Currently viewing the tag: "Molly"
(Originally posted in January 2008.)
This morning, somewhere during the rinsing of breakfast dishes and the chatter of little voices far too happy for the early hour, Molly sneezed. I didn’t hear it, and apparently no one else did either, because she suddenly blurted in a rather offended tone, “Is anybody gonna BLESS me?”
“What?”
“I sneezed,” she explained, “so someone needs to bless me.”
“Bless you!” Anne encouraged.
“Bless you,” said Nathan, rolling his eyes.
“Bless you, Molly,” I added dutifully.
“Thanks.” Problem solved.
Molly is the third child, so she is used to fighting for her place. She must make herself known, I suppose, or run the risk of being overlooked. A little self-centered, perhaps, and childish.
Honestly, I’m not much different. Oh, I don’t care if someone acknowledges my sneezes or not. In fact, when the right flowers are blooming, I sneeze a dozen times, and everyone grows tired of blessing me anyway. But in other areas–in my relationships and accomplishments and even my failed efforts–I often look around and selfishly wonder, “Is anybody gonna bless me?”
And of course I most frequently address my complaints to God Himself:
“God, don’t You see me serving these children, day after day, without thanks?”
“Wow, is Anybody else impressed with how humble I just was?”
“I sacrificed! So Someone needs to bless me.”
But God rarely throws a party over me when I think He ought. In fact, when I’m self-absorbed, I couldn’t possibly be more unlike Jesus. Consider Paul’s words:
Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit,
but in humility consider others better than yourselves…
Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus:
Who, being in very nature God,
did not consider equality with God something to be grasped,
but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant,
being made in human likeness.
And being found in appearance as a man,
he humbled himself and became obedient to death–
even death on a cross! Therefore God exalted him to the highest place
and gave him the name that is above every name,
that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.”
(Philippians 2:3-11)
but in humility consider others better than yourselves…
Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus:
Who, being in very nature God,
did not consider equality with God something to be grasped,
but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant,
being made in human likeness.
And being found in appearance as a man,
he humbled himself and became obedient to death–
even death on a cross! Therefore God exalted him to the highest place
and gave him the name that is above every name,
that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.”
(Philippians 2:3-11)
Followers of Jesus, then, have no business fighting for rights or making themselves known. And when we feel overlooked, well, we should. Everything we do must point to God, bringing glory to His name, and not our own.
A prayer: Lord, enough of me. Let me serve as Jesus served. Let my life bless You!
…and crowns you with love and compassion… (Psalm 103:4)
Molly was a queen for Halloween. Really, I can’t think of anything that suits her better. Of all my children, I’d vote Molly Most Likely to Someday Rule a Country.
As Molly’s crown was somewhat smashed in the costume package, it took some twisting and tugging to whip it into queenly shape. Even then, it still sagged a little on the right side. But really, what can one expect when one buys one’s costume on sale at Wal-Mart, three days before Halloween? I suppose crooked sequins are better than none at all.
Queen Molly’s crown reminded me of Psalm 103:4. My friend Beth taught this verse last Sunday at church. Beth divided us into small groups to answer a few questions, one of which was: “What do you think of when you imagine the Lord crowning you with love and compassion? Be specific.”
To be honest, my group spent so long discussing the first question that we skipped this one entirely. Sorry, Beth. I’ll answer it now.
When I imagine the Lord crowning me…I get stuck. Truthfully, I can’t picture it. I imagine my head dropped, eyes staring at the ground, feet shuffling, knowing I’m not worthy of anything He has to give.
I envision that God might give me a consoling pat on the head, as if to say, “It’s okay. I know you’re trying.”
On a good day, when I’m feeling extra-confident, I may perhaps imagine a crown like Molly’s. Cheap. Felt and sequins. Bent out of shape but good enough. After all, crooked sequins are better than none at all.
