“Well, you can’t worry about that,” she said, in answer to someone’s question. “You just have to munch away on your caterpillar [...]]]> Recently I was sitting in a meeting—paying only a small amount of attention, quite frankly—when the leader said something that made me laugh and reach for a pen to write it down.

“Well, you can’t worry about that,” she said, in answer to someone’s question. “You just have to munch away on your caterpillar leaf, every day.”

I laughed, first of all, because I couldn’t help but picture everyone in the room munching on leaves. But I also laughed because her simple words were very wise. Too often, I get bothered by other people’s business. “Why did she say that?” “What was he thinking?” Or, I get upset over my own “bang-ups and hang-ups,” as Dr. Seuss would say. Fear, doubt, hardships—all things that distract me from obedience. From simply doing the things that God instructs.

A caterpillar munches away on his leaf, every day, until he enters his chrysalis and emerges a beautiful butterfly. Transformed! Changed because he simply did his thing.

“You need to persevere,” the Hebrew writer says, “so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised.” (Hebrews 10:36)

Or, in other words? “You just have to munch away on your caterpillar leaf, every day.”

“Mom, my friend [____] just texted me,” she said as we drove away from the dance studio. “Can I reply?”

“What did she say?” I asked, knowing Molly had just seen the girl a few minutes earlier in [...]]]> Molly may not have a future in her daddy’s pastoral care ministry of counseling and compassion.

“Mom, my friend [____] just texted me,” she said as we drove away from the dance studio. “Can I reply?”

“What did she say?” I asked, knowing Molly had just seen the girl a few minutes earlier in ballet class.

“She just said, ‘I miss you.’”

“Okay. Yes, you can answer.”

(Noise of clicking thumbs.)

“What did you say back to her?” I asked.

“I said, ‘It’s been like ten minutes. MAN UP!’”

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway
You need javascript enabled to see this giveaway.

However.

In spite of the fact that we don’t, as a [...]]]> We Stormses are hardly what you’d call rule-breakers. In fact, I rather enjoy keeping the rules, and the mere thought of breaking one makes me feel a little itchy inside. I’ve also, for better or worse, passed on my rule-keeping tendencies to my children.

However.

In spite of the fact that we don’t, as a rule, break the rules, lately we’ve had a few run-ins with our home owners association. Nothing much…one parking violation, and one tree-climbing violation…but oh. My. Lands. The reaction!

And to be clear, we did break those two rules. We parked where we shouldn’t have parked and we (well, one of us, anyway) climbed where we shouldn’t have climbed. We were in the wrong and we accept the consequences.

However.

The drama? The over-the-top meanness? I think we can all do without that. A few ladies in our HOA take rule-keeping to a whole new level. These women make Javert from Les Miserables look like a pansy.

One of us came home in tears today, and finally got composed enough to say, “I was in a tree, and an HOA lady came by and said, ‘Hey, KID, get out of there!’ So I jumped out, and then she said, ‘Did that hurt when you landed?’ I said, ‘No.’ And then she said, ‘Well, it SHOULD have hurt…I WISH it WOULD have hurt…because YOU are a BAD kid who did something BAD, and it should always hurt when you do something BAD.’”

Excuse me?

You wish it would have hurt?

The rule-breaker and I hugged and dried our eyes and blew our noses, and yes, we discussed that we were wrong to climb the neighborhood trees (which, by the way, are so puny that we can jump out of the tops of them). At the time, I was outside sanding varnish off an old rocking chair, so during the eye-drying and nose-blowing, I took my frustration out on that poor chair. I was so angry with Mrs. Woman-who-was-never-a-child-and-has-too-much-time-on-her-hands that it’s a wonder I didn’t sand it into a pile of toothpicks.

But then, the rule-breaker walked back outside and said sadly, “Maybe that lady was so mean ‘cuz she had just, like, buried her sister or somethin’.”

“Maybe,” I said, “and I’m proud of you for trying to understand her.”

“I guess,” continued the felon, “that I’m supposed to ‘love my enemies, and pray for those who persecute me,’ right?”

“Right.” (That, or, just sand the daylights out of a rocking chair.)

