La Vie de Miccah Marie
my thoughts on life, love, faith, and motherhood
Learning to be a GentleMom
This morning, I could have slept in for another hour. Instead, my ginger-haired girl tiptoed her way into my room, discovering an unopened package of Easter candy on her way to my side of the bed. “Mama! We didn’t eat all the Pez from our Easter baskets!” she boomed. My youngest then danced into the room, wide-eyed and excited for more Easter-themed sugar. I groaned, tossing my covers off and sat up. I did not want that candy ripped open and for both girls to have a sugar high before 8am. “Give me the candy,” I said gruffly. I took it and stuffed it away. I was not at all gentle in how I spoke to them this morning. While I drank my coffee, and my girls were eating their breakfast, I apologized for being such a grump. In their sweet little voices, they both assured me by saying, “It’s okay, Mama.” But how often do I blow up at them for them being little people with their own wills, not acquiescing to my own, especially if what they’re doing isn’t wrong? I read Grace Based Parenting by Tim Kimmel a while back, and I still think of this fantastic quote: “Childhood is the time that God has set aside for children to work the ‘ding dong’ out of themselves.” It’s so completely true. I don’t need to get so crazy wound up over silly things I should just be laughing at instead.
Dear Lord, help me to be patient with my girls (and with my husband). Help me to speak life-giving words to them, to treat their hearts tenderly, and to swallow my knee-jerk reactions that come out angry or impatient. Please help me remember that I am your representative of grace, patience, integrity, forgiveness, kindness, and gentleness. You gave me these precious babies. Help me to be a good and faithful servant with them. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Passover Exchange
The gospels record that a large crowd had gathered in Jerusalem for the Passover festival and pressed in to see Jesus, who was riding in to the city on a donkey colt. The crowd laid down palm branches and their cloaks on the road for this highly anticipated Jesus, shouting, “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord- the King of Israel!” Then we read that just a few days later, Jesus was in handcuffs tried as a prisoner by Pilate. Wanting to release Jesus, Pilate attempted to address the crowd, but this crowd was full of bloodlust. Three times, Pilate sought to ask the crowd why he should crucify Jesus, for he knew that Jesus was innocent. But the crowd, ignoring Pilate’s questions, continued to scream, “Crucify! Crucify him!” and their vehement, rabid shouting won out over reason. Pilate allowed the crowd to dictate his decision, and so he released Barabbas, the prisoner convicted of rebellion and murder, and handed Jesus, the Lamb of God, over to be crucified.
How did shouts of Hosanna switch to Crucify so quickly? The people so abruptly changed their minds about Jesus, yanking him off a throne and nailing him to a cross. Similarly, the Israelites who were led by Moses through the wilderness were just as swift to turn their backs on God. The Israelites enjoyed the actual presence of God in the form of a pillar of fire at night and of cloud during the day, and the daily miracle of manna from heaven. Moses took too long for them to return from the mountaintop, so they melted down their gold and turned it into an idol in the shape of a cow. In one week, they had abandoned their living God, choosing instead to worship a lifeless, golden calf they themselves had fashioned.
Last Sunday was Palm Sunday, and I woke up with this Bible verse in my head:
We all went away like sheep; we all have turned to our own way; and the Lord has punished Him for the iniquity of us all.
Isaiah 53:6 (CSV)
We can read both stories and think that we would never have been that fickle to desert the Lord. We most likely have never carved a lump of wood or metal into an idol, nor were we an actual member of the screaming mob yelling, “Crucify!” I looked up the word iniquity and found lots of synonyms: abomination, crime, evildoing, heinousness, immorality, injustice, sinfulness, wickedness, unrighteousness, and wrongdoing. That verse states that we ALL have some of this in our hearts and have acted on it, too. We may even be weighed down by it, flogging ourselves mentally for a past we cannot undo, or living in a current addiction from which we cannot break free. Yet, Jesus isn’t angry or bitter or disgusted with us. He forgave us all for putting Him on that cross, not with an actual hammer and nail, but with our own iniquity.
