Just Write [an invitation to me…and my readers]

29 Friday Oct 2021

Tags

Christian life, Home Education, homeschooling, writing

I’m coaching my oldest son as he writes an entry for his first-ever essay contest. The process is a struggle for him. His knowledge of the subject isn’t deep, he struggles to organize his thoughts, and he doesn’t know how to develop an idea once he has one. And this all makes him a bit reluctant to keep at it.

This is normal. He’s twelve.

I’ve coached him on how to brainstorm with a mind map, and then I’ve told him to simply sit at the computer to start typing his thoughts in sentences and paragraphs. He’ll start, and then pretty quickly he’ll get stuck and discouraged.

“Mama, I don’t know what to write next. I don’t know how to start my next thought.”

“Don’t worry about starting it. Jump in the middle if you need to. Just write down the ideas you do have. You can go back over it and add transitions, expand your ideas, or cut things out later. For now, just write.”

When the words came out of my mouth, I realized that I needed to hear them myself.

How often am I the twelve-year-old who kinda wants to but kinda doesn’t want to sit down and do the work? I think I have some ideas worth sharing, but when I try to organize or articulate them it’s hard. I don’t know where to start or jump in, so I feel stuck. And I’d much rather go do something else than apply myself to my current writing project–whether it’s a small essay-type-post or a long-form writing goal.

Being a writer means, of course, that you actually write. But how often do I run from the process? Just like my son would do if he didn’t have Mom around to structure his day and coach him through the rough spots.

My son would rather write a silly poem about animals. Or play legos.

I might rather read other people’s articles and comment on other people’s posts–anything that is easier and makes me feel productive while ignoring the real work to be done.

The struggle with temptation to do something else haunts my housework, too, but that is a topic for another day.

…Or is it?

Perhaps I shouldn’t view my writing or my housework as two distinct and separate categories. Both are things I feel called to do for the glory of God. So if I see a similar preference for distraction pop up when I ought to be folding laundry to edify my household, just like when I ought to be working on a writing project to edify my readers, maybe I ought to tug on that common thread for a bit. Figure out where it leads.

It seems to me the common thread is faithfulness (or a lack of it). Am I willing to do the right thing at the right time? And to continue to do so through all of the mundane moments and ups and downs of my feelings and performance?

Writing and laundry both reveal our character, don’t they? Whether we’re a seasoned 36 year-old or a budding 12.

>Intermission: Got to go make breakfast and enjoy it with my family. Writing is right when kept in its right place. But wrong if it becomes the distraction from the right thing at the right time.<

Aaaannnd we’re back.

Sometimes I need to tell myself, “Just write. Don’t worry about whether or not it sounds great now. Do the work, even if you have to severely edit it later.”

Or, “Just fold the clothes for crying out loud. Don’t fret over the the fact that it will just be undone a day later. Do the work, even if you have to do it again next week. (Because you will.)”

When I read well-established writers commenting on the writing process, they invariably say the same thing. It’s hard. Show up anyway. Do the work. Just write.

When coaching my son, the advice is the same, albeit gentler and with a much heftier helping of sympathy for the hardness of it.

I used to imagine that writing would get easier with age, that somehow I’d find my stride and the words would flow. But it’s still work. It’s still intimidating. And nothing gets easier without a lot of practice.

And feedback, if you can manage to get some.

That’s why I’m writing this post today. It’s admittedly a bit more stream-of-consciousness, but that’s partly the point. It’s good to just write. And I hope to start doing a lot more of it.

Above I alluded to a long-form writing project I’m supposed to be working on. I’ve come a long way on it, but I have a long way to go. I’ve held most of my work on the subject in reserve, not really sharing it anywhere–not even on my blog.

But it turns out this process is big and hard and intimidating, and I need to break it down into smaller chunks.

And I need feedback.

That’s where you come in, dear reader. Behind my writing, even behind what you might read as a confident voice, is a very human, very just-like-my-12-year-old author: me.

I want to put aside my perfectionistic hang ups and just write. And I hope to do so more often.

But I don’t have a mom to organize my days or coach me through the ups and downs. That’s on me.

My husband is a great sounding board and a great encouragement, but I still need feedback from those who actually receive my work.

I need to know when my ideas fall flat. I need to know when they resonate.

I need to know when something excites you, challenges you, or confuses you.

So please, let me know.

And especially as I churn out more articles for women like me who are walking with Jesus, dealing with sins and messes and hang ups, and seeking to live joyful, obedient, God-honoring lives…please, tell me what you’re thinking. Ask me your questions. Add your insights and experiences. It would be a great blessing to me.

I’m not just saying “I’d love to hear from you.” I really would. You can be a part of my process and spur me on to create something that will, I hope, be a blessing to you and many others.

I’ll try to just write. Would you please write back?

Titus 2 and the Dunbar Number: Social Limits and Priorities

24 Friday Sep 2021

Posted by Lauren Scott in Home and Family, Living Faith

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Christian life, Christian Women, Home and Family, Intentional Living, motherhood, priorities, Relationships, Social Connections, social media, The Dunbar Number, Titus 2

I’ve been on a bit of a minimalist kick lately, decluttering my house, my closet, my recipes, my priorities, you name it. While I don’t necessarily hold to minimalism as a whole-life philosophy, I find that it does offer some necessary push-back to our modern tendencies to be “ever expanding,” whether that be in our possessions, resources, opportunities, or social connections.

On that last item, social connections, I recently read an article explaining the theory of what’s called the Dunbar Number. A British anthropologist named Robin Dunbar posited (after some research on primates and combing through human records) that the greatest number of meaningful connections any one person can hold at a given time is about 150.

Titus two dunbar number social connections family

I have to admit I had quite the confirmation bias response to this article, because not too long ago I was explaining to my husband that I have social limits, and I simply cannot keep up with all-the-people, and I certainly don’t have energy for continually adding to the number of all-the-people to whom I feel some measure of social obligation.

With interest and perhaps some of that confirmation bias running through my veins, I decided I’d see where my current number of connections stood. I pulled out my brain dump notebook and began to write down all of the people with whom I have some meaningful or working connection. I started with family. That easily reached over 30 people. Then it was long-standing friends. You know, the people you may or may not see each year but whom you are committed in some way to maintaining for the long haul: again, over 30. Neighbors came to about 20. Homeschool connections almost 30. Church connections (which is small right now because we’re still new at our local church): about 15. And then I listed those who are a bit more distant but still qualify under this idea of meaningful connection: 60 or more. If you just add up the rounded numbers I’ve listed, that makes 185, more than the Dunbar Number (150). No wonder I feel a bit overwhelmed and like I can’t add any more.

