The Pool of Envy

Kids squeal. Water splashes. The smell of coconut oil and chlorine drift on the breeze. To a child, we have reached paradise. A swimming pool in the summer.

Plastic toys spill out of beach bags and float around like time bombs in the water. Parents drift alongside their offspring wading fast and slow in hopes to head off a meltdown by distracting them from a new toy that has been momentarily abandoned; seemingly available for the snatching.

Conversations rise and fall as kids come and go for naps, lunches and bathroom breaks. "But he has a green squirt gun dad! I have a red one. I want a GREEN ONE!" And we try and explain: they are the exact same squirt gun. Just a different color. But logic falls with a dull thud. Our soft voices and gentle, but urgent, pleading become echoes in the canyon of that's-way-cooler-than-what-I-have. They can not hear us. They will not hear us. They are entranced by the unattainable.

And here I am bobbing like a cork next to my daughter and watching my own son literally run back and forth from content to discontent as new balls, water guns and float toys enter the scene. His little three-year-old brain spins; trying to process emotions and longings that he can't name–anger and awe and envy. Grown up issues that he is absolutely defenseless against.

And I realize that we are not born with the innate understanding on how to be happy. We have no clue what it is that will satisfy us and what will leave us empty and itching to get our hands on what someone else has. We are born full of want.

On this particular sunny day in paradise, it started and ended with rocket ships. My son's new friend Carson had brought in two "rocket ships"–actually airplanes. One was red and one was yellow. I saw the storm swirling overhead. Thunder clapped. Lightning struck down. Envy unleashed. "Mom! He has rocket ships. I want a rocket ship!"

Carson was not about to share the rocket ships. My son begins explaining that he needs to share. Carson disagrees. The combination of too much sun not enough breakfast and the teetering insanity of toddler reasoning culminated into chaos. The tears begin. The scene is made. It is time to go. NOW.

As I am trying to navigate an escape route with hand signals to my husband across the pool we begin hastily gathering our wits. Our son continues to melt down. This triggers rapid spelling, "He just needs a N-A-P," I yell. My husband grabs our daughter and begins gathering our stuff, shooting back, "I know, and F-O-O-D." I nod incessantly, "Yes, and he needs to go P-O-T-T-Y." And it continues that way for a minute or two as I try to coerce my son into leaving the rocket ship battlefield.

He sees us moving toward the exit and panic ensues. "No mom!" I don't want to go!" Tears begin forging into waterfalls. His chin quivers. "I'm happy mom! I'm happy!" Wails and arm slapping enter the negotiations. "Mom, see I'm happy!" Tears running in thick streams. He truly thinks I will believe that he is happy by telling me that, even though his blotchy and exasperated face tells the real story.

My face flushes red. Half-embarrassed by the scene we're making over Carson's inability to share (as if my son has never withheld a toy from someone for the sheer joy of it) and half-embarrassed by my own reflection that I am beginning to see in my son's broken little heart. His brokenness over the stuff. The sense of loss. The fear of missing out.

And I suddenly feel bad for him. He can't identify envy. He doesn't understand why it is twisting his heart in knots. He doesn't understand that this behavior is going to cost him what he already had. A fun afternoon in the pool.

And more than all of that, my sad little son is letting the idea of losing something he never had become more important than trusting that mom and dad knows what he needs most. Rest. And sustenance. A cool, calm dry place out of the hot sun.

We successfully completed Operation Escape the Pool of Envy after a couple of failed attempts. But I made it out alive and with enough composure that I am able to detail the encounter with some clarity in this blog.

As I was finally tucking my son into his bed. I felt it.

Whether we are three or thirty-three, the hunt for happiness will never end well when we don't trust that our Father knows what is best for us.

Rest for the restless.
Rest for the brokenhearted.
Rest for the unloved.
Rest for the overworked.
Rest for the unemployed.
Rest for the disliked.
Rest for the ordinary.
Rest for the overlooked.

Rest. Not relaxation. Not something that we dream of during toil filled weeks. Not a vacation. Not a break from reality.

Soul rest. The kind that we will find when we close our eyes to the distractions and temptations of want and we open our eyes to what we have right in front of us. Empty space. Open hands. Ready to accept the good news of grace. It is more than enough.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Rest in that.

We're in this together,
M

Prone to Wander

I have finally figured out what tattoo I want to get.

OK, wait. Let me rephrase that: I have finally figured out what tattoo I would get if I suddenly became way cooler than I actually am. You know, that day where I cut my hair into a chin-length bob, rock dark-rimmed glasses with Converse shoes and follow at least one indie band that isn't on the radio. 

But regardless of it's actuality, figuring out my choice for a lifetime relationship with a potential tattoo still feels like an important personal life decision.

