“Why would you save me?” Despereaux asked. “Have you saved any of the other mice?”

“Never,” said Gregory, “not one.”

“Why would you save me, then?”

“Because you, mouse, can tell Gregory a story. Stories are light. Light is precious in a world so dark. Begin at the beginning. Tell Gregory a story. Make some light.”

As an English and Literature teacher, I began many of my classes perched on a barstool, reading from a chapter book to spellbound teens. No matter how hard the day had been (for myself or my students), those moments disarmed and enchanted us all. It provided us with a shared language and common context.

Years later, when I became a mother, I began praying that God would grant my son a love for good stories and a gift for storytelling. For nine years now, I’ve surrounded him with stories—and whether or not he ends up being a storyteller himself, the ritual of reading and listening to and telling stories has become one of the sweetest, most meaningful rhythms of our family life.

To curate a book list for my son’s first decade, I sifted through myriad resources, asked friends who are ahead of me in motherhood for their best recommendations, and drew on my own favorites from childhood and teaching days. I looked for books that are well written, speak honestly to the realities of life, and are hopeful, courageous, and redemptive. I searched for culturally diverse books (to give my son a global perspective) and historically rich books (to help him understand more than this blink-in-time). 

Because every good story is a small reflection of The Greatest Story, good children’s books have the potential to enlarge our children’s hearts for eternal realities. For example, in Night Journeys, an 11-year-old boy struggles between a secret, selfish desire fueled by resentment and a newly awakened desire to selflessly help two enslaved children. In The Rag Coat, a young girl overcomes the shame and ostracism of poverty by sharing stories that disarm her schoolmates. And in Peter Nimble and His Fantastic Eyes, a boy born into destitution discovers his true identity and courageously confronts evil forces. While these are all works of fiction, they shine light on what is true and pure and noble and just—the very things we want filling our children’s hearts and minds. 

This is by no means an authoritative list; rather, it is a work of joy. Some of these books we’ve read together as a family. Some my son has read on his own, and others he’s listened to on audiobook. Regardless of their medium, these stories have “made some light” for our family, even through the darkest days. May they do the same for you and yours.

Short Stories

Peter and the Magic Thread (French)*
Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters (African tale told by J. Steptoe)
The Blind Men and the Elephant (Indian)
Anansi the Spider (Ashanti)
Tales from the Arabian Nights (Arabian)
Casey at the Bat (Ernest Thayer)
The Emperor’s New Clothes (Hans Christian Andersen)
The Gift of the Magi (O. Henry)*
Little Sambha and the Tiger (Indian tale told by Scott Gustafson)
The Highwayman (Alfred Noyes)
Hansel and Gretel (Brothers Grimm)
Jack and the Beanstalk (Old English)
The Little Engine That Could (Arnold Munk)
The Pied Piper of Hamelin (Robert Browning)
The Princess and the Pea (Hans Christian Andersen)
Puss in Boots (Giovanni F. Straparola)
Rumpelstiltskin (German)
Ricky of the Tuft (Perrault)
Sleeping Beauty (French)
Aesop’s Fables (Aesop)
Jason and the Argonauts: the first great quest (Robert Byrd)
The Three Billy Goats Gruff (Norwegian)
The Three Little Pigs (English)
The Ugly Duckling (Hans Christian Andersen)
The Elves and the Shoemaker (Brothers Grimm)
Tom Thumb (English)
‘Twas the Night Before Christmas (Clement Clarke Moore)
Just So Stories (Rudyard Kipling)
Gulliver’s Travels (Jonathan Swift)
American Tall Tales (Mary Pope Osborne)
Rikki-Tikki-Tavi (Rudyard Kipling)*
Hans in Luck (Brothers Grimm)

Storybooks

A Pair of Red Clogs (Masako Matsuno)
Grandfather’s Journey (Allen Say)
Tree of Cranes (Allen Say)
The Little House (Virginia Lee Burton)
The Stranger (Ursel Scheffler)*
The Rag Coat (Lauren Mills)*
Walking Through a World of Aromas (Ariel Andres Almada)*
The Mitten (Alvin Tresselt)
The Glorious Flight (Alice & Martin Provensen)
How to Make an Apple Pie and See the World (Marjorie Priceman)
Very Last First Time (Jan Andrews)