But guess what kinds of people I didn’t add to any of those lists of contacts? For the most part, I didn’t include online-only relationships. There are seven ladies who make the cut because they are part of an online stand-up/accountability group. Other than those ladies, every other person on the list has some real-life, meaningful or workable connection (or has had in the past and therefore they are on the list).

What this little exercise demonstrated for me was twofold: One, there isn’t really any room for me to build or even maintain relationships on social media or other online platforms. No wonder I feel a little overwhelmed trying to keep up. Two, even these connections that I wrote down are pushing the limit, and I need to prioritize.

Now, Dunbar’s theory itself has prioritization built in. He suggests that any one person can have only about 5 people in their inner circle—these are loved ones, your most trusted and closest kind of friends (large families can adjust this number accordingly, IMO). Next up are “good friends,” of which you can maintain about 15 (or just ten more than the 5 closest friends we already mentioned). There are about 50 that can be called “friends” in a meaningful way before our own capacity is stretched enough to make the term “friend” less meaningful (I’m looking at you, Facebook). And then the next jump is up to that limit of 150 meaningful contacts. Beyond that, the study claims we could have face-recognition of up to 1500 people–but not meaningful relationships. I can’t say I’ve taken the time to test the limits on that last one.

Now, all of this should be taken with a grain of salt. The Dunbar Number is a theory, not gospel nor scientific law. But it is interesting, isn’t it?

I’ve titled this article “Titus 2 and the Dunbar Number,” so it’s about time I brought this back around. As Christians, we know that the greatest commandments are to love God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength and to love our neighbor as ourselves. And while Jesus insisted that anyone who we find in need of our help can be considered our neighbor (see the parable of the good Samaritan), in today’s times, we tend to be over-exposed to people and needs via the internet and social media, skewing our sense of responsibility away from our nearest neighbors and toward those far from us.

The impact here is both quantitative in that we’re compelled to give emotional energy toward more people than we have capacity for and qualitative in that we’re tempted to prioritize (at least in the moment) people far away from us, for whom we are not most responsible. The issue here isn’t that caring for people far away is bad (it’s good to be concerned for people in different places than we are), it’s just unnatural to have a constant reminder of them and to be pulled away from the people literally right in front of us or across the street. The combination of those quantitative and qualitative elements makes for a rather big challenge, especially if we take seriously the call to “love our neighbor.” We’re left asking Jesus for clarification, “Who is my neighbor?”

This is where Titus 2 comes in. Some people hate this passage because they see it as limiting women to the home, keeping them barefoot and pregnant, etc. But I think we can see it in a different light. Here it is for your consideration:

Older women likewise are to be reverent in their behavior, not malicious gossips nor enslaved to much wine, teaching what is good, so that they may encourage the young women to love their husbands, to love their children, to be sensible, pure, workers at home, kind, being subject to their own husbands, so that the word of God will not be dishonored.
Titus 2:3-5

If we are to love God and love people, the first place that we ought to practice that God-honoring people-love is within our own households. What Titus 2 (and a few other passages) implies to me is that this temptation to concern and even distract ourselves with people “out there” isn’t something only modern social media mavens have experienced. Even women in the first century needed the reminder that a love that isn’t fulfilling its duty at home first is a hypocritical love that can lead to the gospel being blasphemed, the good news being spoken of as if it’s bad.

Now before anyone throws stones because they think I’m promoting “the patriarchy,” let me be the first to say that this principle holds true for men as well. It’s why elders are supposed to be good managers of their own households before they are recognized as leaders in the church (1 Timothy 3:1-7, Titus 1:5-9). It’s why a man that doesn’t provide for his own is called “worse than an unbeliever” (1 Timothy 5:8). The call to prioritize the people right in front of us is universal. This responsibility to one’s own household is why singleness is, for some, an effective state to be in for the sake of ministry to others: because the man or woman who isn’t tied down has more time and energy to devote to the Lord, which may include serving others beyond the home in a way that the married person simply can’t (1 Corinthians 7:32-35). But that’s more the exception than the norm for believers. Most of us are called to marry and build families to the glory of God.

So the reminder in Titus 2 to love your husband and love your children and focus on the work that must be done to keep the home running well isn’t slavish or limiting. It’s a sane call to put first things first. The calling toward home and family doesn’t necessarily preclude other callings, but it does take precedence over them.

And, if you think about it, all of this makes sense in light of Dunbar’s thoughts on human social capacity. We each may vary in terms of our social capacity, and some of us may need to cut back while others may need to stretch themselves. But at the end of the day, we all have limits. And we all have to choose how we will use the limited resources we’ve been given.

How about you? Do you feel our modern connected world pulls your attention away from the folks that matter most to you?

We may not need to dump online community and resources altogether, but might it be helpful to imagine what our priorities would look like if those things didn’t exist. Join me for a thought experiment?

If the internet didn’t exist, what would you want your family life to look like? How might you prioritize your husband? Your children? If you are in a different stage of life: your roommate, parents or siblings, or extended family?

If the internet didn’t exist, what would you do to get to know your neighbors? To be a blessing to them?

If the internet didn’t exist, what would you do to get to know the people at your church better? How might you reach out to discover needs and meet them? In your church and your local community?

If the internet didn’t exist to make long distance relationships many-and-easy, who would you 100% want to keep in touch with–even if it meant more effort?

Gardening: A Prescription for Perfectionists

18 Thursday Mar 2021

Posted by Lauren Scott in Living Faith

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Christian growth, Christian life, Christian Parenting, Garden, Garden Therapy, Gardening, Perfectionism, Recovering Perfectionist

It’s garden-planting time where I live. And that means I’m spending more time outside in the cool air and warm sunshine with my hands in the dirt. Time outside often gives me space to think, and time in the garden gives me a lot to think about–including the attitudes that I bring with me.

I can be a bit of a perfectionist. Wanting to get things just right. Spending way too much time researching a subject until I know it thoroughly enough to not mess it up (as if that were somehow possible). Perfectionism is a kind of obsession over performance and results. While it focuses on improvement and promises fulfillment, it actually tends to get in the way of both.

gardening cure perfectionist perfectionism

When I walk out into the garden and away from my other chores and plans and projects, I’m confronted by something very outside of myself. It’s easy to assume that my home and my work and my plans are all somehow a kind of extension–or at least a reflection–of who I am. But when I walk outside, I encounter something obviously other. There’s a wild beauty to things that grow. And in the presence of this wild beauty, I’m less tempted to delusions of control over it. Instead I’m drawn into wonder.

