Opinions change.

Share

When my firstborn was 4, we lived 22 miles from the public school. Yep. It’s the Chequamegon National Forest. If you take a left at the end of our driveway and keep taking left-hand turns, it’s 9 miles with no road in-lets that cross through before you get back to the house. That’s a long walk around the block!

The school bus was a two-hour ride, with K-12 on the same bus. I pictured taking my precious daughter, whom I love more than my own flesh, and surrendering her to the language and activities I knew would happen on the bus. I couldn’t do it.

“We’ll just try homeschooling for a year or two until she’s a little bit older and less vulnerable.”

But that first year was one of the most rewarding years of my life. To teach a child to read is an experience like none other. Her eyes opened to the wonder of words. Her confidence grew. She loved books and couldn’t get enough. At the end of the first year, before she even turned 5, she was reading at a second-grade level. How do I put her in school now? She’ll be ahead of everyone else. Besides, I was still home with her younger brother. We decided to wait and put them both in school at a later date.

But that later date never happened for my oldest 2 children. Each year we prayed about the best route for educating our children, and each year it was very clear this was the path for them. If I had it to do over again, I would still homeschool my oldest 2 children as an act of obedience to the Lord.

But that doesn’t mean I recommend homeschooling. Homeschooling my kiddos is one of the hardest things I have ever done in my entire life. The yellow bus, which I didn’t want my kids on when they were so young, would drive by every day. I would stare out the window and wonder what my life would be like without the heavy weight of the education of my children on my shoulders. Instead of “Calgon, take me away!”, I wanted to scream, “School bus, take them away!”

But I digress.

Share

The beauty of homeschooling is the time you get to spend with your children. I homeschooled before the public schools introduced ‘public school at home.’ I chose all of my own curriculum. The reading primers were Christ-centered. The history was not historical revisionism. Grammar books taught capitalization of Jesus’ pronouns. Even math had a Christian element to it. We started our days with the Bible; we read dozens of missionary biographies, and we prayed together each morning. I screened every book they read. “Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.” This is the standard I used to filter the filth of the world from entering my children’s brains.

But when we are exposed to germs, our bodies build up an immunity to them. We may get a vaccine, and antibodies are created to remember the virus so that when it appears again, an army is ready to attack and kill the invading virus before it makes us sick. By filtering out the filth from my children’s life experiences, they didn’t develop a natural sense of recognizing good and evil. Almost all of our friends were Christians. We lived in our own little Hallelujah bubble. All they knew was good.

Hallelujah bubbles are beautiful places, but eventually my kids needed to leave the uncontaminated places and enter the real world. It’s a big, bad, and ugly world. They quickly learned all the four-letter words. They learned that most people have sex with whoever they want, whenever they want, and you don’t have to be married to have sex. They learned that it’s hard to reconcile the truths of Roman 1:18-32 when your boss is a homosexual, and your coworkers are trans, and the college roommate you randomly got placed with is also gay. It’s much easier to rest in the truth of God’s Word from your mom and dad’s couch than when you are face-to-face with reality.

One of my kids ended up expelled from my homeschool. What do you have to do to get expelled? Nothing. If you do absolutely nothing, you will get expelled. It was a difficult reconciliation for me. At that point, I had been homeschooling for about 20 years, and my identity and pride had become wrapped up in homeschooling. The older two were away at college, and defiance had sneaked into our home. I could no longer get my teenager to do any schoolwork. It turned into a fight that has hindered our relationship even to this day. The last three years were spent at a private Christian school where the educational standards were laughable compared to the quality of a homeschool education, but it preserved what is left of my sanity.

My kids hands-down got a superior education from anything they could have gotten in a public or private school, and for that I am thankful. Every child needs and deserves an individualized educational plan, not just kids with special needs. An individualized educational plan allows you the ability to stop and repeat long division for an extra month if needed, and then whiz through decimals because they come easily. Homeschooling allows you to go at your own pace, which is either slow or fast, depending on the child. My son ended up with a National Merit Scholarship. Why? Because he had already completed and aced Calculus at the age of 16. He moved at his own pace, which happened to be fast. My kids are all hard-working because they grew up working at a young age. A strong work ethic combined with a good education has helped them succeed in their current positions as adults.

But as I state all of this, I still see and feel glimmers of pride, that capital ‘P’ sin, seeping out of my pores. It is part of what motivated me to keep going over the years. My kids are smart. Part of what made them smart is their education. Their teacher was me. Do you see the dangerous spiral? Was homeschooling them about glorifying God? Was homeschooling about giving my kids a good education? Or was homeschooling about me? I truly believe my motives started pure, but over time they morphed into something ugly.

Should you homeschool your children? Yes, if God calls you to homeschool your children, then do it. It is an act of obedience and submission. It will pull you and push you and stretch you in ways you never knew were possible. It will leave you sobbing in the fetal position on your bed with the door locked for just a few moments of stolen silence. It will fly you to new heights you’ve never soared to. It’s a beautiful thing.

Share

But if I could do it over again, I would read books with my kids that were maybe a little bit ugly. We could have read the ugliness together and talked about it. We could have watched some movies without watching the “Plugged-in” review first, and then stopped the movie at times to discuss what was going on. I could have taught them the four-letter words, what they meant, and why we don’t use them. I could have allowed a cartilage piercing so it wouldn’t have needed to be filled with shame and done behind my back. I could have expected sin from them instead of only righteousness because they are, after all, sinners - just like their mom. I could have been on the alert for the contamination of pride in my life.

But I can’t go back.

But if you are considering homeschooling, you still have the future.

Go where He leads in this important decision.

But you might end up a bit weird, like me.

My baby brother is on a running streak. For 2026, his goal is to run at least 2 miles each day, with much longer runs in the mix. It’s a hefty commitment - especially when we were in 105-degree Arizona celebrating our parents’ 60th anniversary.

We sat in the shade, sipping coffee in our pajamas next to the pool. It was early morning, and the mountain views at the VRBO were breathtaking.

“I’m going to get my 2 miles in before it gets too hot.”

He laced up his Brooks and hit the road. Two miles doesn’t take long for a lifetime runner, but he returned with buckets of sweat streaming from his pores. He sat down on the cement twelve inches from the pool. Red-faced and miserable, he joined back in the conversation with-

“It’s so hot!”

“Why don’t you just jump in the pool?” I asked.

He shook his head, but minutes later came the repeat.

“It’s so hot!”

“Just jump in the pool. When you’re in Minnesota, you don’t have a pool to jump in. You’ll feel better.”

He shook his head and waved me off like I was a crazy woman. On cue, it came again.

“It’s so hot!”

“Jump in the pool!”

“If it’s such a great idea, then why don’t you do it?”

Share

So I set down my coffee and jumped in the pool. Now, mind you, it was quite early, and I was still in my purple pajamas. Why did I jump in the pool in my jammies? No idea. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. But it set off a chain reaction. Not to be outdone by his much older sister, my baby brother shook his head in disbelief, took off his shoes, and joined me - running clothes and all. Amid the peals of laughter, our two sisters joined us, and we all had fun at our pajama pool party.

As the day progressed, the overwhelming response from my siblings was, “I can’t believe Tessa jumped in the pool in her pajamas!” From their point of view, it was an uncharacteristic move on my part. I didn’t think it was such a big deal, but the shock in their minds over what I had done was incredible.

But then I told my son. His response? “Of course you went swimming in your pajamas! I would expect nothing less from my mother!”

What accounts for the difference in their reactions? My son knows me well. He lived with me for 18 of the past 26 years. Even though he lives in Japan, we talk on the phone numerous times each week. I know his schedule, the friends he is hanging out with, and often what he had for dinner (he sends me lots of food photos!).

My siblings lived with me for between 9 and 18 years, forty years ago. Because we live considerable distances from each other, we see each other only a couple of times each year. They remember a shy, introverted young girl who rarely dared to open her mouth. An avid rule follower with her nose always in a book, I didn’t do much of anything wild and crazy back then.

I think of my relationship with Jesus. I spend more time with him every week than any other person in my life (unless you consider unconscious time sleeping with Hubby!). I talk to Him through prayer every morning. He speaks to me through His Word every morning. Throughout the day, Jesus and I meet up for impromptu conversations about what’s going on in my life, or prayer requests that come to mind. Because Jesus is the same yesterday, today, and always, I don’t need to worry about His character changing. Jesus didn’t start as an introvert and then come out of His shell. He was there in the beginning, with God, creating the heavens and the earth, and remains unchanged.

I know many people who began their lives knowing Jesus. They walked and talked with Him as a child through morning devotions and family devotions. They went to Sunday school, church, a Wednesday night kids’ program, vacation Bible school, and church camp. At one point, they may have even been baptized as a born-again believer in Jesus.

But time has a way of changing people. Without diligent effort to keep up the relationship, the drift begins. What used to be time in the Word becomes time in the world. Instead of talking to Jesus, we’re texting our friends. Instead of reading our Bibles, we’re reading memes or posts on social media. Decades into the drift, we claim to know Jesus, but in reality, we once knew Jesus.

To rekindle the relationship, all you need is an instigator. Dust off the cover. Open the book. “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” It’s that easy. Open your mouth. “Dear Jesus…” Step through the doors of the church. Find your church community. They are waiting for you with open arms.

We sent the photo of the pool pajama party to our parents, who weren’t scheduled to arrive at the VRBO until 8:30 am. They arrived quite confused at already having missed so much of the day. When they heard the story, my 86-year-old dad began taking out his hearing aids, removing his glasses, wallet, phone, keys, shoes, and socks. We all squealed with delight as he approached the edge of the pool. But then he turned around. Not to be outdone by his kiddos, Dad did a backflop into the pool, in his denim shorts and button-down shirt.

It’s exactly what we all expected because we know our dad!

Dad's Backflop

Photo by Brooke Balentine on Unsplash

“I’ve been playing the piano for over three decades, but I’m completely self-taught. A friend mentioned you’re a good piano teacher, so I thought maybe I’d give you a call. There are a few things I don’t understand.”