Classics

The Prince and the Pauper (Mark Twain)*
Charlotte’s Web (E.B. White)
Dr. Seuss books (Dr. Seuss)
Robin Hood (Howard Pyle)
Little House in the Big Woods (Laura Ingalls Wilder)
Farmer Boy (Laura Ingalls Wilder)
The Hobbit (J.R.R. Tolkien)
Peter Pan (J.M. Barrie)
Peter Rabbit (Beatrix Potter)
The Wind in the Willows (Kenneth Grahame)
Pinocchio (Carlo Collodi)
Dr. Dolittle (Hugh Lofting)
Winnie-the-Pooh (A.A. Milne)
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (L. Frank Baum)
The Chronicles of Narnia (C.S. Lewis)*
Around the World in 80 Days (Jules Verne)
The Odyssey (Homer)*
A Stage Full of Shakespeare Stories (Angela McAllister)
Little Pilgrim’s Progress (Helen L. Taylor)
The Princess and the Goblin (George MacDonald)
The Story of Beowulf (Henrietta Elizabeth Marshall)
Joan of Arc (Diane Stanley)
The Story of King Arthur & His Knights (Classic Starts, Howard Pyle)

Chapter Books

Night Journeys (Avi)*
Number the Stars (Lois Lowry)
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (Roald Dahl)
Charlie and the Glass Elevator (Roald Dahl)
The BFG (Roald Dahl)
The Mouse and the Motorcycle (Beverly Cleary)
Runaway Ralph (Beverly Cleary)
How to Eat Fried Worms (Thomas Rockwell)
Stuart Little (E.B. White)
Leepike Ridge (N.D. Wilson)
Nevermoor (Jessica Townsend)
The Tale of Despereaux (Kate DiCamillo)*
Because of Winn Dixie (Kate DiCamillo)
The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane (Kate DiCamillo)
Bound for Oregon (Jean van Leeuwen)
Peter Nimble (Jonathan Auxier)*
Sophie Quire (Jonathan Auxier)
Roverandom (J.R.R. Tolkien)
My Side of the Mountain (Jean Craighead George)
Sir Gibbie (George MacDonald)

Book Series

Rangers Apprentice (John Flanagan)
Edge of Extinction (Laura Martin)
Alcatraz Versus the Evil Librarians (Brandon Sanderson)*
Arlo Finch (John August)
On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness (Andrew Petersen)
Fablehaven (Brandon Mull)
Percy Jackson (Rick Riordan)*
The Boxcar Children (Gertrude Chandler Warner)
I Survived (Lauren Tarshis)
Basil of Baker Street (Eve Titus)
100 Cupboards (N.D. Wilson)
Magic Treehouse (Mary Pope Osborne)
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (J.K. Rowling)
The Oregon Trail (Jesse Wiley)
The Hardy Boys (Franklin W. Dixon)
Outlaws of Time: The Legend of Sam Miracle (N.D. Wilson)*
The Story of the World (Susan Wise Bauer)
Keeper of the Lost Cities (Shannon Messenger)
The Wingfeather Saga (Andrew Peterson)

Biographies

Children of the Storm (Natasha Vins)*
God’s Smuggler (Brother Andrew)*
A Question of Yams (Gloria Repp)
These Are My People: A Biography of Gladys Aylward (Mildred T. Howard)
The Fate of the Yellow Woodbee (Dave & Neta Jackson)
The Hiding Place (Corrie ten Boom)*
George Mueller: The Guardian of Bristol’s Orphans (Janet & Geoff Benge)
Adoniram Judson: Bound for Burma (Janet & Geoff Benge)
Sundar Singh: Footprints Over the Mountains (Janet & Geoff Benge)
Eric Liddell: Something Greater than Gold (Janet & Geoff Benge)
Jim Elliot: One Great Purpose (Janet & Geoff Benge)
Empowered: How God Shaped 11 Women’s Lives (Catherine Parks)
Strong: How God Equipped 11 Ordinary Men… (Catherine Parks)
Ten Boys Who Didn’t Give In (Irene Howat)
Ten Boys Who Changed the World (Irene Howat)
Ten Boys Who Used Their Talents (Irene Howat)
Ten Boys Who Changed History (Irene Howat)
Ten Boys Who Made a Difference (Irene Howat)
Brave Heroes and Bold Defenders: 50 true stories… (Shirley Raye Redmond)

*These are my Top Three selections (my favorites of the favorites!) in each category.