By the time I’m out planting our first seeds, the snow has just melted and revealed that under a thick blanket of frozen white, our daffodils have not only been surviving but actually growing–green and tall. And I didn’t do a thing to make this happen. I’m in awe of their happy refusal to stay dormant in our recent and unseasonable cold snap. Arguably not the perfect conditions. Yet they respond to the call to perk up–a call that doesn’t come from me or my plans.

Stepping outside of the four walls of my home usually gets me out of the four walls of my perfectionistic, all-or-nothing head. You could say that going outside prepares the soil of my heart to receive seeds of truth. To that soil, the garden adds images, active reminders of those seeds, of that truth.

As I plant and marvel at seeds in the dirt, my Father sows and tends seeds in my heart.

Here are a few of them:

Not every seed will sprout. When you have an all-or-nothing mentality, it can be discouraging to know that if I plant just one seed it may not work out. Planting more seeds than the number of plants I intend to grow feels potentially wasteful. I don’t ultimately control germination. I can help it along, but I mostly have to sit and wait and see. And be generous enough with my seeds to see something come to life. If I’m seeking perfect outcomes and efficiency, I might be upset that I won’t get a return on every little bit of my investment. But that’s just reality. God calls me to generously plant seeds anyway.
But somehow seeds DO sprout. We’ve been at this gardening thing for at least six years and yet it never fails to amaze me when tiny bits of green pop out of the ground where we planted seeds a few days or weeks before. God is good. He made this beautiful process and I get to take part in it. How much more delightful when God is at work in human hearts and invites me to participate and marvel at His work?
Frost may come and kill. Sun may scorch and burn. Those precious little seedlings that do sprout are up against the elements. I do what I can to protect and provide for them, but I cannot shield them from everything. In fact, a measured exposure to the elements is actually part of the process for these little plant babies to grow strong and learn to stand up on their own. Oh, how this speaks to me as a mama!
It pays to be firmly rooted. That exposure to the elements can benefit the plant only if it has a good root system–both for taking in water and nutrients from the soil and for keeping the plant sturdy enough not to topple over. When we transplant tomato seedlings, we burry about three quarters of the plant! It feels like a setback. Like we’ve now put ourselves behind in terms of growing a nice, big plant. But that apparent setback results in greater health and fruitfulness.
Bugs may devour. Vigilance is required. Whether it’s squash bugs or tomato hornworms or aphids, we’re always on guard. This is not a once-and-done thing, as though picking all of the bugs off in one day would keep us from having problems the rest of the season. A perfect sprint doesn’t work here, but rather faithful watchfulness. And even still, we will lose some fruit and some leaves to pests. That’s how we know they are there.
Pruning is hard. Cutting off potentialities doesn’t feel good. But we don’t have infinite space in the garden (nor does each plant have infinite resources). Despite aiming for high-intensity growing methods, there are still, by nature, limits within which we must work. Refusing to stay within the limitations of nature results in stunted growth and disease. That perfectionistic tendency to push for more-and-better often ignores the reality of limitation. If we don’t cull the excess seedlings, if we don’t prune the lower and non-productive branches, we aren’t helping our plants. I, like my plants, am finite. I, like my plants, have limitations. Culling and pruning are necessary and good.
Results will vary. With all these variables of seed conditions and weather and pests, it should be obvious that I can’t perfectly predict the outcome. I can’t guarantee the results. Sure, I plan carefully and consider quantities needed in advance. But the results simply aren’t that much in my control. We may get a lot, we may get a little. Our harvest may be beautiful or riddled with holes. Related to this fact…
Imperfect fruit still eats. In the store, when I’m putting down money for fruits and veggies, I inspect every piece, making sure I get the most perfect and untainted produce possible for my dollar. But when I’m harvesting out of the garden, a tomato that is only half-eaten by a worm is still good for half a tomato. A couple of these “bad tomatoes” can dress a salad or tacos. A bunch of them can make a batch of salsa or a tomato pie. It requires more work to make the most of the imperfect gifts from the garden, but they are gifts nonetheless. It’s an opportunity to grow in both thankfulness and resourcefulness–two things that I might miss if I continued to always insist on “perfect” produce.
God causes the growth. This is the real “capital T” truth. And it’s the truth that runs through the rest of these bullet points. I’m not in control, God is. I’m not on the throne, He is. I may plant the seeds and provide what I can, but God causes the growth. The reason gardening is so powerfully instructive, so beautifully corrective of my perfectionistic tendencies, is because it visually, tangibly illustrates the truth that God is the Creator and Sustainer of all things, and that He simply invites me to participate with Him in His beautiful work.

We read in the scriptures truth about God, truth about the world, and truth about ourselves. We know we are to respond to it properly. But sometimes the truth takes time to sink in. And sometimes it takes living the metaphor.

When God created Adam and Eve, He placed them in a garden. He told them to “cultivate it and keep it.” The Hebrew words in this phrase from Genesis 2 mean something along the lines of “work or serve it and guard or attend to it.” Working in a garden was part of the original earthly paradise. And I think it’s interesting to note that God’s calling here is not to make things grow–that was His job. His children were simply to work and guard, to serve and attend. Basically, to show up and care for it.

It’s the same for me, whether in the garden or in life. My responsibilities, beyond staying firmly rooted in Christ and His Word, come down to these:

Faithfully sow
Faithfully water
Faithfully tend
Expectantly watch

Every time I wander out into the garden, it’s an invitation to enter into the metaphor, to contemplate the truth beautifully woven into the fabric of Creation.

Here are a few of the scriptures that bring my garden time to life:

And He was saying, “The kingdom of God is like a man who casts seed upon the soil;and he goes to bed at night and gets up daily, and the seed sprouts and grows—how, he himself does not know. The soil produces crops by itself; first the stalk, then the head, then the mature grain in the head. Now when the crop permits, he immediately puts in the sickle, because the harvest has come.” Mark 4:26-29

“I am the true vine, and My Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in Me that does not bear fruit, He takes away; and every branch that bears fruit, He prunes it so that it may bear more fruit. You are already clean because of the word which I have spoken to you. Remain in Me, and I in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit of itself but must remain in the vine, so neither can you unless you remain in Me. I am the vine, you are the branches; the one who remains in Me, and I in him bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing. John 15:1-5

I planted, Apollos watered, but God was causing the growth. So then neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but God who causes the growth. 1 Corinthians 3:6-7

I’ll sign off with a quote my husband found in a gardening article some time back. He shared it with me, and I’ve made a point of hanging on to it.