We exchanged shouts of Hosanna for Crucify We exchanged a savior for a murderer We exchanged our living God for the golden image of a grass-eating ox Jesus exchanged His life for our sin Jesus exchanged our past for a future with Him Jesus exchanged our guilt and shame for forgiveness and love that knows no bounds
Encounter at the Cross
I wanted this Easter to be more than Easter bunnies, decorating eggs, and honey-baked ham. I really wanted to connect emotionally to how Jesus felt during this week of his life on earth. I’ve poured over each Gospel’s story of Passover through the resurrection. As I prayed today, I could almost see Jesus in front of me. I could see his eyes, and feel the depth of his love and forgiveness. I pray that this helps you see Him too.
Looking down at my shuffling feet in the dirt bearing the shame of my own guilt I stop at a fresh mound in front of me. Looking up, I see Jesus, bloody and beaten, nailed to a splintered cross. He looks me in the eyes, liquid love meeting mine. "Forgive her, Lord. She doesn't know what she's doing," he prays, Never taking his eyes off me. I drop to my knees, dropping everything I own and all I have been carrying scattered at His feet. Tears pour from my eyes as I ask forgiveness for nailing Him there. "It is finished," I hear him say. All is quiet. Then, Jesus simply says my name. I look up, and there He is. The cross is gone and Jesus is standing in front of me, wearing blazing white the holes in his hands and feet still visible. He smiles, opening his arms wide just as they were as He hung on the cross and says, "You are forgiven, for all of it."
Savoring the Time
After lunch, I’m eyeing the clock, waiting for 1pm to get here. That’s the time for my two little ones to skitter up the stairs, I will read them a book (or three) and then it’s quiet time for both of them. After their doors close, I can feel my body relax. I excitedly heat up water in the kettle for some tea, and break out my Bible. This is my only Alone Time during the day. I’m going through the book of Psalms now, using the reading plan in my Bible as my daily checklist of which Psalm or multiple Psalms to read, and the two “Going Deeper” readings elsewhere in the Word. I have my journal and pen in hand as I read, so that I can write down the verses that speak to me, and then once my Bible is closed, I write out my prayers in ink. I savor this hour, just God and me, alone. Which is why it’s so hard to not be rattled when one of my girls yells from her door, “I have to go potty!” Or any number of other interruptive exclamations. I’m protective of this time, and it’s difficult for me not to get angry when my alone time is disrupted. Thank you, Lord, for your grace and for meeting me, and help me to savor your presence all day long, not just in the one hour I allot. Also, help me to savor this precious, fleeting time with my little girls while they’re home with me all day.
Daily manna for a Hangry mama
Nearly five years since giving birth to my first baby, I think back on that first year of motherhood with my content Noelle as being glorious and blissful. My second baby, Autumn, then crashed into our lives 21 months later. That one miserable post-delivery night in the hospital changed me from being a confident, always smiling and laughing mom into an overwhelmed, completely anxious and tearful wreck. All of a sudden, my docile and sweet Noelle was, without warning, everything the opposite. I was navigating life as a first-time mom of a Terrible Two, concurrently dealing with an often-inconsolable newborn. Some nights after getting both girls to bed, I’d sit in my husband’s lap, soaking the front of his shirt as I’d cry, ashamed at my inability to be the mom I wished I could be to my girls. I was heartbroken over the harsh words I’d let out in anger and impatience at my Noelle. I was torn that I couldn’t spend quality time with each of them as I felt they deserved or needed. My husband would rub my back and let me cry, but he never fully understood the turmoil I felt inside.
On one particularly difficult morning dealing with 15-month-old Autumn and three-year-old Noelle, I was dragging myself around the kitchen to make another cup of coffee. My ever-observant ginger-haired Noelle said to me, “Mama, look up. Don’t look at the floor.” I looked up at her, surprised. “What made you say that?” I asked. “God did,” she told me confidently. I was barely hanging on and God spoke to me in my kitchen that day through my oldest, and my most challenging daughter at the time. He was reminding me to stop trying to do this motherhood thing by myself.
After that day in the kitchen, I’ve intentionally made time to spend time with God every day. He has since filled my soul and my mind with precisely what I need in order to pour it out on to my children and my husband. No matter how small or big the amount of time I can commit, God gives me sufficient grace, patience, love, joy, and peace to get through the day. Likewise, God provided manna, bread from Heaven, every day for 40 years to feed the Israelites as He led them through the wilderness. In Exodus 16:18, it reads that “…the person who gathered a lot [of manna] had no surplus, and the person who gathered a little had no shortage. Each gathered as much as he needed to eat.” Our patient Heavenly Father led and fed the whining, hangry Israelites through the desert for over 40 years. In turn, He knows just what we need and how much, because he gifted these precious children to us to lead and feed. We simply need to spend time with Him each day for a refill.
