A Generous Grace

ideas on practical spirituality and loving each other

Guest Post: Helping Our Kids Become a Safe Place

becoming a safe place person of refuge

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A Symphony around My Chopsticks: Thoughts on Everyday Faithfulness

symphony alongside my chopsticks everyday faithfulness

My house is (blissfully) quiet now. I sit at my clean wooden table. My stomach is comfortably satisfied. My kids are actually adjusting remarkably well to school life—something I couldn’t have anticipated after five years homeschooling them in Africa. (Adjusting so well, in fact, that after their dental appointments last week, the younger two begged me to return to the last hour of school. Um…okay!) My new job as a freelance writer—after a few weeks of what might be called panic—is actually a delight. And my husband is happy, which is just a good gift all around. We are all healing mpola mpola (slowly by slowly).

This is to say: I have a lot I am thankful for. Many of you have asked about our transition, probably because my heart has seeped out a bit into cyberspace. I would not be telling the truth to say something other than—wow. This has all gone much more smoothly than I thought possible. (Thank you, friends, for praying. He hears.)

I noticed in myself this weekend—I guess you could call it a longing. As a friend pointed out, I’ve lost a couple of my jobs in the last year. And I think the slight gap I feel, where the wind whistles through, could be called purpose. Occasionally I see flashes of it, like light on water. But a little part of me is still puzzled. It whispers, see–when I’m not flying around with school lunches and permission slips and work deadlines. Why am I here? (And maybe, Why am I not there?)

Maybe that’s why my mind drifted to two of my most favorite, and the most spectacular, stories this week. I think of a boy handing a carpenter-turned-rabbi his lunch, some bread and some (hopefully cooked?) fish. I think of his mother kneading the dough that morning or the day before with floury hands on stone, the yeasty bubbles at last being shoveled into an oven. I think she didn’t know what she was making with her daily work. She had no idea it would feed more than 5,000 people at the hand of the Son of God. That people would be talking about her bread in 2017.

I think, too, of a prophet and his grizzled beard, compiling the ingredients for a fire on a mountain while everyone watches. Everyday ingredients: Tinder, kindling, logs—plus the inexplicable 12 barrels of water weirdly poured over the top. (Impossible, everyone was probably saying. He’s making it impossible.)

But this is what I know. Sometimes we’re just handing over our food, or stacking wood—and waiting for God to show up and make something stunning and beautiful.

Maybe you’re there, staying at home with a disabled child, or sticking around with a spouse who doesn’t believe, or teaching Sunday School to kids who wipe their nose on your arm. Yet sometimes what we see as a handicap or a limitation or the ordinary is precisely what’s been orchestrated for whisking our breath away.

Or, as a friend put it to me recently: I’m playing chopsticks—and then I look up, and around me, God’s playing a symphony.

So yes, I’m in a bit of waiting right now, a bit of the mundane, faithful, and decidedly non-heroic: “aspire to live quietly, and to mind your own affairs, and to work with your hands, as we instructed you” (1 Thessalonians 4:11). I have a feeling there are quiet radicals everywhere, living fully and faithfully and just trusting God always shows up.

And I may be forming just another loaf of bread, another fire. Or maybe I’m right where He wants me, playing chopsticks.

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The Safe Place Series, #3: Practical Tips to Becoming a Person of Refuge

The other night, one of my kids was at his finest. It was as if a switch had been flipped. He went from easy-going to stonewalling us, arms crossed, resolutely stubborn. And man, was I getting the stinkeye.

Though his attitude was not without consequences, God was kind to me. I think He reminded me that disproportionate reactions are a lot of times symptoms that something deeper’s being triggered. Thankfully, this tipped my husband and I off to dig and uncover the problem more than just slam down the symptom.

Because when you’re going through a hard time, life can feel a little…naked. So our emotional safety is directly tied to the degree of acceptance we sense from someone.

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Guest Post: Helping Kids Learn to Walk with the Holy Spirit

Helping Kids Learn to Walk in the Holy Spirit

Take good care of my baby. (Yep, the kid actually managed to get five front teeth in this photo.)

It’s happening.

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7 Prayers for Those Battered by Natural Disasters

7 prayers for those battered by natural disasters

Like you, my heart is twisting as all eyes turn toward Hurricane Irma, which has already devastated the lives of so many in the Caribbean–and soon followed by Jose and Katia. With this morning’s earthquake in Mexico, the pummeling by Hurricane Harvey, and wildfires torching the West–pray with me for those torn from their homes and relying on the kindness of others for their next meal.

Victims of these natural disasters: We remember you, and we’re on our knees.

Readers: Will you pray with us?