But my imagination is not God’s truth. When my picture doesn’t match His character–His word–then I must change my mind. God crowns me with love and compassion. He doesn’t just tolerate me. He gave His life for me. He blesses me. He treasures me. The King of Kings considers me royalty, and He crowns me with unfailing love and tender compassion.
When I imagine the Lord crowning me like that…I cry. I look down, not in shame, but in gratitude. Then I look up into the eyes of the One who says I’m worth far more than crooked sequins, and I say, “Thank You. I love You. I’m so glad to wear Your crown.”
I received this letter a few days ago…
…decorated with dot letters and dot stickers (though she did inform me that we really need to buy more stickers)…
Dear Mom, You are the best mom ever. Even if your my only mom, but still. Your a good mom for everything you do, like let us be in ballet, and let Nathan be in boy scouts, and every thing. I love you,
Molly
P.S. (Arrow)
Hello again, you rock! Ya know I feel like saying that again, you rock!
P.S.#2 You married a good man!
Your child, Molly
One especially hot day last summer, the girls and I drove across town to Wal-Mart. Feeling pretty, Anne and Molly were decked out in lip gloss, purses, hair bows and colorful scarves around their necks. Somewhere along the road, I passed another car–a car which apparently had a little boy in the back seat. All was silent a few seconds, and then Molly bragged,
“That boy looked at me like, ‘Wow, that girl is HOT!’”
I nearly drove off the road.
“What did you say?” I asked, hoping I’d heard wrong. She repeated.
“Molly, we do not say hot,” my lecture began. “I know ‘hot’ just means ‘cool’ to you (huh?), and I know Hannah Montana says ‘hot’ all the time, but you may not say it.” I told her that some girls say “hot” when they are showing off their bodies, or when they’re talking about boys in a disrespectful way, or when they aren’t being modest. I quoted scripture that I didn’t know I’d memorized about arrogance and humility. (Turns out, nothing recalls God’s word faster than hearing your daughter say a boy thinks she’s hot.) I told her I wanted her heart to love what God loves: modesty and humility and real beauty. I said that Daddy and I pray she’ll honor Jesus with everything she does and with every word she says…”and so,” ending as I began, “we do not say hot.”
Molly murmured agreement. We drove the rest of the way in silence–she, stunned at my passionate speech, and I, stunned to learn my baby was a seven-year-old hussy. We pulled into Wal-Mart and parked. The oppressive summer heat greeted us harshly as I opened the van door. Molly and Anne squinted in the bright sunlight, and Molly reached to unwrap her scarf from her neck.
“Let’s not wear our scarves,” she said to her sister. “It’s too…uh…warm.”
(This post was originally published in November, 2007…but, believe me, the content is still quite current.)
For sale: three children, ages 8, 6 and 5. Cute when asleep. Asking price: real cheap. Make your best offer. Entire stock must go!
Obviously, I’m having trouble with my kids lately. Their behavior is atrocious! Things have gotten so bad that when we’re out in public, I point at them and say loudly, “Who is their mommy?!” I’ve also decided to officially change their names: Nathan, Anne and Molly are now Disobedience, Dishonesty and Disrespect.
Disobedience loses privileges with such regularity that he may never see his Game Boy again. He debates every single instruction I give before reluctantly submitting. If I tell him he can read in bed until 9:00, he questions, “Why not 9:30?” If I ask him to turn off the lights, he points out that wasn’t the one who turned them on. Absolutely everything is an argument.
Not long ago I discovered that Dishonesty has been throwing her vitamins away after breakfast each morning. (And believe me, the way we eat around here, she needs those vitamins! We’re sort of anti-vegetarians.) She has also started printing her name on various household items–tables, walls, bedposts–and then lying about it. “I don’t know WHO wrote it there!”
And Disrespect is 5 going on 15. She frequently rolls her eyes to let me know just how ridiculous I am. Yesterday she actually responded to Andy with, “Not gonna happen.” I nearly passed out. Andy assured her that, although Hannah Montana says those words to her father, she may NOT say them to hers.
