Hairy Dog, Agnostics, and Surprising People God Uses

***Parallel Processing

Parallel process is a clinical term used to describe the common occurrence in therapy when the therapist’s own experience is reflected in the client’s. It is when a client comes in grieving over the loss of a loved one while the therapist has only just experienced his or her own loss as well. It is a therapist helping a client through feelings of anger and hurt that the therapist has also just recently confronted.

But, here’s the thing: we are all in parallel process. Too often in life it goes unsaid.

Here is where I say it.***

For my high school years I attended a captivating, red brick campus at the foot of Signal Mountain, Tennessee.  Both a boarding school and a day school, I experienced each of these worlds, living on the campus as a boarder my junior and senior year.  Are you old enough to have seen Dead Poet’s Society?  Got that campus look in your mind?  Ok, welcome to my high school.  In fact, I was told that they were going to film part of that movie at my alma mater, but because our chapel was under construction at the time it did not work.  SUPPOSEDLY one of the crew boat scenes has something to do with our campus?  Not sure how much of those rumors are urban…aww…suburban… legend…

That school wasn’t and isn’t for everyone, but I am not going to lie.  I loved it.  I loved my tennis team.  I loved my friends.  I loved the view from the library that overlooked the Tennessee River.  I loved the walk to the tennis courts…over Baylor lake that we always complained was a nasty mess, through the woods, to the tennis center… and I even loved the walk back…ALL the way up the hill to the dining hall…up all of those chapel steps…across the quad…my friends and I all sweaty from practice, our legs still wobbly from the suicide sprints Coach Bandy had ended practice with.

I was in complete awe that I had the opportunity to study and play tennis there.  I never lost that sense of gratitude.  It was as though God plucked me out of my life and dropped me onto that campus.  Freedom.  But that’s another story…

I loved my teachers, too…almost all of them.  (Smile)  But, like most students, I had a favorite in high school.  His name was Mr. Harris.  Hairy Dog most students called him.  He was short in stature, but what he lacked in height he made up for with his bushy beard, his dramatic flair for teaching history, his humor and enormous laugh, as well as the erasers he would throw at you if he thought you were being an idiot.

I was brand new to Baylor when I walked into his class that first day of my sophomore year.  I was scared to death and it only took watching a couple of erasers fly by my head to decide my quiet classroom nature would be a huge benefit to me in Western Civilization.

Mr. Harris’s classroom was straight out of a novel with old fashioned wooden desks, artifacts all over the shelves, and a teacher that could, at any moment, stand up in his chair with a Robin Williams flair that made me want to stand up and say: “O Captain! My Captain!”

Our textbook in that class?  Mr. Harris wrote it himself.  It was housed in a red Baylor binder and each week we would read our material, have a lecture, discuss, and then expect a quiz at the beginning of each class.  The quizzes were tough.  The only way I could ensure an A was to get to school early and go see Mr. Harris to make sure I had answered all of the review questions correctly.  Mr. Harris encouraged this routine among students and he could always be found at about 7:30 AM outside his classroom, smoking, and answering students’ questions…sometimes with a sarcastic edge.

I was afraid of Mr. Harris, but knew that in order to do well in the class I had to endure any potential looks he might shoot my direction in response to my ignorant questions.

So, morning after morning I would show up outside his classroom.

Mr. Harris’s curriculum for the class was challenging, but usually interesting.  He made history entertaining.  Then, one day, I turned the page and found myself staring at that day’s reading assignment: the book of Job from the bible.

Mr. Harris lectured that day on Job.  He explained the position of this piece of literature in Western Civilization as well as the Hebraic Canon.

He went on to explain that he was an agnostic.  He didn’t know if he believed in God or not.  He also admitted that he really struggled with the book of Job.  Why would God allow Satan to play with Job like that?  Mr. Harris brought up all sorts of things that day about a book in the bible.  He attempted to engage us in dialogue, but I am ashamed to say that many of the students, although professing Christians, knew little about the subject. “Most Christians know very little about their book, the Bible” Mr. Harris observed as we finished up class that day.

I left that classroom with so many questions…questions I took to my parents and others I trusted.  Mr. Harris had provoked me as well as my faith.

It was one of the best things that ever happened to me.

Over the year I would come back and engage Mr. Harris in conversation beyond the study questions for the quiz.  I wasn’t afraid anymore…just respectful and curious.  I was hungry…to grow.

I remember bringing him a tape of my pastor’s sermon because my pastor, who was also brilliant, had spoken on a topic that related to one of Mr. Harris’ lectures.  He actually listened to it and discussed it with me.

I remember when I thought he said something disrespectful about Christians in class approaching him about it afterwards…he was quick to apologize and explain.

I remember him walking…across the bridge, through the woods, to the tennis center…to watch our matches…and how he would praise my strong forehand and chastise my much weaker backhand.  “Your forehand is so good! What happened to your backhand?”

I remember his wife, who ended up being my French teacher, keeping me after class and quietly handing me a book, saying: “I thought you might appreciate this.”  It was the Bible…translated into French, Spanish, and German.

I remember…will never forget…Mr. Harris keeping me after class one day and expressing concern about how I had answered an essay question on a major exam.  “It sounded like you were losing your faith.”  I don’t remember the question or why my faith would have been relevant in the exam material, but I assured him I was not.  He was concerned because he did not want to be the reason.

My faith grew that year under the teaching of my smoking, antagonistic, agnostic teacher, Mr. Harris…but, I wanted to be challenged.  Craved it. I didn’t realize it, but I guess I was hungry for it.  Other fifteen year olds could have responded in other ways, but I was in the right place at the right time.

My relationship with an agnostic teacher who took time to talk with students every morning outside his classroom watered my growing love for scripture and theology.

Twenty years later, just earlier today, I mentally stood outside myself, regarding my attitude, and realized that I was being judgmental.  I know, I know.  It was awful.  Horrid, really.  I was sad to realize I was judging the ability or “preparedness” of others for God to use them.

I am appalled.  Really.

Anyway, I realized I was criticizing, thinking inwardly that because a person had not done “A” or HAD done/was still doing “B” they were not in a position for God to use them in certain ways yet.

Well, move over God…Emily seems to have a plan for how things should work!

Good grief.  Really, Emily?  REALLY?

But, the thing is…so many of us do this even if we do not realize it.  We put parameters on who God can use and how.  We say…inside our little insidious minds…you have or are still doing “X” so you really should not be doing this or God cannot really use you.  Or, because you have not done “Y” you cannot be effective here.

My judgment of others is like a boomerang.  It always comes back as judgment on myself.

When I make those judgment calls on others, I am also making them on myself.  I am saying…Emily, because you have done or are still doing, struggling with “X”, God cannot use you…so don’t even think about it.  Close yourself off until you are…PERFECT.  Until you have it all together.

