When Hope Becomes Grief

Parenting is a huge chore.  It will Eat.Your.Lunch.

I've recently taken part in a study on parenting.  Not the first time I'd studied those tactics, but a refresher is not always a bad thing.  I decided to try to implement some of them.  And it is hard.  So challenging to stop yourself in the mid-stream of your parenting habits to try a new approach with your willful and usually disobedient child.

Well, things didn't go so well the other night.  I felt--and still feel--like I handled the situation quite well.  But the experience wasn't pleasant, by any means.  I told my husband about the evening when he came home.  This "report" led to a huge fight, putting us at odds over parenting tactics.  Another unpleasant experience.  And the next morning, we receive word that the job we've been hoping for over the past three months isn't going to become a reality.

I've been living with a three-fold hopefulness:  "Parenting isn't easy, but maybe these new tools will help."  "Our marriage has really taken a beating this past year, but things seem to be getting better."  "If this job becomes a reality, we won't have to move, I can keep my job, etc..."

In the span of just fifteen hours, I was grieving the loss of all three hopes.  I felt like someone punched me in the gut and then pulled the rug out from under me.  And I was all about the pity-party, for most of the day.

I happened to run into an older gentleman, and he commented on my countenance.  He and I are acquaintances; we're friendly, but not really friends.  For some reason though, when he asked, I told him about the storm I felt I was in.  He responded with empathy.  But also pointed out for me a fact of his life that threw everything about my "grief" into perspective.  Suddenly, a day that was gray held new sunlight.

I regret that I pouted.  I regret that I didn't respond with "Okay, Lord, no problem. I trust that You know what You're doing."  I regret that I don't better model Christian citizenship to my children and husband.


Lord, you are my shelter.  Your greatness is a mighty comfort to my heart, whether it is broken or blessed.  Thank you for convicting me in this behavior, and help me to draw closer to you the next time my hopes get dashed.  Let me not forget that you will never disappoint, for the best and greatest hope I have--Heaven--will never turn to grief. 

Another face-palm moment

How many parents out there are tempted to say “I told you so” to your kids?  I’m going to assume there is a fair amount.  I can’t be the ONLY one.  Well, Saturday brought one of those moments to me.  I had told my son to put on his shoes and go play outside.  He got part of it right—he went outside.  However he didn’t put on his shoes, and it ended in injury.  His toe met with wood, and the result was a fairly large splinter deeply penetrating the bottom of his big toe.  And oh the drama that followed.  Wailing.  Tears.  Yelling.  Screaming.  More tears. 

I tried to proceed into treatment mode.  “We need to get it out.  Your toe will feel better if we get it out.  It will hurt for a little bit, but then it will be all better.”  More crying.  He sees the needle and tweezers, and that brings even more drama.  He cradles and holds his toe while weeping.  And no amount of explaining to him what needed to happen would convince him to let me proceed.

And SMACK.  A big smack.


How many times has God (or His Spirit) tried to convince me to just give up my sins?  How many times has He whispered to me “Just give it to me.  Let me take it away.  It might hurt a little bit now, but you’ll be blessed all the more in the end.”  So why don’t I let him?  Why do I hang on to my sins?  Why do I cradle them and, I daresay, nurture them?  Why?


Why don’t I “confess my sins to others and pray for others so that I may be healed” (James 5:16a)?  “I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out.” (Romans 7:18)  But, “If I confess my sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive me my sins and purify me from all unrighteousness.” (1 John 1:9)  I must strive more diligently to “Let the Word of Christ dwell in me richly.” (Colossians 3:16a)  And maybe I’ll get to the point where I’ll gladly let Him come in with needle and tweezers and pluck out my jagged, painful sins.


You know, now that I think about it, I’ve never heard Him say “I told you so.”  What a perfect and amazing God we serve.

The Allure of Something Better

We're all familiar with the saying, "The grass is greener on the other side of the fence."  In my life, in my heart, the allure of something better is Satan's playground.

It has taken almost 20 years, but I've finally realized that this desire for "greener grass" was what ended my first real dating relationship.  We didn't have problems.  I just wanted something else.  Something "better."  And I'm not saying that wanting something else is always a bad thing.  This boy and I weren't married.  We'd made no covenant to each other before God.  And, looking back on the relationship, I can also say that we were probably not a good match.  So, in that situation, it is a good thing that I wanted something "better."

