May 262015
 

It’s almost nine in the morning. I climbed back into bed around eight (with my laptop and my coffee), and all I really want to do right now is slip quietly back into dreamland. I could do it, too. We had a big day yesterday, and a late night, and all of my children are either still sleeping or are quietly working on their morning schoolwork. The little one (now six years old) is curled up beside me, snoring. He looks warm and blissful. I’m a little jealous.

When I make my way back into the kitchen, I’m going to be forced to clean it. Two Sabbaths in a row, followed by impromptu mushroom hunting yesterday, means that my kitchen looks like there are frat boys living in the guest room and attempting to cook after hours.

I do have something on my mind; I’m not solely avoiding the dishes. Due to a recently unearthed (and frankly none of my business) scandal, and the vitriolic reactions that are flooding social media, I guess this thing that is on my mind is the same thing that is on a lot of Christian mother’s minds. I’m thinking of my family, my children, my desire to raise godly people who are free from curses and pain.

A few days ago, I posted the following to Facebook.

unthinkable

 

I believe that early confession of the little things (that may feel like big things) is the best preemptive strike against bigger sins and addictions down the line. (That is, confession that is received by loving hearts who are committed to wholeness and healing.) However, while I can only speak for myself, for my childhood, my closest friends’ childhoods, and my parenting of my children, I can say with a good amount of confidence that open and honest confession is sadly lacking in the vast majority of Christian homes. The good news is that there is not one specific and insurmountable obstacle preventing authenticity between parent and child, but there are a few smaller roadblocks that every holiness-seeking parent should keep in mind.

1. There is no such thing as a devil-proof bubble. We see the evils of this world, and we want to protect our children from them. Despite what the world says about our over-protective parenting, this is not a controlling or an outlandish desire. This is a good desire, and a very good goal. However, like the owner of a hill-top mansion equipped with state-of-the-art security, the harder we work to protect our homes the more likely we are to feel safe and to ignore the open basement window. I am not saying this to be a downer or a fear-monger, but there will always, always be an open window. Just count on it. You can unplug your t.v. and avoid the malls…you can cancel your internet…but there will still be billboards on the side of the highway and magazines at the checkout stand. Children will still talk to other children. The enemy will break through your bubble in one way or another. Try, do try, to protect your children’s minds and eyes; just don’t for one second assume that you’ve been 100% successful. And don’t fear or avoid the things that manage to sneak through your net. Use them as topics of conversation.

2. Our kids are not better than we were. We held them as tiny babies, and we swam in their innocent eyes; it’s almost impossible for us to imagine that our children are as human as we were (and are). We might remember vile things we thought, said, and maybe even did when were young and innocent children, but we’ve raised our children to be better than we were. Right? Not necessarily. Not only are we raising flawed human beings (and not robots we can control), we are raising them in a world that is much more insidious than even the world we were raised in. Odds are our children’s secret thoughts and inclinations are not much purer than ours were at their age. Actually, odds are they may be worse, because they have likely been exposed to worse (even with our bubble in place). We can pray a better spiritual life for our children, we can train them in the Word, and we can absolutely do our best to give them the chance to be better than we were (and are). But when we demand them to be super-human, when we crawl into our own little bubbles and pretend they are super-human, when we are unwilling to dig deep into their hearts to find out exactly what lies there and do the hard work of fixing what is broken, we fail our children. More than that, we fail a lost and dying world; for instead of raising whole warriors equipped for battle, we run the terrifying risk of training young Christians in the fine art of hypocrisy.

3. The race for your child’s trust is on; earn it early. My children are talkers; yours probably are too. But they don’t always say it all just because they are always talking. If we want our children to share dreams and to confess sins, worries, and failures, we have to pry. I mean, we have to really dig in one-on-one conversations. When they come in from spending time with friends, ask them, “Hey, did you have fun? Was the conversation honoring to God?” Ask them about their thought-life. Ask them about their sin struggles (they have them). Ask and ask and ask, because even though you don’t expect them to have any catastrophic issues at five, six, seven, and eight years old (although sometimes I’m left breathless over what mine have to say), you are developing a pattern of openness and trust. Big sins don’t come out of nowhere; they just don’t. Issues grow in a place of secrecy and darkness until they rage out of control. So ask them while they are little, while they’re too little to know what shame is. And then react with grace and truth, no matter what they have to say. Then you’ll have earned the right to ask them, and they’ll trust you enough to tell you, when they are sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen.