This is my daily Prayer: Dear Lord Jesus, thank you for being with me when I feel alone, overwhelmed, or like I’m completely failing my kids. Children are gifts from you, and I’m so thankful you’ve given me the honor of raising my girls and to teach them to be followers of Christ. Help me to teach them with grace, and in order to do that, remind me of your grace that you so freely give me every day. Help me to get rid of distractions that take me away from spending time with you and with my family. Thank you for restoring me, settling me, strengthening me, and supporting me always, and for being so gracious to me in filling up my soul, so that I can pour onto my family in your overflow.
Redeeming Grief
I found out recently that a friend from my past has died. I last saw my friend in Denver over 8 years ago. He wanted to come visit and ski, so he and I and a handful of my friends all met together and had a great day in the mountains. It was a fun visit, and since that time, we had kept in touch only on Facebook. On Sunday morning, I had seen my friend’s alarmingly angry and bitter post about his earthly, biological father and I felt God’s spirit urgently prompt me to send my friend a text message. I felt that God wanted me to assure him that his earthly father was not at all like the Heavenly Father. That whatever his dad said to him did not define him, and that only Jesus could bring him peace, and be an anchor for his searching soul. I told him that God loves him, created him for a purpose, and was waiting for him to ask for help. Four days after I sent him that message, he died. My hope is that he did read it, and maybe it brought him peace. I don’t know if it changed his hardened heart towards God, but I pray that it did. When I first heard he had died, I was slightly comforted that I had listened to God’s nudge. Now that a few days have passed, sadness has fully replaced that small comfort. I can only hope that my friend’s heart was softened, and that he asked Jesus to redeem him.
Oh, the Possibilities
Tomorrow evening at around 9pm, my baby girl will be three years old. How is it possible she is that old, while at the same time, how has she not been part of me all my life? Just three years seems like such a small amount of time relative to how long I’ve been alive, but so much has happened in that time. We moved to Charlotte right when I found out I was pregnant, at just six weeks along. My oldest was just a baby herself, only 21 months old at the time my second baby arrived. I’m so thankful to be out of the postpartum overwhelm and fog. There are new challenges to be faced, but as my girls grow, they’re becoming more independent and more fun. Their personalities have bloomed like the cherry blossoms outside. More is required of me emotionally now, rather than physically, which is only slightly less exhausting than midnight feedings and diaper changes. However, knowing that I have carried my last baby, I look to the future with excitement and lots of prayer at all the possibilities for their lives, as well as for my own.
In the Weeds
I am not a gardener, nor do I have much of a green thumb. I have two houseplants that I’ve miraculously not killed after having them for nearly three months. I will periodically spray them with water when I remember, which is maybe twice a week. However, few years ago, a friend gave me a pulled up piece of mint from her yard in a ziplock bag. I skeptically buried the thin, dirty greenish-white root under a layer of mulch, leaving the few minty smelling leaves above ground. That mint took to the ground almost immediately, and after a few months, the whole 4’x4′ area behind my house was a minty fresh bounty of those hearty, weed-like plants. Today, I decided that it was time to rip them all out. I left one plant to survive in a pot, because, other than homemade mint ice cream or mojitos, I am fairly positive I will never have a use for it all. Plus, it was starting to creep behind the trash and recycle bins, and looked like a gnarly tangle of dried up, withered stems and some purply-tinged green mint leaves; wild and unkempt. The older shoots were no longer even edible. I donned my bright pink galoshes, my gardening gloves, and with a three-pronged cultivator rake in my hand, I proceeded to hack at the ground. With each pull of the cultivator, I’d rip up at least three or four roots. It was so satisfying when I was able to yank up a root with my hands that didn’t snap. Those whole roots were at least two or three feet long, with mint sprouts running along the whole length. There was an entire network of roots underground that intersected through that whole mulched section, and had even forged their way under and around the A/C unit. Some roots had even become hard and woody, very unlike the pliable, pale green shoot from when I first planted the mint.
