How to Prepare Your Family for the New Year

"Tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it."  - L.M. Montgomery

I grew up reading the Anne of Green Gables series, and even at a tender age, that line fascinated me.  Now that I'm an adult and understand what it means to regret mistakes on a grander scale than when I read those words at age eleven, I appreciate them even more.

And it's that same sentiment that has caused this week to have always been one of my very favorite weeks out of the year.  The last few days in December, when last year stretches behind with all of its memory, its triumphs, and yes, its mistakes, while next year stretches out ahead with all of its invitations and opportunities.  

A fresh start, with no mistakes in it.

I think of it like a giant etch-a-sketch just waiting to be shaken until all the lines disappear.  Some years, I'm pleased with what I've drawn over the last twelve months and just want to tweak a little here and there.  But, if I'm honest, most years I'm ready to hoist that thing over my head and chunk it as far as I can in order to hit the cosmic reset button.  

But, whichever it is, that's the magic of a new year.  Anything can happen.  This really can be the year that I make the changes.

And the crazy thing is, I do.  

Don't give up on me too fast here.  I don't mean to say I make ALL the changes.  I usually start out with a pretty good sized list and whittle it down from there.  And yes, that last sentence is code for saying I buy the gym membership and go four times the first week in January and then not again until October 2nd. But, it doesn't all go that way.  There's most often a few essential things that stick.  And that may not sound like much of an accomplishment, but over time, over the years, those few essentials add up to a lifetime of successively better choices.  They are the building blocks for self-improvement.  And when I apply them to my family, they become the foundation for healthy relationships and good memories.

So, go ahead.  Shake that etch a sketch until you forget that the skinny girl who works the front desk of the gym has no clue what your name is and thought you might be there to sell Girl Scout cookies when you walked in the day after Thanksgiving.  Shake it off.  And then start dialing with the knobs, a little here, and a little there.  And while you do it, see yourself a year from now, doing the same thing again.  Except next time, you'll be a little stronger and a little healthier and a little more joyful than you are right now.  Because you're growing.

Here's a few of the things I like to take stock of during this week.  I don't focus on all of them every year, I just choose the ones I think are most needed and concentrate on coming up with a plan that is attainable.  I also find that writing it down is important, to keep me motivated and to help me track my progress next year.

Self-care:  

• How am I doing at pastoring my own soul?  What do I need to do this year to improve that?  (Click to listen to a podcast where I speak about the practical ways you can do that,)
• How is my body?  What are the simple ways I can begin taking steps to make myself stronger and healthier?
• How is my relationship with God?  In what ways do I want it grow?  In what ways does He want it to grow?  

Family-care:

• How healthy are our relationships?  In what ways can I foster good relationships among us this year?  Do we need to make some different choices to get there?  (Click to read about instituting creative family nights!)
• How healthy are our finances?  Do we need to make some shifts or some sacrifices to get where we need to go with our money?
• How healthy are our conflict resolution skills?  What could we do to focus on solving problems with better communication and less stress?

And beyond:

• What am I most passionate about?  What am I going to do to see that area grow in my life?
• What is causing me the most anxiety?  What am I going to do to see that brought towards a place of peace?
• What can I give away this year?
• What is the most enjoyable thing I can imagine I could do this year?

Grace Defined

Something hugely frightening happened to me recently. 


I shrunk my sweatshirt.


My sweatshirt.  The one that changed my life.  The one my husband gave me for Christmas that I had hardly taken off for three months.  The one I loved and the one that loved me unconditionally in return.


I had plans to only take it to the dry cleaner for the rest of my life.  But, I didn't pay attention and it ended up in the wash.  And then the dryer.  And then it shrunk.  And I came the closest I have ever come to a panic attack.


I discovered it late at night, right before bed, and Eric came running to answer the shrieks of pain from the laundry room. 


He then followed me to our room as I yelled, "No, no, no, no, no, no!" while I tore off my pajamas and put the sweatshirt on.  The sleeves were short.  The bottom hem didn't come to where it was supposed to.  The whole thing was off, wrong, ruined.