We all want to think of our children as perfect, but that’s not fair, and it isn’t true. Allowing our children to be human–hearing, training, and loving their humanity while pointing them toward the goal is harder than just teaching them right and wrong. Do it anyway.

Apr 282015
 

Over the past three years, I have been asked to write this post at least a few dozen times. I’m sitting down to write it, now, but I still don’t know what to say. The question is usually worded like, “This Torah thing…how’d that happen?” or “Can you explain this change that has happened in your life?” And I can’t completely explain it except to say that I took the red pill.

It’s no longer present in mine, but if you pick up a brand new Bible there’s a page between the Old Testament and the New Testament, and that’s the only page in the Bible (unless you have a version with commentary) that was not inspired by the Holy Spirit. That page of separation between the beginning of God’s book and the end of the same God’s [same] book was inspired by a man named Marcion. Look him up; you might find his ideas a little interesting.

As I type it’s starting to come back to me. It seems like so long ago. The kids and I had just moved into our very own single-wide trailer. Most of the stories in Little Children. Big God. happened in that tiny home of ours.

There were two things I’d decided to institute upon moving into a home of my own. First of all, I would bring back Sabbath. We’d been Sabbath keepers (on some level) before, but somewhere along the line I’d let life and [earthly] obligations get in the way. I desperately missed that day of rest, and we were going to keep Sabbath if it killed me (and, as it turns out, it didn’t).

Second of all, I’d decided to eat biblically clean. This one is a little trickier to explain because I literally cannot remember what my reasoning was in the beginning. I was a gentile’s gentile. All of my favorite meals involved a good measure of unclean meat. I still have a bone to pick with the Father over His even creating the crab and the scallop. I had just begun to closely examine my diet, however, due to some long-term health issues. I had a few friends who didn’t eat pork or shellfish (for health reasons), so I guess the initial thought came from there.

While all of this was going on I was reading through and editing the most important book to ever enter my life (apart from the Word of God). As I read Renee Stein’s Everything Old is New Again: A Jewish Midwife’s Look into Pregnancy and the Feasts of Israel, little gears began to snap into place. She talked about the law of God as if it were a good thing, as if it were a freeing thing. I nodded along as I read her praise of Sabbath and the Feasts of the Lord. She wasn’t writing to me as an outsider; she was writing to the people of God (to all twelve tribes of Israel and the strangers grafted in). Still, I’d read and nod, nod and read, and then I stop and say (out-loud in my living room at midnight), “Why do I agree with this? I don’t live like this?”

It was October, and as I read about the Feasts I knew I wanted to celebrate one. I didn’t know when they were, so I turned to my good friend, Google. As it turned out, Sukkot (Tabernacles, Tents) was just beginning, and I was overwhelmed with a joy I cannot even begin to explain. It’s the season of joy, Sukkot, but I didn’t know that yet. Happy tears streamed down my face as I transformed the kids’ room into an indoor tent (because it was too cold to camp outside). I published these pictures on my blog.

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One month later, after spending a few months working on our own Sabbath traditions, I also published this post.

 

That’s when I received the following e-mail where a former “lurker,” now close personal friend, absolutely called me on the carpet (in the nicest possible way).

 

letter 1

 

I searched for the above e-mail because I could have sworn she’d said, “Do you believe this or are you just playing games?” Turns out she was sweet and gentle. The Holy Spirit, (who’d interpreted her words in the way I needed to hear them), not so gentle.

 

I wrote back with some stuff I no longer believe (and some stuff I still do).

 

letter 2

 

And then she really got tough.

 

letter 3

 

I wrote back a short and sweet e-mail because, whoa, I knew I had a lot of studying to do.

 

 

letter 4

 

 

I did get to my reading. Over the next year I spent so much time studying and learning that bad habits dropped from my life without any effort on my part (though I still have a very long way to go); there wasn’t time for anything but Him. At some point during the year it finally hit me how far-reaching and vastly impacting this all was; that’s when I wrote this post. And when the year was over, I published this post.

I guess that’s a pretty good overview, or as best as I can piece it all together. I’m also including the following video because it was so helpful to me in the beginning. Of course, if you want, feel free to come out of lurkdom and send me an e-mail. A girl can never have too many friends.

 

Related posts:

http://kingdomtwindom.net/anoldstory/

http://kingdomtwindom.net/because-chartreuse-isnt-purple/

Apr 262015
 

Last night I was thinking (yes, I still think lots of thoughts, I just don’t always share them) about the Azazel goat (first mentioned in the current Torah portion—Leviticus 16). The sin of the Israelites was symbolically placed on the head of the Azazel goat, and then that goat was forcibly driven from the camp.