If I were to sit down in a tattoo chair today I would ask for three words to be permanently etched on my right wrist: Prone to Wander.

My right wrist is usually the one that I can see when I am holding my beautiful, nearly-eight month old daughter when trying to check my work email or jot down a story idea instead of wrapping both arms around her and waiting until nap time.

My right wrist is usually the one that is free, when I'm digging in the snack bin to find some chips or grabbing a can of Coke from the fridge out of sheer laziness.

My right wrist is usually the one that is flipping through channels when I am sitting in the quiet of my home on any given night after the kids are asleep (the glorious hour I wait for all day long), instead of  driving to a friend's house to connect with someone who needs to talk- no matter the hour.

'Prone to Wander' comes from a hymn that I grew up singing at The Glory Barn, (a palsy, dying congregation where everyone wore flower jumpers and forbade music with a beat): Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing. But particularly, verse four pops into my head at random times throughout my week:

4. O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.

Daily, I am prone to wander. Daily, I need to offer my heart to God. Daily, I substitute His truth for what I want life to be. I want it to be easy. I want it to look good on the outside. I want it to look like I know what I'm doing. I want it to look like I'm the one who has it all figured out. I want to look successful. Smart. Self-suffcient. Without flaw.

And life isn't any of those things. And I am not either.

Jesus' truth is what I need to immerse myself in on a regular basis because it is gritty, and substantial- it fills in the holes where the constant wash of my fickle heart has eroded the foundation of my faith. His death on a cross is unplalabale. It is rejected in most accepted circles of society. It is untidy. It is unexpected. It is love like we've never seen before or since. When we are dying. When we are dead. When we are cussing. When we are sinning. When we are hating. When we are idolizing. He is love. He is the right wrist choosing to do the right thing, when we are the ones ignoring His love story and slamming the book shut for a sugar high, for a forbidden glance, for a hit of addiction, for our own glory.

I podcast sermons all the time. I listen to Christian music all the time. I read the Bible even when I don't feel like it, but never as much as I should.

I don't do these things because I am a Super-Christian. I do these things because I am a failing Christian. I have seen the ugliness my heart is capable of and so I need to protect myself by injecting my life with His truth. I need Jesus on overdrive. On repeat. Everyday.

I don't listen to Christian radio because I like it- (Apologies, Christian radio fans, but the over production and sappy lyrics sometimes cause me to roll my eyes), it's because I forget God's goodness. I am in desperate need of being reminded of Him. I am prone to wander. I am prone to leave the God I love.

This isn't to say that I never make the right choices, but let's just say that I've had my fair share of moments where I do what I want instead of what I should.

So how come 2 Corinthians 5:17 doesn't ring true in my own life all the time? "Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!"

Am I not a new creation if I fall back into my old ways? If I forget His goodness? If I'm prone to wander. Fortunately, for forgetful followers like myself who take for granted their salvation, one of God's most shining examples of a life in response to the Gospel was the prophet Paul. And even he isn't exempt from this constant relapse. In Romans 7 he says,

18 For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. 19 For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. 20 Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it. 

Today, my pastor Brian McCormack at Reach Church in Kirkland preached on this very thing; our forgetfulness about His goodness. He made it very clear that repetition is the key to keeping what we believe in our hearts consistent with how we live our lives.

We won't get it right enough to be righteous. Sorry, moralists. We won't become Christians by osmosis. Sorry, Sunday-morning saints. We won't become more like Jesus by letting our lives remain unchaged. Sorry, fence-sitters.

We become believers by falling back into the fold when Jesus comes to find us.  Repenting and returning. Remembering and responding. 

We have not yet arrived, but we are on our way to finishing strong when we believe that He took the shame for our shamefulness.

Even when I stray, He stays. And as long as we keep our eyes open to who we really are, we will never be at risk of being truly lost; even those who are prone to wander.

We're in this together,

M

Tips on Loving Your Toddler When They're "Bad"

There is an unspoken rule in our culture when raising kids: they should be good.

They should have manners.

They should get a cupcake if they behave.

They should be obedient. Immediately.

But most importantly, they should make us look good. And if they don't, they better not get away with it.

This list of "should's" is even more difficult with toddlers. Believe me, I know.

Our culture subliminally preaches that good behavior in our kids should always be rewarded and that bad behavior should always be met with correction. I am all for correction and rewards- but is that being a Jesus-led parent? Is that how God deals with us? Is He this cosmic-Karma parole office handing out bags of money and beauty to the good adults and cancer and poverty to the bad adults?

No. He's not.

Instead, I believe God is the only ultimate good. The way the chips fall in our life may be partially a result of our actions- but some of us are dong life well and are still standing in the shallow end of blessing. So if God doesn't deal with us like that why should we deal with our kids that way?