My judgment of others is like a boomerang.  It always comes back as judgment on myself.

Or, Emily, because you have not experienced “Y” you cannot really be of use here.

This concern is something I struggled with a lot as a newbie therapist.  Either I would bring it up to myself or someone I knew would ask me: “Well, you have never been through “A, B, or C” so how can you help them?

I do not remember which teacher or supervisor offered me this analogy, but it goes something like this…

If you broke your leg, when you went in to get help from the doctor, would you stop him or her and say: “Have you broken your leg before?  Because if you haven’t…I don’t think you can help me. I need someone to help who has broken their leg…in the exact same spot if possible.”

So, what’s the point?

The point is God can use you.  Right now. Right here.

He probably already is.

You (and that person you were judging last week) will never have it all together.  Ever.

The church IS full of hypocrites.

We are all in process…messed up humans making mistakes all the time…seeking the One who can make us whole.

So, in the midst of my internal, judgmental rant (are you judging ME now?  Go ahead…it is awful, I know!), God quietly recalled Mr. Harris to my mind.  I had not thought of him in years

I thought about Mr. Harris, Hairy Dog, with his bushy beard, his dramatic flair for teaching history, his humor and enormous laugh, as well as the erasers he would throw at you if he thought you were being an idiot…

Mr. Harris…the antagonizing, agnostic…not who I would choose to disciple my children..and I realized that God knows.  He has the plan.  And, He can use anyone, anytime, anyhow to bring growth in a person’s life…if the other person on the receiving end is open to the leading of the Holy Spirit.

We are all in process.  I doubt many of you reading this are agnostics or atheists…but, I’m guessing you sometimes feel just as ill equipped for the job of helping others in faith and life.

While I appreciate testimonies and think there is something INCREDIBLY valuable in relating over shared stories and have participated in such powerful moments, you do not have to have broken your leg in the exact same spot as the person you are helping or ministering to.  You don’t have to have it all together.  God is probably already using you…and you don’t even realize it.

Maybe, God was using me in Mr. Harris’ life even as He was using Mr. Harris in mine!

Watch out! God can be tricky like that.  He has an amazing sense of humor.  He likes to use surprising people…people like you!

For What It’s Worth…Anger as a Secondary Emotion

Therapy is way more than a toolbox of intervention.  Information alone cannot replace professional help. However, information can be very powerful.  So, for what it’s worth to you, here is the weekly post offering a therapeutic idea, concept, or intervention that you can try out in your own life or relationships.

Anger is sometimes called a secondary emotion…not because it is any less valid of an emotion than any other, but because it rarely stands alone.  There is almost always another emotion that reinforces it.

The image that is often used to illustrate this idea is the iceberg.  You know how an iceberg works.  If from nothing else but from watching Titanic the movie you know that the wonder of the iceberg is that what you see on top of the surface of the water is only a fraction of what lays underneath.  The unbelievable tragedy of the Titanic is that by the time they spotted the fraction of ice on the top it was too late to change their course in time to miss the monstrosity of ice underneath the surface.

When we experience a person’s anger (including our own) it is like the fraction of ice on top of the surface.  It takes our focus.  However, what is underneath the surface is much larger and more extensive.  We would do well to reserve our attention and energy for this part of the iceberg.  In fact, like with the physical phenomenon of the iceberg, if  you are aware of what is underneath and focus on preparing for it then you are in a better position to avoid the deadly dangers of running into what is on top.

What is that ice underneath comprised of?

  Fear.  Insecurity.  Depression.  Anxiety. 

Any variety of emotions that can make a person feel incredibly vulnerable.

For men and women alike, anger can feel more powerful and not as painful as the other options.

So, for what it’s worth, the next time you encounter someone who is angry (including yourself) I encourage you to remember the iceberg.  Be still.  Observe.  Don’t react.  Use some reflective listening.  Be curious about what is underneath that anger.  Like a balloon that has been deflated, identifying what is underneath the surface of the anger iceberg can let out some of the steam of what is on top.

In other situations, you might decide that the anger…or what is underneath…is not worth addressing.  Perhaps, it is not a person you are close to…like the clerk at the store or a parent you see from time to time at functions or a classmate you sit next to in class.  It could be that it is not safe to address it.  In these scenarios just this information can be helpful in not letting another person’s anger to get the best of you.

Saturday Sampling March 17, 2012

Better late than never.  It is still technically Saturday, right?!  It has been a strange and sad week in our family with three funerals in eight days… 

Here is what is quickly becoming one of my favorite things to do each week…finding some of my favorite blogs to share on the Saturday Sampling! 

Here is a sampling of some posts from this past week that inspired me, educated me, or made me think.

Do you think I missed anything significant?  I try to look for variety.  Can you help me with that?  Please post any of your recommendations below so we can all benefit!

Christian Politics: On Not Just Becoming Another Angry Voice

Thanks, Jonathan.  This post is much needed.

Undone

Beautiful.  Also check out Tiny Warrior, Transition, and Legacy.

Thankful Thursday

I celebrate thankful Thursday, too!  If you haven’t read this author you are missing out.  Start with her blog and then move on to Cold Tangerines.

An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess

This post reminds me of the book Kisses From Katie.  Both have challenged me.  I want to read the book that this blogger has written.

A Few Things I’ve Learned in the 10 Years Since Jason Died

Sometimes reading about the lessons of those who have lost and are courageous to be vulnerable in their grieving to share their journey with us can be a powerful thing.

The Magic of Family Dinner

As a big proponent of the family dinner (or breakfast…or lunch…) I was glad to have someone identify my own passion on this topic.

Scattered

I could very much relate to the feelings expressed here. Sometimes there is a fine line between stewarding opportunities and being “scattered”.

Change, Undone, and God’s Doing

***Parallel Processing

Parallel process is a clinical term used to describe the common occurrence in therapy when the therapist’s own experience is reflected in the client’s. It is when a client comes in grieving over the loss of a loved one while the therapist has only just experienced his or her own loss as well. It is a therapist helping a client through feelings of anger and hurt that the therapist has also just recently confronted.

But, here’s the thing: we are all in parallel process. Too often in life it goes unsaid.

Here is where I say it.***

When we moved back from Prague (as in the Czech Republic and not as in New Prague, Minnesota), after it had become prayerfully clear that moving back home was what we were supposed to do, after Jon and I had already started processing what our missions work had meant and would mean, after Jon’s job came like a miracle, like manna from the sky even if it was working in a middle school, which he had never done in his life…after all of this it became clear that I was going to have to go back to work…if we wanted things like a house, food, or toilet paper.  It became clear that one salary was not going to make our ends meet and at the end of a date night with Jon, I sat in the parking lot of Barnes and Noble in Chattanooga and cried.

