hearted effort to clean up. The piles of half used, forgotten curriculum mocks you from every room you pass. “Ha! You didn’t finish me either!” it yells at you.

The kids are happy, delighted. They kiss you as they soar past, trying out a new paper airplane they designed, as they throw it, again, from the top of the stairs, laughing.

They stop to offer you a kiss. “Do you want a cup of water?” they ask sweetly, wanting, in their limited way, to help you. They have a look of concern in their eyes. They know that mommy doesn’t feel “regular” today. These are good kids.

But even they can’t help you climb out of your pit.

The pull of February drowns out their voices. Their words sound muffled, far away.

The martini that you have never actually drunk but that entices you as a far-off reward for someday doesn’t cut it today.

Dirt falls from the side of the walls and won’t hold your weight when you try pulling yourself out of this pit with a promised martini.

Maybe you can wait here, sit in your despair until spring, you wonder?

You look up at the top of the pit. “How can the light reach way, way down here?” you wonder.

I will be writing a series of posts, dear homeschooling parent, to help you through the February blues.

In February, the long winter stretches out with no Christmas in sight. The rest of the school year seems long, long away.

If you haven’t felt discouraged yet, you probably will.

(Shh… God is holding a ticket out of here for you. Do you see Him? But the only way out of this pit is if He transforms you so you have wings. Are you ready to fly?)

Stay tuned to this series of posts to help you:

(1) Not be surprised at the February homeschooling blues when they knock at your door and come in uninvited,

(2) Allow God to transform YOU (not your kids), and

(3) Better align with a way to homeschool that puts a smile back on your face.

Are you ready to soar?

He energizes those who get tired,
gives fresh strength to dropouts.

The Message

Do You Cower Inside Your Box, Too?

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

What if I am in a box, but the box is too small for me? I push on every side, but no luck. I remain, for the rest of my days, perhaps, encased in something that contains me, squeezes me.

After a while, like shoes that are too tight that have been worn for a long, long, time, we cease to notice the pain. It feels normal.

Jesus was calling me, wooing me out of the box I had squeezed myself into. Like a safety blanket, the box held me close, and comforted me somehow, in an unhealthy, painful way.

He leaned down and put his head close to the opening of the box. Come, He bid me, metaphorically. His eyes reflected and deepened my pain. He held out His hand to me. Would I follow?

I hadn’t noticed that the box was open. But like those who have been imprisoned for too long, their eventual freedom scares them. They long to be imprisoned again, and may even commit an offence to return to their prison cell.

Freedom is just too scary. It’s comfortable here, we reason.

But I listened to Him recently. I gently clasped His hand, but then struggled, letting go of his hand after a brush with discouragement.

I tried again. He waited patiently for me, encouraging me. Come. Try again, He seemed to beckon, his arm outstretched. So I did.

And now I am free of that box. I can stand, dance and move around now.

I am in a new box now, but one that is bigger. He is beckoning me still, however, to come, to come out of the new box I have created for myself.

I am more free, yes, and this is good, He seems to be saying, joy in His eyes. But more freedom awaits, He seems to be saying. I made you to fly.

Who will give me wings,” I ask— “wings like a dove?” Get me out of here on dove wings.

The Message

And this description that I have written today is the spiritual side of the story. The human side of the story, like the other side of the same coin, the part that is easier to talk about, is my journey of learning to fast, to abstain for a time from food.

Sometimes in doing what we don’t want to do, in fasting, or in stepping out of the box we have created for ourselves, we finally are a bit more free.

Our vision expands when we fly.

Do you also feel you are stuck in a box? If so, as the song below plays, and after a few minutes of thanksgiving, consider asking Holy Spirit: What is one step I can take to find my way out of this box, and test my wings?

The “Unwanted” Baby Is Wanted By All?

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

I’m wiping the tears from my eyes again.

It was movie and popcorn night. We watched UnPlanned, the astonishing, true story of Planned Parenthood Director Abby Johnson’s journey across the line from Choice to Life.

We were all undone.

As my tiny and insignificant contribution to this whirlwind topic of our day, like a feather battling a windstorm, I include below a poem I wrote.

May our prayers reach the ear of God, that the prevailing cultural winds would change direction and blow the feather toward God again and again and again . . . we pray.

Lord, have mercy on us, all of us, for we are a sinful people.

And may we pause to consider the following:

Simon Peter [who] . . . fell to his knees before Jesus. “Master, leave. I’m a sinner and can’t handle this holiness. Leave me to myself.”

The Message

and

If . . . my people, my God-defined people, respond by humbling themselves, praying, seeking my presence, and turning their backs on their wicked lives, I’ll be there ready for you: I’ll listen from heaven, forgive their sins, and restore their land to health.

The Message

They Say She’s Not Wanted

They say she’s not wanted in this world.