The principle value of the garden . . . is to teach . . . patience and philosophy, and the higher virtue – hope deferred, and expectations blighted, leading directly to resignation, and sometimes to alienation. The garden thus becomes a moral agent, a test of character, as it was in the beginning.
–Charles Dudley Warner, My Summer in the Garden (found at this website: http://www.leereich.com/2012/06/every-time-i-go-near-my-apple-and-plum.html)

Post script: The day I started writing this article, I realized that our refrigerator went out. Nothing was cold. All the ice had completely melted. My day was not my own. We had to change gears, adjust, adapt. Within 30 minutes of wiping up the floor, I managed to drop a quart jar half full of coffee as I was attempting to put it in a cooler. Coffee splashed all over the floor, the fridge, and the cooler, requiring me to wipe up everywhere-again-and-then-some. I found myself saying, “Well! This is the day!” And then I laughed. And started singing, “This is the day that the Lord has made…We will rejoice and be glad in it,” inviting my kids to smile and laugh along with me. Yes, my friends, God is good. He graciously allows us many imperfections–and uses them to capture our hearts…if we but recognize the invitation.

Gardening is just one way God reminds us we’re not in control, that seeking to be perfect in ourselves is a fool’s errand. How else do you feel His gentle nudge?

On Being “At Home”

02 Monday Mar 2020

Posted by Lauren Scott in Home and Family

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Body Image, Christian life, Christian Women, Contentment, faith, Gratitude, Heaven, Home and Family, Thankfulness

Some days the house just gets to me. Too many unfinished projects, too much clutter, too much to clean.

Life gets to me. When will I ever find the time or the willpower to drop those 20 pounds and feel strong again?

The temptation to despair of life in this body, in this house, arises from thoughts like these. And that’s ok, right? Because I’m supposed to be looking forward to my eternal home. So this hum-glum existence until then is just par for the course. A right of passage, you might say.

Or is it?

After recently wrestling through such thoughts, I’ve come to see that in order to be actually looking forward to our eternal home, we need to learn to be grateful for the home we’re in now. Let me back up a couple weeks to explain…

I stand at the window on a crisp, February morning, staring out through two panes of glass into 30-degree weather.

And I am warm.

This is a good house.

It’s a timely reminder that halts the grumbly thoughts in my head, and I take a deep breath. The knots on my forehead begin to unravel.

As I consider the cold that I am not feeling, I begin to notice how my hands are resting firmly–one on the window sill and the other against the corner of the wall, framing the window. I take a moment to really feel that wall.

It’s sturdy. It’s withstood 70-mile-per-hour winds and little boys ramming into it.

This is a good house.

In the midst of the mess and hustle and bustle of a family that lives, learns, and works at home, and especially ten months into a “five-week” exterior remodeling project, it can be hard to enjoy just being at home.

It can be hard to see the beauty in the home that I’m making when unfinished projects crowd my view. But if I take a moment to sit and observe–not with a critical eye and a running to-do list but rather with eyes enlightened by grace–I begin to see not my work nor my lack of work but gifts of God.

I can wonder at how well we are provided for. Not only by my husband but by the mind-blowing development of things like running water, central heating, and washing machines. And the incredible blessing of dirty little hands, red cheeks and noses, and piles of clothes that signify the beautifully rambunctious lives that fill this place.

There’s another temporary house I’ve been given, and sometimes (many times?) I look at it with the same kind of scrutinizing fix-it-up mentality that I use to greet my dirty linoleum-tile kitchen floor.

My body isn’t as young or strong or capable as it once was. My knees give me trouble, and I’m currently four weeks into a bout with some combination of cold, allergies, bronchitis, and asthma. I’m well enough to function, but I’m not functioning well.

While there’s work to be done for my health and strength (and time required for recovery), I’m finding that there’s also a desperate need to learn to rest–not just physically, but to simply be in this body, just as I have to learn to be in my home, dilapidated as each may seem.

Whatever degradation may come, this body has run races and climbed mountains.

This body has carried, birthed, and nursed two sons–not without complications, but still, it has.

This body has given hugs and held hands.

And it still seems to get me from point A to point B pretty effectively.

It can still kneel prayer, sing in worship, and offer hands to serve.

It’s a good body.

It’s a good gift.

If we are to serve the Lord with gladness there is a real sense in which we need to learn to be at home in our houses and in our bodies. Not in some self-exalting or self-excusing way, but in a very real and contented and Christian way. We need to learn to be at home in our houses and bodies because they are the primary places and primary tools we have for worship and service. And they are gifts that the Lord not only gives but also fills.

He’s not afraid of nor ashamed of broken vessels. In fact, He delights to redeem them.

My house, my body–these are places to be filled with the grace and love and Spirit of Christ. They are not forever, of course. They are a mere shadow of things to come. But as we embrace the “homes” that our Father has graciously given now and by faith see how He transforms and fills them, we are in a better position to truly appreciate and anticipate the Kingdom Home He is preparing for us–a new creation and a resurrected body that are both whole and wholly filled with His presence.

Too often we look with discontentment at our earthly state and say with a grumble, “Well, I’m glad I’ll get a new body and a new home someday.”

But the eyes of faith see the good in God’s gifts both now and in eternity–because the eyes of faith focus more on the goodness of God Himself than on the frailty of our here-and-now. We need not spurn His hand in this life in order to treasure it in the next.

May we have such eyes to see and receive God’s gracious provision–to be at home where He has us now, gladly doing His will until He calls us to that better Home in glory.

Goodbye, Grinch Mama

13 Thursday Dec 2018

Posted by Lauren Scott in Home and Family

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Christian life, Christmas, culture, Dr. Seuss, grinch, Grinch Mama, Mama Grinch, repentance

There’s this thing that happens when you read a story out loud to your kids. It hits you in a different way than it ever would had you been reading quietly to yourself.

Sometimes the blow is a rush of emotions that makes you tear-up against your wishes. And sometimes the blow comes with the stinging pain of conviction.

Take, for example, a recent Christmas read-aloud.

Staring down from his cave with a sour, Grinchy frown,
At the warm lighted windows below in their town.

…he growled, with his Grinch fingers nervously drumming,
“I MUST find some way to stop Christmas from coming!”
For Tomorrow, he knew, all the Who girls and boys,
Would wake bright and early. They’d rush for their toys!
And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the Noise!
Noise! Noise! Noise!
That’s one thing he hated! The NOISE!
NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!

I have to admit, I can relate.

There’s something about December that seems to stir my children up to a level of hyper-activity unknown the rest of the year. Maybe it’s the sugar. Maybe it’s the seasonal excitement. Maybe it’s the lack of sunshine … or a lack of training.

Whatever the cause, I recently found myself growling and nervously drumming, eager to squash the noise, noise, noise from my boys, boys, boys at our homeschool group’s recent visit to the local nursing home.