My husband watched from the bed as I mourned.  It was a slow process, this coming to terms with losing one of your best friends.  All five stages of grief played out in the microcosm of my closet.


And when I was finished, he told me to come lay my head on his chest.


I did, utterly spent.


And that's when he pulled out his phone and showed me that my new sweatshirt would be arriving in less than 48 hours.  A carbon copy of the one that would now fit my dachshund BEFORE its date with the dryer of death.  My new best friend.


We won't talk about how long my husband let me lament before he shared what he had just done (evidently I'm very entertaining when I'm upset), but let's take a moment to reflect on what he did do.


He gave me grace.


I had misused and mistreated his first gift.  And he offered me another, brand new and perfect, without a word of shame or reproach. 


He paid the price.  Twice.


So very much like my Jesus. 


The One who came after me after I walked away. 


The One who bought back what was already His. 


The One who loves to see me wearing His ring, His clothes, His name.  So much so that when I mess up, He offers me a brand new start, with nothing but love in His eyes.

More Than Getting Older

My pastor husband made me ask myself a startling question in his sermon on Sunday.  It caused me to pause.  It caused me some discomfort.  It caused me to keep asking it of myself until I had an answer.

Am I growing in maturity?

I am obviously growing older.  My ability to bounce back from a night spent sleeping on the floor testifies of that.

But, am I maturing?  And much more specifically, am I maturing in my spiritual life?

I like to think of myself as a mature Christian.  I have for years now.  But, that simple question caused me to dig deep and sincerely evaluate my own growth.  It's not enough to be a "mature" Christian.  I need to be a "maturing" one.

And over the last three days, the Lord has been gracious to help me answer the question.  Yes, I am maturing.  But, I could be maturing faster if I would allow Him more room to work.  And that's going to cost me something.

It's going to cost a little more self-honesty.

It's going to cost some humility.

It's going to cost some time.

Because there are some trouble spots in my Christian walk.  Some places that I keep having to "go around the bush" again and again.  Some areas that I find myself repenting and starting over once more instead of being able to walk a new road, blaze a new trail in my spiritual thinking.

And it's these spots that need my honesty, some humility, and some time.

When I look back over my spiritual "maturing," I can see I've grown the most when I had an actual plan for growth.  When I submitted my thoughts to the Lord, received His response in return, and we hashed out a new way of looking at something together.

It's this pattern I want to see reproduced in my life.  This constant communication with the One who cares about my growth because of His great love for me.

That's why I'll be talking to Him about my trouble spots this week.  And coming up with a plan for growth. 

Because when I'm growing in maturity, I'm looking more and more like who I was born to be, and less and less like the flesh I won't settle for.

"Meanwhile, Jesus kept on growing wiser and more mature, and in favor with God and his fellow man."   - Luke 2:52 (ISV)

Sometimes Healing Comes From Strange Places

For several years now, my husband and I have carried around a large burden of guilt and shame.  And it all stemmed from owning a dog. 

We had paid good money for an adorable puppy, even traveling to an airport three hours away to pick her up.  We had brought her home, introduced her to the eager children who had been begging for a dog, and bought all kinds of doggie supplies.  And then our lives had promptly fallen apart.

We couldn't train her to go outside to go potty.

We couldn't train her not to chew everything up.

We couldn't train her not to bite the kids.

We couldn't train her not to jump the fence and run away....every single day.

We were complete failures as dog owners.

And a year later, by the time I dreaded going home every day because I had to deal with her, I knew we were beat.  We shame-facedly gave her away.  And a few months later heard her new owners had trained her well and she was now a perfect little angel.

We were not only complete failures.  We were complete failures who had funded someone else's dream dog.

And so, we believed that was the end of the story.  We gave away all our doggie supplies.  We bought a fish.  We said never again.

But, there's something amazing about God's redemptiveness.  He doesn't do "never agains" real well.  He has a way of taking our vows and turning them upside down and bringing everything full circle.  He has a way of making us forget our shame (Isaiah 54:4) and bringing us to new tables of joy.

Enter the angel of mercy who found her way into our carport one cold winter night, now over a month ago.  We tried to find an owner, but without a collar and no one to answer our internet queries, we decided she was probably dumped in the pasture just a bit down the road from our house.