The post Our Favorite Children’s Books & Stories appeared first on Colleen E. Chao.

And my heart swells with joy as I take in this moment. Little boys are magic-in-the-raw. They’re a composite of lizards and sticks and rocks and snails. They climb and jump and track mud into the house and never flush the toilet. They leave Legos in high-traffic areas and half-eaten apples in hard-to-reach places.

They eat as if the grocery budget is made of gold.

Well, at least mine does. He’s all boy and I love it. And sometimes these boyish moments make me catch my breath with the beauty of it all.

But I know there’s life beyond the back porch. Motherhood isn’t a quest to secure an idyllic, protected existence for my son. But then what is it? What makes a good mom? And how do I prepare my child for the hard knocks and deep wounds and a world that wages war on the truths we cherish in our home?

~ ~ ~ ~

I occasionally paint for the enjoyment of it, for the way the colors and patterns and repetitive brush-strokes relax me (definitely not because I’m gifted at it). And while I know very little about the technical aspects of painting, I do know you need some raw materials, including paints and brushes and canvas.

When my son was born with multiple health complications, my world went spinning. Nothing prepares you to watch your child writhe in pain, gasp for breath through the wee hours of the night, and live with food allergies that ostracize him in social settings.

It’s taken us five years to begin getting clear diagnoses of his conditions, and still we have unanswered questions. And though we haven’t faced anything life-threatening, there have been moments in this journey that have wrecked me.

But it’s been the desperate days that have given me a dark canvas on which to paint bright truths of a good God.

When my son tells me how it feels to be the only kid without an ice cream cone, or when he has to go for more blood-work or begin a new treatment, those moments are gifts: I get to hold him tight and remind him that Jesus sees and understands and cares. He suffered too so He knows how to comfort us in our own sufferings. I tell him how I see God growing him in courage, and I retell him stories of men in the Bible—like Joseph and Daniel—who learned to be courageous because God was with them.

It’s easy for me, as an inexperienced mom with a myopic paradigm, to get sucked into the whirlpool of endless parenting resources, opinions, and methodologies. And while those can be of some help, they won’t hold me through the toughest days of motherhood. (And the toughest days may be yet to come.)

I need to keep before me, and my son, a great God who does great things.

~ ~ ~ ~

As a painter looks long at a landscape, imitating each color and shadow and line, she does so to let others see what she sees, to let others marvel at what she marvels at. So it must be with my motherhood. At this young age my son will see the God I see, he will begin to marvel as I marvel.

The puritan Isaac Ambrose wrote:

“I look upon as chief and choice of all the rest [of my duties] the duty I call Looking unto Jesus.”

The great work of my motherhood is not in the sum of my daily duties—clothing, cleaning, feeding, instructing—vitally important as those are. The great work of my motherhood is “looking unto Jesus.”

And as I look, I tell my son what I see. It’s the very essence of Deuteronomy 6:

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might. And these words that I command you today shall be on your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise. You shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and they shall be as frontlets between your eyes. You shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.

In our human nature we complicate and over-regulate what God has made simple and accessible to us through His Spirit: the command to love Him with all that I am and to let that love shape my motherhood. Keep God constantly before me (like “frontlets between my eyes”), then tell my son about Him daily, diligently—when we get up in the morning, when we’re in the car, when we’re eating, playing, working, resting.

What did I learn this morning as I met God in the Word and in prayer?

How can we see God’s awe-inspiring creativity in creation today?

How have I totally messed up and needed Jesus?

What stories from my life show God’s goodness and faithfulness?

Whose salvation can we pray for today?

How is God working around the globe?

Orange and red and turquoise and gray—we parents get to paint pictures of Almighty God on the canvas of our children’s hearts. They aren’t the best nor the truest pictures (we see dimly this side of eternity), but they are invitations to marvel at what our hearts are made for.