But things are not great in my life right now.  I'm definitely not starry-eyed over the state of my relationship with my husband.  My brain is primed for Satan to come in and play around.  "If only I'd made a different choice when..."  "If only today I could..."  And the list of "if onlys" can get quite long.  The allure of something better is getting quite strong. 

I just need to start wishing for the right field of grass.


Dear Father, I continue to fail in so many ways.  I should have realized sooner that Satan was playing around with my pain.  I should have leaned on you more from day one.  But Father, I'm asking now that you please drive Satan away, and that you please show me that you are carrying me through this time, with all its trouble and hurt and pain.  I don't want to hurt or disappoint you, or my loved ones.  I want to be able to walk through this muck with my head held high, blessed to have relied fully on you.  Forgive me for the impure things I've been thinking and feeling, and for not completely honoring you in my heart and mind.  Please help me to focus on the hope of heaven, and of being in your arms one day, cradled and comforted and completely fulfilled.

Reasons to be Thankful

In case no one has noticed, my life isn't great right now.  In fact, I could describe most days as thoroughly crappy.  Even when my life isn't simmering in muck, this time of year typically brings sorrow and dismay for me. 

So, in an effort to wade through the crappiness instead of drowning in it, I have made a commitment to count my blessings.  For the next sixty-one days over at Dear Life, I plan to count my blessings.  And maybe by January 1, my outlook on life won't be nearly as dim.

Seeing Life in Black and White

During a conversation with some friends last week, I said something that, I later realized, could qualify as legalistic.  I don't like legalism.  It is stringent and stiff and backs you into a corner.  And I don't like being backed into a corner.  However, retrospect on this conversation is revealing to me that maybe I'm a legalist at heart.  I see the world in black and white.  I think I always have.  Growing up, when told to do something, I obeyed because it was the right thing to do.  On the odd occasion that I did break a rule, I was overwhelmed with guilt because I had done the wrong thing. 

Living life with this black-or-white philosophy can be quite challenging.  There are all these shades of gray, you see.  Two of my children frequently wade through these shades of gray.  And I've realized through the heartbreak of my husband's recent break from faith that he sees life in gray, rarely in black and white.

So what am I to do with all the gray matter that the world holds?  I'm sure there are many philosophical roads that this question could lead me down.  But it dawned on me today that I probably need to stop asking that question, and just start trusting that God knows what to do with the shades of gray.  And with my legalistic, black and white heart.

The Search for Significance

It seems to me that Americans are searching for significance.  Perhaps it is the generation in which we live, but the more I look around, the more I see people wanting to be known for something.  To gain notoriety from something they do.
Sadly, I am no exception.

Some events of the past month have started me wondering about the mark I'm leaving on this world.  Am I significant?  Am I making a difference in my life?

There's all the laundry that I wash and fold. The lunches that I pack daily. And the other meals I prepare or, at the very least, pay for. The shopping I do so that my family has food to eat. The cleaning--albeit little--that I do. The hair that I brush, the beds that I make, the bottoms that I wipe, the toys that I trip over and eventually put away.

The people that I work with and for. The phone calls that I answer and place. The words that I utter. The way in which I speak the words that I utter. The efficiency with which I do my work. The passion with which I prepare my work. The attitude with which I arrive at work. And leave work.

The amount that I pray, or don't pray. The amount that I study, or don't study. How little or much credit I give to God. How often I glorify His name. And tell others about His Son, my Savior.

All these things seem so very small and insignificant.  And so I tend to feel very small and insignificant.

But what I'm learning, and have to keep remembering, is that just because these things compose my daily life, they do not define who I am.  I have to focus on the fact that I am a child of God, a fellow heir with Christ.  And if that isn't significance enough, then why on earth am I even getting out of bed each morning? 

Thoughts from a Tenth Anniversary

The world changed ten years ago.

My brain consumed a barrage of media reflections on Sunday.  Viewing footage and photos and interview after interview of people who escaped or lost loved ones that day.  It felt to me as though it just happened yesterday.  This horrible thing that one just can't wrap their mind around. 

It was a turning point in thousands of lives.

For me, personally, I watched the footage ten years ago wondering how people could unleash such hatred on fellow human beings.  While I'm sure others sat watching, wondering how a merciful God could let this horrible thing happen.

And so I wonder... For how many people was that day a turning point in their faith?  And was my husband among them?