How NOT to Help the Hurting

As my husband made his way to the church yesterday, his attention was drawn to a group of protesters outside the Planned Parenthood building. This is not a new sight to him; in fact, it's a fairly common one.

But something struck him differently yesterday. As he watched, one of the protestors yelled directly at a woman entering the building and waved her sign at her with reckless abandon.

Something in his heart hurt for that woman entering the building.

He parked his car and walked over to the protestors. Emboldened, he told them, "This is not Christ's love! The words on some of these signs are awful. I stand with you guys in your beliefs but the words on these signs and getting aggressively in their faces is not Christ's love. Talking with them and praying with them would show Christ's love more than this."

These signs said words like "Butchers", amongst other things.

I truly believe this is not the way Jesus would be dealing with these women. (Psalm 103:10-11)

Time after time during his years of ministry, Jesus used truthful, yet gentle words with those who were lost in sin and hurting.

To the Samaritan woman in John 4, he invites her to abundant life, then speaks to her in straight-forward fashion of the life she has been leading thus far. He didn't get in her face with a sign, but touched her heart through conversation. Verse 39 tells us that "Many of the Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the woman's testimony, 'He told me everything I ever did.'"

To the adulterous woman in John 8, he cleverly diverts those accusing her and in a moment, lavishes unexpected mercy on her. She expects a stone and receives new life instead. He does not condemn or shame her, but lets grace do its work and tells her to leave her life of sin.

To the rich young man in Mark 10, he answers his questions and when it comes to the moment when he knows the man will meet his stronghold, it says, "Jesus looked at him and loved him" before speaking the words that would make the man turn away to deal with his decision.

To the outcasts and sinners, Jesus abundantly gave love, freedom, healing, and acceptance.

The ones that Jesus spoke the most harshly with were actually the religiously pious. In Matthew 23 he minces no words towards the Pharisees calling them, in swift succession: hypocrites, blind guides, blind fools, blind men, snakes, and brood of vipers. These were men who were representing religion and the law, and they were so busy filling up their minds that they never let the truth of what they learned penetrate their hearts. They were hardened and unmerciful. If they had had a picket sign, they probably would have smacked someone over the head with it.

One of the reasons that what Matt did yesterday hit so close to home for me is because he did something that I was once unable to do. When I was living in Minneapolis, I remember driving past the Metrodome to signs that were shaming and condemning homosexuality. These signs had words so ugly on them that I don't even want to put them here.

I remember driving by with tears in my eyes and a breaking heart. One sign in particular boldly and stupidly declared that God hated homosexuals. I immediately pictured my friend Eric, who is homosexual. Eric and I had grown close. Eric and I talked often about God and I tried to answer his questions as well as I could, a bumbling Bible school student. I had repeatedly and consistently tried to both speak and model the love of Christ to Eric.

It broke my heart and made me angry that he could drive by the lies on those signs outside the Metrodome, and possibly ever believe that God hated him. Though incredibly angered that day, I did not stop. I drove away and let hate have the final word.

A surprising thing happened after Matt's conversation with the protestors yesterday. One of them came into the church and found him. She told him that he was right and that she didn't feel as though they were displaying Christ's love through the measures they were using. He talked with her and prayed with her, and she left with a new strategy to love the hurting.

As followers of Christ, there are absolutely harmful ways to spread our beliefs. These aggressive and selfish tactics only push away the ones that God so desperately wants us to reach.

Micah 7:18 says, "Who is a God like you, who pardons sin and forgives the transgression of the remnant of his inheritance? You do not stay angry forever but delight to show mercy".

If God delights in mercy, then I will seek every opportunity to show it. I am most like Christ when I extend grace and love to the lost and hurting, rather than slinging accusations at those who most need a tender word or gentle touch. Let us invite and invest rather than shame and condemn.

That One Time Jonas Fell

Last night, my boys had beans so I did what any mommy of bean-filled children does on a nice night: we went to the park!

At this particular park, we typically park on the street because its parking lot is on another planet.

We played, we swung, we had a mah-velous time.

As the time came to leave, my boys took off running toward the car. My competitive boys were racing because, of course. As they got closer to the car, I realized that while Finn knows well enough to stop at the car and not run into the road, Jonas may not.

The worst case scenario ran quickly through my mind and my 35 1/2 week pregnant body started trying to walk a little bit faster. Let's be honest, I hadn't moved that quickly in weeks.

Before I could trick my body into a full blown trot, a beautiful thing happened.