We come to play instruments, we come to spread cheer,
We come to sing hymns to the folks gathered here.

Like the Whos down in Whoville, we’re a jovial lot,
But the Grinch Mama among us most certainly is not.

Her children are happy but she can’t rejoice
Because of their bouncing, their climbing, their noise.

It’s easy to characterize my children’s behavior as “horrible” when they have been nothing but jovial, albeit a bit careless and wild. It’s the careless and wild part that I know needs wise attention and careful training in the long run, but in the moment it gets my evil eye and sharp repremand, throwing gentleness and patience to the wind.

All I lack is green fur to adorn my furrowed brow.

I’m not against correcting children in public, mind you, but what really needed correcting in this case was my attitude.

Maybe I should just go get the T-shirt, because that is apparently a thing.

Let’s hold that thought.

While it may be hip and humorous right now to wear our worst attitudes on our sleeves, or even boldly screenprinted on the front of our shirts, these tendencies we (cough, cough, I) have toward grumpiness, selfishness, and stinginess are not acceptable. Let’s call it like it is: sin. That may sound harsh, but it’s actually quite hopeful.

But before we get there we have to recognize that mere authenticity isn’t a virtue. We have to bring Truth to bear on the mess in which we find ourselves. This is why the Scriptures are compared to a mirror–God’s Truth shows us what’s in our hearts (and more imporantly, what’s in His) so that we can, by His grace and in the power of His Spirit, deal with it.

No Mama I’ve ever met finds a rat in her kitchen and decides to make a comfortable bed for it on the counter. Eeew.

If we pursue authenticity as a “righteous” end in itself we risk becoming people who glory in our shame on principle–as though the right response to a bad attitude is to give it a pat on the back. Instead we must recognize that being honest with ourselves is just an initial step toward repentance and growth in Christ.

Acknowledging there’s a rat in the kitchen is just an initial step to removing it and disinfecting.

If we are honest about who we are, Grinch and all, and meet that honesty with the Truth, then we can have hope of both forgiveness for sin and strength for the fight. Then we can know not just ourselves in our futility and weakness, but God in His sovereignty and strength.

This is why I’m saying, “Goodbye, Grinch Mama,” even if I have to say it daily (or perhaps on the hour). She may be at times an accurate depiction of my selfish heart, but she isn’t welcome to stick around. By the grace of God, she’s shown the door as I seek the Lord to produce the fruit of His Spirit in her place.

It’s time to put off the Grumpy T-shirts and put on the Lord Jesus Christ.

The Grinch in our picture book comes to see that Christmas isn’t about all the materialistic things he had taken away from the Whos. The joy and celebration still comes despite his efforts to the contrary.

“Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.”

His small heart grows three times bigger as a result, and yet, somehow I don’t think it works quite that way for me. My problem isn’t the size of my heart, it’s the content and focus.

Dr. Seuss was on to something, but heart change, perhaps, means a little bit more.

I’d like to say goodbye to her once and for all, that Grinch, but I know it’s a day-by-day, moment-by-noisy-moment repentance and God-oriented faithfulness I need.

The children kept bouncing, and scolding she gave them
‘Til she saw that her anger indeed woud not save them

‘Twas grace that enveloped her more than the sound
Of jubilant voices and greetings all ’round

Grace that proved greater than sin or her goal
Of well-behaved children and a sense of control

She yet could not muster a match for their glee
But a heart now contrite was a sight for to see

“Merry Christmas,” she offered, remembering the One
Who loved a Grinch Mama by sending God’s Son.

These boys… So much joy, so much hustle and bustle, so much noise. It’s the way of children.

This time of year… So much joy, so much hustle and bustle, so much noise. It’s the way of celebration.

Do I make room for such as these? As we welcome the Lord Jesus as a child, am I welcoming my children in His name? Do I make room for the celebration of the Lord, be it a bit more rowdy at times than solemn?

I can’t hold on to my Grinch Mama and answer positively. She’s got to go.

Alone? Unseen? You’re in Good Company.

30 Thursday Aug 2018

Posted by Lauren Scott in Home and Family, Living Faith

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

Christian life, Christian Women, Communion, feeling alone, home church, Reflections, resentment

It was one of those less-than-ideal Sunday mornings.

The church meeting was to be at our house this week, but we had been busy and the weekly housecleaning hadn’t exactly happened when it was supposed to.

So, as has been the case more times than I care to admit, quite a bit of tidying was left to be done on Sunday. You know, the day of restful, refreshing time with the Lord and His people.

Yeah, Sunday.

Usually my sweet husband takes care of breakfast for our family on Sunday mornings and even helps straighten up when we’re hosting, but this particular Lord’s day, breakfast was all he had time to contribute. I found myself not-exactly-joyfully decluttering the living room, coaching the kids on sweeping the floors, and cleaning up the breakfast mess in the kitchen. Not to mention preparing the elements for communion and doing something (anything!) to make myself look presentable.

My personal quiet time with the Lord didn’t happen that morning, either. Instead of recognizing Jesus was with me anyway, I pouted. Instead of serving the saints with joy, resentment began to build.

There were probably several things building up to this point, but I can’t remember all the details. I just know I felt very alone in my work. Ragged, unnoticed, uncared for, and alone.

I’m pretty sure the resentment didn’t die down in time to greet people warmly as they arrived. In fact, I remember finally coming downstairs after changing into sensible clothes and doing something with my hair and makeup to find that everyone was seated in the living room.

It was hard to sing joyfully.

But then came time for communion.

It’s difficult to hold on to your resentment when the bread and wine silently tell of the One who died for it.

My thoughts began to spin. I felt alone. He bore my sin alone. I can’t remember, but I think one of the men mentioned something to that effect as they served the Lord’s supper.

Wherever they came from, the meditations on communion spoke to my heart. I’d had a lot of resentment–not just this particular morning, but as a pattern recently. For times when I felt forgotten, alone, neglected, and unhelped in my work–in the cleaning and regular upkeep of life, and most freshly in getting the house ready for church.

Well, I considered, Jesus was betrayed by Judas and abandoned by His followers and friends when He faced His greatest trial, His most weighty work. Jesus bore the wrath of God against sin utterly alone. It wasn’t right. And yet He submitted Himself to it without grumbling, but as the will of God.

He laid down His rights.

There was no defending my resentment at this point. There was only room for repentance.

And comfort.

After all, Jesus, my High Priest, could identify with everything I was feeling. And in all the places where sin merged with those feelings, He had made provision for that, too.

Isn’t the Lord’s table such a precious gift to the body of Christ?!?

After communion, my thoughts turned to the hidden care of God. When my service and work is overlooked, or taken for granted, or underestimated, I can remember that God is all the time doing good to people who do not see it or appreciate it.