My heart was hard where her kind were concerned, but she was not deterred.  She wore down my defenses with her soft velvet fur, her huge, kind eyes, and her ability to go potty outside.  She made me love her further with her snuggles in the morning, her snuggles on my lunch break, and her snuggles on the couch at bedtime.  She entwined herself around my heart with her kindness to my children.

We now own all new doggie supplies, along with a collar that reads "Sugar."  And oh, how sweet she is.  She has removed the shame in our house from past dog failures, and healed our hearts by becoming the member of the family we didn't know we were missing. 

I'll need to remember that the next time I'm tempted to say "never again."  Maybe failure isn't always the end.  Maybe it's just a longer walk to the finish line.

True Maturity

It was a small thing.  Probably only something a mother would care about.  But, I am his mother.  And I do care.  So I waited until the time was right.  And then I spoke.

I was careful to make sure there was only love in my voice.  Only the sounds of caring that runs deep.  No judgement.  No rebuke.  Just a gentle pointing out of the need for change.

The iron that sharpens iron.  Spoken through tender affection.

And I knew it wasn't easy for him to hear.  Receiving correction is never easy, but it may be the most difficult in the teen years.  And I saw the struggle in his face, his eyes reflecting the processing my words were requiring of him.

I prayed as I spoke.  "Lord, please let there be no twisting of the sounds from my mouth to his ears, no chance for him to misunderstand my heart."

He was silent for a moment.  And then he did it.

He reached for me, pulling me into a hug, letting his cheek rest against mine.  And he said the words I hadn't expected, "Thank you, Mom."

I was humbled by his grace, his ability to push past ego and receive the temporary wound to his pride in order to gain the long-term growth in his character.  I hugged him back and whispered, "You're welcome.  I'm proud of who you are."

And then I retreated to my own quiet place to think that over. 

My son had surprised me with his maturity.  Was I capable of the same?  When God comes to me to correct me, do I respond with "thank you," or do I attempt to justify myself, finding someone else to blame?  Am I able to look past the smarting of my pride to see the love in His eyes when He needs to point out the need for change in me?  After His discipline, am I confident that I'm still his kid and He's still proud of me, or do I hunt around anxiously for something else to make Him like me more?

"My son, do not despise the Lord's discipline and do not resent his rebuke, because the Lord disciplines those he loves, as a father the son he delights in."  (Prov 3:11-12)

And I pray that the truth of this verse, illustrated to me by my own son, finds its way to the deep places of my heart the next time God needs to point something out to me. 

In that moment, may I reach for Him, lay my cheek against His, and whisper, "Thank you." 

Failing Forward

“It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat.”

Theadore Roosevelt

“Citizenship in a Republic,”
Speech at the Sorbonne, Paris, April 23, 1910

I love this quote.  I love it because it's true.  I love it because it's bold.  I love it because it makes me feel better about the many failures in my life.

In thirty-five years of living, I've managed to make quite a few mistakes.  Small ones.  Big ones.  Massive ones.  I've made all kinds.

And while the addage is true that I am not the sum of my mistakes, it is also true that I am the sum of what I have learned from them.

For, over the course of this journey of my life, there has been someone who loves me walking beside me, holding my hand, whispering in my ear.  He is not repulsed by my failures.  I think He may actually have chuckled at a few of them.  He is not put off by my humanity, my weakness, or my shortcomings.  Rather, He is proud that I have lived life in such a manner as to take enough risks to have even made mistakes.  And He will deal with the rest, slowly honing the rugged into the beautiful, gently wooing the stubborn spots into His hands so He can shape them with His goodness.

The only way I can truly fail is to leave the path where He is and strike out on my own.  And I've learned enough through the course of my life to know I will never reach my destination without Him.  On my own, I can't even choose the right check-out lane at Wal-Mart.  How would I live apart from Him?

At the end of my years on this earth, if I have stayed beside Him, with my hand in His, then all my failures will have been turned to work for my good.  They can't help but do it because He makes all things new and all things beautiful.