I can’t control outcomes. I’m not given any guarantees for how my son will turn out. And my motherhood is riddled with weakness. But I can keep my eyes fixed on Jesus. And I can ask Him to open the eyes of my son’s heart—so he too might look and be amazed.

Those who look to Him are radiant, and their faces shall never be ashamed. (Psalm 34:8)

The post Painting appeared first on Colleen E. Chao.

But it doesn’t take experience to know what I’m about.

I am raising a warrior.

I’m not called to raise a cute conversation piece or a popular kid. I’m not laying down my life so that my son can set the curve, break the record, or earn me bragging rights. I’m about the business of raising a warrior of wisdom who loves Jesus, for “those who are wise shall shine like the brightness of the sky above, and those who turn many to righteousness, like the stars forever and ever” (Daniel 12:3).

Through years of teaching other people’s kids, mentoring youth, and counseling teenage girls in crisis, I saw and heard a lot. I don’t need years of parenting to know that the enemy of our souls wants to devour my son. It’s war out there, and I’m called to raise a warrior—to intercede for, train, love, and prepare him “to shine…in the midst of a crooked and twisted generation” (Philippians 2:15).

And I’m scared.

I’m scared because I’m called to an unspeakable task—the nurture and care of an eternal soul. I’m just one insignificant woman who has monumental weaknesses.

I’m scared because I don’t get guarantees for how my son will turn out. Just because I train him to be a warrior, doesn’t mean he will be one. He has his own soul and accountability before God.

I’m scared of raising a young man in Southern California where flesh is god and entertainment is king.

But God understands my fears and speaks to them. In Nehemiah 4, when the Israelites were working tirelessly to rebuild the wall of Jerusalem, their enemies came to taunt them and thwart their efforts. Nehemiah rallied the people to continue their noble work in the midst of hostility and danger:

“Do not be afraid of them. Remember the Lord, who is great and awesome, and fight for your brothers, your sons, your daughters, your wives, and your homes.”

Fight for your son, Colleen.

But how?

Remember the Lord, who is great and awesome, and don’t be afraid of:
…weakness,
…failure,
…worst-case scenarios.

This great endeavor called motherhood is worth fighting the fear that accompanies it. Faith is not the absence of fear; it is the ability to believe God in the midst of great fear. Faith says, “I cannot, but God can.” Because God is great and awesome, and because His Spirit lives in me, I can fight for my son, for his eternal joy in Jesus, no matter what.

FEAR VS. GOD

Fear complicates things and tempts me to find refuge in methods and formulas and reactions. What kind of education and home life and church and social circle will ensure my son’s safety and success?

Fear takes my eyes off of Christ. When I fear, God gets small and my what-if’s get big.

Unlike fear, God doesn’t complicate things. In Deuteronomy 6, He lays out the task of parenting with such simplicity it’s shocking: love God with everything I’ve got; keep His words close to my heart; then teach those words to my child as we go about our day together.

Fear makes the goal feel unattainable, but God says, “Colleen, do the next thing—and while you do it, tell your son about Me.”

When I recall to mind what I am about (raising a warrior to shine in a crooked generation) and Who it is that’s actually accomplishing this impossible feat (Christ Jesus Himself!), I can move past my fears and faithfully plow the fertile soil of my son’s soul.

In other words, I fight by faith. I believe God. I take Him at His word.

And I fight on my knees. I pray. (I need to pray more.) A soul is at stake, and there is only One who can rescue and redeem him. So I talk to my Lord, I plead with Him, weep before Him for my son.

God has begun this good work in my motherhood, and He will be faithful to complete it. I will mess up a thousand times, and brokenness will mark my motherhood, but God will always draw me back to Himself, to the cross and the empty tomb, reminding me that the power that raised Christ from the dead is at work in me.

I have only a handful of fleeting years to “train up my son in the way he should go” (Proverbs 22:6). I have no idea what tomorrow holds, but today is such a gift, and I have been given everything I need to accomplish the task before me.

So today this weak inexperienced mama can, by God’s grace…

Raise that warrior.

This article also appears on the ERLC blog.

The post Raise that warrior appeared first on Colleen E. Chao.

