Mission Impossible?

During his sermon on Modesty last night, Pastor Pollard sympathized with Christian women who attempt to find modest clothing in this day and age. "Wouldn't it be great," he said, "if some Christian families were to go into business making lovely, modest clothing?" (paraphrased)

Although it does feel like "Mission Impossible" sometimes, there actually are families that do just that! So, I couldn't help but chuckle this morning, when this giveaway was posted on facebook. Check it out and enter to win a fabulous skirt from "All Skirts."

(Not to be mean, but I hope I win! My dear husband was just commenting on the sad state of my wardrobe!) =`(


A Wise Woman Builds Her Home

The Death of Superwoman: Part 3

I know! I know! Why isn't she dead yet? Unfortunately, old habits die hard. And death itself is a life-long process!

Yesterday, I woke in discouragement and despair. Literally drained emotionally and spiritually, I started to walk out the door for my morning work-out. I usually listen to music while I drive (it helps me wake up) but I knew I was in no mood for music. Do you ever feel like that? So bummed that you don't want anything to help you feel better. (Yeah, it's called a pity-party!)

Anyway, my eyes lighted on some tapes my friend Pauline had lent me. They were from Homeschool Conferences in the past. That should help my pity-party, right? Get to listen to all the things I'm not doing right in homeschool. I picked them up and scanned their titles. The first one was on Servanthood. ~OK, I'm not that bummed! Then another title grabbed my attention, "Oops! My Cup is Empty and My Coffee Pot is Broke!"

WOW! I can relate to that! Stuffing it into my purse and grabbing my Low-fat, Protein Shake off the counter, I hit the road and popped the tape into the deck.

At first, all I could do was nit-pick; I didn't like her translation of the Bible. This statement wasn't exactly Calvinistic, you know. And the high-pitched tone reminded me of some silly schoolgirl.

I almost turned it off several times. But, not really having anything better to do, as my car drove down the deserted interstate, I let it continue to play.

Arriving at my workout, (from which I had left bawling the day previous) I mustered a smile and attacked my assignment with much more enthusiasm than I thought possible.

Cranking the car again, the sound of a woman's voice caused me to jump! It was Cindy Rushton still talking. With renewed interest, I began listening to the message again. Somehow, I didn't notice my objections anymore. The lady was speaking from her heart and somehow it felt like she was talking just to me.

Describing 10 years of infertility and miscarriage (which I can definitely understand) Cindy Rushton described her innate need to put on a facade and pretend to be "Superwoman."

I must admit, I glared at the tape deck. Has she been reading my blog posts? But no, this was taped six years ago. She continued to describe the pain that only a mother who has lost children can understand, as well as some of the very things I've been contemplating lately. Such as letting go of unfair expectations and being honest with each other. But most of all, taking our empty cups to Christ and letting Him fill them to overflowing.

Soon, tears were streaming down my cheeks and by the time my car turned into our drive, I was shaking with sobs. I tried to pray, but no words came. Then I was reminded of a precious promise:

"...the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us

with groanings which cannot be uttered." (Romans 8:26)

My cup was empty and my coffee pot was broke. But Christ said, "come unto Me and drink!"

"I came to Jesus, and I drank

Of that life-giving stream;

My thirst was quenched, my soul revived

And now I live in Him."

(Horatius Bonar)

The Death of Superwoman: Part Two

After a discussion today with one of the elder ladies in our church, I felt compelled to write this. Although she does not have access to e-mail, this sister got a copy of my "Death of Superwoman" post and was bothered by the contents of it. By the time we finished our discussion, she understood what I was trying to say, but it made me wonder if anyone else had the same problems with it.

In my post, I had no intention of accusing anyone of anything; no one but myself, that is. I have been blessed and ministered to by many of the ladies in our church, especially with meals after the birth of my children and after breaking my wrist last year.

What I was trying to say is that our culture has lost its sense of community. Even the Church is often treated as a social club. But if you study the Scriptures, you'll see that the Church is compared to the family. That's why we call ourselves brothers and sisters in Christ.

But if we are family, then why do we have to pretend with each other? Why do we show up at church with a plastered smile, and a "Hi, how are ya?" and then go on our merry way without thinking about each other again, until next Sunday?

When we do invite each other to our homes, we want to pull out the best china and serve up a perfect meal to exemplify our "hospitality."

But, if we are family, then why can't we just enjoy potluck meals on paper plates? Or, better yet, why can't we let others help us with the dishes?

But no, we have to be "the perfect hostess!"

It would be unthinkable to ask someone to bring a side dish or dessert! And heaven forbid we allow them to assist with the clean up. "No," we say, "Let's just visit. I'll clean this up later!"

But why can't we fellowship while we do the dishes?