When God says to “do in secret” and that He rewards what is “done in secret”, I don’t think it is only a test of our awareness of God and our desire to please Him. It certainly is this, but I see something more. I think the command must also procede from the character of God–that He Himself delights to “do in secret” and that we should be like Him.

The flowers of the field, we are reminded in the same passage, are beautifully arrayed. The lesson of God’s greater care for His people is clearly connected to our observation of the flowers we can see, but have you ever thought of the fact that God makes beautiful flowers that no human eye sees before they whither and die?

If we aren’t there to behold it, does it mean that the beauty and glory of God isn’t there? No.

He creates beauty and shines light in places where we have yet to venture. So much of His handiwork is unseen to us. I can’t help but think He must take some pleasure in His own work regardless of man’s interaction with or appreciation of it.

The implications of this on homemaking are numerous, though I won’t slog through the details here. Suffice it to say, these thoughts exposed yet again how far my self-focused and praise-hungry heart is from the heart of a God who lays down His life for His enemies and who lavishes the earth with unseen and unsung goodness.

Is it too much that I’m called to find joy in serving others? Too much that I have a home to care for and that most of that work falls to me? Too much to trust and persevere even when I feel alone and unnoticed? Even when I am alone and unnoticed?

No. I’m not really alone in any of it. There’s one who sees and cares when it seems no one else does.

My great God and Savior has been there. He knows what it is to be alone. He knows what it is to be unappreciated, and on a scale far greater I can imagine.

Yes, I’m in good company.

We, dear sisters, are in good company.

Self-Doubt, God-Doubt

15 Thursday Mar 2018

Posted by Lauren Scott in Living Faith

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Christian life, Christian Women, doubt, faith, self-doubt, stress

We humans are funny creatures, we can look at our own performance and find it wanting and then look up to the heavens and ask, “God, are you even there?”

self doubt god doubt woman sad

I originally wanted to wax eloquent on this topic, but I’ve recently found myself smack in the middle of it.

Life has been a bit heavy lately. February brought with it several weeks with a house guest, an impending but yet-unsettled job change, my grandma in the hospital, and a whooping cough scare in our family and close friends. Just when things seemed to ease up, there’s more emotional heaviness, my husband’s grandma in the hospital, a running injury, a minor car accident, and my house is a wreck as we prepare for my husband to start working from home.

I can count my blessings, to be sure—the Lord has been good to us. But the past few days as I’ve been trying to keep up with schooling the boys, supporting others, reorganizing all the things, and nursing my physical injuries, I’ve just come up short.

This out-of-control season, with its full load of stress—good and bad—has gotten to me.

I’m not strong enough to bear it. I’m not together enough to catch up on the cleaning, the cooking, the financial planning, the interrupted school days, you name it. It seems there are so many plates spinning and people needing and I’m failing them all.

Yesterday I couldn’t really enjoy anything. I was dull to any feeling but sadness. Emotionally needy. Physically hurting. Spiritually exhausted.

And my pride doesn’t like the feel of it all.

At times like these it’s easy to get discouraged. My glaring limitations stare me down, and I allow my personal gloominess to cloud my view of the Sovereign God who loves me.

The truth is, I’m finite. Limited. Small. That’s part of what it means to be a creature in contrast to the Creator. And while it might shock me at times when I’m faced with my limits, God isn’t surprised. “He is conscious of [my] frame, He is mindful that [I am] but dust.”

But all too often instead of looking up to see the One who is strong for me, I continue to look within and mourn my lack of God-like power over my circumstances.

When my self-confidence wanes, I find my wayward heart can project that same lack of confidence onto the Lord. Have you ever done the same?

“Things aren’t going my way! I can’t get control of this! I can’t seem to get control of myself! God, are You even there?”

That’s not exactly a rational train of thought, is it?

On our good days we might think of ourselves as “independent”, “self-sufficient”, “got-it-together”, “responsible”, “emotionally stable”, and, let’s be honest, just plain “awesome”.

And then when things fall apart, “I’m failing at everything.” “I’m a burden to others.” “I’m a hot mess.” “I just can’t even.”

Been there?

Sometimes our confidence fails because it was misplaced to begin with. Sometimes our faith falters because we took our eyes off the Lord long before things went sour.

I’m not necessarily saying the hard times and our failings are caused by this misplaced confidence (though sometimes that might be the case). What I’m saying is that when our confidence is shaken, it may be that we’re upset with God not because He has failed us, but because we aren’t as awesome as we thought we were.

When we’re brought to the end of ourselves, the world’s counsel is often to dig deeper within. “Believe in yourself!” “You’re stronger than you think!” “You’ve got this!” And while it’s healthy to silence the voices that accuse and condemn with the promises of forgiveness and life in Christ (see Romans 8!), we can’t ultimately combat our short-comings by looking within. God doesn’t intend for our struggles to lead us to despair of ourselves and then stay there.

Check out the exhortation in Isaiah 40:26-31:

Lift up your eyes on high
And see who has created these stars,
The One who leads forth their host by number,
He calls them all by name;
Because of the greatness of His might and the strength of His power,
Not one of them is missing.

When you feel out of control, don’t project that uncertainty on the Lord by thinking that you’re the only one who can fix your situation. Look up! Your God is the sovereign Lord over all the universe! He made and sustains the stars and He made and sustains you!

Why do you say, O Jacob, and assert, O Israel,
‘My way is hidden from the Lord,
And the justice due me escapes the notice of my God’?
Do you not know? Have you not heard?
The Everlasting God, the Lord, the Creator of the ends of the earth
Does not become weary or tired.
His understanding is inscrutable.
He gives strength to the weary,
And to him who lacks might He increases power.
Though youths grow weary and tired,
And vigorous young men stumble badly,
Yet those who wait for the Lord
Will gain new strength;
They will mount up with wings like eagles,
They will run and not get tired,
They will walk and not become weary.

When self-doubt strikes, don’t project that doubt onto the Lord by continuing to wallow in your own weaknesses and failures. Look up! Your God is strong and gives strength to the weary!

Are not two sparrows sold for a cent? And yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So do not fear; you are more valuable than many sparrows.

When you’re afraid and think no one notices, don’t project human ignorance onto the Lord by assuming He’s forgotten you, too. Look up! Your God knows the hairs on your head, and He who watches over the sparrows cares even more for you!

I will lift up my eyes to the mountains;
From where shall my help come?
My help comes from the Lord,
Who made heaven and earth.