Jonas fell.

I caught up to him quickly, picked him up, and wiped his tears. As I did these things, I thanked God that my son had fallen.

Because even though he had gotten a little hurt, it could have been so much worse.

He fell in the soft grass when he could have fallen on the harsh and unforgiving pavement of the street. I hate even going there in my mind, but he could have been hit by a car.

He suffered a minor wound and was spared a potentially mortal one. That fall, however unpleasant, was a blessing.

Naturally, it made me think about how God allows negative things into our lives. Because He is all good and all loving, it is vital to see our own falls in the grass as pockets of grace that save us from far worse fates.

These past few months have not been the easiest our family has ever seen. There have been stressors of many kinds: financial, physical, emotional, spiritual. It has been easy to become discouraged and beaten down.

Then I remind myself of Who God is: in His very nature He makes no mistakes and everything that comes from Him is overflowing with love,  and I cannot despise these difficult days.

Last night's fall o'Jonas reminded me that God will often allow soft trips in the grass, if it helps us to avoid death in the street.

He will allow a heartache if it will prevent a mistake that can't be taken back. He will allow a disappointment if it will prevent a lifelong regret. He will allow a failure if it will prevent us from falling away from Him.

When I look at myself and my circumstances, I see some hard stuff. When I look at Him and His goodness, I see only situations that will arise to bring Him glory.

The Anxiety Monster and Singing

When I decided to start a blog 4+ years ago, I wasn't really sure what I was going to write about every time. It ended up normally including some sort of parenting lesson I was learning courtesy of Finn, or commemorating some special event or memory in my life. It kept my love for writing alive.

I never thought that I could write about parenting techniques, because I certainly don't feel like an expert.
I never thought I could write about fashion or makeup, because I'm so not on the cusp of it.
I never thought I could write about tv shows or entertainment, because it feels kind of empty and fruitless.
I never thought I could write about fitness tips or tricks, because come on, let's get serious.

I didn't have any knowledge that could help a reader out.

So I just kind of wrote about our lives, and my personal experiences. I wrote about God nearly every time, because He's intensely personal to me.

Writing helps me process the chaos in my mind, and I guess I share it because truly, I hope others can identify and get something out of what I've walked through. Let's all just be messes together, am I right?

One of the biggest insecurities I have about putting our lives out there is, "Gretchen, do you really think people care? How many stories can you tell about yourself, really? Are you that self-involved that you can't talk about anything else?" The voices of insecurity play on inside my head.

But really, I write about my stories because my personal experience is the only thing I feel like I am an expert at.

However, the other night, I was with my best friend and we got on the topic of how we often go through hard times so that we are able to better help others through similar circumstances (2 Corinthians 1). I shared with her how I've been able to help many of our young adult women through anxiety because it's a monster in my life that I've had to learn to conquer. I've been able to use my personal experience with it to teach others about walking through it in the strength of God.

I said to Chanelle, "I could probably just keep a blog all about anxiety and how to deal with it on a daily basis."

I've dealt with anxiety so much that sometimes I feel like an expert at it.

For the past year and a half or so, my anxiety has flared up every time I am to sing in public. Now, I've always been a little nervous to sing in front of people, but that was just the shy girl in me. Since last February, however, it has been a much more intense, sometimes debilitating fear. So debilitating in fact, that I have been tempted to walk away from it entirely: "Maybe God just never meant for me to be a singer and I'm trying too hard to be something I'm not".

I've never counted myself as the best singer in any room, especially any room that my husband is in, but it is something I have genuinely loved all my life. I come alive when I hear music. I have music going constantly at home. Even when it's silent I'm usually singing whatever song is stuck in my head at that moment. I love to connect to God through music; I love looking at Him through lyrics and singing them, meaning every word with all my heart. I feel His presence in those moments.

But I had allowed the joy of singing to be stolen from me by giving anxiety a foothold - again - in my mind. Every time I was to sing in public, I became petrified that my voice was going to give out on me. I consistently thought that my throat felt scratchy and agitated. For days before singing, I would avoid talking on the phone, having long conversations with my husband, and even reading books to my boys in order to "save" my voice. It began to take over my life on those days.

Nobody has ever argued that anxiety is always rational, after all.

When I realized that I had allowed something I loved very much to be tarnished by anxiety, I began to get angry. It has been my experience that anger can be a healthy antidote to anxiety. It shows a fighting spirit and an unwillingness to back down to the bully that is anxiety.