I cried because I had already gone through this once, this giving over to change when I surrendered as a stay at home mother, and then began to relish the experience of being at home with my babies.  I cried because I remembered how anxious I was being away from them for even the few hours it took to finish school before we had moved to Europe.  I cried because I did not know if I could handle that anxiety again.  I cried because I was angry…angry over a lot about our transition back to Cleveland even though I knew it was what God had for us, knew it even if I didn’t understand it, knew it even though many people close to us did not understand it.  I cried because what had become my idea and identity of motherhood was being challenged…again.

Stability and routine are all very good things.  It is this kind of security and knowing what to expect that promotes growth and healthy development.  Too often we do not have enough of it.  We need things like breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day.  We need to know that we will always brush our teeth and that we go to bed at about the same time after the same cup of tea and a bedtime story.  Rituals and routines keep us grounded and are so very important because the rest of life is…more often than not…anything but ritual and routine.

Life is full of changes.  You used to see these bumper stickers on cars and they would say things like: “Whoever dies with the most toys wins” or something like that.  If I could create a bumper sticker, I would make one that says: “Whoever is the most flexible in life wins.”

Ironically, it is the routine and rituals that we grow accustomed to as children and teenagers that make room for flexibility in life.  Our little bodies and minds learn that they can count on so many things like supper around the table, church every Sunday…so that, sure, why not be ok when the unexpected does happen.  We can deal with that.  Because I still know that I will eat three meals a day, brush my teeth, can count on mommy or daddy coming home, and going to bed at about the same time after the same story.  Bumps in the road can be tolerated in this kind of environment.

The less routine and ritual a child has growing up, the more rigid they actually become as adults.  It is as though our not so little bodies say I don’t know what to count on so I am going to hold on for dear life to any thing I can grasp and not be willing to let it go because who knows what is coming next.  I don’t know that I can count on three meals a day, mommy coming home for supper, or on church every Sunday so when something good comes along I will grab it, strangling it to death or until I am tired and exhausted and have worn out everyone around me.  I might even be a little obsessive about details and perfection and bite your head off if you do something not quite right…because I have learned that you have to fight for any good thing to last very long… and even then it usually doesn’t.  Bumps in the road are not so tolerated in this kind of context…where routine and stability were not the foundation.

Flexibility.  Being able to go with the flow while still making your way.  Having the ability to adjust and adapt.  Not demanding that life look a certain way every day every month every year.

I cried that night in the parking lot.  Then, I got up the next morning and got to it.  If I was going to have to work then I was going to do what I knew I was supposed to do, what I was trained to do.  I was going to be a therapist, a good one.

God was in the crying in the parking lot of Barnes and Noble.  He was in that bump in the road.  He knew that I could count on so many things…like that He would provide for me, that He would take care of my family and children because He always had.

He knows that motherhood looks a variety of ways in a variety of seasons, different with each child, with each new place of residence.  There is no real box, even the SAHM box is usually filled with work that mothers do on the side.  Mothers are mothers.  Mothers do what needs to be done.  And, somewhere in all of that He creates the mother he wants me to be, the mother He wants my children to have and see.

We get into trouble when we demand that life look a certain way, when we hold on to rigid ideas and identities.  We get into trouble and do damage to ourselves and to the loved ones around us because when I say that life has to look a certain way and that I have to look a certain way I am also saying that you do, too.  Or else.

I love Nora Jones.   Jon and I were listening to her as we drove into California for the first time less than a year after we got married.  I will always associate her with California and driving with the top down, wind in my hair…exploring the west.  In her first album she sings these lyrics in her song Cold, Cold Heart:

“my heart is paying now for things I didn’t do.”

Sometimes when we refuse or find it difficult to be flexible, to see God working in the undoing that needs to be done…perhaps due to things we went through as children or teenagers…we make those around us today pay for things they didn’t do.

Our inflexibility makes others pay.

I cried that night.  Then, I got up the next morning and got to it.

That’s how I do things.  I get it all out.  Jon and I learned a lot about ourselves when we moved to Prague.  We learned that I get the grieving over with fast and furious.  I cry.  I get angry.  I face culture shock and stare it down.  Jon’s comes, too…a few months later.  Thank God we don’t go through it at the same time.

I knew that with my education I was blessed to have choices in going back to work.  As soon as word got out, a former colleague of mine who was the director of counseling at a local clinic called and offered me a job.  40 hours a week, 9-5 of seeing clients.  While my brother is doing excellent work in this context, I knew there was no way that as a mother I would do a good job with clients in that kind of schedule.  I would get burned out within weeks.  I needed no time to give him an answer…thank you, I am honored, but no.

My head clearing from the cascade of tears just nights before, I knew that there was a very good chance God was in this change, that God was calling out gifts I had been content to lay down forever.  Before children, I had always dreamed of having my own private practice.  So, with a fire lit inside me, I made the difficult choice to do the hard work of digging out a private practice where I could set my own hours and create an environment that was healthy for me, and therefore, healthy for my clients.

My husband helped me design my first website and fliers. I sat up at night and created mailing lists from the phone book.  I did it the old fashioned way and licked all of my own envelopes, writing out the addresses, until my tongue was raw and my hands were tired.  I read books on starting a practice.  I was blessed to have watched my father do this for almost 30 years.  I knew that there would be very, very hard times.  I had a colleague who had her own medical practice in town.  She had told me that the first two years would be tough.  Expect it.  So, I did.  I expected a slow, steady growth.

I was able to get some adjunct teaching to help make ends meet and did some writing for my church’s International Girls’ Ministry office.  I wanted to support two things: my family and doing good therapy for my clients.  I would settle for nothing else.  I was on fire for my work and it got me through the anxiety of change.

That was well over four years ago.  I can hardly believe it.  My practice has seen changes and growth.  I have developed some wonderful professional relationships.  I love what I do.

God was in the crying in the parking lot of Barnes and Noble.  He was pushing me out of a nest.  He knows that motherhood looks a variety of ways in a variety of seasons, different with each child, with each new place of residence.  There is no real box, even the SAHM box is usually filled with work that mothers do on the side.  Mothers are mothers.  Mothers do what needs to be done.  And, somewhere in all of that He creates the mother he wants me to be, wants my children to have and see.

Saturday Sampling March 10, 2012

Here is what is quickly becoming one of my favorite things to do each week…finding some of my favorite blogs to share on the Saturday Sampling! 

Here is a sampling of some posts from this past week that inspired me, educated me, or made me think.

Do you think I missed anything significant?  I try to look for variety.  Can you help me with that?  Please post any of your recommendations below so we can all benefit!

Rush Limbaugh and three evangelical blindspots

We need to read this thoughtfully and with open minds.

The Reluctant Pioneer

The words of a pastor in a church plant. Thank you for your example, Tracy.

The Word

We don’t read the Word to find a set of principles for life, but to find THE Word…Him.