Yet I’ve seen her mom, belly swelled in mystical expectation, nervously meeting prospective adoptive parents for the first time. Tears flowed on all sides at the first introduction, bonded somehow at the initial meeting. I’ve chatted with her mom many times while she lay curled up in the womb.

My heart broke for her mom because she could not raise her now.

I met her birth grandma and cried with her over the expectation of the first grandchild in the family.

The fulfillment of a grandmother’s dreams was not that the child would be whisked from her arms before they would know each other well. “You take good care of her,” the grandmother whispered to the adoptive mother through tears.

I’ve met her birth father.

A boy-man, wearing the tough guy mask in front of his friends and family. I sat with him while he, head in hand, sobbed a mountain of anguished tears, knowing that her birth mom could not stay with him forever and be the family unit that he dreamed of.

I’ve cried with him too.

I’ve also met them – the crowds of families, with polished faces and pages full of dreams in shiny dossiers, cartwheeling over each other in efforts to impress. They plead, “Please pick us. We want her. We want to be her family. Oh, won’t you please pick us?”

I know them because I was also a member of one of those families. And our family was chosen. And oh, how the aching in our hearts was finally filled with love and gratitude for this cherished life.

Thank you, birth mothers, birth fathers, and birth grandparents, for standing firm in love and truth, regardless of the shifting sand of popular opinions.

We honor you, and we love you.

Thank you for placing your child in the arms of a family who will love and care for her.

Thank you for allowing this child to thrive in the healing love of all of us in her extended birth families and her extended adoptive family.

And we share a secret, don’t we?

Even if they don’t know it, we know these children are wanted by MORE people than can be counted.

The Best Way To Be Less of A Jerk? Pretend To Be Someone Else!

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

I found myself still in pajamas, curlers in my straight hair, yelling at my homeschooled kids to get up, get dressed, and get to their work!

The only problem was that I hadn’t done any of those things yet.

They pointed out my inconsistencies and went back to playing Nintendo, their little pajamaed butts mocking me as they lay on their stomachs, resuming their play.

Why did I bother teaching my kids logic, I wondered, wearily. Now their reasoning skills match mine.

I needed a bigger bullet to fight in this homeschooling war.

I scoured books, and homeschooling journals, and cried with my fellow homeschooled moms, all of whom were also still in their pyjamas. They could relate with empathy.

The best military strategy I found was to:

1) Get up early,

2) Get dressed, and

3) Put on lipstick, a nice scarf, and a smile.

In other words, I was pretending to be someone else.

By default, I had been acting like Mrs. Name-changed, the Grade 1 teacher I didn’t like. Mrs Name-changed always forgot to wear deodorant and to mark our assignments. She was always in a bad mood.

Then I remembered my favorite Grade 3 teacher, Mrs. Chamberlain. She looked nice every day and had a sweet smile.

If Mrs Chamberlain had some characteristics that I wanted to emulate, then I needed to choose those same characteristics until those traits became a part of my identity too.

The question is:

Who Are We Becoming?

I chose Mrs. Chamberlain.

And it worked!

My kids’ logic that “I wasn’t doing it either” was finally cancelled, and they reluctantly put Nintendo away, meandering to their rooms to find their (non-pajama) clothes, unused these past 3 months, since homeschooling started this fall.

And what is the lesson, here, I wondered, as I sipped martinis by the pool later that afternoon, ringing a small bell to usher them onto their next subject?

The lesson is best summarized in a popular TED talk by Psychologist Amy Cuddy. She said our BODIES change our MINDS (our thoughts and feelings). Therefore, we can:

“Fake it until you BECOME it. Do it enough until you actually BECOME it, and internalize it.”

Amy Cuddy

The lesson is, WHO ARE YOU?

But friends, that’s exactly who we are: children of God. And that’s only the beginning. Who knows how we’ll end up! What we know is that when Christ is openly revealed, we’ll see him—and in seeing him, become like him. All of us who look forward to his coming stay ready, with the glistening purity of Jesus’ life as a model for our own.

The Message

When we understand who we are, we have a shot at becoming aligned with who God created us to be.

Time to switch off the iPads, stop scrolling through Amazon for more stuff to fill the void inside, and dig out the royal clothes that are in the very back of your closet, the ones God gave you so long ago, that you forgot they were even there.

Then:

1) Let’s get up early and rest in who God made us to be instead of running in frenzied circles like everyone else.

2) Let’s put on our royal robes as children of the King, our true identity.

3) Let’s gaze at the One who gives us His identity as we align our lives with what He is whispering to the deepest recesses of our hearts.

So let’s step into the truth of who we really are, the ones Jesus died for, and the ones who have found our identity, which is those who abide with Him. And this identity is enough.

As the music below plays, consider asking God, “How do You see me?”