I was thinking that my thoughts can be like that mint. Things that I can allow myself to focus on and then become angry and callous. Thoughts about past relationships that spring up without prompting, even though they’re buried deep. Those negative thoughts of feeling unworthy and ashamed, feelings of regret and of heartbreak. They can all choke out the life God intends for us to have. None of our past mistakes, bad decisions, or poor choices define us. God freely forgives, never bringing up that which we wish we could forget. His grace, mercy, and ever-pursuing love and redemption are what defines us. If we hand Him the cultivator, He will set to work on our hearts, turning the soil into soft ground, and will rip out those thoughts that have been growing for way too long.
Secret Green
When I was a kid, I shared a bedroom with my sister, my brother had his own room, and my uncle Mark had a bedroom downstairs, just up from the basement. My parents had their own bathroom in their room, and the rest of us shared the only other bathroom upstairs. Our church had a Compassion House ministry. Compassion House was a temporary home for families who needed help getting back on their feet. One family with two little girls lived there for as long as Compassion House would allow, and were no further along in finding a job or being stable than before they came in. So, my parents invited that family to stay at our house, creating a temporary bedroom in the basement for them. I can’t really remember for how long they stayed, perhaps only a week or two in the summer when I was about nine. But, I clearly remember when the dad had made his first twenty dollars, my parents put it in an envelope in the bottom drawer of the big walnut desk in the living room. A few days after that twenty dollar bill was tucked away, the family was gone, and so was that envelope. We never saw or heard from them again. It was strange, having a family of four suddenly living with us, and just as abruptly, not. My parents didn’t make a big deal of it, they just opened up their home, even though it wasn’t terribly convenient. I remember that they didn’t advertise their benevolence. Only the people through our church who coordinated the family to live with us knew. My parents kept their very generous act private by not announcing it to others.
This weekend, my girls, my husband, and I went sledding in the mountains of NC. We brought with us an old, orange saucer sled that looked like it had been run across a cheese grater. My girls were so excited to try the hill, but that orange sled would not budge, even on the icy patches. There was no slide, only friction. Another family was there with two of their little boys, each one toting a new, shiny green saucer sled. The father noticed my husband and I trying to push our still-excited girls atop that orange sled down the hill to no avail. The oldest boy, after some prodding by his dad, willingly gave us his new sled. I nearly cried at his kindness and compassion. My girls proceeded to have the best time ever zipping down that hill together, my oldest in the back, my youngest in the front. That small gift from that little boy gave my girls (and me!) a glow that lasted all weekend. When I find an opportunity to do something for someone, a bubbling feeling of excitement brews in my belly. Out of pride, it would be so easy to take a picture and post, “See what I just did?” But there is no need to advertise. Keep that act of generosity a fun secret just between you and God. The right people will notice, and forever be changed.
3 But when you give to someone in need, don’t let your left hand know what your right hand is doing. 4 Give your gifts in private, and your Father, who sees everything, will reward you.
Matthew 6:3-4 (New Living Translation)
Splitting Seas
I’ve been reading the book of Psalms for the past few months, going through the reading plan in my Bible. It’s been amazing to look with fresh eyes the gut-wrenching prayers and the peace-filled, thankful praises of David. In chapters 77 and 78, which are what I’ve read yesterday and today, the author fervently reminds us of God’s faithfulness. How He rescued His people out of Egypt and led them through the wilderness, despite their whining and complaining, and even when they completely turned their backs on Him. Sure, God got angry, but he forgave his people and made a way for them come to the Promised Land at last. His love, grace, kindness, patience, and forgiveness is without limit. He is always pursuing our hearts, no matter what we’ve ever done or said.
You split the seas for me walls of foaming, angry water on each side. You beckon me to follow you providing me with a cloud by day and a flickering flame at night. You fill me with the bread of heaven and the water of life, Sprouting streams from stones abundant as the depths. Who am I that you hear my small, quiet prayer? That you consider me and my request; In your ever-gracious kindness, knowing how much it would mean. I will follow behind your unseen footprints with childlike faith and a grateful heart.
The MOPS blog article I wrote entitled Love Times Two
The Laughing Gateau
La Vie de Miccah Marie 