Because Yeshua is our High Priest in the Heavenly Tabernacle, and because we have received atonement through His sacrifice, we are no longer intimately familiar with the Yom Kippur rituals and the casting out of the Azazel goat. This, our forgiveness through Yeshua, is a beautiful thing that should never be taken lightly. But because we are not familiar with the yearly physical ritual, the picture, the earthly shadow cast by the spiritual reality, because we can’t see it leaving, we sometimes open the gate and let that damned goat right back in.

goat fence

I’m the kind of person who can tangibly feel her sins following her around. I often hear goats bleating in the middle of the night. It’s fairly easy for me to forgive other people; the Father has been gracious to teach me. I’ll admit, though I’ve grown in this area over recent years, I still struggle when it comes to forgiving myself.

Until a few weeks ago, I didn’t fully make the connection between what I just wrote and what I am about to write:

I never get away with anything.

Some people get away with murder.

But I never get away with anything.

Case in point, I can still remember that terrible day when I showed up to my private high school in faintly pinstriped pants (almost the required “solid color,” but not quite). Would my rebellion go unchecked? Nope. Why?

Because I never get away with anything!

For a long time I have lived with the consequences of my sins as though my sins were not yet forgiven. But does forgiveness mean a lack of consequences? Does consequence mean that the goat has come back, or is discipline simply another matter? If I ground my daughter for playing games when she was supposed to be taking a test, is she forgiven when she says she’s sorry (and I say that I forgive her) or when her grounding is over?

Of course, I forgive her as soon as she asks. And sometimes, sometimes, I will cancel the consequence because I’m Mom and I do what I want. But what if I did that every time? Would that be in her best interest?

Genesis chapter fifteen is one of my favorite stories in the entire Bible. Right smack in there though is a curious little verse, verse sixteen, that used to cross my eyes:

“Only in the fourth generation will your descendants come back here, because only then will the Emori be ripe for punishment.” (CBJ)

“But in the fourth generation they shall come hither again: for the iniquity of the Amorites is not yet full.” (KJV)

“In the fourth generation your descendants will come back here, for the sin of the Amorites has not yet reached its full measure.” (NIV)

Huh?

In II Maccabees, chapter two, the writer details the horrible defilement that happened to the Temple and the Jewish people around 167 BC. It’s hard to read, especially if you love God’s law. And no, Maccabees is not included in the Protestant cannon of Scripture, but it is historically important (in my opinion).

After the writer speaks of the persecution of his people, he says something I find to be extremely profound, especially in light of Genesis 15:16.

He says this:

“Now I urge those who read this book not to be disheartened by these misfortunes, but to consider that these punishments were meant not for the ruin but for the correction of our nation. It is, in fact, a sign of great kindness to punish the impious promptly instead of letting them go for long. Thus, in dealing with other nations, the Sovereign Lord patiently waits until they reach the full measure of their sins before punishing them; but with us he has decided to deal differently, in order that he may not have to punish us later, when our sins have reached their fullness. Therefore he never withdraws his mercy from us. Although he disciplines us with misfortunes, he does not abandon his own people.”

In other words, God’s people never get away with anything. And this is good. Someday His fist will come down and He will say “Enough is enough!” He waits for the wicked to reach the full measure of their sin; someday He will destroy them completely. Thank God He does not deal with His own people this way.

If you’re living in a season of discipline, as I often feel I am, do not misconstrue His chastisement as a sign of wrath or unforgiveness. The goat is long gone; let it die in the wilderness where it belongs. But be thankful for His mercy that often comes in the form of discipline, because He loves us too much to leave us as we are.

 April 26, 2015  Christian Roots, Christianity Comments Off
Nov 042014
 

I don’t blog like I used to, and I’m truly grateful to those of you who still humor my occasional tirades and gabfests by stopping in from time-to-time. Some of you may not know it, but in its heyday this blog was decently well-read. Back when I was the eloquent wife of a redeemed philanderer, my inbox was filled to the brim. I don’t think I ever caught up (I just wrote a book). We–my handsome husband and I–were called to the front of our local church to pray for hurting marriages. If you wanted to encourage an on-the-brink couple, you–the evangelical internet–might have directed the wife to my blog. Thousands of you did. ‘Cause we had a testimony. And in case you’re not familiar with the lingo, testimony means “something really bad happened, and then something wonderful happened to make all the bad seem worth it.”