The Small Picture

I love Tonia’s thoughts here.  I have been in this same place when it comes to children and wanting to make decisions to change things for them before realizing that they are right where they are supposed to be.  She has a lot of wisdom.

Why Did Porn Cost So Much?

I think the title gives you a good idea.  Thank you for your courage, Jonathan.

Reason #409 Why I Don’t Watch TV…Especially Good Christian B+@#$%

Some thoughts on the new show GCB…what are yours?

The fierceness of God

Here is a look at the mother hen nature of God.

Finding My Own Rhythm

I don’t like the word “busy”.  I don’t like to get in a conversational competition over who is the “busiest”.  Kelly talks about finding her own rhythm in the face of this cultural norm.

The Underground Railroad

Our freedom is not just about us.

4 Easy Exercises to Help Your Kids With Anxiety

A helpful blog with some basic tips for addressing some mental health care.

Mercy, Wholeness, and Self-Centered Perfectionism

***Parallel Processing

Parallel process is a clinical term used to describe the common occurrence in therapy when the therapist’s own experience is reflected in the client’s. It is when a client comes in grieving over the loss of a loved one while the therapist has only just experienced his or her own loss as well. It is a therapist helping a client through feelings of anger and hurt that the therapist has also just recently confronted.

But, here’s the thing: we are all in parallel process. Too often in life it goes unsaid.

Here is where I say it.***

Our honey jar is almost empty.

Until my oldest daughter was in first grade she ate honey almost every day.

Ok, ok, for those of you who know us very well…she really ate the same thing EVERY day for EVERY meal.

Oatmeal for breakfast, peanut butter and honey sandwich for lunch, and chicken nuggets for supper.

We were going for the nutrition award as parents.

It worried us me sick, but eventually she grew out of her eating habits just like my more gracious friends and family members assured me she would.  She now eats salmon, tacos, and her favorite kind of food is anything “spicy”.

She grew out of her honey stage and now I am the only one in the family still eating honey on an almost daily basis.  So, when the honey is collecting almost empty at the bottom I dread to purchase a whole new jar just for me.

I often forget to leave the honey turned upside down, which makes it easier to pour out onto my toast.  In this situation, if I am running late in the morning, planning on eating my toast in the car on my drive to class in Knoxville, there is no hope that I will get the honey out in time.

Honey stuck at the bottom has to be turned upside down for what seems like an eternity before it runs all the way down to the bottom where it is useful to the person who wants to eat it.

All of my children have gone through stages when they have had little tolerance for anything less than “just right”.  Their food, their blankets, their homework, their clothes…if anything is out of order a meltdown ensues.  I often find myself doing a great deal of work helping my children learn to tolerate imperfection…so that they can keep moving forward…so they don’t get stuck…so they can laugh, enjoy life, and grow.

Growth and strength require flexibility and, like my children, I have struggled with being bendy since I was young.

In a very literal, P.E. class, presidential fitness test kind of way, too.  My arms just never seemed to match the length of my legs.  A dream of mine in grade school was to actually pass the reach test past my toes.  Since I could barely make it past my ankles, I never came close.

I still contend that something was wrong with the tendons in my legs that kept me from being a presidential fitness champion.

But, my lack of flexibility goes beyond my inability to touch my toes and if God had his own course schedule for me this school year I believe the course would be entitled: “Flexibility 101: Learning to Tolerate Imperfection”.

I have heard many people call themselves “perfectionists” and sometimes this proclamation carries an air of boasting to it.

What we often fail to realize is that perfectionists…TRUE perfectionists…often do not fare well in life.  Their obsession with perfection usually leads in one of a few directions:

1. Never starting anything at all.  If you don’t do it, then you cannot fail.  Sometimes known as “Paralysis of Analysis”, people in this state will often spend a lot of time analyzing or planning, but never following through.
2. Never finishing anything.  They get started, but out of fear of failure, they keep redoing, making changes, or stalling because as long as they are in process then no one can accuse them of failing.  After all…they aren’t finished yet!

And, remember what failure is…anything less than perfect.

3. The final, perhaps the most deadly, path of a perfectionist is when a person will put all sorts of valuable resources at risk in order to attain perfection.  These resources include time, sleep, loved ones, health, etc.

This path can lead to anxiety, depression, and all sorts of addiction.

Let’s be honest, shall we?  Perfectionism is insanely (and I do mean INSANE) self-centered.

The whole reason a person wants to be perfect is about their own image, what people think about them…their own reputation.

Perfectionism is rarely about benevolence and compassion.

Perfectionism is about the perfectionist.

Ouch.

I started this semester a little uneasy about how I was going to manage all of my responsibilities.  I have this bad habit that my husband now knows well.  When I get overwhelmed rather than shifting down a gear, I shift up.  I decide that the only way I will feel successful in this crazy time is if I do it all…and do it all perfectly.

So I can’t just pass my statistics class where we are studying things like polynomial regression…I have to make a 100 on every quiz.  Anything less and my day is a little bummed.  And, statistics is just one part of my responsibilities.  So I stay up late and get little sleep and put all sorts of demands on my time, re-writing notes three times to help me study, and going overboard in my teaching responsibilities, doing my best to never encroach on my children’s time because I have to be a perfect mama, too.

And, all through this school year I hear God’s whispering to me over and over again… I want you to learn to tolerate imperfection.  I want you to learn to be flexible.

NOT…I want you to be perfect, doing all things with excellence.

Somewhere in our American Christianity we have equated “excellence” and, perhaps, perfection, with faithfulness.

Matthew 5:48 does tell us to “be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect”.  Doesn’t than mean that perfection is not only condoned by God, but preferred?

What does this idea of perfection here mean?

The gospels often parallel each other and the beautiful part of hearing the story of Jesus from four different disciples is that we get a very full, beautiful, four-dimensional view of Jesus and His words.

Matthew 5:48 is found in the famous “Sermon on the Mount”.  The parallel passage for this section of Matthew is found in Luke. In fact, if you go and read both passages you will have fun seeing the similarities.  However, there is one striking difference and it has to do with the parallel verse to Matthew 5:48.

Luke 6:36 says: “Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.”

What is the point here? What kind of information is this?  Maybe a closer look at the word “perfection” will give us some clues.

The word for perfection in Matthew 5:48 comes from a word that is translated 42 times as “whole”.

When you put all of this very cursory information together (you can find scholars who do a more exhaustive treatment of this subject I am sure) it seems that what God desires from us, more than perfection, is

Wholeness

Mercy.

My husband came down with the shingles last week.  He is an amazing, laid-back man with a big, kind, wise heart and a great sense of humor.  Although he was in pain he was able to laugh about his predicament.  Many people told him that shingles is caused by stress at which point he teased me.  I am pregnant and working on a Ph.D.  He wonders where the stress comes from?  Har-har.