Anxiety has to be fought. It will not go away on it's own. The more leeway it is given, the more it takes over. One has to be more stubborn than it - choosing over and over again, 100 times a day if needed - to focus on faith more than fear.

I'm still not totally over this particular battle. It continues to be a mental boxing match, but oh, the strides that have been taken. After all, sometimes battles are won slowly.

Each time I get up and sing even when I'm afraid, I put one more nail in the coffin of anxiety.

I now refuse to stifle my voice in the days beforehand, choosing to believe that God will use my voice as long as it's offered, and whether it's tired or not.

This whole singing ordeal has been one more ride on the anxiety carousel for me. Although it has been suffocating and frustrating and humiliating to the point that I only spoke of it with those closest to me, it has taught me more about the anxiety monster and more about the faithfulness of God. I wouldn't trade that for anything.

This past weekend I was leading a song for worship and began feeling anxious as soon as my husband told me on Wednesday evening. Thursday I happened to read this: "Do not be afraid any longer, only believe." (Mark 5:36).

That's God's grace, right there. I repeated that verse to myself over and over again during the next few days. I acted on it, willing myself away from anxious thoughts and focusing on belief. It carried me up to the moment I opened my mouth to sing.

Showing up afraid and singing anyway helps me to defeat the anxiety monster.

I can give you names of sermons I've listened to and books I've read and and verses I've memorized and songs I've heard that have helped me immensely against anxiety.

But, truly, the greatest weapon that I have found in defeating it totally lies in one thing: trusting that God loves me.

When I trust that God loves me, I am able to surrender to whatever His plans are for me.
When I trust that God loves me, I can relax in His ability to care for me.
When I trust that God loves me, I know He works all things - even hard things - for good.
When I trust that God loves me, I honor Him.

Nothing, truly, matters more than that.

Gratitude, the Fair, and My Nostrils

I woke up this morning grateful to be able to breathe through my nose. It's something I take for granted too often, these nostrils of mine. But they really are a gift! Like, they just work, open for my breathing pleasure, and I don't have to think twice about it. Miraculous!

The past few days, my nostrils were not working so well. They were totally and completely clogged, congesting my breathing and causing my eyes to spring forth tears like a plentiful fountain. Many times did I protest in that time, "I JUST WANT TO BREATHE!"

I woke up this morning, breathing, beautifully breathing through my nose. It was fabulous, and I actually thanked God for nostrils. I'm not usually cognizant of my gratefulness for nostrils, in fact, I almost always take them for granted. 

Being taken for granted is something most parents understand all too well. All of the little things we do on a daily basis go completely unnoticed. Shoot, many of the BIG things we do go unnoticed and thereby unappreciated. 

This past week we took our boys to the fair for the first time. We figured Finn would love the rides and Jonas would love the food. Sure enough, the first couple of rides, Finn's face was a bright beam of sunshine and he excitedly and sweetly waited for the next ride.

But then something peculiar happened. Instead of lavishing us in thanks and adoration for the fun time he was having, he began to get a little greedy. He began taking the whole experience for granted. Suddenly his sweet, eager waiting became sour, impatient whining. He became picky about which rides to go on, begging us for whatever looked like the next big thrill.

We had to say "no" to a lot in that stretch of time. Every "no" was for his good.

"No" to the sleazy pirate fun house.
"No" to the funky looking roller coaster.
"No" to the spinning craziness his daddy can't bear to ride with him.

Eventually, due to tiredness or overstimulation or what have you, our boy was a crying, screaming, demanding spectacle. Long gone was the bright-eyed boy who was eager just to get to ride any ride. The joy was gone, the thrill was gone, the gratitude was gone.

It was evident to me in that moment exactly why gratitude is so important to God.

When Jesus healed the 10 lepers and only one returned to thank him (Luke 17), he most certainly noticed, asking, "Were not ten cleansed? Where are the other nine?" The one who returned received a special blessing.

Without gratitude, we become spoiled brats: looking for the next thrill to get our adrenaline pumping, demanding the next big thing as though we deserve it, and forgetting that there is a gracious Hand behind it all.

Like the Israelites after their dramatic rescue from the Egyptians, we begin to whine and complain and focus on all that we do not have.

We take our eyes off of the God who parted the Red Sea for us and center our attention on ourselves.

When we forget to be grateful for the abundance of things He's already given us (breathing through one's nose, for example), we become instantly greedy for the next big blessing. "More, more, more!" becomes the cry of our heart, rather than the quiet beauty and strength of a soul surrendered to Him.