I instructed this septuagenarian gentleman to come to his first lesson with two pieces of music: one that he plays well, and one that he needs help with. I figured this would help me determine a good starting point for our lessons. It might reveal to me what is in his head and what isn’t.

He started with the piece he believed he knew well. It was a contemporary Christian song in the key of E-flat. The grand staff had double treble clefs. The left hand had rolling octaves with a fifth. If this makes no sense to you, take comfort; it didn’t make any sense to my new student either. He sat down and comfortably played this song with both hands on the wrong half of the piano, without a single correct note. His counting sounded kinda like the song on the radio, but didn’t match the notes on the page. He played using only three fingers on each hand: his thumb, pointer finger, and middle finger. He never touched a note with his ring finger or pinky. The worst part? He had no idea anything was wrong; he didn’t know what he was missing.

Thirty years of playing the piano by ear, thinking he understood the majority of the musical score.

I’ve been a Christian for nearly thirty years. I think I understand the major theological points of Scripture.

But what if I’m playing with only six fingers!?

Share

I was saved when I was 28. That’s literally half a lifetime ago. I didn’t grow up in church, so when I was saved, I knew nothing except that I am a sinner destined for hell, and Jesus died in my place. All I have to do is believe in Him, and I will go to Heaven. End of story. It was so easy!

Then my dad gave me a Bible. It was a second-hand, teal, leather-bound study Bible with someone’s name engraved on the cover, but the name had been scratched out. I looked at this big book with the onion-skin pages and didn’t know where to start. I didn’t know the difference between the Old Testament and the New Testament. I had never heard of the Pentateuch or the Septuagint. I didn’t know the difference between Joseph and Jacob, Moses and Abraham, Noah and Jonah, or Peter and Paul. I thought Romans should be in the Old Testament because it sounded old. I didn’t know what a Gospel was. Do people actually read this thing?

I look back now and see the major sources of influence which helped the overwhelming task of understanding the Bible take shape in my life.

In my early years as a baby-believer, I had young kids at home. A friend recommended “The Egermeier’s Bible Story Book”. It has 312 Bible stories that are well-written, in order, and Biblically accurate. Maybe it’s a Bible written for children ages 8-14, but as an adult who didn’t know a single Bible story, I found this book invaluable. I would read this Bible out loud to my kiddos over and over again. I don’t have an accurate count of how many times we made it through these stories, but dozens is probably as accurate as I can get.

Even though I had littles at home and felt like I had no free time, friends encouraged me to read my real Bible, the one with the onion-skin pages, every day. I began with trepidation, trying to find my balance on a bike I had never ridden. Often, I fell off. I’ve started over and read Genesis more times than any other book of the Bible! Many self-inflicted droughts occurred, but I always got back on and was blessed with a nourishing flood of God’s grace.

While homeschooling my kids, we began memorizing Bible verses together. We memorized countless sections of Scripture. We would continue on one verse until it was solid before adding the next verse. Previous passages we had memorized were reviewed on a rotation. These verses are forever hidden in their hearts. His Word will not return void.

Through the years, I have participated in many Bible studies. Growing iron-sharpens-iron relationships with other ladies as we studied God’s Word together was invaluable. I have a Bible marked up with colored pencil symbols from Kay Arthur’s Precept Upon Precept studies. Many other ladies’ studies and couples’ studies have led me to a deeper understanding of the Bible.

For 29 years, I have attended church almost every Sunday. It’s really not an option to ‘skip’ church because we don’t feel like going, or we want to sleep in, or we don’t like the guest preacher. We go, we worship, and we’re blessed. There is a message God wants me to hear every Sunday, and I don’t want to miss it.

Since the advent of the internet, consuming podcasts, blogs, and online sermons has become a favorite pastime. Tim Challies, The Gospel Coalition, and Desiring God are my three favorite go-tos. I read in the morning, I read when a piano student doesn’t show up for their lesson, and I read before I go to bed at night. Books and blogs. Sermons and podcasts. Jesus and His Word. These fill my days with joy.

This has been my pursuit of God, but what if I’m only playing with six fingers?

Hubby laughs at the thought. “You’re really Bible-smart.”

But I don’t feel Bible-smart, nor is my desire to be Bible-smart. I desire to know God. Who is He? Why did He create me? How can I live my life in a way that most glorifies Him?

So I have decided to go back to school. It’s not that I am looking for a job. I’m a piano teacher who teaches 65 lessons per week. I love my job and feel it is where God wants me. I’m going back to school because I want to know God more.

So, this fall, at age 57, I am going to begin the Master of Theology and Exegesis program at Bethlehem College and Seminary in Minneapolis, Minnesota. You might think I’m crazy, and you’re probably right. I am. Crazy for Jesus! I still plan on writing weekly stories, but you might end up with a research paper every now and then (I’ll even let you give me a grade!).

My 70-year-old piano student is still learning. He’s learning to play with all ten fingers, but it’s been hard. There are ingrained pathways in his brain because he had practiced incorrectly over the years. We’ve had to practice the right way oodles of times to undo the damage done. I am expecting moments like this as I study Scripture; gaps in my theology where I self-taught incorrectly. I’m looking forward to coming clean and getting it all straightened out.

And I’m looking forward to knowing God more. Please pray for me.

Tessa

Photo by Element5 Digital on Unsplash

***********************************************************************************************************

“I have spent thousands of dollars on piano lessons for my daughter over the past few years, and now she’s quitting! This has been a complete waste of money!”

The frustrated mom stood clutching her daughter’s piano books to her chest while she vented. The dreams and aspirations she had for her daughter to excel in music had withered like Jonah’s shade plant. The piano fight had begun earlier in the year. “You need to practice the piano!” “If you don’t practice the piano, I’m not paying for lessons!” “This is your final warning.” “Today is your last lesson. You’re going to have to tell Miss Tessa you’re finished.”

It’s sad, but it’s often preventable. Encouraging words like “I love it when you fill the house with beautiful music. Will you entertain me while I make dinner?” or “Your new recital song makes me feel happy when you play it,” make a big difference in the child’s attitude toward the instrument. Singing, dancing, or playing along with your child makes the piano feel less like an isolated torture chamber, and more like what it is - playing with the coolest toy in your house!

But the frustrated mom was wrong. It was not a waste of money, even if her daughter only took lessons for a few years. You see, I am not just a piano teacher; I am a brain changer. The positive effects on the brain from learning to play the piano last a lifetime.

The effects of music on the brain start in utero. Voices and music heard by the developing fetus are remembered by the baby after birth. “Repeated exposure to certain types of sounds leads to the development of neural memory traces for these sounds.” “Prenatal exposure to music can have long-term plastic effects on the developing brain and enhance neural responsiveness to the sounds used in the prenatal training. Furthermore, we found that these plastic changes are long lasting.” Music has been shown to decrease stress, anxiety, and blood pressure in infants. Music also improves cognitive and motor skills, language development, and neurogenesis (new neurological growth in the brain). So turn on some tunes and dance with that baby on your hip! (*1)

When a child changes from exclusively consuming music to producing music, a different brain transformation begins. The left hemisphere of the brain is the center of logical thinking (left = logic!). It processes information and likes to do one thing at a time. The right hemisphere is the center of creative, artistic thinking, and is capable of multitasking. When we learn music, we learn it through our left brain first, and when we get more comfortable, our right brain takes over. The area of the brain connecting the right and left hemispheres is called the corpus callosum. It acts as a highway for both sides of your brain to exchange sensory, motor, and cognitive information. The corpus callosum is the largest white matter tract in the brain. People who play the piano have thicker corpus callosums than people who don’t play the piano. How’s that for bragging rights? (My corpus callosum is bigger than yours!)

A new student sits down with me and learns how to feel a beat with their body (physical stimulation). I show them a quarter note versus a half note (visual stimulation). They bounce their body and hold a note for one beat or two beats (logical processing). They see the notes moving up and down on the paper and move higher or lower on the piano. They hear the sound of the music (auditory processing). If the music is peaceful or exciting, they feel the emotions they are creating. Their fingers touch the keys. They learn to play without pauses, add dynamics, texture, and intricate rhythms. In all, there are over 40 different areas of the brain stimulated when a person plays music.

The result? Kids who learn to play the piano have better verbal skills, can process a lot of information in a short time, more easily learn a second language and are more accurate in the pronunciation of that language, are stronger readers, generally score higher academically, and have higher IQs than their non-musical peers. (*2)

But learning to play an instrument is not just kid-stuff; older adults receive benefits as well. One of the ways to develop new neurological activity in the brain (neurogenesis) is to learn a new musical instrument. As we get older, we may exercise and eat right to keep our bodies healthy, but what are we doing for our brains?

MRI scans show an increase in gray matter for aging adults who learn to play the piano! At a time when gray matter is typically shrinking by 5% per decade, we can prevent the decline and reverse course! “Intact motor functions are preconditions for autonomous living and thus play an important role in healthy aging. Dressing, eating, writing, and many other activities of daily living require adequate upper limb function, especially the control of the hands and fingers. Although aging has degenerative effects on hand function, previously published analyses from our group on the same cohort demonstrated that practicing piano can improve dexterity, which is accompanied by structural and functional brain plasticity.” (*2)

One of the areas where growth has been seen is in the hippocampus. “The hippocampus is closely linked with cognitive function, and hippocampal atrophy is often associated with Alzheimer’s disease. Therefore, our results could indicate a preventive effect of music on the development of neurodegenerative diseases.” (*2)

Yes, it’s hard to teach an old dog new tricks, but the improvement in quality of life for aging adults is worth the physical, psychological, and social benefits.

I looked at the frustrated mom and smiled. “These years of piano lessons have not been a waste of money. Your daughter’s brain has been changed- physically changed because of the work we’ve done together. A brain investment is never a waste, even if she never touches the piano again.”

For our bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit. Maintain them in a way to give glory to the One who made us.