I know I along with my pregnancy and Ph.D. didn’t cause my husband shingles (and so does he!), but I found myself hearing God’s whispers again.

I want you to learn to tolerate imperfection.  I want you to be flexible.

…so that you can keep moving forward…so you don’t get stuck…so you can laugh, enjoy life, and grow.

I’m like that honey in the jar.  Like SO much of our western, American society, I am so programmed to demand perfection. Like my children, I have a difficult time tolerating anything is not “just right”.   Changing my ways, altering my thinking is like turning a honey jar upside down.  It takes forever for the honey to start flowing down to where it is useful.

Like a train going in one direction, changing my way of approaching life means slowing the train down to a stop first.  There is a lot of screeching in that stage.

Then the train can start going the other way.

That Wednesday I took my statistics quiz.  I had made a conscious decision the night before not to stress out about it.  I just went with it. I was prepared, but I did NOT re-write my notes three times.

And, I did great.  I missed a question.  Big whoop.

When I got home I went through all the routine of picking up my kids, making supper, and getting ready for church.

In the middle of these preparations I got a phone call with information that was destined to rock our community.  A friend of mine, a precious family at our church, had lost a husband and a father, in a horrible accident…probably about the same time I was getting home from picking up my girls from school.

As I cried out for my friend and tears streamed down my face that night, I found myself hearing God’s whispers again.

“Please, please…

I want you to learn to tolerate imperfection.  I want you to be flexible.

…so that you can keep moving forward…so you don’t get stuck…so you can laugh, enjoy life, and grow.”

In that moment, worldly perfectionism will keep the friend from reaching out because the wrong word might get said.

Worldly perfection will steal, kill,and destroy moments with our loved ones…and, we are never promised tomorrow.

Christian perfectionism is concerned with mercy, wholeness, and relationship…all of which can get kind of messy and require tolerance for things being not “just right”.

Loss…grief…life…is rarely “just right”.

God, You don’t care about my perfection and excellence was not on Your mind when Your son was born in a dirty stable.  Neither does my husband expect it nor my friends or my kids.  I do.  In fact, the pursuit of worldly perfection is nothing more than a distraction from what is important…what matters in this world.

Wholeness….in relationship to others and with You.

Mercy…a merciful life with a full, gracious, open heart to others, You…and for myself.

I know you are still working on turning my train around.  It is a constant battle amidst and against the tides of our culture.  It may never be a done deal.  Thank you for Your patience with me.

I want to encourage you today to turn the honey jar of your way of being upside down.  Ask God to help you.  Stop your slave work to the hamster wheel demands of a wordly perfection that brings nothing but anxiety, depression, and regrets.

Work hard, sure.  I doubt I will stop doing that.  But, I promise your work will mean more and go further if you make room for wholeness and mercy in the context of relationships as your priority.

Christian perfection is just not the same as wordly perfection.

Any message that tells you otherwise is a lie.

I truly, passionately believe God is calling each of us and whispering the same message amidst and against the tide of our WORDLY perfection driven culture…

“I want you to learn to tolerate imperfection.  I want you to be flexible.

…so that you can keep moving forward…so you don’t get stuck…so you can laugh, enjoy life, and grow.”

“Slow down, you move too fast.
You got to make the morning last.
Just kicking down the cobble stones.
Looking for fun and feelin’ groovy.
Hello lamppost,
What cha knowing?
I’ve come to watch your flowers growing.
Ain’t cha got no rhymes for me?
Doot-in’ doo-doo,
Feelin’ groovy.

Got no deeds to do,
No promises to keep.
I’m dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep.
Let the morning time drop all its petals on me.
Life, I love you,
All is groovy.”

Simon and Garfunkel

The One Who brought you out…

***Parallel Processing

Parallel process is a clinical term used to describe the common occurrence in therapy when the therapist’s own experience is reflected in the client’s. It is when a client comes in grieving over the loss of a loved one while the therapist has only just experienced his or her own loss as well. It is a therapist helping a client through feelings of anger and hurt that the therapist has also just recently confronted.

But, here’s the thing: we are all in parallel process. Too often in life it goes unsaid.

Here is where I say it.***

You can find the phrase first in Genesis 15:7 where God reminded Abram: “”I am the LORD, who brought you out of Ur of the Chaldeans to give you this land to take possession of it.”

You can do a search and find the reminder in book after book after book of the bible.

I am.

the One

Who brought you out.

I am.

Many of us, whether we realize it or not, grew up in the burgeoning parenting age of choice and consequences and…Born to Win and Children: The Challenge…all in a country that prizes pulling yourself up from your boot straps…a culture that puts the “self made man” on a pedestal.  You make choices in life and choices have consequences.  Make good choices and you will go far.  Make bad choices and lay in the bed you made.

YOU can do anything!

But, if YOU mess up…that’s on YOU.

So much potential!

So, just make good choices and dream big and work hard!

And, if anything bad happens…what did YOU learn? What can YOU can do differently next time?

Some of the wonderful outcomes, of this way of seeing the world, is that it empowers the individual.  There is less of a tendency to feel “stuck”.  You aren’t at the mercy of everyone else.

YOU can do it!  YOU are “born to win”.

The tricky part is when this worldview influences your spirituality…and something seems to be missing.

Hmm

What is it?

Or, is the question WHO is it?

I know it has to be around here somewhere.

Looking…

No, not here.

Grace.

God.

It IS all about YOU.

So, I am going to be honest and let you know that when I come up against some stressful days rather than “casting all my cares on Him” my first tendency is to ask myself what I am doing wrong.  I have learned somewhere that the stress I am experiencing is the consequence.  I must be doing something wrong.  The fact that I have gotten to this hard place is my fault.  I am suffering the consequences of bad decisions.

It is all about ME.

What I can do.

What wrong choices have I made?

And, sometimes reminding myself of what I have been able to get through in the past, with God’s help, can be very helpful.  Sometimes we need to testify to ourselves about what we have been through and what God has helped us do.

Then, sometimes I am tired of hearing about me….even if it involves God’s work through me.

I want to lay down.  I want to throw my hands up in surrender and say: “Help.  Come get me.  Get ME out of here.”

But, that “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” mentality so often gets in the way.

I struggle to let God take it.  I imagine Him up there, gently shaking His head, so sorry I am going through this, but wisely knowing that I let myself get here.  He sits back and lets me deal with the consequences of my choices like a good consequence driven parent.  He’s going to let me learn my lesson.  No way He is going to get in the way of that.

Bottom line…everything is my fault and grace is INCREDIBLY limited.

That sounds like an irrational belief if I’ve ever heard one.

Surely this choice and consequence thing is biblical.  Galatians 6:7…whatever a man sows he will surely reap.  See it is right there!

But, taking this scripture out of context misses out on the bigger story.