Choosing to be grateful puts us in proper relationship to God, humble before Him, acknowledging that every good thing is directly from His hand and out of His love for us.

It is remembering all that He has already done, the many ways He is presently showing His love for us, and all that He has promised to do.

Gratitude helps us to not take the little motorcycle ride for granted, and reminds us that if we are told we can't ride the Tilt a Whirl, it's most certainly for our own protection.

The fact that Finn acted demanding and selfish did not change my love for him in any measure. However, his behavior did require some discipline and reminded me that maybe he will need a bit more preparation before we try something that grandiose again.

There are reasons we do not have everything our hearts desire. There are reasons we go through times of waiting. There are reasons we feel lousy for being demanding and selfish.

"And have you completely forgotten this word of encouragement that addresses you as a father addresses his son? It says, 'My son, do not make light of the Lord's discipline, and do not lose heart when he rebukes you, because the Lord disciplines the one he loves, and he chastens everyone he accepts as his son'. Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as his children. For what children are not disciplined by their father? If you are not disciplined - and everyone undergoes discipline - then you are not legitimate, not true sons and daughters at all. Moreover, we have all had human fathers who disciplined us and we respected them for it. How much more should we submit to the Father of spirits and live! They disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but God disciplines us for our good, in order that we may share in his holiness. No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it." - Hebrews 12:5-11

When we remember to be grateful for all that has been, all that is, and all that will be, our joy in this life is tangible. We honor God, but it's really just another strategy He uses to bless us and make us more like Himself.

That's His goodness, and that's what we choose to remember.

The Miraculous Mundane

The last few days, I have been living under one dark cloud of crank.

I wake up with a light heart and ready to face the day, and then some moment comes and reality breaks in and the crank comes out.

I don't want to be active. I don't want to veg. I don't want clean. I don't want to play. I most certainly don't want to run errands with my kids, even though our refrigerator shelves are feeling lonely.

Somewhere in the mixture of the monotony of daily life and the endless pop-up demands of mommy hood, I grow weary. Of all of it. I don't want life to be boring and predictable, but I also don't want any surprises.

I wipe down counters, I put dishes away, I sweep the floor, I feed the faces, I pick up endless superhero "guys", I add things to shopping lists, I hang up clothes.

The monotony.

I kiss a fresh ouchie, I clean sand out of hair, I break up a fight, I wipe some snot, I break up squabbles, I correct an outburst.

The endless pop-up demands of mommy hood.

I am one who has a laser like focus. Just ask Matt what happens when he tries to talk to me if I am reading or trying to write. If I am deep in thought, it is hard to break through to me: "Gretchen? Gretchen??? Hello?"

Because I am naturally formed this way, I have always enjoyed being by myself when it came to personal devotion time with God. Growing up, that meant shutting myself away in my bedroom. In college with multiple roommates, that meant retreating to a prayer room where I could concentrate. As a mommy of one, that meant waking up early in order to check it off my list before the craziness started. As a mommy of two, finding pockets of time that are uninterruptible is nearly impossible.

In our first year of marriage, I would hole myself up in our bedroom to have quiet time with God when we would get home from work for the day. Read my Bible, check. Pray through my written list of prayer requests, check. Write in my journal, check. It didn't take long for me to notice that Matt never sought such time like this. When I would ask him about it, he'd say, "I just talk with God throughout my day, whatever I'm doing".

Hmmmm. Novel idea. But isn't it easy to get distracted that way and aren't there some days where you reach bedtime and realize you haven't spoken at all? That was my fear of trying that approach. I didn't want to risk missing Him.

There have been times this pregnancy where I have felt totally disconnected from God. My brain is one big pile of scrambled eggs and there is no ability to laser focus in on anything except the demand of the moment. I miss the connection. My love language is quality time and lately so little of it feels quality. It feels broken, rushed, slopped together. I'm in survival mode half the time.

I find myself missing early morning Bible reading while I drank my coffee. I miss running on the treadmill while I listened to worship music or a sermon. I miss shutting myself in a room without the door being knocked on or opened or hearing crying on the other side of it.

It's easy to tell myself: this is just a season. You'll be able to connect with God again soon. The boys are only young for so long and they won't need you this much forever. Soon you'll be able to find your pockets of time again when you can check 'connect with God' off the daily schedule.