********************************************************************************************************

1.(Movalled, K., Sani, A., Nikniaz, L., & Ghojazadeh, M. (2023). The impact of sound stimulations during pregnancy on fetal learning: A systematic review. BMC Pediatrics, 23, 183. https://doi.org/10.1186/s12887-023-03990-7)

2. Worschech, F., Marie, D., Sinke, C., Kliegel, M., Jünemann, K., Scholz, D. S., Krüger, T. H., James, C. E., & Altenmüller, E. (2025). Quality of life in older adults is enhanced by piano practice: Results from a randomized controlled trial. Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences, 1550(1), 239. https://doi.org/10.1111/nyas.15397

Subscribe now

Photo by Milad Fakurian on Unsplash

Just five years ago, we sat in the same spot, my arm outstretched and her head on my shoulder. I was a safe place. I was a comforter, a listening ear, a trusted friend. I led her to the Rock that is higher than I. I didn’t have all the answers to the questions she was asking, but I showed her where the answers could be found. We walked down many roads together. As the teen years hit, the roads became bumpy. We hit potholes, and she let go of my hand. The road crumbled, and she let go of Jesus.

There’s not much that a mom can do when this happens. It’s like standing at the top of a mountain and watching your daughter fall off. Her safety harness has been cut by her own choosing. She’s free-falling into the abyss. I reach out my hand, but she refuses to take hold. I can’t jump down and rescue her, so I cling to the Rock. I call out words of wisdom to save her, but the enemy steals them. I have no net to catch her with. There’s no trampoline to preserve her when she hits bottom. Only death. The crash at the end will be brutal. And eternal.

Share

I remember the day Hubby and I were baptized. We came to the service at the lake lot with beach towels and a change of clothes. She held my hand.

“Mommy?”

‘Yes, Love.”

“What are you and Daddy doing?”

“We’re going to be baptized! We love Jesus so much that we want the world to know. In the Bible, people who believe in Jesus choose to be baptized.”

“Can I be baptized?”

“Yes, Darling, but not today.”

“Why not today? I love Jesus! I want the world to know that I love Jesus. Why can’t I be baptized today?”

She asked all of this with the most innocent, respectful tone; her big, beautiful eyes staring into mine. We didn’t know what to do. I called Pastor over, and he got down on one knee to talk to his 5-year-old congregant. Hubby and I listened to their deeply theological conversation. The earnestness on her face was genuine as she answered each of his questions. He stood up and looked at us.

“She’s ready. If you are okay with her being baptized, I will baptize her today.”

And the three of us were baptized on the same day. Baptism. A sign of our salvation, but the act of baptism itself has no saving power.

The Bible says you can’t lose your salvation. When you are born again, you have received the gift of eternal life, and this gift cannot be taken away from you. “I will make with them an everlasting covenant, that I will not turn away from doing good to them. And I will put the fear of me in their hearts, that they may not turn from me.” (Jeremiah 32:40) But what if you are one day walking with Jesus, and the next day you’re not? What if the fear of God is not in your heart? What if you look like you’ve been saved, but then turn away? What if one day you believe, and the next day you have an unbelieving heart?

“Take care, brothers, lest there be in any of you an evil, unbelieving heart, leading you to fall away from the living God. But exhort one another every day, as long as it is called “today,” that none of you may be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin. For we have come to share in Christ, if indeed we hold our original confidence firm to the end.” (Hebrews 3:12-14)

Our original confidence must hold firm to the end. If the perseverance doesn’t hold firm, then maybe there was no salvation to begin with. If she had been a Christian, she would have continued as a Christian.

“They went out from us, but they were not of us; for if they had been of us, they would have continued with us. But they went out, that it might become plain that they all are not of us.” (1 John 2:19)

Is she not of us? After all these years, was it only a charade? Or is she going through a trial period? A testing, of sorts? I don’t know. I know the past showed belief. I know the present shows unbelief. What does the future hold? What does it mean that God’s Word does not return void?

I sat on my cushion of the loveseat, and she on hers. Instead of a loving embrace, we faced each other. Her expression mocked; her words taunted.

“I pray for you every day, Beautiful Girl. I’ll continue to pray.”

“Please don’t.”

“Please don’t, what?”

“Please don’t pray for me. I don’t want your prayers. If I were a Wiccan, would you like it if I were to cast spells on you behind your back? No. So you should not be praying for people who do not want your prayers!”

I stared into those big, beautiful eyes. Can I be baptized, Mommy? Please don’t pray for me? The words echoed in my brain. How could both phrases come from the same mouth? How did this happen? What do I do now? I have no control. I have no power…

Oh, but I do. I do have power. I have the power of prayer. I have a sovereign God who created my daughter. I have a God who loves her infinitely more than I do. My God will leave the 99 and seek the one. Today, she is the one. He will relentlessly pursue her until she is found. Lord, I give her back to you…

To honor her request to cease praying would be to disobey the commands of the Holy One. We are to pray without ceasing. This I will do. I will pray, never ceasing.

I will pray like Moses, who went out from his struggles with Pharaoh and prayed to the Lord. (Exodus 8:30)

I will pray like Hannah, who “was deeply distressed and prayed to the LORD and wept bitterly.” (1 Samuel 1:10)

I will pray like Elisha, “Oh, Lord, please open her eyes that she may see.” (2 Kings 6:17)

And I will pray like Jesus, withdrawing to a desolate place to talk to my God. He will hear me. I have no control, but He has all control. He is sovereign, and He is good.

^“If my people who are called by my name humble themselves, and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and heal their land.” (2 Chronicles 7:14)

May You, oh gracious Father, bestow Your mercy and grace on my beautiful girl.

Share

Photo by Michael Glazier on Unsplash

Share

We’d been dating a mere ten months when we executed our grand scheme: fly from Wisconsin to California and get married in the Yosemite Valley Chapel. Oh, and don’t tell anyone. It’s called eloping, and it was my idea; Hubby just agreed. I never pictured myself in a long white gown walking slowly down an aisle while everyone looked at me. The mere thought was terrifying. Why must introverts be tortured on their wedding day? We had 5 people in the church: the minister, Uncle Bob, Uncle Bud, Hubby, and me. That’s it. It was my dream wedding.

Uncle Bud, forever the jokester, gifted us with a copper paperweight sundial. “Time will Tell,” was forged into the heavy metal. We laughed at what we surmised was a joke.

“I’ll bet he doesn’t think our marriage will last,” I confided to Hubby.

“If that’s what he meant, then he’s wrong,” Hubby boldly retorted.

But we were young and in love. Our rose-colored glasses were so tinted that everything seemed bright and rosy. “Bring it on, World! With Hubby by my side, I’ll always be safe.”

Ah, the optimistic ignorance of youth. If I had only known what ‘time would tell’.

Time would tell that-

Hubby can’t bring dead babies back to life, but he can stay by my side.

Hubby can’t stop 4 years of epileptic seizures, but he can stay by my side.

Hubby can’t stop fire from destroying our property, but he can stay by my side.

Hubby can’t heal our son’s brain after he skied headfirst into a tree and had brain surgery to remove an epidural hematoma, but he can stay by my side.

Hubby can’t stop the devastating, spiraling downward progression of life right now, but he is still by my side.

The trials of life have soldered us together and led us to Jesus, whom we didn’t know when we spoke our vows in the Yosemite Chapel. Had life been perfect, when would we have bowed down on bended knee before our Holy God? I can’t answer that. I do know that we are thankful for our trials. We are thankful to our God, who has not just stayed by our side, but carried us through each and every struggle. When we didn’t know where our next breath would come from, He was our oxygen tank. When we grew faint, He revived us. When we didn’t have the strength to stand, He carried us.

I stare ahead into the next 33 years of marriage. Whew. I don’t expect life will get any easier. I do expect Hubby will faithfully stay by my side until death do us part, and I know that, until then, my Heavenly Father will carry us through. Time will tell.

“I will be your God throughout your lifetime—

until your hair is white with age.

I made you, and I will care for you.

I will carry you along and save you.” (Isaiah 46:4)

Photo by Franky Magana on Unsplash

We laughed as we remembered the creamy pudding dessert popular in the 1970s. The buttery crust made with ground pecans. The perfectly creamy no-bake cheesecake layer, followed by your favorite (pistachio) pudding, and topped with Cool Whip. If you can’t have Robert Redford, then this was assumed to be a good consolation prize!

“You know, he died this past year.”

We all stared at my sister, our mouths agape, lower jaws resting on the floor.

“I know,” she continued, “So sad. So many amazing tributes to him. None of you heard about it?”

We all shook our heads. My brother picked up his favorite source of intellectual communication and asked AI, “Did Robert Redford pass away?”

“No, Robert Redford has not passed away,” AI confidently replied.

Now my sister’s mouth was agape with her jaw on the ground.

“I’m 99% sure I heard he had died! What in the world?”

So who’s right? Is Robert Redford dead, or alive? He can’t be both because there’s only one truth.

Share

As I type these words, it is raining outside. Last summer, a windstorm blew a tree down, and it hit my house. My dog is a Siberian Husky. I live in Wisconsin. 1 + 1 = 2. These are all true statements. Each statement is absolutely true. Absolute truth.

My Siberian Husky is the best dog in the world. Pistachio Robert Redford dessert is superior to the other flavors. Wisconsin is the most beautiful state in America. These statements are all true, but each statement is relatively true. As it relates to me, my situation, my point of reference, my time frame, these statements are true. Relative truth.

But what has been absolute truth since the beginning of time is in question today. The paradigm has shifted from standard absolute truths, which would never have been questioned, to people not being able to answer the simple question of “What is a woman?” The scientific answer based on XX or XY chromosomes to determine a person’s sex is no longer deemed sufficient in some circles. Even the word ‘sex’ is rarely used anymore, having been replaced with ‘gender’. Unborn babes are not immune, as parents have ‘gender-reveal’ parties, which are really ‘sex-reveal’ parties, greying the line even more.

This distortion of language is often the red flag of relativism. The purpose of language is to communicate reality. Relativists have moved the goalpost. Their purpose in communicating is to manipulate reality to serve their self-created truths.

“You do you!”

“If it works for you, go for it!”

“Whatever makes you happy!”

“If it feels good, do it!”