Before you start quoting "Dare to Discipline" to me, let me say this is in no way an anti-discipline rant. Quite the opposite. God disciplines those he loves. (Proverbs 3:12) So training a crazy-pants toddler requires all the sanctity of consistency we can muster. But our motives, and our quest to be like Christ, leads us into a whole new realm of parenting preference. We must defer to Him to get the right combination of grace and gall. 

The reality of childhood behavior flies in the face of what our culture tells us our children should be. We are not dealing with angels who coo and giggle and hold your hand and give you butterfly kisses every moment of the day. We are dealing with sinners.

Oh my Lord, did she just call a small child a sinner?

Absolutely.

But isn't there some kind of age of accountability? I mean they are just kids, they don't know what they are doing.

I agree. They have NO idea what they are doing. They are acting purely on instinct. And it's the same instinct that caused our first mother and father to believe God had hidden true joy from them behind door number 3.

That very same instinct of distrust is present in my 2 1/2 year old son when I am trying to give him something good. Why would any child refuse to get in the car when I am promising a trip to the park? Because he doesn't want his playtime with the almighty kitchen ladle to be interrupted. Oh man, how often I have been distracted by the kitchen ladle when there was so much more to be discovered.

I have never been so aware that we are born fallen people until I had my son.

This week was a hard one for me. Not only did my son break out in the most ridiculous case of raised hives from a new cleaner that I bought (it has corn and coconut extract apparently), but he was pulled out of his new soccer class by his father for refusing to follow directions. This isn't the first time he has wanted to do his own thing- our preschool preview echoed the same refrain. My son doesn't want to be 'Another Brick in the Wall' (Pink Floyd didn't know they had an anthem for hell-raising toddlers, did they?), and so I am looking for ways to embrace that independent nature without berating his spirit.

My conclusion: It's hard. I lose my temper. I am prone to envy. I am fallen. I am a sinner too.

I find negative thoughts controlling my attitude. Why can't he just behave like other kids? Why does he like to push boundaries instead of coloring inside the lines? As a kid I LOVED to color inside the lines. The picture turns out BETTER THAT WAY! 

But does it?

God has been teaching me a little something about loving kids the way He does. 

I am led to the Parable of the Vineyard Workers in Matthew. In it, Jesus tells a story about a vineyard owner who hires a group of workers for the day whom agree to get paid a flat rate.  Then as the day goes on the owner adds 3 more groups of workers who start their work 3 hours later than the previous group hired before them. At the end of the day everyone gets paid the same amount.

Well, as you can imagine the earliest morning workers are none too pleased. They wanted a bigger cut of the cake! They wanted sprinkles! They wanted at least a goodie bag! But their reward wasn't based on behavior- it was based upon the initial agreement. It was based on God's generosity to the late laborers. The ones who showed up late to the game were still considered key players.

Matthew 20  

¹³ “But he answered one of them, ‘I am not being unfair to you, friend. Didn’t you agree to work for a denarius? ¹⁴ Take your pay and go. I want to give the one who was hired last the same as I gave you. ¹⁵ Don’t I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you envious because I am generous?’

¹⁶ “So the last will be first, and the first will be last.”

Wait a minute. 

The first shall be last, and the last shall be first? That doesn't seem FAIR. That doesn't seem like the way the moral code should work.

If the early workers worked harder and longer they should get MORE. 

But we all get the same- we get Him.


This is what makes our God so amazing. He doesn't play by our standards of work vs. reward. Even the criminal on the cross next to him was given a passport to paradise without putting in 40 hours a week for 45+ years. God bled the entry stamp. He does that for our kids. He does that for us. 

So while I will still struggle with wanting to create an obedient child for the simple reason of ease, I have to remember that I am just the vessel. I am not the savior. I can not save my child. I can not make him obey. I can only pray that God will reveal himself to my son through my correction and my love-- but whether he is the kid who is saved when he is 5 like the early morning laborer or the criminal on the cross who doesn't show up to the party until three in the afternoon- that story isn't mine to write. 

I can be the narrator. I can be the example. I can be the loving hug, kiss, and cuddle of Christ- but I can't make him good. As much as my culture tells me I can. 

Sally Clarkson shared the prayer that she prayed over her kids in the book Desperate that I wanted to share, "God you have access to my children's hearts, souls, and minds. Please, through your Holy Spirit, make the life of Christ real to each of them. Lord help them to have a desire to obey and to learn self-control. Please show me how to be the mom you created me to be."

God bled the entry stamp for every bad boy and girl in the world. 

And so the pressure is off. Doesn't that feel better?

In love,
M