We thought we knew what life should look like back then. The beautiful and the gifted—those were the ones God put on platforms and used in mighty ways. Because she was the whole package, Lisa and her music ministry would be unstoppable.

But He was scripting such a different story. We could not have guessed what was going on behind the scenes and what the next two decades of life would hold. But He knew, and He was holding it all together in love.

Although Lisa and I shared a propensity for music, coffee, and laughter, it was eventually our brokenness that bound our hearts together. I began to see a strength in Lisa that I could no longer attribute to beauty or giftedness. In unexpected suffering and disappointment she was pressing herself into God, and I saw Him. I could relate to her because she was weak, like me; but unlike me, she could poignantly express what was going on in her heart. I listened and learned.

We talked of love and waiting and marriage. And I watched her fall in love with and marry the best man she’d ever known—her lifelong friend, Michael Hamel. It was now Lisa Hamel, not Lisa Kolbo. But it wasn’t just her name that changed.

After six years of marriage, God gifted her with her firstborn—a beautiful boy with special needs. This former campus celebrity was now quietly caring for an autistic child behind closed doors. Day in, day out. No applause could be heard but His.

And Lisa went deeper with Jesus.

And as she did, she took us with her. Sure, her giftedness and gorgeousness could wow us, but her suffering by faith with eyes fixed on Jesus would forever change us.

Today my dear friend turns 40 years old, and I’m reflecting on God’s kindness—to her… to me through her. I’m thanking Him for derailing small dreams, for saying no to some prayers, and for birthdays that mark His faithfulness.

Happy birthday, dear Lis. Your life has made mine unspeakably rich.

The post On your 40th appeared first on Colleen E. Chao.

And while her wealth of wisdom shaped much of my thinking in my formative years, there is one particular piece of her advice that has helped me navigate seasons of depression, stress and uncertainty. It was advice she herself had gleaned from an Old Saxon poem:

Do it immediately;

Do it with prayer;

Do it reliantly,

casting all care;

Do it with reverence,

Tracing His Hand,

Who placed it before thee with

Earnest command.

Stayed on Omnipotence,

Safe ‘neath His wing,

Leave all resultings,

DO THE NEXT THING.

It was that simple: Do the next thing. And I’ve rehearsed it a thousand times to myself these many years.

Do the next thing.

In a culture obsessed with celebrity and novelty, emotional highs and experiences, we’ve forgotten that real life is mostly lived in the daily mundane. It’s not lived on mountaintops and it’s not impressive enough to be a Facebook status. It’s a series of uncelebrated steps, of hidden habits. This week you’ll do a hundred unspectacular things: brush your teeth, eat food, wash dishes, do laundry, answer the phone, pay bills, gas up your car, wash your hands, make your bed, etc.

You’ll do the next thing. And then, after that, you’ll do the next thing.

One little (seemingly insignificant) moment at a time.

But God has often written his story in the midst of everyday affairs. Consider the lives of King David, Moses and Ruth. David was a shepherd boy who wielded a sling and stone to keep his sheep safe from predators. One swing at a time, one predator at a time, until one day, “David prevailed over the Philistine with a sling and with a stone” (1 Sam. 17:50). He wasn’t setting out to be famous, eagerly awaiting the day when his name might top the “50 Most Influential Israelites” list. He was faithful to do what was before him, even when that was caring for a bunch of sheep.

And Moses, after enjoying the life of a prince, spent four decades in the wilderness. We know little of his time there except that he tended sheep. When God revealed himself to Moses through a burning bush, he posed the question, “What is that in your hand?” And Moses answered the obvious: “A staff.”

It was this simple utilitarian staff—used for prodding and protecting sheep—that God would use to show his glory to Pharaoh, the Israelites and all of Egypt.

Then there’s Ruth. Apparently she had extensive experience gleaning in the fields. So when she arrived in Israel with her mother-in-law, destitute and hungry—she did what she’d done a thousand times. Never could she have known what God was accomplishing in the midst of her hard, tireless labor.

How many times did Moses carry that staff in his hand? David wield his sling? Ruth work tirelessly to provide for her family? Dozens and hundreds and thousands of times. Years upon years. But the mundane became the soil in which the miraculous grew.