These statements sound so simple and believable, but are they true? Are they safe and encouraging phrases, or words that lead to death? We must remember how Eve, who walked and talked with God, was deceived by the serpent. The Apostle Peter, an intimate friend of Jesus, denied Jesus three times. Even King David, the man after God’s own heart, was led astray by lust. Imagine Nathan confronting King David with one of those statements. “Hey, King David! Regarding you and Bathsheba, you do you! Because, really, if it makes you happy, then go for it! If it feels good, King, then do it!” Instead, Nathan confronted David’s sin with these echoing words, “You are the man!” (2 Samuel 12)

Are we a friend like Nathan?

“The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?” (Jeremiah 17:9)

Defining truth is only possible if we have one standard of truth that applies to everyone. When people attempt to define their own truth, that is relativism.

But, but, but… I can hear the deniers already. There can’t be one universal truth. Yet, that very statement admits the deniers believe in one universal truth - one that states that each person can and should determine their own version of truth. The push back may be something like this: “You can believe whatever you want, but don’t push your beliefs on me - especially if it has anything to do with the Bible!”

“And since they did not see fit to acknowledge God, God gave them up to a debased mind to do what ought not to be done.” (Romans 1:28)

This debased mind is often presented as humility, with an accusation of pride toward people who believe in absolute truth. This false humility speaks of empathy for people who choose to live a sinful/alternative lifestyle. This empathy screams tolerance. This tolerance is saturated in pride, which demands, “You can’t tell me what to believe or how to live. It’s my life! I get to choose.”

Yet absolute truth screams submission to the Creator. Absolute truth bears witness to true love, as the eternal value of the human soul is constantly beheld. Absolute truth is true humility, as servants of the King bear witness to the Creator, even to the point of death.

It is why Jesus came.

“For this purpose I (Jesus) was born, and for this purpose I have come into the world—to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth listens to my voice.” (John 18:37)

It is a daily battle. With so many voices in the world today, how do we recognize Truth? Listen for His voice. How does He speak to us? Through His Word, the Bible.

“My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand.” (John 10:27-28)

So, is Robert Redford dead, or alive? What is the truth?

My brother once again asked AI.

“Are you sure Robert Redford is alive? Could you please check on that again?”

“So sorry! I was mistaken! Robert Redford died in his sleep at his home in Utah on September 16, 2025, at the age of 89.”

So, even AI makes mistakes! For all of your truth needs, go to the Truth Source: Jesus Christ!

Photo by Emile Mbunzama on Unsplash

Share

I once met a man who told me he grew up hunting where my house now stands. I imagine it was a hilly, heavily wooded area then, with lots of whitetail deer. Their progeny still roam the edge of the mowed grass in the morning, grazing the wild delectables which suit their breakfast palate. When the house was built, the loggers clear-cut an area in the midst of the forest, bulldozed off the top of one of the hills, and poured our foundation. Everything looked beautiful and perfect when we bought the property.

We first realized something was wrong when Hubby tried to plant a garden. The cucumbers and lettuce were inedibly bitter. The tomato plants withered and died, producing blackened fruit. Moles ate the beets. Only green beans flourished.

We paid a local dairy farmer $100 for a load of manure. Hubby worked the garden with the rototiller, mixing the regolith (the nutrient-void layer of ground below the subsoil) with manure, but to no avail. The ground didn’t have the nutrients needed for a garden to flourish. All the topsoil had been removed. After eight years of failed gardens, Hubby finally gave up.

Last year, when Hubby went to trim the branches for the zipline, he noticed a hole in the ground at the base, where the flying stops and your feet must hit the ground running. He took a long stick and poked it into the hole. The stick went six feet down before it hit bottom. A sinkhole in Wisconsin?

He got out the spade shovel and began to dig. And dig. And dig. At the bottom? The remains of the trees from the forest they had cleared twenty years ago, when they built our house. Instead of hauling away the felled trees, they simply buried them. Over time, they have decayed until all that is left are sinkholes, which Hubby has spent a portion of the spring digging out and filling with dirt.

“Whoever digs a hole and scoops it out, falls into the pit they have made.”(Psalm 7:15)

Twenty years ago, holes were dug to hide trees. We lived here all this time and never knew our yard would soon be filled with pits.

“Be sure your sin will find you out.” (Numbers 32:23)

I wonder how often we sin and cover our sins. It may be something small. Nobody knows. Nobody will ever find out. It may be something big. Hiding the evidence might take significant effort. Some people may hint at knowing our secret, but a few white lies are enough to satiate their curiosity. No one will ever know.

As the days, weeks, months, and years pass, our unconfessed sin continues to fester. It’s like the buried logs in my yard. Hidden from view, the construction crew might not even recall their deed. But rot they will. Walking on what appears to be solid ground, we suddenly sink. We can be sure - our sin will find us out.

But if we acknowledge our sins, confessing and asking forgiveness from both those we have offended and our Heavenly Father, our good and grace-filled God gives us what we don’t deserve: forgiveness.

“If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” (John 1:8-9)

And we can then begin anew. No more trying to remember which lies we told to which people. No more internal knots in our gut as we consider our past deeds. Instead, we can lay a pure foundation in our lives, building on the solid rock of our Lord Jesus Christ. He will never rot or decay. We will never experience unseen sinkholes. Those who have Jesus as their foundation will survive and receive a reward.

“Let each one take care how he builds upon it. For no one can lay a foundation other than that which is laid, which is Jesus Christ. Now if anyone builds on the foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, straw—each one’s work will become manifest, for the Day will disclose it, because it will be revealed by fire, and the fire will test what sort of work each one has done. If the work that anyone has built on the foundation survives, he will receive a reward. If anyone’s work is burned up, he will suffer loss, though he himself will be saved, but only as through fire.” (1 Corinthians 3:10b-15)

I once again climb the weathered steps. Grabbing the trolley, I fly in the freedom found only in Jesus Christ.

*****************************************************************************************************

On another note, Happy 3rd Anniversary to Pursuing Perfection!! This is the 228th article posted. Help me share Jesus by hitting the ‘SHARE’ button. Jesus is a gift that lasts a lifetime (and beyond!).

Share

Photo by CLINTON MWEBAZE on Unsplash

I looked into the smiling eyes of our waitress and choked back my laughter. I hadn’t realized North Carolina was far enough south for us to experience the southern drawl, but there it was, incessantly grouping me as an individual with those I was with. I’m a ‘you’ in Wisconsin and a ‘y’all’ in the South. I certainly wasn’t prepared for the accent! I also didn’t know people ate fried chicken with waffles? Hmm.

Share

We roamed the mountains of the Asheville area, hiking the trails and observing wildlife we’d never seen. The rabbits in my home state of Wisconsin are Eastern Cottontails. The rabbits in the mountains of western North Carolina are Appalachian Cottontails. I immediately noticed the smaller ears and was thrilled to experience a new species. A few hundred yards from where we had watched Peter Cottontail, we heard a rustling in the undergrowth of the forest. Soon, chunks of dead leaves and dirt were flying all over. The culprit? A bird foraging for food. It was about the size of a Rose-Breasted Grosbeak, but with different colors. After researching, we learned it was an Eastern Towhee searching for grubs. Yum.

Differences in vocabulary and accents, differences in terrain, and differences in wildlife. We quickly learned there is also a difference in the amount of rain North Carolina receives: 45-50 inches per year compared with Wisconsin’s meager 30-34 inches. Every day, we were caught in the rain. Sunny day hiking in the mountains? Sure, until minutes later it’s a torrential downpour! Decide to walk to the restaurant instead of drive? Sure, until minutes later we’re drenched to the bone and hiding under a tiny overhang of a downtown building! By day #4, I was tired of the rain. I almost bought an umbrella.

Shopping alone on Main Street, a store employee began sorting through clothing items on a sidewalk rack while I shopped. She smiled joyfully at me and said,

“Don’t ya just love an overcast day?”

Truthfully? Not really. In fact, no. I don’t love an overcast day. Why would she say such a thing? Overcast is kinda gloomy. The brilliant blue sky is completely hidden from sight. The temperature drops, causing my body to enter full goosebump mode. My mood changes from warm to cold. I drew on the warmth of past days and respectfully asked,

“What do you like about overcast days?”

“Oh! It’s just such a relief from the heat when we get a break from the sun!”

I smiled, laughed, and applauded her positivity before moving on.

The next store was owned by a man on a stool. He possibly hadn’t moved from the stool in years, or moved much of anything in recent years, except his mouth. Dust from the most recent war fought in North Carolina remained settled on the relics. I made eye contact with the owner and was caught in a snare. Snap!

His fishing stories turned into hunting stories, which turned into the legality of selling some of the items in his store (some items are therefore, supposedly, not for sale). He was so friendly! I commented on the friendliness of the people in North Carolina, sharing with him the “beauty of an overcast day” comment.

“People around here will say things like that all the time. It’s just the culture to say something positive. Why focus on the negative?”

“It’s like a Southern Sweetness?”

“Exactly! Southern Hospitality!”

Kinda like Minnesota Nice.

According to Wikipedia, Minnesota Nice is a stereotype implying that Minnesotans are friendly, avoid confrontation, and display emotional restraint.

I walked the cobblestone streets and pondered the niceness of it all. Would Jesus display Southern Hospitality? Would Jesus be Minnesota Nice?

When Jesus heard that John the Baptist had been beheaded, He withdrew in a boat to a solitary place. I imagine He wanted to process the news alone. Instead, crowds of people followed Jesus. When He came to shore, large crowds awaited Him. I don’t know how Jesus really felt, but if it were me, I would have told them to go away. No Minnesota Nice. No Southern Hospitality. Just a heartfelt plea of, “Please leave me alone. My friend was just brutally murdered. Allow me to grieve, please.”

Instead, Jesus had compassion on them and healed their sick. While He mourned, He served. The disciples then came to Jesus, telling Him to send the crowds away because they had no food. Jesus replied, “They do not need to go away. You give them something to eat.” He then proceeded to take the five loaves and two fish, give thanks, and miraculously feed 5,000 people. (Matthew 14:12-21)

This is Jesus-style Hospitality. This is Jesus Nice. Looking beyond myself. Looking beyond my needs and seeing others. In the midst of my pain, serving can be the necessary ointment for healing.