  1. Peace. Let them give all their anxiety and fear to you. As they trust you, guard their hearts in Your peace that’s beyond what makes sense (Philippians 4:8).
  2. Provision. Please, care for their physical needs; their daily “bread”. Let them not worry about what they’ll eat or drink or wear, but trust that you see them and care deeply (Matthew 6:26). Let them seek you, and lack no good thing (Psalm 34:10). In times of deep need or even when they have plenty, give them the strength to endure anything (Philippians 4:13).
  3. Wisdom. There are so many decisions to be made when life has been shattered. Help them to move forward not in impulsive fear, seeking peace–but operating from peace and in careful wisdom. Help them know each next step as they seek you (James 1:5-6).
  4. Trust. It can be hardest to trust you when we walk through overwhelming grief and loss. Show each person the tender, specific care You take of them, the small graces, and your personal remembering of them. Let them trust You even when you take away (Job 1:21).
  5. Care and hospitality. Father, let them see you in every open door, every glass of water, every kind smile and gentle grasp. Provide love for them through friends, family, and strangers. Go before these victims of tragedy, paving their way in graciousness. Motivate your people to love generously, as an act of love to you (Matthew 25:34-40).
  6. Restoration. Yours is a story of resurrection; of ultimately giving so much more than You ask of us. Restore the happiness and necessities taken by these disasters (Joel 2:24-26).
  7. Refuge. Lord, be their hiding place and refuge, a constant presence and help in trouble. Intimately and personally let them know You are there with them (Psalm 46:1).
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From My Pinterest-imperfect Day to Yours: Simple Thoughts about What Goes Wrong

I padded downstairs to shake my daughter’s shoulder, waking her for school. But instead, she woke to my “Oh, no.”

‘Cause that’s generally what you say when you see liquid pooling in the hall in the half-light, oozing from the laundry-room-slash-pantry.

That was the price-club-sized empty detergent bottle on its side, the cap to the air vent lying surrendered beside it, and the laundry room now flooded with a pleasantly lemony, biodegradable, outstandingly viscous liquid soap.

pinterest imperfect day

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The Safe Place Series, #2: On Giving Pat Answers the Boot

Missed the first post? Grab it here. 

I must have been seventeen. I still remember the room and where I was sitting in it. Sadly, I don’t remember the exact nature of the trauma that had come upon one of the youth group members, which was explained as we listened in relative silence that Sunday morning. I do know someone had died. But I remember the youth leader giving us advice about how to help those around them, and I specifically remember this: Here’s what not to say. Don’t tell them this was God’s will.

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Friday Quotables #6: A Terrible Force

Dostoyevsky humility humble love terrible force Karamazov

At some thoughts one stands perplexed, above all at the sight of human sin, and wonders whether to combat it by force or by humble love. Always decide “I will combat it by humble love.” If you resolve on that once and for all, you can conquer the whole world. Loving humiity is a terrible force; it is the strongest of all things, and there is nothing like it.

-Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

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The Safe Place Series: Becoming a Friend Who Can Help, #1

safe place emotionallyIt was after lunch. We stood on the curb before we walked out to our respective cars. She’d divulged some hard stuff, stuff that could easily be embarrassing outside of the little table we’d shared inside. I was about to step off the sidewalk—and then I thought what it might feel like to be her.

I think I said something really astounding, like, Hey. Thanks. For just, y’know, sharing hard stuff. That is always a gift to me. (My husband taught me that part. He says it’s always a holy gift when someone shares their heart with you.) I know you could be tempted to feel kind of naked after all this. But thanks for just trusting me to keep stuff like that safe. I’m going to be praying with you.

She looked me in the eye and said, “I hope I’m that place for you when you need it.”

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Shame–and Your Marriage: On the Fear that Keeps Us Hiding (and Clawing Your Way Out)

shame in your marriage The power of shame continues to make my mind fizz. (Yours might, too: This post on shame in parenting has drawn more readers than any other post on this site, bar none.)

But now all those thoughts are bubbling over what shame might look like in a marriage; in our most intimate concentric circle of community. See, I know shame—this idea that I’m not worthy of connecting with someone—immediately leads me to cover up.

Take the typical fight with a spouse. First reaction is not typically, You’re so right. I’m snippy, and I have a profound case of PMS. It’s more along the lines of blame-shifting (Well, if you’d stop overreacting like some kind of hypersensitive Pomeranian). Denying (I didn’t say you were arrogant! I said you were cocky). Hiding (If I don’t say anything, it will look a lot like peace and taking the higher road).

The Masquerade

Joking aside—this predilection to hiding means the manifestations of shame are endless. For me, it led to a profound insecurity (you can read how that affected our relationship); to people-pleasing ad nauseam, to the extent of a near eating disorder.

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