So, that’s what we did. Right there, in the middle of rules and rocking chairs, we took turns praying. We asked God for help remembering to not climb trees, and we especially asked for extra love for someone who may have just buried her sister or somethin’. The rule-breaker even asked God to bless her. Finally, we thanked Him for His forgiveness…to her, and to us. And then, we blew all the sandpaper dust off the rocking chair. Every last particle.

It, and we, were ready for a new start.

From prayer that asks that I may be

Sheltered from winds that beat on Thee
From fearing when I should aspire
From faltering when I should climb higher
From silken self, O Captain, free

Thy [...]]]>

Make Me Thy Fuel
by Amy Carmichael

From prayer that asks that I may be

Sheltered from winds that beat on Thee
From fearing when I should aspire
From faltering when I should climb higher
From silken self, O Captain, free

Thy soldier who would follow Thee.

From subtle love of softening things
From easy choices, weakenings
(Not thus are spirits fortified
Not this way went the Crucified)

From all that dims Thy Calvary

O Lamb of God, deliver me.

Give me the love that leads the way

The faith that nothing can dismay
The hope no disappointments tire

The passion that will burn like fire
Let me not sink to be a clod:

Make me Thy fuel, Flame of God.

“Whatcha playing up there?” I asked, when the girls came downstairs after being in their room a while.

“Hotel. We check people in and out.”

“That’s fun. Who do you check in?—Each other? Your dolls?”

“Oh, no! So far we’ve had Barack Obama, Sara Groves, Selena Gomez, and Ben Stiller.”

Okay…

(I think that just means the [...]]]> My poor kids are three-for-three on illness this Christmas season. Anne started it all with a virus a few weeks ago, then Molly woke up sick on the weekend of her Nutcracker ballet performances. Her cough, sore throat, and fever turned out to be bronchitis and “suspicious” pneumonia.

(I think that just means the beginning of pneumonia, or possible pneumonia, but I prefer “suspicious.” You know how untrusting pneumonia can be!)

To top it off, Nathan started to run a fever on Christmas eve, and we’re currently in that “wait and see” stage of his illness. Wait and see if he’ll get better in a day or so. Wait and see if he has Anne’s virus, Molly’s bronchitis, or something all his own. And most of all, wait and see if we have enough money leftover from his sisters’ illnesses to afford a copay for him.

“Wait and see” annoys me, and not just with regard to health. I don’t like to wait. I don’t like to wonder. I like to know—to have the whole course charted and the details planned and the questions answered. I’m rather suspicious, like pneumonia. This wait and see? Not for me.

And yet…over and over again, God says, “Child, I want you to wait and see. Wait on Me. Hope in Me. And just watch what I unfold! Not all at once, not today. But over time, little by little, as you continue to abide in Me…you’ll see.”

“Wait for the Lord,” wrote David. “Be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.” (Psalm 27:14) And Isaiah said, “I will wait for the Lord, who is hiding his face from the house of Jacob. I will put my trust in him.” (Isaiah 8:17)

Oh, Lord, how I wish You wouldn’t hide Your face! It makes me suspicious, and You know how untrusting I can be! But God, You are faithful and good and always at work, for Your glory. I will put my trust in You, even as I wait and see. Amen.

Need I say more?

I could go on. I could write about his tension between being big but not quite big enough. I could tell what a mix Nathan is of confident and afraid, grown-up and childish, intelligent and ridiculous, mature and yet…not very. Hygienic but also at times, so [...]]]> My son is 12.

Need I say more?

I could go on. I could write about his tension between being big but not quite big enough. I could tell what a mix Nathan is of confident and afraid, grown-up and childish, intelligent and ridiculous, mature and yet…not very. Hygienic but also at times, so very not.

I could tell you all these things, but really, all I need to say is just this: my son is 12.

We all understand.

And we all understand Mary’s confusion, then, at her 12-year-old Jesus. He left the family caravan and decided to stay a little longer to teach the teachers.

“Son, why have you treated us like this?” Mary asked when she finally found him three days later. Why, Mary? Because your son is 12.

Jesus explained that he had to be in his Father’s house. He seemed surprised that Mary didn’t read his thoughts. I know the look on his face, because I’ve seen it on Nathan: astonished at her astonishment. Mothers and 12-year-olds often view one another with mutually astonished faces. Luke explained, “But they did not understand what he was saying to them.”

Oh, Mary, don’t try to understand. Your son is 12!