Driving home to Wisconsin after landing in Minneapolis, I noticed the lush green trees and the soft beauty of the Wisconsin countryside. We sat on our deck, sheltered by the dense jungle surrounding our house. I’m thankful for the differences between North Carolina and Wisconsin/Minnesota, but even more thankful for the similarities. Both areas choose to positively love and serve those around them, and they’re both pieces of the vast mosaic called the United States of America.

How about you? What area of the world do you live in? Do you experience something similar to Southern Hospitality or Minnesota Nice? I would love to hear! Tell me about your culture in the comments section.

Photo by Tyke Jones on Unsplash

His body was riddled with cancer; the end was in sight. Family surrounded him, tending to his every need. Hospice nurses came and went, allowing Grandpa to die at home. Love permeated his final weeks.

“My toe hurts.”

It was an unusual complaint. With cancer spread through much of his body and his organs shutting down, why would his toe be the focal point of pain?

His grandson was assigned the task of monitoring the toe pain. With a pencil and paper in hand, he began to chart the toe-pain times.

9:02

9:05

9:07

Lovingly, his grandson watched his weak and withered grandpa struggle. Grandpa had always been so strong, a pillar of faith, a man committed to Jesus. Now they sat together, focused on the pain.

9:08

9:11

And I am guilty of the same thing.

Share

Before I open my eyes in the morning, I am reminded of the miseries that await me when I get out of bed. Physical ailments prevent me from living my life the way I want. Failed relationships plague my thoughts as my brain continuously cycles through healing scenarios. Three friends have died in the past month, with two more clinging to life. Even more loved ones are clinging to eternal death as they continue to deny Jesus as their Lord and Savior. Count them with me-

Trouble #1

Trouble #2

Trouble #3…

I remember when Aunt Gladys was still alive. I would round up my young kiddos and try to visit her once a week. We would knock and wait for her gravelly, “Come in!” Sitting in the recliner, her slim figure dwarfed by its beige leather width, she individually welcomed each child.

“Tell me what you have been doing this week. Baseball? And what position are you playing? And how is your team doing? You keep at it! You’re getting so big and strong!”

Her meticulously set silver hair synced perfectly with her stylish suits and sweaters. As she sent the children off to find the A&W root beer and vanilla ice cream purchased specially for them, I would inquire about her.

“I’m doing well, Tessa. I have no complaints.”

No complaints? Allow me, for a moment, to complain for then-97-year-old Gladys.

Gladys was the oldest of six children, and the only one still alive.

Gladys and Howard desired children, but were infertile.

Howard died twenty years earlier, leaving Gladys alone. No parents. No siblings. No children. She was one of two left from the 1938 high school graduating class. She and her classmate would meet at a local cafe for lunch for their annual class reunion. The rest of her friends from that generation had all died.

Gladys was legally blind, rendering her without her favorite pastime - reading.

All of these past and current struggles, but no complaints. She was not a glass-half-empty person, nor was she a glass-half-full person. Gladys always had a full glass. Spending time with her filled my cup because hers was always overflowing.

My friend’s grandson continued to record the pain-in-the-toe times for almost 90 minutes. I can almost feel the frantic misery, diligently focusing on the pain, blocking out everything else to think only of his toe. In frustration and grief, his daughter finally flipped the paper over.

“Blessings. Count your blessings. Write down every blessing Grandpa can think of!”

This piece of paper with toe-pain times on one side and blessings on the other side was shared at his funeral. He was never one to focus on the pain, and the overflowing church was encouraged to do likewise.

I get out of bed, thinking of my friend. He left this earth counting his blessings and is even more thankful now, as he is with Jesus. I think of Gladys and her cup that filled me when she was here on this earth. How would she mentally approach trials?

Counting blessings instead of troubles.

It’s my choice.

It’s going to be a good day.

“Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.” (Phillipians 4:8)

Photo by Izzy Park on Unsplash

Yes, I’m admittedly a deep emotional feeler, but in recent years, Mother’s Day has been a tough day to make it through. I try to ignore it, but the man-made purpose of the day permeates everything. I wake up in the morning to texts containing flashing electronic bouquets, all from well-intentioned friends who love me and want to celebrate motherhood together. I walk into church and am met with at least a dozen “Happy Mother’s Day!” greetings. A video designed to pull at the heartstrings of a mom is played, a special prayer is prayed, and flowers are gifted to each woman who has been blessed with children.

I have been blessed with children, but for some reason, on Mother’s Day, I feel like a failure.

Share

“What do you want to do for Mother’s Day?” my faithful Hubby asks.

“Curl up in the fetal position and cry?”

He gently squeezes my hand. “And what are we going to do?”

I decide on a long hike through a Wisconsin state park. We lace up our Brooks, watch Nuka excitedly hop into the truck, and hit the trails. Each step is meditative therapy as I ponder why this day is so hard. Maybe it’s because I have four children, and I’m spending the day with my Hubby and my Husky. Maybe it’s because I know only one of my four kids will reach out with a phone call. Maybe it’s because, despite all of my best intentions, hard work, love, devotion, and sacrifice, life didn’t turn out the way I had planned.

My baby brother reminds me, “Their story isn’t over. The last chapter has not been written. He who began a good work in your kids will be faithful to complete it. There’s still hope they’ll return to Jesus.” (A baby brother is always a baby brother, even when he’s almost a half-century!)

Hubby and I reach the summit. We each claim a rock for a chair, as Nuka lies in the shade of the forest. Neither of us knows what to say, as the heaviness of parenting suffocates us. Mirrors surround us, reflecting ourselves, saying, “It’s your fault. If you were a better mom, your kids would be walking with Jesus.”

The tears I have been holding back all day erupt. Why did God bless me with children at all if I would turn out to be such a failure as a mom? I remember studying for an exam in college, only to walk out of the exam realizing I had failed. The final exam of parenting is our adult children, isn't it? If 75% of my kids have chosen a life without Jesus and end up in hell, then I got a 25% in parenting. It’s a big old ‘F’. Failure. Failure. Failure.

I ponder how our Heavenly Father endures this weight? Every human being who has ever existed is His child. All creation displays His glory, yet minute by minute, people choose to reject the Creator and exalt the created - themselves. A quick Google search indicates approximately one-third of people identify as ‘Christian’. Even if we assume this statistic to be true, it means two-thirds of people have rejected Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior. The stats of God’s global family are not so different from my own family.

But God is perfect. He doesn’t get an ‘F’ in parenting, and He is not a failure. It’s certainly not God’s fault that people reject Him; in fact, He knew they would reject Him before He created them. God is omniscient. He knows everything: the past, present, and the future. He knew who would choose to follow Him before He created the heavens and the earth. He already knows the outcome for my kiddos.

So maybe it’s not all my fault if my kids are not living for Jesus right now?

Maybe the final exam of parenting is not only how my parenting has changed my children, but also includes how parenting has changed me.

Being a mom has created in me a servant’s heart. Being a mom has allowed me to love more deeply than I ever knew was possible. Being a mom has molded me into a person who can love someone I would have previously said was impossible to love. Being a mom has stripped me of my pride and self-sufficiency and brought me to my knees in complete surrender and submission to Jesus, my only source of strength in times of trouble. Being a mom has made me more clearly reflect His image.

Maybe I didn’t get an ‘A’ in parenting, but there are always openings for extra credit!

We arrive home dusty, hot, and sweaty. I pull out my phone. If they won’t celebrate Mother’s Day with me, I’ll still choose to celebrate. I text-

“Being the mother of the four of you has been one of the greatest blessings of my life. May each of you live knowing I love you more than you will ever realize, and that our Heavenly Father, who knit you together in my womb, loves you even more. Have a wonderful day.”

For God so loved the world, and that includes all of us, even those who don’t love Him back. He loved us so much that he sent His only son. His son. I know the depth of the love for a son. He sent his one and only son - Jesus. Jesus, who existed in the form of God, but did not regard equality with God a thing to be grasped. Jesus, who emptied himself, taking on the form of a servant. Jesus, who humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. He died the death that we deserve. All we need to do is believe in Him to have eternal life. Jesus, who is now highly exalted, and every knee will bow and tongue confess that He is Lord. God did this because He loves me, and He loves my children. He will never cease pursuing them.

And Hubby and I will continue to love and serve and humble ourselves, reflecting His image this Father’s Day, knowing the last chapter has not been written in the lives of our kiddos.

Photo by Sara Dubler on Unsplash

Share

I smiled and invited him to join me at the bench. He sat down and began bouncing up and down, and then began rocking the bench back and forth. Hubby had already fixed the bench once and requested that I stop students from leaning the bench on only two legs.

I’m excited to hear your music today! I put my hand on the bench to prevent the rocking. Remember the bench rule? All four legs on the floor. You did so well last week. I know you can do it again!

Joseph smiled at me and stopped rocking.

What was your favorite song this past week?

He opened his book to “The Singing Donkey.” Placing his hands in the wrong position with flat fingers, a slouched back, and forgetting to count, he completed the song without noticing anything wrong. This tells me that he probably practiced it like this all week long. I glanced at his tally sheet to see how much he had practiced. Joseph had faithfully played “The Singing Donkey” 25 times this past week.

I am SO proud of you for practicing! You did an amazing job of getting to the piano! Thank you so much!

He beamed with pride.

Pointing to the score with my pencil, I asked, Could you tell me the name of this note?

I could see his brain working, counting the lines and spaces using the acrostic “All Cows Eat Grass.”

“C.”

And what finger should go on ‘C’?

“5.”

That’s right! Could you please put your hands in that position? Thank you! And what is our time signature?

“4/4.”

Yes! Before you begin a second time, let’s count an imaginary measure so we can feel four beats in every measure before we play. Ready? 1-2-3-4.

He played through the second time with remarkable improvements.

That was amazing! You made the piano sound like a donkey!

Joseph spontaneously threw himself at me and hugged me tightly.