Back to my frustrations: I was venting about my own stubborn pride. My refusal to ask for help. My thinking that I have to be Superwoman. I know that the women in our church would be happy to assist me, with actions or simply words of encouragement. But they don't know my struggles, because I have done everything in my power to convince everyone (even my husband) that I "have it all together."

My post was not an attack on anyone, but a personal decision to stop the facade. Despite the strong exterior that you may see when you look at me, I am full of weakness and prone to sin. I am not someone to be admired or placed on a pedestal, but someone whose pride needs to be crushed. I need help. I just have to learn how to humble myself and ask...

"Not that we are sufficient of ourselves

to think any thing as of ourselves;

but our sufficiency is of God." 2 Cor 3:5

Similar Posts:

Death of Superwoman

Pressing Toward the Mark or Sitting on a Pedestal?

Just Ask!

Children and Clowns

Lately, I've spent a lot of time contemplating facades and masks, so this note from FlyLady really hit home:

"What is it about clowns that scare some children? Yesterday I figured it out along with a dear friend. Their face tells a different story than what is in their heart. To a child's instincts they may seem to be hiding something. My dear friend suffered with serious child abuse. The abuser was her mother. To the world her mother seemed to be nurturing kind person, but behind closed doors she wore another face. She has nightmares about clowns and when the clown face is removed; it is her mother."


"My mother was like that too. Everyone loved her. They didn't see the screaming rude vicious side of her. She put on a different face for them. Are you wearing a lot of different faces and your family can never tell who you are or who you are going to be. It is up to us to change this behavior and make our inside face match our outside face..."


After considering what was said, I felt the need to comment thus:

Very good analogy and application! The thing is: everyone of us is wearing some sort of mask. Since the time Adam fell, mankind has had the need to cover his/her shame. But this sort of hypocrisy is detrimental to our children. As a Mom that struggles constantly with frustrations and a quick temper, I have apologized to them repeatedly for my actions/words, trying never to place the blame on them. I think this is important. Parents aren't perfect, and children will figure that out eventually; but they need to see humble, contrition from us- so they don't internalize our faults and later churn that into bitterness.

Any thoughts on this from my readers?

The Death of Super-Woman

There are some things that I miss about the Simple Life. True, it was never really simple, but life was more laid-back, there was less waste, and a sense of community. I really miss those days! I miss the wood cuttings, the barn raisings, and the quilting bees. I miss getting together with other families to butcher a deer or can vegetables. I even miss the idiocy of making ice cream in the dead of winter because that was the only time we had access to ice. But these days, I just miss community.

It seems our culture has turned from the Scriptural premise of "bearing each others burdens" to a "survival of the fittest" mode. Each of us is expected to eek out an existence while putting on a "Super Woman" facade. Inwardly, we wonder what happened to the elder women from Titus 2 and secretly long for the day when a sweet, mature voice on the other end of the line simply asks how we're doing. But when the phone does ring, it's a "less experienced" mom, timidly asking for our help. Bitterly we comply, grumbling that we should be thus imposed upon. How can we bear someone else's burden, when we're already straining under our own? Yet, we plaster on that fake smile and apply ourselves to "their" problem.

What has happened? Can it be that age-segregation in the churches and schools has fostered this mentality? The hoary head is no longer revered, so young mothers must "learn" from their peers? I can't count the number of times when a woman old enough to be my Mom has complimented my "wisdom" and commented on how much she has learned from me! That isn't the way it's supposed to be!

I'm tired of being Super Woman! So, I'm just going to be honest with you. My floor hasn't been mopped in I don't know how long. My toilets need to be scrubbed. I have days when I'd rather frit away my time in some endless dispute on facebook, than attend to the matters of my home. I raise my voice, and lose my temper, then I cry myself to sleep. When a "less experienced" mom calls for help, I'm as likely to bite off her head as to offer a word of encouragement. I wallow in self-pity and despair, but I don't know how to ask for help. And then I go to church with that plastered smile and do everything in my power to convince everyone I meet that I've "got it all together."

Oh, Lord! Would You humble my pride and teach me how to ask for help when I need it? Would You bring me to my knees that I may lift my eyes to Jesus? Teach me to cast my care upon You, that I may truly bear the burdens of others! And may Your name be glorified in all I say and do. Amen!

Great Expectations

As an eight-year-old child, I can remember my Daddy telling one of his friends, "If you only expect your children to sing songs like, "This little light of mine," then that's all they'll sing. But, if you expect them to learn all four verses of "It is Well with my Soul," then they can and will."

Up until that point, I hadn't thought too much about these things. Sure, people were always impressed by my memory of Scripture and hymns; but in my arrogance I thought, somehow, that I was responsible for it! I had no idea that other parents weren't as diligent as mine in teaching and developing memory skills.