For the past few weeks I’ve been looking again at Abraham’s story. I love Abraham. And I mean him no disrespect, but I love how intrinsically flawed he was. He wasn’t like Noah. The dark splotch on Noah’s record is a night of I-am-literally-alone, loneliness induced drunkenness. Are you gonna say you blame him? But Abraham, Abraham was a witness at his own wife’s wedding, twice, just to save his own skin. That’s pretty hard to live down. And the way I read it, Abraham prayed the way for the Ammonites and the Moabites. He begat a family feud (though we can blame that one on his wife). These are immensely consequential bad days; though, of course, God had a plan for all of the bad days. But despite what might look like a marred record, Abe lived a life of unimaginable faith.

Abraham died without seeing the fulfillment of all that God had promised, but he died still knowing He would see it one day. Faith, not miraculous blessing, is what Abraham’s legacy boasts. Abraham’s testimony is faith for the journey; it is not the destination. If I ever get the chance to really sit down and talk with Abraham (eventually, after a few hundred years, he might have time for someone like me), I don’t want to hear about the day Isaac was born–not right away. And it’s not that I don’t hold tight to the pertaining promise, but there are other things I want to know before I ask about the ram in the thicket. I want to hear about that long, grueling walk to the top of Mount Moriah. I want to hear about the day he told the king of Sodom to take a hike. I want to know what was going through his mind as he readied servants to fight kings. I want to hear about the years he spent waiting for Isaac. I want to hear about Ishmael, I want to know all about Ishmael. And I want to hear about the day he sent Ishmael to wander away.

So please, stop. Stop telling me that God is good because of how He’s said yes to your prayers. It makes a great story: how He saved you from the fiery furnace. What makes it a true, lasting testimony is that He strengthened you to stand in the flames. Yes, God gives us good things, and of course we should tell people about them; but the goodness of God is not defined by what He gives us. Judging God according to His blessings is like judging a parent based on birthday presents. Good parenting is made in moments of disciplining, teaching, training, and late-night heart-to-heart talking. Presents are just bonus.

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So if you’re one of the few still stumbling upon my old posts and gleaning encouragement from my testimony, please glean encouragement from this: I still believe every word. I’m still standing (usually smiling) and trusting. God is good, all the time…

 

 

 November 4, 2014  Christianity, Marriage 6 Responses »
Aug 282014
 

I don’t expect this post to go viral. I know it will ruffle some feathers…maybe even evoke a few tears among relatives who might feel I’m stealing from them or from our history. Still, the carved pumpkin display in front of Kroger today kinda forced my hand in this matter. It’s time to tell y’all the truth—to fess up. I’m not writing this post to persuade you of anything. This is simply an explanation of me and my life and choices.

And no, this post isn’t about Halloween. I never celebrated Halloween, so it’s not something I lost with “my new religion”. I know not celebrating/celebrating Halloween is controversial in itself, and I do understand the potential for community outreach at that time. It would be a loss to miss any opportunity to win souls. As a teen I attached a homemade tract to only the best bars of candy. I still buy candy in case the kids swarm my door; I’m not about to turn a child away. Even still, this post is not about Halloween. This is a much…a much touchier subject than that.

Last year in late December I took my youngest daughter on a date to the dollar store. Wait, let me back up a bit. Last year in early December I took all of my children to the dollar store. They wandered through the tiny aisles while I stuffed pre-planned items into my basket. When we got to the register, I distracted the kids with quarters which they merrily plunked into the gumball machine that dispenses plastic hands. I felt like a big spender that day.

I had five of most things. Of the pinker things I’d grabbed three, and of the bluer things I had two. “Are you filling Christmas boxes?” the checker asked cheerfully. The toothbrushes made that a logical question.

“Not today,” I told her. “Just Hanukkah shopping for my kids.”

Five kids. Eight nights. Less than forty dollars.

There was silence for just a few seconds as she continued to scan my finds. I worried she’d stay quiet forever. I don’t mind silence unless it’s loud. “I’ve been thinking about how Christmas is nowhere to be found in the Bible,” she blurted as if we’d been carrying on a telepathic conversation that suddenly burst into song.

“You’re right! It isn’t!” I said a little too enthusiastically. “But Hanukkah is (that’s the Feast of Dedication),” I added with a grin. She smiled back, then she looked down. Her face quickly processed a hundred expressions, and I watched the wheels in her head spin around. I imagined what she was thinking; perhaps she knew that He was Jewish but hadn’t thought of the implications. Then “You’re right!” she said.