Disobedience, Dishonesty and Disrespect–the three things I work hard to eliminate, and yet, the three areas in which my children excel the most. Obviously I’m failing somehow. Where have I been too lenient? What parenting tactic have I missed? I am honestly worried about the kind of adults I’m making. What if my kids grow up with no respect for authority? What if they don’t love truth? It’s enough to keep me awake at night–and it does. Often.
I asked my mom for advice, but she said she once tried to sell me, too. Me! Surely I never acted this way. But I suppose that as long as there have been kids with mommies, kids have demonstrated the 3 D’s, and mommies have felt inadequate.
Feeling inadequate can be good, though, because it reminds me how much I desperately need God. I need His wisdom, His patience, and His mercy on a minute by minute basis. My inadequacy drives me to my knees. So here I go again.
Heavenly Father-
In a properly pious prayer, I would say “I lift my children up to You,” but today, God, I don’t really have the strength to do any lifting. So let me just drop my kids at Your feet instead. Thud. There. They are Your children; they belonged to You before You gave them to me, and they will still be Yours long after I sign off at age 18. (Which is less than 13 years away! But who’s counting?)
My heart wants so much for each of them, God! I want them to be confident in who You created them to be, and to use their talents for Your glory. Nathan’s intelligence and sense of justice. Sweet Anne and her love for beauty, music and dance. And Molly, with her quick humor and little green thumb. How You can use them! Grant me Your vision for them. Help me to grow their talents, and to “weed out” whatever keeps them from knowing You better.
And oh, that they would know You! Call my children until they call on You. I pray that they would choose to follow You, and love You deeply, and love other people, too. And let them love Your word, Father, always balancing grace and truth as Jesus did. When they doubt You, be patient with their unbelief; grow their faith until it is deeply rooted. When they leave You, do not leave them; forgive them and restore them–just as You’ve done for me time and time again.
Don’t let me feel too guilt-ridden about my kids’ faults and bad behavior. Sometimes I punish myself for their bad decisions. Yes, I am responsible to point them to You, but I cannot choose obedience for them. Help me distinguish between my parental responsibility and their childish choices, so that I won’t be burdened with guilt that is not mine to bear. Remind me that these kids are Your work–I am only Your assistant in their lives–and You will be faithful to finish the job in them.
And on the days when I don’t like my kids—on the days when I feel like selling them at a discount—just…help. Help! Most of all, thank You that Your grace always covers Disobedience, Dishonesty and Disrespect.
Amen.
When Molly was born, my hospital experience was less than stellar. To be fair, my perspective was skewed, because Nathan and Anne had been delivered by a fantastic doctor, at a hospital where the nurses did their best to make labor and delivery feel like a weekend at the spa. Molly’s arrival was much less…serene.
One nurse was especially difficult. What she lacked in bedside manner, she made up for in constant chatter. She talked to herself as she copied information from my chart onto my plastic bracelet. I heard her say, “Blood type…O pos.”
“Uh,” I interrupted, “I’m O negative. The universal donor.”
She looked back at my chart and said, “Oh! Well, yes! Yes, you are.”
I swallowed, and worried what other critical information she had wrong.
When she told another nurse, “I need a smoke, but that one [pointing to me] is about to go,” I knew we would not be friends.
Her comments continued. “I guess I’ll give you ice chips, since it’s your third baby.” “I could really use a cigarette!” “You know, I was supposed to go on break, right when you arrived.”
As my contractions grew worse, so did my temper. I gave Andy “the look”, but he only shook his head, essentially saying, “You’re okay.” Clearly I’d have to handle this non-nurse myself.
Once more, she complained about my being in labor. “You are really having this baby at the wrong time for me,” she whined.
With eyes that let her know just how ridiculous I thought she was, I snapped back, “Apparently!”
Stunned, she set down my ice chips and hurried out.