“I love you, teacher!”

I love you too, Joseph.

I learned early on that my job as a piano teacher is to tell people what they are doing wrong. People pay me to come to my house, play a piece of music, and have me tear it apart - every nit-picky little detail. Even when it is the last lesson before a big piano competition, there is still some tiny minute detail we can change to make the piece even better.

But who wants to be told they are wrong?

Nobody.

Who in their right mind would pay me to do such a thing?

So I shifted my teaching style to be an encouraging question asker instead of a ruler-yielding dictator who smacks students on the back of the hand for every violation (I have never done this, but I have heard many reports of ladies wearing habits using this technique - but I have verified none). Instead of kids feeling like failures, they feel empowered because they have the tools and knowledge in their brains; they just aren’t always quick at determining which tool to use. By asking questions, I am helping them sift through their piano knowledge to find the right tools to use in playing the piece.

I wish I could claim ownership of these ideas, but credit for their origin in my life goes to Dale Carnegie. In his Golden Book of Rules, he shares many ideas on having smooth communication in all relationships. A few that I apply at the piano are:

• Begin with praise and honest appreciation: Soften the delivery of feedback.

• Call attention to people’s mistakes indirectly: Correct errors without causing offense.

• Ask questions instead of giving direct orders

• Praise the slightest improvement and praise every improvement: Be hearty in your approbation.

But the true origin of these ideas is Jesus. In the four Gospels, Jesus asks over 300 questions. A favorite is found in John 1:38, where he asks two disciples, “What are you seeking?” This question alone, asked repetitively over and over again, could kick-start a spiritual journey in an atheist. What are we seeking? Even my students at the piano are seeking more than music. My job is to love them well, and when they are ready to discuss the deep questions of life, I am here, ready and waiting.

Joseph continued piano lessons from 4th grade through his senior year. He was eventually diagnosed as high-functioning autistic. As he got older, my stress level during his lessons completely evaporated and turned to pure joy. We laughed together, played music together, and eventually he was singing into a microphone while playing the piano. Joseph invited me to every performance he had in the high school musical productions, where he eventually landed a supporting lead role. As he sang his solo in front of hundreds, I couldn’t prevent the tears from streaming down my cheeks. Nobody knew how many times he and I sat together on the floor, hitting blocks together and counting to four. Nobody knew how long it took for his voice to match the pitch of the piano key. Nobody knew how long it took to get him to sit on the bench. Nobody except Joseph and me.

As we sat at his last piano lesson, reminiscing over the past nine years together, he looked me in the eye (something he had been unable to do when we first started) and said,

“Thank you for being so nice to me. Nobody else is nice to me except for you, my mom, and my dad.”

It’s a sad statement, but one that echoes in my head as the next Joseph walks into my studio. I will encourage him, love him well, and tell him something good.

Photo by Kateryna Hliznitsova on Unsplash

When I do share nuggets of wisdom, it’s typically to share my failings as a mom, helping others to learn from my mistakes. I look back at my years of parenting and see glaring faults which I would gladly go back and change if only someone would loan me their flux capacitor.

Here’s the question that is always present in my brain–

Is there something I could have done or said that would have kept my children from sinning?

Share

As he handed the throne to his son, King David shared these words with Solomon:

“As for you, my son Solomon, know the God of your father, and serve Him with a loyal heart and with a willing mind; for the Lord searches all hearts and understands all the intent of the thoughts. If you seek Him, He will be found by you; but if you forsake Him, He will cast you off forever. (1 Chronicles 28:9)

The 3 things David shares?

1. Know God

2. Serve God with a loyal heart

3. Serve God with a willing mind

1. To Know God-

When Hubby and I met, it was difficult to find a moment when he wasn’t in my thoughts. We desired to spend as much time together as possible, even meeting up for 20 minutes during our lunch hours (we were kinda like magnets)! As much as I love Hubby, he’s not God. Do I seek time with God daily? Is He constantly in my thoughts? Do I make an effort to meet with Him for lunch? Talking to God throughout the day in the form of prayer, and listening to His response as I read the Word, helps me to know the God who created the Heavens and Earth.

“We are cruel to ourselves if we try to live in this world without knowing about the God whose world it is and who runs it. The world becomes a strange, mad, painful place, and life in it a disappointing and unpleasant business for those who do not know about God. Disregard the study of God, and you sentence yourself to stumble and blunder through life blindfolded, as it were, with no sense of direction and no understanding of what surrounds you. This way you can waste your life and lose your soul.” (Knowing God, J.I. Packer)

2. To Serve God with a Loyal Heart-

When I was first saved, I used to ‘serve’ God, thinking He needed me. But He didn’t create me to meet any needs that He has. God doesn’t need anything. He can accomplish everything without my help - He’s God! Even the effort that I expend in serving comes from Him; I cannot serve God without God giving me the ability to serve! Yet we are still commanded to serve the Lord with gladness and with a loyal heart - a heart forever committed to Him. Doing so brings Him glory and helps me to live as Christ, who came to serve by giving His life as a ransom for many.

3. To Serve God with a Willing Mind-

“Choose this day whom you will serve, but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord. “(Joshua 24:15)

Following the Lord is a choice. I am confronted with decisions daily. “What would bring the Lord glory?” is a good question to ask. The more time spent getting to know God, the easier time we will have answering this question.

As David shared with Solomon, the consequences of not knowing and serving God are harsh.

“If you seek Him, He will be found by you; but if you forsake Him, He will cast you off forever.” (1 Chronicles 28:9b)

Did Solomon listen? I wish I could say, “Yes.”

“Therefore the Lord said to Solomon, ‘Since this has been your practice and you have not kept my covenant and my statutes that I have commanded you, I will surely tear the kingdom from you and will give it to your servant.’” (1 Kings 11:11)

Solomon’s father, King David, was a man after God’s own heart. He gave great parenting advice, but Solomon didn’t listen. We, too, can keep pointing our children to Jesus, but they also won’t always listen and obey. When this happens, what hope do I cling to?

God’s word does not return void. (Isaiah 55:11)

He will never leave nor forsake my children. (Deuteronomy 31:6)

He who began a good work in my kiddos will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ. (Philippians 1:6)

My children are more valuable to the Lord than sparrows. (Matthew 6:26)

And I will pray without ceasing, knowing He’s in control.

Photo by Sabine van Straaten on Unsplash

Ouch. Sipping my coffee through my morning devotions, God’s Word hit me like a ton of bricks. Why did Jesus just tell me that I would never enter the kingdom of Heaven? Not exactly the encouragement I wanted to start my day.

Share

Yesterday, one of my piano students was learning a large, fast run in the middle of a Mozart piece. We divided the run into a pattern that repeats itself multiple times, but even after recognizing this pattern, the measure was a big, hairy mess. After multiple attempts and great frustration, I suggested we learn the pattern backwards, starting at the end. Minutes later, the passage was comprehended - slow, yet smooth.

What if I tried the same thing with today’s reading?

“Therefore, whoever relaxes one of the least of these commandments and teaches others to do the same will be called least in the kingdom of heaven, but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 5:19-20)

“You will never enter the kingdom of Heaven.”

Who will never enter? If I go backwards, I’ll find my answer.

“Unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will not enter the kingdom of Heaven.”

Yikes. Obviously, the unrighteous will never enter, but the scribes and Pharisees? On the outside, they certainly appear to obey the law, but God looks at the heart. I’ve vented some not-so-nice words to Hubby over the past year and had some uber-critical thoughts. My righteousness exceeding that of the scribes and Pharisees? Hmm. Sometimes I’m wallowing in a sea of unrighteousness, flailing for a life preserver to save me from my own wretchedness.

“Whoever does the commandments and teaches others to do the same will be called great in the kingdom of Heaven.”

But I don’t follow all the commandments. No other gods. No worshipping carved images. No use of the Lord’s name in vain. Keep the Sabbath. Honor Mom and Dad. No murder, adultery, theft, false witnessing, or coveting. What commandments I don’t break on the outside, I break on the inside.

So how can I be made righteous?

And Jesus said, “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to FULFILL them.” (emphasis mine)

So when Jesus came, He didn’t get rid of the Law, but instead showed that He is the only one who can perfectly obey the law. He lived a perfect life, and in His perfect life, fulfilled the prophecies of the Old Testament Scriptures. As John the Baptist announced, Jesus is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.

Putting my coffee down, I started reading again, this time going slowly forward.

Jesus is the fulfillment of the Law and the prophets, which will not go away or be changed because of Jesus.

Even though I can’t keep and teach the commandments perfectly like Jesus, I can still try. It would be kinda cool to be called great in the kingdom of Heaven!

The only righteousness I have has been imputed to me by Jesus because I believe in Him, therefore my righteousness DOES exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees.

I will therefore enter the kingdom of Heaven.

Thank you, Jesus, for taking the punishment for my sin when you died on the cross.

Will you enter the kingdom of Heaven?

Ponder this as you enjoy Mozart.

Photo by Lan Gao on Unsplash

It began when I committed my life to Jesus.

Up until that time, life had been pretty good. I grew up in a middle-class home in the suburbs. Mom and Dad stayed married to each other. While growing up, I never attended a funeral or knew anyone who was sick with cancer, heart disease, kidney failure, or mental illness. Life wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t wretched either. It was just kinda normal. We weren’t a Christian family, so Satan left us alone. Satan didn’t need to attack my family; he already had us.

Shortly after committing my life to Christ as an adult, the barrage of incoming missiles began; missiles of infertility, epilepsy, heart issues resulting in my first pacemaker at age 32, dead babies, traumatic brain injuries, and relationship struggles. Unlike modern-day Israel, I didn’t have an Iron Dome. Friends stood on my right and my left, holding up each of my arms to help me prevail in the battles. They spoke truth in my life, constantly pointing me to the promises found in God’s Word. He would never leave me nor forsake me. I do not need to fear, for He is with me. He will keep me in perfect peace if my mind is stayed on Him. I was soon dressed in the full armor of God, prepared to take my stand against the devil’s schemes.