Fast forward to late December. Hanukkah was over and it was the day before Christmas Eve. On the way to the store I had warned my daughter, “Now, people are going to wish you a ‘Merry Christmas’. You respond however you’d like, but at least say ‘thank you’ and smile.”

The man behind the register was tall and young. My guess was twenty-five. He flashed a big smile at Miss C, and his eyes twinkled with holiday cheer as he leaned his forearm on the counter. “Are you excited for Santa?” he asked her. She froze with an expression that looked like someone had licked her face, and she stared at me in horror because I hadn’t prepared her for that. “We don’t do…” I started. And “Oh, I’m sorry!” he caught on. We both smiled pleasantly at each other. Nothing could have prepared me for what happened next, however, because then (without even the hint of an inaudible conversation) he said, “What winter holiday do you honor?”

“Hanukkah, we like Hanukkah,” I answered. Then with an exaggerated frown to Miss C, I said, “But it’s over now, isn’t it?” She returned a sillier frown.

Keep in light. Keep it loose. Keep it happy! That’s my motto when it comes to confrontation.

As he continued to scan my purchases (I do a lot of shopping at the dollar store), I stood and wondered why on earth he would assume that I don’t celebrate Christmas simply because we don’t “do” Santa at our house. I grew up keeping Christmas, and there was never a Santa to be seen. There were no elves on our shelves. “Since when are Santa and Christmas inseparable?” I thought. But seeing he was a good ten years younger than me, I figured that he would know. I just stood puzzled until he began to speak again.

“My girlfriend’s family is Jewish,” he said.

That’s when I braced for the worst. I assumed it was an anti-semitic lead-in like, “My best friend is black; so I can insult black people whenever I want.” What he did say was even odder.

“We have kids,” he said (Can I admit I found that a little ironic?). “When she first got pregnant we were talking about the holidays: they celebrate Hanukkah, and we celebrate Christmas. I told her, ‘Your family can do whatever they want, but our kids are going to be Christians!’”

I wore a wide-eyed kind of stunned smile. His exuberance was humorous, and it clearly wasn’t meant as an attack. Worried it might have seemed like an attack, he quickly added with even more spark and passion, “But I believe that we should honor everyone’s beliefs!”

I smiled again.

On the way to the car I kept kicking myself, and I apologized to my daughter. “I’m a Christian. I’m a Christian! Why didn’t I tell him that I AM a Christian?”

She patted me on the back, because she’d heard me say that before. “It’s OK, Mom. It’s OK,” she said. The hardest part of this journey to The Old Ways has been the reaction from my fellow believers. I’ve been accused of denying the One most precious to me—and this accusation has not come merely from dollar store checkers.

 

Jeremiah 16:19 (KJV), says:

O Lord, my strength, and my fortress, and my refuge in the day of affliction, the Gentiles shall come unto thee from the ends of the earth, and shall say, ‘Surely our fathers have inherited lies, vanity, and things wherein there is no profit.’

 

This is how I’ve spent the past two years: Is it in the Bible? That’s what I want to know. ‘Cause the truth is, we’ve added a lot of things to the religion our New Testament apostles lived…and more isn’t always better. In the adding we’ve lost some precious things that would connect us to our roots. It’s those roots I want to find because I just want to know my Savior. I want to know the road He walked down day by day, and where possible, I want to walk that road now. He’s the only One to have ever lived who has fully preached the Torah. That’s pleroo, the Greek word we translate, “fulfill”. So I want to eat what He ate, serve like He served, love like He loved, teach what He taught, and celebrate the days He celebrated. Where’s the crime in that?

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Will I fail? I know I will fail! That’s why He had to die. But in my trying to honor His ways, it’s my brothers and sisters whom I have made unhappy. I haven’t denied our Savior because I’ve traded Christmas for the day He gave me: Sukkot (Tabernacles), or Easter for the Feast He fulfilled: Passover!

Stories of red, red blood and hearts made white are sweetly told through candy canes. But stories of a tabernacle for a king in the wilderness, a baby king born to tabernacle with the world, and our soon-coming thousand year tabernacle in the heavenly kingdom He’s prepared are so, so much sweeter than that. They’re sweeter because He wrote them. Gospel candy canes and new-birth Christmas trees: He didn’t make that up; WE made that up. That makes it a “doctrine of men”.