But the truth is, I'm not really okay with that. I'm not okay with feeling connected someday. I want more of Him today: A) Because I can't make it through the day without His joy and strength and B) Because He's worthy of being wanted every single second and not put up on some shelf for when relationship feels convenient again.

I "joke" every now and then that if it wasn't for God, I would be hooked on some kind of medication to deal with life. I say it smiling, but it feels true. I need Him and I know it. I don't like feeling unplugged.

I read this the other day and it totally resonated with me:

"The great lie of motherhood: I'll find Him when life slows down or this burden lifts or my present struggle no longer nips at my heels...instead, the fight is to find Him when the dishwasher breaks and a friend just doesn't understand me and my daughters' wounds surface again" ("Every Bitter Thing is Sweet" by Sara Hagerty)

Yes!!! I felt it firmly as I underlined the words in the book. It is this moment, every moment really, where He is available to be found. There is something in me that expects Him to show up in the good moments and not the mundane, maniacal ones - which, honestly, is when I need Him most.

When I try to make it through my monotony or pop-up demands without Him, I do myself a disservice by acting in my own power. But when I see every single moment as a chance to meet with Him, I create space for Him to move and speak.

This was verified to me when I read the next day in my devotional:

"His purpose is for me to depend on Him and on His power now. If I can stay calm, faithful, and unconfused while in the middle of the turmoil of life, the goal of the purpose of God is being accomplished in me...it is the process, not the outcome, that is glorifying to God...God's purpose is to enable me to see that He can walk on the storms of my life right now." ("My Utmost for His Highest by Oswald Chambers)

God doesn't want my someday, He just wants today. I can't honor Him tomorrow; I only have my right now, in which I can choose to see His hand in the midst of the mundane and the chaos of motherhood.

Just a couple of months ago, my mom posed this question to our parenting class at church: "How will you know that you've been a successful parent?"

I answered assuredly, "If my boys grow up and live for Christ." Nothing else matters to me more than that. By stating that, I was essentially branding myself a failure if I don't see my boys choosing Christ. In a way, I probably will feel like a failure if that happens. However, my life and how it honors God should not ever be based upon the choices that someone else is allowed to make.

This too was written by Sara Hagerty and caused me reexamine this goal:
"If my chief end as a mother is anything less than knowing Him and carrying His glory in my life, I will walk through these years empty".

This moment is all I have to choose to honor Him. It's all I have to choose to love others and put their needs ahead of my own. It's all I have, whether it's mundane or miraculous.

I will meet with Him in the chaos, and not just the convenience of a quiet room.

I will choose to see Him in it all.

Talking with Finn About His Uncle Matt

A couple of weeks ago, we were on our way to our 24 week doctor's appointment and we happened to drive by Woodlawn Cemetery. Finn, for the most part, knows what a cemetery is. He gets the gist.

He also knows that I have a brother who died in a car accident when I was 13.

On this particular day, the drive past the cemetery awoke a flurry of questions within my curious 4 year old. He was wondering about his Uncle Matt.

Finn: What did he look like?
Me: He was tall and skinny. He was handsome, with blonde hair and blue eyes, and he loved to dress like a cowboy.
Finn: What did he like to eat?
Me: I remember him making cinnamon applesauce. And I remember that every time Mummy True or Kiki made cookies, he always tried to sneak some of the cookie dough. So he must have liked cookies!
Finn: When will I get to see him?
Me: We won't get to see him again until we get to heaven.
Finn: Will you be happy to see him then?
Me: So, so happy.
Finn: Will you run to him?
Me: You bet I will.
Finn: What would he do if you yelled at him?
Me: Uhhh, he probably would have laughed at me! He was not afraid of me. He was a protector.
Finn: Now you have a new protector.
Me: I do? Who's that?
Finn: Daddy.

Throughout this conversation, I got to talk about my brother Matt, which I don't get to do all that often. I like talking about him. I answered questions about him that I really had to think about, questions I've never been asked before. The whole thing brought about a bubbling in my heart as I spoke. I loved every moment.

While we were waiting in the doctor's office a few minutes later, Finn, who rarely talks to anyone that he doesn't know very well, struck up a conversation with a lady who was also waiting. He told her about heaven and how he was going to see his Uncle Matt there someday.

This is called hope, and this is why we walk this clumsy walk of faith. There is a hope that propels us forward, a hope that a better place awaits us, with the King who created us. A place free from pain and loss and suffering.