But why would God allow these constant attacks? If He truly loved me, I reasoned, wouldn’t He simply prevent the hardships and let me live a healthy, joy-filled, perfect life? It’s a logical, human thought. But God’s ways are higher than my ways, and His thoughts are higher than my thoughts. What if trials are for my good? God’s Word shows us many people who endured suffering well.

Moses had a thankless job. Tasked with leading the Israelites out of slavery, you’d think the people would be thankful. Instead, they morphed into the complaining generation. Life in the wilderness was hard! Hunger, manna in the morning, oodles of quail, water from a rock, a golden calf, drinking water with gold, smashed commandments; the list goes on and on. Why 40 years of wandering around in the desert? Punishment for sin? Yes, but God also didn’t want them to settle in the desert; He wanted future generations to inherit the promised land, a land overflowing with milk and honey. What if Moses had said, “Hey, life is good eating this manna. Let’s stop following the pillar of cloud by day and the pillar of fire by night. Let’s just permanently set up camp here.” God didn’t want them to be comfortable in the desert; He wanted them in the promised land. In the same way, we don’t need to be comfortable here on earth; God wants us in Heaven. The more I suffer, the more I long for Heaven, my forever home, where there will be no more mourning or crying or pain; the place where I will no longer be a nomad.

In Phillipi, Paul and Silas were flogged and thrown into prison, where their feet were fastened in stocks. At midnight, they sat on the prison floor with raw, open, oozing wounds, bodies broken and sore. Were they crying out in self-pity? No. Paul and Silas were singing hymns and praying to God. The other prisoners heard. The jailer heard. Our reaction amid suffering exposes Christ to the world. As you suffer well, keeping your eyes fixed on Jesus, others watching will know that a mere human cannot endure such hardship without being crushed. Your supernatural strength will be revealed, and those watching you, like the Philippian jailer, will cry out, “What must I do to be saved?”

Nobody is immune to suffering. In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus’ response was prayer. As He prepared to take the weight of the world on His shoulders, He was deeply grieved to the point of death. “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from Me; yet not as I will, but as You will.” And again, “My Father, if this cup cannot pass away unless I drink from it, Your will be done.” (Matthew 26:39, 26:42) God had a purpose in the suffering of Jesus. Part of that purpose was the salvation of everyone who believes in Jesus.

As each day brings its hardships and challenges, I can choose to wallow in self-pity or trust in God’s good and perfect plan. Suffering forces me to my knees. Suffering refines me, making me look more like Jesus. Suffering illuminates ‘normal’ times, making them shine in my life as ‘blessed’ times, allowing me to live a thankful life. Although suffering may feel bad, it’s not bad; it’s part of our sanctification. Keeping my eyes set on Jesus, I can breathe.

“We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.” (Romans 5:3-5)

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez 🇨🇦 on Unsplash

It brought back memories of first piano lessons: feet dangling from the bench, legs too tiny to reach the floor; dainty fingers too weak to press the right keys; eyes staring at their fingers instead of the musical score. I remember the sassy phases of development, where my comment of “Left-hand thumb on ‘G’” was rebuked with, “It was on ‘G’!” I remember the piano recital where the student arrived, consumed by so much anxiety and tears, that I prayed with her beforehand and told her to give me a ‘thumbs-up’ or ‘thumbs-down’ when her turn came, if she decided she could perform. She delivered a stellar performance of ‘El-Shaddai’ and went on to become one of my best students in 29 years of teaching.

Share

But not everything that happens at my piano bench is piano-related. Life will always be more important than music, and I justify these conversations with students by knowing that a piano lesson costs a lot less than a therapy session. Over the years, I have walked many challenging roads with students. Intentional cuts on wrists and arms are quite visible when they are 18 inches from my eyes, so I initiate conversations and steps to healing. Puffy eyes, making contact with mine, are cause for conversation and a listening ear. Painted fingernails on a male student is something that warrants questioning about what it means to be made in the image of God. Recovering stages of bruising means we talk about how a boyfriend should treat his girlfriend and the proper next steps for safety.

If I am perfectly honest with my profession, I know that many of those whom I teach every week will not actually play the piano the rest of their lives, but they will live life for the rest of their lives. I want to help prepare them to live it well. Some days, students arrive in need of a friend, a safe adult, and a listening ear. How can I expect them to play the piano when they have been sparring with Mom the entire drive to my house? I tread carefully, always being respectful of the parents and encouraging the kids toward honor, respect, and healing in family relationships. And when the student’s heart is no longer racing and their blood pressure no longer soaring, we find peace in the music.

It was during the tumultuous times throughout my own teen years, when my family was in chaos and falling apart around me, that I turned to music. I found my fingers creating something beautiful in the midst of the ugly. If I were sad, the sadness flowed through my fingers and into the keys. If I were mad, the madness would morph into serenity as I played. If I were at peace, an unintentional celebration happened as joy and peace collided to make something extraordinary. My piano became my therapy; my piano teacher, my friend, and confidant.

Teaching students to use music to help them through life’s ups and downs is a gift they will always be able to use. Most will never play at Carnegie Hall, but neither did I. What I did do was turn to my personal piano therapy during the many tough times in my life. Piano and prayer, those are my go-tos! My five senior students have just graduated. After a decade of seeing them every week at the piano, it’s hard to picture life without them. We’ve lived a lot of life together, yet I hold them with an open hand, encouraging them to fly. They are ready. They have survived Mendelssohn, Liszt, Rachmaninoff, and Chopin. They have learned to persevere through tough trials. I pray they will each continue to follow Jesus through every moment. Some will invite me to weddings and baby showers and include me always in these special moments; others I will never see again. Whatever the outcome, I know that I have invested in these precious lives, and we are both forever changed for the good.

For we know that music is a gift from God, a healing balm for our souls.

A world without music is a world without color for our ears

Subscribe now

Photo by Leon Wu on Unsplash

But they don’t miss me.

The walls echo memories of years well-lived.

Share

I envision the hand-made quilt my friend Anne made for my firstborn daughter. We’re excitedly cheering her on as she rolls for the first time.

I see my 5-year-old precocious son standing on a chair next to the stove, stirring the noodles from a box of mac-n-cheese, making lunch for his siblings.

The same son is now at the Kitchen-Aid mixer, making chocolate-chip cookies by dumping all the ingredients into the bowl at once and then turning it on. They came out fantastic and destroyed my claim-to-fame that my cookies were amazing because I creamed the butter and sugar until it was fluffy.

The same son is now at the kitchen table doing his math. The mental frustration gets the best of him; his table spot bears the forever scars of smashed pencil dents to prove it.

I see my daughters knitting on the couch as I read books aloud to them.

I feel their uncalloused tiny fingers as we pray together.

I see my son sitting at a make-shift desk in the living room, computer screen facing outward for all of us to see as he teaches himself how to program computers at age ten.

His violin is now singing a Gavotte.

My daughter’s fingers are playing, “I Can Only Imagine” while her soft voice sings along.

The drums are rattling the windows. I close my eyes and smile, knowing his pent-up energy is being used to develop a skill.

My daughter’s bunnies are hopping around in the front yard as she breeds and sells them at age 12.

And the most savored part of the day - tucking each of them in every night. I pray with them, snuggle them, give back massages, foot massages, and double-arm scratches. I tell them freshly created stories of Berik and Berikka the eagles, or Sally and Sammy Squirrel. And year by year, one by one, the last story was told, the last back rub was given, and the last prayer was prayed.

And now they’re gone. The nest is empty.

How am I supposed to be a mom when my kids aren’t home?

The silence is deafening.

Hubby, Nuka, and I feel the emptiness because it contrasts with the fullness of twenty-seven years of kids at home, but the kids don’t feel the emptiness because their lives are full to the brim. They are self-sufficient. They don’t need me anymore.

I was five when Harry Chapin’s Cat’s in the Cradle came out. My sister and I sat unbuckled in the backseat of the station wagon and sang along. As my years went the way of fine wine, the song crescendoed in my mind. I didn’t have planes to catch and bills to pay. My kiddos learned to walk while I was there with them every single day. I left my career and became a stay-at-home homeschooling mama. I made sure there would be no fault in me for not loving my kids well enough! Cat’s in the Cradle puts the onus of the wilted father-son relationship on the father neglecting the son during childhood. But I committed 27 years of my life to my children. No neglect.

So why are my relationships with my adult kids wilting?

I listened again to Harry Chapin. What was I missing? I don’t want my relationships with my adult kiddos to turn out like the lonely father in the song.

When the dad in the song is finally retired and requests to see his son, what is the son’s response?

“The new job’s a hassle, and the kids have the flu, but it’s been sure nice talking to you.”

And the Dad hangs up. End of story.

Last fall, I realized I was in a ‘Cat’s in the Cradle’ stage in my relationship with my daughter. She and her husband are both working full-time jobs, each working on advanced degrees, have one daughter and another babe on the way, and recently purchased their first home. When I called, saying, “I’d like to see you, if you don’t mind.” She said, “I’d love to, Mom, if I could find the time.” It was then that I realized that, while she may not have the time, I do! What if I make a full dinner and dessert - letting her choose from her favorite recipes from over the years - and Hubby and I will make the drive to their house, bringing them dinner and treats, and leaving at an appropriate time so they can still relax at the end of the evening? Guess what? It’s a new TRADITION!

My kids are all very busy. They don’t have time right now to make the drive to see us, but we can make the time to prioritize them without imposing. We can be a help instead of an obligation or a burden. I wonder if Cat’s in the Cradle would have ended differently if the dad had asked,

“Would it help if I came to stay with the sick kids so you can work?”

Maybe someday the walls of our home will again be filled with boisterous laughter, tackling and teasing, hand-held prayers and reflections, but until then, Hubby and I will bring our love in the form of food and fellowship to let our fledglings know that we still care.

And in doing so, we are contributing pieces of straw to help them build their own nests.

Subscribe now

Photo by Kari Shea on Unsplash

And we pumped it up for the kids, including a Culver’s stop, so we all enjoyed our Saturday nights at Bethlehem. No need for nursery!!