It’s in my nature to apologize, and I am sorry for causing offense. I don’t mean to step on toes, and I’m sorry for any walls that my beliefs seem at times to build between us. I hope this post tears those walls right down. I know you’re not upset about the missing Christmas presents from me…I could never afford many, anyway. If you’re upset because you cannot buy for me: you can buy for me whenever you’d like! I’ll still do the same for you. Why should any day dictate generosity? But I think it’s not about the presents. I think it’s not about the tree or the food or the songs… I think it’s about the feeling of being judged, by me or by others, for the way you are choosing to honor your Savior. So as much as I can, I want to put that to rest: I am not the judge.

 

May 172014
 

{The original post was written in the summer of 2009. The bold text is new. Most of the advice is for me.}

 

If you’re afraid, don’t be. One of the most often repeated commandments in Scripture is “Fear not!” That doesn’t help? He knows it’s hard…that’s why He repeats Himself so often!

If you’ve ever “lost it” with your kids, repent and start over. And confess your failures to your bothers and sisters so they can lift you up!

If your marriage is in trouble, tell someone. Always. Find an appropriate person (pastor or mentor) and speak honestly and bravely about your struggles. Embarrassment has never healed anyone.

If you rarely have a quiet time, figure out how you can change that. Maybe the mornings aren’t possible for you, but maybe 2:30 in the afternoon is perfect. Get into the Word and read it…preferably from beginning to end. 

If you’re addicted to Diet Coke, just stop it. Try kombucha. Club soda and lime are nice with a little Stevia. So annoying, I know, but it’s totally true. That other stuff’ll kill ya!

If you are one person at church and another person at home, reexamine. Maybe everyone struggles with this to some extent, but I can tell you as someone who wears her brave face in public…not being 100% real is ex-haus-ting. If you don’t like who you are at home, work on fixing that person instead.

If you can’t remember the sermon from last week, find out why. This was my life story until I began to truly fall in love with the Word of God.

If you’re addicted to something you can’t joke about, confess your sins. It’s scary, but it’s how we’re healed.

If you could use a good cry, for Pete’s sake…cry. I think crying is good for the soul (and by “soul” I mean “complete person”).

If you don’t know how to say “no”, learn how to. Start slowly, and pick your battles. It’s good to be a servant, and we are supposed to lay down our lives…but not so that people will “like us”. Make sure you are serving Him when you’re serving them.

If you have stories you’ve never told, write them down. If they’re not worth remembering…burn them. If they are…share them with someone you love.

If you think “the real you” is unlovable, remember that the One who loved you enough to die for you has always seen the real you.

If you hate your body, change your diet. Put on some comfy, non-judgy clothes and get outside for a little while. Remember, the fact that your body is living is the reason you’re here to love the people around you. Thank Him for keeping you alive for today (and ask Him to please make ice cream taste bad).

If you want more than you need, volunteer at a shelter or write a check to someone in need. Getting might be fun, but you’ll keep on needing the “get” because it doesn’t fill the void. Giving, however, that’s life-changing.

If you need things you’ve never asked for, ask.

If you’re not “fine,” tell someone.

Is your hand up?

Now look around the room.

You’re not alone.

 May 17, 2014  Christianity 10 Responses »
May 152014
 

{Originally posted on July 10, 2009. Still true today.}

While Cuddle Bug and I were discussing her smart mouth, she blurted, “I’m Cuddle Bug. I hate things.”

Now, as her mother, I know how untrue that is. She is one of the sweetest, most grateful, most loving children I have ever had the privilege of meeting. But it’s interesting, because we (my Bible study group) have just been discussing the fact that Satan doesn’t come at us saying:

You’re stupid.

You’re fat.

You’re lazy.

You’re a failure.

No, he says:

I’m stupid.

I’m fat.

I’m lazy.

I’m a failure.

He’s trying to convince my Cuddle Bug, at four years old, that she hates.

And that makes me mad.

“Noooo!” I said. “You are Cuddle Bug. You are a child of God! You love the things that God loves and you hate the things that God hates! Is Satan telling you that you hate everything?”

“No,” she quietly shook her head.

“Is Satan telling you, ‘I am Cuddle Bug. I hate everything.'”?

Her eyes widened and she nodded “yes”.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” I said as I pulled her close, “You’ve been listening to the Devil!”

“I’m a friend of the Devil?!”

“No, but the Devil wants to keep you from being a friend of God,” I said.

“But I love God and my family so much,” she replied.

“I know you do, Sweetie. But if we really love God, we have to obey Him.”

“But I hate the Devil, right Mama?”

“Yeah, that’s right Baby.”

 May 15, 2014  Christianity, Mommyhood Comments Off
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