Humanity surely sows from the beginning in the garden what we SHOULD reap and I don’t know that we have ever really reaped what we have started sowing at that point. Even after Adam and Eve faced the consequences of their choices, God continuously intervened.  He kept getting involved.

Even after Abram lies and cheats for protection in Egypt, God takes care of Abram and reminds him:

“I am the God who brought you out of Ur.”

Even after the Hebrews set up idols and worshipped false gods, ignoring God’s word, He says:

“I am the God who brought out of Egypt.”

Even after they messed up over and over and over…

“I am the God who brought you out…”

And, it is not always due to the bad choices of the people.

Following the commands of the Lord, Daniel ended up in a lion’s den…

And, God brought him out.

The Spirit led Jesus into the dessert.

And, God brought Him out.

He is the One Who has and continues to bring us out.

As much as I need to remind myself of the bears and lions I have killed, I need HIM to remind me that…

He is the One Who brought me out.

Could it be that sometimes I am led, not by bad choices, but by the Lord Himself, to hard places?

No matter how I got there, all I so desperately need in this hard place is for God to come get me…to pick me up and get me out, reminding me that:

I am the One Who brought you out.

I am the One Who will bring you out next time.

And, the next.  And, the next. And, the next.

I am the One Who brought you out.

Not your great choices.

Not what you can do.

What He can do.

In my…in your… hard places.
I’m still going to teach and work with people about choices and consequences.  I am still going to help people who feel stuck and powerless and hopeless to realize that they DO have options…because that is all true, too.

I just don’t want to forget Who is the One Who brings us out in the midst of our choices.

No matter how we got there.

We can spend so much time trying to figure out the answer to THAT question (how did I get here?) that we fail to notice His outstretched hand, His reminder to trust Him.

God’s people seemed to need the reminder…

I am the One Who brought you out…

Over and over and over again.

I think that you, like me, may need that reminder, too.

Can you imagine Him saying it?

“I am the One Who brought you out.”

The message, implied, if not said outright, is obvious.

He’ll do it again. And, again, and again.

My favorite steps in the common twelve step programs for addressing addiction are the first three:

1. We admitted we were powerless… our lives have become unmanageable.

2 We came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

3. We made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God.

Let’s be honest.  The root of addiction so often lies in the American ideal that we can control anything…and do anything…we set our mind to.  I love The Pursuit of Happyness as much as the next guy.  It is my favorite movie.

But, when we cannot…because we CAN’T… control and do ANYTHING…we turn to something to help us feel that control that we can never attain…alcohol, drugs, eating or not eating, shopping, working…

I wonder how much of America is actually addicted to something…never facing the reality of our lack of control…our need for these first three steps…

We ARE powerless and our lives often become unmanageable.

We DO have a Power greater than ourselves Who can restore us to sanity.

We NEED to turn our will and our lives over to God.

…never acknowledging His reminder…

“I am the One Who brought you out.”

Sometimes you CAN’T pull yourself up by your bootstraps.

Sometimes the One we need to look up to isn’t the self-made man lifted up on the pedestal…

…but the One who chose to be denigrated and lifted up on the cross.

Grace, No Shows, and Forgetting Kids

***Parallel Processing

Parallel process is a clinical term used to describe the common occurrence in therapy when the therapist’s own experience is reflected in the client’s. It is when a client comes in grieving over the loss of a loved one while the therapist has only just experienced his or her own loss as well. It is a therapist helping a client through feelings of anger and hurt that the therapist has also just recently confronted.

But, here’s the thing: we are all in parallel process. Too often in life it goes unsaid.

Here is where I say it.***

Grace is the middle name of my middle daughter. That’s pretty much what grace is for me: the center of everything.

For some grace is a definition memorized: “unmerited favor”. For others it is something you say before you eat while holding hands with your family. And, for some it is a personality or behavior characteristic that means you don’t trip very often. You are either born with it or you aren’t.

For me, grace is a sigh of relief…when someone extends it to me or, better yet, when I extend it to myself, I can relax. I do not have to be perfect. I can mess up and still be loved. I can have a bad day, be weird, have a dirty house, stumble over my words…and at the end of it all…still get a warm hug and an invitation to come back any time.

Grace has boundaries. It is loving and kind and firm. When a person makes a mistake, grace doesn’t necessarily say: “Its ok. Don’t worry about it,” because that comment isn’t very honest.

Responding with “Don’t worry about it” isn’t necessarily grace. It doesn’t own up to the mistake…

…but it doesn’t own up to the forgiveness either.

Grace says: “I appreciate the apology. I forgive you. “

That comment, like grace, can also be difficult to receive.

Grace gives a hug or a smile that says: “I know that this mistake is not who you are. I don’t expect it to happen again. I will love you and treat you as if it will never happen again.”

It is my desire that grace permeate my relationships…including my various professional ones.

As with most offices in some sort of health care, from time to time a person will forget to show up for an appointment. Is this frustrating? Sure. I would be lying to say that it isn’t. Good clinicians have good boundaries. One of my boundaries is a fairly typical one in that I still charge for missed appointments without a 24-hour notice. Why? I have saved that time, usually an hour, just for that client. I am only in the office a certain number of hours a week with a waiting list of other clients who would have loved to come in that hour. With a 24 hour notice I can offer that time to someone…no problem. A no show is impossible to fill.

I am blessed in that this situation rarely happens. I have amazing clients who are very respectful about time.

I also have another policy that I often employ: Grace. Here is what usually happens. The previous client has left, I write my notes for that session, and then I wait. At about five minutes past time I begin to suspect that the person has forgotten. I wait a little longer and when it is fifteen minutes past, I give them a call. Usually they have completely forgotten and are so embarrassed. They begin to apologize profusely.

What happens next usually stops them in their tracks.

I acknowledge their apology. I do not brush it off in an attempt to get them to stop feeling bad. “I appreciate your apology. AND, I know that these things happen. As you know, I usually charge if a person misses an appointment, but I like to extend grace the first time. Would you like to re-schedule for another time?”

Sometimes I am working with hard working perfectionists and the idea that they have made a mistake, that it is acknowledged, and they will still receive grace startles them. They might find it refreshing. They might resent it. They might stiffen. However they respond, it will be something we address in the next session.

If it happens again, I charge. And, that is extending grace, too. It is a boundary that is gracious and says: “I am not going to be ok with you doing this because deep down I know you are not ok with it either.”

My former supervisor said it so well: “Don’t forget. Scheduling and payment are therapy issues, too.”

Here is the thing about grace…you cannot give it to others in a healthy, meaningful way, unless you are able to receive it and allow it for yourself.

Giving grace to clients and helping them give grace to themselves has taught me so much about allowing God’s grace for me. I see people who are hard on others because they are so hard on themselves.