Luke then recorded that Jesus returned home, obeyed Joseph and Mary, and grew in wisdom, stature, and favor. (He didn’t stay 12! A word of hope.) Of Mary, Luke wrote, “…his mother treasured all these things in her heart.” No need to explain more there, either. We mothers get that. Mary treasured Jesus’ teaching that day in the Temple, just as she’d treasured his birth in the stable (Luke 2:19). No doubt she’d treasured up a million other memories, too, from the Christ’s first smile, to his first tottering steps, to the prophecies Simeon and Anna had pronounced over him.—Mary “marveled” at those words (Luke 2:33).

We moms treasure every bit of it, and the parts that seem the least treasure-worthy at the time, well, perhaps someday those will turn out to be the most precious.

Mary had a treasuring heart, and like mother, like Son. Years later, Jesus spoke of a treasuring heart this way: “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Matthew 6:19-21)

Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Mary’s heart treasured her son, the Christ of God. She treasured, not just her memories of motherhood, but also the God who had chosen her. Mary’s heart overflowed with treasure.

Lord, let me treasure You, as Mary did. Let my hope not be here, in the temporary, in security, or even in people. Let me hope in You, and build my treasure on You. And the things I store up now that seem the least treasure-worthy, well, perhaps someday they will prove most precious. Give me a heart like Mary’s, Lord, because You are my greatest treasure! Amen.

• Like Mother, Like Son – part 1: A Willing Spirit
• Like Mother, Like Son – part 2: A Believing Mind
• Like Mother, Like Son – part 3: A Worshiping Soul

My favorite part of Belle the basset hound isn’t her droll expressions or lazy temperament. It certainly isn’t her [...]]]> Out of all the voices calling out to me
I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth
-Casting Crowns, “The Voice of Truth”

My favorite part of Belle the basset hound isn’t her droll expressions or lazy temperament. It certainly isn’t her smells and slobber. It’s her imaginary thoughts—the things we pretend Belle would say—the made-up dialogue between Belle and our family.

For instance, when I say, “Belle, get in your bed,” one of the kids responds in what we imagine to be Belle’s voice—a cross between Eeyore the donkey and Doug in Up—“I don’t actually want to right now so I will just stay right here.”

“Belle, do you want a treat?” is answered with something like, “Yes, please, I would like one of those very much, and how about if you just give me the whole jar but please leave it open because I don’t have thumbs.”

I confess, I sometimes carry on entire conversations with Belle, even when no one else is home. I don’t mean I talk to her. I talk with her. Just today, Belle mentioned that she hadn’t had breakfast yet, and I told her that I’d been very busy and to stop complaining, and she said she was sorry and asked me to forgive her.

Occasionally, Nathan points out that Belle isn’t, in fact, talking. “She probably doesn’t even think that, Mom,” or, “What if her voice is completely different than that?” And yet, despite his call back to reality, the imaginary dialogue continues. In fact, the longer I play Belle’s voice in my head, the more real it becomes. I’ve given this dog an entire personality and thought life—even motives and ambitions!—that can’t possibly be true.

Pretend conversations are harmless enough when it comes to basset hounds, I suppose, but sadly, I have an over-active imagination in more important areas, too. I replay the voices of doubt and fear and shame repeatedly in my head until I believe them. I make up other people’s thoughts—their motives and ambitions—that probably aren’t even true. I mistrust and obsess, based on scenarios that come from my very own head. And as with Belle, the longer I listen to my own imagination, the more real it becomes.

Time for a call back to reality! Time to make my thoughts obey Christ (2 Corinthians 10:5), and to think about whatever is true. (Philippians 4:8) Oh, Lord, enough with pretend thoughts and vain imaginations. Let Yours be the only voice I hear. “I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth.” Amen.

Previous Lessons from a Basset Hound:

• Lesson 1: Obedience
• Lesson 2: Perseverance
• Lesson 3: Love
• Lesson 4: Hope
• Lesson 5: Smelling Like Poo
• Lesson 6: Tweet!
• Lesson 7: Reward
• Lesson 8: Wisdom
• Lesson 9: New
• Lesson 10: Friendship
• Lesson 11: Being Stung
• Lesson 12: Acceptance
• Lesson 13: Rest
• Lesson 14: Joy
• Lesson 15: Compassion
• Lesson 16: Sabbath
• Lesson 17: Eye Contact