Andy was done with my attitude. He is not a finger-pointer, but he pointed his finger then. He leaned over my hospital bed, pointed right at my nose and said quietly, “You need to be kind.”
I started to cry. “I’m in labor! And she isn’t kind.”
“Be. Kind. Anyway.”
Apparently there would be no “helpless, with-child woman in pain” sympathy pass for the universal donor. Andy was right. As usual.
“Be kind anyway.” That sums up much of following Jesus, really. You don’t feel like loving? Love anyway. Don’t want to be gracious? In Christ, you don’t have the option.
To be honest, I argue with God about this. But sometimes, I tell Him, my unkindness is understandable–even justified! I defend myself with all the awful things that were done to me…all the reasons that I shouldn’t have to obey His command to love. Why should I be kind to someone who is unkind to me?
Answer: Because Jesus was kind to me first. He forgave when I was in sin and loved when I was unlovely. Jesus would’ve been more than justified to reject me with contempt, but instead He lavished me with grace. Talk about the Universal Donor.
Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus: who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death–even death on a cross. (Philippians 2:5-8)
Because of Christ’s amazing love for me, I can “do it anyway”. If I claim to follow Him, I must. Even when I don’t feel like it, I must respect my husband. Discipline my children. Keep my promise. Control my tongue. Forgive my friend. Be kind to a non-nurse. Do. It. Anyway.
He did it for me.
“…Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought…. Do not be proud….Do not be conceited.” (Romans 12:3, 16)
I was choosing chicken breasts at the grocery store when a woman approached Anne, Molly and me. She pressed a business card in my palm, shook my hand hard, and asked me how old my “beautiful” daughters were. I gave their ages with a polite-enough smile, and she gushed on. “Oh, that’s exactly what we need! And just look at her red hair! They really do have the look we want.”
She was a talent agent, and it just so happened that her agency was holding a free screening that very weekend. My girls, she said, were exactly the right age and had the right appearance for commercials, or even a show like Hannah Montana.
(At the words “Hannah Montana”, Anne and Molly grabbed one another’s hands and said “Eeee!” in that high-pitched squeal that only little girls can make.)
I thanked the woman and pushed my shopping cart down the aisle. I had no intention of taking the girls to a talent agency. After all, I’ve read what happens to child actors. And frankly, I’d stink as a stage mom.
But I must admit, I shopped on with an air of smugness. I bagged up bananas while silently patting myself on the back. My girls wouldn’t be on TV, no…but they could be. The right age, the right look, the red hair. Beautiful. Yep, my girls. And Hannah Montana. And mostly, my girls.
And then it happened. I wheeled my cart toward the checkout, and there she was again. That talent agent who adored my daughters. Only now, she was talking with another mother—the mother of a boy who was four or five years older than Anne and Molly, and who frankly looked nothing like them. His hair was brown. Plain old, boring brown hair—not red. Not beautiful.
I passed by in time to hear the talent agent excitedly tell the mother what I thought had been a message for just me: “He really does have the look we want.”
I don’t remember putting humble pie on my grocery list, but I sure got a slice anyway.
Obviously, every kid is beautiful to his or her mama. That’s how it should be. But my arrogance—my smugness and my vain ambition and my superior attitude…ugh. I couldn’t have looked less like the humble Christ than I did in that instant.
A prayer from a pseudo-stage mom:
God, I confess that I think more highly of myself than I ought. (And also, more frequently.) Will You help me to think correctly about myself and my kids and my ambitions? Transform my mind so that I want what You want.—Your glory, not mine. Your name, not mine. Remind me of grace. Keep it always fresh on my heart so I never forget who I really am in You. Thank You that, because of Jesus, I “really do” have the look You want. I love You, God. Amen.
Molly turns SEVEN tomorrow. I thought having a decade-old son made me feel old…but a baby who is seven may just do me in.