But on March 27, 2010, nobody told me to bring a box of Kleenex. I watched as Pastor John humbly approached the pulpit, stating-

“I see several species of pride in my soul that, while they may not rise to the level of disqualifying me for ministry, grieve me, and have taken a toll on my relationship with Noël and others who are dear to me. How do I apologize to you, not for a specific deed, but for ongoing character flaws, and their effects on everybody? I’ll say it now, and no doubt will say it again, I’m sorry. Since I don’t have just one deed to point to, I simply ask for a spirit of forgiveness; and I give you as much assurance as I can that I am not making peace, but war, with my own sins.” (https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/john-pipers-upcoming-leave)

John Piper was taking an eight-month leave of absence. This time away from the pulpit was not a sabbatical to write a book, but rather time taken to consider the “species of pride” in his soul.

Share

The impact of hearing those confessionally humble words from a man I held on a pedestal has grounded me for the past 16 years.

We all would do well to consider the species of pride growing in our own souls. What might pride look like? Consider these conscious or subconscious thoughts.

1. “I need to be the best, have the best, or look the best.” While there is nothing wrong with doing your best to get an ‘A’ on a test, training hard to win a race, dressing nicely, or exercising to stay in shape to keep up your temple, there is a line that, when crossed, quickly reveals a species of pride. If the goal of being at the top of the class is to make you shine, it’s pride. If the goal in winning the race is to draw attention to yourself, it’s pride. If the goal in working out is to look good at the beach so all eyes are on you, it’s pride. If the end goal is to make Jesus shine and glorify God, then we’re headed in the right direction.

2. “My faith makes me feel good about myself.” While there is nothing wrong with going to church, reading the Bible, tithing, and serving others, if it is making you feel ‘puffed up’, it may be worth pulling out the microscope to check for an undetected species of pride. Is the goal in attending church to be seen by others, or to worship God? Is the goal in reading the Bible to check off a box so you can tell others you read your Bible, or to hear the Word of God? Is the goal in tithing to have bragging rights, even if only in your own mind, or to faithfully obey God, knowing that it is He who has given you the ability to have any money at all? Is the goal in serving to show others how servant-minded you are, or to love others as Jesus did?

3. “My way is the best way.” We all have good ideas, sometimes even extraordinary ideas! But just because something is working well for me does not mean it’s going to work well for someone else. Sometimes their way is better than mine. When I find myself insisting on my perspective or pushing my views on someone else, it just may be a malignant species of pride growing in the petri dish of my soul. Being teachable and willing to explore others’ proposals reveals a more humble heart.

4. “I am superior.” We will never be superior. As hard as we try, we will never be the best, the most beautiful, or perfect. There is only one perfect person who has ever walked on Earth. His name is Jesus Christ. When He came to Earth as a man, He humbled Himself, even to the point of death on a cross. He is now exalted, with a name bestowed upon Him which is above ANY name. At the name of Jesus, every knee will bow, and every tongue confess that He is Lord. Anytime I am exalting myself, it is a species of pride. “But pride always means enmity - it is enmity. And not only enmity between man and man, but enmity to God.” (Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis) I don’t want enmity with God. I want to always hold my Creator in the highest esteem. While on earth, I will never be perfect, but I will always be Pursuing Perfection.

I am amazed at how many times in the past 16 years I have thought of John Piper’s humble admission. To see a man in a powerful position willingly step down to examine his heart is rarely seen. I have since recognized my own sin of putting a preacher on a pedestal. John Piper has now been removed from this mental pedestal, and instead has been categorized with the Apostle Paul, who said-

Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ. (I Corinthians 11:1)

Thank you, Pastor John, for your humble example.

Photo by Adrian Lange on Unsplash

“Love you, too.”

I pressed the red button on my phone and looked at Hubby. He shook his head and sighed. I looked down, disappointed and frustrated at our adult kiddo’s choices. Despite conversations, warnings, and encouragement to guide their decisions, it appeared that a gale-force wind had whisked away all of our advice, and it now rested at the bottom of the sea.

I glanced down at the book a friend recommended, The Let Them Theory by Mel Robbins. This book spent 32 weeks at the top of the New York Times Bestseller list. The overall premise of the book? If you don’t like what people are doing, don’t let it bother you. “Let them” do what they want.

Sounds simple and applicable - especially to parents of adult children, right?

Share

My first red flag appeared in the introduction:

“Start creating a life where you come first — your dreams, your goals, your happiness.” (The Let Them Theory, p. 12)

A life where I come first? That life ended for me when I-

1. Became a wife

2. Became a mom

3. Became a Christian

When I decided to quit my job to be a full-time mama, I received 100% support from Hubby. My days were soon filled with diapers and feedings, an abundance of laundry, and little sleep. But I took it upon myself to serve both my children and my husband. I wanted Hubby to want to come home from work and to feel loved. I learned how to cook meals from scratch and always had dinner waiting for him. I made sure the house was clean, and the toys were picked up. When we saw his car turn in the driveway, I gathered the kids together. When he opened the door, we greeted him with a parade of hugs and kisses, together chanting, “Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home!”

I could have let him come home to a mess, let him make his own dinner, and let him be ignored upon arrival - not encouraging our children’s hearts to be endeared to their father.

Did my heart always want to serve my husband? No. I definitely had times where selfishness burst through. But during those rocky times in our 32-year marriage, I wonder what would have happened had I listened to Mel Robbins instead of the Lord? Her advice?

“In life, the most courageous, honorable, and kind thing to do is tell someone you don’t want to be with them…It’s why people stay in marriages for a decade that they know have ended.” (The Let Them Theory, p. 124) (read it again…it’s truly a quote)

When I became a mom, every goal and ambition I had for myself was morphed. My new focus became the four blessings the Lord had given me. My kiddos have only one mom, and children have only one childhood. We homeschooled, filling our days with music and art, hiking and gardening, Scripture and serving, political canvassing and scraping manure, sledding and skating. Their childhoods were lively and full, so unique that they could never be replicated. As adults, my children feel they experienced more life during childhood than the average person.

I could have let them live a normal childhood. Instead, I gave them the best of me.

When I became a Christian, my life verse became Philippians 2:3-4:

“Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.”

If I am living for others, what would that look like? What should I let them hear? What should I let them do?

“The Lord said to me, ‘Gather the people to me, that I may let them hear my words, so that they may learn to fear me all the days that they live on the earth, and that they may teach their children so.” (Deuteronomy 4:10)

“Thus says the Lord God: This also I will let the house of Israel ask me to do for them.” Ezekiel 36:37

“But let all who take refuge in you rejoice; let them ever sing for joy, (Psalm 5:11a)

If I truly desire to let them, I will:

1. Let them hear the words of the Lord by sharing the Gospel with them.

2. Let them pray and receive prayer, letting them know God is in control.

3. Let them rejoice and take refuge in the Lord.

The words “let them” appear more than 200 times in Scripture. The Lord lets us do a lot of things, just not everything encouraged in The Let Them Theory.

Mel Robbins’ book is an attempt to help us avoid being controlled by what we can’t control (other people) and instead be empowered to control what we can (ourselves). While there is an element of truth to releasing things beyond our control, we shouldn’t violate the Lord’s commands while doing so. If we ‘let them’, we would never send missionaries, share the Gospel, or help the poor and needy. This book makes no claim to be a Christian book, yet I know enough Christians who have read it, referred it to others, and are excited about implementing the book’s ideas into their own lives.

Always remember that just because something is published doesn’t mean it’s true. The Bible is our anchor. Measure everything (including my writing) against the plumbline of Scripture.

I’ll let you do that!

Photo by Lucas Sankey on Unsplash

And I fear evil.

Before I open my eyes in the morning, my mind awakens to reality. Instant anxiety consumes my body as I remember. The world I am waking up to is not where I want to be. Maybe if I keep my eyes closed, I will fall back into dreamland. But my racing mind jumpstarts my heart. The day has begun.

“Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” (Hebrews 13:5) God made this promise. Yet I feel alone. Left. Forsaken. Where are you, God? In the midst of my suffering, if your arms are wrapped around me, I don’t feel them. If you are holding my hand, my hand remains icy-cold. If you are wiping the tears from my eyes, they are still flowing.

Share

Yet you are my shepherd. A shepherd leads, guards, provides, and protects. If I am following you, there is nothing I should want. Yet I do want. I want peace. I want happiness. I want to not be vulnerable in this world. Flaming arrows are being shot at me, piercing me day by day. Will you do nothing to protect me?

I open my eyes to clear blue skies. My same world, through a different lens. You provide me with a soft green pasture. I lie down in this green valley on a warm summer’s day. The luscious grass tickles my cheeks as the sun’s rays warm my face. My racing heart begins to slow as I breathe in and out. In and out. I stroll to the nearby still waters, dipping my feet and hands in the pure refreshment. Laughter escapes as I splash my tear-stained face with cool waters. The heaviness of my soul begins to lift. Restoration has begun.

Why are you leading me here? If only life were easy. Wouldn’t that be so much better? No? This sanctification process is purifying. It reveals my weaknesses. My lack of trust. My pride. My selfishness. My desire to cling to this world instead of seeking your kingdom first. Why are you leading me here? For your name’s sake. To bring glory to you, in the midst of my suffering. When it is over, I will look like you. The stain of sin will be chiseled from my body, bit by bit, as refining fire, until I reflect your image.

While standing ankle deep in the cool waters, I notice the table you prepared for me. The fine linens and bountiful spread are for me, and me alone, for you love me so. My eyes scan the horizon. We are surrounded by my enemies. They have come to overpower me, to lead me astray, to steal me from you. Yet you take my hand and lead me. You chivalrously pull back the chair, inviting me to sit. We will recline together, in the presence of my enemies.

I see your rod and staff; they comfort me. My anointed head is untouchable, for I belong to you. I feel the lavish, undeserved goodness of grace pouring over me. My cup runneth over.

I nod my head. I am beginning to understand. I will follow the Good Shepherd always. Sometimes I must walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, but with my eyes fixed on Jesus, surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Subscribe now

Photo by Anders Ipsen on Unsplash