When help is hard to come by and your situation and yourself seem helpless, don’t project that hopelessness onto the Lord by forgetting to run to him with your need. Look up! Your God is your “refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” (Psalm 46)

While this season has been hard and humbling for me, bringing with it more than a fair share of tears, I’m riding the waves more smoothly than I have in the past because these truths have been much more at the ready and I’m quicker now to cast my cares on the Lord.

I’ve heard it said recently, “Trials can make you bitter or better.” For the Christian, the “better” God intends for us is to be strengthened in our confidence in Him.

Our human resources may fail us, and while it humbles us to realize that we can’t ascribe greatness to ourselves, let’s not forget to ascribe to the Lord the greatness due to His name (see Psalm 29). We’ll find our confidence will return when it is grounded in the right Person. And we’ll find the next storm of self-doubt and disappointment, while still painful, will have less impact on our faith when it is firmly rooted in a God who doesn’t disappoint those who hope in Him.

Here’s to growing in grace.

No Story is the Same, No Pain Ever Wasted

08 Friday Dec 2017

Posted by Lauren Scott in Guest Posts, Living Faith

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Tags

Christian life, Guest Post, poems, poetry, suffering, trials

Here’s a guest post from my friend Tabitha Alloway who writes at Pursuing Logos. Tabitha is a fellow homemaking, homeschooling wife, mother, and electrician–well, we don’t have that LAST part in common! She’s also a long-time family friend. Enjoy!

Have you ever started into a set of books by a particular author and found that before long you could predict the entire plot before you’d even cracked the next book open?

I remember a set like this from my teen years. I fell in love with the G. A. Henty historical fiction series, and for a while I devoured every book I could get.

But slowly I realized my interest was fading. Every book seemed to have the same plot; only the names, faces and times changed: Boy goes on adventures. Boy goes to war. Boy is captured. Boy escapes. Boy becomes hero. Boy meets girl. Boy settles down and lives happily ever after.

Sigh. Very idyllic.

And so predictably formulaic.

Now I’m not knocking the series—I still like the books and I’m looking forward to the day my kids can enjoy them. But it’s sometimes amusing (or annoying) to see an author embrace a seemingly one-track plot. A good writer is able to spin each story in such a way that, while it will always reflect their own unique style and voice, the story itself is fresh and new.

I think of God as a Master Writer, scripting the days and circumstances of our lives, inscribing our stories page by page. He’s the Master Composer, ordering the “rhythm and rhyme” of our lives as an ode of praise. He is the Potter who shapes our lives for our good and His glory.

While certain themes shine through every story He writes—goodness, mercy, grace, redemption or justice—each one is uniquely different.

Have you ever been tempted to question or wonder what God is doing in your life when you find yourself in difficult circumstances and trying times? Or even perhaps to envy the way God is working in the lives and circumstances of those around you, rather than humbly accepting what the Potter is doing in and with your life (see Jeremiah 18:1-6)?

I have. I’ve been tempted many times, when finding myself in less-than-ideal circumstances, to compare my lot with that of others and to envy God’s plan for and ordering of the lives of those around me.

One morning a couple of months back, feeling burdened and discouraged by the weight of recent trials, I poured my heart out to the Lord about it all. I opened the Word and my attention was drawn to the passages that spoke of giving thanksgiving, honor, worship, and praise to God; of investing our trust in Him because He is good. Not exactly the typical comforting passages you might expect. These precious words comforted by lifting my eyes.

I began to think of the stories of the saints of the Bible as well as the experiences of modern-day saints. No two are exactly the same! God works in such a wide variety of circumstances and ways to accomplish His will in each of His children’s lives.

Look at Hannah. She prayed for a child, and God blessed her with one. Yet many Christian wives through the ages have prayed with the same desperate desire for children and have been told “No.”

Jabez prayed that God would bless him and keep him from harm and pain. God granted His wish. Yet Job was permitted to experience unimaginable grief and pain in his lifetime.

Daniel was saved from the lions’ mouths. But many believers in the early centuries of the church were torn apart and eaten by wild beasts.

Under the reigns of David and Solomon, the saints and prophets rejoiced with gladness and singing. Under the reigns of Ahab and Manasseh, the saints and prophets suffered, and served their God in hard times and discouraging circumstances.

The apostle John lived a long life in service to Christ while Abel’s life was cut off prematurely.

Paul could have been tempted to envy the many believers around him who experienced miraculous, physical healings, while he himself was given a thorn in the flesh and denied its removal.

So many people. So many stories. All of them different.

Had God denied Hannah her wish, or Jabez his, would He still have been good? Would His people have continued to trust in Him? Was God’s work in the lives of Hannah, Daniel, and Jabez better, more kind, or wiser than in the lives of Job, or Jeremiah, or Paul?

According to Hebrews 11 we see that trust in God is not (and cannot be) rooted in our personal circumstances, but rather in the character of a faithful God Who is working in His children that which pleases Him, as He orders our lives for our good and His glory (see Romans 8).

The Word tells us elsewhere: “He is the Rock, His work is perfect: for all His ways are judgment: a God of truth and without iniquity: just and right is He” (Deuteronomy 32:4). The Psalmist reminds us that “The Lord is righteous in all His ways, and holy in all His works” (Psalm 145:17).

In declaring his trust in the Lord, the prophet Habakkuk indicated it was not contingent on any circumstances: “Although the fig tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls: Yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation. The Lord God is my strength…” (Habakkuk 3:17-19).

We often see both Old and New Testament saints giving thanks to God even in the middle of painful circumstances. While the personal testimonies and experiences are different, I imagine they would share one common sentiment: God is good.

Photo Credit: Tabitha Alloway

One of my favorite hymns is Day by Day. The first verse goes:

Day by day, and with each passing moment

Strength I find to meet my trials here;

Trusting in my Father’s wise bestowment,

I’ve no cause for worry or for fear.

He whose heart is kind beyond all measure

Gives unto each day what He deems best—

Lovingly, its part of pain and pleasure,

Mingling toil with peace and rest.

Some of the most precious portions of Scripture to me are those in which God reveals His own heart of compassion toward His people. It’s the theme that brightens even the darkest story. We’re all familiar with the passage in Lamentations that speaks of the faithfulness, mercy, and compassion of the Lord. Then Jeremiah goes on to say, “But though He cause grief, yet will He have compassion according to the multitude of His mercies. For He doth not afflict willingly nor grieve the children of men”.

God does not cause pain or withhold desire for no good purpose.

Isaiah breaks out in thanksgiving: “I will mention the lovingkindnesses of the Lord, and the praises of the Lord, according to all that the Lord hath bestowed on us…For He said, surely they are my people…In all their affliction He was afflicted…in His love and in His pity He redeemed them…” (Isaiah 63:7-9).