Our school's curriculum would throw in random memory verses for us to learn, but they weren't whole passages like Dad taught us: Psalm 1:1-6, John 1:1-14, Isaiah 53:1-12, etc...

As I grew older, I became obsessed with learning the words to hymns. Dad would often catch me in the middle of the night, reading a hymnal by nightlight, to memorize the words because a song was running through my head and I couldn't go to sleep until I knew them all!

Then, teaching at a Classical Christian School was amazing! To actually be in a place that expected something of children-- and got it, was incredible! Many of the Scriptures that I had learned as a child were taught in the classroom. Not a few verses, here and there, but entire passages! For four and a half years I delighted in teaching the scriptures to little people and watching the astonishment on their parent's faces when they recited them verbatim.

Now, as a mom, I've been able to teach a total of eleven passages to my five and three year old; sixty-four verses altogether!!! And to be honest, I think they could have learned a lot more, if I was more diligent to teach them.

Using lots of hand motions and repetition, as well as taking small chunks at a time, it's amazing how fast they absorb the scriptures.

Once the passage is learned, we write the reference on a paper leaf and tape it to our "Scripture Tree" in the Dining Room. This reminds us to continually review the ones we've already learned.

Then, we all enjoy a walk to the "Bread of Life" bakery for a special, decadent treat---COOKIES!!!

Children will live up to your obvious expectations of them;

Just make sure those expectations are great!!!

Related Posts:
Mrs. Whatever-You-Say
A Nation of Appeasement
Boot Camp for Life

Real Talk or Baby Talk?

Forgive me a small chuckle, but I'm still smiling over all the raised eyebrows from this past week. Every time someone hears my new favorite phrase, they give me this odd look. I pretend not to notice, but can't help laughing inwardly.

I've despised redundancy my whole life. And parents that use their obnoxiously nasal tone to remind their children, "Say please" or "Say thank you!" just drives me crazy! Silently, I vowed never to become a broken record.

Yeah, right!

Some days I repeat myself so often that I want to scream! "Excuse me?" is heard echoing off the walls (in my voice) almost 24/7. Here lately, I've been having a hard time with responses, not just getting the correct response, but just getting one period! The girls have been taught "Yes, ma'am/No, sir," etc... but some days you'd never know it had been drilled into them since infancy!

This is especially difficult when they're in another room. I give a command-- nothing. I don't know if they heard and are obeying; heard and are ignoring; or simply didn't hear.

So, I found my new favorite phrase, "Acknowledge, please!" (And the girls correctly respond, "Yes, ma'am!")

Despite the raised eyebrows of friends and strangers; a look which clearly express disbelief at my using an eleven-lettered word on my 3 and 5 year old, I've never discussed the definition of "acknowledge" with them, and they've never asked what it means.  Given the context, they figured it out on their own.

Since "baby-talk" drives me crazy, I talk to my children like I expect them to understand me. Everyone else is surprised when they actually do! But I have to admit that even I was stunned when, at the age of three, Joanna used the word "ingenious" correctly in a sentence. But I shouldn't have been surprised. Language must be learned, but it can't be learned, if it isn't used.

As you can imagine, living with the Amish people was culture shock for our family. (I think it was hardest on Mom!) Besides living without electricity or indoor plumbing; raising gardens and caring for animals; wearing Amish clothing and driving a horse and buggy, we also faced a language barrier. The Amish speak a brand of German known as Pennsylvania Dutch. It isn't a written language, and has many varying lingoes. Although most of the adults could speak English, the children didn't typically learn it until they started school. And the adults would talk in Dutch until we entered the room, then switch awkwardly to English.

Since we were young, and spent most of our time with the other children, my siblings and I picked up the language a lot faster than Mom and Dad. To this day, I will occasionally find myself talking Dutch in my head, or quietly whispering "Sasch still" to a fussy baby.

Today I used a Dutch phrase without thinking about it, and marveled that, after so many years, it would just pop out of my mouth like that. So it got me thinking about language and how we talk to our children.

In our community was an old lady named "Grace" who adopted a girl about my age. Her new daughter, "Becky" didn't know Dutch, but Grace didn't baby her or switch to English. From the day she brought Becky home, the girl only heard Pennsylvania Dutch from the lips of her new mother. When Grace said, "vesch du hents" Becky would be punished for not washing her hands. When the Mom said, "hoke on-na," Becky would be punished for not sitting down. As harsh as this seems, I've never known anyone that learned a language, or a new lifestyle, quite as fast as Becky did!

I'm not endorsing harshness, but at the same time I wonder how many parents are just afraid to be parents and to really talk to their children, educating them with words? Do we bring them up to our level, or just condescend to theirs? Are we too fearful to communicate with great expectations?

Do we really TALK to our children? Or do we just Baby-talk them?