I carpool pick up with a friend and family member whose children attend the same elementary school. It was the last day of school and I was helping with the “end of the year” party. It was my day to take home my daughter and her cousin.

I walked into the party and said to another mom and friend: “I can’t forget to get Eloise’s cousin when we leave today.”

Guess what?

You guessed it.

Read on for the cringe worthy details.

I picked up all of the party material and told my daughter to gather her things. I told her teacher goodbye, which was a little emotional for us because this teacher had been very special to Eloise and to me. She had been MY first grade teacher, too. I was in her first first grade class and Eloise was in her last first grade class. She was retiring.

As I left the building I knew I was forgetting something. I could not figure out what it was.

Several minutes later I was home and got a phone call. As I saw the school’s number come up on my phone I remembered what, or rather WHOM, I had forgotten.

In a panic, I pushed all three of my kids, some half dressed, into the van and we quickly drove back to school to pick up a sweet little boy. On the way his mom called me.

Now, tell me how YOU would feel telling a mom that you had forgotten their child at school and that he was one of the very last children there waiting in the office wondering where his ride was?

I was mortified.

I took my friend’s son home and when he got out of the van, just like my clients, I started to apologize profusely. I was so embarrassed.

I don’t remember what the mother said to me. I was in such a state of humiliation. I do know that she forgave me.

I also know that I had to own up to the fact that I messed up. I goofed.

I drove home so very painful of that reality.

I am an imperfect human being.

It’s not that I just LIKE grace and think it is a nice thing to have around and it makes life a little neater and bearable.

I NEED grace. I NEED forgiveness.

I am desperate for it.

Sometimes I have to be ok saying: “I’m sorry. I messed up”

That is tough. Saying it that forthright.

No excuses.

No qualifications.

No passing the blame.

And, sometimes I have to be ok with the other person being not ok with me for a little while until everything gets settled and some time has passed.

That is grace, too…giving them space to not be ok for a while.

That part is super tough.

It is these times, while we are waiting on the grace and forgiveness of others, that we have to rely on the grace and forgiveness of our God. We have to be able to accept it and make room for it for ourselves.

Now, someone please tell me they have forgotten a kid, too!

London and Sally

My mother spent the better part of her adolescence in London where she attended an all girls’ school called Rosa Bassett.

On the first day of school each student was to call her name out loud with their given number.  My mother’s number was in the “30’s”, which was a dead give away of her American accent.

Apparently, there were some snickers and from that point on my mother’s speech became unmistakably British.

That is funny for me to think about.  My mother speaking with an English accent.

Anyway, one thing I know: she loved her accent and she loved that school.

My young mother, with her beautiful auburn hair, fair skin, and blue eyes, along with her best friend, Sally Wilson, would run around London, riding Double Decker buses and getting tastes of hard cider at sleepovers because her parents were none the wiser, and neither was she.  Before she had a daughter who played tennis, my mother and Sally would stand outside of Wimbledon, waiting for people to hand out their used tickets to waiting children.

My mother, who never really played tennis, has been to Wimbledon.

That makes me smile, too.

If you sat down and had coffee with my mother and asked her about her life I believe she would probably tell you that those years in London were some of the best of her life.

I believe she would tell you that because that is what she has told me.

And, every time I hear about London…almost every time I hear about those years…I hear about Sally.

Then, without warning, my mother’s father was moved, transferred, reassigned.  The way I have heard my mother tell about this move from London, it was like a ripping.  Her heart, her friendship, her family.  Ripped away.  I think I can imagine a 15 year-old girl feeling this way, especially a quiet fifteen year old who had built her life in this great big world place called London with freedom, double decker buses, and a best friend named Sally.

Friendships are taken for granted by children.  They are assumed.  You meet. You say: “Do you want to be friends?” and you skip off together…doing whatever…it really doesn’t matter.

Friendships come naturally for young children.  You don’t really think about it.  You just become friends!

And, if you are like my very socially talented middle child, you have parents who actually time how many seconds it will take you to make a friend at the playground.  At the indoor play area.  At church.  It is amazing.  I am in awe of her.

I had a conversation with one of my sister-in-laws recently.  She is a gifted teacher and is passionate about the grade that she teaches, fourth grade.  However, she admits, it is a hard, hard year.  It is the year that children discover the have’s and the have not’s.

You come in holding hands, still skipping together…it really doesn’t matter doing what.  Then you do the difficult thing of learning your “place”.

Fifth grade, she says, can actually be easier because you have learned the place. The struggle is over.  But, fourth grade…there is still so much struggling.

Parents are big influences on the friendships of children.  When starting my work with a child and his or her family and doing the initial work of developing a treatment plan with interventions, I will often talk to parents about how they are parenting the child socially.  I am curious…how is the child/teenager involved?  Where do they learn to relate to other children and adults?  Do they attend a faith community? Are they active in athletics or music?

From time to time I will get a blank look from a parent.  Do I think they should get their children involved in things like that?

Well, yes.  I am not out to make a star athlete out of anyone, but I am just following research.  Research indicates that involvement in things like a faith community, athletics, extra-curricular activities of some sort is a good thing for children and teenagers.

There are a variety of reasons why, but here are some of them.  In these places relationship and social skills are developed which breeds confidence.  Activity, particularly physical activity, helps prevent over thinking, which is a contributing factor in depression and anxiety.  When the physical body is engaged, the mind is not doing the hamster wheel-spinning thing that so many teenagers, especially girls, tend to do.

So, we go through and start brainstorming different option for little Mary to try and somewhere in that conversation I detect some anxiety in the parents.

What would it be like for you to take your daughter to something like soccer practice or girl scouts, I ask.  Incredibly intimidating, they admit.  What do you think is going on with that?  Well, I never played sports or was a part of anything like this.  I was never athletic.  I was never good with friends.  I was never…

The obstacle in getting little Mary opened up to the big world out there, the obstacle to injecting some much needed confidence into little Mary…

…is actually the incredible amount of insecurity and anxiety in mom and dad.

Friendships…relationships…move the world around.  Never underestimate the power of a relationship or how you relate to a person.

Mary and Elizabeth were close…and their sons were close.   One paved the way for the other.

Sarah and Hagar were enemies and so were their sons…and their sons’ sons, and their sons’ sons…

I have worked with these clients and wondered about this insecurity, understanding it out of imagination and empathy, but thinking that I really could not relate to it.  I have always been outgoing, ready to try new things.

But wait.

In the past several months I have observed some striking behavior in myself.  Several people have reached out to me.  Do you want to run?  Do you want to go eat lunch?  And I have watched myself get nervous.  I have watched myself hem and haw, making excuses and backing away.  I have been rather shocked by it actually, but I can read the thoughts in my head.

If I go running with you, you might realize that I can’t run that fast.  If I go eat lunch with you, you might realize that I am better at writing, teaching, and working with clients than I really am at just hanging out and being a friend.