Sometimes the next thing to do is hard. It’s the last thing you feel like doing. But it’s what he’s put before you, and it is good.

Many years ago, a young widow took her small child and moved into the very tribe that had killed her husband. When folks made a fuss over her heroic faith, she quickly declined their praise and said she’d simply learned to “do the next thing.”

“What is that in your hand?” Take it and do the next thing. What is your stone-and-sling, your staff, your field to glean? You take care of the task before you, even if it’s mind-numbingly mundane or breathtakingly scary—and as you offer up your obedience to him, he’ll make it into something miraculous.

The post Do the next thing: Wisdom from Elisabeth Elliot appeared first on Colleen E. Chao.

With every fiber of your being you long to be a mom. You were made for motherhood, and everything within you cries out against your barrenness.

I remember.

I was 35 when I gave birth to my first and only child. Due to some health complications, I can’t bear any more children. If I’d scripted the story of my life, I would have had my first at 24 (he’d be 17 now) and at least two or three children after that. Instead, my fruitful years were spent celebrating everyone else’s babies—one birth announcement and baby shower after another.

Whatever could I do with empty hands that were made to hold children?

God met me in my emptiness with strong words that forever changed me. He sang Isaiah 54 over my longings, and as I clung to this Scripture through those waiting years, its truths were engraved into the marrow of my soul.

Sing, O barren one, who did not bear;

break forth into singing and cry aloud,

you who have not been in labor.

For the children of the desolate one will be more

than the children of her who is married, says the Lord.

Could my childless life truly be as rich and full as my friends who had children? Could I sit through yet another baby shower or Mother’s Day assured of some glorious purpose in my pain?

God said so, right there in the pages of Scripture—so I took Him at His Word.

I poured out my life and love into my teenage students and college-age girls. Over the course of my single years, I opened up my heart and home, discipling women, counseling kids in crisis, and leading Bible studies where God showed up in spectacular ways.

I wasn’t always faithful to invest well, and sometimes my sorrow and longing overshadowed my ministries, but by God’s grace I began to feel the weighty truth of Isaiah 54—although I was not yet a mother, I had dozens of spiritual children. I felt rich. Unspeakably, filthy rich.

But there was yet another aspect of Isaiah 54, a far scarier aspect that compelled my heart to continue hoping for children of my own. While I felt wealthy with spiritual children, the longing for marriage and motherhood wouldn’t go away. I didn’t quite know what to do with these words:

Enlarge the place of your tent,

and let the curtains of your

habitations be stretched out;

do not hold back;

lengthen your cords and

strengthen your stakes.

For you will spread abroad

to the right and to the left,

and your offspring will possess the nations…

Although God wasn’t signing on the dotted line, promising to give me my own flesh-and-blood, I wanted my heart to be full of faith that He could. I wanted to hope past the taunting tick-tock of my biological clock. I wanted to believe that with just one word He could turn my barrenness into fruitfulness as He had for Sarah, Rachel, Hannah, Ruth, and Elizabeth.

Hope is scary, but it is our lifeblood.

So I fought to cultivate hope first and foremost in Him, and then a lesser hope that He would one day fulfill the longings of my heart for children.

The years passed by, and while I continued to bear spiritual children, marriage and motherhood still eluded me.

Isaiah 54 sustained me again and again:

Fear not,

for you will not be ashamed;

be not confounded,

for you will not be disgraced;

For you will forget the shame of your youth,

and the reproach of your widowhood [singleness, barrenness]

you will remember no more.

For your Maker is your Husband,

the Lord of hosts is His name…

I have a friend who waited till she was 41 to become a mother. I have other friends who continue to wait, well into their thirties, forties and even fifties. I had a lesser wait at 35. But those lessons learned while sitting in church every Mother’s Day, as long-stemmed roses passed me by and I sat alone while seemingly every other woman stood to be appreciated—those lessons will never be forgotten.

And so this weekend, I’m thinking of you, dear one. Although we may never meet on this side of eternity, I’m praying that your Maker, who is your Husband, will grant you hope in Himself, faith that He can do the impossible, and the blessing of many spiritual children.

Sing, O barren one… for you are precious and fruitful and honored in His eyes.