God sorrows in our sorrow; He is afflicted in our affliction. We do not have a High Priest who is insulated from our pain; He experiences it with us and has compassion on our weaknesses.

It is this God of love, kindness, and wisdom who composes my story and your story. Do we trust Him to do what He deems best? Are we content in His provision for and ordering of our life?

The Master Writer is weaving the days and circumstances of our lives into one story for His glory. Every daily page whispers His goodness, and even the darkest chapters are traced with hope, pointing to the beauty of His eternal purpose.

And that eternal purpose hints at the fact that the Author’s story doesn’t end with us, with this life. There is a “happily ever after” that’s already written, just awaiting publication. If you know Jesus, aren’t you looking forward to reading that story?

Had You not granted Hannah’s wish

And given her a child…

Had You let Jabez feel anguish,

Not blessed with life so mild…

Had You not shut the lions’ mouths

When Daniel prayed to You…

Did You not save his friends, when, roused,

A despot gave death cue…

Had solitude been David’s lot

Instead of throne and crown…

Had Jacob not grasped riches sought,

Nor prosperity had found…

Had Hannah lifted empty arms

In worship to Your Name…

Had Jabez met some earthly harm

In showing forth Your fame…

Had Daniel died a martyr’s death

In service to his Lord…

Had fire snatched the faithful’s breath,

And death been their reward…

Had David sung in open fields

Instead of regal courts…

Had flocks and fields returned no yields

While Jacob sought the Source…

Your faithfulness would be the same,

Your goodness ever new,

Your mercy rich exalt Your Name,

And saints would hide in You.

You are the God of grieving Job,

Of joyful, dancing David.

Your ways and works across the globe

Will always be redemptive.

The God of weeping prophets and

The God of singing saints;

All things lie open in Your hand—

From You derive their fate.

You are the source of grace for Paul

When thorn afflicts him sore.

You save the cripple from a fall

And his weak legs restore.

You’re the God of brave queen Esther,

The God of humble Ruth;

To each his lot, Dispenser,

The One Source of all Truth.

In pain and gain, our love and loss

You are the Sovereign One;

You knew real sorrow at the cross

Now-risen, conquering Son.

You walked on earth in mankind’s shoes

You know heart’s deepest throb;

Appointing things as You so choose,

You hear the smallest sob.

You’ve cried and wept with broken heart,

Felt agony of pain;

When on the earth You shared our part,

Your loss became our gain.

To come to You a man must trust

You are the great I AM;

Your works are true and right and just,

And You reward the man.

Your ways are far past finding out,

No finite mind can see

Exactly what you are about—

Your great Eternity.

You are our life, our love, our light,

Our hope, our help, our haven,

Our Rock, Redeemer and our Right—

Praise God of highest heaven!

What Do We Do with Doubt? [VIDEO]

12 Thursday Oct 2017

Posted by Lauren Scott in Living Faith

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Tags

Christian life, Christian Women, depression, doubt, faith, video, YouTube

Look out, world. I have a YouTube channel. It’s still quite laughable in my mind, but alas, it now exists and I am now telling you about it.

All not-taking-myself-too-seriously aside, my first video seeks to answer the question, “What do we do with doubt? Where do we go with it?” I didn’t figure my channel needed much introduction besides simply jumping right in with something that matters to me, and I suspect, to many of you.

I hope you will find the discussion encouraging to you in your walk with the Lord, whether your current situation finds you steadily leaning on the everlasting arms or shakily hanging on for dear life.

You can find my first video here. If it’s a blessing to you and you’d like to see more videos of this kind, along with some practical home, life, and school management videos, please consider subscribing to my channel. Lord willing, this first video will not be my last.

God bless! Soli Deo gloria.

Five Things: Hospitality Edition

09 Friday Jun 2017

Posted by Lauren Scott in Home and Family, Living Faith

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Christian life, Home and Family, hospitality, Loving the Little Years, The Friday Five, The Hospitality Commands

This post contains affiliate links. If you make a purchase through one of these links, I may receive a commission at no additional cost to you.

013 Do you have a vision for hospitality? Do you use your home as a place to welcome and refresh others? Here’s some reading material on the subject that I’ve been chewing on lately. I hope it will be an encouragement to you in this endeavor.

Mystie Winkler has written several articles on homemaking and hospitality lately that I have found quite helpful. Forget Pinterest or that magazine cover, Mystie’s tips get straight to the heart, encouraging us to be ready to show hospitality toward everyone who enters our home–by practicing on our own family members. Here’s the most recent article I’ve enjoyed.
Did you know that hospitality is a characteristic required of those in church leadership? Tim Challies reminds us that the hospitality that elders are to exemplify is to be a characteristic all believers should pursue.
I don’t usually read Christianity Today, but this article came to me recently by recommendation from another blogger. Have you considered God’s role of “home-making”? There’s good food for thought here, but I would suggest the conclusion we draw from this shouldn’t stop at awe and consolation for our souls (as wonderful as that is in and of itself!). We’ve been made in the image of God and we can reflect His care for humanity in our care for our homes–in fact, it’s both explicitly encouraged and commanded. All the same, if you are in a season in which you are overwhelmed by the mess, wondering if you’ll ever get things under control, take heart. As the article says, your God has prepared and is preparing a home for you. And He’s always on top of His game.
My father-in-law recently finished reading Alexander Strauch’s The Hospitality Commands to our church over our fellowship meal on Sunday afternoons. We took it about a chapter at a time and discussed how we might grow individually and as a church in showing hospitality. This is a great read if you want to go deeper than a few blog articles will take you.
As I’ve considered God’s call for His children to practice hospitality, I’ve been reminded of a metaphor from one of my favorite mommy books: Loving the Little Years by Rachel Jankovic. The chapter entitled “Heavy Branches” likens our gifts and the things we produce to fruit on a tree.

In the side yard, right outside my window, were two old apple trees. And year after year they made apples. …these trees had been throwing apples on the ground every August for probably ninety years or so. It is something I love about fruit-bearing trees and bushes–that God told them to make something, and they do it enthusiastically. They don’t care about what happens to the fruit. They do not measure their efforts or fuss when no one appreciates it.

…What happens to all our fruit is not our problem. That doesn’t mean that we are not to care about the fruit. While it is on our branches, it is our life work. It is an offering to God, and we ought to care intensely about the quality of our fruit. But the branches are our responsibility; the ground is not.

May we joyfully produce fruit in our homes to bless our families and any who walk through our door–without being discouraged when an apple gets bruised or the beauty we sought to create gets overlooked. May we not grow weary in doing good–our God is at work in it to accomplish His purposes.