Friendships, it seems, can actually be harder in adulthood.

Of course there are the practical reasons we fall back on…the kids and work and life to work around to make friendships happen…but, there seems to be more than that.

We know the have’s and the have not’s.

We want to hold hands and just be together and skip and do whatever, but too much understanding has put people in boxes and places.

But, here is what I tell my clients and what I really tell myself, too.  Yes, friendships, relationships, taking your kid to soccer…it is all intimidating and hard and sometimes way more complicated than it should be.

But, you do it.  You acknowledge that it is hard.  You also acknowledge that it is pretty hard for everyone from time to time even if they seem to have a big smile and a million Facebook friends.

And, those people you see talking to each other? They don’t actually know each other super well.  They just met.  There is no real “in” group.

Yes, there was an “in group” in fourth grade and maybe all the way through college, but you know what?  A lot of those groups don’t exist anymore except for in people’s heads.

You are not excluded.  And, every time you take your child to soccer practice or every time you show up for a bible study or a book club or a musical performance, you are carving out relational space for you, for your children, for your family.

In our money driven society, let’s try this language: you are building social capital…investing in a relational future for yourself and for your children.

You are carving out a Sally and a London experience and you don’t ever have to be ripped away because unlike my mother at that age, you are not a child anymore.

Do you hear me?  I so wish I could look you in the eyes.

You are an adult.

You are not in fourth grade anymore being sized up.

You are you.

And, that is beautiful and someone out there will be so blessed to build a relationship with YOU.

Be you, take your kid to girl scouts or attend a faith community and watch the world unfold gently, sweetly with new life

…or perhaps burst forth with juicy goodness

…around the friendships you forge and create and love and grow.

Because I think London had way more to do with Sally for my mother than it ever had to do with it being LONDON.

Growing Up With You

The James Taylor Concert

Today on my hour and a half drive back from the University of Tennessee in Knoxville, I was traveling through the radio stations when I heard a James Taylor song. I paused…and then transported momentarily to his concert we attended about six years ago.

Do you remember that summer? I really doubt it, but you seem to enjoy proving me wrong (and so often do) so I’d better ask rather than assume.

We had just returned from our first year in Prague and were visiting my mom in Iowa. We had our first deep fried twinkies. Do you remember that? You ate yours while sitting on Daddy’s shoulders. You were so high up there. I remember worrying that I had not put enough sunscreen on you.

Together that day we knocked off a “bucket list” item by attending the Iowa State fair…and eating a deep friend twinkie.

However, what I remember most from that day is seeing James Taylor on stage…and us …dancing in the back of the outdoor pavilion…your hair all sweaty and curled up in ringlets framing your little face.

We were all dancing…you, not quite three…Mimi, and me. Daddy held your sister. It was so hot. You were so happy.

Do you remember that night, Eloise?

I had you in the middle of a semester in graduate school. Now, I KNOW you don’t remember that so don’t even try to argue with me.

I don’t really recommend doing that. I was young, naïve, and thought I could manage about anything. I didn’t realize I would have to manage everything…without sleep.

But, we made it and I look back on those California years as some of our best. I have such sweet memories of when I would bring you to class with me…sitting you in the bouncer while I listened to lectures. Students would help hold you while I took exams. Other days your uncle Aaron would stay with you while I went to class and Daddy worked.

I wasn’t terribly young when I had you…26. I wasn’t 18, but I wasn’t 40 either.

However, I spend time in academic circles where first children are had in your mid-thirties…not your mid-twenties. So, while in some contexts I was not a very young mother, I feel like I was, in many ways, a baby.

I didn’t wait for school to be over to have you.

I was a very normal, anxious new mother. I was so worried that my imperfections…and there were many…would get in the way of what you deserved. Somehow the fact that you were to be a girl intensified these insecurities. I so wanted to get it right!

It did not help matters that I was studying all of the things that can go WRONG in a family and in a child’s life.

I still remember a dear friend asking me: “Emily, what if God chose YOUR imperfections just for Eloise?”

I could not wrap my mind around this idea. I wanted the best for you. I did not like the idea that I still had growing to do while I was already becoming a mother, nor did I like the idea that God was in that plan somehow.

I wanted you to have a mother who had arrived…who had it all together. I was painfully aware of how far off the mark I was.

Here’s the surprising twist in the story I am just now getting…what I have grown to appreciate…to love…is knowing how much growing I DID have to do.

How much growing I had to do WITH you.

We grew up together…and, I’m still growing up with you.

While I was helping you learn to sleep, I learned how much I needed it, too.

When I was making sure you got your sunshine and play time, I realized how much I needed to play, too.

While you were learning to trust me, I was learning to trust God.

Growing up together, we’ve shared a lot of firsts, you and me, Eloise…firsts that go beyond deep fried twinkies.

No, I didn’t wait on you in order to finish up my life. Nor, did I put you on hold to tie up any loose ends in my goals or dreams, either.

I have been insecure about that in the past, but not so much anymore.

Life just doesn’t stop for motherhood and motherhood really doesn’t stop life…no matter what the media or people without children tell you.

No matter what motherhood looks like…for any one woman…life changes…but, does not stop when we get fitted with motherhood as a new identity.

You just keep going…growing up together. Never in history has life really stopped for mothers. That is another lie that the media portrays to make you feel guilty when the inevitable happens…life happens. And, you just keep going…baby girl at your side.

So, I found out I am having another girl…our fourth, and probably last, baby. I felt her move today for the first time when I was in class for my doctoral program. I immediately remembered another baby I carried in and out of the womb to school.

I remembered and I smiled. This time, I am not afraid for my little girl…for Hillary. I’m not so unsure or insecure. And, that, Eloise, has mostly to do with you. You are a testimony to me. Your strength, your wisdom, your perseverance…who you are…despite me…you are testimony of God’s faithfulness in the midst of our humanity.

We do not have to be perfect parents.

Perhaps my friend was right. Maybe God DID choose MY imperfections just for you, sweet girl.

We are growing up together, you and me. And, somewhere in that, you are just fine. You have and continue to teach me so much…mostly about grace.

So, when they, like they did in my other graduate programs, talk about ideals and standards for parenting and mothering and all sorts of things that can make any mother…especially a new mother…anxious and insecure…I’ll just feel Hillary kick and think of you. I’ll remember that we haven’t followed all of the rules, all of the ideals, all of the standards. I didn’t wait until I had it together. I didn’t put off life, nor did I put off motherhood. Yet, here you are. Wise, kind, strong, intuitive, beautiful.

I chose, without knowing I was choosing, to take you along the life journey…to do a lot of the growing up with you.

Like at that James Taylor concert, I’ve chosen to dance WITH you.

I like to think that maybe we are both better off for it.