The post To the barren one (on Mother’s Day) appeared first on Colleen E. Chao.

Pride and fear rob me of faith and make me crave methodologies and formulas. Oh, how badly I want step-by-step instructions for how to produce a godly, strong, mature man:

What kind of education will ensure my son reaches academic, social, and spiritual maturity?
What should I be teaching him at this age?
Is he getting all of the nutrients he needs in his diet?
What can I do to guarantee he becomes a great lover of God?

While parenting methods and manuals can be helpful (especially for new moms like me), when I put my trust in them, when I start preaching their virtues to other parents, I just may be nurturing little idols in my heart. On the one hand, I don’t need to be ashamed of feeding my son organic, gluten-free, dairy-free, sugar-free food due to his health issues. On the other hand, do I take pride in it? Do I feel superior to moms who don’t have to work so hard to feed their kids? Is my value wrapped up in my healthy cooking so that I’m highly offended when someone takes a jab at “organic moms”?

Dear one, I want to learn this deep down to the marrow of my soul: I want to walk by faith, not by formula.

But faith looks (and sometimes feels) pretty darn foolish. It demands that I live with mystery and messiness and shades of gray, when in fact I would feel oh-so-much better if I could have money-back guarantees and one-size-fits-all answers. It would help if I could measure myself against other moms to see how I’m progressing. But faith doesn’t need a tape measure; it demands that I fix my eyes on Jesus and “dip my foot into the waters” before they part.

Because isn’t it true that motherhood dabbles in the miraculous?

I mean, think of what parenting requires: my husband and I are called to protect our son, provide for him, train him up in the way he should go, and teach him about God as we “sit, walk, lie down, and get up.” In many ways, we lay down our lives to make sure he gets the very best we can give him—everything from food and shelter to a deep and abiding knowledge of God. There’s nothing nonchalant or blase about what we do.

But while we endeavor to give Jeremy our best, we also rest in God’s infinitely greater plans, protection, provision, revelation, and sovereign will for his life.

Do you know how impossible it is for me to simultaneously work hard and rest?

But faith walks into the impossible and says, “I can’t, but God can.” When my eyes are on Jesus, I can walk the fine line between working ambitiously for Jeremy’s good and still surrendering to a God who knows what is eternally best for Jeremy. I am called to work hard as a mom, but I’m also called to keep a quiet heart and not fear. So as I cook complicated meals around Jeremy’s allergies, teach him colors and numbers and ABC’s, memorize Scripture with him, and pray mighty prayers over him, I also relinquish my right to control his life and expect certain results. Maybe he’ll hate kale and sweet potatoes someday; maybe he’ll be mediocre academically; maybe his journey to know and love God will be long and painful.

That stuff is not my responsibility. I get to plant and water alongside my husband, “but God gives the growth.”

If Jeremy grows into a godly man, it will be God graciously using us, his parents, despite our many flaws and failures, to accomplish HIS purposes by HIS power for HIS glory. It won’t be because we chose a certain type of schooling, went to a certain church, held to a certain theology, or vigilantly observed family worship time. Yes, those are an integral part of our great responsibility as parents, and we discern those things through prayer and with a sober awareness of our high calling. But ultimately my parenting must flow from the Fountain of Life.

When I take time to drink in my Abba’s words and worship Him in His greatness, I am changed. When I spend more time on my knees than I do listening to others’ advice, my motherhood is compelled by faith, not complicated by formulas. My fearful heart is quieted, my ravenous pride starved. And my very flawed motherhood becomes this beautiful and holy offering to the One who delighted to make me a mother in the first place.

Dear one, where have you trusted in manmade methodologies instead of seeking the heart of God?

Scriptures referenced: Hebrews 11:6, Hebrews 12:2, Joshua 3, Proverbs 22:6, Deuteronomy 6:7, Proverbs 31, 1 Peter 3:4, 1 Corinthians 3:7, Psalm 36:9, 1 Timothy 1:5-7

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September 2013

From four years old on, I dreamed of nothing less than growing up to marry and have kids.

But the fact is, I got started late—at least according to my preconceived ideas and biological clock. And due to some ongoing health issues, I’m not able to bear more children.