Molly, I should’ve named you Spunky. Or Smarty. Or definitely, Funny. (Speaking of funny…even though you’re seven, will you please still laugh like you did back when you were six? I adored your six-year-old giggle.) You bring such joy to my heart, and I love, love, LOVE you completely. I love all your “faces”…
A little bit Hollywood…
…and a little bit country.
Roughin’ it on a campsite…
…and royalty on her throne.
Bowler…
…and ballerina.
Oh, Molly Jane! What a beautiful, lovely lady you are growing up to be. I pray that your mind will seek to know God more, and that your heart will always love Him deeply. He loves you, and He has special plans for Molly Jane Storms. I love you. Happy Birthday!
…and a little bit country.
Roughin’ it on a campsite…
…and royalty on her throne.
Bowler…
…and ballerina.
Oh, Molly Jane! What a beautiful, lovely lady you are growing up to be. I pray that your mind will seek to know God more, and that your heart will always love Him deeply. He loves you, and He has special plans for Molly Jane Storms. I love you. Happy Birthday!
Andy and Nathan are at camp this week, so the girls and I are cramming everything girly into seven days. On the first evening, we put on makeup. Monday night, we braided hair. Yesterday we went to the mall, and last night we did our nails.
And tonight I’ll be rocking in a fetal position, reminding the Lord that my non-girly self is completely inadequate as a mother of daughters.
During Sunday’s makeup fun, I described each cosmetic and its job as we put it on.
“This is eyeliner. It makes our eyes look bigger.”
“Why do we want big eyes, Mom?”
(As it turns out, makeup sounds rather pointless when explained.)
With my concealer, I said that “conceal” means “hide”. “We use this to hide the yucky spots on our faces.”
Anne looked thoughtful. “So…do Molly and I need it then? Because we don’t have any spots on our faces. But YOU need it, dontcha?”
(Hush, honey. Mommy needs to rock a bit.)
Later, I wondered again about the purpose of makeup. Really, it’s all about pretending and concealing, isn’t it? I try to make my skin look as flawless as my daughters’. Ultimately, I hide my true appearance.
I can also hide behind “makeup” in a spiritual sense. I use a deceitful, hypocritical concealer—and apply it liberally!—to hide the true condition of my heart. It’s phony, it’s sinful, and it’s exhausting. Solomon and his father, David, talked about this kind of concealer:
“He who conceals his sins does not prosper, but whoever confesses and renounces them finds mercy.” (Proverbs 28:13)
“Surely you desire truth in the inner parts; you teach me wisdom in the inmost place….Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me.” (Psalm 51:6, 10)
God, I’m not fooling anybody—least of all, You. You see the sins I conceal. You know the “face” beneath the makeup. Wash my heart, Lord. Bring me out of hiding into Your mercy, and keep me ever clean before You. Amen.
These sisters—20 months apart—are completely best friends. They share clothes and even a bed, but the similarities end there. Anne and Molly are opposites in every way imaginable.
Anne is an extroverted feeler who never stops moving or talking. She hates to read, but she makes “best friends” with every child in the McDonalds PlayPlace. Anne once told us that when she grows up, she wants to be “everything in the whole world—except a rainbow”. Molly is an introverted thinker who recently told Andy that she is “addicted to reading”. She often plays by herself, and she sometimes seems rude in public, because she’s more reserved than her sister. When Molly grows up, she plans to live on a farm, ride horses, and make raisins. Yes, raisins. 
In the summer, Anne turns a beautiful bronze. Molly sunburns if she even thinks about going outside. Anne is an unabashed exhibitionist, and Molly changes clothes in the closet. Anne is gushy, dramatic, sweet and girly with a capital G. Molly is matter-of-fact, blunt and even more opinionated than her mother.
Molly told me a few weeks ago that Anne wakes her up by rubbing her back. “Anne gives the BEST massages.” I didn’t know that, but her sister did. They know each other well and love each other deeply. Sisters, and best friends.