This hope is why we talk to our kids about God and try to instill in them a purpose outside of themselves. It's why we continue on in the face of darkness and confusion.

This hope is why we worship, why we pray, why we seek, why we love.

Honestly, it's why we can wake up each morning and keep trying.

There is more, so much more, than this world alone offers us.

When we got home that day, I found some old photos of my brother to show Finn what he looked like. It's the face of one that I can't wait to see again someday. It's the face of one that I want my boys to know, even if they don't know.

My big brother would have been 42 years old today. There is no getting back the time that we lost on this earth with him.

But there is the hope that remains.

One day: when I reach heaven, right after I throw myself at Jesus' feet, I'm searching for that face.

Guilt as a Terrible Parenting Strategy

If you had to ask me what is the single toughest task for me as a parent, it would be easy for me to pinpoint:

Reacting.

I react with my emotions all wrapped up in my children's behaviors. Whether they disappoint, shock, or please me, it is written all over my face and expressed in every word from my mouth.

I've never really considered myself an impulsive person...I love plans and schedules and order. But the impulsivity of my emotional reactions is swifter and more powerful than what I've learned to control.

Too often, I've reacted before I have even processed what happened. If I could just. slow. down. I know that wisdom is lurking around in my brain if my heart would just simmer for a single second.

I'm attending a parenting class on Wednesday nights currently (taught by my mama, nonetheless), and it stuck with me a few weeks ago when she said how important it is to not parent from our emotions. As a parent, it is crucial that we remain in control of the situation by acting, not reacting. Our children get a bit of a free pass when it comes to losing it, we do not.

A couple of weeks ago, I was driving away from a park with my sons. We left on a semi-sour note, as Finn and one of his cousins had been going at it a bit. As we drove out of the parking lot, Finn and I talked about what had happened. He didn't feel like his cousin was being very kind and was upset that I expected him to still be nice in return.

I said to him, "I understand. I understand that it is really tough to be kind to others when we feel like they aren't being kind to us."

He sighed and said, "Yeah, it is."

This was good. We were off to a great start. Let's dig deeper!

I said, "Maybe next time before we hang out with your cousins, we can pray and ask God to help us be kind at all times."

I felt a puff of accomplishment in my spirit. I was utilizing what I was using in the parenting class and it was working!! Until....

Finn says, "I'm not praying. If you pray I'm closing my ears and not listening."

Well, he may as well have taken a dagger to my mommy heart. Absolutely nothing on this earth means more to me than my faith and the hope that my children will share the same faith. It triggered a big old emotional reaction in me.

"Finn Matthew, why would you say that?! That hurts my heart! I am so disappointed in you."

Suddenly what could have been a Level 3 incidence between us escalated to a Level 8. Not because of Finn; Finn is a child and a 4 year old who loves to push buttons sometimes. This one was all on me.

I allowed myself to get so worked up that by the time I got home and told Matt about it, I was actually in tears. My mommy heart felt broken and like a total failure....again.

By the time an hour or so had passed, my brain caught up with my heart and the guilt began to rise.

The next day, still baffled, I asked my sister what she would have done in that situation. She responded, "Well, I probably would have said that sometimes I don't feel like praying either..."

Oh yeah. Duh. That's simple enough. If only I had to been slow to respond (James 1:19).

My children are absolutely not going to come to a relationship with Jesus because I guilt them into it by saying I'm disappointed in them when they don't feel like praying.

No manipulation, no coercion, no willing it to happen will help my children believe that Jesus loves them and wants relationship with them. It may lead them close for a moment, but will ultimately push them away.

Finn and I let the discussion on prayer cool for a couple of weeks. The most I said to him was that prayers don't have to be long and complicated. I told him that one of my favorite prayers was simply, "Help, God."

Yesterday he surprised me.

He had gone outside to wait for some friends that were coming over to our house. When Jonas and I walked outside to join him, he says to me,

"Mommy I was talking to God."

My heart grew 3 sizes, like the Grinch.

"Oh yeah," I tried not to seem too excited, "what were you saying to God?"

"I was praying for the dead mouse (in our window well) and the dead bird (on the street)"

My sweet son was praying, from his own heart, about something that truly matters to him. 

It was a reminder to me that God can touch my son's heart without my help. I don't need to strong arm my faith into him. Sometimes, mommies need to get out of the way so that their children can cultivate their own relationship with God.

Pray. Lead by example. Love with everything I have. Talk about God's goodness and faithfulness.

And then?

Release the reins and get out of the way!