But God gave me a son.

After years of wondering whether I’d ever get to be a mom, I experienced the glory and pain of pregnancy, and then in one miraculous moment, I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy whose name means, Appointed by God. Exalted by God.

It was as if someone handed me the sun, moon, and stars when they lifted Jeremy from my womb and into my arms. I was forever changed.

To be sure, though, it’s different starting a family at age 35. Friends my age have multiple kids much older than my two-year-old. I’m knee-deep in diapers, ABC’s, and 5:00-AM wake-up calls, while they’re navigating karate lessons, homework, and the early teen years.

I’ll admit, sometimes I even feel a little dumb. I walk into a mom’s group as a 37-year-old with one toddler, and the 28-year-old next to me has twin babies strapped to her chest, a 3-year-old tugging at her pants, and a 5-year-old dancing circles around her.

When moms exchange stories and advice, I keep silent. What could I possibly contribute to the experts’ conversation? I’m light years behind, and I know it.

Even simple math can intimidate me: when Jeremy is 15 years old, I’ll be 50. When he’s 25, I’ll be 60. That’s weird.

Or maybe it’s just weird because I’m looking around me to define normal. It’s weird because I spent over two decades of my life dreaming of an entirely different reality. And it’s weird because I’m shortsighted and I forget to “set my mind on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.”

I’ve been entrusted with the care and nurture of an eternal soul, so my work as a mother must be eternally minded. God wanted me to be Jeremy’s mother, and He wants the story He’s written in my life to be part of Jeremy’s spiritual heritage. My long wait for marriage and motherhood is integral to His good plan for my son. In the end, my motherhood won’t be evaluated by my age, number of children, or how I compared to others. It will be evaluated by my faith in God, by what I did with what He gave me.

That looks so different for each of us, doesn’t it?

The more I’ve rubbed shoulders with a diversity of women, the more I’ve come to realize that regardless of age, stage, or number of children, most moms feel like I do: a bit of a misfit, trusting God through unique challenges, and sometimes feeling isolated by the nonstop needs of parenting. It’s in our human nature to think that no one else could ever understand our particular set of circumstances or the unseen pressures we navigate each day.

But what makes us unique can also bind us together. I can learn from the mom twelve years my junior. I need the input of my wise single friends. I seek practical advice from the older woman who raised an only child. I listen intently to the dear friend who mothers a special needs child—and to the one who grieves her ongoing infertility.

And at the end of the day, it’s just me and my husband on our knees before God, seeking His heart for our little man, asking for the wisdom He promises to give us.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Centuries ago, God took a husband and wife whose bodies “were as good as dead” and gave them a son. It was an impossible, laughable set of circumstances—so much so that the old husband and wife named their newborn “Isaac,” which means he laughs. When that miracle son had a son himself, and that son gave birth to more sons, and they in turn became “many and mighty,” God said to them:

Listen to me…. Look to the rock from which you were hewn, and to the quarry from which you were dug. Look to Abraham your father and to Sarah who bore you; for he was but one when I called him, that I might bless him and multiply him. For the Lord comforts Zion; he comforts all her waste places and makes her wilderness like Eden, her desert like the garden of the Lord; joy and gladness will be found in her, thanksgiving and the voice of song.

I wasn’t old like Sarah when I gave birth to my son, but I still have pangs of grief over what could have been (those three or four older kids I would have had by now). Yet I feel the weight of God’s glory in this altered reality. Motherhood isn’t an arrival—it’s another way I get to worship God. The God who knows best. The God who gathers me up in His arms and gently whispers,

“I am never late. I am never wrong.”

Scriptures referenced: Colossians 3:2; Genesis 21; Romans 4:16-25; Exodus 1:1-8; Isaiah 51:1-3

Photo credit: Karen Race McCutcheon Photography. Lorelei Conover Photography.

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Fleeting moments…
Yes, these will fly
And he’ll be grown
In the blink of an eye.
True,
Sleepless hours
And baggy eyes
Won’t be missed,
But realize
That with them go
His newborn ways:
His coos and cries,
His cherub face.
With every season
Comes its joys
And challenges
Of raising boys.
So rest and revel
In this brief day
Before it turns
To yesterday.

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